Exploring Outremer Volume I: Studies in Medieval History in Honour of Adrian J. Boas (Crusades - Subsidia) [1, 1 ed.] 0367705656, 9780367705657

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Exploring Outremer Volume I

This collection is published in the Crusades Subsidia series in honour of Professor Adrian J. Boas, an archaeologist, historian and scholar who has contributed widely and significantly to the study and teaching of the Middle Ages. Professor Boas’ research encompasses the archaeology of the Latin East, military orders with particular emphasis on the Teutonic Order, material culture, architecture and medieval art, historiography and, not least, the Crusades and the Latin East. Exploring Outremer Volume I is a collection of 14 original essays by the leading scholars in the field on the history and archaeology of the Latin East. It covers several aspects related to the Crusades in general, but also deals with specific important points related to cities like Jerusalem, Acre and Famagusta. In addition, it presents original discussions related to warfare and topography, using both Latin and Arabic sources. This book will appeal to researchers and students alike interested in the Kingdom of Jerusalem and Cyprus, as well as the Crusades and Crusading Orders. Rabei G. Khamisy is a senior lecturer at the Department of Archaeology in Haifa, and a member of the Zinman Institute of Archaeology. His current field work includes excavations in the Frankish sites of Montfort castle, Castellum Regis and Khirbat al-Manhata, as well as excavations in the Templar fort at Dor. Rafael Y. Lewis is a senior lecturer in the Department of Land of Israel Studies at Ashkelon Academic College, a senior fellow at the W. F. Albright Institute of Archaeological Research and a research associate at the Zinman Institute of Archaeology in the University of Haifa. Vardit R. Shotten-Hallel is an architect and archaeologist working in the Archaeological Research Department, Israel Antiquities Authority. Her research focuses on medieval architecture, particularly building materials and technologies in the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem. She is currently leading the research project on ‘Atlit Castle.

Crusades – Subsidia Series Editor: Christoph T. Maier

University of Zurich, for The Society for the Study of the Crusades and the Latin East

This series of ‘Subsidia’ to the journal Crusades is designed to include publications deriving from the conferences held by the Society for the Study of the Crusades and the Latin East, along with other volumes associated with the society. The scope of the series parallels that of the journal itself: Crusades covers seven hundred years from the First Crusade (1095–1102) to the fall of Malta (1798) and draws together scholars working on theatres of war, their home fronts and settlements from the Baltic to Africa and from Spain to the Near East and on theology, law, literature, art, numismatics and economic, social, political and military history.

Recent titles in the series: Crusading and Masculinities Natasha R. Hodgson, Katherine J. Lewis and Matthew M. Mesley The Fifth Crusade in Context E.J. Mylod, Guy Perry, Thomas Smith and Jan Vandeburie Crusading and Archaeology Vardit R. Shotten-Hallel and Rosie Weetch Settlement and Crusade in the Thirteenth Century Judith Bronstein, Gil Fishhof and Vardit Shotten-Hallel Exploring Outremer Volume I Studies in Medieval History in Honour of Adrian J. Boas Edited by Rabei G. Khamisy, Rafael Y. Lewis, Vardit R. Shotten-Hallel Exploring Outremer Volume II Studies in Crusader Archaeology in Honour of Adrian J. Boas Edited by Rabei G. Khamisy, Rafael Y. Lewis, Vardit Shotten-Hallel For more information about this series, please visit: www.routledge.com/ Crusades—Subsidia/book-series/SUBSIDIA

Exploring Outremer Volume I Studies in Medieval History in Honour of Adrian J. Boas

Edited by Rabei G. Khamisy, Rafael Y. Lewis, Vardit R. Shotten-Hallel

First published 2023 by Routledge 4 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 605 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10158 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2023 selection and editorial matter, Rabei G. Khamisy, Rafael Y. Lewis, Vardit R. Shotten-Hallel; individual chapters, the contributors The right of Rabei G. Khamisy, Rafael Y. Lewis, Vardit Shotten-Hallel to be identified as the authors of the editorial material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Khamisy, Rabei G., editor. | Lewis, Rafael Y., editor. | Shotten-Hallel, Vardit, editor. | Boas, Adrian J., 1952– honouree. Title: Exploring Outremer / studies in medieval history in honour of Adrian J. Boas / edited by Rabei G. Khamisy, Rafael Y. Lewis, Vardit Shotten-Hallel. Other titles: Studies in medieval history in honour of Adrian J. Boas Description: Abingdon, Oxon ; New York, NY, 2023. | Series: Crusades subsidia | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2022053164 (print) | LCCN 2022053165 (ebook) | ISBN 9780367705657 (v. 1 ; hardback) | ISBN 9780367705664 (v. 1 ; paperback) | ISBN 9780367705596 (v. 2 ; hardback) | ISBN 9780367705602 (v. 2 ; paperback) | ISBN 9781003146957 (v. 1 ; ebook) | ISBN 9781003146926 (v. 2 ; ebook) Subjects: LCSH: Latin Orient—History. | Crusades—13th-15th centuries. | Archaeology, Medieval—Latin Orient. Classification: LCC D178 E97 2023 (print) | LCC D178 (ebook) | DDC 956.9/014—dc23/eng/20221104 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022053164 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022053165 ISBN: 978-0-367-70565-7 (hbk) ISBN: 978-0-367-70566-4 (pbk) ISBN: 978-1-003-14695-7 (ebk) DOI: 10.4324/9781003146957 Typeset in Times New Roman by Apex CoVantage, LLC

Contents

List of figures Academic publications list A D R I A N J . B O AS

Acknowledgments List of contributors

Introduction by the editors

vii ix xviii xix 1

R A B E I G . K H A MI S Y, RAFAE L Y. L E WI S AND VARD IT R. SH O TTEN -H A LLEL

  1 Understanding the Crusades: the contribution of correspondence

4

S O P H I A M E N A C HE

  2 Islamic cultural-religious life in Jerusalem on the eve of the First Crusade

24

O M A R A B E D R A BO

  3 The confraternity and Chapel of St Edward the Confessor in Acre (1271/1272–1291)

44

DENYS PRINGLE

  4 How did the Teutonic Knights finance the construction of Montfort Castle?

59

H U B E RT H O U BE N

  5 The nobility of Cyprus and their rural residences

86

P E T E R E D B U RY

  6 Public squares in the Latin East: designing piazzas in new and old urban centres TO M A S Z B O R O WS KI

92

vi Contents   7 The churches of Genoese Famagusta in the notarial acts, inquests and other sources of the later fifteenth century (1448–1474)

113

N I C H O L A S COURE AS

  8 Thirty years of war: the cities of the Lombard plain c. 1189–c. 1220

127

JOHN FRANCE

  9 The role of captives in peacemaking

142

Y V O N N E F R I E DMAN

10 Some thoughts on warriors and war in Usāma ibn Munqidh’s Kitāb al-I`tibār

153

R E U V E N A MI TAI

11 Human suffering and the social implications of the wars of the Crusades

165

YA A C O V L E V

12 The attempted assassination of Lord Edward of England at Acre, 1272

177

S U S A N B . E DGI NGTON

13 Frankish intervention in Egypt during the reign of Amalric: conquest or extortion?

191

M I C H A E L S . F ULTON

14 Topographical and archaeological data in middle Caliphate sources

207

Y E H O S H U A F RE NKE L

Index

216

Figures

I.1.1 I.1.2 I.1.3 I.2.1

Chronological framework Authors and addressees Across the Mediterranean A general map: the locations of the Islamic cities whose scholars visited Jerusalem or which the scholars of Jerusalem visited II.2.2 Jerusalem in the eleventh century: Muslim education sites mentioned in the article (based on Gido’n Avni’s map of eleventh-century Jerusalem). Thanks to Prof. Avni for his permission to use his map. I.2.3 Cradle of Jesus mosque. The first level of the cradle surface (drawing: Basam al-Halaq and Husain Katbeh). Thanks to Dr. Yusuf Natsheh for his permission to use his map. I.6.1 Plan of Mamluk Tripoli, a medieval urban system without Western-style public squares: 1) Citadel, 2) Friday mosque with Crusader-period belfry. I.6.2 Plan of the medieval foundations identified within the current old town of Acre, marking some of the locations mentioned in the text (after Kesten 1962): 1) Genoese piazza, 2) Church of St Lawrence, 3) Pisan quarter, 4) Venetian quarter. I.6.3 Aerial photograph showing the belt of four piazzas surrounding the Latin cathedral in Nicosia (after Enlart 1987). I.6.4 Plan of the cathedral in Florence showing three carefully designed, fourteenth-century piazzas that surrounded it from the west (I), south (II) and east (III) (after Trachtenberg 1997). I.6.5 Small medieval piazza adjacent to the southern side of the Latin cathedral in Nicosia (photo: author). I.6.6 Centre of medieval Famagusta, showing its principal piazzas and the religious buildings associated with them: 1) piazza in front of the Latin cathedral (a), 2) piazza in front of the church of St Peter and St Paul (b), 3) piazza in front of the Greek cathedral (c).

7 16 17 30

35 36 93

97 103 103 105

107

viii Figures I.6.7 Late fifteenth- or early sixteenth-century model of Famagusta showing three major public squares in the city: the central piazza (1), the piazza in front of the church of St Peter and St Paul (2) and the piazza in front of the Greek cathedral (3) (Arsenal Museum, Venice, photo: Allan Langdale).

108

Academic publications list Adrian J. Boas

Ph.D. dissertation Domestic Architecture in the Frankish Kingdom of Jerusalem, Hebrew University of Jerusalem (1996), Supervisors: Benjamin Z. Kedar and Yoram Tsafrir. 1989–1990 “Bet Shean, Crusader Fortress – Area Z” Excavations and Surveys in Israel 9, p. 129. “Bet Shean, Crusader Fortress – Area Z” Hadashot Arkeologiot 95, p. 38 (Hebrew). 1992 “Islamic and Crusader Pottery from Area TP4”, in “Caesarea Papers” eds. K. Holum and A. Raban, Journal of Roman Archaeology, Supplement VI, pp. 154–166. 1994 “The Import of Western Ceramics into the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem”, Israel Exploration Journal 44, pp. 102–122. 1996 “The Pottery” (a note on Islamic and Crusader Pottery from Tel Sasa) in the 1980 Excavations of Tel Sasa” by Amir Golani and Ora Yogev, Atiqot 28, pp. 55–6. “A Recently Discovered Frankish Village at Ramot Allon, Jerusalem”, in Autour de la Premiere Croisade. Proceedings of the Fourth Conference of the Society of the Society for the Study of the Crusades and the Latin East, ed. M. Balard, Paris, pp. 583–94. “Survey of Crusader Structures in Caesarea (123/92)” Hadashot Arkeologiot 105, pp. 3–72 (Hebrew). 1997 “A Rediscovered Market Street in Frankish Acre”, Atiqot 31, pp. 181–186.

x  Academic publications list with S. Marco, A. Agnon, R. Ellenblum, A. Eidelman and U. Basson, “817 Year Old Walls Offset Sinestrally 2.1 m by the Dead Sea Transform, Israel” Journal of Geodynamics 24, nos.1–4, pp. 11–20. “Survey of Crusader Buildings”, Hadashot Arkeologiot 107, p. 137–138 (Hebrew). with A. M. Maeir, “Tel Zafit – 1997”, Excavations and Surveys in Israel 110, 1999, p. 68. “Hamat Gader. Late Ceramic Typology”, in The Roman Baths of Hamat Gader, ed. Y. Hirschfeld (Israel Exploration Society), pp. 382–395. 1998 with R. Ellenblum, S. Marco, A. Agnon and T. Rockwell, “Crusader Castle Torn Apart by Earthquakes at Dawn, 20 May 1202” Geology 26, pp. 303–306. “The Frankish Period – A Unique Medieval Society Emerges”, (Archaeological Sources for the History of Palestine) Near Eastern Archaeology 2, pp. 138–173. with A.M. Maeir, “Archaeology in Israel: Tell e-Safi”, American Journal of Archaeology 102, pp. 785–786. “Survey of Crusader Structures in Caesarea” Excavations and Surveys in Israel 17, pp. 77–79. with A. Maeir and T. Schneider, “Tel Zafit Survey in 1996”, Hadashot Arkeologiot 108, p. 15 (Hebrew). with A.M. Maeir, “The Renewed excavations at Tell e-Safi/Gath”, in The Judean Shephelah: Man, Nature and Landscape. Proceedings of the Eighteenth Annual Conference of the Martin (Szusz) Department of Land of Israel Studies, ed. O. Ackermann, pp. 33–39. Ramat Gan: Bar Ilan University (Hebrew). 1999 with A. M. Maeir, “Tel Zafit – 1997”, Hadashot Arkheologiyot 110, pp. 88 (Hebrew). Crusader Archaeology: The Material Culture of the Latin East, Routledge, London/New York. “The Pottery [Azor]” Atiqot 38, pp. 43–44. with A. Maeir and T. Schneider, “Tel Zafit”, Excavations and Surveys in Israel 20, pp. 114–115 (Hebrew). with R. Ellenblum, “Mezad Ateret”, Hadashot Arkheologiyot 109, pp. 6–8 (Hebrew). with R. Ellenblum, “Mezad Ateret”, Excavations and Surveys in Israel 109, 1999, pp. 5–6. “Medieval and Post-Medieval Finds”, chapter 7 in Ramat Hanadiv Excavations, ed. Y. Hirschfeld (Israel Exploration Society), pp. 211–225. “Pottery and Small Finds from the Late Ottoman Village and the Early Zionist Settlement”, chapter 7 in Ramat Hanadiv Excavations, ed. Y. Hirschfeld (Israel Exploration Society), pp. 547–580. “Heraldry in the Frankish East”, in Knights of the Holy Land, Catalogue for Crusader Exhibition at the Israel Museum, ed. Silvia Rozenberg, Jerusalem, pp. 132–135.

Academic publications list  xi “Life in the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem: The Archaeological Evidence” in Knights of the Holy Land, Catalogue for Crusader Exhibition at the Israel Museum, ed. Silvia Rosenberg, Jerusalem 1999, pp. 240–249. “Survey of Frankish Buildings” Excavations and Surveys in Israel 17, pp. 77–79. 2000 “La vita quotidiana nel Regno Franco di Gerusalemme” in Terra Santa Dalla Crociata allá Custodia dei Luoghi Santi, Milan, pp. 229–230. “The Crusader Period. New Studies in the Crusader Period”, Qadmoniot 1, (199), pp. 2–4 (Hebrew). 2001 Jerusalem in the Time of the Crusades: Society, Landscape and Art in the Holy City Under Frankish Rule, Routledge, London/New York. “Late Pottery from Tower 11, Qa`alat Nimrod” IAA Reports 11, pp. 125–129. “Some Reflections on Urban Landscapes in the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem: Archaeological Research in Jerusalem and Acre” in Dei gesta per Francos. Crusade Studies in Honour of Jean Richard, ed. Michel Balard, Benjamin Z. Kedar and Jonathan Riley-Smith, Ashgate, pp. 241–260. 2002 with R. Kletter, “Har Hozevim: A Frankish Farmhouse North of Jerusalem” Atiqot 43, pp. 186–205. 2003 “Street Villages and Rural Estate Centres: The Organization of Rural Settlement in the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem”, in The Rural Landscape of Ancient Israel, eds. A.M. Maeir, S. Dar, Z. Safrai, BAR International Series 1121, Oxford, pp. 137–148. 2004 with C. Horev, “Caratteri tipologici delle fortificazioni crociate in territorio israeliano”, in Firenze Architettura, publication for the Convegno Internazionale – Castelli medievali a Petra e nel vicino oriente tra rilievo e archeologia, Firenze, Palazzo Vecchio, 6–7 febbraio, 2004, pp. 20–21. 2005 “Medieval Pottery from ‘En Gedi”, Atiqot 49, pp. 39–41. “Jérusalem au temps des croisades”, Histoire Medievales 2, pp. 48–56. “Latrun” Crusades 4, Reports on Recent Excavations, p. 159–160. with Georg Philipp Melloni, “Akko (East)”, Hadashot Arkheologiyot/Excavations and Surveys in Israel 117 (online).

xii  Academic publications list 2006 Archaeology of the Military Orders: A Survey of the Urban Centres, Rural Settlements and Castles of the Military Orders in the Latin East (c. 1120–1291), Routledge, London/New York. “L’Arcitecture civile Franque á Césarée, Acre et Jérusalem”, Bulletin Monumental 164–1, pp. 31–44. “The Medieval Ceramics from Khirbat Ka‘kul”, Atiqot 54, pp. 75–104. “The Rugged Beauty of Crusader Castles: Holy Wars in a Holy Land”, Biblical Archaeologist Review 32, pp. 50–71. “Note on Some Medieval Period Ceramics Found in Area P”, in Excavations at Tel Beth-Shean 1989–1996, vol. I, From the Late Bronze Age IIB to the Medieval Period, ed. A. Mazar, Jerusalem. 2007 “Three Stages in the Evolution of Rural Settlement in the Kingdom of Jerusalem during the Twelfth Century”, in Laudem Hierosolymitani – Crusades Subsidia 1, pp. 77–92. 2008 with R. Khamisy, “The Teutonic Castle of Montfort/Starkenberg (Qal’at Qurein)” in L’Ordine Teutonico tra Mediterraneo e Baltico, Acta Theutonica 5, ed. H. Houben, Galatina, 2008, pp. 347–61. “The Montfort Castle. A New survey”, Excavations and Surveys in Israel Hadashot Arkheologiyot/Excavations and Surveys in Israel 120 (online). with M. Piana, “Die Kreuzfahrerstadt Ascalon”, in Burgen und Städte der Kreuzzugszeit, ed. Mathias Piana, Petersberg, 2008, pp. 263–273. “Das Jerusalem der Kreuzfahrer”, in Burgen und Städte der Kreuzzugszeit, ed. Mathias Piana, Petersberg, 2008, pp. 315–325. 2009 with A. M. Maeir, “Blanchegarde Castle (Tell as-Safi): A Case Study of the Effects of Castle Building on Medieval and Modern Settlement Patterns in the Southern Levant”, Crusades 8, pp. 1–22. “Safed”, in Prier et combattre: dictionnaire européen des ordres militaires au Moyen Âge, eds. Philippe Josserand, Nicole Bériou, Paris, pp. 813–814. “Beaufort”, in Prier et combattre: dictionnaire européen des ordres militaires au Moyen Âge, eds. Philippe Josserand, Nicole Bériou, Paris, pp. 148–149. “Belvoir”, in Prier et combattre: dictionnaire européen des ordres militaires au Moyen Âge, eds. Philippe Josserand, Nicole Bériou, Paris, pp. 152–153. “Toron des Chevaliers”, in Prier et combattre: dictionnaire européen des ordres militaires au Moyen Âge, eds. Philippe Josserand, Nicole Bériou, Paris, pp. 918–919. “Césarée”, in Prier et combattre: dictionnaire européen des ordres militaires au Moyen Âge, eds. Philippe Josserand, Nicole Bériou, Paris, pp. 204–205.

Academic publications list  xiii “Alimentation” in Prier et combattre: dictionnaire européen des ordres militaires au Moyen Âge, eds. Philippe Josserand, Nicole Bériou, Paris, pp. 69–70. “Mocna Góra Krzyżaków”, Archeologia 1(41), pp. 30–32. Montfort Castle Project Self-published public relations booklet, Jerusalem. “Israel and the Teutonic Heritage in the Holy Land” Teutonic Conference volume, Malbourk. 2010 Review article of Denys Pringle, The Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem. A Corpus, volume IV, The Cities of Acre and Tyre with Addenda and Corrigenda to Volumes I-III, Cambridge UK (Cambridge University Press, 2009) Crusades. pp. 218–221 Domestic Settings: Archaeology, Documents and Literary Sources on Domestic Architecture and Day-to-Day Activities in the Crusader States, 1099–1571, Brill, Leiden/Boston. “Archaeology: The Levant”, in Oxford Dictionary of the Middle Ages. “Crusader Castles” in Medieval Warfare and Military Technology: An Encyclopaedia, Oxford University Press. “Fortified Churches” in Medieval Warfare and Military Technology: An Encyclopedia, Oxford University Press. “Daily Life in Frankish Acre”, in One Thousand Nights and Days – Akko through the Ages, eds. Ann E. Killebrew and Vered Raz-Romeo, Haifa, Hecht Museum, pp. 48–54. ‫ زمن الحروب الصليبية‬:‫ – مدينة بيت المقدس‬authorised Arabic translation of Jerusalem in the Time of the Crusades, National Centre for Translation and Publishing, El Gazira, Cairo. 2011 “Frankish Jaffa”, in The History and Archaeology of Jaffa, eds. M. Peilstöcker and A.A. Burke, Univ. of California, Los Angeles, pp. 121–126. “Montfort Castle – 2011”, Hadashot BeAtiqot (online) (Hebrew). “National Park Montfort. Excavations Summer 2011”, Al HaDerech, p. 10 (Hebrew). 2012 “Montfort Castle – 2011”, Hadashot Arkheologiyot/Excavations and Surveys in Israel 117 (online). Review article of David Nicolle, Knights of Jerusalem: The Crusading Order of Hospitallers 1100–1565 (Osprey Publishing, 2008), Biblical Archaeology Review. Montfort Castle. The Western Wing and the Great Hall, Zinman Institute of Archaeology, Haifa. with A. Pluskowski and C. Gerrard, “The Ecology of Crusading: Investigating the Environmental Impact of Holy War and Colonisation at the Frontiers of

xiv  Academic publications list Medieval Europe” Medieval Archaeology (authors of equal contribution), pp. 192–225. “Tel es-Safi in the Medieval and Modern Periods” inTell es-Safi/Gath I: Report on the 1996–2005 Seasons, ed. A.M. Maeir. Ägypten und Altes Testament 69. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, pp. 153–164. “The Montfort Castle Project: A Programme of Research, Conservation and Development at the Teutonic Castle in the Western Galilee”, in C.M.R. Luschi, L. Aiello, Mons Fortis alias Mons Feret. Il castello dei Teutonici in Terrasanta, Firenze, pp. 87–91. “Some Preliminary Findings at the Teutonic Castle of Montfort”, in Christ is Here! Studies in Biblical and Christian Archaeology in Memory of Michele Piccirrillo ofm, ed. L. Daniel Chrupcala, Milano, pp. 11–27. “Montfort Castle Project: A New Research and Conservation Project at the Site of the Teutonic Castle in the Western Galilee”, in Proceedings of the International Conference La Transjordania nel Secoli XII -XIII e le ‘Frontiere’ del Mediterraneo Medievale (Florence, Palazzo della Signoria, Palazzo Strozzi, 6–8 November 2008, vol. 1 of the series ‘Limina/Limites – Archaeology, History, and Borders the Mediterranean Islands (365–1556)’, eds. Guido Vanning and Michele Nucciotti, Biblical Archaeology Review (International Series) S2386, Oxford, pp, 227–30. “Crusader Archaeology” in The Oxford Companion to Archaeology, vol. 1, 2nd edition, ed. Neil Asher Silberman, Oxford, pp. 349–352. “Montfort Castle – 2012”, Hadashot BeAtiqot (online) (2 pages) (Hebrew). “Second Season of Excavations in the National Park Montfort in the Western Galilee – April 2012”, Al HaDerech, p. 8 (Hebrew). 2013 “Archaeological Evidence for the Two Sieges of Montfort Castle”, Castelos das Ordens Militares, vol. 1, Lisbon, pp. 73–85. with Fabrizio Benente, “Montfort e i Cavalieri Teutonici”, Archeologia Viva 158, pp. 48–56. with Rabei G. Khamisy, “Montfort Castle –2012”, Hadashot Arkheologiyot/Excavations and Surveys in Israel 125 (online). 2014 “Montfort Castle in the Light of New Excavations”, in “From Watch Tower to Fortified City”. Forts and Fortresses in Northern Israel from the Canaanites to the IDF, Land of Galilee 3, ed. Mordechai Aviam, pp. 145–156 (Hebrew). “Renewed Research at Montfort Castle”, in Archaeology and Architecture of the Military Orders, ed. Mathias Piana, Farnham and Burlington, pp. 175–92. 2016 The Crusader World, Routledge, London/New York.

Academic publications list  xv “Introduction in The Crusader World”, Routledge, London/New York, pp. 1–4. “Domestic life in the Latin East”, in The Crusader World, Routledge, London/New York, pp. 544–567. “The Streets of Frankish Acre”, in Crusader Landscapes in the Medieval Levant. The Archaeology and History of the Latin East, ed. Micaela Sinibaldi, Kevin J. Lewis, Balázs Major and Jennifer A. Thompson, Cardiff, pp. 21–38. 2017 Crusader Archaeology: The Material Culture of the Latin East, Routledge, Second Edition, London/New York. with Rabei G. Khamisy, Montfort. History, Early Research and Recent Studies of the Principal Teutonic Fortress in the Latin East, Leiden and Boston. “Introduction”, in Montfort History, Early Research and Recent Studies of the Principal Teutonic Fortress in the Latin East, eds. Adrian J. Boas and Rabei Khamisy, Leiden and Boston, pp. 1–12. “Archaeological Evidence for the Mamluk Sieges and Dismantling of Montfort: A Preliminary Discussion”, in Montfort History, Early Research and Recent Studies of the Principal Teutonic Fortress in the Latin East, eds. Adrian J. Boas and Rabei Khamisy, Leiden and Boston, pp. 41–55. “The Survey of Western Palestine Report on Montfort (1877)”, in Montfort History, Early Research and Recent Studies of the Principal Teutonic Fortress in the Latin East, eds. Adrian J. Boas and Rabei Khamisy, Leiden and Boston, pp. 73–74. “The Metropolitan Museum of Art Expedition to Montfort (1926)”, in Montfort History, Early Research and Recent Studies of the Principal Teutonic Fortress in the Latin East, eds. Adrian J. Boas and Rabei Khamisy, Leiden and Boston, pp. 75–92. with Rabei Khamisy, “Initial Thoughts on the Architectural Development of Montfort Castle”, in Montfort History, Early Research and Recent Studies of the Principal Teutonic Fortress in the Latin East, eds. Adrian J. Boas and Rabei Khamisy, Leiden and Boston, pp. 95–101. “Interpretation of Parts”, in Montfort History, Early Research and Recent Studies of the Principal Teutonic Fortress in the Latin East, eds. Adrian J. Boas and Rabei Khamisy, Leiden and Boston, pp. 102–119. “Introduction to the Finds”, in Montfort History, Early Research and Recent Studies of the Principal Teutonic Fortress in the Latin East, eds. Adrian J. Boas and Rabei Khamisy, Leiden and Boston, pp. 160–162. “Ceramic Finds”, in Montfort History, Early Research and Recent Studies of the Principal Teutonic Fortress in the Latin East, eds. Adrian J. Boas and Rabei Khamisy, Leiden and Boston, pp. 163–167. “Stone, Metal, Wood and Worked Bone Finds from the 1926 Expedition”, in Montfort History, Early Research and Recent Studies of the Principal Teutonic Fortress in the Latin East, eds. Adrian J. Boas and Rabei Khamisy, Leiden and Boston, pp. 195–220.

xvi  Academic publications list “The Montfort Castle Project (MCP): A Summary of the Surveys and the First Six Excavation Seasons (2011–2015)”, in Montfort History, Early Research and Recent Studies of the Principal Teutonic Fortress in the Latin East, eds. Adrian J. Boas and Rabei Khamisy, Leiden and Boston, pp. 227–241. “Two Board Games and Some Graffiti from Montfort”, in Montfort History, Early Research and Recent Studies of the Principal Teutonic Fortress in the Latin East, eds. Adrian J. Boas and Rabei Khamisy, Leiden and Boston, pp. 287–288. “Summary and Conclusions”, in Montfort History, Early Research and Recent Studies of the Principal Teutonic Fortress in the Latin East, eds. Adrian J. Boas and Rabei Khamisy, Leiden and Boston, pp. 302–303. “Evidence for Daily Life in Montfort Castle in the Light of Past and Recent Archaeological Exploration”, in W służbie zabytków, Malbourk, pp. 257–270. 2018 “Some Evidence for Poverty in the Latin East”, in Communicating the Middle Ages. Essays in Honour of Sophia Menache, Crusades Subsidia 11, eds. Iris Shagrir, Benjamin Z. Kedar and Michel Balard, Abington, pp. 141–156. “New Evidence for Identifying the Site of the Teutonic Compound in Acre”, in Acre and Its Falls, ed. John France, Leiden and Boston, pp. 69–89. “Return to the Holy City: Historical and Archaeological Sources on the Frankish Presence in Jerusalem between 1229 and 1244” in Tell it in Gath. Studies in the History and Archaeology of Israel. Essays in Honor of Aren M. Maeir on the Occasion of his Sixtieth Birthday, Ägypten und altes Testament 90, eds. Itzhaq Shai, Jeffrey R. Chadwick, Louise Hitchcock, Amit Dagan, Chris McKinny and Joe Uziel, Münster, pp. 1028–1050. with Meir Edrei, Inbal Somet “Khirbat A-Ram and the Agricultural Possessions of the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem”, in Innovations in the Archaeology of Jerusalem and its Surroundings, vol. 12, eds. Joseph (Joe) Uziel, Yuval Gadot, Yechiel Zelinger, Orit Peleg-Barkat and Oren Gutfeld, Jerusalem (Hebrew), pp. 240–52. “Medieval Ceramics”, in Tel Anafa II, iii, eds. Andea Berlin and Sharon C. Herbert, Ann Arbor, MI, pp. 359–65. 2019 “The Crusader Period”, in Routledge Handbook on Jerusalem, eds. Suleiman A. Mourad, Naomi Koltun-Fromm and Bedross Der Matossian, Abingdon and New York, pp. 90–101. “Life in Montfort in the Light of Archaeological Excavations (1926 and 2011– 2014)”, Quellen und Studien zur Geschichte des Deutschen Ordens 81, Das Leben im Ordenshaus, pp. 21–27. 2020 La caída de Jerusalén (1187), in Desperata Ferro 58, pp. 6–11.

Academic publications list  xvii 2021 with Rabei G. Khamisy, “The Two Sieges and the Conquest of Montfort”, in Crusading and Archaeology. Some Archaeological Approaches to the Crusades, Crusades Subsidia 14, eds. Vardit Shotten-Hallel and Rosie Weetch, London and New York, pp. 22–36. with Joppe Gosker and Rabei G. Khamisy, “The Projectile Points from the Teutonic Castle of Montfort” in New Studies in the Archaeology of Northern Israel, eds. Karen Covello-Paran Adi Erlich and Ron Beeri, Jerusalem, pp. 63–76. The Sulphur Priest (a novel), Wheatmark, Arizona. “Acre. Gateway to the Holy Land” in Akkon – Venedig – Marienburg Mobilität und Immobilität im Deutschen Orden, Conference Proceedings, ed. Hubert Houben, Venice 2018, pp. 1–15 2022 The Crusades Uncovered. ARC Humanities Press. Forthcoming “Five Military Orders in Thirteenth Century Acre”, Lisbon. “The Acclimatisation of the Frankish Population to Life in the Latin East: Some Examples from Daily Life”, Poitiers. “Banias – Pan Sanctuary: The Medieval Pottery” in Zvi U. Ma‘oz, ed., Paneion I, Excavations at the Sanctuary of Pan in Caesarea Philippi (Banyas) 1988–1993, Jerusalem. “Archaeological Evidence for Monastic Life in the Latin East”, chapter in a monograph on Past Excavations at the Carmelite Monastery in Wadi Siah, IAA Reports. “Rethinking Montfort. Some Thoughts and Reassessments on the Architectural Evolution of the Castle after a Decade and a Half of Research”, in Da Aquisgrana ad Acri. Scavalcare i confininel Medioevo, volume in honour of Hubert Houben. “Archaeology in the Levant: Settlement and Material Culture”, in Cambridge History of the Crusades. “Castles” in New Oxford Illustrated History of the Crusades. Review article of Bridge of Civilizations. The Near East and Europe c. 1100–1300, eds. Peter Edbury, Denys Pringle and Balázs Major Oxford, 2019, in Crusades. Co-editor of Routledge Handbook of the Material Culture of the Crusader States. Chapters authored in Routledge Handbook of the Material Culture of the Crusader States. Routledge – Frankish Vernacular Architecture, Exchange, Gifts, Plunder and Trade, Preservation of the Frankish Past in Place Names, The Franks’ Engagement with Ancient Ruins, and Overall Conclusion. A Gentle Empire (a novel).

Acknowledgments

The editors would like to thank Christoph T. Maier, Series Editor of Crusades Subsidia, Michael Greenwood and Louis Nicholson-Pallett at Routledge. A special word of thanks goes to the board members – Sophia Menache, Benjamin Z. Kedar, Denys Pringle and Peter Edbury – for their assistance and careful reading of the manuscripts.

Contributors

Omar Abed Rabo is an Associate Professor of Islamic History, Archeology, Cultural Heritage, and Jerusalem Studies. He received his Ph.D. in Fatimid history and archeology of Jerusalem from the Hebrew University of Jerusalem in 2012. He has been a faculty member at Bethlehem University since 2013. In 2014 Dr Abed Rabo completed post-doctoral studies at the Hebrew University’s Institute of Asian and African Studies in Archeology Islamic history. Since 2020 Dr Abed Rabo has been chair of the Humanities Department at Bethlehem University. Reuven Amitai is Eliyahu Elath Professor of the History of the Muslim Lands at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. He specializes in the history of the late medieval Middle East and nearby regions, and is particularly interested in the coming of the peoples of Eurasian Steppe provenance to the Muslim lands and the states that they established there. Both the Mamluk Sultanate of Egypt and Syria, and the Mongol Ilkhanate in Iran and the surrounding countries have been at the center of his research, and he has published extensively on the political, military, and social history of these two states, as well as the relations between them. In recent years, he has mainly devoted himself to the history of Palestine in the post-Crusading, i.e. the Ayyubids and Mamluks. He served as Dean of the Faculty of Humanities at the Hebrew University from 2010–2014, and subsequently has chaired the University’s Library Authority (since 2017). Tomasz Borowski received his B.A. and M.A. in archaeology at Durham University (UK) and was awarded his Ph.D. at the University of Reading (UK). His research focuses on the material culture, inter-faith relations and links between religion and identity in the multi-cultural societies inhabiting Crusader states in the Levant and Baltic regions. He is an author of a monograph about cities, castles and monasteries of medieval Livonia (published in Polish) as well as several articles, one of which, focusing on the cult of relics and the military orders, was published in 2017 in Speculum. He received several scholarships, including a doctoral fellowship from the Arts and Humanities Research Council (2011–2016) and a post-doc at the University of Haifa (2019–2020). He presented his research in conferences in Europe as well as America and the Middle East, and participated in archaeological excavations in the Baltic region, Sudan and the Levant. He currently works as the curator of the medieval gallery in the Polish History Museum, Warsaw.

xx Contributors Nicholas Coureas works as a Senior Researcher at the Cyprus Research Centre in Nicosia on the history of Lusignan Cyprus (1191–1473). He has published various articles and books on this subject. He has recently completed a book entitled The Burgesses of Lusignan Cyprus 1192–1474, to be published in 2020 by the Cyprus Research Centre. Peter Edbury is Emeritus Professor of Medieval History, Cardiff University. A specialist on the history of Lusignan Cyprus and Latin Syria, he has re-edited the legal treatises by John of Ibelin and Philip of Novara and, in conjunction with Massimiliano Gaggero, is completing a new edition of the Old French Continuations of William of Tyre and the Chronique d’Ernoul. Susan B. Edgington is an Honorary Senior Research Fellow at Queen Mary University of London. Her research is primarily on the earlier Crusades, and most especially the edition and translation of Latin texts. John France completed his bachelor and doctoral degrees at the University of Nottingham. He was appointed to the History Department at Swansea University in 1966. In 2011–2012 John served as Charles Boal Ewing Visiting Chair at the United States Military Academy, West Point in the academic year 2011–2012. He is a medievalist specializing in Crusading and military history. He is presently one of the editors of the Journal of Medieval Military History and acts in the same capacity for Brill in their series Warfare in History. His main published works are Victory in the East: A Military History of the First Crusade (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994); Western Warfare in the Age of the Crusades 1000–1300 (London: UCL Press, January 1999); The Crusades and the Expansion of Catholic Christendom 1000–1714 (London: Routledge, 2005) and Perilous Glory: Understanding Western Warfare (bc 3000–Gulf Wars) (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2011). John has appeared on television talking about the Crusades and the medieval world. He was a City Councilor in Swansea for ten years and has stood for parliament. For the last ten years he has acted as a tour leader for Far Horizons, taking groups to Cyprus, Malta, Turkey, Syria, Jordan, Israel and Greece. Yehoshua Frenkel, University of Haifa, research interests embrace popular culture, Islamic etiquette, communal practices, social history and legal discourse in Middle and Late Caliphate Egypt and Syria (1055–1517). His recent publications include: “Slavery in 17th-Century Ottoman Jerusalem in light of Several Sharia Court Records”, in Stephan Conermann & Gül Şen (eds.), Slaves and Slave Agency in the Ottoman Empire (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht/Bonn University Press, 2020), 237–282; “Mamluk Soundscape”, in Bethany J. Walker and Abdelkader Al Ghouz (eds.), History and Society during the Mamluk Period (1250–1517) (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht and Bonn University Press 2021), 127–162; “A Concise History of Islamic Egypt”, in Miriam Frenkel (ed.), The Jews in Medieval Egypt (Boston: Academic Studies Press, 2021), 22–46.

Contributors  xxi Yvonne Friedman is Professor of General History and Land of Israel Studies at BarIlan University (retired). Her research foci included inter-religious contacts and twelfth- and thirteenth-century Muslim–Crusader peace processes in the Levant. Her book Encounter between Enemies: Captivity and Ransom in the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem (2002) treated medieval ransom in the Middle East, and a volume of essays under her editorship, Religion and Peace: Historical Aspects, was published by Routledge in 2018, as well as numerous articles on peacemaking in the Latin East. Her book Interludes of Peace will be published by Routledge. The article connects two fields of interest, captives and peacemaking. Michael S. Fulton is an Assistant Professor at the University of Western Ontario. His research relates to the history and archaeology of conflict during the period of the Crusades. He is the author of Artillery in the Era of the Crusades (2018) and Siege Warfare during the Crusades (2019). Much of his current research relates to the contest for power in Egypt during the 1160s and 1170s, and the broader significance of the Transjordan region between the twelfth and fourteenth centuries. Hubert Houben is Prof. for Medieval History at the University of Salento, Lecce (Italy). He received his Ph.D. from the University of Freiburg in 1978 and has lived since 1980 in Lecce, where he arrived as a research fellow of the Alexander von Humboldt-Foundation (Bonn). In 1992 he was appointed Associate Prof. in Bologna and since 1994 in Lecce, where he became full Prof. in 2001. Since 2007 Dr Houben has been President of the Centro interdipartimentale di ricerca sull’Ordine Teutonico nel Mediterraneo (Lecce), and since 2016 he has also been President of the International Commission for the Research of the History of the Teutonic Order at Vienna. Since 2017 he has been a member of the Accademia Nazionale dei Lincei at Rome. In 2021 he was awarded the Humboldt Research Award. Dr Houben is currently engaged in a study of the Ottoman occupation of Otranto (1480–1481). Among his books are Roger II: A ruler between East and West (Cambridge 2002) (1997 in German, 1999 in Italian) and Kaiser Friedrich II. (1194–1250): Herrscher, Mensch und Mythos (Stuttgart 2008) (in Italian Bologna 2009, 2nd ed. 2013). Rabei G. Khamisy is a senior lecturer at the Department of Archaeology in Haifa, and a member of the Zinman Institute of Archaeology. His researches deal with several fields; Frankish period archaeology and history, and Ayyubid/Mamluk documentation. In addition, he is publishing articles dealing with late Ottoman period history and anthropology. His current field work includes major excavations in Frankish sites, including Montfort castle (funded by the ISF) and Castellum Regis in the village of Mi’ilya. The later is a unique project of excavations, preservation, and tourisim, established and managed by Khamisy. The last publications includes two articles about the 1202 earthquake (Levant 2018 and 2021), an article about Frankish viticulture (PEQ 2020), an article about the Druze community in Daliyat al-Karmil (MES 2021), an article about

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Contributors

mangonels (Crusades 2021), an article about the Crusader village of al-Ram (ZDPV 2021) and an article about the Crusader tower of Dor (Levant 2021). Yaacov Lev is Professor Emeritus of medieval Islamic history at Bar Ilan University. His most recent publication is The Administration of Justice in Medieval Egypt. From the Seventh to the Twelfth Century (Edinburgh, 2020). Rafael (Rafi) Y. Lewis is a field archaeologist and a researcher specialising in landscape archaeology and archaeology of the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem. Lewis is a senior lecturer at Ashkelon Academic College and a researcher at the Zinman Institute of the University of Haifa. He directs several projects, such as the Landscapes of the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem Project and the Shephela Project: Investigating Cupmarks, Box-fields and Chalcolithic Hamlets, and codirects several projects, including the Mount Zion Excavations Project and the Landscape of Hattin Project. He recently published on Crusader encampments, thirteenth-century sword pommels, and medieval Beth She’arim and Ascalon. Sophia Menache is a well-known medievalist, whose books and articles cover different aspects of medieval history, such as the Catholic Church and the Papacy, The Jews’ expulsions, The kingdoms of France and England, communication, stereotypes and propaganda and attitudes to dogs. In the field of the Crusades, she focused on the Military Orders and the different aspects of communication challenges between Christendom and Outremer. Denys Pringle is Emeritus Professor in the School of History, Archaeology and Religion at Cardiff University. In addition to his four-volume corpus, The Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem (1993–2009), his recent publications include a detailed study of the town walls of Byzantine, early Islamic and Crusader Ascalon published in Ashkelon 8: The Islamic and Crusader Periods (2019), a series of editions of twelfth- and thirteenth-century Latin and French guides and itineraries to the Holy Land published in the journal Crusades (2018–2022), and translations of the twelfth-century pilgrimage accounts of Saewulf, John of Würzburg and Theoderic for the series Corpus Christianorum in Translation (in press). Vardit R. Shotten-Hallel is a Researcher at the Israel Antiquities Authority. Her research focuses on medieval architecture, building archaeology, and construction technology. She is the founder and director of the ‘Atlit Castle Research Project and co-editor of Crusading and Archaeology (Routledge, 2020) and Settlement and Crusade in the Thirteenth Century (Routledge, 2022).

Crusades Subsidia

Exploring Outremer Volume I: Studies in Medieval History in Honour of Adrian J. Boas Exploring Outremer Volume II: Studies in Crusader Archaeology in Honour of Asdrian J. Boas

Introduction by the editors Rabei G. Khamisy, Rafael Y. Lewis and Vardit R. Shotten-Hallel

VERBA SAPIENTIUM AUDIUNTUR IN SILENTIO The words of the wise are heard in peace and quiet.1

Many of us who have come to know Professor Adrian J. Boas in the past decades admire both his way of work, which has always been of outstanding quality, and his kindness and pleasant approach. A true scholar and archaeologist, who has contributed widely and extensively to both the study and teaching of the Middle Ages. Adrian J. Boas sets an example of dedication and a multidisciplinary approach to the study of Crusaderperiod archaeology and the history of the Franks in the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem. Reflecting on Adrian’s academic career, it is clear that he embodies a ‘multidisciplinary approach’ in both his private life and in academia. In 1969, at the age of 16, Adrian arrived in Israel. Having left Melbourne, Australia, before graduation, he did not have the opportunity to complete high school. After three years of military service Adrian lived for two years in London, studying art, and subsequently spent a year in Rome, before returning to Israel in 1978 to marry Yochi. Their three sons mark different stages in Adrian’s unusual academic career: Yoni was born in 1980 before Adrian began his B.A. studies; Amir, in 1984, the year in which Adrian started his path in academia; and Daniel, in 1994, during Adrian’s Ph.D. studies. In 1984, at the age of 32 and following a brief career employed as a graphic artist, Adrian was able to fulfil his long-held desire to begin academic studies at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem Department of General History, his initial interest being modern European history. He chose archaeology as his second field of study, attracted to it as a tangible form of historical study. To quote Adrian: I have always accepted that archaeology is a discipline in its own right, due to its varied and complex methodology, but equally I see it as one so closely bound to historical study and with precisely the same aim as the study of written sources – to expose the human past – that I have never felt entirely comfortable with the label “archaeologist”.

1  Verba sapientium audiuntur in silentio, plus quam clamor principis inter stultos. Ecclesiastes 9:17.

DOI: 10.4324/9781003146957-1

2  Rabei G. Khamisy, Rafael Y. Lewis and Vardit R. Shotten-Hallel In the early years of his career, Adrian’s experience as a graphic designer facilitated him in financing his way in academic studies, now through the drawing of field plans and sections, ceramics and other finds from numerous archaeological excavations. He also found employment in the Israel Antiquities Authority, which enabled him to participate in a number of archaeological excavations and surveys and to observe at close hand the lab work involved in archaeological study. From the onset of his studies, an interest in medieval history, and in particular in the Crusader period, evolved, its origins going back to childhood reading but now vastly enhanced by attending the fascinating lectures of a great Crusader historian, Professor Joshua Prawer, a founding force in Crusader studies and in the history of the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem and also a scholar with a great interest in archaeological sites. It was largely Prawer’s remarkable ability to breathe life into the period, his wealth of knowledge, humour and captivating anecdotes, that led Adrian to choose the Crusader period for his future studies. Aware of the need for an archaeologist specialising in the Crusader period, on the advice of Prawer, Adrian began his master’s degree as a student of renown historian Professor Benjamin Z. Kedar and an expert in archaeometry (the scientific study of the provenience of ceramics), Professor Joseph Yellin. Material culture, and particularly pottery, was how Adrian chose to hold history in his own hands. The choice of pottery came with the understanding that to be able to effectively carry out archaeological research at Crusader-period sites, a strong knowledge of contemporary ceramics was essential. At the time there were no Israeli archaeologists specialising in Crusader archaeology and no formal courses on Crusader archaeology in Israeli academic institutes. Fortunately, the British scholar Professor Denys Pringle had been extensively publishing finds from several important sites in Israel; a close colleague, Ronnie Ellenblum, was active in fieldwork; and a small but growing number of important Crusader-period sites were going under the spade (including the cities of Acre, Caesarea, sites in and around Jerusalem, Bethgibelin and Vadim Iacob). Adrian’s M.A. studies included a Neutron Activation Analysis of Crusader-period imported ceramics, the first study of its type carried out on medieval ceramics. After completion in 1991 he sought a new, but no less important, direction for his Ph.D. studies. The choice fell on another entirely neglected field – Frankish domestic architecture, which he carried out once again under the exceptional supervision of Professor Kedar as well as the classical archaeologist, Professor Yoram Tsafrir. On the advice of Professor Kedar, the study would follow a project commenced by the late Professor Robert S. Lopez, who had gathered a body of textual material relating to medieval domestic architecture. This study was completed in 1997 and expanded upon when Adrian was a post-doctoral researcher, as a Lady Davis scholar at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. It was eventually published in his 2010 book Domestic Settings (Brill). Following completion of his Ph.D. Adrian immediately set out to write his first book on Crusader archaeology, Crusader Archaeology. The Material Culture of the Latin East (Routledge, 1999), a pioneering book on the subject, a second edition of which was published in 2017 (a third is due in 2023). His first excavation was at the ancient site of Tell Dor (Cr. Merle), where he spent three years, eventually in the role of area director; and his first independent excavation

Introduction by the editors  3 was at the small Crusader fortified tower at Beth Shean (Cr. Bessan). This was followed by excavations and surveys in and near Jerusalem, Caesarea, the fortresses of Blanchegarde and Vadum Iacov, and an excavation of the University of Haifa and the Deutcher Orden that discovered the long-lost Teutonic quarter in Acre. This connection subsequently led to his highly recognised project at Montfort Castle. The University of Haifa Montfort Castle Project (MCP) began in 2006 with a generous grant from the Israel Academy of Science (ISF), has since become one of the most exciting excavations of a Frankish stronghold in the Latin East. The numerous finds are constantly brought to light in a series of scientific publications that, like all of Adrian’s books, are received with great appreciation by the academic community and, exceptionally, also by the general public. Following a long series of books and several edited volumes, Adrian’s list of publications has now taken a somewhat different direction with the publication of his latest book, a novel entitled The Sulphur Priest (Wheatmark, Arizona, 2021). Adrian’s main contributions since his publication of Crusader Archaeology (Routledge, London/New York, 1999, 2nd ed. 2017); Jerusalem in the Time of the Crusades (Routledge, London/New York, 2001); Archaeology of the Military Orders (Routledge, London/New York, 2006); Domestic Settings (Brill, Leiden and Boston 2010) based on his Ph.D. dissertation and the edited volume The Crusader World (Routledge, London/New York, 2016); and the highly prestigious publication, first in a new series, Montfort (Brill, 2017, winner of the 2017 Verbruggen Prize). Until recently (2016–2021), Professor Boas served as President of the Society for the Study of the Crusades and the Latin East (SSCLE), where he had served as an assistant secretary (from 2009) and from 2013 also as secretary to the then president of the SSCLE (until 2016). An artist, a novelist and a poet, and for the last four years also a popular blogger (a blog that has produced a now in-press volume of short essays on Crusaderrelated topics), Adrian’s research encompasses the archaeology of the Latin East, material culture, architecture and medieval art, historiography and, not least, the Crusades and the Latin East and the military orders, with particular emphasis on the Teutonic Order. Throughout the years, Adrian’s two major fields of research – history and archaeology – have proven to be indispensable to one another. It was only to be expected that our call for contributions to this festschrift would meet with an enthusiastic response. Indeed, it is due to the large number of articles received from so many scholars who have dedicated their studies in honour of Adrian’s work, that these two subjects – history and archaeology – are being published in separate volumes. The first volume is dedicated to studies in medieval history and the second to studies in Crusader-period archaeology. We, as Adrian’s former students at various stages of our academic lives, are grateful for the opportunity to present Adrian with your contributions. We wish to thank all of you who responded so warmly to the invitation to contribute to this festschrift, and greatly appreciate you all for your friendship as much as for your original articles. We are deeply grateful to Christoph Maier and Michael Greenwood for their patience during the editorial/publishing process and to our board members – Sophia Menache, Benjamin Z. Kedar, Denys Pringle and Peter Edbury – for their guidance and support.

1

Understanding the Crusades The contribution of correspondence Sophia Menache

In previous studies, I investigated the communication challenges experienced in medieval Christendom throughout the Crusade Period.1 This chapter focuses on correspondence, one of the main networks available to the Crusaders. I propose a new reading of Crusade correspondence combining written and oral messages, that is, letters and the oral messages transmitted with them. The combination of letters and oral messages offers, indeed, a more comprehensive perspective on the transmission and reception of messages in the Early Crusader Period. The chronological framework of this study begins at the first stages of the Crusaders Outremer (1098) and continues up to the aftermath of the Battle of Hattin and the beginning of the Third Crusade (1190). The peculiar features of communication in the early Crusader Period determine the terminus ad quem, particularly in light of the communication changes characterizing the thirteenth century, the subject of another study. The database of the Revised Version of Röhricht’s Regesta Regni Hierosolymitani [hereafter RRR] has provided an invaluable research tool,2 complemented by English translations of relevant letters from the collection published by Malcolm Barber and Keith Bate.3 The RRR comprises 191 letters in the period under consideration. They reflect, inter alia, the authors’ opinions and feelings, the extent of interest of both Christendom and the Latin East in each other, and the chroniclers’ awareness of the relevance of correspondence as a historical source. Naturally, it would be risky to assert that our data represents the complete documentation, since additional   1 Sophia Menache, The Vox Dei: Communication in the Middle Ages (New York: Oxford University Press, 1990), 98–123; ead., “The Crusades and Their Impact on the Development of Medieval Communication,” in Kommunikation zwischen Orient und Okzident: Alltag und Sachkultur, Veröffentlichungen des Instituts für Realienkunde des Mittelalters und der frühen Neuzeit, Internationaler Kongress Krems an der Donau (6. bis 9. Oktober, 1992), ed. Harry Kühnel, vol. 17 (Wien: Verlag der österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1994), 69–90; ead., “The Communication Challenge of the Early Crusades, 1099–1187,” in Autour de la première croisade, ed. Michel Balard (Paris: Presses universitaires de France, 1996), 293–314; ead., “The Challenges of Medieval Communication: The Military Orders,” Annales Turonensia 24 (2020), 9–32.   2 http://crusades-regesta.com, eds. Jonathan Riley Smith, Benjamin Zeev Kedar, Peter Edbury et al.   3 Malcolm Barber and Keith Bate, Letters from the East: Crusaders, Pilgrims and Settlers in the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries (London: Routledge, 2016) [hereafter Baber and Bate].

DOI: 10.4324/9781003146957-2

Understanding the Crusades  5 records could be discovered, a possibility taken into consideration by the RRR editors. Still, the very existence of 191 letters written throughout the twelfth century confirms the unique status of the Latin Kingdom and the considerable interest it aroused in Christendom. The main questions addressed next relate to four main areas, namely: •

Crusade correspondence and its nature: schedule, messengers, oral transmission of news, and the interaction between written and oral messages. • Writers and their addressees: categorized according to wide social groups, such as ecclesiastical dignitaries, members of the Military Orders, secular princes, merchants, and representatives of the Italian city-states while differentiating between those writing from or to the Latin East. • Subject matters: mainly political/military news and calls for assistance, ecclesiastical issues, and exchange of vows, relics, and their trade. • Reference to correspondence in twelfth-century narrative sources, either Latin or Muslim. Referencing to all the letters would be rather tedious, thus particular letters are quoted only in exceptional cases. The same goes for the source collections with the complete text. The RRR number of each letter appears in the endnotes, thus facilitating the identification of particular writers and their addressees, the matters they cover, and the complete version of each letter.

Medieval correspondence St. Ambrose, writing in the fourth century, claimed, “The epistolary genre was devised in order that someone may speak to us when we are absent.”4 This approach determined much of the value ascribed to correspondence in the Crusade Period, when the Mediterranean separated between the two main sectors of medieval Christendom. The eleventh and twelfth centuries are considered the “golden age” of medieval epistolography,5 with letters becoming “the primary medium of medieval communication, administration, and propaganda.”6 Indeed, the artes dictaminis, together with Roman and Canon Law, public speaking, and preaching, became subjects of study for anyone aspiring to ecclesiastical or governmental careers.7

  4 Epistola 66, P.L. xvi: 1225. Sister Charles, S.N.D., “The Classical Latin Quotations in the Letters of St. Ambrose,” Grece and Rome 15 (1968), 186–197.   5 Giles Constable, Letters and Letters Collections, Typologie des sources du moyen âge occidental, ed. L. Genicot, vol. 17 (Turnhout: Brepols, 1976), 31; Luella M. Wolff, “A Brief History of the Art of Dictamen: The Medieval Origins of Business Letter Writing,” International Journal of Business Communication 16 (1973), 3–11.   6 William Patt, “The Early ‘Ars Dictaminis’ as a Response to a Changing Society,” Viator 9 (1978), 133–56, at 135.   7 Giles Constable, “Dictators and Diplomats in the Eleventh and Twelfth Centuries: Medieval Epistolography and the Birth of Modern Bureaucracy,” Dumbarton Oaks Papers 46 (1992), 38.

6  Sophia Menache The different sections of letters were authoritatively established in a logical sequence, which comprised the salutatio, followed by the exordium, consisting of some commonplace generality, a proverb, or a scriptural quotation. Next was the narratio, which included the particular purpose of the letter; the petitio, based on the two formers, and the final phrases or conclusio.8 This rigid structure was not accidental. Many letters were quasi-public documents, written to be collected or publicized, and intended to be read by more than one person. Thus, Anselm of Ribemont, in the conclusion of his letter to Manasses, Archbishop of Reims (July 1098), expresses his hopes: “We ask in the Lord Jesus that all who receive this letter will intercede with God for us and our dead” (emphasis mine).9 Furthermore, letters were expected to be correct and elegant rather than original and spontaneous, and they therefore often adhered to practices and contents exemplified in model letters.10 Still, Alberic of Monte Cassino (d. 1088) defines letters as “a suitable arrangement of discourses (sermones) established to express the intention of the sender,”11 thus allowing some space for individual expressions of feelings or intentions. Crusade letters share many of the distinctive features of medieval correspondence. The geopolitical circumstances and the growing awareness of the limitations posed by time and space, however, created additional features that require further analysis.

Schedule, carriers, and particular characteristics of Crusade correspondence Absence of specific references to chronology, particularly the schedule gap between transmission and reception, constitutes a central methodological obstacle in the investigation of Crusade correspondence. With the exception of papal letters, most contemporaries do not specifically mention the date of writing. The editors of RRR eventually suggest some chronological framework, which occasionally involves too broad periods.12 In the exceptional cases for which chronological data is available, it is possible to trace the timeline of twelfth-century Crusade correspondence: Patriarch Daibert of Jerusalem, for example, refers in early February 1100 to the prior letter of Henry of Castella and John Michael, written to his predecessor approximately three months earlier, in November 1099.13 News of the Templar Master Gerard of Ridefort’s death on 8 October 1189 reached Rome by 11 January 1190.14

  8 Patt, “The Early ‘Ars Dictaminis’,” 133–155.  9 Epistulae et chartae ad historiam primi belli sacri spectantes. Die Kreuzzugsbriefe aus den Jahren 1088–1100, ed. H. Hagenmeyer (Innsbruck: Carl Winters Universitätsbuchhandlung, 1901), XV, 156–160. Trans. Barber and Bate, 30. 10 Menache, The Vox Dei, 16–17. 11 L. Rockinger, Briefsteller und Formelbücher des eilften bis vierzehnten Jahrhunderts (Munich, 1863–64; repr. New York: Burt Franklin, 1961), 10. 12 See, for instance, RRR 477, 546–547 (ten years), 427 (twelve years), 599 (26 years). 13 RRR 22, 18. 14 RRR 1269.

Understanding the Crusades  7 Similarly, the Temple preceptor’s report on the Christian losses at Hattin (August 1187) inspired Gregory VIII’s encyclical Audita tremendi, dated 24 October 1187, and a lost letter of Clement III the following year.15 It is reasonable to conclude that it took between two and three months, at least, for the Crusaders to receive some response from Christendom. Sometimes the delay was much longer. The sealed letter of Patriarch Evremar of Jerusalem (3 April 1104) reached Lambert, Bishop of Arras, only by 17 November of that year.16 Pope Alexander III urged the prelates and Christian rulers to help the Templars (on 22 February and, again, on 12 April 1180), following their requests dated 29 August 1179; that is, between six and eight months earlier.17 King Louis VII refers to the Bishop of Nablus’s appeal for contributions from earlier that year in his letter dated 28 August 1170.18 Such a lapse of several months often became critical for the Crusaders’ survival in a hostile environment. Figure I.1.1 shows the Crusade letters’ dates according to decades, thus allowing some evaluation of the intensity of Crusade correspondence from and to the Latin East.

Figure. I.1.1 

15 RRR 1233. 16 RRR 73. 17 RRR1044. 18 RRR 853.

8  Sophia Menache Analysis of Crusade correspondence requires additional clarifications. The Crusaders, and especially their leaders, needed to balance the very few and defective communication channels available to them with the imperative to receive continuous and urgent support from Europe. They thus became the main promoters of smoother communication channels. Regular mail services, like those operating in the neighboring Muslim states and Byzantium, however, remained completely alien to the Crusader world.19 On the other hand, the Crusaders gradually embraced the Muslim practice of carrier pigeons, although the birds were always exposed to falcons or hawks that could thwart their mission. Still, carrier pigeons proved to be effective across distances of up to 1,000 miles, traveling at speeds that considerably exceeded those of mounted messengers at the time – up to 70 miles per hour.20 Although letter exchange across short distances – between Byzantium, Antioch, Jerusalem, and Acre – was relatively efficient, it encountered many difficulties between the Crusader Kingdom and Western Christendom.21 Indeed, the maritime journey between Europe and the Latin East was relatively short, from 15 to 25 days with favorable winds, but only during specific seasons, from late March to late October.22 Hostile conditions, the danger of letters being stolen, as well as the many accidents that could hinder letters’ transmission, led to the parallel use of multiple messengers,23 with the risk of repetition, a possibility mentioned in the letter of Count Stephen to his wife: Count Stephen to Countess Adela, dearest friend and wife, the best and most pleasing greetings your mind can imagine. Be it known, my love, that I am enjoying a marvellous journey to Romania in all honour and good health. I took care to send you by letter from Constantinople an account of my life on pilgrimage, but just in case the messenger has suffered some accident, I am rewriting the letter to you. (emphasis mine)24 19 Adam J. Silverstein, Postal Systems in the Pre-Islamic World (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007); Id., Revue des mondes musulmans et de la Mediterranée 127 (2010), 77–88; Camilia Martha MacKay, The Road Networks and Postal Service in the Eastern Roman and Byzantine Empires (First-Fifteenth Centuries), PhD Dissertation (University of Michigan, 1999), passim. 20 Susan B. Edgington, “The Doves of War: The Part Played by Carrier Pigeons in the Crusades,” in Autour de la première croisade, 167–175. 21 Hans Eberhard Mayer, “Latins, Muslims and Greeks in the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem,” History 63 (1978), 175–192; Jonathan Rubin, Learning in a Crusader City: Intellectual Activity and the Intercultural Exchanges in Acre, 1191–1291 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018), 15–46. 22 Michel Mollat, “Problèmes navales de l’histoire des croisades,” Cahiers de civilisation médiévale 10 (1967), 345–359; John Pryor, “Transportation of Horses by Sea During the Era of the Crusades: Eight Century to 1285 A.D.,” Mariner’s Mirror 68 (1982), 9–27 and 103–125; id., “A View from a Masthead: The First Crusade viewed from the Sea,” Crusades 7 (2008), 87–152. 23 In his letter to Master Hugh of the Temple (c. 1129), Prior Guigo of La Grande Chartreuse specifically mentions that he is sending copies of his letter by two separate messengers, RRR 281. 24 Epistulae et chartae ad historiam primi belli sacri spectantes. no. IV, pp. 138–140. Trans. Barber and Bate, 15. James A. Brundage, “An Errant Crusader: Stephen of Blois,” Traditio 16 (1960), 380–395. Though Parsons questioned the independent, quasi-eyewitness status of Stephen’s letters, he still recognized that “they are testament to a developing narrative of the crusade in the late eleventh or early twelfth centuries,” Simon Thomas Parsons, “The Letters of Stephen of Blois Reconsidered,” 3.

Understanding the Crusades  9 Worse still, writers and receivers were also aware that their letters might be falsified.25 The climate conditions posed additional challenges, leading to an inflexible schedule of missions and messengers. Patriarch Aimery of Antioch excuses his modest gift to Hugo Etherianus – Emperor Manuel Comnenus’s adviser on matters concerning Western Christendom – due to the immediate departure of his messengers.26 Several writers further underline the many perils experienced in their route eastward and, eventually, their joy upon safely arriving in the Holy Land.27 Such feelings of relief were not simple rhetoric, since divine help or the forces of nature were not always on the side of the milites Christi. In his letter to Henry, Archbishop of Reims, King Amalric refers to his continuous attempts to send a suitable delegation to Christendom (May 1169). Since the ship carrying the first delegation was wrecked, the king had to appoint a suitable new delegation. The Archbishop of Tyre, the Bishop of Banias, and the brothers of the Hospital thus replaced the members of the first mission, mainly, the Patriarch of Jerusalem, the Archbishop of Caesarea, the Bishop of Acre, and the brothers of the Hospital and the Temple.28 The high dignitaries selected in both missions hint at the king’s awareness of the importance of selecting the most reliable messengers, notwithstanding the many difficulties that plagued their mission. It can be argued that the careful selection of suitable delegates hints at Amalric’s reluctance to rely on written messages alone and the vital importance he ascribed to a more personal, direct interaction between his messengers and their addressees. One may further argue that reliance on oral communication is a common situation in diplomatic negotiations nowadays as well. The careful selection of messengers reflects a most important factor in message transmission between the Latin East and Christendom, combining written and oral practices. One may bear in mind, at this regard, that letters were also called sermones or orationes, because they were often delivered orally, as speeches, even to recipients who could understand and read Latin, monastic audiences among them29; legere and audire were indeed often used as synonyms.30 Along with their original duty as couriers, messengers thus orally transmitted pieces or even large amounts of information.31 Comprehending the interaction between written and oral

25 Giles Constable, “Forged Letters in the Middle Ages,” in Fälschungen im Mittelalter: Internationalem Kongress der Monumenta Germaniae Historica, München 16–19 1986 (Hannover: Hahnsche Buchhandlung, 1988), 11–37. See also the important collection published by Christian Hoegel and Elisabeta Bartoli, Medieval Letters: Between Fiction and Documents (Turnhout: Brepols, 2015), passim. 26 RRR 880. 27 RRR 18, 482, 486, 1148, 1286. 28 RRR 837. Patriarch Amalric of Jerusalem confirms the king’s report in his letter to the clergy and laity of Christendom, RRR 847. 29 Thomas L. Smith, “Scribal Crusading Three New Manuscripts Witnesses to the Regional Reception and Transmission of First Crusade Letters,” Traditio 72 (2017), 499. 30 Constable, “Dictators and Diplomats in the Eleventh and Twelfth Centuries,” 40. 31 RRR 708–709, 890, 927, 1260; Markus Stock, “Letter, Word, and Good Messengers: Towards an Archaeology of Remote Communication,” Interdisciplinary Science Review 37 (2012), 299–313.

10  Sophia Menache messages is thus crucial for understanding, inter alia, the aristocracy’s active involvement in Crusade correspondence, notwithstanding the low level of literacy attributed to the sociopolitical elite in the Middle Ages.32 The authors of Crusade correspondence were well aware of their messengers’ vital role in the success of their undertakings, and they used their letters to praise the many merits of their emissaries. In his letter to Catholic prelates and laymen in the German region (May or June 1100), Patriarch Daibert of Jerusalem formally declares: Dearest brothers in Christ, we would have written at length on the amazingly great miracles and countless blessings which the generous goodness of God frequently showered on the army of Jerusalem on its journey and in the capture of the holy city of Jerusalem, but the practiced eloquence of brother Arnulf, who was there to see and hear everything, will provide you with a full chronological account of events if you are kind enough to lend him an ear.33 Arnulf of Chocques was undoubtedly well qualified to fulfill his mission, being the former chaplain of Robert of Normandy, papal legate in the First Crusade, elected Patriarch of Jerusalem (1099, 1112–1115, 1116–1118), and eventually also Archdeacon (1099–1112) and Chancellor of the Kingdom (1099–1118).34 A considerable number of authors further emphasize the credibility of their messengers, while formally declaring their complete trust in them.35 The Master of the Temple, Bertrand of Blancfort, writing to King Louis VII (November 1164), declares: . . . Most serene king, the troubles in the two lands of Antioch and Jerusalem are too numerous to enumerate to you in writing, so we are sending your worthy excellency Brother Walter to bear this letter. He is honest and careful in God’s business, and has been involved in these events from the beginning to the end. He will divulge to your holiness our decision, and your highness can have total confidence in what he says, because it will be as though coming from our own mouth.36 Indeed, Walter II Brisebarre, Lord of Beirut (1156–1157- ca. 1166), and subsequently Lord of Transjordan (1166–1174) and Blanchegarde (1174–1179),37 was undoubtedly well suited to accomplish most delicate missions. Sometimes there are also moving references to common experiences shared by the messenger and his addressee, further justifying the deep trust between them.

32 See Figure I.1.2. 33 RRR 28. Trans. Barber and Bate, 37. 34 R. Foreville, “Un chief de la premiere croisade: Arnulf Malecouronne,” Bulletin philologique et historique du comité des travaux historiques et scientifiques, 1953–1954 (1955), 377–390. 35 RRR 28, 47, 81, 202, 252, 304, 357, 440, 718, 740, 798, 800, 836–837, 859, 889, 894–975, 1005, 1067, 1139, 1148, 1242, 1246–1247, 1254. 36 RRR 741. Trans. Barber and Bate, 60. 37 Hans Eberhard Mayer, “The Wheel of Fortune: Seigniorial Vicissitudes under Kings Fulk and Baldwin III of Jerusalem,” Speculum 65–64 (1990), 860–868.

Understanding the Crusades  11 Anselm, Archbishop of Canterbury, refers in his letter to Baldwin I to the close relations between his messenger and the king, which go back to childhood.38 Stephen of Tournai, Abbot of St. Genevieve, similarly reminds Eraclius, Bishop of Caesarea, of their common days as students in Bologna,39 while Ansell, cantor of the Holy Sepulcher, shares his touching memories of their diocese with the bishop and clergy of Paris: Although it is now twenty-four years since I left you and your church where I was nourished and educated, my love for you remains fervent and in my mind. I still live in your church with you. For, over the years, I have always held conversations with those who have come here from you, those that know you or are known to you, asking for details of you and your church, what you are doing, how you are keeping, particularly those of you I have seen and known. As long as I live, although far from you I shall always love you, and I often dream that I am chanting with you in your rituals and processions, your Feast Day Matins and offices.40 At other times, there are frightening descriptions of the messenger’s many sufferings in the service of Christ: But because the bearer of the letter suffered dangers with us, and in Christ’s name gave his strength and his blood, so that his mutilated, lacerated body has left him incapable of working and useless for combat, we ask every single pious person to consider his needs, so that by your generous alms and his work and our prayers, he may complete his journey to the community of martyrs.41 After commending their messengers, many writers often asked explicitly for some reply,42 a request that hints at the possibility that many letters remained unreciprocated. Furthermore, the careful selection of messengers from very narrow social groups became most difficult in times of crises. Geoffrey Fulcher, preceptor of the Temple, warned King Louis VII not to expect additional messengers from him, because the prolonged absence of the king and master that actually impedes sending additional probi homines to Christendom.43

38 RRR 59. 39 RRR 1067. 40 RRR 196, Trans. Barber and Bate, p. 39. G. Bautier, “L’envoi de la relique de Vraie Croix à NotreDame de Paris en 1120,” Bibliothèque de l’École des Chartes 129 (1971), 387–397. 41 RRR1016. Trans. Barber and Bate, 73. Since the letter was written in 1178, it probably hints at the battle of Mont Gisard (25 November 1177). One should note that the RRR identifies the author as Roger de Moulins, Master of the Hospital, while Barber and Bate attributed it to Brother Raymond. 42 RRR 54. 43 RRR 737.

12  Sophia Menache

The authors Reference to the authors of Crusade correspondence is risky at times, since some letters appear to be a product of collegial drafting, subsequently modified by anonymous authors during the long process of transmission.44 The following categorization thus follows the identification established by Röhrich and reproduced in the RRR. Ecclesiastical dignitaries, with the papacy at their head, appear at the forefront of correspondence to and from the Latin East, with more than 100 letters written by different sectors of the Catholic Church. This is not surprising in light of the high literacy level attributed to the ecclesiastical hierarchy during the Central Middle Ages.45 Indeed, twelfth-century popes developed an active correspondence with the Latin East.46 However, no clear connection has been found between the pontificate’s longevity and papal correspondence Outremer. Although six letters remain from both Paschal II (1099–1118) and Alexander III (1145–53), only one letter in the Crusade context remains from Innocent II (1130–43). The existence of antipopes, who challenged papal supremacy at the time,47 although sporadically mentioned, does not seem to have played a significant role in Crusade correspondence.48 A similar conclusion can be reached concerning the legates,49 who played a vital role in the consolidation of the papal monarchy in Christendom. Though the active involvement of Adhémar of Le Puy in the First Crusade50 was consistent with the communication channels developed by the Reformed Papacy, the names of only a few legates appear thereafter in Crusade correspondence.51 Other members of the ecclesiastical hierarchy played a more active role in Crusade correspondence, especially the patriarchs – with those of Jerusalem at the

44 Smith, “First Crusade Letters,” 488. 45 C. F. Briggs, “Literacy, Reading and Writing in the Medieval West,” Journal of Medieval History 26 (2000), 397–420; Laidulf Melve, “Literacy, Aurality-Orality: A Survey of Research into the Orality/Literacy Complex of the Latin Middle Ages (600)–1500),” Symbolae Osloenses 78 (2003), 143–197, see specially 176–180. 46 Paschal II, RRR 27, 61, 92, 112, 131, 138, Callixtus II 208, 224, Honorius II, 257–258, antipope Analect II, 286, Innocent II, 305, Celestine II, 440, Eugene III, 511, Alexander III 680, 787–788, 804, 876–877, 933, 1068, Urban III, 1179. 47 Mary Stroll, Popes and Antipopes: The Politics of Eleventh-Century Church Reform (Leiden: Brill, 2012), 243–248. 48 Benedict Wiedemann, “Super gentes et regna: Papal ‘Empire’ in the Later Eleventh and Twelfth Centuries,” Studies in Church History 54 (2018), 109–122. 49 See, Kriston R. Rennie, The Foundations of Medieval Papal Legation (New York: Springer, 2013), 65–86, 154–169; Harald Müller, “The Omnipotent Pope: Legates and Judges Delegate,” in A Companion to the Medieval Papacy: Growth of an Ideology and Institution, eds. Keith Sisson and Atria A. Larson (Leiden: Brill, 2016), 197–219. 50 James A. Brundage, “Adhémar of Puy: The Bishop and his Critics,” Speculum 34–2 (1959), 201– 212; J. H. Hill and L. L. Hill, “Contemporary Accounts and the Later Representation of Adhémar, Bishop of Le Puy,” Medievalia et Humanistica 8 (1955), 30–38. 51 Maurice of Porto, legate of Paschal II, RRR 27, Gibellin of Arles, and Cardinal Robert of St. Eusebius, 92; Peter of Porto, legate of Calixtus II, 208; Giles of Tusculum, legate of Honorius I, 261, Alberic of Ostia, legate of Innocent II, 402.

Understanding the Crusades  13 forefront.52 Besides ecclesiastical matters, their letters also referred to political and military issues, clearly reflecting the patriarchs’ involvement in government and their continuous efforts to contribute to the kingdom survival.53 Again, no clear connection has been found between the length of the patriarchs’ pontificate and the extent of their correspondence with Western Christendom. Ghibelin of Arles (1107– 1112), for example, is completely absent. Conversely, there are four epistles written by the patriarchs of Antioch.54 Archbishops55 and bishops, especially those officiating in the Levant, also played an active role in Crusade correspondence.56 There are also some letters written by the high ecclesiastical hierarchy in Western Christendom.57 While only four letters written by members of the Monastic Orders in the Levant are extant,58 there are 19 written by their colleagues in Western Christendom,59 with Bernard de Clairvaux representing a category by himself.60 This considerable number confirms Thomas L. Smith’s thesis describing twelfthcentury monastic letters written in the West as a means of “supporting, participating and engaging with the Crusading movement.”61 He further claims that copying and diffusing Crusade letters turned into a kind of spiritual weapon that, together with prayer, became a form of “scribal crusading.”62 One may further argue that the copying and transmission of Crusade letters also heralds a gradual but slow transition from oral to written communication, a process concluded by the Late Middle Ages. The two large Military Orders, the Pauperes commilitones Christi Templique Salomonici and the Ordo Fratrum Hospitalis Sancti Ioannis Hierosolymitani,

52 Arnulf of Chocques, RRR 10, 127, Daibert (Dagobert) of Pisa 22, 28, 49, 61, Evremar (Ehremar),73, Garmond of Picquigny, 194, and the canons 196, 202, Stephen of La Ferté, 288, William of Malines, the chancellor and canons, 327, 459, Fulk of Angoulême, 589, Amalric of Nesle, and the canons of the Holy Sepulchre, 657, 823, 836, 847, 891–892, 894–895, 902, Heraclius and the canons of the Holy Sepulchre, 1114, 1226, 1239–1240, 1257, 1269. On the dissemination of Daibert’s letters in Germany, see Thomas L. Smith, “Scribal Crusading Three New Manuscripts,” 133–169. 53 Bernard Hamilton, The Latin Church in the Crusader States: The Secular Church (London: Variorum Publications, 1980), 52–85. For a complete list of the patriarchs of Jerusalem and Antioch, see ibid., 373; Joshua Prawer, Crusader Institutions (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1980), 296–304. 54 RRR 399, 880, 1242, 1246. 55 Edessa RRR 216; Nazareth 859; province not mentioned, perhaps forgery, 1273. 56 Belen RRR 477, 828; Acre 673, 827, 1005; Nablus 829, 853. 57 Pisa RRR 16; Casale 18; Chartres 54; Canterbury 59–60, 1286–1287; Arras 81; York 88. 58 St. Mary of the Valley of Jehoshaphat RRR 465; Mount Syon 826; St. Mary the Great 831; Leprosary of St. Lazarus 833. 59 St. Amand RRR 209; La Grand Chartreuse 281; Grandmont 510; Cluny 537, 597, 599; St. Genevieve 1067. On the diffusion of crusade letters in Benedictine and Cistercian religious houses of Germany, see Smith, “Scribal Crusading Three New Manuscripts,” 133–169. 60 RRR 232, 303–304, 344, 400, 448–449, 546–548, 826, 831, 833. 61 Thomas L. Smith, “First Crusade Letters and Medieval Monastic Scribal Cultures,” The Journal of Ecclesiastical History 71–73 (2020), 484–501. 62 Id., “Scribal Crusading Three New Manuscripts,” 156.

14  Sophia Menache represent another category. Twenty-one letters written by the Templars63 and another 12 by the Hospitallers, notably the Masters,64 hint at the active communication role played by the knights.65 Besides their active involvement in Crusade correspondence, one should further note the active involvement of the ecclesiastical order in the many delegations in which they participated and sometimes led. Fifty-three letters were written by secular princes,66 26 of them by the kings of Jerusalem,67 but also a considerable number by Louis VII of France and Conrad III of Germany, during their participation in the Second Crusade.68 All of these letters were written in the Latin East except two letters composed by King Henry II of England.69 Muslim rulers such as Saladin, his associates, and adversaries, as well as Shams al-Maluk Isma’il of Damascus, also corresponded with the Crusaders in the last quarter of the twelfth century.70 The aristocracy’s active involvement in the First Crusade, clearly reflected in early twelfth-century letters,71 became, however, exceptional toward the second half of the century.72 Conversely, only three letters remained from the representatives of the Italian city-states,73 a rather surprising datum.74 By the late twelfth century, indeed, merchant letters reveal an increasing tendency to report important political and military events for the sake of business interests.75 The merchants’ common use of written documents, as clearly evidenced in the Cairo Geniza, further justifies additional archival investigation, which may complement our data.76 Finally, there are a small 63 Arnulf, priest of the Temple RRR 47; Geoffrey, prior, 357; Andrew of Montbart, seneschal, 495; unknown author 501; Master Bertrand of Blancfort (1156–1169) 708, 725, 726, 740, 741, 783, Geoffrey Fulcher, procurator and preceptor, 736, 737, Master Philip of Nablus (1169–1171) 825, R., abbot, 830; knights 1044; Terricus, commander, and the convent 1233, 1234, 1235, 1236,1255; Master Gerard of Ridefort (1185–1189) 1242. 64 Master Blessed Gerard (1099–1113, 1118–1120) 61, Master Raymond du Puy (1118/21/23–60) 223, 610, Master Gilbert d’Assailly (1163–1169) 782, 873, 874, brothers 875, 1237, Master Jobert of Syria (1169–1172–1177) 893, 983, Master Roger de Moulins (1177–1187) 1016, 1237, Master Ermengard d’Aps (1187–1190) 1263. 65 RRR 218 is signed by milites of the Kingdom of Jerusalem, with no reference to a specific order. 66 RRR 1229. 67 RRR 8–9, 98, 141, 211, 251–252, 427, 549, 614, 702, 707, 709, 718, 743, 800, 811, 821, 832, 837, 889–890, 922, 954, 1148, 1267. 68 RRR 482, 486. 69 RRR 886, 1254. 70 RRR 310, 926–927, 1123, 1139, 1127. 71 RRR 2, 6, 8–9, 15, 22, 46–47, 52–53. 72 RRR 140, 326, 590, 734, 1247, 1256, 1260. 73 RRR Venice 18, Genoa 583, 1241. 74 Reference to the Genoese appears, however, in papal correspondence. See RRR 327, 1028, 1179. On the Genoese intervention in the Crusade and the papal approach at their regard, see Antonio Musarra, In Partibus Ultramaris: I Genoesi, la Crociata e la Terrasanta (secc. XII–XIII) (Rome: Istituto storico italiano per il Medio Evo, 2017), 244–271, 283–289. For Venice, see Baldwin II’s privileges, RRR 211. 75 Juraj Kittler, “‘The Pen is so Noble and Excellent an Instrument’: How the Medieval Merchants and Renaissance Diplomats invented the Newswriting Style,” Journalism Studies (2020), 1403–1419. 76 Shlomo Goitein, A Mediterranean Society: The Jewish Communities of the Arab World as Portrayed in the Documents of the Cairo Geniza, 6 vols. (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1967–1993), vol. 1, 37–65.

Understanding the Crusades  15 number of miscellaneous letters, signed by Franks,77 an Egyptian imprisoned in Nablus,78 Rabbi Moses ben Maimon,79 and one signed by Eastern Christians.80 It would appear that most letters were written in the Levant, perhaps with the exception of epistles sent by the papal curia and other ecclesiastical dignitaries. Indeed, only 27 percent of Crusade correspondence originated in Western Christendom, with the popes responsible for 85 percent of them. Analysis of the letters’ addressees further clarifies the contemporaries’ foci of attention on both sides of the Mediterranean.

Addressees Only 15 letters from the Latin East were addressed to twelfth-century popes,81 compared to 23 letters sent by the Apostolic See to the Crusaders. Ten popes who held the See of St. Peter in the Early Crusade Period – Paschal II (1099–1118), Callixtus II (1119–24), and Eugene III (1145–53) among them – are completely absent from Crusade correspondence, notwithstanding the active communication between Bernard of Clairvaux and his former student.82 However, there is some balance in the number of letters that the Crusaders wrote to other members of the ecclesiastical hierarchy in Christendom, such as archbishops,83 bishops,84 and abbots,85 and those received in the Latin East.86 The number of letters addressed to the popes (15), also equals the number of messages written to the patriarchs of Jerusalem and those of Antioch. An eclectic category of addressees includes the faithful,87 canons,88 and unidentified churches in both Europe and the Latin East.89 Despite the many letters written by the masters and members of the Military Orders to Western Christendom, however, only ten letters were addressed to the

77 RRR 480. 78 RRR 544. 79 RRR 974. 80 RRR 1274. 81 To Urban II (1088–1099), RRR 6, 16; Adrian IV (1154–1159), 583, 604; Alexander III (1159– 1181), 657, 875, 889, 922, 1044; Lucius III (1181–1185), 1123, 1139; Urban III (1185–1187) 1233, 1241–1242; Clement III (1187–1191), 1269. 82 Hayden V. White, “The Gregorian Ideal and Saint Bernard of Clairvaux,” Journal of the History of Ideas 21.3 (1960), 321–348; Alexander Baumgarten, “Sit finis libri, sed non finis quaerendi. Preliminary Clarifications on Bernard of Clairvaux, On Consideration,” Philobiblon: Transylvanian Journal of Multidisciplinary Research in Humanities 23.2 (2018), 257–277. 83 Archbishops of Reims, RRR 2, 216, 837, 859, 890–893; Compostela 194, 288; Genoa 327; Toledo 399; Trani 874; Canterbury 1260, 1286–1287. 84 Bishop ofs Città di Castello RRR 18, Arras 73, Paris 196, 202; Acre 549. 85 Abbots/Abbesses of St. Benigno Canavese, RRR 127; St. Denis 482; Hannover 486; Florennes 673; Bingen 902. 86 Patriarchs of Jerusalem RRR 18, 54, 81, 112, 304, 933, 1028, 1179, 1254; of Antioch RRR 131, 138, 400, 864, 1028, 1254. Archbishops of Tyre RRR 257, 800; Nazareth 876. Bishops of Belen, Acre and Lod 876; Caesarea 208–209, 1067. Abbots/ Abbesses RRR 511, 599. 87 RRR 27, 28, 92, 459. 88 RRR 258, 427, 440, 477, 510, 673, 787–788, 804. 89 RRR 9–10.

16  Sophia Menache Templars90 and Hospitallers,91 representing one third of the letters written by the knights. Moreover, considering that many letters addressed to the knights were written by other members of the Order and only two by popes and the Kings of Jerusalem, it is reasonable to conclude that correspondence did not represent the main channel of communication with the Military Orders at the time. On the other hand, neither the nobility,92 the Kings of Jerusalem,93 or other rulers94 attracted much attention in Crusade correspondence. Moreover, none of them received the consideration given to King Louis VII of France, to whom 20 letters were addressed before and after his Crusade.95 A miscellaneous category that includes the faithful and unidentified correspondents and benefactors96 complemented the rather small number of letters written to the Italian city-states and merchants.97 Figure I.1.2 shows the number of Crusade letters written and received in the Latin East during the Early Crusade Period.

Figure I.1.2

90 RRR 281, 344, 495, 548, 1148, 1234. 91 RRR 610, 1068, 1148, 1237. 92 RRR 8, 15, 18, 46–47, 49–50, 52, 88, 218, 232, 251–252, 303, 310, 357, 954, 1005, 1114, 1236. 93 RRR 59–60, 92, 326, 448–449, 546–547, 597, 798, 886, 927. 94 RRR Christian Kings, 614, 1229, 1242, 1255–1257, 1267; Muslim rulers 98, 140–141, 480, 811, 926. 95 RRR 590, 702, 707–709, 718, 725–726, 734, 736–737, 740–741, 743, 782–783, 836, 873, 894–895. 96 RRR 28, 53, 61, 208, 223, 261, 501, 589, 823, 847, 853, 877, 974, 1016, 1127, 1226, 1235, 1239, 1247, 1274. 97 RRR 211, 825–831, 833, 983.

Understanding the Crusades  17 A possible conclusion at this point is that there is greater balance between letters written and received in well-defined groups, such as the secular princes and, to a lesser extent, the popes. Conversely, patriarchs and members of the Military Orders wrote almost two times as many letters as they received. Finally, the laity also received a much larger number of letters than they wrote. This imbalance is likely due to their being a central source of monetary support for the Latin East. Figure I.1.3 corroborates the gap between letters written from and to the Latin East, whose inhabitants addresed many of their hopes across the sea.

Across the Mediterranean 160 140 120 100 Western Christendom

80

Outremer

60 40 20 0

Wrote

Received

Figure I.1.3

Bearing in mind the very low degree of literacy attributed to the laity during the Central Middle Ages, the previous data calls for further analysis. Nancy Harper claimed that, until about the eleventh century, illiteracy was more the rule than the exception. Not only were much of the lower social strata unable to read or write – but so, too, most kings and princes.98 Harper’s conclusions have been corroborated by Toussaert’s research on eleventh-century Flanders, where “illiteracy governed everywhere and the great lords took pride in their ignorance.”99 The illiteracy 98 Nancy Harper, Human Communication Theory: The History of a Paradigm (Rochelle Park: Hayden Book, 1979), 74. See also B. Stock, “Medieval Literacy, Linguistic History, and Social Organization,” New Literary History 16–1 (1984), 13–29. 99 Jacques Toussaert, Le sentiment religieux, la vie et la pratique religieuse des laïcs en Flandre maritime et au “West Hoeck” de langue flamande aux XIVe, XVe et début du XVIe siècles (Paris: Plon, 1963), 60–66, 85–87.

18  Sophia Menache attributed to the laity in the Central Middle Ages, furthermore, is a common theme in medieval historiography.100 However, the very fact that letters were written to be read aloud as discourses or sermons neutralizes the weight that should be attributed to the literacy of the addressees, especially among the laity.101 Recent scholarship further corroborates the relationship of nobles to literacy through the mediation of the chaplains at their service.102 Moreover, whether read or listened to, letters represented only one part of message transmission, complemented, as it was, by oral messages.

Subject matters Many letters contain reports of central political and military developments overseas, quite similar to those found in modern newspapers. The selected examples identify general tendencies in Crusade epistolography, thus mitigating some of the reservations aroused by particular letters in recent historiographical research.103 Most correspondence in the Early Crusade Period concerns the Crusaders’ dealings in the Levant from the beginning of the Gesta Dei, victories and defeats,104 the election and/or death of kings,105 and problems following the pilgrims’ return to their homelands, and/or the duplicity attributed to the eastern emperors.106 The letter of Bohemond and other nobles to Pope Urban II bears witness to the exaltation of the Crusade leaders following their early victories and the finding of holy relics, but also the first seeds of disagreement with the Apostolic See (11 September 1098): We all wish and desire that you should know how great was the favour of God and how evident was his help in our capture of Antioch, the capture and slaughter of the Turks who had heaped so many insults on our Lord Jesus; how we, pilgrims of Jesus Christ, avenged the wrong done to God the Highest; how we first besieged the Turks and then in our turn were besieged by the Turks of Khurasan, Jerusalem, Damascus and many other lands, but were liberated by the favour of Jesus Christ. . . . During that time the most merciful

100 Jacques Le Goff and Jean Claude Schmitt, “Au XIIIe siècle: Une parole nouvelle,” in Histoire vécue du people chrétien, ed. Jean Delumeau, 2 vols. (Toulouse: Privat, 1979), vol. 1, 257–280; F. H. Bäuml, “Varieties and Consequences of Medieval Literacy and Illiteracy,” Speculum 55–2 (1980), 237–265. 101 According to Parsons, “Letters were normally intended as performances pieces to a crowd,” Parsons, “The Letters of Stephen of Blois,” 5. 102 Nicholas Paul, “A Warlord’s Wisdom: Literacy and Propaganda at the Time of the First Crusade,” Speculum 85–3 (2010), 534–566. 103 Parsons, “The Letters of Stephen of Blois,” 1–29. 104 RRR 2, 6, 15–6, 28, 46–47, 49, 53, 98, 140–141, 218, 251, 480, 482, 495, 501, 590, 597, 604, 702, 707, 708–709, 718, 734, 736–737, 740–741, 836–837, 891, 1016, 1044, 1123, 1127, 1139, 1242, 1226, 1233–1237, 1239–1242, 1246–127, 1255–127, 1260, 1263, 1273, 1287. 105 RRR 8–9, 46, 52, 59, 448, 709, 926, 106 RRR 6, 1267, 1274,

Understanding the Crusades  19 compassion of Almighty God that watched over us came to our aid. In the church of St Peter, chief of the apostles, we found the Lance of the Lord which Longinus had used to pierce our Saviour’s side107. . . But, as is often the case, happiness was clouded by sadness, for the bishop of Le Puy, who you had appointed as your vicar, died on the kalends of August. . . . We ask you again and again, our dearest father, as father and leader to come to the place of your fatherhood, and as vicar of St Peter to sit on his throne and have us as your obedient sons in all legitimate actions, eradicating and destroying all types of heresy with your authority and our valour. . . . Something has come to my knowledge that is bad news for God and Christians everywhere, namely that people signed with the cross have received permission from you to stay among the Christian people. As you are the originator of this holy expedition I am very surprised. . . . We your sons, who obey you in everything, most pious father, you should separate from the unjust emperor who has never fulfilled the many promises he had made us. In fact, he has hindered and harmed us in every way at his disposal.108 This letter provides the papal curia with a moving insight into the feelings and expectations common among the leaders of the First Crusade. Sometimes, letters further reflect the history of an ancient past, as in the letter of Stephen of Blois to his wife, Adela: As I said earlier, with the triumph of God, the surrender of Nicaea took place on the thirteenth day before the kalends of July. In early church history, it is written that the holy fathers held a religious synod in Nicaea where they demolished the Arian heresy and under the guidance of the Holy Spirit, they confirmed the truth of the Holy Trinity. The city was a teacher of error because of its sins, but now by the mercy of God has become a student of truth because of its sinning servants. I tell you, my love, that five weeks after leaving the oft-mentioned Nicaea, we will reach Jerusalem if Antioch does not hold us up. Farewell.109 At this stage of research, it is almost impossible to corroborate the reactions, if any, that each letter aroused in its intended public. The imbalance in the correspondence between Outremer and Christendom became most uneasy with regard to the considerable number of letters asking for assistance, which often reflect their authors’ despair110: 107 C. Morris, “Policy and Visions: The Case of the Holy Lance of Antioch,” in War and Government in the Middle Ages: Essays in Honour of J. O. Prestwich (Woodbridge: Barns and Nobles, 1984), 33–45. 108 RRR 8; trans. Barber and Bate, 30–33. 109 See note 24. 110 RRR 194, 326, 590, 702, 707 – 9, 726, 734, 736–737, 740, 743, 836–837, 847, 873, 1229, 1234, 1242, 1257, 1260.

20  Sophia Menache We are surrounded by the Saracens on all sides. Babylon is to the east, Ascalon to the west, Arsuf on the coast, Damascus to the north. Why mention these perfidious kingdoms and the innumerable others that attack us non-stop? Every day we are invaded, every day slaughtered or captured. We are decapitated and our bodies thrown to the birds and the beasts. We are sold like sheep. What more can we say? In the name of Jesus we are ready to die rather than desert the holy city of Jerusalem and the Lord’s Cross and the most Holy Sepulchre of Christ.111 The letter of Patriarch Eraclius of Jerusalem to Pope Urban III (September 1187) further testifies to the worsening of the Crusaders’ situation: We can hardly describe to your pious ears the magnitude of the sorrow and grief we feel as we are forced to see in our times the contrition of our people, the miserable, lamentable desolation of the Holy Church at Jerusalem and that which is holy given to the dogs. Truly, Holy Father, the wrath of the Lord has gone over me. . . . He has allowed the sacrosanct and life-giving Cross, the unique, particular means of help for our salvation, to be captured by the Turks. . . . He handed over our king and the whole of the Christian army to the pagans. Of those who were present nearly all died by the sword or were taken prisoners – only a few managed to escape in flight. . . . Alas, alas, reverend father, it is thus that the Holy Land, the legacy of the Crucified One, has been handed over to the pagans. . . . Your Holiness should have no doubts that after the recent battle if the Turks were to approach the Holy City they would find it totally lacking in men to defend it. Therefore, as God is our only refuge we hasten to your feet, expounding tearfully to your Holiness our afflictions and unbearable misfortunes, like sons to their father, shipwrecked sailors coming to a harbour, so that with paternal affection your heart will be moved towards us and the holy city of Jerusalem.112 If the message was not clear enough, there follows a long list of Christian sites conquered by Saladin and his army. Even if one takes into account the weight of biblical rhetoric so dear to twelfth-century writers,113 it is impossible to neutralize the outburst of feelings that followed the Christian defeat at Hattin. Bearing in mind the considerable number of ecclesiastical dignitaries who were involved in correspondence with the Latin East, the significant attention devoted to clerical matters is not surprising. Indeed, the rights and privileges of provinces

111 RRR 194; Letter of Warmund of Picquigny, Patriarch of Jerusalem, and Gerard, Prior of the Holy Sepulchre, to Diego Gelmírez, Archbishop of Santiago de Compostela (c. 1120), trans. Baber and Bate, 43. 112 Benjamin Zeev Kedar, “Ein Hiferuf aus Jerusalem vom September 1187,” Deutsches Archiv für Erforschung des Mittelaters 35 (1982), 120–122. Trans. Barber and Bate, 80–82. 113 Sophia Menache and Esther Cohen, “Holy Wars and Sainted Men: Christian War Propaganda in the Middle Ages,” Journal of Communication 36–2 (1986), 52–62.

Understanding the Crusades  21 and dioceses,114 as well as the election and apostolic confirmation of Latin prelates,115 characterize many letters. Pilgrimage to the Holy Land and indulgences,116 and eventually relics, their verification, and trade, were all mentioned.117 Maurice de Craon (1132–1196), governor of Anjou and Maine under Henry II, who returned to France about 1170, played a most important role, with ten letters addressed to him that verify the authenticity of his relics.118 It would be impossible to cover every nuance of correspondence in the Early Crusade Period,119 but it will be worthwhile to devote some attention to the exchange of manuscripts between Christendom and the Holy Land, where some of the prelates were anxious to reinforce their doctrine against the many deviations they attributed to the Eastern Christians.120

Reference to letters in narrative sources Very few twelfth-century chroniclers were aware of the importance of correspondence as a historical source, as against later historiographical trends.121 William of Tyre and Ralph of Diceto are exceptional examples because of their many quotations of contemporary letters, perhaps because they both had better access to Crusade correspondence. Some letters chosen by William deal with ecclesiastical matters (RRR 49, 131) and matrimonial treatises (RRR 251–2, 1005). There are also references to diplomatic and political issues of great importance to the Latins’ survival, such as Godfrey of Bouillon’s death (RRR 46), Rainald of Chatillon’s alleged insanity (RRR 549), and the complicated dealings with the Byzantine Emperor (RRR 614, 798, 800, 1005).122 Of particular interest are Ralph of Diceto

114 RRR 92, 112, 127, 131, 138, 288, 440, 465, 477, 511, 599, 610, 787–788, 804, 876–877, 892– 893, 933, 1028, 1068. 115 RRR 10, 23, 54, 208, 257–258, 261, 286, 303, 305, 400, 402, 549, 657, 875, 922. 116 RRR 6, 27, 61, 459, 589, 847, 853, 874, 886, 1114, 1226, 1239. 117 RRR 2, 6, 73, 196, 202, 209, 216, 459, 510, 589, 673, 725, 853. See Brett E. Whalen, “The Discovery of the Holy Patriarchs: Relics, Ecclesiastical Politics and Sacred History in 12th Century Crusader Palestine,” Historical Reflections 27–1 (2001), 139–176. 118 RRR 823, 825–833. Mauricius de Craon is the central character of the anonymous Middle High German verse romance Moris von Craun, dated between 1187 and 1250. See, Fabrice Lachaud, La structure familiale des Craon du XIè à 1415: Le concept lignager en question, PhD Université Michel de Montaigne (Bordeaux, 2012). 119 For example, proposals of matrimony, RRR 954,1005, diplomatic matters RRR 448, 614, 798, 927, 1267, 1274, and requests of donations, in which the Hospitallers played a major role, RRR 223–224, 983, 120 RRR 344, 357, 399, 864, 880. 121 Sophia Menache, “Rewriting the History of the Templars According to Matthew Paris,” in Cross Cultural Convergences in the Crusader Period: Essays Presented to Aryeh Grabois (New York: P. Lang, 1996), 183–213; ead.,“Matthew Paris’s Attitudes Toward Anglo-Jewry,” Journal of Medieval History 23 (1997), 139–162; ead., “Written and Oral Testimonies in Medieval Chronicles: Matthew Paris and Giovanni Villani,” The Medieval Chronicle 6 (2009), 1–30. 122 William of Tyre 798, 800, 1005. A rich research concerns William of Tyre; still, none of them specifically refers to his use of correspondence. See P. W. Edbury and John Gordon Rowe, William

22  Sophia Menache references to the release of Christian prisoners (RRR 1123, 1139) and Saladin advances in the Holy Land (RRR 1148, 1235).123 Most twelfth-century Latin chroniclers, however, stood far away from this historiographical trend, quoting Crusade letters on few occasions.124 Conversely, some Muslim chroniclers were more aware of the benefits of letters as historical sources.125 The chroniclers’ disregard for the historical value of letters on the one hand, and their receptiveness toward oral messages on the other, further corroborate the weight ascribed to orality during the Early Crusade Period.126 Fulcher of Chartres faithfully reflects a common mood when he refers to his fellows’ excitation at the arrival of ships from the West and describes them approaching the newcomers “like saints,” since “everyone was anxious to ask for [news] about his country and household.” Fulcher further refers to the joy or sadness of the listeners after receiving news from home.127 Oral transmission, indeed, was the rule in the Early Crusade Period and played therefore an important role in shaping the significance of Crusade correspondence, as well. ************ Giles Constable wrote some years ago, “The history of letters, and of those who wrote them, thus merges into the history of bureaucracy and diplomacy and forms an important chapter in the development of government and administration in the Middle Ages.”128 Conversely, Parsons recently claimed, “the conception of the Crusade letters as a direct link to the events of the First Crusade, in contrast to the more

of Tyre: Historian of the Latin East (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), passim; A. C. Krey, “The Making of an Historian in the Middle Ages,” Speculum 16 (1941), 149–166; A. V. Murray, “Biblical Quotations and Formulaic Language in the Chronicle of William of Tyre,” eprints.whiterose.ac.uk 2014. 123 Grover A. Zinn Jr., “The Influence of Hugh of St. Victor’s Chronicon on the Abbreviationes Chronicorum by Ralph of Diceto,” Speculum 52 (1977), 38–61. 124 Guibert of Nogent, RRR 2; Albert of Aachen, 49–50; Matthew of Edessa 50; Historia Compostellana 194, 288; Galbert of Bruges 218; Guigo of La Grand Chartreuse 281; Almerich, a cidiano de Antiochia 399; Conrad of Scheyern 589, 1114; Gesta regis Henrici Secundi 1242, 1254; Hugonis chronici continuation Weingartensis 1229; Historia de expeditione Friderici Imperatoris 1237, 1263. 125 Ibn al-Athir, RRR 98, 141; Ibn al-Qalanisi 140, 310, 326, 480; Abu Shamah 926, 1127. 126 Svetlana Loutchitsky, “‘Veoir’ et ‘oir’, legere et audire: réflexions sur les interactions entre traditions orale et écrite dans les sources relatives à la premiere croisade,” in Homo Legens: Styles and Practices or Reading: Comparative Analyses of Oral and Written Traditions in the Middle Ages, eds. Svetlana Loutchitsky and Marie-Christine Verol (Turnhout: Brepols, 2010), 89–125. 127 “Quos, cum de partibus nostris occidentalibus advenisse videremus, extemplo ad eos quasi ad sanctos iucundi procedebamus, a quibus unusquisque nostrum de natione sua et parentela diligenter inquirebamus. Quibus de hoc intimabant prout ipsi sapiebant. Tum de prosperitate audita laetabamur, de incomoditate autem tristabamur.” Fulcher of Chartres, Historia Hierosolymitana, ed. Heinrich Hagenmeyer (Heidelberg: Carl Winters Universitätsbuchhandlung, 1913), 388. 128 Constable, “Dictators and Diplomats in the Eleventh and Twelfth Centuries,” 46.

Understanding the Crusades  23 fictive histories, is out of date.”129 Parsons recognizes, however, that his reservations do not neutralize the value of letters, even those “problematic” in his view, as transmitters of Crusade narrative. Indeed, the development of Crusade correspondence, its nature, and means of transmission, provide additional facets for attaining a better understanding of the Early Crusade Period. Unfortunately, research into medieval correspondence has commonly approached letters according to their modern form, i.e., as a units that encapsulate the whole message. One should bear in mind that Crusade letters were just one part of message transmission, complemented as it was by oral messages. The careful selection of messengers among the sociopolitical elite turned the personal, immediate contact into a key factor in the transmission of news. In medieval terms, messengers became a kind of political troubadours, well equipped to receive the attention not only of the letters’ addressees but also of wider audiences. In medieval practice, they became a kind of social catalyst, around whom the sociopolitical elite met, listening to messages from the Latin East. In the same way that medieval people learned about the Holy Land and sacred history from the preaching of local or itinerant priests, they listened to the Crusaders’ dealings since, for the most part, they were not able to read their accounts. Letters, therefore, as written documents, represent only a fragment of the troubadours/messengers’ performance and not always their most important dimension. Still, the honorific aura that accompanied Latin documents, especially among illiterate audiences, turned Crusade letters into a kind of holy relic and, as such, into an important component in the transmission of messages between Western Christendom and the Latin East. It is reasonable therefore to conclude that a better understanding of the interaction between messengers and letters, between oral and written messages, would contribute a more accurate perspective on the nature and weight of Crusade correspondence, and through it, on the Crusades as a whole. On the one hand, the relationship between letters and “political troubadours” reflects the sociopolitical and economic changes characteristic of the Central Middle Ages, which brought about the decline of the feudal system and its small, local units. Crusade correspondence thus appears as another reflection of the expanding horizons of medieval Christendom. The transcribing of Crusade letters, on the other hand, heralds the slow but gradual transition to written documents, as already encouraged by Roman Law, thus paving the way for the spread of literacy, and eventually the printing press, by the Late Middle Ages.

129 Parsons, “The Letters of Stephen of Blois,” 5.

2

Islamic cultural-religious life in Jerusalem on the eve of the First Crusade Omar Abed Rabo

Introduction Contemporary Arabic and non-Arabic studies that covered cultural-religious life in Jerusalem addressed this topic within political or military history studies of Palestine in general. Hence, the contribution of these studies to the field were general. On the other hand, the studies that presented Riḥlat Ibn Al-ʿArabī1 and his activity as a student in Jerusalem transitioning between al-Shāfiʿiyya school, Abū ʿUqba of the Ḥanafī School, and religious lessons in al-Aqṣā Mosque (see later in this chapter) were important and useful but only covered the period of the presence of Ibn al-ʿArabī in the city. These studies did not cover the historical cultural-religious context in the city, which contributed to the formation of the scene that Ibn al-ʿArabī saw and described to us. This context was covered in two studies: the first was recently published in al-Abḥāth journal and focused on the scientific, cultural, and religious life in Jerusalem between 850 and 970 CE, that is, in the second ʿAbbāsid period and the Ṭūlūnids and Ikhshīdids periods.2 This is the only study that has covered this period of the Islamic cultural and religious history of Jerusalem. The second study is my doctoral thesis, undertaken under the supervision of Pofessors Amikam Elad and Adrian Boas, on the history and archaeology of Jerusalem during the Fāṭimid and Seljūq periods. Within this study, there was a focus on the activity of Muslim ʿUlamāʾ in Jerusalem during the Fāṭimid and Seljūq periods from 970 to 1099 CE. These two studies covered the majority of the sources on the activity of ʿUlamāʾ and notables of Jerusalem from the middle of the ninth century until the end of the eleventh century and as such does not need to be revisited in this article.3

  1 Ibn al-ʿArabī, Abū Bakr Muḥammad b. ʿAbd Allāh al-Maʿāfirī, Qānūn al-Taʾwīl, ed., Muḥammad al-Sulaymāni (Jeddah, Dār al-Qibla lil-Thaqāfa al-Islāmiyya - Muʾassasat ʿulūm al-Qurʾān 1986); I. ʿAbbās. “Rihlat Ibn al-Arabi ilā al-Mashriq kamā sawwarahā Qānün al-Taʾwīl.” Al-Abhāth 21 (Beirut, 1968), 59–91; J. Drori, Ibn el-Arabi of Seville: Journey to Eretz Israel (1092–1095) (Graf Press, University of Bar Ilan, 1993).   2 O, Abed Rabo, “al-ḥayāt al-ʿilmiyya wa’l Thqāfiyya-al-Dīniyya Fi al-Ḳuds: al-ʿAṣr al-ʿAbbāsī al-Thānī w’ibbān al-ḥukmiyn al-Ṭūlūni wal Ikhshīdi: 850–970 AD,” Al-Abhāth 65–66 (Beirut 2018), 191–253.   3 O. Abed Rabo, Jerusalem during the Fatimid and Seljuq Periods: Archaeological and Historical Aspects, PhD Dissertation (Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 2012) [in Hebrew, English summary].

DOI: 10.4324/9781003146957-3

Islamic cultural-religious life in Jerusalem  25

Historical overview In the second half of the eleventh century and until the eve of the Frankish occupation, Palestine in general, and Jerusalem in particular, was the scene of the military and political conflict between the Fāṭimids on the one hand and the Turkman, Seljuqs on the other. In 465–466/1073 the Turkman, under the leadership of Atsi̊̊ z b. ʾAwaq al-Khwārizmī seized Jerusalem and other cities in Palestine, after about 103 years of Fāṭimid rule in the city. 4 However, three years of the Turkman control of Jerusalem was a sufficient period for the people of Jerusalem, Ramla, Gaza, and Jaffa to carry out a rebellion on 469/1076–1077 against the Turkman rule and the policy of its affiliates in the city and to call for the Fāṭimid Caliph al-Mustanṣir bi ’llāh.5 Some readers might think delving into the details of this rebellion a divergence from the topic of the study. However, I consider that the events that took place in Jerusalem during that period is at the core of our topic, and I designate it as the cultural-religious historical context that shaped the image of the cultural landscape on the eve of the Frankish occupation of the city. After 103 years of Fāṭimid Shīʿī Ismāʿīlī rule in Jerusalem, the rule passed in 1073 to the Turkman represented by the Atsi̊̊ z b. ʾAwaq family. It seems that the Fāṭimids followed flexible politics on the sectarian level with the people of the cities they ruled. In Jerusalem, the activity of the Shīʿī Ismāʿīlī, ʿUlamāʾ is almost nonexistent. Sources indicate that the majority of the notables and ʿUlamāʾ of Jerusalem, or those who migrated to the city and lived in it until their death, or those who visited for a short time during the Fāṭimid period, followed the Shāfiʿī madhhab “legal school”. As well as a few of the followers of other Sunni madhhabs, such as the Mālīkī and Ḥanafī, and the very few Ḥanbali.6 The Shāfiʿī ʿUlamāʾ in the city had come a long way in teaching the religious knowledge and the Faḍāʾil literature. This type of literature that shows the sanctity of the city and its virtues began to appear at the end of the seventh century.7 At the end of the ninth or beginning of the tenth century a book on Jerusalem praise literature (Faḍāʾil Bayt al-Maqdis) was written that may be the first by the Shāfiʿī traditionist al-Walid b. Hammād (d. after the year 300/913), and also the book of Yaḥyā ibn Zakaria al-Maqdisi (d. after the year 320/932), which was not preserved, and the book Akhbār Bayt al- Maqdis (book of reports about Jerusalem) by Ahmad b. Khalaf al-Subhi, but all these books were lost.8 Among the oldest books that contain the old praise of Jerusalem traditions is the book of Abū Bakr al-Wāsiti Faḍāʾil al-Bayt alMuqaddas, who transmitted it to his student ʿAbd al-ʿAziz al-Nasibi at his house in Jerusalem in 1019/409, and the book by Ibn al-Murajjā Faḍāʾil Bayt al-Maqdis

  4 K. ʿAthāmina. Filasṭīn fī al-ʻahdayn al-Ayyūbī wa-al-Mamlūkī, 1187–1516 (Bayrūt: Muʾassasat al-Dirāsāt al-Filasṭīniyya, [Arabic] 2006), 9–11.   5 M. Gil, Palestine during the First Muslim Period (634–1099) (Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University, [Hebrew] 1983), 1: 340; ʿAthāmina, Filasṭīn, 285.   6 Abed Rabo, Jerusalem, 147–154.   7 A. Elad, Medieval Jerusalem and Islamic Worship: Holy Places, Ceremonies, Pilgrimage (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1995), 6–22.   8 Abed Rabo, al-ḥayāt al-ʿilmiyya, 235.

26  Omar Abed Rabo wa al-khalīl wa al-Shām, which he finished writing around the year 442/1050, and there is another book that Makkī al-Rumaylī al-Maqdisī (see later in this chapter) (d.492/1099) had begun writing it, but he was killed in the massacre committed by the Franks in the Aqṣā Mosque before he finished it. And in the middle of the eleventh century, the head of the Shāfiʿis in Syria “Shaykh al-Shāfiʿiyya fī Bilād al-Shām” Naṣr al-Maqdisī founded a Zāwiya “a small mosque or oratory”,9 and he used it to teach the Shāfiʿi students Islamic jurisprudence, and ḥadīth literature, known later as al-Madrasa al-Shāfiʿiiyya (see later in this chapter). When the Turkmen controlled the city in 1073, the Shāfiʿī ʿUlamāʾ and notables of Jerusalem were in control of the cultural-religious activity in the city. This control was evident when the Shāfiʿī ʿUlamāʾ clashed with the institution of the Turkman Ḥanafī qāḍī “judge” Abdullah al-Balāsāghūni (d. 506/1112), who was appointed by the Artuḳid Seljūq ruler Suqmān as Chief Judge of Jerusalem.10 Al-Balāsāghūni, followed a strict policy with the Shāfiʿī people of the city, such that his policy reflected both his affinity to the Ḥanafī School and his aversion toward the Shāfiʿī’s. Ibn ʿAsākir stated, according to the jurist Abū al-Hasan Ibn Qubays,11 the saying: al- qāḍī al-Balāsāghūni used to say, “If I had authority [wilāya] I would have taken the poll-tax “al-djizya”12 from the people of the Shāfiʿīyya”.13 It seems that the Ḥanafī qāḍī administered the religious affairs of the people of Jerusalem according to the Ḥanafī madhhab and clashed with the Shāfiʿī notables who seem to have refused his policy. A group of Jerusalemites, including the traditionist (al-Muḥaddith) Abū Abdallah al-Dibādji, approached the governor of Damascus and shared their grievances against the Turkish qāḍī Abū ʿAbdullah al-Balāsāghūni, demanding his replacement.14 Jerusalem remained under the influence of the Turkmen, represented by the Atsiz family, until 475/1082–1083, when Artuḳ, the leader of the Seljūq Tutush forces, seized the city of Jerusalem from the control of the Turkman Atsiz family. Tutush (I) b. Alp Arslan, also known as Tutush I, granted Jerusalem as Iḳṭāʿ to Artuk, who left its administration to his sons Suqmān and Īlghāzī until it was recaptured by the Fatimids under the leadership of al-Afḍal b. Badr al-Djamālī in 491/1098.15 Despite the volatile political and military situations during that period, Jerusalem was active in the cultural-religious field and attracted the most notable ʿUlamāʾ, and al-Aqṣā Mosque became one of the most important centers in Bilād al-Shām in the teaching of multiple religious knowledge. The Islamic

  9 S. Blair, Sheila, J. G., Katz and C. Hamès, “Zāwiya,” in Encyclopaedia of Islam, Second Edition (Leiden: Brill, 2002), vol. 11, 466–470. 10 Ibn ʿAsākir, ʿAlī b. Ḥasan. Tārīkh madīnat Dimashq, ed., al-ʿAmrawi (Beirut: Dār al-Fikr, 1995), 56: 76. 11 Ibn ʿAsākir, Tārīkh. 41: 237. 12 The poll tax that, in traditional Muslim law, is levied on non-Muslims in Muslim states; see: C. Cahen, H. İnalcık and P. Hardy. “Djizya,” EI2. 13 Ibn ʿAsākir, Tārīkh, 56: 76. 14 Ibn ʿAsākir, Tārīkh, 51: 165–166. 15 ʿAthāmina, Filasṭīn, 15.

Islamic cultural-religious life in Jerusalem  27 cultural-religious activity continued in the city until it completely disappeared on 22 Shaʿbān 492/15 July 1099. On this day, the Crusade forces invaded the northeastern wall of the city from the side opposite the current location of al-Rāshidiyya school after a siege that lasted five or six weeks.16 With the entry of the Frankish forces into the city, these forces commenced in committing a massacre, in which many of the people of Jerusalem were killed. They were killed in the streets, their houses, and inside al-Aqṣā Mosque, and this included Jews assembled in their synagogue and they burned it over their heads.17 Among those killed were religious scholars, worshipers, ascetics, and Sufis who were in the city when the Franks invaded it. The only ones who survived were the ones who sought refuge in the Citadel [Miḥrāb Daoud] that is located at Jaffa Gate today, and they were able to exit the city with the Fatimid protector force and the governor of Jerusalem Iftikhār al-Dawla to ʿAsqalān under safe conduct on 22 Shaʿbān [15 July].18 Many contemporary historians have studied the massacre perpetrated by the Franks during their occupation of the city, relying on Crusade, Arab, and Islamic sources.19 The number of victims in Latin sources varied widely between 10,000 and 65,000.20 Arabic sources also vary in numbers21; Ibn al-ʿArabī records 3,000 victims on Friday morning 17 Shaʿbān 492/10 July 1099.22 Ibn al-Athīr provides a more detailed description of the massacre and points to 22 Shaʿbān 492/15 July 1099, adding that the number of those killed in al-Aqṣā Mosque reached 70,000 and that the Crusaders continued to kill and chase people for a week. Despit23 e the conflicting figures in Arab and Islamic sources, they unanimously agree that many scholars, Imāms, Sufis, and worshipers were victims of this massacre. We will now highlight the names of the religious scholars and notables who were

16 J. Prawer, “Political History of Crusader and Ayyubid Jerusalem: The Conquest,” in The History of Jerusalem: Crusaders and Ayyubids (1099–1250), eds. J. Prawer and H. Ben-Shammai (Jerusalem, 1991), 1–28. 17 Ibn al-Qalānisī, Ḥamza b. Asad, Tārīkh Dimashq. ed., Suhayl Zakkār (Damascus: Dār Ḥassān lilṬibāʿa wal-Nashr, 1983), 222. 18 Ibn al-Athīr, al-Kāmil fī l-tārīkh, ed., Omar Tadmurī (Beirut: Dār al-Kitāb al-ʿArabī, 2012), 8: 425. 19 Hans Eberhard Mayer, The Crusades, Second Edition (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988); Edward Peters, ed., The First Crusade: The Chronicle of Fulcher of Chartres and Other Source Materials, Second Edition (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1998); Benjamin Kedar, “The Jerusalem Massacre of July 1099 in the Western Historiography of the Crusades,” Crusades 3 (2004), 15–76; C. Hillenbrand, The Crusades: Islamic Perspectives (Routldge, 2016), 114–116. 20 Edward Peters, ed., The First Crusade: The Chronicle of Fulcher of Chartres and Other Source Materials, Second Edition (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1998), 91. 21 About the Arabic sources, see: K. Hirschler, The Jerusalem Conquest of 492/1099 in the Medieval Arabic Historiography of the Crusades: From Regional Plurality to Islamic Narrative, Crusades 13 (Routledge, 2014), 37–76. 22 Ibn al-ʿArabī, al-ʿAwāṣim min al-Qawāṣim, ed., ʿAmar Talbi (Cairo: Maktabat Dār al-Turāth, 1997), 372. 23 Ibn al-Athīr, al-Kāmil, 8: 425; on numbers, see David Ayalon, “Regarding Population Estimates in the Countries of Medieval Islam,” JESHO 28 (1985), 1–19.

28  Omar Abed Rabo killed in al-Aqṣā Mosque, or those who lived in Jerusalem until the Frankish occupation of the city and left on the eve of the occupation or during the occupation, and then migrated to Damascus, Cairo, and Alexandria. Thereafter, we will discuss the education and learning centers of Jerusalem and al-Aqṣā Mosque.

Notable persons and scholars killed in the massacre committed by the Franks in Jerusalem on 22 Shaaban 492/15 July 1099 Historical sources, Ḥadīth literature, the Faḍāʾil literature, and travel literature recorded the names of some of the notable persons and scholars who were killed in this massacre. The victims mentioned in this literature were given the title Shuhadāʾ “The Martyrs”, sing. Shahīd “Martyr”.24 Perhaps their fame as martyrs and their capability in the field of religious sciences and their work in the field of teaching, in addition to the official religious positions that they held in the city, eventually secured their place in the traditions of the transmitters and of notable people who survived the massacre. The stories of those martyrs spread among Jerusalemite scholars as well as among those present in the Islamic world who had originally fled to Cairo, Alexandria, and Damascus (see later in this chapter). Scholars who were killed included those who had a distinguished social and religious status in their Jerusalemite community. All of them contributed to the narration of the Ḥadīth (traditionists Muḥaddithūn) and Faḍāʾil Bayt al-Maqdis “In praise–of-Jerusalem literature”. Some of them held religious positions in the Aqṣā Mosque, others in the field of judiciary “Qaḍāʾ”, while some worked in the teaching of religious sciences (readings/qirāʾāt al-Qurʾān, Ḥadith literature, jurisprudence “Fiqh”, and Faḍāʾil literature). It is remarkable that names of women who were killed in al-Aqṣā Mosque are not mentioned anywhere in these sources. This can be attributed to the fact that there were no “Muḥaddithāt” women or specialists in religious sciences during that period in Jerusalem. All that is available on that matter is what Ibn al-ʿArabī had shared regarding the killing of a group of women worshipers in the Dome of the Chain [Qubbat al-Silsila],25 among whom was a scholar from Shiraz who was known as al-ʿālima al-Shīrāziyya by Ibn al-ʿArabī.26 Muḥammad b. Aḥmad b. ʿAlī Abū Bakir al-Ṭūsī27 was killed in the Dome of the Rock. He had

24 This title has been awarded to many scholars and jurists who were killed in the invasions and battles with non-Muslims; see al-Samʿānī, ʿAbd al-Karīm b. Muḥammad, al-Ansāb, Taḥḳīḳ, ed., ʿAbd Allāh ʿUmar al-Bārūdī (Dār al-Fikr lil-ṭibāʿa wal-tawzīʿ wal-nashir, 1988), 3: 475–479, and for more detals see: E. Kohlberg, “S̲ h̲ ahīd,” EI2. 25 For more details about Qubbat al-Silsila, see A. Elad, Medieval Jerusalem and Islamic Worship: Holy Places, Ceremonies, Pilgrimage (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1995), 47–48. 26 Ibn al-ʿArabī, Al-ʿAwāṣim, 372: there is no information regarding this female scholar, and Ibn al-ʿArabī does not add any further information. 27 al-Ṭūsī: nisba “referring” to Ṭūs City in Khurāsān; see: al-Samʿānī, al-Ansāb, 4:80; and regarding Ṭūs see: V. Minorsky and C. E. Bosworth, “Tūs,” in Encyclopaedia of Islam, Second Edition (Leiden: Brill, 2002), vol. 10, 740–744.

Islamic cultural-religious life in Jerusalem  29 immigrated from Ṭūs in Khurāsān. al-Ṭūsī was a Ṣūfī, a reciter [qāriʾ] of the Qurʾān, and a Shāfiʿī traditionist. He lived in Jerusalem and became the Imām of the Dome of the Rock [Imām Ṣakhrat Bayt al-Maqdis] until his martyrdom.28 Among the notable Shaykhs of Iftāʾ and Shāfiʿī jurisprudence in great Syria [Bilād al-Shām], who was also killed in the Aqṣā Mosque,29 was the Makkī Abū al-Qāsim al-Anṣārī al-Rumaylī.30 Makkī was born on 10 Muḥarram 432/2 October 1039,31 his reputation preceded him in giving fatāwā (opinion on a point of law, the term “law” applying, in Islam, to all civil or religious matters).32 People approached him seeking his fatāwā from Egypt, Bilād al-Shām, and various other places and countries.33 He heard of (and learned) the traditions and ḥadīth in Jerusalem34 and at ʿAsqalān/Ashkelon. He traveled to Damascus, where he extended his studies, and he did this also in Tyre. He visited Baghdad in the year 463/1070, and there he listened directly to the famous historian al-Khaṭīb al-Baghdādī. He also listened to scholars in Mecca, Madīna, Egypt, Basra, Kufa, Wasīt, Tikrīt, Mosul, Āmad, and Mayyāfāriqīn (see Figure I.2.1).35 He had embarked on writing his book “The History of Jerusalem, and its In-praise”,36 but he was killed before he finished it.37

28 Ibn ʿAsākir, Tārīkh, 51: 89; I could not find more information about him in biographical sources. It seems that he belonged to the Shāfiʿī madhhab, based on the affiliation of the scholars from whom he learned and those who learned from him. 29 al-Subkī, Ṭabaqāt al-Shāfiʿiyya al-kubrā, ed., ʿAbd al-Fattāḥ Ḥilow and Maḥmūd al-Tanāhī (Cairo: Dār Iḥyāʾ al-Kutub al-ʿArabiyya, 1964), 5:332; Ibn al-ʿArabī identifies him with the Ḥanbalī scholars, see Ibn al-ʿArabī, 210: Among the heads of the Ḥanbalī school in Bayt ­al-Maqdis; I believe that Makkī al-Rumaylī is one of the notables of the Shāfiʿī School in the City, and he, as al-Subkī personified it in Ṭabaqāt al-Shāfiʿiyya one of Shāfiʿī Shayks in Jerusalem and Bilād al-Shām, and what reinforces this suggestion is the list of scholars and ḥadīth with whom Makkī studied in Jerusalem and in Palestine and in other cities of the Islamic world. 30 Rumaili: nisba to the village of Rumayla, see al-Samʿānī, al-Ansāb, 3: 93; Here, al-Samʿānī notes that Rumayla is one of the villages of the Holy Land, and also adds that Makkī fought the Crusaders to prevent them from entering al-Aqṣā Mosque and thus fell as a martyr. 31 Ibn ʿAsākir, Tārīkh, 60: 254–256: Here, on p. 255: The date of the birth of Makkī al-Rumaylī and his martyrdom in Jerusalem. al-Subkī, Ṭabaqāt, 5: 332–333. It also indicates that Makkī was killed in Jerusalem; Mujīr al-Dīn al-ʿUlaymī, al-Uns al-Jalīl fī tārīkh al-Quds wal-Khalīl (Baghdād: Maktabat al-Nahḍa, 1995), I: 298–299, gives another version according to which: Makkī bin ʿAbd al-Salām was stoned near Beirut while in captivity and died there (on 12 Shawwāl 492/1 ­September 1099). Mujīr al-Dīn tells us in a different narative that Makkī was killed by the Crusaders and stoned on the outskirts of Antioch, and adds that the Crusaders were ready to accept a ransom of 1,000 dinars for his release; Drori, Ibn al-ʿArabī of Seville, 77. 32 E. Tyan and J. R. Walsh, “Fatwā,” EI2. 33 Mujīr al-Dīn, al-Uns al-Jalīl, I: 298; Ibn ʿAsākir, Tārīkh, 60: 254; 67:344. 34 Ibn ʿAsākir, Tārīkh, 60: 254; 67: 344. 35 al-Subki, Ṭabaqāt, 5: 333; Mujīr al-Dīn, al-Uns al-Jalīl, I: 298. 36 al-Samʿānī, notes in al-Ansāb that Makkī wrote a book on the history of Jerusalem, which means that he had finished writing the book and that this book was even known to scholars and narrators. See al-Samʿānī, al-Ansāb, 3: 93. 37 Mujīr al-Dīn, ibid.

30  Omar Abed Rabo

Figure I.2.1 A general map: the locations of the Islamic cities whose scholars visited Jerusalem or which the scholars of Jerusalem visited

Among the notable Shāfiʿī judiciary persons who were also killed during the Jerusalem massacre was qāḍī, and faqīh “Judge and jurist” Kamīl Abū al-Ḥasan al-Nuḍarī al-ʿAsqalānī al-Maqdisī. According to his son, who had fled to Damascus, as told to Ibn ʿAsākir, his father was killed while praying in al-Aqṣā Mosque.38 Judge Kamīl was one of the Shaykhs who taught Ibn al-ʿArabī the book of Abū al-ʿAbbās Aḥmad b. Khalaf al-Ṣubḥī39 “Akhbār Bayt al-Maqdis/History of Jerusalem”.40 The Shāfiʿī qāḍī and traditionist Saʿīd b. Aḥmad Abū al-Qāsim al-Nasawī,41 who lived in Jerusalem where he was and remained active after the year 480–481/1087–1088 until he was killed in the massacre in 1099.42 Also the Shāfiʿī Ṣūfī jurist, ʿAbd al-Jabbār Abū al-Qāsim al-Rāzī,43 who studied

38 Ibn ʿAsākir, Tārīkh, 50: 10–12. 39 Abed Rabo, al-ḥayāt al-ʿilmiyya, 239. 40 Drori, Ibn al-ʿArabī of Seville, 80: Kamal El-Din; Abed Rabo, al-ḥayāt al-ʿilmiyya, 238. 41 al-Samʿānī, al-Ansāb, 5: 483, 487; On the location and history of the city, see G. Le Strange, The Lands of the Eastern Caliphate (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1930), 393–394, 429–430. 42 Ibn ʿAsākir, ibid., 204: the date of his birth 420/1029. 43 al-Rāzī: The nisba to the city of Rayy, see al-Samʿānī, al-Ansāb, 3:23; On the city’s location, see Le Strange, The Lands, 214– 217, 227–229.

Islamic cultural-religious life in Jerusalem  31 jurisprudence in Isfahan, was killed. He lived in Baghdad and moved from there to Jerusalem, where he lived until his martyrdom.44 Among the notable figures of the Ḥanafī mad̲h̲ hab who were killed in Jerusalem was Muhammad b. Taher Abū Saʿīd al-Zandjānī.45 He was known in the sources as “al-Shahīd” the Martyr. Ibn al-ʿArabī heard from him Ḥadīth in al-Aqṣā Mosque46 and also lessons in jurisprudence in his Majlis “learning circle” that he held on Fridays at Abū ʿUqba School (see later in this chapter).47 Muḥammad b. Qāsim Abū ʿAbd Allāh al-ʿUthmānī “al-Shahīd”48 lived in Jerusalem and was active in the city during the second half of the eleventh century.49

Notable persons and scholars who fled the city on the eve of the Frankish occupation, or who survived the massacre and became active in the cities to which they migrated It is difficult to determine the number of scholars who fled from Jerusalem and the time when they managed to do this. It seems that a large number of them left on the eve of the Frankish occupation, or shortly before the siege of the city. It can be assumed that some of them left the citadel safely with Iftikhār al-Dawla, the Fatimid governor of the city, even though there is no source that mentions this. Some of them went to Alexandria and Cairo, while others migrated to Damascus (Figure I.2.1). Before presenting the notable figures who migrated from Jerusalem on the eve of or during the occupation, there is a need to point out the distinction between the two phases of migration from Jerusalem by scholars who were mostly followers of the Shāfiʿī madhhab. The first was during the disagreement between the Ḥanafi qāḍī of Jerusalem and the Shāfiʿī scholars in the city and the rebellion of the people of Jerusalem in 1076–1077 led by their scholars (see earlier in this chapter). For example, one was Naṣr b. Ibrāhīm al-Nābulusī al-Maqdisi, the head of the Shāfiʿī School in Syria in the eleventh-century “Shaykh al-Shāfiʿīyya fī Bilād al-Shām”. He migrated from Jerusalem at the time and lived in Tyre, then settling in Damascus until he died in 490/1097.50 Another example: the ascetic Ṣūfī Shāfiʿī jurist and traditionist Abū ʿAbd Allāh al-Dībājī, who left in protest against the Ḥanafī qāḍī (see earlier in this chapter). al-Dībājī stayed in Damascus for a while and was educated by Naṣr al-Nābulsī al-Maqdisī. Afterward, at some point in his life, he moved to Baghdad and lived in it. He was taught in the Caliph Abū Jaʿfar al-Manṣūr Mosque, as well as in the al-Niẓāmiyya School in Baghdad until his

44 al-Subkī, Ṭabaqāt, 5: 98; Mujīr al-Dīn, al-Uns, I: 299; See also Gil, Palestine, I: 349, no. 626. 45 al-Zandjānī, nisba to the city of Zandjān in the Djibāl province, on the border with Azerbaijan, see al-Samʿānī, al-Ansāb, 3: 168; For more on the town’s history and location, see C. E. Bosworth, “Zandjān,” EI2; See also Le Strange, The Lands, 221–222, 229–230. 46 Ibn al-ʿArabī, al-ʿAwāṣim, 27. 47 Drori, Ibn al-ʿArabī of Seville, 76. 48 Drori, Ibn al-ʿArabī of Seville, 83, no 24. 49 Drori, Ibn al-Arabī of Seville, 76. 50 Abed Rabo, Jerusalem, 40.

32  Omar Abed Rabo death in 527/1133. Consequently, those mentioned next are prominent scholars who left Jerusalem because of the Frankish occupation of the city. Some Jerusalemite scholars left for Alexandria in Egypt, and there they played an important role in the religious-cultural life, such as the qāḍī Yaḥyā b. al-Mufarraj Abū al-Ḥassān/ al-Ḥusayn51 al-Lakhmī al-Maqdisī (the date of his death is unknown). He was active in the second half of the eleventh century and the beginning of the twelfth century. Yaḥyā was qāḍī and teacher of ḥadīth literature, jurisprudence and religious law “Sharīʿa” at the Shāfiʿī School [Naṣriyya] in Jerusalem (see later in this chapter). Ibn al-ʿArabī met with him at the Shāfiʿī School in which he was acting as head on behalf of Shaykh Naṣr al-Nābulsī al-Maqdisī.52 Ibn al-ʿArabī attended one of the consideration councils chaired by the qāḍī Yaḥyā al-Maqdisī in the Shāfiʿī School at Bāb al-Asbāṭ and described the latter as a wise judge “al-qādī al-Rashīd” and the most brilliant of Naṣr’s friends.53 It seems that Yaḥyā al-Maqdisī left for Alexandria because of the Frankish occupation of Jerusalem, eventually becoming the chief qādī there “qāḍī Thaghr al-Iskandariyya”.54 Yaḥyā al-Maqdisī established a school in Alexandria at the Legume Market “Sūq al-Baqil”, known under his name “Madrasat Abū al-Ḥusayn Yaḥyā” or “Madrasat al-Maqādisa”.55 It also seems that Yaḥyā al-Maqdisī remained in Alexandria until his death. His student and assistant Hibatullāh Abū al-Qāsim al-Maqdisī (d. 514/1120–1121.) migrated with al-qādī al-Rashīd Yaḥyā. He was a Jerusalemite Faqīh56 belonging to the Shāfiʿī madhhab. He lived and was active in the second half of the eleventh century and the beginning of the twelfth century. He learned in Jerusalem and transferred his knowledge in the ḥadīth literature and jurisprudence to Alexandria, where he immigrated together with his teacher. Many students in Alexandria learned from him, the most famous of whom was the author of the works, the traditionist al-Ḥāfiẓ Abū Ṭāhir al-Silafī (d. 576/1180),57 whom his Majlis was attended by Salāḥ al-Dīn, his sons and advisors, where they listened to him for three consecutive days when visiting the city.58 He used to do the work of the qādī Yaḥyā al-Maqdisī in line with the Shāfiʿī madhhab in the Maqādisa School in Alexandria.59 Among the Shāfiʿī traditionist and transmitter who immigrated to Alexandria, perhaps with the qāḍī Yaḥyā was Yāsīn Abū al-Barakāt al-Maqdisī

51 Ibn al-ʿArabī, al-ʿAwāṣim, 372. 52 Drori, Ibn al-ʿArabī of Seville, 95. 53 Ibn al-ʿArabī, al-ʿAwāṣim, 372. 54 al-Silafī Abū Ṭāhir Aḥmad b. Muḥammad, Muʿjam al-safar, ed., ʿAbd Allāh ʿUmar al-Bārūdī (Beirut: Dār al-Fikr lil-ṭibāʿa wal-tawzīʿ wal-nashir, 1993), 63. 55 Al-Ṣafadī, Ṣalāḥ al-Dīn Khalīl Ibn Aybak, Al-wāfī bil-wafāyāt, eds., Aḥmad al-Arnaʾūṭ and Turkī Muṣṭafā (Beirut: Dār Iḥyāʾ al-turāth al-ʿArabī, 2000), 27: 315, no. 25. 56 al-Silafī, Muʿjam, 421–422. 57 Gilliot, “al-Silafī,” EI2, 9: 607–609. 58 Abū Shāma, Shihāb al-Dīn ʿAbd al-Raḥmān al-Maqdisī, Kitāb al-rawḍatayn fī akhbār al-dawlatayn al-nūriyya wal-ṣalāḥiyya (The Book of the Two Gardens on the Reports of the Two Reigns) ed. Ibrāhīm Shams al-Dīn (Bierut: Dār al- kutub al-ʿIlmiyya, 2002), 2: 294–295. 59 Al-Ṣafadī, ed., Al-wāfī, 27:315, no. 259.

Islamic cultural-religious life in Jerusalem  33 (the date of his death is unknown),60 and Al-Waḥshī Abū al-Ḥassān al-Maqdisī (the date of his death is unknown),61 and al-Ḥasn/al-Ḥusayn62 b. al-Mufarraj Abū ʿAlī al-Maqdisī (died in 535/1140).63 Cairo was also the destination for al-Faqīh Sulṭān al-Maqdisī (d. 238/1143– 1144) who fled there.64 He was born in Jerusalem in 442/1050–1051 where he learned ḥadīth literature jurisprudence from the Shāfiʿī Shaykhs, such as Naṣr al-Nābulsī al-Maqdisī.65 He immigrated to Egypt where he was appointed chief qāḍī of the Shāfiʿīs66 by Abū ʿAlī Aḥmad Kutayfāt.67 Many students who later became prominent figures of the Shāfiʿī School68 studied with him. Among those who migrated on the eve of the Frankish occupation was Majalī b. Jāmiʿ Abū al-Maʿālī al-Arsūfī69 al-Maqdisī (d. 550/1156).70 He was a jurist and traditionist. He wrote the well-known book of Fiqh “al-dhakhāʾir”. He was originally from Arsūf, lived in Jerusalem, and became a resident; he was known as Majalī al-Maqdisī. He was active at the end of the second half of the eleventh century in the Shāfiʿī School (Naṣriyya School), which is located in Bāb al-Asbāṭ in Jerusalem (see later in this chapter). In this school, many students, such as Ibn al-ʿArabī of Seville,71 learned from him. He left Jerusalem for Cairo shortly before the Frankish occupation. In Egypt, Majalī al-Maqdisī became the head of the Shāfiʿīs “Shaykh al- Shāfiʿiyya”, as al-Dhahabī called him, and during the reign of the Fatimid Caliph al-Ẓāfil Billāh (544–549/1149–1154), the Minister al-Malik al-ʿĀdil ʿAlī ibn al-Salār (d. 548/1153) appointed him to the position of qāḍī in Egypt for of two years (547–549/1152–1154).72 Many scholars migrated to Damascus, on the eve of and before the Frankish occupation of the city. These included al-Ṭabīb wa al-Muḥaddith “the physician

60 al-Silafī, Muʿjam, 262–263. 61 al-Silafī, Muʿjam, 431. 62 Al-Ṣafadī, Al-wāfī bil-wafāyāt, 191; Hiba bin Muḥammad bin al-Ḥassān bin al-Mufarraj bin Ḥātim bin al-Ḥassān (!) al-Maqdisī. 63 Mujīr al-Dīn, al-Uns, I: 302; Here he refers to him as al-Ḥasan b. Faraj. 64 Ibn Ḥajar al-ʿAsqalānī, Rafʿ al-iṣr ʿan quḍāt Miṣr, eds. Ḥāmid ʿAbd al-Majīd and wa-Muḥammad al-Mahdī Abū Sunna wa-Muḥammad Ismāʿīl al-Ṣāwī, eds.; murājaʻat Ibrāhīm al-Abyārī (Cairo, 1980), 2: 248; which indicates that Sultan died in 535/1141 or in the year 538/1144; Abed Rabo, Jerusalem. 65 Mujīr al-Dīn, al-Uns, I: 300–301. 66 Ibn Ḥajar al-ʿAsqalānī, Rafʿ al-iṣr, 2: 2487. 67 Kutifāt is the first Fatimid minister to appoint four judges: a Shāfiʿī judge such as the jurist Sulṭān al-Maqdisī, a Malikī judge, an Ismāʿīlī judge and an Imāmī judge. Each of these judges was allowed to rule according to the school to which the judge belongs; see Ibn Muyassar, Akhbār Miṣr (Annales d’Égypte: Les Khalifes Fâtimides), ed. H. Massé (Cairo, 1919), 74. 68 Mujīr al-Dīn, al-Uns, I: 301. 69 al-Arsūfī: The nisba to the city of Arsūf; al-Samʿānī, al-Ansāb, 1:112, and on the city of Arsūf see: H. A. R. Gibb, “Arsūfī,” EI2. 70 Al-Dhahabī, Shams al-Dīn, Muḥammad b. Aḥmad (1985), Siyar ʿalām al-nubalāʾ, (Beirut: Muʾassasat al-Risalā, 1985), 20: 325–326. 71 Drori, Ibn al-ʿArabī of Seville, 95. 72 al-Subkī, Ṭabaqāt, 7: 278.

34  Omar Abed Rabo and traditionist” ʿAbd al-Jalīl b. ʿUmar Abū Muḥammad al-Maqdisī, who was known as Ibn al-khawātimī73 al-Ḥanafī (date of death is unknown). Ibn alkhawātimī was appointed in Damascus as the head of the hospital “bīmāristān” and was in charge on the endowment property associated with the large mosque.74 The Muḥaddith, and al-Muqriʾ preacher Yaḥyā b. Tamām Abū Ḥasan al-Maqdisī, who was known as Ibn al-Ramlī,75 also migrated to Damascus (d. 517/ 1123)76 and his brother, al-Muqriʾ Jamīl Ibn Tamām Abū al-Ḥasan al-Maqdisī al-Ṭaḥḥān,77 who passed away in Damascus in 536/1141.78 The same may be said for the mosque preacher and traditionist Aḥmad b. Ibrāhīm b. Yūnis Abū Ḥusayn al-Maqdisī (d. 497/1103),79 and his brother Muḥammad Abū ʿAbdullāh al-Maqdisī.80 The Shāfiʿī Faqīh Naṣr Abū ’l-Fatḥ al-Anṣārī al-Maqdisī (d. 539/1145) also migrated,81 and he was among the teachers “Shuyūkh” of the famous Shāfiʿī historian and the traditionalist al-Ḥāfiẓ al-Faqīh Ibn ʿAsākir, the author of Tārīkh madīnat Dimashq, one of the most comprehensive sources for the history of Bilād al-Shām in the medieval period. Ibn ʿAsākir says about Naṣr: “katabtu ʿanh [I wrote what I heard from him] wa-huwa allathī laqqananī al-Qurʾān [and it was him who taught me the Qurʾān].82 These ʿUlamāʾ and notables lived in Damascus. However, we cannot point at this stage anything concerning the residency of these people in one specific area that might constitute a quarter attributed to them, as is the case in the Ṣāliḥiyya suburb of Damascus, which was formed after the residence of the Qudāma family in this area 60 years after the massacre.83

Places that hosted the activities of the ʿUlamāʾ on the eve of the Frankish occupation of Al-Aqṣā Mosque (Figure I.2.2) At the end of the fifth century/eleventh century, there were 28 Ḥalqa circles84 or Majlis in al-Aqṣā Mosque, distributed among the mosque’s buildings and its architectural extensions. Teaching sessions on varying religious knowledge were held in these circles, as well as debates between the famous religious scholars.

73 al-khawātimī, nisba to the profession of making rings (khawātim pl. khātīm): al-Samʿānī, al-Ansāb, 2, 408. 74 Ibn ʿAsākir, Tārīkh, 34: 41. 75 Al-Ramlī, nisba to the city of Ramla, al-Sam’ani al-Ansāb, 3: 91. 76 Ibn ʿAsākir, Tārīkh, 64: 99–100. 77 al-Ṭaḥḥān, nisba to grinding seeds; al-Samʿānī, al-Ansāb, 4: 51. 78 Ibn ʿAsākir, Tārīkh, 11: 255. 79 Abed Rabo, Jerusalem, 51. 80 Ibn ʿAsākir, Tārīkh, 51: 97; 64: 113. 81 Ibn ʿAsākir, Tārīkh, 62: 40–41. 82 Ibn ʿAsākir, Tārīkh, 62: 40, 42: 424; 44: 64, 109: Here on this page is a direct narration from him to Ibn ʿAsākir. 83 D. Talmon-Heller and B. Z. Kedar, “Did Muslim Survivors of the 1099 Massacre of Jerusalem Settle in Damascus? The True Origins of the al-.(S)āli.(h)iyya Suburb,” Al-Masāq 17/2 (2005), 165–169; Hillenbrand, The Crusades: Islamic Perspectives, 146. 84 Ibn al-ʿArabī, al-ʿAwāṣim, 45.

Islamic cultural-religious life in Jerusalem  35

Figure II.2.2 Jerusalem in the eleventh century: Muslim education sites mentioned in the article (based on Gido’n Avni’s map of eleventh-century Jerusalem). Thanks to Prof. Avni for his permission to use his map.

Ibn al-ʿArabī records that the heads of scholars of all the different sects were at Al-Aqṣā Mosque.85 The scholars and students who visited Jerusalem for the purpose of teaching or studying studied at these places in Al-Aqṣā Mosque, and among them the “Cradle of Jesus Mosque (Masjid Mahd ʿĪsā)”, Miḥrāb Yaʿqūb, and Miḥrab Muʿāwiya. 85 Ibn al-ʿArabī, Ibid.

36  Omar Abed Rabo

Cradle of Jesus Mosque/Masd̲ j̲ id Mahd ʿĪsā (Figure I.2.2) The Mahd ʿĪsā Mosque is located in a small room at the southeast corner of Al-Aqṣā Mosque (Figure I.2.3).86 This mosque was used in the eleventh century as a place to teach ḥadīth and jurisprudence, and Ismāʿīl Abū Saʿad al-Astarābādhī (d. 448/1056) used to speak and give edicts (ḥadīths) to people at the door of the Mahd ʿĪsā Mosque. Ḥamad Abū Saʿad al-Rahawī, the Imām of the Dome of the Rock, who apparently died in 1098 CE,87 learned from him at this place. Shortly before the Frankish occupation, the Mahd ʿĪsā mosque was a place where the greatest Sunnī Ṣūfī scholars of that time used to sit. Ibn ʿAsākir presents an anecdote, which he quotes from Abū Saʿad al-Samʿānī, who transmitted it from the Ṣūfī Naṣr b. Muḥammad b. Ibrāhīm al-Adharbījānī al-Maghribī, and the narrative goes: The Imāms gathered: Abū Ḥāmid al-Ghazālī,88Ismāʿīl al-Ḥākimī,89Ibrāhīm al-Sjabakī (al-Sabbākī) al-Jurjānī,90 Abū al-Ḥasan al-Baṣrī and a big

Figure I.2.3 Cradle of Jesus mosque. The first level of the cradle surface (drawing: Basam al-Halaq and Husain Katbeh). Thanks to Dr. Yusuf Natsheh for his permission to use his map. 86 Naser Khasro, Safar Namah, Yehya Khashab edition, 23–24. 87 Abed Rabo, Jerusalem, 97. 88 M. W. Watt. “al-Ghazali,” EI2. 89 Ibn ʿAsākir, Tārīkh, 9: 18. 90 Ibn ʿAsākir, Tārīkh, 7: 225.

Islamic cultural-religious life in Jerusalem  37 congregation of the greatest non-locals (non-Jerusalemite scholars) at the Cradle of Jesus (Peace be upon him), in the holy house “al-Bayt al-Muqaddas and vocalist sang these two verses: I would have redeemed you, had it not been for love, you would have redeemed me – but I came to you. When I came I was overwhelmed with passion. Abū al-Ḥasan al-Baṣrī’s became elated and fell into a trance). He affected the attendees, the eyes teared up, and hearts were broken, and Muḥammad al-Kazirūnī died among the congregation in a trance. Al-Marāghī adds, “I was present with them and witnessed that.”91 This tradition is very important and interesting, as it contains clear evidence of Sufi gathering of the greatest non-local scholars of the Islamic world of that time, including traditionists, jurists, ascetics, and reciters in Jerusalem, in the Mahd ʿĪsā Mosque and the Al-Aqṣā Mosque. This narrative does not mention the date of the gathering of these scholars, but it seems that their gathering was most likely during the period when the Fatimids took control once again over the city of Jerusalem. This assumption is made based on the information that confirms that Abū Bakr Muḥammad al-Kazirūnī was alive when the Fatimids took control of the city again in the year 1098.92 It seems that the scholars who are mentioned in the narrative visited Jerusalem in 489/1096 with Abū Ḥāmid al-Ghazālī (d. 505/1111) on his way to the pilgrimage.93

Miḥrāb Yaʿqūb (Figure I.2.2) It seems that the Miḥrāb Yaʿqūb, was used at the end of the first half of the Fatimid period, as one of the learning places at Al-Aqṣā Mosque. Ibn ʿAsākir, indicates that the Imām of the Dome of the Rock, Abū Bakr al-Ṭūsī, who was killed in the massacre (see earlier), studied ḥadīth in Miḥrāb Yaʿqūb in the year 440/1048 with the preacher “al-Khaṭīb” ʿUmar b. Aḥmad Abū Ḥafṣ al-Wāsiṭī, the brother of Muḥammad b. Aḥmad Abū Bakr al-Wāsiṭī, the author of the early preserved book In-Praise of Jerusalem Faḍāʾil al-Bayt al- Muqaddas.94

Miḥrāb Muʿāwiya95 Miḥrāb Muʿāwiya (Figure I.2.2) was used in the Fatimid period as a place where the circle of learning took place. Abū Bakr al-Maqdisī al-Shīrāzī narrated that ʿAlī

91 Ibn ʿAsākir, Tārīkh, 62: 46. 92 Abed Rabo, Jerusalem, 105. 93 Ibid., 110–111. 94 Ibn ʿAsākir, Tārīkh, 51: 89, About the location of Miḥrāb Yaʿḳūb and Dome of Yaʿḳūb in the eleventh-centuty, see Elad, Jerusalem, 87–90, Abed Rabo, 2012.  95 Elad, Jerusalem, 76–77; A. Kaplony, The Ḥaram of Jerusalem 324–1099 (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 2002), 788–789.

38  Omar Abed Rabo b. al-Ḥasan Abū al-Ḥasan al-Ṣayrafī al-Baghdādī used to recite the Qurʾān and preach to people after the afternoon prayers at the Bayt al-Maqdis Mosque in the Miḥrāb of Muʿāwiya: “he was talking to people after the afternoon prayer in Bayt al-Maqdis Mosque in the Miḥrāb of Muʿāwiya”.96

Majlis Abū Bakr Muḥammad al-Ṭurṭūshī, known as al-Sakīna Al-Ṭurṭūshī was the Shaykh of the Malikī Madhhab at this time. He arrived in Jerusalem approximately in the year 486/1093, and lived in al-Ghuwayr (a small cave) in the al-Aqṣā Mosque area (Figure I.2.2) between Bāb al-Asbāṭ and the Miḥrāb of Zakariyyā. He used to hold his learning Majlis in a place in the Mosque known al-Sakīna.97 Many scholars and jurists who became prominent in their countries, including al-Qāḍī Ibn al-ʿArabī of Seville98 attended al-Ṭurṭūshī lessons, and they studied with him a lot. Apparently, al-Ṭurṭūshī left Jerusalem to Damascus in 489/1096, and around 490/1097, moved to Alexandria and remained there until his death.99

Dār al-ʿilm/house of knowledge Historical and archaeological sources do not provide sufficient information about this institution identified as Dār al-ʿilm, except for basic information found in Ibn ʿAsākir’s book “Tārīkh madīnat Dimashq”, on the existence of Dār al-ʿilm/house of knowledge in Jerusalem. This is according to the transmitter Ismāʿīl Abū Ṭāhir al-Amīr (d. 460/1067–1068), who made an endowment of the book of Ṣaḥīḥ al-Bukhārī100 to Dār al-ʿilm. In regard to the location of Dār al-ʿilm in Jerusalem, Abū al-Fidāʾ indicates that the Church of St. Annes, which is located near Bāb al-Asbāṭ today (Figure I.2.2), had an Islamic function before the Frankish occupation of the city in 492/1099 Dār ʿilm, but when the Franks took control of the city, it functioned once again as a church. When Ṣalāḥ al-Dīn conquered Jerusalem in the year 583/1187, he turned it back into a school and ratified its teaching and endowment to the judge and historian Bahāʾ al-Dīn b. Shaddād.101 It seems that the location of Dār al-ʿilm as indicated by Abū al-Fidāʾ, following the suggestion by Drori in his book “Ibn al-ʿArabī of Seville”, suggests a link between the Dār al-ʿilm mentioned by Abū al-Fidāʾ and the Shāfiʿiyya school, which is mentioned by Ibn al-ʿArabī at a location

 96 Ibn ʿAsākir, Tārīkh, 41: 346.   97 Drori, Ibn al-ʿArabī of Seville, 95, 136, not 11: attempting to work out Al-Ghuwair’s location at the al-Aqṣā Mosque.   98 Ibid.  99 Drori, Ibn al-ʿArabī of Seville, 59. 100 Ibn ʿAsākir, Tārīkh, 9:17. 101 Abū al-Fidāʾ, al-Mukhtaṣar fī Akhbār al-bashar, vol 3: eds., Muḥammad Zaynahum and Yaḥyā al-Sayyid (Cairo: Dār al-Maʿārif, 1999), 105.

Islamic cultural-religious life in Jerusalem  39 near Bāb al-Asbāṭ.102 However, according to what is reported in the tradition presented by Ibn ʿAsākir on the endowment of Ṣaḥīḥ al-Bukhārī’s book to Dār al-ʿilm, it may be assumed that Dār al-ʿilm is probably a library. It should be noted that in all the traditions that were transmitted by the prominent leaders of Jerusalem in the eleventh century, the Dār al-ʿilm was not mentioned except by Abū Ṭāhir al-Amīr (d. 1068). In addition, there is no indication in the various available sources that Dār al-ʿilm is the Shāfiʿiyya School.103 I believe that the whole issue revolves around two different institutions, the first is Dār al-ʿilm, which was probably a library located in the St. Anne’s area in Jerusalem before 1068 CE, which is the date of the death of Ismāʿīl Abū Ṭāhir al-Amīr, but we do not know if it remained there until the end of the Frankish occupation of the city. Moreover, we do not know whether Dār al-ʿilm in Jerusalem was an institution administered by the ruling authority or if it was a distinct entity of its own. Moreover, we do not have any information that indicates that Dār al-ʿilm in Jerusalem had the same function as the Dār al-ʿilm in Cairo.104 The second institution is the Shāfiʿiyya School, which is run by the Shāfiʿī is scholars (see next).

al-Madrasa105 al-Shāfiʿiyya/al-Naṣriyya (Figure I.2.2) The Shāfiʿiyya/Naṣriyya school was an educational institution that taught Islamic law and jurisprudence on the Shāfiʿī madhhab, and it was founded and supervised by Naṣr al-Maqdisī, who was the head of the Shāfiʿis in Jerusalem and Syria “Shaykh al-Shāfiʿiyya fī Bilād al-Shām” at that time.106 Ibn al-ʿArabī of Seville reported at the end of the eleventh century about the existence of the “Shāfiʿī School” located near Bāb al-Asbāṭ, and that it was administered by the most outstanding student of Shaykh Naṣr al-Maqdisī, Yaḥyā b. al-Mufarraj al-Maqdisī (see earlier). Mujīr al-Dīn mentions in his book al-Uns al-Jalīl, when referring to al-Ghazālī’s visit to al- Zāwiya al-Naṣriyya near the Gate of Mercy, saying that he stayed in Jerusalem for a long time in the Zāwiya known as al-Naṣriyya at the Gate of Mercy, and it seems that it has been named Nāsriyya after Shaykh Naṣr, then it was known as al-Ghazālīyya because al-Ghazālī resided there. It seems that Mujīr al-Dīn mistook the zāwiya al-Naṣriyya in Damascus, which was also known al-Zāwiya al-Ghazālīyya, with the Naṣriyya or Shāfiʿiyya School in Jerusalem. Mujīr al-Dīn also points out the place were al-Ghazālī lived in Jerusalem, in a Zāwiya close to Bāb al-Raḥma, which was then known as al-zāwiya

102 For example, see Drori, Ibn al-ʿArabī of Seville, p. 135 not no. 4. 103 Abed Rabo, Jerusalem, 271–273. 104 See Sourdel, “Dar al-Hikma”. 105 Hillenbrand, “Madrasa”. 106 Mujīr al-Dīn, al-Uns, I: 298.

40  Omar Abed Rabo al-Nāsiriyya, after Naṣr al-Maqdisī. He adds that al-Ghazālī was able to write his famous book Iḥiyāʾ ʿUlūm al-Dīn while in Jerusalem. It was known that Naṣr al-Maqdisī taught in Jerusalem in the zāwiya he established and came to be known after him. This place came to be known at the end of the eleventh century as al-Madrasa al-Shāfiʿiyya, which was administrated by Yaḥyā al-Maqdisī and was where he taught. It can be assumed that the qāḍī Yaḥyā al-Maqdisī was active in Jerusalem during the same period of Ghazālī. If my assumption here is correct regarding the activity of the jurists in Jerusalem, it is difficult to accept that al-Shāfiʿiyya School or al- Zāwiya al-Naṣriyya was the same as al-Zāwiya al-Ghazāliyya. This is because Yaḥyā al-Maqdisī administrated the school under the name of Naṣr al-Maqdisī, and we know that Abū-Hamed al-Ghazālī used to meet Sufis and jurists in the Mahd ʿĪsā Mosque. We must also emphasize here that there is no evidence available concerning any ḥadīth or narration that might have been heard by students directly from al-Ghazālī in the Shāfiʿiyya School in Jerusalem. al-Nuʿaymī, in his book al-Dāris fī tārīkh al-madāris [The Study of the History of the Madrasas]107 copied Ibn Shaddād in referencing the schools in the Damascus Mosque: al-Ghazāliyya school, which had previously been known under the name of the Shaykh Naṣr al-Maqdisī. He added that when al-Ghazālī came to Damascus, he wanted to enter al-Khānqāh al-Sumaysāṭiyya, but the Sufis prevented him from doing so because they did not know him, and so al-Ghazālī went to the Zāwiya al-Naṣriyya and sat in it instead. And when the Sufis found out about the importance of al-Ghazālī they came to him, apologized for their behavior, and asked him to come back to the al-Khānqāh al-Sumaysāṭiyya. In addition to Naṣr, the founder of the school, and Yaḥyā, his deputy in the administration, there were other notable Shāfiʿīs who taught at the school, such as Abū al-Faḍl ʿAṭāʾ al-Maqdisī, who was active in Jerusalem at the end of the second half of the eleventh century. He was the student of Naṣr al-Maqdisī. ʿAṭāʾ al-Maqdisī was indirectly the teacher of Abū Bakr Ibn al-ʿArabī (see later in this chapter), who called him the Shaykh al-fuqahāʾ wa al-ṣūfiyya “head of Jurists and Sufis”.108 Mujīr al-Dīn said about him: Shaykh al-Shāfiʿiyya fī al-Quds al-Sharīf fiqhan wa ʿilman wa Shaykh al-ṣūfiyya Ṭarīqatan.109 Majalī al-Maqdisī, was among the teachers in this school, was the Shaykh of the Shāfiʿīs of this time in Egypt, and superior judge there for two years. He was along with those who immigrated to Cairo on the eve of the Frankish occupation of the city. Among the students who studied at the Shāfiʿī School at Bāb al-Asbāṭ in the Aqṣā Mosque was the Mālikī judge, Abū Bakr Ibn al-ʿArabī, who became one of the most famous Islamic scholars in Andalusia. He visited Jerusalem twice and stayed there with his father for the purpose of learning: his first visit was between

107 A. Q. al-Nuʿaymi, al-dāris fī tārīkh al-madāris (Beirut: Dār al-Kutub al-ʿIlmiyya, 1990), 1: 273, 313–314. 108 Drori, Ibn al-ʿArabī of Seville, 80. 109 Mujīr al-Dīn, al-Uns, I: 298.

Islamic cultural-religious life in Jerusalem  41 the years 485 and 488/1092 and 1095, and the second in 491/1098.110 Ibn al-ʿArabī described an active cultural and religious atmosphere in Jerusalem, as he lived it while he was a student shifting between the Majlis of his Shaykh Abū Bakr al-Ṭurṭūshī in al-Sakīna or al-Ghuwair and between the Shāfiʿiyya and Ḥanafīiyya Schools (see earlier) and Majālis al-Maʿrifa “knowledge circles” in the ʾAqṣā Mosque. Ibn al-ʿArabī did not hide the intensity of his admiration for the atmosphere of debates and learning in the Shāfiʿī School, as well as the Ḥanafī School, and their Shaykhs and jurists.111 He pointed out that the debates and deliberations were active in al-Aqṣā Mosque and other schools of jurisprudence, such as the Shāfiʿiyya and Ḥanafīiyya Schools, as he referred to the discussions lead by scholars with al-Karamiyya,112 al-Muʿtazila,113 Jews, and Christians. He also pointed out that this religious cultural situation made him master of the knowledge of theology, uṣūl al-fiqh “the roots of the law”, and the foundations of controversy.114

Madrast Abū ʿUqba This madrasa (school) is located near the Church of the Holy Sepulcher and is a school that taught jurisprudence and Islamic law according to the Ḥanafī Madhhab. The school was first mentioned by Ibn al-ʿArabī, who studied there during his visit to the city with his father in the nineties of the fifth century/eleventh century (see later in this chapter). Ibn al-ʿArabi indicated that he studied at this school with the qādī al-Rīḥānī,115 who apparently arrived in Jerusalem with a group of scholars from Khurāsān, such as al-Zanjānī, al-Zūzani, al-Sūghāni, and students such as al-Biskari and Sātkin al-Turki,116 who came in order to pray in the Aqṣā Mosque and to visit the Ibrahimi Mosque in Hebron.117 Ibn al-Arabi studied at the Abū ʿUqba School and also in the Majlis of al-Zanjānī, who used to hold it on Fridays (see earlier). He attended the debate and argumentation that took place between the Ḥanafī Judge al-Rīḥānī and the jurist al-Sūghāni, who entered the school while the qādī al-Rīḥānī was giving his Friday lesson in jurisprudence in Abū ʿUqba School. Ibn al-ʿArabī was admired by al-Sūghāni’s logic and wisdom.118 We know that this school (Figure I.2.2) was near the Church of the Holy Sepulcher but do not know the precise location (see the previous passage). Moreover, we do not know exactly when this school was established in Jerusalem, but it can be assumed that it was not before the Seljūq rule, and it is likely to have been

110 Drori, Ibn al-ʿArabī of Seville, 69. 111 Drori, Ibn al-ʿArabī of Seville, 12. 112 Abed Rabo, al-ḥayāt al-ʿilmiyya, 197–198. 113 Eds, “al-Muʿtazila,” EI2. 114 Drori, Ibn al-ʿArabī of Seville, 96. 115 Abed Rabo, Jerusalem, 111. 116 Abed Rabo, Jerusalem, 142. 117 Drori, Ibn al-ʿArabī of Seville. 118 Drori, Ibn al-ʿArabī of Seville, 98.

42  Omar Abed Rabo during the rule of Suqmān ibn Artq over Jerusalem, in the eighties of the eleventh century. This assumption is based on strong data, the most important of which is the agreement that was signed between the Fatimid al-Mustanṣir bi’llāh, and the Byzantine Emperor Constantine Monomachos (who financed the work of the fortifications on the northwestern side of the wall and on the opposite side of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher). Constantine stipulated that in the case of financing the work in this area, it has to be inhabited only by Christians, and this actually happened in 1063 ce after the building of the wall was completed. This created a new urban and cultural reality for the city of Jerusalem, which now began to be divided into quarters. At this stage, the “Christian Quarter” or the “Patriarch’s Quarter” was formed and inhabited by the Christians of Jerusalem.119 Based on this, the area that was known as the Christian Quarter remained as such for a period not exceeding ten years or a little more, as a place where Christians lived. When the Seljūqs took control of Jerusalem, this agreement was canceled, and thus the Abū ʿUqba School was opened near the Church of the Holy Sepulcher and it became a place for the teaching of Ḥanafī madhhab.

Concluding remarks In the few months prior to the Frankish occupation of the city on 22 Shaʿbān 492/15 July 1099, Jerusalem had become a focal point of intellectual intesity and cultural-religious activity. The city was distinguished by an unprecedented abundance of intellectual and cultural pursuits and religious diversity. It was a predominant feature of the religious-cultural life in the city. The relationship between the various sects living in the city was based on controversy and debate, polemic interactions, and discussions spread throughout the city of Jerusalem, and these circles were managed by the most prominent Jerusalemite scholars and by scholars visiting the city. It was also highlighted by Ibn al-ʿArabī, when he said: “We argue with dignity, the Mu’tazila, the Jews, and the Christians”.120 In addition to these sects, there were in Jerusalem the scholars of the four Sunnī madhhabs, namely the Shāfiʿī, Mālikī, and Ḥanafī schools, in addition to a very small number of Ḥanbalis, in the city during the second half of the eleventh century.121 The city took its scholarly scientific position from its religious holiness, its political importance, and in the presence of its scholars. It seems that from the end of the seventh century until the year 970 CE, when the Fatimids took control of the city, there was a sufficient period of time for the crystallization of the cultural-religious personality of the city. The cultural-religious scene in the city during Fatimid rule was dominated by the Shāfiʿiyya scholars, and around the middle of the eleventh century or shortly

119 William of Tyre (1943), A History of Deeds Done Beyond the Sea, trans. E. A. Babcock and A. C. Krey (New York, 1948), 17: 9, 18, 405–407; A. Boas, Jerusalem in the Time of the Crusades: Society, Landscape and Art in the Holy City Under Frankish Rule (Routledge, 2001), 69–70. 120 Drori, Ibn al-ʿArabī of Seville, 96. 121 Abed Rabo, Jerusalem, 147–154.

Islamic cultural-religious life in Jerusalem  43 beforehand, the first school to teach religious sciences was established according to the Shāfiʿi Madhhab. It was the Naṣriyya or Shāfiʿiyya School, named after its founder, Naṣr b. Ibrāhīm b. Naṣr al-Maqdis (490/1097). This school continued to dominate the Islamic religious-cultural scene in the city even after the founding of the Abū ʿUqba al-Ḥanafīyya School in the Seljuq period near the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. The Shāfiʿiyya scholars who worked on transmitting ḥadīth and the literature In Praise of Jerusalem, which focuses on the old traditions that are based on sayings that highlight the religious status of Jerusalem and Hebron and parallel them to religious sites in Makka and Al-Madina. I think these scholars contributed to the formation of of the cultural-religious identity of the city in the period that preceded its occupation by the Franks in 1099, and its implications in understanding the sectarian relationship between the Shāfiʿi scholars and other scholars who were active in the city and with the ruling authority.

3

The confraternity and Chapel of St Edward the Confessor in Acre (1271/1272–1291) Denys Pringle

The tower of the English in Acre Following the abandonment of the crusade against Tunis after Louis IX’s death in Carthage in August 1270, Lord Edward, son and heir of Henry III of England, returned from the North African coast to Sicily with Charles of Anjou and in the new year proceeded to Acre with his remaining English knights to fulfil his crusading vow in the Holy Land. There, between May 1271 and September 1272, he collaborated with local and Cypriot knights in a series of largely inconclusive raids against nearby Muslim-controlled settlements before sailing for home.1 During his time in Acre, however, Edward also contributed more usefully to the defence of the city by undertaking to sponsor the construction of a new tower on the city walls. One source of evidence for this is a series of letters that were sent to him by the Hospitallers in Acre after his return to England and accession to the throne, asking for repayment of the money that he had borrowed from local merchants to pay for it. The letters indicate that while in Acre the prince had borrowed sums of 5,000 and 7,000 bezants through loans guaranteed by the Hospitallers, but that as late as 1281 he was still owing 254 bezants to the Syrian money-changer Ibrahim por le complessement de vostre barrei.2 The tower itself was evidently the Turris Anglorum that is shown on the maps of Acre published in the 1320s–1330s by Pietro Vesconte, Paolino Veneto and Marino Sanudo. It stood on the north-facing section of the outer wall or barbican enclosing the older, walled part of the city and was separated by

  1 Reinhold Röhricht, “Études sur les derniers temps du royaume de Jérusalem: A. La croisade du prince Édouard d’Angleterre (1270–1274),” Archives de l’Orient latin 1 (Paris: Leroux, 1881), 617–632; Christopher Tyerman, England and the Crusades, 1095–1588 (Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1988), 124–132; Michael Prestwich, Edward I (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1997), 66–85.   2 Joseph Delaville le Roulx, ed., Cartulaire général de l’ordre des Hospitaliers de Saint-Jean de Jérusalem (1100–1310), 4 vols. (Paris: Leroux, 1894–1906), vol. 3, 266–267, no. 3445; 272–273, no. 3465; vol. 4, 297, no. 3653 bis; Reinhold Röhricht, Regesta Regni Hierosolymitani: Additamentum (Innsbruck: Wagner, 1904), 93, no. 1384a; 94, no. 1385a; 100, no. 1443a; David Jacoby, “Three Notes on Crusader Acre,” Zeitschrift des Deutschen Palästina-Vereins, 109 (1993), 83–96, at 94–95; Simon Lloyd, English Society and the Crusade, 1216–1307 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988), 145; Prestwich, Edward I, 79.

DOI: 10.4324/9781003146957-4

The confraternity and Chapel of St Edward the Confessor  45 another tower, built from 1269 onwards by King Hugh III of Cyprus, from the tower that was eventually built at the north-eastern corner by Henry II of Cyprus in 1286.3 Marino Sanudo’s reference to the English tower in his account of the Mamluk siege and storming of Acre in 1291 as sbaralium domini Odoard4 might give the impression that the work was something more like a barbican or outwork than a tower. It seems more likely, however, that the term sbaralium was merely Sanudo’s attempt at translating the French word baril (barrel), indicating a rounded or cylindrical tower.5 The equivalent word in late medieval and modern English would be “keep” (from Middle English “kipe,” hence “coop”), a term denoting a tower shaped like a basket or barrel, which in due course came to be applied to any major inhabited defensive tower or donjon.6 Indeed, Henry II’s tower in Acre, which is described by the Templar of Tyre as une tourete neuve . . . quy se disoit la Tor dou Roy,7 is called by Sanudo the turris rotunda nova Regis,8 while Hugh III’s tower is referred to in the same sources respectively as a baril qui se disoit le Baril dou Roy and as sbaralium Regis Hugonis.9 Although Sanudo also describes the Mamluks digging tunnels ad sbaralium sive barbacanum Regis Hugonis,10 it is clear from his description of the fighting that the sbaralium and the barbacanum were different structures, the barbacanum being the outer wall of the city to which the tower was attached, including the lists (lices) or space between it and the principal inner wall. This particular meaning of the word “barbican” is explained by Wilbrand of Oldenburg in his description of Acre made in 1212,11 and its common use in other Frankish contexts in Syria and Palestine has more recently been systematically analysed by Jean Mesqui.12    3 Denys Pringle, “Edward I, Castle-building and the Tower of the English in Acre,” in A Fresh Approach: Essays Presented to Colin Platt in Celebration of His Eightieth Birthday, 11 November 2014, ed. Claire Donovan ([Bristol]: Trouser Press, 2014), 48–56; idem, The Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem: A Corpus, 4 vols (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993–2009), vol. 4, 77, pls v–vii, figures 1–3; Bernard Dichter, The Maps of Acre: An Historical Cartography (Acre: Acre Municipality, 1973), 16–30.   4 Marino Sanudo, Liber Secretorum Fidelium Crucis super Terrae Sanctae Recuperatione et Conservatione 3.12.21, ed. J. Bongars (Hanau, 1611; repr. Toronto: Toronto University Press, 1972), 230.   5 Pringle, “Edward I, Castle-building and the Tower of the English in Acre,” 53. The same may also apply to the barrei mentioned in 1281, though it is also possible that the writer had in mind some other form of defensive “barrier” (see A.-J. Greimas, Dictionnaire de l’ancien français jusqu’au milieu du xiv siècle (Paris: Larousse, 1980), 62, s.v. “bare, baire”).   6 John R. Kenyon and Michael Thompson, “The Origin of the Word ‘Keep’,” Medieval Archaeology 38 (1994), 175–176. 7 Cronaca del Templare di Tiro (1243–1314), §255 (491), ed. Laura Minervini (Naples: Liguori, 2000), 208. It is also later referred to as la tour neuve, que l’on disoit la Tour dou Roy (§258 (494), ed. Minervini, 212).   8 Sanudo 3.12.21, ed. Bongars, 231.  9 Cronaca del Templare di Tiro, §255 (491), ed. Minervini, 208; Sanudo 3.12.21, ed. Bongars, 231. 10 Sanudo 3.12.21, ed. Bongars, 230. 11 Denys Pringle, “Wilbrand of Oldenburg’s Journey to Syria, Lesser Armenia, Cyprus, and the Holy Land (1211–1212): A New Edition,” Crusades 11 (2012), 109–137, at 117; trans. idem, Pilgrimage to Jerusalem and the Holy Land 1187–1291, CTT 23 (Farnham: Ashgate, 2012), 63. 12 Jean Mesqui, “La «barbacane» du Crac des Chevaliers (Syrie) et la signification du terme dans le bassin méditerranéen,” Bulletin monumental 176.3 (2018), 215–234.

46  Denys Pringle Another document that mentions the Tower of the English is a letter written by Edward from Windsor on 28 December 1278, four years after his return from the Holy Land and accession to the throne. Although the actual letter does not survive, the enrolled summary of it states that under its terms the king appointed the provost and confraternity of St Edward in Acre and their successors to have custody of “our tower, which we have caused to be constructed and built in Acre at our own expense for the defence and protection of the city.”13 As Jonathan Riley-Smith has shown, this confraternity, formed under the patronage of Edward’s namesake, the sainted Anglo-Saxon king Edward the Confessor (r. 1042–1066), was one of a number of such lay organizations of burgesses established in Acre in the thirteenth century and dedicated to the defence of the Holy Land.14 It seems at least possible that its members came from among the group of mercenaries (stipendiarii), whom the St Albans chronicler William Rishanger records Edward having left behind in Acre when he departed in September 1272.15 Some of the confraternities in Frankish Acre appear to have had a chapel, or at least the use of an altar in an existing church. The confraternity of St Andrew, for instance, is known to have held its meetings in the cathedral church of the Holy Cross, while from 1228 onwards the Spanish confraternity of St James leased a church dedicated to its patron from the abbot of Mount Tabor. In 1254–1255, however, the latter’s church was acquired by the Order of St John and the confraternity’s two priors became confratres of the Hospital.16 Until recently it had seemed doubtful that the military confraternity of St Edward would necessarily have had its own chapel.17 The evidence of two hitherto unpublished letters written by members of the confraternity to Edward I and preserved in the National Archives in Kew (London), however, indicates clearly that the confrères did indeed have a chapel but that their tenure and use of it was not at all straightforward.

The letters sent to King Edward I Although both of the letters sent to the king are dated to October, the year is not given in either case, and in letter 2 the day of the month itself is uncertain. Differences in style and spelling also suggest that they may have been drafted by different people; indeed, letter 1 is sent in the name of the “men of the fraternity,” while 13 turrim nostram, quam apud Acon pro munitione et tuitione ejusdem civitatis propriis sumptibus nostris construi et edificare fecimus custodiendam: London (Kew), The National Archives (TNA), C66/98 (7 Ed. I, membrane 26); Calendar of Patent Rolls in the Public Record Office, Edward I, vol. 1: a.d. 1272–1281 (London: HMSO, 1901), 296; Röhricht, “Études,” 629 n.81; Lloyd, English Society and the Crusade, 145; Tyerman, England and the Crusades, 125. 14 Jonathan Riley-Smith, “A Note on Confraternities in the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem,” Bulletin of the Institute of Historical Research 44 (1971), 301–308; cf. Röhricht, “Études,” 628–629; Bruce Beebe, Edward I and the Crusades, PhD Thesis (University of St Andrews, 1971), 277; Lloyd, English Society and the Crusade, 240, 250; Pringle, Churches, vol. 4, 76–77; Bernard Dichter, The Orders and Churches of Crusader Acre (Acre: Acre Municipality, 1979), 120. 15 Chronica Monasterii S. Albani, ed. Henry Thomas Riley, RS 28.2 (London, 1865), 78. 16 Riley-Smith, “Note on Confraternities,” 302; Pringle, Churches, vol. 4, 68–69, 81–82. 17 Pringle, Churches, vol. 4, 76–77.

The confraternity and Chapel of St Edward the Confessor  47 letter 2 is from its provosts and prud’hommes. It is therefore difficult to tell whether they were sent at the same time with the same messenger or at different times; and if the latter, it is equally uncertain which was sent first and how much time elapsed between them. The fact that letter 2 refers to the king’s reply to a previous letter, however, raises the possibility that letter 1 might have been the earlier of the two. If that were so, however, there must have been at least a year between the sending of the two letters, as there would not have been enough time to send a letter to England and receive a reply within the same month, especially as both were dated to the period of the autumn passagium, after which there would have been no more sailings from Acre until the spring.18 Even in spring and summer it could take almost two months for a letter to reach England from the Holy Land, judging by Edward I’s reply from Worcester, dated 20 May 1282, to a report on the state of the Holy Land sent by his treasurer, Joseph de Chauncy, from Acre on 31 March.19 Apart from Edward’s letter of 28 December 1278 granting the provost and confraternity custody of the English Tower, however, no letters from the king to the confraternity survive. Each letter is written on a single sheet of parchment, which has subsequently been folded: letter 1 by a single vertical fold and two horizontal folds; letter 2 by two vertical and two horizontal folds. Both have also evidently suffered from water damage, either in transit or during subsequent storage. Letter 1 is the more complete and legible of the two, the main lacunae being due to some holes in the parchment, damage caused by the central vertical fold, and scuffing of the two lower corners. Letter 2 is less well preserved and consequently harder to decipher, largely because of water damage and the loss of the right-hand edge of the folio, including space for up to 12–15 characters per line. The French texts of the two letters are presented in the following appendix. In the following translations bold numbers in square brackets indicate the line numbers in the original document, while other square brackets indicate lacunae. Letter 1: The confraternity of St Edward the Confessor in Acre to Edward I. Dated at Acre, 21 October [1280s?] To the most high and mighty Lord Edward, by the grace of God noble king of England, duke of Normandy and [2] Aquitaine, lord of Gascony, lord of Wales and lord of Ireland, with all the other honours, from [3] your men of the fraternity of God and of my lord Saint Edward, greetings and submissive at the feet of your high [4] nobility, which may God increase and multiply: My lord, we make known to your highness that there is a chapel in the [5] city of Acre, which you caused to be established to the honour of God and my lord Saint Edward when you were in Acre. For [6] my lord alone, our member, you laid the first stone of this chapel

18 See John H. Pryor, Geography, Technology, and War: Studies in the Maritime History of the Mediterranean, 649–1571 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), 1–5. 19 Delaville le Roulx, Cartulaire, vol. 3, 424–428, no. 3782; 430, no. 3790.

48  Denys Pringle and it has been held until now by [7] the order of the Friars of the Sack. And now it has happened thus, that there are only three friars, of whom only one is a priest and he [8] is now so old that he is no longer able to sing mass and there is no prior save the patriarch of Jerusalem; and in this [9] chapel we are to celebrate the feast of God and my lord Saint Edward,20 for which, my lord, [10] we beseech you for God and in alms to be pleased to ask the patriarch of Jerusalem that this . . . [11] said chapel be entrusted to our men of the said fraternity of Saint Edward to do the service of the [said] [12] saint and all the other confrères. The news from the Holy Land informs you of the proud spirit [13] [of] the country better than we can tell you and we pray you, my lord, if it please you [14] . . . to send your letters to the master of the Temple, thanking (him) for the honour and courtesy [15] . . . for the love of you. For we have no other help but that from God alone and delight [16] . . . [May] God give you good life that we may see you soon in the country [17] [of the] holy. . . . Written in Acre on 21 October. Endorsed: To the most high and mighty Lord, by the grace of God, noble king of England. Letter 2: The provost and community of the fraternity of St Edward in Acre to Edward I. Dated at Acre, 3 (or possibly 12 or 21) October [1282/3×86] To the most high and mighty Lord Edward, by the grace of God noble king of England, duke of Aquitaine, lord [of Ireland], [2] [prince] of Wales, from the provosts and the community of the prud’hommes of the fraternity of God and my [lord Saint] [3] Edward. Your men and servants, living in the kingdom of Jerusalem in the city of Acre, commend themselves . . . [to] [4] your nobility, which may God heighten and advance. Sire, your highness should know that we have received your very ho[norable and] [5] friendly letters and solicitations, for which we are very joyful and confident of your health and your good [estate.] We [thank you], [6] Sire, for what you have been pleased to remember about us and what, Sire, you have been led to believe . . . [of] [7] us, that your messenger has reported (or has been brought back?). . . . Know, Sire, that it was never done [to] . . . [8] . . . to have done it. Therefore, we beseech you, my dear Lord, with clasped hands, that those hidden snares (or palings, posts?). . . . [9] Do not believe if for those we would do anything that would turn you to displeasure, and we [beseech you], [10] Sire, if it is your pleasure, to send asking the master of the Hospital to fulfil for us the [service that he] [11] is undertaking for us for the love of you, this kind21 of a chapel that is the sacred means of singing masses for [the dead and] [12] for the living to the honour of God and of my lord Saint Edward. And know, Sire, that the endowment of [the] . . . [13] chapel is largesse of the Hospital and the other half of Jehoshaphat.22 Now they are poor [and] . . . [14] willingly, we

20 The feast days of Edward the Confessor are 5 January (celebratio) and 13 October (translatio). 21 Espece can also mean “species” or the “eucharistic element.” 22 The abbey of St Mary in the Valley of Jehoshaphat.

The confraternity and Chapel of St Edward the Confessor  49 having the means to acquire it. So for God, may you send beseeching the Hospital [15] to help us. . . . And for God, Sire, if it please you, may you . . . [16] send to King Charles, king of Jerusalem, or to his deputy, who is in Acre in his place. [May our] Lord [give you] [17] good life and long. . . . Written on 3 (or 12 or 21) October. Endorsed: To the most high and mighty Lord Edward, by the grace of God king of England, duke of Aquitaine, lord of Ireland, prince of Wales.

Discussion From these two letters the principal elements of a story begin to emerge, although the lack of any reply from the king as well as the lacunae in the letters themselves, both physical and literary, leave many questions unanswered. In letter 1 the confrères remind the king that while he was in Acre in 1271–1272 he had founded a chapel to St Edward, laying the first stone himself; they also tell him that since then the chapel had been held by the order of the Friars of the Sack. Over time, however, the Friars had dwindled in number to only three members, only one of whom was a priest and he too old to say Mass. There was also no prior, with the result that the order itself was now under the governance of the patriarch of Jerusalem. As the fraternity thus had no way of celebrating the feasts of the church, including that of their patron St Edward, they petition the king to ask the patriarch to transfer the chapel to themselves so that they can perform the necessary services for their patron and members. The Friars of the Sack were an order of mendicants, otherwise known as the Brothers of Penitence of Jesus Christ. They were established in Provence in the 1240s and in 1251 adopted the rule of St Augustine. By 1258–1264, they possessed a house in Acre, but they would have been among the lesser orders that the Council of Lyons ordered in 1274 to be disbanded. In these circumstances their buildings were to be sold and the money thus raised used to support the crusading effort or other charitable causes; their remaining members would meanwhile be absorbed into other orders. Papal letters requested the sale of the friars’ house in Acre to the Templars in November 1285 and again in April 1288; but this evidently never happened, and in October 1290 Pope Nicolas IV instructed the patriarch to sell it instead to the Austin Friars.23 Whether or not this was ever done before the fall of Acre to the Mamluks the following year is unknown. It is not at all clear from letter 1 alone whether the chapel of St Edward was located in the friary belonging to the Friars of the Sack or in another building, though the letter seems to imply that the friars had full ecclesiastical management of it, even if they did not necessarily own it. Evidently the confraternity of St Edward did not own it, as if they had done they would not have needed to ask the king to petition the patriarch of Jerusalem (who from 1262 was also bishop of

23 Pringle, Churches 4, 50; cf. Richard W. Emery, “The Friars of the Sack,” Speculum 18 (1943), 323–334; R. I. Burns, “Pentienza di Gesù Cristo, Frati della,” Dizionario degli Istituti di Perfezione 6 (Rome, 1974), cols. 1398–1403.

50  Denys Pringle Acre)24 to allow them to take control of it, although they would still have required his permission to install a priest. It seems unlikely that letter 1 would have been written in the period between September 1277 and May 1279, as at that time there was no patriarch of Jerusalem for the king to write to, although the archbishop of Tyre was acting as patriarchal vicar.25 The tombstone of the provincial prior of the Friars of the Sack, Friar Richard Chaperon, found in Acre in the late nineteenth century, might possibly have offered a terminus post quem for the letter were it not for the fact that the final lines of his epitaph, which would have recorded his date of death, are sadly missing.26 A more plausible context for the letter, however, would have been the 1280s, around the time that the Templars were being urged to acquire the house of the Friars of the Sack. This could also perhaps explain why the confrères asked the king to write a letter to the master of the Temple. The precise purpose of that request, however, is unfortunately obscure, as the relevant parts of the text that might have explained it are now missing. An alternative reason could perhaps have concerned military affairs. Letters sent to Edward by the master of the Temple, William of Beaujeu, on 2 October 1275 and 10 January c. 1276–1277, for example, had outlined the critical situation of the kingdom and asked for the king’s assistance.27 Indeed, the confrères’ letter itself ends with an expression of the hope that the king would himself soon return to the Holy Land; but although Edward promised Pope Gregory X in 1276 that he would either go on another crusade himself or send his brother Edmund in his place, it seems that at that time he was motivated more by a desire to obtain access to the receipts from the crusade tithe and that he only seriously came around to considering another crusade in the following decade, taking the cross himself in 1287.28 Letter 2 can be dated with more precision to between 1277 and 1286 owing to its allusion to the period of Angevin rule in Acre through the baillis of Charles of Anjou, king of Sicily (1266–1285), who laid claim to the throne of Jerusalem from 1277. After Charles’s death in January 1285, his son, Charles of Salerno, pursued the claim until June 1286, when Henry II of Cyprus landed in Acre and was duly crowned king in Tyre on 15 August. During this period Roger of Sanseverino served as Angevin bailli in Acre between June 1277 and 1282, and Odo Poilechien 24 Bernard Hamilton, The Latin Church in the Crusader States: The Secular Church (London: Variorum, 1980), 270–271, 304; Pringle, Churches, vol. 4, 38. 25 Hamilton, Latin Church, 277. 26 Denys Pringle, “Notes on Some Inscriptions from Crusader Acre,” in In Laudem Hierosolymitani: Studies in Crusades and Medieval Culture in Honour of Benjamin Z. Kedar, eds. Iris Shagrir, Ronnie Ellenblum and Jonathan Riley-Smith, Crusades–Subsidia, vol. 1 (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2007), 191–209, at 103–105, 209 (no. 11). 27 London (Kew), TNA, SC 1/21/2 (2 Oct. 1275); SC 1/21/100 (10 Jan. c. 1276–1277). The first letter is edited by Charles Kohler and Charles-Victor Langlois, “Lettres inédites concernant les croisades (1275–1307),” Bibliothèque de l’École des Chartes 52.2 (1891), 46–63, at 55–56, no. 2; trans. Malcolm Barber and Keith Bate, Letters from the East: Crusaders, Pilgrims and Settlers in the 12th–13th Centuries, CTT, vol. 18 (Farnham: Ashgate, 2010), 162–163, no. 75. 28 Prestwich, Edward I, 326–328.

The confraternity and Chapel of St Edward the Confessor  51 (or Pelechien) between 1282 and 1286.29 If letter 2 was written later than letter 1, however, it must also have been written after May 1279, when the patriarchal vacancy ended with the appointment of Elias of Périgueux. This would narrow the date range to between May 1279 and June 1286, when Odo Poilechien surrendered the citadel in Acre to Henry II. The possibility of narrowing the date range for letter 2 still further, however, is raised by the writers’ use of the title “prince of Wales” in addressing the king. This title had been granted by Henry III to Llewelyn ap Gruffydd (c. 1223–1282) and his heirs on 29 September 1267, under the terms of the Treaty of Montgomery.30 Thereafter, until his death in rebellion against the king on 11 December 1282, English official sources consistently refer to Llewelyn as “prince of Wales,”31 while his wife, Edward’s cousin Eleanor de Montfort, is named “princess” (principessa Walliae).32 With the ending of the rebellion following the capture Llewellyn’s brother Dafydd and his execution in Shrewsbury on 3 October 1283, Llewellyn’s remaining heirs were effectively disinherited and the lands that he had formerly administered as prince were divided, some being granted as lordships to the king’s followers and the remainder coming under direct royal administration.33 Subsequently, in February 1301, Edward granted the latter to his son and heir, Edward of Caernavon, along with the earldom of Chester; and by 4 April the younger Edward was himself being referred to by the king as “prince of Wales.”34 The only period during which Edward I himself might plausibly have styled himself “prince of Wales” would therefore have been between December 1282 (or October 1283) and February/April 1301; however, there appears to be no official record of him ever having formally adopted the title. The preamble to the Statutes of Wales, or Rhuddlan (March 1284), by which he set out the provisions for administering the lands taken back from Llewellyn in North Wales, for example, style him simply as “king of England, lord of Ireland and duke of Aquitaine.”35 The confraternity’s use of the title “prince of Wales” in addressing him in letter 2, like their use of the title “lord of Wales” in letter 1, may possibly therefore have been

29 Cronaca del Templare di Tiro, §§160–162 (396–398), 182 (418), 201–202 (437–438), ed. Minervini, 148–151, 160–163, 168–171; Steven Runciman, A History of the Crusades, 3 vols (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1951–1954), vol. 3, 345–346, 392–396. 30 Thomas Rymer, Foedera, Conventiones, Litterae et cujuscunque generis Acta Publica, inter Reges Angliae et alios quosvis Imperatores, Reges, Pontifices, Principes, vel Communitates; ab ingressu Gulielmi I. in Angliam, a.d. 1066, ad nostra usque tempora, 4 vols (London, 1816–1869), vol. 1.1, 474; cf. Prestwich, Edward I, 170–171. 31 Rymer, Foedera, vol. 1.2, 504–505, 535–538, 541, 545–547, 619; cf. Prestwich, Edward I, 188–194. 32 Rymer, Foedera, vol. 1.2, 576, 584, 587. 33 Prestwich, Edward I, 194–196, 202–206. 34 Calendar of the Charter Rolls preserved in the Public Record Office, vol. 3: Edward I, Edward II, 1300–26 (London: HMSO, 1909), 6; Rymer, Foedera, vol. 1.2, 931; Prestwich, Edward I, 226–227. 35 Statutes of the Realm, ed. A. Luders et al., 11 vols. (London: Record Commission, 1810–1828), vol. 1, 55.

52  Denys Pringle a solecism, albeit one that accurately reflected the reality of the king’s position in Wales after 1282/1283. In letter 2, the provosts and men of the fraternity thank the king for a letter that they have received from him and express pleasure that he has remembered them, apparently in response to an earlier letter from them. However, the king also appears to have expressed some displeasure, as the confrères proceed to give a lengthy apology for any earlier misunderstanding. The exact cause of this contretemps remains unclear, owing to lacunae in the text, but may perhaps have concerned something reported or experienced by the messenger who delivered the letter, rather than anything in the letter itself. The letter that the king was responding to could therefore well have been letter 1, despite the apparent lack of anything controversial in its content. The main subject of letter 2, however, was evidently the status of the chapel of St Edward and the provision of religious services in it for the benefit of the confrères and their patron. The lack of any mention of the Friars of the Sack, who letter 1 implies had been installed in it since 1271/1272, would appear both to support the idea that letter 1 was written before letter 2 and to suggest that in the period since it was written the Friars had vacated the chapel. In this letter the confrères ask the king to write to ask the master of the Hospital to complete something that he had undertaken to do on their and the king’s behalf. Although a lacuna obscures what precisely that was, the next sentence makes clear that it concerned either the status of the chapel itself or possibly the provision of the sacrament for it. The community go on to tell the king that the chapel was held jointly in mortmain by the Hospitallers and the Benedictine abbey of St Mary in the Valley of Jehoshaphat; but since the latter were poor, there was a possibility of the community being able to acquire it. They therefore ask the king to write to the master of the Hospital and the king of Jerusalem, Charles of Anjou, or his bailli in Acre to assist them. Whether or not Edward ever responded to any of the confraternity’s requests to write to the masters of the Temple and Hospital, the patriarch of Jerusalem or Charles of Anjou on their behalf is unknown, since no mention is made of the confraternity of St Edward in any of Edward’s surviving correspondence with them, most of which in any case consists of letters sent to the king rather than by him.36 Other sources, however, shed some light on the situation in Acre described in the letter. The Benedictine abbey of St Mary in the Valley of Jehoshaphat had been established in the first decade of the twelfth century over and around the church containing the tomb of the Virgin Mary in the Kidron Valley, between the

36 Letters sent by Edward I include those to Charles of Anjou in September 1277 (Calendar of Chancery Warrants preserved in the Public Record Office, a.d. 1244–1326 (London, 1927), 3) and March 1283 (ibid., 9; Rymer, Foedera, vol. 1.2, 626–627); to Nicolas de Lorgne, master of the Hospital via the Hospitallers’ prior in England and royal treasurer, Joseph de Chauncy, in September 1281 (Kohler and Langlois, “Lettres inédites,” 58–59, no. 4; Delaville le Roulx, Cartulaire, vol. 3, 417–418, no. 3766); and to Joseph de Chauncy himself in Acre, May 1282 (Delaville le Roulx, Cartulaire, 3: 430, no. 3790).

The confraternity and Chapel of St Edward the Confessor  53 city of Jerusalem and the Mount of Olives.37 By the middle of the century the abbey also had a church and other properties in Acre, but at the time of Saladin’s conquest of Jerusalem and Acre in 1187 the monks left the Holy Land and sought safety in their dependent priory of St Mary Magdalene near Messina in Sicily. By 1212 the abbot, Adam, and a community of monks had returned to Acre. A series of appeals to the pope during the 1250s and 1260s, however, underlined the severe financial problems facing the abbey following the loss of most of its lands in the East, along with part of its archive, to the Muslims. To add to these difficulties, its church and cloister, which lay in the Genoese quarter, suffered severe damage in 1256–1258 during the War of St Sabas between the Genoese, Venetians and Pisans, following which the quarter was largely abandoned and its defences demolished. As a result, it appears that the abbey hypothecated a part-share in its church and houses in Acre to the Hospitallers, presumably largely for cash, before selling what was probably the remaining share in 1289.38 The earlier arrangement is alluded to by Pope Nicolas IV in a letter to the patriarch, Nicolas of Hanapes, on 13 June 1289, in which he agreed to the subsequent sale: The petition of the beloved children, the master and brothers of the Hospital of St John of Jerusalem, presented to you mentioned that, since they and our beloved sons, the abbot and convent of the monastery of Jehoshaphat, of the order of St Benedict, in the diocese of Acre, were holding in common a certain church or chapel with certain small houses (cum quibusdam domunculis) in the city of Acre, and since the church or chapel had been destroyed to the extent that no divine office was being celebrated in it, but rather that it was being soiled by items of rubbish that people were throwing into it, and since it was manifestly prejudicial to the said abbot and convent, weighed down, as they were saying, with the burden of poverty, to bear the expenses necessary for the repair of the church or chapel, they have granted to the master and brothers part of the church or chapel in return for a used holy gold chalice, and part of the adjoining houses for a certain sum of money, the acts of the exchange and sale being contracted separately.39 The situation described in letter 2 appears to correspond with that set out here, in which the Hospital had effectively taken over part of the abbey’s property, including their church; but if the chapel of St Edward lay within the ecclesiastical property held jointly by the Hospital and the abbey of St Mary, where precisely was it and what exactly was the role played in it by the Friars of the Sack?

37 Pringle, Churches, vol. 3, 287–306. 38 Pringle, Churches, vol. 4, 144–147. 39 Delaville le Roulx, Cartulaire, vol. 3, 538–539, no. 4044; cf. Les Registres de Nicolas IV, ed. Ernest Langlois, Bibl. des Écoles françaises d’Athènes et de Rome, series 2, vol. 5 (Paris, 1886), 205, no. 952; RRH Ad, 102, no. 1485a; Dichter, Orders and Churches of Crusader Acre, 31, figure 17; Pringle, Churches, vol. 4, 146.

54  Denys Pringle A text called Les Pardouns de Acres, which sets out a list of the indulgences that pilgrims could obtain by visiting the various churches of Acre c. 1258–1263 suggests, as indicated, that the church of St Mary in the Valley of Jehoshaphat lay in the Genoese quarter, between the Genoese church of St Lawrence and the Pisan church of St Peter towards the harbour, while the church and friary of the Friars of the Sack lay further north, between the Hospital of St John and the parish church of St Michael.40 It seems a little improbable either that Edward would have established his chapel of St Edward inside the church of St Mary in Jehoshaphat if by 1271/1272 it was already damaged and partially derelict, or that the service of the chapel would have been entrusted to a mendicant order that had no other connection with the Benedictines. A likelier scenario might therefore be that the chapel of St Edward was established within another property belonging to the abbey of Jehoshaphat and that by the time that letter 2 was written this had been partly acquired by the Hospital as part of the earlier hypothecation. The Friars of the Sack could have served the chapel without owning it. They evidently did own their own friary church, however, since, as already mentioned, they were instructed by the pope in 1285 and 1288 to sell that to the Templars, and in 1290 to the Austin Friars. It appears possible therefore that the chapel of St Edward was established by Edward I for the confraternity of St Edward in a property belonging to the Benedictine abbey of St Mary in the Valley of Jehoshaphat. It would initially have been served by the Friars of the Sack and may well have been situated somewhere near their own friary, north of the Genoese quarter. By the time that these two letters were written, probably in the 1280s, the Friars were no longer able to provide a priest to say Mass, and the building itself was being held jointly by the abbey of Jehoshaphat and the Hospital of St John. The confraternity therefore asked Edward I to intercede on their behalf with the patriarch of Jerusalem, the masters of the Temple and Hospital and Charles of Anjou (or Charles of Salerno) or his bailli in Acre to arrange for the chapel to be transferred to them so that they could celebrate the feast of their patron saint and pray for the souls of their members. Whether this ever happened seems doubtful, especially as the chapel was held in mortmain and the confraternity was not a religious body; they would also still have required a licensed priest to say Mass for them. By the time of the fall of Acre to the Mamluks in May 1291, it is not even known whether the confrères were still holding the Tower of the English, as these two letters appear to represent the last recorded mention of them. The main concentration of English military personnel in Acre during the later thirteenth century, apart from those attached to the Templars and Hospitallers, would have been represented by the Order of St Thomas of Canterbury, a Military Order which had developed, like the Teutonic 40 Itinéraires à Jérusalem et descriptions de la Terre Sainte rédigés en français aux xie, xiie et xiiie siècles, eds. Henri Michelant and Gaston Raynaud, Publications de la Société de l’Orient latin, série géographique 2 (Geneva, 1882), 235; Fabio Romanini and Beatrice Saletti, I Pelrinages communes, i Pardouns de Acre et la crisi del regno crociato: Storia e testi/The Pelrinages communes, the Pardouns de Acre and the Crisis in the Crusader Kingdom: History and Texts (Padua: libreriauniversitaria.it.edizioni, 2012), 148, 151; Pringle, Pilgrimage, 235–236, figure 7; idem, Churches, vol. 4, 22, 50, 144–147, figure 3.

The confraternity and Chapel of St Edward the Confessor  55 Order, from a field hospital set up during the Third Crusade and in due course came to be established with its own church and hospital beside the sea in the northermost part of the suburb of Montmusard. Already before the fall of Acre, however, its house there had been mortgaged to the Templars.41 Although a Middle Dutch chronicle of the late fifteenth century claims that at the time of the final Mamluk siege the master of the order of St Thomas commanded some 5,000 soldiers maintained by the king of England, no mention is made of the order in contemporary accounts of the siege.42 The chronicle’s reference to the role of the English king probably reflects a memory of the crusade that Edward had been planning in collaboration with Pope Nicolas IV in 1289–1290.43 This came to nothing; but in 1290, almost two decades after Lord Edward’s crusade, during which time there is little record of anyone travelling from England to the Holy Land, a sudden increase may be observed in the numbers of knights, clerics and others petitioning the king for letters of protection to travel to Jerusalem or the Holy Land or to appoint attorneys to manage their affairs during their absence. Principal among them was the Savoyard, Otto of Grandson, bailiff of Jersey and Guernsey, who had played a part in the papal negotiations.44 During the final Mamluk assault, while the English Tower stood in the quarter defended by the troops of Henry II of Cyprus and the Teutonic Order, the English knights, led by Otto of Grandson together with a French contingent under John of Grailly, were stationed near the sea on the south-eastern quarter of the walls.45 Whether they included any members of the confraternity of St Edward, however, is quite unknown. 41 Alan Forey, “The Military Order of St Thomas of Acre,” English Historical Review 92 (1977), 481–503; repr. in idem, Military Orders and Crusades (Aldershot, 1994), ch. xii; Denys Pringle, “The Order of St Thomas of Canterbury in Acre,” in The Military Orders 5: Politics and Power, ed. Peter W. Edbury (Farnham: Ashgate, 2012), 75–82; idem, Churches, vol. 4, 162–164. 42 “Croniken van der Duytscher Oirden, Utrecht Chronicle of the Teutonic Order (Jüngere Hochmeisterchronik), Diplomatic edition (Vienna, Deutschordenszentralarchiv, Hs. 392),” §485, ed. Rombert Stapel, The Late Fifteenth-Century Utrecht Chronicle of the Teutonic Order: Manuscripts, Sources and Authorship, PhD Dissertation (Leiden University, 2017), appendix, p.  97, https://openaccess. leidenuniv.nl/handle/1887/45782; cf. Chronicon Equestris Ordinis Teutonici incerti auctoris 264, ed. Antonius Matthaeus, Veteris Aevi Analecta, Second edition, 5.10 (The Hague, 1738), 615–818, at 751; cf. Ludolph of Suchem, de Itinere Terrae Sanctae Liber 25, ed. Ferdinand Deycks, Bibliothek des Litterarischen Vereins in Stuttgart, vol. 15 (Stuttgart, 1851; repr. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012), 41. An illustration of the siege of Acre from the early fourteenth-century Cocharelli Codex (Florence, Museo Nazionale del Bargello, MS 2065 Carrand) also depicts what may perhaps be a group of English soldiers bearing flags emblazoned with white lions passant on a red ground (see Chiara Concina, “The Cocharelli Codex as a Source for the History of the Latin East: The Fall of Tripoli and Acre,” Crusades 18 (2019), 93–128, at 109, figures. 9, 11a). 43 Prestwich, Edward I, 326–329. 44 Calendar of Patent Rolls in the Public Record Office, Edward I, a.d. 1281–1292 (London, 1893), 371; C. L. Kingsford, “Sir Otho de Grandison (1238–1328),” Transactions of the Royal Historical Society, series 3, 3 (1909), 125–195, at 134–150; Tyerman, England and the Crusades, 236–237; Lloyd, English Society and the Crusade, 59, 84; Prestwich, Edward I, 328–329. 45 Excidium Aconis, ed. R. B. C. Huygens, CCCM 202 (Turnhout 2004), 56–57, 90; Cronaca del Templare di Tiro, §§255 (491), 263 (499), ed. Minervini, 208–210, 218–220; Sanudo 3.12.21, ed. Bongars, 230–231.

56  Denys Pringle

Appendix: letters addressed to King Edward I by the confraternity of St Edward the Confessor in Acre Letter 1 The National Archives, Kew, London (TNA), SC/1/14/134: The confraternity of St Edward the Confessor in Acre to Edward I. Dated at Acre, 21 October [1280s?].   [1] Au tres haut et puissant mo[n] seignor Edoart p(ar) [la gra]ce de Deu no[b] le roy d’Engleterre, Duc de Normandie et d’A  [2] quitaine et seignor de V[a]s[co]g[ne et] s[eignor] de [G]ales et seignor d’Irlande avec toz les autres henors, de par   [3] vos homes de la frairie de Deu et [de] mon seignor saint Edoart, saluz et obeisant as piés de v(ost)re haute seig  [4] norie, que Deu creise et multeplie. Mon seignor, nos faisons asaveir a v(ost) re hautesse que il y a une chapele en la   [5] cité d’Acre que vos feistes fonder a l’enor de Deu [et] de mon seignor saint Edoart q(ua)nt vos fustes en Acre. Car   [6] mon seignor seil,46 noz menbre, vus meïstes la premere pierre [de] cele dite chapelle et l’ont tenue jusques a ores   [7] l’ordre des freres dou Sac.47 Et ores est ensi ave[n]u, que il n’i a m[ei]s[mes] .iii. freres, de quei il n’i a que un prestre et celui   [8] est mais48 si veil49 que il ne puet mese chanter et il n’i a nul pr[i]or [sau]f le patriarche de Jerusalem et en cele dite   [9] chapele somes nos faire la feste de Deu et de mon seignor saint Edouart, por laquel chose, mo[n seignor, [10] no]s vos prions por Deu et en aumone que il voz pleust a [ma]nder au patriarch[e] de Jerusalem que cele [--------] [11] [d]ite chapele fust baillée a noz homes de la dite frairie de s[ain]t Edouart por faire le servise dou [dit] [12] saint et [d]e toz les autres confreres. Les nouvelles de la sainte terre vos font assaveir [l]es hauss[ages]50 [13] [dou] pais miaus que nos ne vos sauriens man[de]r et noz [vo]s prions, mon seignor, se il voz pla[ist] [14] [------------], de mander vos letres au maistre dou Temple me[rc]iant de l’en[or] et de la cortoisie [15] [----------] por l’amor de vos. Car noz n’avons autre secors de ça me[s cel]s de Deu et del[it]

46 seil = seul. 47 The Friars of the Sack, or Friars of the Penitance of Jesus Christ. 48 mais = maintenant. 49 veil = viel, vieux. 50 haussage = fierté, orgueil.

The confraternity and Chapel of St Edward the Confessor  57 [17] [-------------] vos donne bone vie que nos vos puisons vo[i]r proch[eme]nt au pais [18] [-------------------] sainte . Escrites . en . Acre . a . xxj . ior de huito[me.] Dorse: Au tres [h]aut et puissant mon [seignor], p(ar) la grace de Deu, noble roy [d’Engleterre]. Letter 2 The National Archives, Kew, London (TNA), SC/1/14/133: from the provost and community of the fraternity of St Edward in Acre to Edward I. Dated at Acre, 3 (or possibly 12 or 21) October51[1282/3×86].   [1] [Au] tre[s] haut et puissant mon seignor Odoart, par la grace de Deu noble roy d’Engleterre, duc d’Aquitaine, s[ei]g[nor d’Irlande,]   [2] [prince]52 de Guales, de par les prevoz et la comunauté des prodes homes de la frarie de Deu et d[e] mon [seignor saint]   [3] Odoart, vos homes et voz servoors, abitant ou reaume de Jerusalem en la cité d’Acre, se recomandent [----------- a]   [4] vostre seignori, que Deu hauce et avance. Sire, sache vostre haucesse que nos avons recevés vos tres ho[norables et]   [5] aimables letres et entendues, dont nos somes mult liés et foiant53 de vostre santé et de vostre bon e[stat. Nos vos me-]   [6] [rci]ons, sire, de ce qu’il voz a pleü de remenbrer voz de noz et de ce, sire, que l’on voz a fait cr[oire ------- de]   [7] [no]z que l’on a aporté votre banie[r] [----] [----]ens. Saches, Sire, que ce [n] e fu onques fa[it de] ne le[---------------]   [8] [----s] ens avoir fait. Dont [nos v]os prions, [mo]n chier seignor, a jointes mains que cels pales cellé[s -------------]54   [9] [----s] dites. Ne voillies croire s[e] por [c]eus nos ne ferrons chose qui vos tornast a depplaizir, et nos [vos prions] [10] sire, se vostre plaizir est, que vos [ma]ndis[i]es preant55 au maistre del Hospital que il nos aconplist la [service (?) que il [11] nos fait por l’amor de voz, c[e]s[t e]spece d’une [chap]elle qui est fur sacré por chanter messes por [----- les mors et] 51 The TNA catalogue gives the date as 9 October. 52 It may be noted that in the endorsement to letter 1 Edward is styled “lord of Wales,” whereas in that to letter 2 he is called “prince.” 53 foiant = fiant. 54 The meaning of cels pales cellé[s] is unclear, as most of the remainder of the sentence is missing. Possible meanings for pal, palis, pail and pel (m.) include “post,” “stake,” “lance,” “paling” and “palissade,” while the associated word paleçon (m.) can also mean “fishing rod” or “game trap, snare” (Greimas, Dictionnaire, 464, 466, 482). 55 preant = priant.

58  Denys Pringle [12] por les vis a l’enor de Deu et de mo(n) seignor saint Odoart. Et sachies, sire, que l’amorties d[e la -----------] [13] chapelle est de largisce [de]l ospital et l’autre moitié de Josaphas.56 Dont, il sont povres [et -------------] [14] ent volentiers, ay[ant]57 [n]os [moien]s de quei ach[et]er58 la. C[ar] por Deu, sire, que vos mandes prea[nt al hospi-] [15] tal qui nos aidas[t] [-------]s la [--]a[-] [--] [-----]. Et por Deu, sire, se il vos plaist que vos no[--------- man-] [16] des au roy Charles,59 roys de Jerusalem, ou a son vicaire, qui est en Acre en leu de lui.60 [Nost]re seigno[r vos donne] [17] Bone vie et long[ue] [c-----]os [--] [--]s[e]garde. Escrites a .iij.61 iors de huitome. Dorse: Au tres haut et puissant mon seignor Odoart, p(ar) la grace de Deu roy d’Engleterre, duc d’Aquitaine, seignor d’Irlande, prince de Guales.

56 The Benedictine abbey of St Mary in the Valley of Jehoshaphat (see Pringle, Churches, vol. 4, 146). 57 Or ay[ons]. 58 Or achever? 59 Either Charles of Anjou (1226/7–85), count of Anjou and Maine (1246–1285), king of Sicily (1266–1285), and claimant to the Kingdom of Jerusalem (1277–1285), or his son, Charles II of Sicily, who succeeded him in January 1285. 60 Roger of Sanseverino served as Angevin bailli in Acre 1277–1282 and Odo Poilechien from 1282 to 1286, when Henry II of Cyprus reasserted his authority. 61 Or possibly xii or xxi.

4

How did the Teutonic Knights finance the construction of Montfort Castle? Hubert Houben

In 2006 Adrian Boas established the Montfort Castle Research Project with the aim of examining the chronological development and functions of this fortress, located in the western Galilee foothills about 12 km from the Mediterranean coast and 20 km north-east of Acre (Akko). When in 2017 with the assistance of Rabei G. Khamisy he published the results of the excavations made there, he asked how the Teutonic Knights had been able to finance the construction of such a costly building: Although it is much smaller than other major military order castles such as Safed, Château Pèlerin (‘Atlit), Margat and Crac des Chevaliers, the expense of constructing a building of this size and complexity would have been immense nonetheless. There is no source of information comparable to De constructione castri Saphet to enlighten us as to the actual sum the German order put into their building programme. Bohemond IV of Antioch agreed to contribute an annual sum of 100 bezants towards its construction and Hermann of Salza, the remarkably effective Grand Master and diplomat, requested additional financing from Pope Gregory IX who granted remission of oneseventh of their penance for those who aided in the endeavour. But that is about all we know for certain. It is reasonable to assume that the later leaders of the order also obtained financing towards its construction which, from archaeological evidence appears to have continued throughout the half century of the castle’s existence.1 The aim of this chapter is to explore the documents about the origin of the financial resources which enabled the Teutonic Knights to construct such an

  1 Adrian J. Boas, “Introduction,” in Montfort. History, Early Research and Recent Studies of the Principal Fortress of the Teutonic Order in the Latin East, ed. Adrian J. Boas with the assistance of Rabei G. Khamisy, The Medieval Mediterranean 107 (Leiden, 2017), 1–12, at 2–3. For the great castle of Safed, rebuilt by the Templars between 1240 and 1242, according to the De constructione castri Saphet, 1,100,000 bezants were spent: see Adrian J. Boas, “Safed,” in Prier et Combattre. Dictionnaire européen des ordres militaires au Moyen Âge, eds. Nicole Bériou and Philippe Josserand (Paris, 2009), 813–814.

DOI: 10.4324/9781003146957-5

60  Hubert Houben expensive building. In the first part were described the origins of the Teutonic Order and his very limited resources during the first decades of his existence (1190–1210). In the second part were analysed the enormous expansion of his revenues during the term of office of Master Hermann of Salza (1210–1239), favoured particularly by Emperor Frederick II. In the third part were described the political instability and economic crisis during the second half of the thirteenth century, which caused a noteworthy diminution of the financial resources of the Teutonic Order in the Holy Land.

The origins of the Teutonic Order (1190–c. 1220) In the first half of 1190, during the Third Crusade (1189–1192), some German Crusaders arrived in their ships at Muslim-occupied Acre, under siege by Christian troops, and established a German hospital in the camp of the besieging forces.2 The first document attesting to this hospitale Alamannorum dedicated to St Mary (probably in memory of a German hospital by the same name in Jerusalem founded before 1143 and destroyed during the Muslim conquest of the city by Saladin in 1187), is dated to 1190. It is a document issued by Guy of Lusignan, king of Jerusalem (1186–1192), who to the German hospital in Acre (yet to be won back) donated a house used as a hospice for Armenians prior to the Muslim occupation. If it were not possible to obtain this house, the king would grant the Germans a space nearby where a hospital could be built.3 The original document of 1190 has not been preserved, but a copy exists, transcribed in 1243/1244 in the Teutonic Order’s cartulary, today kept in the State Archive in Berlin. Hans Eberhard Mayer has shown that this copy must have been alterated with the interpolation of a phrase related to the construction of the hospital by a certain Sibrandus during the siege of Acre.4 Moreover, the last two words of the document (medio septembris) are also believed to have been a later addition to the original text. These interpolations, according to Mayer, should be seen as an attempt, through the naming of a masterfounder, to reject the Hospitallers’ request to take control of the German hospital, considering it the successor to the old German hospital in Jerusalem, which had been subordinated to the Hospitallers as a priory.5  2 De primordiis ordinis Theutonici narratio, in Scriptores Rerum Prussicarum, vol. 6, eds. Walther Hubatsch and Udo Arnold (Frankfort on the Main, 1968), 22–29, at 24–25. For the date of this narration (between 1252 and 1264) see Udo Arnold, “Die Anfänge der Ordensgeschichtsschreibung,” in Neue Studien zur Literatur im Deutschen Orden, eds. Bernhart Jähnig and Arno Mentzel-Reuters (Stuttgart, 2014), 177–195.   3 MGH D Jerus. 482, Tabulae Ordinis Theutonici ex tabularii regii Berolinensis codice potissimum, ed. Ernst Strehlke (Berlin, 1869; repr. with “Introduction” by Hans Eberhard Mayer, Toronto, 1975) (hereafter cited as TOT) 25, Regesta Regni Hierosolymitani (MXCVII-MCCXCI), ed. Reinhold Röhricht (Innsbruck, 1893) (hereafter cited as RRH) 696, RRR (http://crusades-regesta.com) 1285.   4 MGH D Jerus. 482: “Hoc autem donamus et concedimus per manum magistri Sibrandi, qui hoc hospitale incepit et edificavit in obsidione Accon.”   5 Ibid., p. 823: “Auch wenn für den Sachverhalt im wesentlichen keine Bedenken bestehen, entfällt aber mit der Unechtheit des erwähnten Satzes Sibrand als Meister des Feldspitals, zumal die kurz

How did the Teutonic Knights finance Montfort Castle?  61 The first known member of the German hospital brotherhood in Acre after the conquest of the city on 12 July 1191, is frater Gerardus, magister hospitalis Alamannorum, quod est in Accon, who on 2 February 1192 obtained from the master of the Hospitallers, Garnier de Nablus, the withdrawal of a lawsuit against the German hospital related to a private individual’s right to part of the hospital land.6 Eight days later, on 10 February 1192, King Guy gave Gerard, who on this occasion was called preceptor Curaudus (obviously a slip by the scribe, for Gerardus), the land situated near the old Armenian hospice and the Gate of St Nicholas, and promised to extinguish all third-party legal claims on this land, on which the German hospital and some of its houses had already been built. In return for his mediation, the brethren paid King Guy the sum of 500 bezants and a horse, coming from the alms received by the hospital.7 Since the witnesses present at the royal donation included the masters of the Templars and Hospitallers, the document equated to a recognition of the autonomy of the German hospital at Acre, accepted also by the two great military orders. One year earlier, on 6 February 1191, therefore during the siege of Acre, the German hospital had received recognition from Pope Clement III, who granted apostolic protection to the “Teutonic brethren of the church of St. Mary in Jerusalem.”8 Five years later, on 21 December 1196, Pope Celestine III granted them a privilege, confirming papal protection and the Teutonic ownership of properties consisting of a house with vineyard at Askalon, the village of Zamzi (Simsim, 15 km north-east of Gaza); several houses at Ramla, a house, vineyard and other property at Jaffa; a house at Acre; the village (casale) of Capharsin (Kafar Yāsīf, 10 km north-east of Acre); a vault near the St Nicholas Gate in Acre and a house at Tyre. The pope also granted the brethren of the German hospital some rights that in practice made them the equivalent of a hospital order, namely exemption from tithes on their new farmland, the right to bury people not belonging to the hospital and, first and foremost, the power to elect their master with no interference from

nach 1244 entstandene Narratio de primordiis ordinis Theutonici . . . von Sibrand nichts weiß, sondern einen Kaplan Konrad und einen Kämmerer Burchard nennt, denen die hanseatischen Brüder ihr Feldspital übergeben haben sollen, woraufhin Konrad und Burchard die Profess ablegten, so daß sie die führende Rolle im Feldspital spielten. Ich halte die Interpolation des erwähnten Satzes für einen Versuch, mit der Nennung eines als namentlich bekannt gedachten Meisters Sibrand die Angriffe der Johanniter auf das deutsche Spital abzuwehren, die bald nach der Rückeroberung von Akkon in rüder Form begannen . . . Mit der Datierung medio septembris, die ich gleichfalls für interpoliert halte, vermied man knapp Einwände, die man aus der ordensinternen Tradition hätte vorbringen können, da nach der Narratio Konrad und Burchard auf Drängen des Herzogs Friedrich von Schwaben die Spitalsleitung übernommen haben sollen, Friedrich aber erst 1190 Oktober 7 vor Akkon anlangte . . . Dabei ist es unerheblich, daß sowohl Sibrand außerhalb von D. 482 und die anderen beiden außerhalb der Narratio nicht belegt und daher vielleicht alle drei ahistorisch sind.”   6 TOT 26, RRH 699, RRR 1325. Cfr. MGH D Jerus. *487 (RRR 1326), 831–832.   7 TOT 27, RRH 701, RRR 1327, MGH D Jerus. 488: “Vos autem de domus vestre elemosinis quingentos bisantios et equum unum mihi prebuistis.”   8 TOT 295 (RRR 1294): “fratribus Theotonicis ecclesie sancte Marie Ierosolimitane.”

62  Hubert Houben anybody.9 The Teutonic hospital in Acre also received from Pope Celestine III on an unknown date, but probably during 1197 (he died on 8 January 1198), the gift of a German hospital established around 1190 at Brindisi, an important port for pilgrims and crusaders embarking for the Holy Land. We only know about this donation due to its confirmation on 25 February 1219 by Pope Honorius III.10 These papal concessions should be seen in the context of the German Crusade that the emperor Henry VI, son and successor to Frederick I Barbarossa, had been preparing since 1195. In 1194, Henry VI had taken possession of the kingdom of Sicily, inherited by his wife Constance of Hauteville, Frederick II’s mother. On 20 May 1197, when the first contingents of German crusaders were about to embark for the Holy Land, the Hohenstaufen emperor gave to the German hospital in Acre the hospital of St Thomas in Barletta, founded by the brethren of the same brotherhood (hospitale sancti Thome quod de ordine ipsorum apud Barolum constructum est et fundatum), endowing it with agricultural land and a church (St Nicholas de Rigula) with his appurtenances.11 A few months later, on 18 July 1197, Henry VI also granted the Teutonic Knights the Cistercian abbey of the Holy Trinity in Palermo.12 At an unknown date, but probably between 1195 and 1197, the emperor donated to the Teutonic brethren the castle of Mesagne, situated on the last stretch of the Via Appia between Oria and Brindisi, and granted them the right to travel without having to pay duties between Sicily and Calabria, that is, to cross the strait of Messina, a city that, like Brindisi, had had a German hospital since about

  9 TOT 296, RRR 1380. Cfr. Marie-Luise Favreau, Studien zur Frühgeschichte des Deutschen Ordens, Kieler Historische Studien 21 (Stuttgart, 1974), 60–61. 10 Hubert Houben, “Neuentdeckte Papsturkunden für den Deutschen Orden (1219–1261) im Staatsarchiv Neapel,” Quellen und Forschungen aus italienischen Archiven und Bibliotheken (hereafter cited as QFIAB) 83 (2003), 41–82, at 74: “Eapropter, dilecti in Domino filii, vestris iustis postulationibus grato concurrentes assensu ad exemplar felicis recordationis Celestini pape, predecessoris nostri, ecclesiam vestram, in qua apud Brundusium divinis estis obsequiis mancipati, sicut eam iuste ac pacifice possidetis, auctoritate vobis apostolica confirmamus et presentis scripti patrocinio communimus.” For the German hospital in Brindisi see Hubert Houben, “Auf dem Weg ins Heilige Land: Deutsche Pilger, Kreuzfahrer und Ordensritter in Italien,” in Die Kreuzzugsbewegung im römisch-deutschen Reich (11.–13. Jahrhundert), eds. Nikolas Jaspert and Stefan Tebruck (Ostfildern, 2016), 103–118, at 111–113; for the Teutonic hospital at Barletta see now Hubert Houben, “I cavalieri teutonici a Barletta: nuovi documenti e ulteriori considerazioni vent’anni dopo,” in Tra Oriente e Occidente. Istituzioni religiose a Barletta nel Medioevo (secoli XI–XV), eds. Luisa Derosa et al. (Bari, 2018), 103–128: 105–107. 11 Regesta Imperii IV, 3 nr. 593. Provisional online edition by Bettina Maleczek-Pferschy and Peter Csendes, http://www.mgh.de/fileadmin/Downloads/pdf/Heinrich_VI_Csendes_2013-12-23.pdf. On the authenticity of the document see Hubert Houben, “I cavalieri teutonici a Barletta,” 106 n. 24, and Hubert Houben, “Der Deutsche Orden in Apulien (12.–15. Jahrhundert),” in Globale und regionale Aspekte in der Entwicklung des Deutschen Ordens. Vorträge der Tagung der Internationalen Historischen Kommission zur Erforschung des Deutschen Ordens in Würzburg 2016, ed. Udo Arnold, Quellen und Studien zur Geschichte des Deutschen Ordens (hereafter cited as QSGDO) 82 (Weimar, 2019), 28–72, at 33 n. 16. 12 Regesta Imperii IV, 3 nr. 601. See Kristjan Toomaspoeg, Les Teutoniques en Sicile (1197–1492), Collection de l’École Française de Rome 321 (Rome, 2003), 29–34.

How did the Teutonic Knights finance Montfort Castle?  63 1190.13 However, due to Henry VI’s sudden death in September 1197 in Sicily, the crusade he sponsored had little success. According to the Narratio de primordiis ordinis Theutonici, in November 1197 when the German crusaders who the previous month had won back the cities of Sidon and Beirut, thus establishing the land link between the county of Tripoli and the kingdom of Jerusalem, learned of the death of Henry VI, they decided to return to Germany. Before leaving, they are said to have transformed the German brotherhood at Acre, in March 1198, into a military order on the model of the Templars and Hospitallers.14 This account must not be taken at face value, since it was only written between 1252 and 1264, that is, in a period of crisis for the Order when it seemed necessary to create an organic history of its origins, underlining its links both with the Hohenstaufen emperors and with the Templars and Hospitallers. The transformation of the Teutonic brotherhood into a military order modelled on the Templars and the Hospitallers must in any case have taken place prior to 19 February 1199, when it was confirmed by Pope Innocence III.15 In the first ten years of its existence the Teutonic Order received some donations and concessions: in August 1198 King Aimery of Jerusalem and Cyprus donated a tower above the gate of St Nicholas in Acre;16 in June 1200 Bohemond III, Prince of Antioch, granted free access and exemption from duties in his territory;17 in October the same year William de la Mandelie (Amigdala/Amendolea) donated a piece of land between the villages of Album and Cafersia (Kafar Yāsīf);18 between 1197 and March 1201 King Aimery of Jerusalem and Cyprus granted the spring of St George with ten carrucatae of land (around 20 ha) in the village of Pendache in Cyprus;19 in February 1206 Juliana, Lady of the city of Cesarea, donated houses, towers, land, gardens and vineyards;20 in September 1208 Count Otto of Henneberg bestowed three carrucatae of land (6 ha) and a house in the

13 Regesta Imperii IV, 3 nr. 709. 14 De primordiis ordinis, 26–27. 15 TOT 297: “magistro et fratribus hospitalis, quod Theotonicum appellatur etc. . . . Specialiter autem ordinationem factam in ecclesia vestra iuxta modum Templariorum in clericis et militibus, et ad exemplum Hospitalariorum in pauperibus et infirmis, sicut provide facta est et a vobis recepta et hactenus observata, devotioni vestre auctoritate apostolica confirmamus.” Cfr. Favreau, Studien, 65–71. 16 MGH D Jerus. 611, TOT 35, RRH 744, RRR 1409. 17 Max Perlbach, “Die Reste des Deutschordensarchives in Venedig,” Altpreußische Monatsschrift 19 (1882), nr. 1, RRH 772, RRR 1470. 18 TOT 39, RRH 777, RRR 1477. For the Amigdala family see Hubert Houben, “Guido von Amigdala/Amendolea. Ein Italo-Palästinenser als Landkomtur des Deutschen Ordens im Mittelmeerraum (1289–1311),” QFIAB 88 (2008) 148–160. 19 Walther Hubatsch, “Der Deutsche Orden und die Reichslehnschaft über Cypern,” in Nachrichten der Akademie der Wissenschaften in Göttingen, Phil.-hist (Klasse, 1955), nr. 8, 245–306, at 290 nr. 2; RRH 780, RRR 1485. Cfr. Hubert Houben, “Intercultural Communication: The Teutonic Knights in Palestine, Armenia, and Cyprus,” in Diplomatics in the Eastern Mediterranean 1000–1500. Aspects of Cross-Cultural Communication, eds. Alexander D. Beihammer et al., The Medieval Mediterranean 74 (Leiden, 2008), 139–157. 20 TOT 40, RRH 810, RRR 1567.

64  Hubert Houben village of Saphet (Ṣafad ʿAdī) in the area of Acre;21 and Bohemond IV, Prince of Antioch and Count of Tripoli, in September 1209 granted a piece of land and three towers in Tripoli.22 On an unknown date, but before 27 June 1209, the Teutonic Order also obtained two villages (Cumbefort and Heion) in the kingdom of Armenia (in Cilicia)23 and in 1209 four fiefdoms in the area of Kalamata in the Peloponnese.24 In this period the financial resources of the Teutonic Knights were still quite limited: in August 1200 they paid a fee of 200 bezants to confirm their possession of a house in Tyre, received in 1195/1196 from Henry II of Champagne, then regent of the Kingdom of Jerusalem.25 Two months later they spent 2,300 bezants to buy from King Aimery two villages situated 20 km north-east of Acre, one of which was inhabited (Al Baṣṣa) and the other abandoned (Khirbat Maʿaṣūb) but in the process of being repopulated.26 Six years later, on 1 May 1206, the Teutonic Knights acquired two houses in Acre, one from John Le Tor for 2,700 bezants plus a 200-bezant fee for the purchase license, granted by John of Ibelin, regent in the kingdom of Jerusalem for the underage Maria the Marquise, and an adjoining house for which the owner, a certain Hauhis (Heloys), received 300 bezants and two silver marks.27 At this point it is necessary to deal with the issue of the value of the currencies that we find in documents related to the Teutonic Knights in the Holy Land. It should be kept in mind that “in the pre-modern period gold, silver and copper coins had no fixed value ratio to one another” and that “the exchange values depended on the market price.”28 To be able to calculate the money received and spent by the Teutonic Knights in the Holy Land, an approximate exchange rate needs to be established for the currencies indicated in the documents. The most common coinage is the bezant (bisantius sarracenatus), a gold coin that was an imitation of the

21 TOT 43, RRH 828, RRR 1605. 22 TOT 44, RRH 839, RRH 1618. 23 TOT 298 (confirmation by Pope Innocence III). 24 Livre de la conqueste de la princée de l’Amorée: Chronique de Morée (1204–1305), ed. Jean Longnon (Paris, 1911), 45 n. 5, 141. Cfr. Andreas Kiesewetter, “L’Ordine Teutonico in Grecia e in Armenia,” in L’Ordine Teutonico nel Mediterraneo. Atti del Convegno internazionale di studio Torre Alemanna (Cerignola) – Mesagne – Lecce, 16–18 ottobre 2003, ed. Hubert Houben, Acta Theutonica 1 (Galatina, 2004), 73–107: 84; Hubert Houben, “La quarta crociata e l’Ordine Teutonico in Grecia,” in The Fourth Crusade revisited. Atti della Conferenza internazionale nell’ottavo centenario della IV Crociata 1204–2004, Andros (Grecia), 27–30 maggio 2004, ed. Pierangelo Piatti (Vatican City, 2008), 202–214. 25 MGH D Jerus. 620, TOT 36, RRH 774, RRR 1472. The donation of Henry II: MGH D Jerus. 580, TOT 31, RRH 722, RRR 1371. 26 MGH D Jerus. 621, TOT 38, RRH 776, RRR 1476. See Ronnie Ellenblum, Frankish Rural Settlement in the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem (Cambridge, 1998), 58–59. 27 MGH D. Jerus. 772, TOT 41, RRH 812. 28 Stefan Heidemann, “From Saxony to Armenia. The Import of Precious Metals and Coins and the Economic Boom in the Near East,” in Levon I. Ein armenischer König im staufischen Outremer. Leo I. An Armenian King, the Hohenstaufen and the Crusader States, Schriften für das Kunstmuseum Moritzburg Halle (Saale) 19 (Halle S., 2019), 109–116, at 110.

How did the Teutonic Knights finance Montfort Castle?  65 Fatimid dinars and that was also minted in Acre.29 Sometimes used was the silver mark of Cologne, which from the period of Frederick I Barbarossa to the end of the Hohenstaufen dynasty (1268) was the dominant currency in Germany.30 In addition, in documents from 1216 onwards in which Frederick II allocated annuities coming from the kingdom of Sicily to the Teutonic Knights, the gold ounce, a unit of account equal to 30 gold tari, is used. From 1210 to 1227 a bezant was worth between six and eight Genovese solidi (the Genovese solidus was a unit of account corresponding to 12 small silver coins, the denarii, called in German Pfennige and in English pence)31; therefore on average it was worth c. seven Genovese solidi. From 1227 to 1251, 50 Genovese solidi were worth about one Sicilian gold ounce.32 A gold ounce was therefore worth roughly seven bezants. Given that according to recent research studies by Andreas Büttner, the silver mark of Cologne, also a unit of account as well as a unit of weight (corresponding to 144 Pfennige, or to a silver ingot weighing about 210 g), was roughly equivalent to the Sicilian gold ounce,33 presumably the silver mark was also worth c. seven bezants.34 So the two silver marks mentioned in the previous document of 1 May 1206 would correspond to c. 14 bezants. We do not know where the money came from for the two aforementioned Teutonic purchases in October 1200 and on 1 May 1206 (totaling 5,514 bezants). At least a part of the sum may have been provided by the two benefactors that appear among the witnesses of both documents. The first is Count Bertold of Nimburg (in Breisgau), who arrived in 1200 in the Holy Land after selling his property to the bishop of Strasbourg. Bertold, already a widower, married (date unknown) Alice of Montbéliard (Mömpelgard), who was the sister of Walter of Montbéliard. The latter had married one of the daughters (Burgundia) of King Aimery of Jerusalem

29 Cfr. ibid., 111. 30 Andreas Büttner, Geld, Gnade, Gefolgschaft. Die Monetarisierung der politischen Ordnung im 12. und 13. Jahrhundert (Habilitationsschrift University of Heidelberg, 2019) (forthcoming in 2021 in the series Forschungen zur Kaiser- und Papstgeschichte des Mittelalters, Beihefte zu J. F. Böhmer, Regesta Imperii), 124. 31 Peter Spufford, Handbook of Medieval Exchange, Royal Historical Society Guides and Handbooks 13 (London, 1986), 297. 32 Ibid., 61. 33 Büttner, Geld, suggests that a silver mark of Cologne not minted during the thirteenth century weighted 210 g instead of the 233 g traditionally proposed. See also Andreas Büttner, “Nervus rerum und Wurzel allen Übels. Die Rolle des Geldes in den päpstlichen Beziehungen zu Friedrich II.,” in Die römische Kurie und das Geld. Von der Mitte des 12. Jahrhunderts bis zum frühen 14. Jahrhundert, ed. Werner Maleczek, Vorträge und Forschungen 85 (Ostfildern, 2018), 451–493, at 459–460. On the problems of transporting silver ingots and Pfennige during the Third Crusade, see Alan V. Murray, “Zum Transfer von Zahlungsmitteln bei Kreuzzugsexpeditionen. Überlegungen zur Logistik des Kreuzzuges Kaisers Friedrichs I. (1189–1190),” in Transfer. Innovationen in der Zeit der Kreuzzüge. Akten der 4. Landauer Staufertagung 27.–29. Juni 2003, eds. Volker Herzner, Jürgen Krüger, Veröffentlichungen der Pfälzischen Gesellschaft für Wissenschaften 101 (Speyer, 2006), 25–37. 34 In 1155 at Acre one silver mark was worth eight bezants: RRH 311, RRR 579 (“LXXX bisantios vel X marcas argenti annuatim solvant”).

66  Hubert Houben and in 1205 became regent in the kingdom of Cyprus.35 The second witness was Werner of Eguisheim (in Alsace), in the Holy Land documents often called Guarnerius Alamannus or Guarnerius Teutonicus, who was to become one of the most loyal supporters of Frederick II in the Kingdom of Jerusalem.36 A year later, on 27 July 1207, the Teutonic Knights paid 24 bezants to a certain Elias, the son of the late Paganus of Poitou, to get him to withdraw his claim on a house standing among seven houses belonging to the Teutonic brethren in Acre.37 Altogether the surviving documents from the first two decades of the Teutonic Knights’ presence at Acre (1190–1209) show only c. 6,238 bezants. A document dated September 1208 shows that at Acre there was a Teutonic master (magister domus) called Otto, a preceptor called Gerard, a marescalcus named Henry, a custos infirmorum also called Henry and two brethren named Hugh and Bertold (Bertoudus).38

The rise of the Teutonic Order under Hermann of Salza (c. 1210–1239) Under the leadership of Hermann of Salza, elected master of the Teutonic Order probably in 1210,39 the Order experienced a remarkable political and economic rise, due to the close bond that Hermann managed to establish with Frederick II, crowned Roman-German king at Aachen on 25 July 1215. On this occasion the young king made the commitment to undertake a crusade to win back Jerusalem for Christianity, a feat that neither his grandfather Frederick I Barbarossa nor his father Henry VI had been able to perform. Hermann, thanks to his skill in mediating between Frederick II and Honorius III (1216–1227), soon won the respect and trust of the Hohenstaufen sovereign. An act stipulated by Hermann on 9 April 1215 shows that at that time the financial liquidity of the Teutonic Knights was still limited: to purchase a house in Acre that had previously belonged to one of the daughters of Joscelin III de Courtenay, titular count of Edessa (1159–1190), the master promised to pay the current owner, Matilda, widow of Conrad, advocatus of Schwarzenberg (who had come from the Swabian-Alsation region to the Holy Land for the Fourth Crusade), the sum of 400 silver marks (equivalent to c. 2,800 bezants) within a fortnight after the Pentecost of the coming year, that is, by 13 June 1216, so that with this money she could

35 Hans Eberhard Mayer, “Drei oberrheinische Kreuzfahrer des 13. Jahrhunderts. Berthold von Nimburg (Vater und Sohn) und Werner von Egisheim,” Zeitschrift für die Geschichte des Oberrheins 153 (2005) 43–60, at 44–53. 36 Ibid., 54–60. 37 TOT 42, RRH 821, RRR 1592. Cfr. MGH D Jerus. 774. The comes Bertoldus Theutonicus among the witnesses is Bertold of Nimburg. 38 TOT 43, RRH 828, RRH 1605. Cfr. Udo Arnold, “Otto von Kerpen (nach 5. XI. 1200? – 7. II. 1209),” in Die Hochmeister des Deutschen Ordens 1190–2012, ed. Udo Arnold, QSGDO 40 (Weimar, 2014), 10–11. 39 See Favreau, Studien, 80.

How did the Teutonic Knights finance Montfort Castle?  67 purchaise land, the rent of which would support her. The document points out that if the Teutonic Knights could not disburse the whole amount by the agreed date, they would be able to pay in ten instalments of 40 marks each (equivalent to c. 280 bezants) starting from 13 June 1216, with the last instalment being paid on 13 June 1225. Given that the 400 silver marks were to be delivered to Strasbourg, Matilda obviously wanted to spend the rest of her life in Alsace.40 According to Mayer the “impressive price” of 400 silver marks could indicate that it was not any old Joscelin house, but his urban palace (Stadtpalais) in Acre.41 The financial resources of the Teutonic brethren, however, would soon expand enormously thanks to the generosity of Frederick II, who, in preparation for his crusade, intended to strengthen the Teutonic Order. The first step was to make it easier for the Order to obtain alms from the German nobles who frequented the future emperor’s court. On 23 January 1216, at his favourite residence in Alsace, at Hagenau, Frederick II granted the Teutonic Order the unusual privilege of maintaining a permanent presence at the curia imperii: every time the master of the Order and the legal representative for his property in Germany came to court they would be part of the familia curie imperialis, that is, of the sovereign’s entourage, and would have at their disposal six horses and everything they might need. In addition, two of the Teutonic brethren would be able to stay continuously at court so as to obtain elemosinam imperialem, and each of them would have the use of three horses with all the necessary equipment.42 In December 1216 Hermann of Salza took advantage of this opportunity to be part of Frederick II’s court, which was then at Nuremberg. Hermann’s presence can be deduced from the fact that in a document issued there for the Teutonic Order, he is not spoken of in the third person as would be expected, but Frederick addresses him directly with the words “considering your piety and honesty, brother Hermann” (attendentes religionem et honestatem tuam, frater Hermanne). In the document, in exchange for an unspecified property (tenimentum) located in Germany, which the Order had given to the king, the Teutonic Order is granted an annual income of 150 gold ounces, equivalent to c. 1,050 bezants, deriving from the revenue of the mint, the customshouse and other royal rents from the city of Brindisi. It is specified that this annuity would be paid to the Order out of the first revenue entering the king’s treasury.43 This probably occurred only in April 1221, when Frederick II had consolidated his control over Apulia, as happened in similar cases.44

40 After Matilda’s death, this land would become the property of the Teutonic Order: TOT 48, RRH 879, RRR 1713. 41 Hans Eberhard Mayer, “Die Seigneurie de Joscelin und der Deutsche Orden,” in Die geistlichen Ritterorden Europas, eds. Josef Fleckenstein, Manfred Hellmann, Vorträge und Forschungen 26 (Sigmaringen, 1980), 171–216, at 190. 42 MGH D F. II. 343. 43 MGH D F. II. 390. 44 Cfr. Houben, “I cavalieri teutonici a Barletta,” 110–112, and Houben, “Der Deutsche Orden in Apulien,” 40–43.

68  Hubert Houben The next evidence of Hermann’s presence at Frederick’s court is dated 17 February 1217, when the court was at Ulm, where on the request of the Teutonic master, addressed as “beloved brother Hermann,” the king took the Teutonic Order under his protection and confirmed all the donations, concessions and privileges obtained in the kingdom of Siciliy from Henry VI and from Frederick II himself, adding a castle built on the Order’s lands near Tusciano (between Salerno and Eboli) by a certain Marcuardus.45 A few months later, on 24 June 1217 at Augsburg, on the request of Hermann, Frederick II granted the Teutonic Order in the kingdom of Sicily the same rights previously obtained by the Templars and Hospitallers.46 That same day the king gave the Teutonic Knights, from the revenue of the mint and other income from the city of Messina, an annual income of 200 gold ounces to be used to buy horses for the brethren (milicie fratribus) and cloaks and sheepskins for winter for the “poor beyond the seas” (pauperibus transmarinis), that is, pilgrims sheltered in the Teutonic hospital at Acre.47 On 3 January 1218 this financial allocation was confirmed, along with the previous one from December 1216.48 Thanks to the presence of Hermann of Salza at Frederick II’s court, very probably lasting from December 1216 to February 1217, but possibly extending until 24 June 1217, the Teutonic Knights in the Holy Land obtained the right to an annual rent from the royal revenues of Brindisi and Messina for a total of 350 gold ounces (equivalent to c. 2,450 bezants). During his participation in the Crusade against Damiette (1217–1221), in the Nile Delta, in which for the first time the Teutonic Order played a military role alongside the Templars and Hospitallers, Hermann received from Duke Leopold VI of Austria, before the latter returned home in spring 1219, a donation of more than 6,000 silver marks (equivalent to c. 42,000 bezants) to purchase land for the Order.49 With this sum, in May 1220 Hermann bought from the German count Otto of Henneberg and his wife Beatrice, daughter and heiress of Joscelin III de Courtenay, the socalled Seigneurie de Joscelin, consisting of the castle of Miʿilya (Castellum Regis) and about 45 localities – many of them are villages and some others are gastinae – located in the fertile area north-east of Acre, as well as an annual income of 2,267 bezants from the shipping tax levied in the port of Acre (catena). The price paid for this purchase, by means of which the Teutonic Order obtained a territory of its own, was 7,000 silver marks (equivalent to c. 49,000 bezants) and 2,000 bezants, plus 45 MGH D F. II. 403: “Accedens ad presentiam nostre maiestatis predilectus in Christo frater Hermannus magister Sancte Marie de domo Teotonicorum in Hierusalem.” 46 MGH D F. II. 416: “Devotis peticionibus magistri Hermanni et fratrum hospitalis Sancte Marie et domus Theutonicorum in Iherusalem regia annuentes clemencia.” 47 MGH D F. II. 415. 48 MGH D F. II. 427–428. On this occasion a correction was made to an error in the December 2016 document (MGH D F. II. 390), where beside the correct amount of 150 (centum quinquaginta) ounces, the scribe had also mistakenly written down the sum of 50 (quinquaginta). 49 Historia Damiatina, in Die Schriften des Kölner Domscholasters, späteren Bischofs von Paderborn und Kardinalbischofs von S. Sabina Oliverius, ed. Hermann Hoogeweg (Tübingen, 1894), 207: “domui Teutonicorum sex milia marcarum vel amplius ad comparandum predium .  .  . contulisse.”

How did the Teutonic Knights finance Montfort Castle?  69 3,250 bezants to pay off the debt of William of Amigdala, married to Beatrice’s younger sister Agnes and therefore the brother-in-law of Otto and Beatrice, a debt that the couple had undertaken to disburse, and lastly a sum of 500 silver marks (equivalent to c. 3,500 bezants) to John of Brienne, king of Jerusalem, for agreeing to the sale.50 The overall price paid for the purchase of the Seigneurie de Joscelin was therefore the considerable sum of c. 57,750 bezants. Again during the Damiette Crusade, perhaps in summer 1221, the Teutonic Order received from Honorius III 2,500 gold ounces (equivalent to c. 17,500 bezants), the same sum received by the Templars and Hospitallers.51 The Teutonic Knights were therefore now considered at the level of the two elder military orders on which their own order had been modelled. Following Frederick II’s imperial coronation in Rome on 22 November 1220, on the request of the new emperor, Honorius III granted the Teutonic Knights the same privileges and rights as the Hospitallers and Templars, for this purpose issuing, between December 1220 and March 1221, no less than 57 documents in favour of the Teutonic Order, among which was the right, previously opposed by the Templars, to wear similar white cloaks. Moreover, Frederick II, arriving in February 1221 for the first time in Apulia, later a favourite region where he built a residence in Foggia 1223, granted the Teutonic Order 12 privileges on 10 April 1221 in Taranto.52 In December 1221 the emperor awarded the Teutonic Order a further annuity of 200 gold ounces per year from the royal revenues at Brindisi to be used to buy white cloaks. The document specifies that this sum would be paid until such time as the emperor donated lands and other property of equal value to the Teutonic Knights.53 However, this does not seem to have happened, because a 1238 document shows that the Order was then still receiving from the royal coffers at Brindisi the sum of 350 ounces, that is, the 150 ounces granted in 1216 and the 200 ounces obtained in 1221.54 It is therefore likely that Hermann of Salza prefered to continue receiving the 150 plus the 200 gold ounces instead of obtaining ownership of the land. 50 TOT 52, RRH 933, RRR 1844. Confirmation of the purchase from John of Brienne, king of Jerusalem: MGH D Jerus. 639, TOT 53, RRH 934, RRR 1845. For details, see Mayer’s preliminary note on MGH D Jerus. 639, pp. 1043–1048. 51 Regesta Imperii V, 2, 3 nr. 6384. MGH Epp. saec. XIII, 1, nr. 124, 88–91. 52 MGH D F. II. 816–827. Cfr. Helmuth Kluger, Hochmeister Hermann und Kaiser Friedrich II. Ein Beitrag zur Frühgeschichte des Deutschen Ordens, QSGDO 37 (Marburg, 1987), 20–30. 53 MGH D F. II. 889: “fratri Hermanno magistro ac fratribus ipsius domus Sancte Marie Theutonicorum Iherusalemitane de gratia nostra concessimus et donavimus in civitate nostra Brundusii de redditibus nostris sive de baiulatione sive de sicla pro elemosina ad pondus Baruli ducentas auri uncias annuatim, de quibus pallia alba ad usum ipsorum fratrum militum statuimus et sanccivimus comparanda. Quas uncias erunt usque adeo de nostra gratia recepturi, donec pro ipsis CC unciis in terris laboratoriis seu aliis possessionibus in regno nostro predicte domui competens excambium nostra munificencia largiatur, . . . ” 54 Acta Imperii inedita saeculi XIII et XIV. Urkunden und Briefe zur Geschichte des Kaiserreichs und des Königsreichs Sizilien, ed. Eduard Winkelmann, 1 (Innsbruck, 1880; repr. Aalen, 1964), nr. 815 (24 June 1238) p. 633: “Mandamus et precipimus . . ., quatenus trecentos et quinquaginta uncias auri, quas dilectus H(ermannus), venerabilis magister domus sancte Marie Theotonicorum in Ierusalem, et fratres eiusdem domus . . . consueverunt pro mantellis suis de proventibus dohane et

70  Hubert Houben Starting from 1222 the royal rents from Brindisi and Messina therefore provided the Teutonic Knights in the Holy Land with 550 ounces overall (equivalent to c. 3,850 bezants). To this must be added the 2,267 bezants received annually from the Acre shipping tax, starting from 1220. With this fixed annual income of over 6,000 bezants Hermann had procured a solid financial base for his order, enabling investments in land and real estate to be made in the following decades. The permission granted to the Order in January 1216 to collect funds from wealthy personages at Frederick II’s court, which we have mentioned, was considerably boosted by the concessions granted to them by Honorius III in January 1221 in equating the Teutonic Knights to the Templars and Hospitallers. To the Order’s benefactors, especially those who joined its brotherhood (becoming confratres, or lay brothers) and gave it annual gifts (beneficia), the pope promised remission of a seventh of the penance they would normally have to undergo for their sins.55 In February 1221 the pope no longer confined this indulgence just to the seventh of the penance, but extended it so that it could be seen as a full indulgence: To whoever supports our Teutonic brothers with God-given gifts and joins their holy brotherhood (fraternitas) and makes donations every year, we promise, counting on the merits of the holy apostles Peter and Paul, the remission of their sins according to the extent of their support and the strength of their devotion.56 In 1212 King Leon I of Armenia became a member of the brotherhood of the Teutonic Order, as did king Hetoum I and his wife Zapel (Elizabeth) in 1236.57 The benefactors’ beneficia could take the form of donations of land, villages and buildings, but also gifts of money. For donations of land etc., documents were

sicle nostre Brundusii de gracia nostre celsitudinis percipere annuatim, sicut usque modo receperunt, supradictis magistro et fratribus . . . vel eorum procuratoribus pro anno presenti undecime (indictionis) persolvas, recepturus ab hiis, quibus uncias ipsas persolves, sufficientem et ydoneam apodixam.” 55 TOT 321 (6 January 1221), TOT 314 (16 January 1221). 56 TOT 362 (9 February 1221): “quicumque de facultatibus sibi a Deo collatis fratribus eisdem subvenerit et in tam sancta fraternitate statuerit se collegam eique beneficia persolverit annuatim, secundum quantitatem subsidii et devocionis effectum peccatorum suorum veniam confisi de beatorum Petri et Pauli apostolorum meritis pollicemur.” Cfr. Axel Ehlers, Die Ablasspraxis des Deutschen Ordens im Mittelalter, QSGDO 64 (Marburg, 2007), 21: “Unter dieser an sich partiellen Indulgenz konnte man vieles verstehen, bis hin zum vollkommenen Ablass, wenn das subsidium und die devotio es durch ihre Vollkommenheit rechtfertigten.” 57 TOT 46, 83, RRH 859, 1060, RRR 1658, 2236. Cfr. Marie-Anna Chevalier, “Les chevaliers teutoniques en Cilicie: «les maccabées» du Royaume arménien,” Bizantinistica. Rivista di Studi Bizantini e Slavi 6 (2004), 137–153, at 150–151. For the confratres of the Teutonic Order in Apulia see Mariella Intini, «Offero me et mea». Oblazioni e associazioni all’Ordine Teutonico nel baliato di Puglia fra XIII e XV secolo, Acta Theutonica 8 (Galatina, 2013). See also Kristjan Toomaspoeg, “L’abito non fa il monaco: il quesito delle confraternitates Sancte Marie Alamannorum,” in Analecta Theutonica. Studies for the History of the Teutonic Order 1, ed. Kristjan Toomaspoeg, Acta Theutonica 10 (Galatina, 2014), 151–159.

How did the Teutonic Knights finance Montfort Castle?  71 drawn up guaranteeing the receiver’s ownership and were therefore preserved in the Order’s archives. The same applied to annual rents, like the 100 bezants donated in 1228 by Bohemond IV of Antioch for the construction of Montfort Castle or the 7,000 bezants per year endowed by Frederick II in April 1229 before he returned from Acre to Brindisi.58 However, if they were one-time donations of money, often no documents were drawn up. As a result, although single gifts of money were certainly very numerous at Hermann of Salza’s time, records were kept only when it was an exceptionally large donation, such as the over 6,000 silver marks (equally c. 42,000 bezants) given by Leopold VI of Austria in 1219. The importance of Hermann of Salza grew thanks to his role as roving diplomat, going to and fro between Frederick II and Honorius III to enable Frederick, busy establishing his control over Germany and Italy, to postpone various times the crusade he had promised in 1215 at Aachen and confirmed in November 1220 in Rome. In March 1223, to postpone the start of the crusade for the sixth time, enabling him to wait until 24 June 1225, the emperor, left a widower after the death of his first wife Constance of Aragon on 23 June 1222, swore not only to adhere to the date indicated, but also to marry Isabella of Brienne, heiress to the throne of the Kingdom of Jerusalem. With this marriage Frederick would acquire, besides the crowns of Sicily and the Roman Empire, the crown of the Kingdom of Jerusalem. He would therefore go to the Holy Land not only as a crusader but also to take possession of his new overseas kingdom.59 But due to the difficulty of raising enough funds to guarantee the success of the crusade, in 1225 Frederick had to apply for another postponement. For this purpose, as well as Hermann of Salza, the emperor sent king John of Brienne and the patriarch Gerold of Jerusalem to the pope to negotiate the conditions to obtain this new (and therefore seventh!) postponement. On 25 July 1225 a detailed contract was stipulated between the pope and the emperor which stated, besides the departure date, set for August 1227, the exact financial commitments undertaken by Frederick to guarantee the success of the venture: he had to arrive in the Holy Land with 1,000 knights and 150 ships, pay their upkeep for two years and provide for the transport of 2,000 more knights. If this figure was not reached, the emperor would have to pay 50 silver marks for every missing knight. As security he would deposit with the king and the patriarch of Jerusalem as well as with the Teutonic master 100,000 gold ounces (or the equivalent in silver) which would be delivered in five instalments over the next two years. This deposit would be returned to Frederick on his arrival, and if he failed to arrive, it could be spent by the three custodians however they saw fit to the benefit of the Holy Land.60

58 TOT 64, RRH 989, RRR 2084; MGH D Jerus. 668, RRH 1003, RRR 2115. 59 Cfr. Kluger, Hochmeister Hermann, 36–45; Bodo Hechelhammer, Kreuzzug und Herrschaft unter Friedrich II. Handlungsspielräume von Kreuzzugspolitik (1215–1230), Mittelalter-Forschungen 13 (Ostfildern, 2004), 135–142. 60 MGH Const. 2, nr. 102: 129–130. Cfr. Hechelhammer, Kreuzzug, 165–166; Büttner, “Nervus rerum,” 458–461.

72  Hubert Houben After his marriage to Isabella of Brienne, celebrated on 9 November 1225 in the Brindisi cathedral in the presence of the archbishop of Tyre and Balian of Sidon (1204– 1240), the representative of the barons of the Holy Land, as well as Hermann of Salza, the emperor took the title of king of Jerusalem, being regent (balli) for his wife. In January 1226 the Teutonic Order obtained, besides the confirmation of the Seigneurie de Joscelin, also the barony of Toron (Tibnīne) with Banyas and Chastel Neuf (Qalʿat Hūnīn), and the exemption from paying taxes and performing services.61 Several months later the construction of Montfort began. The Annales de Terre Sainte and Gestes des Chiprois indicate 1226 as the year work started. This aligns with the news given by the Armenian Hethoum, who gives the year 675 of the Armenian era, corresponding to the period from 24 January 1226 to 23 January 1227.62 Two versions of the Estoire de Eracles Empereur talk about work being started by Germans at a castle named Frans chastiaus in the period when the crusaders fortified Sidon (11 November 1227–2 March 1228).63 This castle probably refers to Montfort, the construction of which in the winter of 1227/1228 saw the collaboration of German crusaders who arrived in the Holy Land in the autumn of 1227.64 At the beginning of June 1228 Bohemond, prince of Antioch and Count of Tripoli, donated to Hermann of Salza and the Teutonic brethren the annual income of 100 bezants from the taxes on the warehouse (fundacus) and port (catena) of Acre “in support of the work (of constructing) the castle, which you fortify (que vos fermes) to give strength to Christianity against the Saracens.”65 A stage of more intense work began after the arrival of Frederick II at Acre (7 September 1228). In fact, around mid-March 1229, while informing Gregory IX about the treaty of Jaffa, signed in February 1229 between the emperor and Sultan al-Kāmil, Hermann of Salza talks about “our new castle of Montfort which this year we began to fortify in the mountains.”66

61 MGH D Jerus. 654 (Frederick II), MGH D Jerus. 652 (Isabella). Cfr. Kluger, Hochmeister Hermann, 48–50. 62 Annales de Terre Sainte, ed. Reinhold Röhricht, in Archives de L’Orient Latin 2 (Paris, 1884), 438: “En l’an MCC et XXVI . . . fermerent li Alemant le chastiau de Montfort.” Les Gestes des Chiprois, in Recueil des Historiens des Croisades (herafter cited as RHC) Documents arméniens 2: 674: “Et en cel an (i. e. 1226) fu comencié a fermer le chasteau de Montfort par les freres des Alemans.” Table chronologique de Héthoum, comte de Gor’igos, in RHC Doc. armén. 1: 485 (French translation from Armenian): “Les Frères allemands (chevaliers teutoniques) entreprirent de restaurer la forteresse de Montfort.” Cfr. Kluger, Hochmeister Hermann, 74. 63 L’Estoire de Eracles Empereur et la conqueste de la Terre d’Outremer, in RHC Historiens occidentaux 2: 317: “Li Aleman fermerent un autre chastel, qui a non Frans chastiaus.” Cfr. Mayer, “Die Seigneurie,” 210 n. 80, Rafael Frankel, “Topographical Notes on the Territory of Acre in the Crusader Period,” Israel Exploration Journal 38 (1988), 249–272: 267. 64 See Mayer, “Die Seigneurie,” 211, and Hechelhammer, Kreuzzug, 274–275. 65 TOT 64 (RRH 989, RRR 2084): “de m’asize, que je ai en la fonde e en la chaene d’Acre.” 66 MGH Const. 2, nr. 121: 162: “Licet enim nobis per pactum, reedificare Ierusalem in muris et turribus iuxta voluntatem christianorum et castrum Ioppen et castrum Cesaree et Montfort, castrum novum nostrum, quod in montanis hoc anno firmare cepimus.” On the meaning of firmare (fortify, consolidate, reinforce) and edificare (construct) in the documents of Frederick II cfr. MGH D F. II. 36 (July 1201) (“in quo edificium facere et castrum firmare vobis de licentia nostra licuit”)

How did the Teutonic Knights finance Montfort Castle?  73 Just a few weeks later, on 20 April 1229, James of Amigdala, who claimed a part of the Seigneurie de Joscelin, being the son of Beatrice de Courtenay’s younger sister Agnes (whose rights to a part of the inheritance had not been taken into account when the Order bought it from Beatrice), signed an agreement with the Teutonic Knights in which he gave up his right to the inheritance in exchange for an annual income of 6,400 bezants.67 The Order had acquired this income a few days earlier from Frederick II, to whom the Teutonic Order gave the Mesagne castle (between Oria and Brindisi) and the house of Margarito of Brindisi in exchange.68 By granting James this income, the Order obtained the village of Trefile (Khirbat al-Manḥata, 1 km south-east of Montfort) and the “new castle called Montfort that the Teutonic Knights have fortified.”69 At first sight, it may appear that the Order had started building Montfort on land that it would not buy until 1229, therefore after the start of the works in 1226. But a close examination of the documents shows that James of Amigdala, probably three years prior to the issue of the document dated 20 April 1229, had reached an agreement with Hermann of Salza. In fact, in July 1226 Frederick II in his court then at San Miniato (in Tuscany), in the presence of James of Amigdala and Hermann of Salza, issued a document confirming not only that Hermann had legally purchased the Seigneurie de Joscelin, but also that James, for the part to which he was entitled as son of Beatrice’s sister Agnes, became a vassal of the Teutonic Order.70 It was probably on this occasion that he

and 256 (23 November 1214) (“ipsum castrum, prout volueris, edificare tibi libeat et munire”). The notary-chronicler Richard of San Germano uses the term firmare when talking about the order issued by Frederick II in 1234, to reinforce the castles of Trani, Bari, Naples and Brindisi: Riccardo di San Germano, Chronica, ed. Carlo Alberto Garufi, Rerum Italicarum Scriptores 7/2 (Bologna, 1983), 184. 67 TOT 63, RRH 1002, RRR 2108. 68 MGH D Jerus. 661–662, RRH 1012, 1004, RRR 2106, 2107. 69 TOT 63: “Huius feudi casalia sunt: scilicet Mobilir (Khirbat Mibliyya, 12 km south of Montfort), quod datum est in excambium mihi et heredibus meis pro Trefile et castro novo, quod dicitur Montfort, quod eciam eadem domus (Theutonicorum) firmavit, ita ut illud castrum debeat domui perpetuo remanere, et pro orto et molendino, que sunt in pertinenciis de Trefile, et pro aliis casalibus, que nominatim exprimimus, scilicet . . . et Castrum Regis, salvis tamen omnibus, que magister et domus predicta Theutonicorum tenebant in domibus sive terris sive vineis in tenimentis eiusdem Castri Regis, priusquam illius terre dominium habuerint, et salvis omnibus, que pro earum pecunia comparaverant et que domui predicte in helemosinam data fuerant in domibus, terris et vineis.” On the property bought by the Teutonic Order between 1220 and 1229 around Miʿilya (Castrum regis) at a total cost of approximately 3,250 bezants, see Ronnie Ellenblum, “Colonization Activities in the Frankish East: The Example of Castellum Regis (Mi’ilya),” English Historical Review 111 (1996), 104–122, and Ellenblum, Frankish Rural Settlement, 41–53. 70 MGH D Jerus. 657 (RRH 978, RRR 2043): “idem magister . . . investiverit Iacobinum de Amigdala filium quondam Agnetis iunioris filie comitis memorati (Iozcelini) secundum consuetudinem regni Ierosolimitani de portione, que contigit eum in eisdem bonis pro parte dicte matris sue, dictus Iacobinus de nostra licencia et consensu in presencia nostra assecuravit eundem magistrum et domum eiusdem, sicut deberet assecurare pro parte prefate matris sue predictam Beatricem primogenitam comitis memorati, de cuius venditione dicta domus Sancte Marie bona eadem possidebat.” Cfr. Mayer, “Die Seigneurie,” 200–204.

74  Hubert Houben promised Hermann of Salza that in exchange for money he would give up his part of the inheritance, including the Trefile territory, obviously already chosen by Hermann as the site for the construction of a prestigious new castle. At that time an agreement between Hermann and James was also probably stipulated, later lost at an unknown date but still in existence at the drafting of the deed of sale dated 20 April 1229 and when Frederick II’s document of April 1229 confirmed this sale.71 While the emperor was present at Acre between 20 and 30 April 1229, before his return to Italy, he conferred three important privileges on the Teutonic Order. In the first he donated king Baldwin’s old palace in Jerusalem and the hospital that the Germans had had in the city prior to its falling under Muslim control, with all its rights, possessions and appurtenances.72 In the second document Frederick II confirmed the Order’s purchase of a house at Acre with its appurtenances, located near the church of the Holy Sepulchre, sold by a certain John of Conques. The price paid by the Teutonic Knights consisted of 620 silver marks (equivalent to c. 4,340 bezants) plus a house. The emperor added permission to construct a vault from this house to another owned by the Order, on the condition that it did not block access to the public square that separated the two houses. The emperor also confirmed the Order’s ownership of the barbican obtained originally from king John (1217) and donated all the land between the city walls and the sea, from the Gate of Geoffrey Le Tor to the end of the barbican, with permission to construct any kind of building there provided it did not obstruct access to the public road.73 Notice the very high price paid at the time to John of Conques, considerably higher than the c. 2,800 bezants paid in 1215 for the house that Mayer believes was Joscelin III de Courtenay’s old town palace or the 2,700 bezants paid to John Le Tor in 1206 for a large building. For other houses (domus) in Acre, purchased by the Teutonic brethren at an unknown time – but prior to about 1244, when the property list recording these purchases was drafted – the prices varied from 175, 280, 350 and 1,012 bezants, and for some “courts” (curie) from 650, 1,000 and 71 MGH D Jerus. 666 (RRH 1013, RRR 2113). – Cfr. also MGH D Jerus. 667 (RRH 1011, RRR 2114), drawn up between 21 and 30 April 1229, in which the emperor reconfirms the grant of Trefile and Montfort: “casale Trefile cum omnibus pertinenciis suis et castrum novum, quod dicitur Montfort, quod domus ipsa firmavit, cum omnibus pertinenciis suis et cum iardino et molendino, que sunt de pertinenciis eiusdem casalis Trefile.” 72 MGH D Jerus. 676 (RRH 1010, RRR 2123). 73 MGH D Jerus. 675 (RRH 1009, RRR 2122): “domum, quam emerunt a Iohanne de Conchi pro sexcentis et XX marchis argenti et pro alia domo, quam ultra marchas ipsas argenti dederunt eidem Iohanni, sitam iuxta ecclesiam sancti Sepulcri cum omni proprisio et pertinenciis suis, dantes eis licenciam construendi voltam ab alia domo eorum, quam prius habuerant, usque ad domum ipsam, ita tamen, quod platea publica civitatis, que dividit domos ipsas, propter hoc nequeat impediri. Concedimus insuper et confirmamus eisdem barbacanam illam, quam illustris rex Iohannes olim domui predicte concessit et cedit, sicut in eiusdem regis privilegio plenius et apercius continetur, nec non et totam terram, que consistit inter murum civitatis nostre Acconis et mare, videlicet a porta, que dicitur Goffridi Torti, usque ad locum illum, ubi finit iam dicta barbacana predicte domus, cum omnibus stationibus, que sunt ibi, et ut liceat eis hedificare super eandem terram quodcunque voluerint hedificium sine contradictione et molestia alicuius, ita videlicet, quod via publica pro omnibus euntibus et venientibus ibi debeat remanere.”

How did the Teutonic Knights finance Montfort Castle?  75 2,024 bezants. The most expensive of these “courts” (manors?) was located behind the House of the Teutonic Order.74 The word domus obviously had a broader meaning than a simple house and could also refer to buildings consisting of several houses or to actual palaces. With the third privilege Frederick II gave the Teutonic Order an annual income of 7,000 bezants, deriving from the royal taxes levied on the port and the warehouse at Acre (in redditibus cathene et funde nostre Acconensis). This was an indemnity for the land of Toron and Chastel Neuf that the Teutonic Knights had bought along with the Seigneurie de Joscelin but that the emperor had been obliged to return to Alice, niece of Humphrey IV of Toron.75 When Frederick II left Acre on 1 May 1229 to reach southern Italy via Cyprus, the Teutonic Order had achieved a solid enough financial footing in the Holy Land to proceed with the construction of Montfort Castle. After arriving in Brindisi (10 June 1229), the emperor rapidly managed to repel the papal army, which in January 1229 had invaded the kingdom of Sicily, and to put down the rebellion fomented by Gregory IX, who on 31 July 1228 had released Frederich II’s subjects from the oath of loyalty towards the excommunicated emperor. Thanks to Hermann of Salza’s mediation, Frederick was able to convince the pope to agree to peace talks, after which the emperor’s excommunication would be withdrawn. An initial agreement was reached on 23 July 1230 at San Germano. After some issues still pending were resolved in the following weeks, the final peace treaty was agreed on 28 August 1230 near Ceprano on the border between the Church State and the kingdom of Sicily.76 During these peace talks Hermann of Salza persuaded Gregory IX to agree to a special indulgence for those who contributed funds for the construction of Montfort. The contents of the letter issued by the pope on 10 July 1230 were probably largely suggested by Hermann. It begins with praise for the Teutonic Knights, described as “the new Maccabees working to free the eastern Church from pagan filth and to defeat the enemies of the Christian name.” This is followed by specific references to the land bought by the Teutonic brethren with the money provided

74 TOT 128, p. 126: “Item emimus a Iohanne Strakei et de Guilion, hominibus Templi, unam curiam retro seleriam per DC et L bisantiis. Item dedimus pro una domo retro palmanteriam CC et LXXX bisantiis in Acchon. Item emimus curiam unam a monialibus de Tyro iuxta infirmariam nostram pro M bisantiis in Acchon. Item de archiepiscopo Iacobinorum emimus unam domum, que est prope curiam nostram et prope domum, quam emimus a monialibus Tyri, pro CCC et L bisantiis. Item emimus unam curiam retro palacium nostrum Acchon, que vocatur Chisseria, que fuit Nicholay et fratris sui scriptorum, pro MM et XXIIII bisantiis. Item emimus a Raimundo scriptore unam domum, que iacet retro curiam magistri, pro M et XII bisantiis. Item emimus a Petro Corvisario unam domum in rua domus dicti Raimundi pro C et LXXV bisantiis. Item emimus unam peciam terre, que est ante barriam domini Aymonis, pro XVIII bisantiis et pro censu eiusdem debet solvi dimidius bisantius annuatim.” Cfr. Adrian J. Boas and Georg Philipp Meloni, “New Evidence for Identifying the Site of the Teutonic Compound in Acre,” in Acre and Its Falls. Studies in the History of a Crusader City, History of Warfare 116, ed. John France (Leiden, 2018), 69–89. 75 MGH D Jerus. 668 (RRH 1003, RRR 2115). 76 Cfr. Wolfgang Stürner, Friedrich II. Teil 2: Der Kaiser 1220–1250 (Darmstadt, 2000), 170–189.

76  Hubert Houben by the duke of Austria. In view of the enormous financial burden borne by the Teutonic hospital in Acre, “particularly for feeding the poor and the needs of the sick,” its resources were not sufficient “to complete and administer the abovementioned castle.” In order for it to “be completely fortified and rigorously administered,” the pope promised the remission of the seventh part of the penance inflicted “to all those who use the goods that God has given them to help these Teutonic brethren and every year make donations.” The indulgence was limited to ten years, a period that Hermann of Salza obviously thought long enough to complete the construction of the main buildings of Montfort.77 During the San Germano peace negotiations, Hermann of Salza also managed to obtain from Gregory IX another favour of no little importance. After Frederick II (in April 1229) had granted the Teutonic Order the house of the old German hospital in Jerusalem,78 the Hospitallers, arguing that as prior to Saladin’s conquest of Jerusalem (1187) this hospital had been a priory of their order, petitioned the pope to place the Teutonic Knights under their control. On 17 August 1229 Gregory IX asked Patriarch Gerold of Jerusalem to look into the question,79 but then dropped the matter so as not to compromise his relations with Frederick II. Following the peace of San Germano (1230), Gregory IX, for whom the fate of the Holy Land was of the utmost importance and who was committed to a new crusade, in 1231 confirmed the title of king of Jerusalem on Frederick II. This title had been arbitrarily adopted by the emperor after his marriage to Isabella of Brienne, because in actual fact he was only the regent firstly for Isabella, and later for their son Conrad IV (1228–1254).80 With the help of Hermann of Salza, the pope 77 TOT 72: “Dilecti filii fratres hospitalis sancte Marie Theutonicorum in Ierusalem, novi sub tempore gracie Machabei, abnegantes secularia desideria et propria relinquentes, tollentes crucem suam dominum sunt secuti. Ipsi sunt, qui orientalem ecclesiam a paganorum spurcitia liberare et christiani nominis inimicos expugnare nituntur; ipsi pro fratribus animos ponere non formidant et peregrinos ad sancta loca proficiscentes tam eundo quam redeundo ab incursibus paganorum defensare conantur. Sane, sicut dilectus filius Hermannus, magister hospitalis ipsius, in nostra proposuit presentia constitutus, ad tam sanctum et pium opus laudabiliter prosequendum in terra, quam nobilis vir dux Austrie predictis fratribus emit intuitu pietatis, castrum Montfort iuxta territorium Acconense edificare ceperunt, positum in confinio paganorum, per quod christianis in partibus illis immensa dinoscitur utilitas provenire, cum quasi quoddam frenum Sarracenos compescens ab insultibus consuetis fidelibus circumquaque securam tribuat libertatem; quia vero pre multitudine continua expensarum, que ipsis pro terre sancte subsidio et precipue pro refectione pauperum et necessitatibus infirmorum imminent faciende, ad perficiendum et regendum castrum predictum proprie ipsis non suppetunt facultates, sed, ut perfecte firmetur et potenti manu regatur, ipsis est fidelium suffragium oportunum, presertim cum sit a mari remotum, cui sicut ceteris civitatibus et munitionibus regni Ierosolimitani per mare non potest de succursu necessario provideri; . . . omnibus, qui de bonis sibi collatis a Deo in hoc subvenerint fratribus memoratis eisque beneficia persolverint, annuatim septimam partem iniuncte penitentie relaxamus, presentibus post decennium minime valituris.” 78 MGH D Jerus. 676 (RRH 1010, RRR 2123). 79 Cartulaire gènèral de l’Ordre des Hospitaliers de St. Jean de Jérusalem (1100–1310), ed. J. Delaville Le Roulx, vol. 2 (Paris, 1897), nr. 1944. Cfr. Favreau, Studien, 90–94. 80 See Björn Weiler, “Gregory IX, Frederick II, and the Liberation of the Holy Land, 1230–9,” in The Holy Land, Holy Lands, and Christian History. Papers Read at the 1999 Summer Meeting and the

How did the Teutonic Knights finance Montfort Castle?  77 also attempted to mediate in the conflict between the imperial marshal Richard Filangieri, sent by Frederick II in August 1231 as his lord lieutenant (balli) in the Kingdom of Jerusalem, and the barons of the Holy Land. When Richard failed to respect the juridical customs protecting the rights of the barons and the citizens of Acre, a rebellion broke out in April 1232 spearheaded by John of Ibelin, lord of Beirut, which led to the creation of the Comune of Acre. However, the attempted mediation by Hermann of Salza and Gregory IX, which continued until 1236, ended in failure due to the rigidity of Frederick II and Richard Filangieri, who had chosen the city of Tyre for the seat of the imperial administration.81 For the Teutonic Knights this probably meant that since 1232 they had no longer been able to regularly receive their income from the royal revenues at Acre. Meanwhile, for the Teutonic Order a new field of action had opened in Eastern Europe, where the Polish duke Konrad of Masovia, between 1228 and 1230, had donated the territory of Chelmno in northern Poland to the Order to get their help against the Prussians, a pagan Baltic population. In August 1234 on the request of Hermann of Salza, Gregory IX issued the Golden Bull of Rieti, which recognised the dominion of the Teutonic Order over the Prussian territory, conquered or still to be conquered.82 When the Polish duke made it known that he intended to revoke his donations, Hermann of Salza managed to obtain from Frederick II the so-called golden Bull of Rimini, which bears the date of March 1226, but which in actual fact was drawn up in the summer of 1235, as Tomasz Jasiński’s research has demonstrated.83 This privilege reveals that the territory conquered by the Teutonic Order, for which the master and his successors were equated to German princes, was not considered part of the German-Roman Empire, but of a more general monarchia imperii. This gave the Teutonic Order the possibility of creating for itself (in future) in this space on the north-eastern edge of the empire, a principauté indépendant et souveraine.84 In the interests of a new crusade, in August 1234 at Rieti Gregory IX had proposed to Hermann of Salza to persuade Frederick II, widowed in 1228, to marry

1999 Winter Meeting of the Ecclesiastical History Society, ed. Robert N. Swanson (Woodbridge, 2000), 192–206. 81 See Norbert Kamp, “Filangieri, Riccardo,” in Dizionario biografico degli Italiani 47 (Rome, 1997), 590–595, at 591–592. 82 Preußisches Urkundenbuch I, 1, ed. Rudolf Philippi (Königsberg, 1882), nr. 108. Cfr. Marc Löwener, Die Einrichtung von Verwaltungsstrukturen in Preußen durch den Deutschen Orden bis zur Mitte des 13. Jahrhunderts, Deutsches Historisches Institut Warschau, Quellen und Studien 7 (Wiesbaden, 1998), 85–90. 83 MGH D F. II. 1158. See Tomasz Jasiński, “The Golden Bull Allegedly Issued in 1226 by Frederick II for the Teutonic Order,” Questiones Medii Aevi Novae 3 (1998), 221–244; Tomasz Jasiński, Kruschwitz, Rimini und die Grundlagen des preußischen Ordenslandes, QSGDO 63 (Marburg, 2008), 71–153; Tomasz Jasiński, “Die neuen Forschungen über die Echtheit der Goldenen Bulle,” in Deutschordensforschung aus internationaler Perspektive. Festschrift für Udo Arnold zum 80. Geburtstag, eds. Roman Czaja and Hubert Houben, QSGDO 85 (Weimar, 2020), 121–136. 84 Sylvain Gouguenheim, “Ordensstaat,” in Prier et Combattre, 662–666.

78  Hubert Houben Isabella, the sister of the English king Henry III, in order to bring peace between the French monarchy, allied with Frederick II, and the English crown. The emperor, whose relations with Gregory IX had been deteriorating since 1232 due to the pope’s support for the hostile Lombard League, agreed. To conduct the negotiations for this marriage, Pier delle Vigne, Frederick’s loyal confidant, was sent to the English court accompanied by a Teutonic Knight. In this context the Teutonic Order obtained from Henry III an annuity of 40 silver marks (equivalent to c. 280 bezants), which was regularly paid from 1235 to 1256, and then in 1259 and in 1261. After being annulled for an uncertain reason (ex certa causa), perhaps due to internal English problems, on the request of the Teutonic Order the payment of this income recommenced in 1279.85 From the end of 1235 relations between Gregory IX and Frederick II deteriorated again because of the conflict between the emperor and the Lombard Comunes. Once more the pope asked Hermann of Salza to mediate. But this time the Teutonic master’s diplomatic efforts got nowhere. In 1237 open warfare broke out between Frederick and the Lombard Communes, and relations between pope and emperor became so bad that on 20 March 1239 Gregory IX excommunicated the emperor once again. By chance, that same day saw the death of Hermann of Salza, under whose 30 years’ guidance the Teutonic Order, from its modest beginnings, had become a military order with property and commanderies all over Europe. The rapid rise of the Order was largely due to the support of the Hohenstaufen emperors, not only of Henry VI but above all of Frederick II. This bond, which had brought them such financial benefits that they were able to build Montfort Castle, became dangerous, however, with the outbreak of hostilities between the emperor and the pope, culminating under Innocence IV in 1245 with the deposition of Frederick. Due to his role as an indefatiguable mediator between the pope and the emperor, Hermann of Salza, in the interests of his order, which depended on both of these figures, had seldom been able to be present in the Holy Land. This had already aroused criticism in the early 1230s on the part of his brethren stationed at Acre. A letter from Gregory IX dated 25 August 1232 reveals in fact that the head of the Teutonic House at Acre, grand commander Lutolf, standing in for Hermann of Salza, had repeatedly complained to the pope about the master’s absence from the Holy Land. The pope replied that thanks to Hermann’s presence in Italy the Order had obtained many favours from both pope and emperor and that his absence from the Holy Land was therefore useful, not harmful.86 Several years later during the

85 Hans Koeppen, “Die englische Rente für den Deutschen Orden,” in Festschrift für Hermann Heimpel zum 70. Geburtstag am 19. September 1971, vol. 2, Veröffentlichungen des Max-PlanckInstituts für Geschichte 36/II (Göttingen, 1972), 402–421. Cfr. Kluger, Hochmeister Hermann, 170–171. 86 Houben, “Neuentdeckte Papsturkunden,” 77: “cum ipsius magistri (i.e. Hermanni) presentia sit in istibus partibus vestre domui multipliciter fructuosa . . .; cum multis probabilibus argumentis sit evidens et expressum, quod ispo magistro in cismarinis partibus constituto plus honoris et gratie auctore Deo noscitur acrevisse quam per plures alios a longis retro temporibus sit obtentum.”.

How did the Teutonic Knights finance Montfort Castle?  79 Order’s chapter held in June 1237 at Marburg, Hermann was urged not to involve himself further in negotiations about the Lombard Communes, possible out of concern that he was neglecting the Order’s expansion in Prussia.87

Political instability and economic crisis (1239–1291) After Frederick II’s excommunication and Hermann of Salza’s death, the Teutonic Order had to deal with a number of issues. The Hospitallers took the opportunity to repeat their request to Gregory IX, already presented in 1229, to be given control over the Teutonic Order. The pope, on 12 January 1240, invited the Teutonic Knights to state their position on the matter by 16 October of that year,88 a request that was repeated on 23 March 1241,89 but following the pope’s death on 22 August 1241, the issue once again remained undecided, probably because his successor Innocence IV (1243–1254), whose relations with the Teutonic Knights were good, felt it inappropriate to act against them.90 Hermann of Salza’s successors tried to maintain good relations both with Frederick II and his successors and with the popes, but due to the radicalisation of the struggle between the emperor and Gregory IX this became increasingly difficult. When the master Gerard of Malberg, who took over from Conrad of Thuringia on his death on 24 July 1240, agreed in 1243 to his investiture by Innocence IV, a group of brethren within the Teutonic Order who had remained loyal to Frederick II forced him to resign and managed to get Henry of Hohenlohe (1244–1249), faithful to the emperor, elected as his successor.91 The resignation of Gerard, who, as a sign of his renunciation of the position, placed the seal of the Teutonic master on an altar, took place in Montfort Castle before the new master, first attested on 7 July 1244, as shown by a letter from Innocence IV of 16 January 1245. This letter shows that after his resignation Gerard took refuge with the Templars and, using a new seal which he had procured illegally, contracted debts for the settlement of which the new master had to give him 400 silver marks at the Apostolic See (then in Lyon).92

87 See Kluger, Hochmeister Hermann, 176 and 192, where it is underlined that in the period of 30 years Hermann spent only four years in Germany. 88 TOT 468. 89 Cartulaire général, nr. 2270. Cfr. Kurt Forstreuter, Der Deutsche Orden am Mittelmeer, QSGDO 2 (Bonn, 1967), 25. 90 Cfr. Favreau, Studien, 91–93. 91 Udo Arnold, “Der Deutsche Orden zwischen Kaiser und Papst im 13. Jahrhundert,” in Die Ritterorden zwischen geistlicher und weltlicher Macht, ed. Zenon Hubert Nowak, Universitas Nicolai Copernici, Ordines militares, Colloquia Torunensia Historica 5 (Toruń, 1990), 57–70, at 63–65; Udo Arnold, “Gerhard von Malberg (nach 24.VII.1240 – vor 7.VII.1244),” in Die Hochmeister, 22–24. Cfr. also Sławomir Jóźwiak, “Rücktritte der Hochmeister des Deutschen Ordens im 13. und 14. Jahrhundert,” Beiträge zur Geschichte Westpreußens 18 (2002) 35–47, at 35–36. 92 TOT 98, 99 (Acre, 7 luglio 1244), RRH 1120, 1121, RRR 2461, 2462; TOT 486 (16 gennaio 1245): “Exposuistis humiliter coram nobis, quod frater Gerardus, quondam magister vester, postquam vobis in castro vestro Monteforti suum magisterium resignavit, autentico et perpetuo

80  Hubert Houben Meanwhile, the Teutonic Knights had to deal with some problems in the Baltic, where between 1242 and 1249 the indigenous population rose up against their domination. In the Holy Land, Frederick II’s regency came to an end because his son Conrad IV, heir to the throne of the kingdom of Jerusalem, turned 14 and therefore, according to Sicilian law, was no longer a minor. Subsequently, probably in June 1242, the barons of the Holy Land in Acre elected Henry of Champagne’s daughter Alice of Cyprus as the new regent. As a result, the imperial administration was expelled from Tyre, and the documents issued by Frederick II as king of Jerusalem were declared invalid.93 Henry of Hohenlohe tried in vain to mediate between the pope and the emperor to prevent the deposition of Frederick II, decided by Innocence IV on 17 July 1245 at the end of the Council of Lyon. Henry did manage, however, to obtain the pope’s support for the Teutonic Order, as shown by the indulgence issued by Innocence IV on 18 September 1245 to facilitate the construction of Montfort, which obviously was not yet completed.94 The wording of this indulgence is largely identical to the one issued by Gregory IX in 1230, with two differences: it states no time limit, while Gregory’s was limited to ten years, and instead of the remission of a seventh of the penance, it was related to 40 days of penance. A similar indulgence, this time, however, not specifically for the construction of Montfort, was granted in 1261 by Urban IV (1261–1264) to the master Anno of Sangerhausen (1256– 1273), limited to his lifetime.95 Urban IV and Anno met in Acre: before his election to pope, Urban IV (Jakob Pantaleon, bishop of Verdun) had been patriarch of Jerusalem from 1256 (residing in Acre), and Anno of Sangerhausen, after his election to master, which took place in Rome in 1256 after the resignation of Poppo of Osterna (1252–1256), had gone to Acre, where his presence was recorded in January 1257 and where he stayed until March 1261, when he was forced to travel to the Baltic, where, after the defeat of the Teutonic Knights in the battle of Durbe (1260), a war had broken out which would finish only in 1274.96 In this period within the Teutonic Order there began to emerge a group that advocated a greater commitment in the Baltic region and that clashed with another group that considered the Holy Land more important. The resignation of Poppo of Osterna, who only stopped briefly at Acre (around 6 June 1253) at the beginning of his leadership and then stayed in Germany and the Baltic, may have been brought on by his lack of effort in the Holy Land. The difficult situation of the Teutonic Order in the Holy Land can be seen very clearly from a letter sent in May 1254 by Peter of Coblenz, marshal and deputy for the master, to king Alfonso X of Castile. Alfonso was the son of Ferdinand III, king

sigillo magistri, quod habuerat, iuxta morem super altari dimisso, ad domum militie Templi de vestra domo confugiens sibi de novo temere fecit fabricari sigillum.” 93 Jean d’Ibelin, Discourse on the Regency, ed. Peter W. Edbury, Jean d’Ibelin, Le Livre des Assises, The Medieval Mediterranean 50 (Leiden, 2003), 804–810, at 809. 94 Ed. Forstreuter, Der Deutsche Orden, 232. 95 TOT 620. Cfr. Ehlers, Die Ablasspraxis, 23. 96 Cfr. Gerard Labuda, “Anno von Sangerhausen (1256 – 8.VII.1273),” in Die Hochmeister, 31–33.

How did the Teutonic Knights finance Montfort Castle?  81 of Castile-León, and Beatrice of Swabia, whose father was Philip of Swabia, making her Frederick II’s cousin. Beatrice had been a benefactor of the Teutonic brethren, allowing them to establish a commandery in Castile.97 Peter complained that after participating in the crusade of Louis IX (1250–1254), the Teutonic Order found itself in serious economic difficulties due to the large debts incurred during this military activity. He maintained that from the start of the conflict between the empire and the pope in 1239, the Teutonic Knights in the Holy Land no longer received any financial support from Germany and that the Teutonic provinces of Livonia and Prussia were barely able to provide for themselves. He therefore asked for financial assistance from the king of Castile, with his ties to the house of Hohenstaufen and to the Teutonic Order.98 Initial evidence of the economic hardship of the Teutonic Order in the Holy Land can be found in the fact that prior to 1240 the Teutonic brethren had asked for a 5,000 bezant loan from the Hospitallers, using as security the village of ʿArrāba, from which the Hospitallers would receive a quarter of the rents until such time as the Teutonic Knights could pay off their debt.99 The Order had bought the village in 1234 for 3,600 bezants, but on 6 June 1253 managed to sell the villages of ʿArrāba and Sakhnīn for 25,000 bezants, thus making a good profit.100 That the economic situation of the Teutonic brethren in the Holy Land around the mid-1200s was not as drastic as it might seem from what Peter of Coblenz wrote to the king of Castile can be seen from the fact that in June 1246 they could afford to buy a house in Acre for the large sum of 8,000 bezants,101 and on 30 April 1249 six

  97 Cfr. José Manuel Rodríguez García, “Alfonso X and the Teutonic Order: An Example of the Role of the International Military Orders in Mid-Thirteenth-Century Castile,” in The Military Orders 2: Welfare and Warfare, ed. Helen Nicholson (Aldershot, 1998), 319–327; Nikolas Jaspert, “L’Ordine Teutonico nella penisola iberica: limiti e possibilità di una provincia periferica,” in L’Ordine Teutonico nel Mediterraneo, 109–132.   98 José Manuel Rodríguez García and Ana Echevarría Arsuaga, “Alfonso X, la Órden teutónica y Tierra Santa. Una nueva fuente para su estudio,” in Las Órdenes Militares en la Península Iberica, vol. 1, eds. Ricardo Izquierdo Benito and Francisco Ruíz Gómez (Cuenca, 2000), 489–508, at 506–508. Trans. of the letter in Letters from the East. Pilgrims and Settlers in the 12th–13th Centuries, trans. Malcom Barber and Keith Bate (Farnham, 2010), 151–153. Cfr. Nicholas Edward Morton, The Teutonic Knights in the Holy Land 1190–1291 (Woodbridge, 2009), 106–107.  99 TOT 89, RRH 1097. Cfr. Hans Eberhard Mayer, “Die Kreuzfahrerherrschaft ‘Arrābe,” Zeitschrift des Deutschen Palästina-Vereins (hereafter cited as ZDPV) 93 (1977), 198–212, at 205. 100 RRH 1206. Cfr. Hans Eberhard Mayer, Das Siegelwesen in den Kreuzfahrerstaaten, Abhandlungen der Bayerischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, Phil.-hist. Klasse N. F. 83 (Munich, 1978), 90, and MGH D Jerus. *801. 101 Riccardo Predelli, “Le reliquie dell’Archivio dell’Ordine Teutonico in Venezia,” Atti del Reale Istituto Veneto di scienze, lettere ed arti 64 (1905), 1379–1463, at 1431 nr. 38: “1246 Giugno. «Garsia Alvarez sire de Cayfas» fa sapere che, col di lui consenso, «Heluis», figlia di Rohart «sire de Cayfas» e sua moglie, vendette la casa ereditata dal di lei padre, con tutte le dipendenze, a «frere Litolf au jor commandeor» e rappresentante dell’Osp. di S. M. dei T., per 8000 bisanti saracinati al peso di «Acre», che furono contati dall’acquirente, al quale i venditori guarentiscono il tranquillo possesso dello stabile, posto in «Acre» e confinante con beni di «maistre Mathe le Miege, la cort de mont Thabor» e la casa del fu «conte Jocelyn». Fatto colla malleveria di

82  Hubert Houben villages near Acre for 4,000 bezants,102 as well as lease in 1256 the village of al-Zīb (Casal Imbert, west of Montfort) from John II of Ibelin, constable and balli of the Kingdom of Jerusalem, for ten years, paying an annual rent of 13,000 bezants.103 Following the arrival in the Holy Land of the new master Anno of Sangerhausen, the Teutonic Order’s situation was stabilised. On 14 January 1257 the master bought the dominion of Sidon for 23,500 bezants.104 Then in 1258 he managed to stipulate an agreement with the Hospitallers and the Templars, putting an end to the tension between the three great military orders.105 In 1261/1262 the Order spent 20,000 bezants altogether to buy Casal Imbert and Toron Ahmīd in the mountains east of Beirut from John II of Ibelin.106 The situation took a decided turn for the worse when the Mamluk sultan Baybars, after having conquered in 1265 Caesarea and Arsuf, in May 1266 occupied Castellum regis (Miʿilya) and the major fortress of Safed, laid siege to Montfort Castle, which, however, managed to resist. In 1268, when an agreement was reached between king Hugh II of Cyprus, balli of the Kingdom of Jerusalem, and Baybars, the Teutonic Order’s 48 villages in the Acre area had been reduced to only ten.107 Perhaps that is why in 1270/1271 the Teutonic brethren had to ask the Hospitallers to let them use the village of Manuet (Khirbat al-Manawāt) for a year to sow and harvest crops; in 1271 Baybars seized and destroyed Montfort Castle.108 Despite this, between 1273 and 1280 the Teutonic Order was still able to spend a total of 26,183 bezants to buy the dominion of Scandalion (Iskandarūna) between Acre and Tyre.109 It has been asked where the considerable quantity of money used by the Order in the second half of the thirteenth century to buy not only villages but also some dominions came from. Unlike the Hospitallers and Templars in the Holy Land, who regularly received money, so-called Responsiones,110 from their commanderies in Europe, for the Teutonic Order there is no documentation of such regular

«Guillaume de Mont Gisard, Guillaume Carcar, Renaut le Jeune, Thomas de Maugastel, Johan Coste», tutti «homes» di Garcia suddetto.” 102 TOT 100, RRH 1175. The Teutonic Knights paid 1600 bezants immediately and the rest in four quarterly instalments of 600 bezants. For the location of these villages see the map in Frankel, “Topographical Notes,” 251. 103 MGH D Jerus. 805, RRH 1250. 104 TOT 108, 109, RRH 1253, 1254, where the date is incorrectly indicated as 4 instead of 14 January. For the dominion of Sidon see Peter Hilsch, “Der Deutsche Ritterorden im südlichen Libanon. Zur Topographie der Kreuzfahrerherrschaften Sidon und Beirut,” in ZDPV 96 (1980), 174–189, at 178–179; cfr. also Marie-Luise Favreau, “Die Kreuzfahrerherrschaft Scandalion (Iskanderūne),” in ZDPV 93 (1977), 13–29, at 26–27. 105 TOT 116, RRH 1269, Cartulaire général II, nr. 2902. Cfr. Morton, The Teutonic Knights, 114–116. 106 See Mayer, Das Siegelwesen, 93–98. 107 See Rabei Khamisy, “The Unratified Treaty between the Mamluks and the Franks of Acre in 1268,” Al-Masaq: Journal of the Medieval Mediterranean 26/2 (2014), 147–167. 108 Cfr. Forstreuter, Der Deutsche Orden, 48–49; Morton, The Teutonic Knights, 157–158; Rabei G. Khamisy, “Montfort Castle (Qal‘at Al-Qurayn) in Mamluk Sources,” in Montfort. History, 28–40. 109 RRH 1399, 1400, 1425. Cfr. Favreau, “Die Kreuzfahrerherrschaft Scandalion.” 110 See Judith Bronstein, “Responsions,” in Prier et combattre, 785–786.

How did the Teutonic Knights finance Montfort Castle?  83 transfers of money to the Holy Land. Naturally that does not rule out the existence of such transfers, but there is no proof of them.111 There is only one case where a document has been preserved, from which it can be deduced that money was sent from a German commandery to the Holy Land: in 1284 the Teutonic commandery of Mühlhausen in Thuringia sold some land, obviously acting in haste, due to the urgent need to pay overseas debts (propter imminentem necessitatem et evidentem utilitatem videlicet pro persolvendis debitis transmarinis).112 On the other hand the consignments of foodstuffs to Acre from the Teutonic commanderies in Apulia, mainly on Venetian ships between 1267 and 1284, are well documented.113

Conclusions We have seen that as well as single donations, in the 1220s the Teutonic Order also obtained annual incomes from the royal revenues in the kingdoms of Sicily and Jerusalem. This enabled the Teutonic brethren to purchase property in the Holy Land, including the Seigneurie de Joscelin in 1220 consisting of Miʿilya castle (castellum regis) and about 45 villages located on the fertile soil north-east of Acre and, from 1226, to construct a new castle named Montfort in this territory. The main aim of this fortress was not military or administrative but was symbolic to demonstrate the power the Order had achieved thanks to Hermann of Salza, who in the 1220s and 1230s played an important role as a mediator between Frederick II and popes Honorius III and Gregory IX. We know the dates on which the annual incomes were granted, but we do not know how long they continued to be paid. Those from the kingdom of Siciliy were probably received regularly at least until about 1240, when Frederick II started to find himself in serious financial difficulty due to the costly wars waged against the Lombard Communes,114 sporadically in the 1240s and then until about 1265 under his successors. The incomes from the Kingdom of Jerusalem collected at Acre on the other hand were probably paid regularly only until the rebellion of the barons and the city of Acre in 1232, and

111 Cfr. Marie-Luise Favreau-Lilie, “Träger und Förderer des Deutschen Ordens im Deutschen Reich (13. Jahrhundert),” in Die Kreuzzugsbewegung, 171–172, and Klaus Militzer, “Die Einbindung des Deutschen Ordens in das europäische Finanzsystem,” in Die Ritterorden in der europäischen Wirtschaft des Mittelalters, ed. Roman Czaja, Jürgen Sarnowsky, Universitas Nicolai Copernici, Ordines militares, Colloquia Torunensia Historica 12 (Toruń, 2003), 7–17. 112 See Favreau-Lilie, “Träger,” 172–173. 113 Houben, “I cavalieri teutonici a Barletta,” 119–121. See also Kristjan Toomaspoeg, “Le ravitaillement de la Terre sainte: l’exemple des possessions des ordres militaires dans le royaume de Sicile au XIIIe siècle,” in L’Expansion occidentale (XIe–XIIIe siècles). Formes et conséquences, 33e Congrès de la S.H.M.S. (Madrid, Casa de Velázquez, 23–26 mai 2002) (Paris, 2003), 143– 158, and Kristjan Toomaspoeg, “Carrefour de la Méditerranée et arrière-pays de la croisade: les ordres religieux militaires et la mer au royaume de Sicile,” in Les ordres militaires et la mer. 130 e Congrès national des sociétés historiques et scientifiques, La Rochelles 2005, ed. Michel Balard (Paris, 2009), 103–110. 114 Cfr. Peter Thorau, “Der Krieg und das Geld. Ritter und Söldner in den Heeren Kaiser Friedrichs II.,” Historische Zeitschrift 268 (1999), 599–634, at 628–631.

84  Hubert Houben perhaps also continued sporadically until the end of Frederick II’s regency (1242) and the expulsion of the imperial administration from Tyre (1242/1243). Nor do we know if or when (between 1251 and 1265?) the 100,000 gold ounces that Frederick II left to the Holy Land in his will (1250) were ever paid.115 We are better informed only about the small annuity, paid regularly by king Henry III of England from 1236 to 1256 and occasionally in 1259 and 1261. The money spent overall by the Teutonic Knights during their time in the Holy Land (1190–1291) was calculated in 1877 by Hans Prutz, based on the Teutonic cartulary edited in 1869 by Ernst Strehlke, at 101,098 bezants,116 but in an initial rough calculation based not only on the documents edited by Strehlke, but also on other documents published later, one can arrive at a far higher figure, over 260,000 bezants. As far as the function of Montfort Castle is concerned, it seems that besides being a symbol of the Teutonic Order’s power, it can also be seen as the summer residence of the masters. The headquarters of the Order always remained in the city of Acre. It was only in 1244 that a chapter was held at Montfort during which the master Gerard of Malberg handed in his resignation. It is possible that at the beginning of the 1240s when, after Frederick’s excommunication and Hermann of Salza’s death, the Teutonic Knights had to face hostility from both the Hospitallers and the Templars, who according to two narrative sources devastated the Teutonic House in Acre,117 a part of the treasury and perhaps also the archive were temporarily moved to the more secure castle. In two documents, one dated 1244 and the other 1249, the treasury, where sums owed by the Teutonic Order could be collected, is indicated as being located alternatively at Acre and Montfort.118 It is therefore likely that around 1240 most of the building work on Montfort Castle had been completed. We only know of three castellans of Montfort: the first is indicated in October 1230 as frater Conradus Dessohn, castellanus and in 1240 as frater Conradus, castellanus Montisfortis,119 while the second, Johannes de

115 MGH Const. 2, 382–389, at 386: “statuimus, ut centum millia unciarum auri expendantur pro salute anime nostre in subsidium Terre Sancte, secundum ordinationem dicti Conradi et aliorum nobilium crucesignatorum.” 116 Hans Prutz, Die Besitzungen des Deutschen Ordens im Heiligen Lande. Ein Beitrag zur Culturgeschichte der Franken in Syrien (Leipzig, 1877), 74. 117 Matthew Paris, Chronica Majora, ed. H. R. Luard, Rolls Series 57, 7 vols. (London, 1872–1883), 4:167–168 (ad a.1241); Annales Admuntenses, Continuatio Garstensis a.1182–1257, MGH SS 9:597 (ad a.1243): “Item sepulcrum Domini a Saracenis occupatur, et domus Teutonicorum apud Achrim constituta per Templariis omnino devastatur.” Cfr. Morton, The Teutonic Knights, 90. 118 TOT 99, RRH 1121 (7 July 1244); TOT 100, RRH 1175 (30 April 1249). Cfr. Morton, The Teutonic Knights, 170–172. 119 TOT 74, RRH 1021; TOT 89, RRH 1097. Probably identical to frater Counradus de Nassowe, mentioned in 1229 (TOT 63, RRH 1002) and frater Conradus de Nasso, preceptor magnus, mentioned in 1244 (TOT 98, RRH 1097).

How did the Teutonic Knights finance Montfort Castle?  85 Niflanda, castellanus Montisfortis, is attested only in 1244.120 The third and final one is Petrus de Convenientia, castellanus Montifortis, documented in 1253.121 In contrast to the numerous documents concerning the construction of Montfort Castle, there are no contemporary written sources about the Teutonic castle of Judyn, located c. 8 km south of Montfort. Only the German Dominican friar and pilgrim Burchard of Mount Sion refers to it in 1283 as a destroyed Teutonic castle, just as Montfort.122 Single revenue of the Teutonic Order in the Holy Land Leopold VI of Austria

6,000 silver marks (= c. 42,000 bezants)

1219

Honorius III Nobles of the royal/imperial court in Germany and Italy Alms for indulgences

2,500 gold ounces (= c. 17,500 bezants) ? (unknown sum)

1220/21 1226–1265?

? (unknown sum)

1221–1291

Annual revenues of the Teutonic Order in the Holy Land From the kingdom of Sicily From the kingdom of Jerusalem (Acre) From the kingdom of England

550 gold ounces (= c. 3,850 bezants) 2,267 bezants (Seigneurie of Joscelin) 100 bezants (Bohemond IV) 7,000 bezants (Frederick II 40 silver marks (= c. 280 bezants)

1222–1265? 1220–1232/1242? 1228–1232/1242? 1229–1232/1242? 1236–1256, 1259, 1261

120 TOT 98, RRH 1120. He was probably identical to Johannes Selich, documented since 1234 in Livonia as a member of the order of the Swordbrethren, which in 1237 was incorporated into the Teutonic Order; therefore de Niflanda could be a scribe’s error for de Livlanda. Cfr. Klaus Militzer, Von Akkon zur Marienburg. Verfassung, Verwaltung und Sozialstruktur des Deutschen Ordens 1190–1309, QSGDO 56 (Marburg, 1999), 372. 121 RRH 1206 (6 June 1253). Probably identical to Peter of Coblenz (Petrus de Confluent), mentioned in 1254 as a marshal (Rodríguez García, “Alfonso X,” 506) and in 1261 as Pierre de Covelance (TOT 121, RRH 1309). – The document supposedly issued by a Teutonic master called William of Urenbach in 1253 during a general chapter held in the Teutonic House in Venice, in which there appears a frater Helmicus, castellanus de Starkenberg (Liv-, Est- und Kurländisches Urkundenbuch nebst Regesten, ed. Friedrich Georg von Bunge, vol. I: 1093–1300 (Reval, 1853; repr. Aalen 1967), nr. 224), is a fake, probably falsified in the second half of the fourteenth century: see Hubert Houben, “Kam es im Deutschen Orden 1249 zu einem antistaufischen Hochmeister-Schisma?,” in Deutschordensforschung, 93–102. 122 Burchardus de Monte Sion, “Descriptio Terrae Sanctae,” in Itinera Hierosolimitana Crucesignatorum (saec.XII–XIII), ed. Sabino de Sandoli, vol. 4, Jerusalem 1984, 119–214: 143. See Denys Pringle, Andrew Petersen, Martin Dow and Caroline Singer, “Qal’at Jiddin: a Castle of the Crusader and Ottoman Periods in Galilee,” Levant 26 (1994), 135–166.

5

The nobility of Cyprus and their rural residences Peter Edbury

As is well known, the kingdom of Cyprus was established in the 1190s in the aftermath of the Third Crusade. In 1191 the island had been conquered, not from the Muslims, but from the Christian Greeks by the king of England, Richard the Lionheart, and the following year he installed Guy of Lusignan, the dispossessed king of Jerusalem, as lord. A few years later, in 1196–1197, Guy’s brother and successor, Aimery of Lusignan, founded the royal dynasty, and his descendants were to rule as kings until the 1470s. They were fortunate in that, although there were problems along the way, until the late fifteenth century there was always an heir present in the island who could take over on the death of the previous king. The Lusignan dynasty was in that sense more successful than the royal dynasty of Jerusalem and more successful than any of the seigneurial dynasties that came to prominence in Greece in the aftermath of the Fourth Crusade. Eventually the legitimate branches of the Lusignan family almost all died out, and in the course of the political and dynastic crises of the third quarter of the fifteenth century control of the island passed to Venice. Venetian rule was formalized in 1489 and lasted until the Ottoman conquest of 1570–1571. For long periods the island enjoyed peace and prosperity. There were civil wars in 1229–1233 and in the 1460s, and a further internal war was only narrowly averted in 1310. The Genoese invasion of 1373 inflicted lasting damage and wrested Famagusta, the principal port, from Lusignan control, but, for the most part, and certainly until the 1420s, the island was free of serious Muslim naval raids, largely because before the fifteenth century neither the Ayyubids nor the Mamluks showed much interest in developing a fleet. Before 1373, and especially in the first half of the fourteenth century, the island’s position on international trade routes meant considerable prosperity. In the fifteenth century there was a marked economic and demographic decline, although this was reversed in the sixteenth century under the Venetians. The Lusignans originated in Poitou in western France but came to Cyprus having first established themselves in the kingdom of Jerusalem. They brought with them knights – people who like themselves had been dispossessed by Saladin’s victories in 1187 – and these men and their families formed the core of the nobility. The knights held fiefs and owed military service to the crown; some became very wealthy. Of these, the Ibelin family is the most famous; the Ibelins could trace their DOI: 10.4324/9781003146957-6

The nobility of Cyprus and their rural residences  87 presence in the East to the early twelfth century when the founder of their fortunes held office as constable of Jaffa. They took their name from Ibelin – the Israeli Yavne not far from Tel Aviv – which was the family’s first hereditary fortification, but this was lost to the Muslims in 1187 and only briefly re-occupied in 1241.1 In Cyprus the family prospered: they intermarried with the royal dynasty and retained their pre-eminence from the second decade of the thirteenth century until the third quarter of the fourteenth, when, by what appears to have been largely an accident of biology, all the branches of the family died out in the male line. The new regime brought with it the customs developed in the Kingdom of Jerusalem governing feudal tenure and court procedures. There was, however, a fundamental difference between Lusignan Cyprus and the regimes in Syria and Palestine. At no time did any member of the Cypriot nobility hold a major fortress or town as a hereditary fief, and, unlike their Latin Syrian counterparts, they did not control the local courts. In the Kingdom of Jerusalem, the lord of Caesarea, for example, had possession of the fortified city of Caesarea as well as some of the outlying forts and was responsible for the defence of the territory that comprised his lordship; also within the area of his lordship he controlled the courts to the exclusion of the royal officers and enjoyed the profits of justice. The Cypriot nobles, however, had nothing comparable. All the cities and fortresses were held by the crown, and throughout the island justice was administered by royal appointees. In other respects as well the Lusignan kings kept a tight control: unlike the kings of Jerusalem they never relinquished their monopoly over the minting of coins, and they never allowed the Italian commercial interests to gain extra-territorial enclaves in any of the ports. Between 1229 and 1233 the Ibelins and their followers were locked in a civil war on Cyprus against the partisans of the western emperor, Frederick II. In his description of the Ibelins’ siege of the fortress of St Hilarion that lasted from July 1229 to April or May 1230 Philip of Novara, the author of a strongly pro-Ibelin narrative of these events, noted that during the winter many of the knights in the besieging army had gone off to ‘their estates where they engaged in falconry and disported themselves.’ Taking advantage of their absence, the beleaguered garrison made a sortie that proved more dangerous than it should have been and was only beaten off by the heroism of Philip’s immediate lord, Balian of Ibelin.2 Other evidence suggests that the nobles and knights lived mostly in the capital, Nicosia,3 but the implication of Philip’s anecdote is that they, or at least those who held fiefs comprising rural properties, also had residences on their estates. There is plenty of evidence for knights and nobles possessing fiefs in the form of land and thereby

  1 Jonathan Riley-Smith, The Feudal Nobility and the Kingdom of Jerusalem 1174–1277 (London and Basingstoke, 1973), 15.   2 Filippo da Novara, Guerra di Federico II in Oriente (1223–1242), ed. Silvio Melani (Naples, 1994), 124. “Si estoient les chevaliers en leur terres ou il oyseloyent et de desduyoient.”   3 For references, Angel Nicolaou-Konnari, “Greeks,” in Cyprus: Society and Culture 1191–1374, eds. Angel Nicolaou-Konnari and Chris Schabel (Leiden, 2005), 17, n. 8.

88  Peter Edbury deriving much of their income from the peasantry.4 But how commonly they maintained houses so that they could live on their lands is another question. Perhaps the earliest indication that knights had houses in the countryside is provided by William Viscount, who in 1221, together with his wife, received the support of the archbishop of Nicosia to endow a priest to serve on his estate at Nissou. Nissou is south of Nicosia on the main route to Limassol, then the chief port. Much later, in 1308, his descendant, Raymond Viscount, seems to have been living there when he became involved in the moves to arrest the Templars.5 In its account of the political crises of the early fourteenth century, the so-called Chronicle of Amadi has a number of anecdotes that refer to other members of the nobility with rural residences. Thus we learn that Philip of Ibelin, the seneschal of Cyprus and uncle of the king, had a house at Alaminos with a chapel.6 In 1302 raiders kidnapped Philip’s second cousin, Guy of Ibelin count of Jaffa, and other members of his family when they were staying on Guy’s estate at Episkopi. His house there was large enough for other senior members of the aristocracy to be visiting there at the time, one of whom, we are told, escaped by jumping off a balcony.7 Baldwin of Ibelin, who in 1307 fell foul of the regime led by the king’s brother, Amaury of Tyre, was sent into internal exile on his estate at Korakou. It seems that he also had a residence at Vitsada, another of his estates.8 Lapithos, an estate belonging to Eschiva of Ibelin, lady of Beirut and a member of yet another branch of the family, was where Amaury had her son, Rupin of Montfort, another opponent, confined.9 John Dampierre, the king’s cousin, was sent to his estate at Mamonia, where he died. He had previously been exiled to the Karpass, although it is not clear whether he owned other rural properties there.10 Other references are more ambiguous, but it could be that Aimery of Lusignan, Amaury of Tyre’s younger brother, had a residence at Pelendria, that Balian of Ibelin, prince of Galilee, had residences at Morphou and Akaki, the lady of Tyre one at Trikomo, and Louis of Nores one at Lefkoniko.11 There are also hints that there were seigneurial houses   4 See Gilles Grivaud, “À propos du manoir dans l’Orient latin: le cas du royaume de Chypre (XIIIe– XVe siècle),” in Des châteaux et des sources: archéologie et histoire dans la Normande médiévale: mélanges en l’honneur d’Anne-Marie Flambard Héricher, eds. Élisabeth Lalou, Bruno Lepeuple et Jean-Louis Roch (Mont-Saint-Aignan, 2008), 353–374. Thanks are due to Dr Nicholas Coureas for drawing my attention to this paper.  5 The Cartulary of the Cathedral of Holy Wisdom of Nicosia, eds. Nicholas Coureas and Christopher Schabel (Nicosia, 1997), no. 42; “Chronique d’Amadi,” ed. René de Mas Latrie in Chroniques d’Amadi et de Strambaldi (Paris, 1891–1893), 1: 285–286; The Chronicle of Amadi translated from the Italian, eds. Nicholas Coureas and Peter Edbury (Nicosia, 2015), §570.   6 “Amadi,” 263, 272–274; Chronicle of Amadi, §§536, 553–554. Cf Cronaca del templare di Tiro (1243–1314), ed. Laura Minervini (Naples, 2000), 322, 344.   7 “Amadi,” 238; Chronicle of Amadi, §497. For later references to Epikopi, see James Petre, Crusader Castles of Cyprus: The Fortifications of the Cyprus under the Lusignans: 1191–1489 (Nicosia, 2012), 75–77.   8 “Amadi,” 268–269, 275–276; Chronicle of Amadi, §§547, 557.   9 “Amadi,” 267, 295; Chronicle of Amadi, §§546, 583. 10 “Amadi,” 263, 271–272; Chronicle of Amadi, §§536, 552. 11 “Amadi,” 323, 361, 366, 384; Chronicle of Amadi, §§627, 690, 695, 726.

The nobility of Cyprus and their rural residences  89 at St Sergios and Coleta, the property of Alice, the sister of Balian, prince of Galilee.12 No doubt a thorough search would produce other references in the surviving sources to knights and nobles with residences in the countryside. In addition to rural residences owned by members of the feudal class, there were royal seats in the countryside. Henry II made considerable use of Strovolos near Nicosia, where he died in 1324.13 Hugh IV evidently favoured Aradippou.14 Previously Aradippou had belonged to Amaury of Tyre, Henry II’s brother who had seized power in 1306 and was assassinated in 1310. In the early 1370s his granddaughter apparently managed to reclaim it.15 At the end of the fourteenth century James I had residences at La Cava, Sigouri and Potamia.16 Mention should also be made of the episcopal residence at Marona, where in 1356 the bishop of Paphos, Eudes de Canqualies, died.17 There is also the question of what sort of accommodation was available on the Templar estates at Khirokitia and Yermasoyia where the members of the Order were held after their arrest in 1308 and in both of which, according to the lists reproduced by Florio Bustron in the sixteenth century, there was a ‘fortezza.’18 The evidence cited here is sufficient to show that at least the leading noble families – in particular the Ibelins – did have country houses, and it can be assumed that there were other examples elsewhere that have passed unrecorded. The problem is that not one of these seigneurial rural residences has been identified as such by archaeologists. What they would have amounted to presumably varied, but some, like Philip of Ibelin, whose house at Alaminos contained a chapel, must have been substantial dwellings. What we do not find in Cyprus are any of the small towers like those that were a feature of the landscape in the Kingdom of Jerusalem and the other crusader territories in Syria and the Lebanon and which Adrian Boas, Balázs Major, Denys Pringle and others have done so much to elucidate.19 Those that do exist on the 12 “Amadi,” 342, 375, 400; Chronicle of Amadi, §§657, 711, 779. Louis de Mas Latrie, Histoire de l’île de Chypre sous le règne des princes de la maison de Lusignan, 3 vols (Paris, 1852–1861), 2: 186. Coleta was later the property of John of Lusignan, prince of Antioch and brother of Peter I. “Amadi,” 453; Chronicle of Amadi, §919. 13 “Amadi,” 252–253, 401; Chronicle of Amadi, §§518–519, 785; Grivaud, “À propos du manoir,” 363. 14 Mas Latrie, Histoire de l’île de Chypre, 2: 140, 219–220, Bullarium Cyprium, eds. Christopher Schabel, Charles Perrat and Jean Richard, 3 vols (Nicosia 2010–2012), 3, r-447; Grivaud, “À propos du manoir,” 363–364. 15 Bullarium Cyprium, 3, w-18; Leontios Makhairas, Recital Concerning the Sweet Land of Cyprus entitled “Chronicle,” ed. Richard M. Dawkins (Oxford, 1932), §345; John Dardel, “Chronique d’Arménie,” Recueil des historiens des croisades: Documents Arméniens, 2 vols (Paris, 1969, 1906), 2: 38. 16 Petre, Crusader Castles, 256–266, 387–388; Grivaud, “À propos du manoir,” 364–365. Quite when La Cava was fortified is difficult to establish. 17 Grivaud, “À propos du manoir,” 361. 18 “Amadi,” 290; Chronicle of Amadi, §576; Petre, Crusader Castles, 201–202. 19 These is a large literature. See, for example, Adrian J. Boas, Crusader Archaeology: The Material Culture of the Latin East (London, 1999), 93–106; Balázs Major, Medieval Rural Settlements in

90  Peter Edbury island have been considered by James Petre in his study of the Cypriot castles. He lists just three: Akaki, Alaminos and Pyla.20 Akaki was built by King Henry II and so must date from after the fall from grace of its lord, Balian of Ibelin prince of Galilee, in 1310 and before Henry’s death in 1324. Alaminos appears to be of late fifteenth-century date, but there is no evidence for other medieval structures close by – perhaps Philip of Ibelin’s residence was elsewhere. The tower at Pyla, an estate which in the thirteenth century had belonged to the Cypriot Jubayl family,21 also appears to date from the closing years of the Lusignan dynasty. On the other hand, there is evidence from the narrative sources for a tower at St Sergios, a place a little to the north of Famagusta, mentioned in an incident in the Genoese war of 1373–1374.22 But I am not aware of any other anecdotal evidence for such towers. Finally, there is the testimony of Leonida Attar’s map of Cyprus that was compiled in 1542. This is a remarkable piece of sixteenth-century cartography and was published by Francesca Romanelli and Gilles Grivaud in 2006. Attar names no less than 656 settlements in the island; each locale is marked with a representation of a building or buildings. In just two instances the map has what are clearly intended as representations of a fortified tower, at places named as Merovigli in the Akamas peninsular and Pirgo in the Troodos mountains. The editors refer to the existence of archaeological remains that may be identified with these structures.23 On the other hand, the map does not accord any distinctive representation to the places mentioned earlier as possessing seigneurial residences. There were major fortresses on Cyprus – Kerynia, St Hilarion, Buffavento, Kantara – to mention the famous examples that were already in existence before the Lusignan regime was established. As mentioned earlier, at no time were any of them given to a noble as a fief; they were all retained by the crown. This was in complete contrast to the Kingdom of Jerusalem where nobles had castles and with them responsibility for both defence and the administration of justice. On Cyprus the Hospitallers had a fortress at Kolossi, and the Templars one at Gastria, but these may not have been of any great military significance, and the secular knights and nobles seem not to have had even fortified towers. It looks very much therefore that the knights and nobles – or at least the higher nobility – had rural residences, but that these residences remained unfortified. The absence of evidence for towers seems conclusive; if there were fortified structures dotted about the countryside, we might expect that at least some remains would be visible, as indeed they are in Israel, Syria, Lebanon and Greece.

the Syrian Coastal Region (12th and 13th Centuries) (Oxford, 2015), 68–95, 164–168 et passim; Denys Pringle, The Red Tower (al-Burj al-Ahmar): Settlement in the Plain of Sharon at the Time of the Crusaders and Mamluks, A.D. 1099–1516 (London, 1986); idem, “Towers in Crusader Palestine,” Château Gaillard, 16 (1994), 335–350. 20 Petre, Crusader Castles, 77–78, 109–112, 113–116, 368–371. 21 Philip of Novara, Le Livre de Forme de Plait, ed. and trans. Peter W. Edbury (Nicosia, 2009), 277. 22 Leontios Makhairas, §448; “Amadi,” 457; Chronicle of Amadi, §931. 23 Francesca Cavazzana Romanelli and Gilles Grivaud, Cyprus 1542: The Great Map of the Island by Leonida Attar (Nicosia, 2006), 46–47 and nn. 146–147. But see Petre, Crusader Castles, 77–79.

The nobility of Cyprus and their rural residences  91 The implications of all this are striking. On the one hand, it might imply that the king was able to prevent the knights and nobles from fortifying their residences; that denotes a firm control, just in the same way as the absence of foreign coins in Cypriot site-finds is a sign that the authorities were strong enough to prevent foreign coins from circulating. On the other hand, the absence of small fortifications implies that the nobles could spend time on their estates without having to take refuge in a fortified structure through fear of what their own peasantry might do to them. Their rural residences would have had doors that could be barred and perimeter walls, but unless the archaeologists can come up with evidence to the contrary, nothing more. This leads me to my final point. It is one thing to draw up a list of those villages where there is reason to believe that lords had residences, quite another for archaeologists to find them. Let us hope they can.

6

Public squares in the Latin East Designing piazzas in new and old urban centres Tomasz Borowski

Cultural attribution of public squares The physical fabric and organization of cities have long been considered to be one of the important elements differentiating the Western, Latin world from its Eastern counterparts, particularly the Byzantine Oikumene and Dar-al Islam. Max Weber was one of the first prominent proponents of this view.1 He attributed the rising integrity and self-awareness of medieval urban societies in Western Europe to the influence of Christianity, which, as a popular religion shared by different groups of their inhabitants, fostered harmony and prevented society’s fragmentation. He confronted this image of Western urban success with that of multi-religious cities, especially those in the Middle East, where, according to his argument, progress was hindered by factionalism. Although the unifying strength of Catholicism has been questioned in modern studies of medieval urban societies, for example in Brunschweig and Hildesheim,2 the basic idea behind Weber’s model endures. Traditions of medieval Islamic urbanism are regarded as distinct and governed by different planning principles from those adopted in the West.3 The presence and use of public squares illustrate this point well. Urban life in Middle Eastern Islamic towns was centred along streets, often covered, suqs and bazaars, which served as ‘arteries and veins of a living body’ of a city.4 Courtyards in such spatial systems were internal and served specialized

  1 Max Weber, The City, translated and edited from the 1921 edition by Don Albert Martindale, Gertrud Neuwirth (London, 1966).   2 Franz-Josef Arlinghaus, “The Myth of Urban Unity: Religion and Social Performance in Late Medieval Braunschweig,” in Cities, Texts and Social Networks, 400–1500: Experiences and Perceptions of Medieval Urban Space, eds. Caroline Goodson, Anne E. Lester and Carol Symes (Farnham, 2010), 215–234.   3 Notable examples of studies of Islamic urbanism include: Besim Selim Hakim, Arabic Islamic Cities Rev: Building and Planning Principles (New York, 2010), esp. 137–138; André Raymond, “The Spatial Organization of the City,” in The City in the Islamic World, Volume 94/1, eds. Salma Jayyusi, Renata Holod, Attilio Petruccioli and André Raymond (Leiden, 2008), 47–71; Paul Wheatley, The Places where Men Pray Together: Cities in Islamic Lands (Chicago, 2001).   4 The quoted description refers to the old town of Mamluk Tripoli: Paul Collart, Maurice Chehab and Armando Dillon, Lebanon. Suggestions for the Plan of Tripoli and for the Surroundings of the Baalbek Acropolis, Report of the UNESCO Mission of 1953, Museum and Monuments 4 (Paris, 1954), 18.

DOI: 10.4324/9781003146957-7

Public squares in the Latin East  93 functions,   either inside protected khans, surrounded by arcades attached to mosques, or positioned at the end of semi-private alleys called hosh, which were used by members of one family or tribe.5 As such, they did not serve as hubs for pedestrian movement. In the Levant a good example of this tradition of city planning is Mamluk Tripoli, which was constructed by Muslim authorities approximately 1 mile inland from the previous crusader metropolis, which was destroyed in 1289 (Figure I.6.1).6

Figure I.6.1 Plan of Mamluk Tripoli, a medieval urban system without Western-style public squares: 1) Citadel, 2) Friday mosque with Crusader-period belfry.

  5 Jorge Correia and Muath Taher, “Traditional Islamic Cities Unveiled: The Quest for Urban Design Regularity,” Gremium 4 (2015), 28–29.   6 Nimrod Luz, “Tripoli Reinvented: A Case of Mamluk Urbanization,” Towns and Material Culture in the Medieval Middle East, ed. Yaacov Lev (Leiden, 2002), 52–72.

94  Tomasz Borowski In the Western urban tradition, on the other hand, public squares served as important focal points of communal life. They served as communication hubs and centres of commerce that frequently hosted secular as well as religious events.7 Many medieval Italian squares were also designed as stages of visual spectacles, offering Aristotelian ‘ideal’ views of public monuments and thus enhancing symbolic messages conveyed through their architecture and decoration.8 The ‘invention’ of a public square was so important for the development of Western European urban tradition that different Western regions, from Tuscany to the Netherlands, have claimed to be the location of its original conception.9 This chapter focuses on the transfer of Western-style, multi-purpose, public squares, henceforth also referred to as piazzas,10 to the Latin Levant. This process deserves academic attention, as it represents a rare medieval example of the implementation of a typically Western element of urban planning into a region with its own deeply rooted urban tradition. The distinct nature of this tradition extends beyond the advent of Islam. Already in the Antiquity cities in the eastern Mediterranean developed some unique features seldom found in the West, most notably the colonnaded street.11 With time the colonnaded street developed into the Arab souk, which had similar urban prominence to the one assigned to piazzas in the West.12 By recognizing the cultural significance of space, in this case of public squares, this chapter builds on a current trend in archaeological literature which conceives of space as an artefact in itself; one that was designed to serve a specific purpose and not just as an empty void between monuments of architecture.13 The approach also supplements modern studies of crusader urban centres, which have thus far focused predominantly on domestic buildings in residential areas, as well as on the

  7 Eamonn Canniffe, The Politics of the Piazza: The History and Meaning of the Italian Square (London, 2008), 53–73.   8 For detailed analysis of two examples in Florence, piazza del duomo and piazza della Signoria see Marvin Trachtenberg, The Dominion of the Eye Urbanism Art and Power in Early Modern Florence (Cambridge, 1997), 37–38.   9 The prevailing consensus is that the public square developed, or ‘reappeared,’ in medieval Italian cities, though it has been suggested that northern regions have also contributed to this process: Erwin Anton Gutkind, International History of City Development: Urban Development in Western Europe: Vol. 6 the Netherlands and Great Britain (New York, 1970), 256. 10 The Italian term seems particularly fitting, given that public squares in the Latin Levant did not always have regular, rectangular shapes. 11 Ross Burns, Origins of the Colonnaded Streets in the Cities of the Roman East (Oxford, 2017), 91–165. Construction of colonnaded streets in the Roman West, for example in Leptis Magna, has been interpreted as an expression of Eastern inspiration of its donors or architects: Anna Leone, Changing Townscapes in North Africa from Late Antiquity to the Arab conquest (Bari, 2007). 12 Anna Leone, The End of the Pagan City. Religion, Economy and Urbanism in Late Antique North Africa (Oxford, 2013), 64. 13 For example, see Eva Mol, Hidden Complexities of the Frankish Castle: Social Aspects of Space in the Configurational Architecture of Frankish Castles in the Holy Land, 1099–1291 (Leiden, 2012), 44–60.

Public squares in the Latin East  95 layouts and names of individual streets.14 The aim, therefore, is to assess the historic, archaeological and spatial evidence for the presence of Western-style piazzas in selected urban centres in the Latin East. First, the analysis examines examples of public squares arranged in pre-existing urban systems, that is, in cities such as Acre or Nicosia, which acquired urban status before the crusader conquest. Second, the study examines three public squares that formed part of a newly designed urban system, that is in Famagusta, which only developed into a major city in the late thirteenth–early fourteenth century. The analysis will demonstrate how preexisting spatial arrangements and social composition of cities affected the way in which Western planning features were introduced into their layout during the Crusader period. In doing so, the chapter also discusses the role of these spaces and offers suggestions regarding their functionality and the agency of those responsible for their creation.

New public squares in old spatial systems When the Crusader States were established, the Latin authorities took control over a diverse urban landscape. Cities in the north, as well as on Cyprus, had remained under Byzantine rule for longer and were inhabited predominantly by a Greek population. On the other hand, in the south, Arabic and Islamic cultural influences were stronger. Not all towns in the region originated in the Antiquity. Some, like Ramla, were founded during the Islamic period. The social composition and layout of towns acquired by the Crusaders were heavily affected by the geography and by the way in which they surrendered to Latin rule.15 Those cities which surrendered peacefully, such as Nablus, had a better chance at retaining much of their original population; those which offered resistance were subject to massacres. Some were abandoned prior to the arrival of Crusader forces and had to be resettled by the new regime. Furthermore, before the Latin conquest many Levantine cities, for example Tiberias, had been ravaged during the Seljuk invasion. This had a profound impact on the size of their population and the condition of their built-over area. The multitude of factors affecting the physical form of the acquired cities indicate that the Latin authorities could not apply one policy in the management of spatial arrangements and the introduction of public squares within them. Each city developed individually and ought to be examined accordingly, with particular attention to its unique background and context.

14 Recent examples include: Adrian Boas, “The Streets of Frankish Acre,” in Crusader Landscapes in the Medieval Levant: The Archaeology and History of the Latin East, eds. Micaela Sinibaldi, Balázs Major, Kevin Lewis and Jennifer Thompson (Melksham, 2016), 21–38; Anne Gutgarts, “The Earthly Landscape of the Heavenly City: A New Framework for the Examination of the Urban Development of Frankish Jerusalem,” Journal of the Medieval Mediterranean 28/3 (2016), 265–281. 15 Joshua Prawer, Crusader Institutions (Oxford, 1980), 86.

96  Tomasz Borowski

Documented squares of Italian districts in Acre Among the conquered cities, Acre is the one with the highest number of recorded piazzas. It was the most populous urban centre of the Kingdom of Jerusalem and served as its capital from 1191 to 1291. It is a town of considerable antiquity and is mentioned in the Old Testament. Having originally been located some 700 m away from the coast, near Tel al-Fukhar, it occupied the general area of the medieval city approximately since the third century bce.16 However, the exact boundaries and layout of this ancient town, as well as of its Byzantine and Islamic successors, are not known, which makes it impossible to credibly assess the impact of these settlements on the planning of Crusader Acre. We know, for example, that the Latin cathedral of the city occupied the space previously taken by Acre’s Friday mosque, which was described as located on a high point in the middle of the town in 1047.17 It is not clear, however, whether the mosque’s courtyard was transformed into a piazza, since the remains of the cathedral have not been identified. The Crusader city was thoroughly destroyed in 1291, and today large parts of it are covered by modern buildings.18 The current ‘old town,’ which had been built in its place in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, covers less than half of the Crusader capital’s original size. It encompasses the area that housed the Italian quarters as well as the Hospital of St John and the Templar castle; this suggests that it was distinct from the rest of Acre, where most of the inhabitants lived. It is also in the area of the current old town that most of Acre’s recorded medieval piazzas were located (Figure I.6.2).19 The squares in the Italian quarters are best documented. A communal square (plateam communis) is mentioned in the inventory of Genoese properties in Acre drawn up on 14 July 1249.20 It can be identified with the open space (1) preserved in front of the modern church of St George, which stands in the place of the Genoese church of St Lawrence. The inventory shows that the piazza served as an orientation point for a cluster of buildings, which included St Lawrence (2), as well as 17 houses, pigsties, a workshop and the ‘Old Palace.’21 The latter was a prestigious building, used as a meeting

16 Moshe Dothan and Zeev Goldmann, “Acco,” in NEAEHL, vol. I (Jerusalem, 1993) 16–23. Denys Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem: Volume IV The Cities of Acre and Tyre (Cambridge, 2009), 3. 17 ‘The Friday mosque at Acre is in the centre of the town, and rises taller than all the other edifices. . . . The court of the mosque is partly paved with stone, and the other part is sown with green herbs’ Nāṣir-i Khusraw; translation after: Guy Le Strange, Palestine Under the Moslems: A Description of Syria and the Holy Land from Ad.650 to 1500 (New York, 1890, reprint 2010), 329. 18 Individual streets and buildings dating from the Crusader period have been identified outside the current old city through archival photographs and archaeology: Adrian Boas, “A Rediscovered Market Street in Frankish Acre?” Atiqot 31 (1997), 181–186. 19 I am thankful to Izik Pollack for the help and advice he provided me when I was working on this section of the argument. 20 Robert Kool, “The Genoese Quarter in Thirteenth Century Acre: A Reinterpretation of It’s Layout,” Atiqot 31 (1997), 198. 21 Ibid., 191.

Public squares in the Latin East 97

Figure I.6.2 Plan of the medieval foundations identified within the current old town of Acre, marking some of the locations mentioned in the text (after Kesten 1962): 1) Genoese piazza, 2) Church of St Lawrence, 3) Pisan quarter, 4) Venetian quarter.

place of the curia of the Genoese commune. The piazza was, therefore, well positioned to host public secular and religious events connected to the two principal religious and secular buildings in the quarter. The open space provided by the square must have visually exposed the facades of these structures. The presence of pigsties and a workshop indicate that when the square was not utilized for ceremonies or preaching it served commercial functions. It was also an important communication hub connected to streets, leading to areas such as the Templar, Pisan and Boverel quarters.22 Combining these roles required a functional division of space, which suggests that the Genoese piazza covered a larger area than the open space surviving to this day.23 It is worth noting in this context that

22 Alex Kesten, Acre, The Old City. Survey and Planning (Jerusalem, 1962), 17. 23 This has already been suggested by Kool, “The Genoese Quarter,” 194.

98  Tomasz Borowski the functional value of the square made it less prone to destruction during episodes of social unrest. The church of St Lawrence continued to receive behests after the destruction of the Genoese quarter in 1258 and was listed as a minor pilgrimage site in the Pardouns dAcre composed between 1258 and 1264.24 The Genoese piazza continued to welcome visitors and retained some of its urban roles even when the rest of the quarter was largely abandoned. The second documented space that may have served as a public square was in the Pisan quarter (3). The commune received it in 1182 in a grant that reads: I [the king] give and concede to the community of Pisans freely and without service a certain platea at the port of Acre, one end of which platea is from the public street, the other from the port, one side from the house of Martin Piper, the other from the house of William of Jaffa, according to this sense, that they may construct vaults above the same platea and above those vaults whatever building they may wish, the square below the vaults remaining free and empty, for the common use of the Pisans and the city.25 The word ‘platea’ in this context can mean a public square or a street. The space is no longer preserved, but its description indicates that the latter option is more likely. If that was the case, then the grant allowed the Pisans to build above the existing, paved street. It also ensured that the new construction would not obstruct free public access along it, between the main street and the harbour. Provisions ensuring access and free movement of pedestrians are important, as they show that the granted space retained its public character and as such it was intended to benefit the whole community of Acre, not just the Pisans. The text confirms that important public spaces in Crusader Acre were designed by architects and their form was supervised by the authorities, rather than being created spontaneously via sporadic, ad hoc decisions. Sadly, the information included in the grant is insufficient to identify the precise location of the Pisan platea, and none of the past proposals attempting to solve this problem have gained widespread recognition.26 Further

24 David Jacoby, “Pilgrimage in Crusader Acre: The Pardouns dAcre,” in De Sion exhibit lex et verbum domini de Herusalem: Essays on Medieval Law, Liturgy, and Literature in Honour of Amnon Linder, ed. Yitzhak Hen (Turnhout, 2001), 111–112. 25 Giovanni Muller, Documenti sulle Relazioni delle Citta toscane coll’ Oriente cristiano e coi Turchi (Florence, 1879), 23, doc. 19; ‘Notum sit omnibus tam futis quam presentibus, quod ego Balduinus, per Dei gratiam in sancta civitate Ierusalem Latinorum rex sextus, dono et concedo comunitati Pisanorum libere et sine servitio quadam plateam as portum Achonis; caput cuius plate est unum a via publica, aliud a domo Willelmi Ioppensis; tali quidem tenore, quod super eamdem plateam voltas facere possint et super easdem voltas qualecumpque voluerint edificum, sub voltis platea vacua et libera remanente, in commune Pisanorum et civitatis servitum.’ The document is also discussed, albeit offering its faulty translation by Alex Kesten, Researching the Pisan Quarter of Crusader Acre, with collaboration of Amitai Spitzer, trans. Karl Ebert (Jerusalem, 1988), 10. 26 Earlier suggestions include the area of modern Abu Christo restaurant, Khan ash-Shūna or the surviving open space to the south of it: Kesten, Researching the Pisan Quarter, 23; David Jacoby, “Crusader Acre in the Thirteenth Century: Urban Layout and Topography,” Studi Medievali 20 (1979), 24; Kesten, Acre, The Old City, 21.

Public squares in the Latin East  99 interpretations regarding the role of this space, particularly its relation to the Pisan church of St Peter, are thus bound to be highly speculative. Information regarding Venetian piazzas is also elusive. The Pactum Warmundi gave the Venetians a right to a square in every city of the kingdom. However, detailed information about their piazza in Acre comes from an inventory drafted by Marsilio Zorzi in 1244. Based on this document, we know that the square was a focal point for a cluster of buildings and faced shops as well as the Venetian church of St Mark (4) and the great palace of the funduq (magnum palatium fontici).27 Although its precise shape and location remain uncertain,28 it was clearly well positioned to serve commercial, communal, communication, aesthetic and representative roles, just like the Genoese piazza, especially considering that the church of St Mark is also listed as a pilgrimage shrine in Pardouns dAcre. Following their victory in the war of St Sabas in 1258, the Venetians in Acre also took possession of the church of St Demetrius with its ‘modest square’29 and the square that previously belonged to the Lombards.30 These references confirm that Italian quarters were not the only parts of Crusader Acre which were embellished with piazzas. Other such squares occasionally appear in the sources,31 though their exact number, location and form remain unknown due to the destruction of the Levantine archives and the poor preservation of the city, notably the complete destruction of the royal quarter and the suburb of Montmusard.32 The fact that there are piazzas mentioned already in the early privileges awarded to the Italian republics, demonstrates that they were considered an important measure of urban status in the early twelfth century. Without control over the city centre and its principal monuments, the communes may have used piazzas to create new focal points that visually and spatially emphasized the autonomous character of their new quarters. Since references to other public squares in Acre come from later dates, one can cautiously speculate that Italians may have been the proponents of their introduction to the urban fabric of the Latin East. Evidence from Acre, though fragmentary, demonstrates that new public squares were arranged in pre-existing urban spatial systems.33 This could be done by rebuilding earlier streets, or as when constructing new neighbourhoods. Frequent references to prestigious public monuments, notably churches and palaces, adjoining piazzas

27 Denys Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Volume IV, 127. 28 Though there is agreement that it was near modern khan al-ifranj: Jacoby, “Crusader Acre in the Thirteenth Century,” 33. 29 Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Volume IV, 75. 30 Jacoby, “Crusader Acre in the Thirteenth Century,” 34. 31 For example, one evidently faced the church described as ‘St Mary of the square’ (de platea), attested in 1227 and 1226; Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Volume IV, 142. 32 Michael Ehrlich, “Urban Landscape Development in Twelfth-Century Acre,” in Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society 18/3 (2008), 273. 33 Though Ehrlich suggested that much of the peninsula where the Italian quarters were located was built over for the first time in the Crusader period, this assertion is difficult to accept without reservations, given, for example, that the Venetian quarter is known to have included a former mosque: Ehrlich, “Urban Landscape Development,” 268.

100  Tomasz Borowski suggests that these two elements may have been designed jointly, as part of one building project. It also confirms that the piazzas in question were Western, multipurpose, external open spaces, rather than courtyards of funduqs or khans.34 In this context, it is noteworthy that when the city was rebuilt in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, its layout directed the urban life towards market streets, in an eastern fashion, and none of the medieval piazzas were revived as centres of commerce. Emergence of public squares in Acre, therefore, was a Latin phenomenon associated with Crusader rule.

Documented and postulated squares in Nicosia The capital of the kingdom of Cyprus is another important city of the Latin East with recorded public squares. Dating at least to the Hellenistic period, it is also a town of considerable antiquity. The Arab world had no direct influence over its urban development, however; this is because direct Islamic rule of Cyprus lasted only for a short period (c. 650–688 CE) and the island had no significant Muslim population prior to the late sixteenth century. Nicosia gained urban prominence under Byzantine rule, when coastal raids caused the decline of Cyprus’ port cities, notably of Salamis/Constantia.35 It is clear, therefore, that it was Byzantine, not Islamic, urban tradition that shaped the city prior to its Latin conquest in 1191. Apart from several buildings, notably churches and a fortified strongpoint, the enduring nature of Byzantine influence can easily be discerned in the names of important urban features of Latin ruled Nicosia, recalling the topography of contemporary Greek metropolises. Notable examples include the dedication of its cathedral to St Sophia and the name of one of its main thoroughfares: Mese.36 Before 1191, however, it did not have city walls and, even though its urban area must have included several open spaces, there is no indication that the Byzantine city had public squares. The Latin attribution of Nicosia’s medieval piazzas is indicated by the fact that the first historic reference to a public square in Nicosia appears more than 100 years after the Crusader conquest and that it is described as adjoining a Latin church. This is the ‘lower’ square, which was located in the eastern part of the town, immediately south of the river and close to the first royal court.37 It is mentioned in the description of the oath of allegiance which the people of Nicosia made

34 Although poor preservation prevents attempts at formulating a typology of Acre’s piazzas, it is noteworthy that Kesten distinguished between communal squares in the city, located at the heart of its urban quarters, and defensive squares, that is, areas left open for military reasons, often in front of gates. Kesten, Acre, The Old City, 20. 35 For an overview of the history and the list of monuments known to have existed in Nicosia prior to the Crusader conquest see Tassos Papacostas, “Byzantine Nicosia 650–1191,” in Historic Nicosia, ed. Demetrios Michaelides (Nicosia 2012), 79–109. 36 Papacostas, “Byzantine Nicosia . . .” 94. 37 Panos Leventis, Twelve Times in Nicosia, Nicosia, Cyprus 1192–1570: Topography, Architecture and Urban Experience in a Diversified Capital City (Nicosia, 2005), 45.

Public squares in the Latin East  101 to the usurper Aimery in 1306, inside, or in proximity of, the Latin church of St George, which is described as associated with a piazza.38 The same location hosted a similar ceremony in 1324 when the burgesses of Nicosia pledged their allegiance to John of Motolif.39 S Zorzi ch’ é in la piaza is also mentioned as the place where an English Franciscan named Fra Adam preached to a large crowd in 1309.40 Another public event recorded in this location was the driving of a nail into the church’s wall to mark the height of the floodwaters that devasted the city in 1330.41 In 1461 the lower piazza was used for the public display of the decapitated head of Nicosia’s unfortunate sheriff Hector de Chivides and, nine years later, as a place of execution of the enemies of King James II.42 Sixteenth-century sources mention the raising of a flag above this piazza; clearly it was a symbolic location with a long tradition of being used for symbolic displays of Latin religious and political authority.43 During everyday life the piazza’s role must have been more mundane. Commercial activity on the piazza is suggested by the fact that the church of St George had the right to collect taxes on salt entering Nicosia.44 Leventis plausibly suggests that the ‘lower market’ mentioned in the sources in 1460 is another name for the ‘lower square,’ as both of these locations seem to have occupied the same part of the city.45 It seems likely, therefore, that the lower square was a multi-purpose piazza intimately linked with a Latin church. Together these two components formed a unified element of the urban landscape, suggesting that they were designed together. Information about other public squares in Nicosia is scarcer and reveals little about their chronology and roles. ‘Campo del Laviaro’ and ‘Piazza di Sopra’ are mentioned only in the sixteenth century, though the latter’s name indicates that it existed earlier and formed a counterpart to the lower square.46 It has been suggested that this ‘Upper Square’ occupied the area of the Roman Castrum of Ledra.47 If this was the case then it would serve as a valuable example showing how a 38 “Chronique d’Amadi,” in Chroniques d’Amadi et de Strambaldi partie: Chronique d’Amadi, ed. René de Mas-Latrie (Paris, 1891), 250: ‘monasterio franco de San Zorzi, ch’ é in mezo de la piazza.’ 39 “Chronique d’Amadi,” Chroniques d’Amadi . . ., 402. 40 Ibid., 298. 41 Florio Bustron, Chronique de l’ile de Chypre, ed. René de Mas-Latrie (Paris, 1886), 254–255: ‘S’ ha messo per segnale a San Giorgio di Latini in piazza uno chiodo al muro bagnato délia delta fiumara, che si vede alto più di x brazza.’ 42 Bustron, Chronique de l’ile de Chypre, 403, 431–432. 43 Ibid., 27. 44 Leventis, Twelve Times in Nicosia, 382. 45 Ibid., 101. 46 Gilles Grivaud, “Nicosie Remodelée (1567): Contribution á la Topographie de la Ville Médievale,” Kéntron Epistīmonikṓn Ereunṓn (1992), 305; Stefano Lusignano, Chorograffia et breve Historia Universalle dell’ Isola Cipro, trans. Olimpia Pelosi (Nicosia, 2001), 145. 47 Danilo Demi, The Walled City of Nicosia: A Typology Study (Nicosia, 1997), 8–11; this proposal is based on the attempted reconstruction of the boundaries of the Roman centuriatio farming system in this area and was judged as ‘plausible’ by Leventis: Leventis, Twelve Times in Nicosia, 5.

102  Tomasz Borowski pre-existing Antique/Byzantine administrative centre (originally embellished with walls and four gates) was transformed under the Latin rule into an open piazza, thus maintaining its spatial significance in a new, more westerly form. The only other public square mentioned in Nicosia in the fourteenth century is the picol piazza in front of St Julian, which was decorated for the celebrations marking the return of Henry II to Cyprus in 1310.48 The role of this space seems to have mirrored that of the ‘lower’ square next to the church of St George and to the four squares recorded in relation to churches in Acre: the Genoese church of St Lawrence, the Venetian church of St Mark as well as St Demetrius and St Mary. Given that the square near St Julian is known only from a single source, it is likely that other, similar spaces functioned without being recorded. An outline of a set of such piazzas, dating most likely to the thirteenth–fourteenth century, can be discerned around Nicosia’s Latin cathedral. Although, the city underwent several destruction and rebuilding campaigns, which make it impossible to fully reconstruct its Frankish layout,49 the area surrounding the cathedral of St Sophia is well preserved, with several Lusignan buildings intact. The arrangement of spaces between them indicates that the circuit of streets around the cathedral was not merely an asymmetrical, formless belt of space, but rather a fragmented site consisting of three to four small piazzas (Figure I.6.3), which recalled the design of fourteenth-century piazzas around the cathedral in Florence (Figure I.6.4).50 The first piazza in Nicosia (I) is represented by an open space to the west of St Sophia. Its medieval dimensions remain unclear, except for its southern edge, which is marked by the walls of the, now ruined, Hodegetria.51 It is likely that this space was rearranged when works on the monumental porch of the cathedral were begun in the fourteenth century.52 The parvis must have served both practical and liturgical functions, providing a broader stage for royal ceremonies intended to be held in front of St Sophia’s elaborate western portal.53 Another piazza (II) was

48 “Chronique d’Amadi,” Chroniques d’Amadi . . ., 380. 49 Notably, a large portion of the medieval city, including the Dominican church with the royal mausoleum, was destroyed during the construction of the Venetian fortifications in 1564. For an early but comprehensive summary of turning points in the urban development of Latin Nicosia see Camille Enlart, Gothic Art and Renaissance in Cyprus, trans. and ed. David Hunt (London, 1987), esp. 387–390. 50 For analysis of the design of piazzas surrounding the Duomo in Florence see Trachtenberg, The Dominion of the Eye, 150–160. 51 Though this too was remodelled in the sixteenth century: Tassos Papacostas, “Byzantine Rite in a Gothic Setting: Aspects of Cultural Appropriation in Late Medieval Cyprus,” in Towards Rewriting?: New Approaches to Byzantine Archaeology and Art, eds. Piotr Grotowski and Sławomir Skrzyniarz (Warsaw, 2010), 120. 52 Michalis Olympios, Building the Sacred in a Crusader Kingdom: Gothic Church Architecture in Lusignan Cyprus, c. 1209 – c. 1373 (Turnhout, 2018), 116. 53 For discussion of the symbolic meaning of the Western portal’s decoration and its significance during royal ceremonies see Justine Andrews, “Santa Sophia in Nicosia The Sculpture of the western Portals and Its Reception,” Comitatus 30 (1999), 63–80.

Public squares in the Latin East 103

Figure I.6.3 Aerial photograph showing the belt of four piazzas surrounding the Latin cathedral in Nicosia (after Enlart 1987).

Figure I.6.4 Plan of the cathedral in Florence showing three carefully designed, fourteenthcentury piazzas that surrounded it from the west (I), south (II) and east (III) (after Trachtenberg 1997).

104  Tomasz Borowski attached to the north-east section of the cathedral. Its north-eastern boundary is marked by the walls of the partially preserved archbishop’s palace.54 The existence of the third piazza (III) is suggested by the open space to the east of St Sophia’s ambulatory. An archival plan of Nicosia by Kitchener (1881) marks two buildings in that area: the library of Sultan Mahmud II, which dates from 1829 and is still preserved, and the Büyük Medrese, which was built soon after the Turkish conquest and which was demolished in 1931.55 Both are Ottoman constructions, and they do not seem to have incorporated major Lusignan structures.56 It is likely, therefore, that this space was open prior to the Ottoman conquest and was only built over in the late sixteenth century. The practice of building over earlier, Latin-period piazzas is recorded in several cities conquered by the Ottomans, including the nearby Famagusta, so it is likely the process also occurred here, especially since two sixteenth-century depictions of Venetian Nicosia, albeit simplistic, clearly show St Sophia surrounded by empty spaces on all sides.57 The eastern boundary of this medieval space was probably marked by the prestigious Lusignan house where the lapidarium is currently located.58 The eastern piazza, therefore, was probably a triangular space that provided a broad, 90º horizontal view of the cathedral’s ambulatory. The last square (IV) is attached to the south-east section of St Sophia. Its eastern boundary is delimited by another medieval structure, known as the ‘chapter house.’59 The building is preserved to its full height of two stories,60 which matches the height of the cathedral’s ambulatory. This creates a formal and dimensional correspondence between the two monuments, which is further underlined visually by an additional strip of decorative stone moulding on the cathedral’s buttress (Figure I.6.5). Such architectural harmony should not be regarded as coincidental. It recalls similar correspondence between the decoration of the Florentine Duomo and its baptistry, or the legally enforced uniformity of window detail and constructional levels of buildings visible from piazzas in Siena and Pisa.61 The design of the examined square clearly sought to create an aesthetic, visually appealing space, one worthy of its prestigious location and compatible with the

54 Enlart, Gothic Art and Renaissance, 399. 55 Netice Yildiz, “The Vakf Institution in Ottoman Cyprus,” in Ottoman Cyprus A Collection of Studies on History and Culture, eds. Michalis N. Michael, Matthias Kappler and Eftihios Gavriel (Wiesbaden, 2009), 147. 56 The architecture of Büyük Medrese is depicted on a drawing by M. H. Altan: Yildiz, “The Vakf Institution,” 145. 57 For discussion of the symbolism of those images see Sevina Zesimou, “Seeing Beyond the Walls: Maps, Power and Ideology in Nicosia,” Journal of Mediterranean Studies 8/2 (1998), 254–255. 58 Enlart, Gothic Art and Renaissance, 403. 59 Allan Langdale, In a Contested Realm. An Illustrated Guide to the Archaeology and Historical Architecture of Northern Cyprus (Kilkerran, 2012), 271. 60 George Jeffery, A Description of the Historic Monuments of Cyprus: Studies in the Archaeology and Architecture of the Island (Nicosia, 1918), 83. 61 Trachtenberg, The Dominion of the Eye, 57; Wolfgang Brunfels, Mittelalterliche Stadtbaukunst in der Toskana (Berlin, 1958), 116.

Public squares in the Latin East  105

Figure I.6.5 Small medieval piazza adjacent to the southern side of the Latin cathedral in Nicosia (photo: author).

architecture of its prominent structures. The latter feature also provides hints regarding the chronology of the piazza and the agency of those who designed it. The ambulatory of the cathedral was built in the thirteenth century, and the ‘chapter house’ can be dated broadly to the fourteenth century; this indicates that the square between them was designed in the mid-fourteenth century at the latest, before the Genoese invasion of the island in 1372. Visual correspondence and proximity to the cathedral also indicates that Latin authorities may have been involved in the creation of the piazza. The involvement of the Latin clergy of St Sophia is suggested by the fact that the piazza was well suited for public preaching. Priests standing on the platform above the ambulatory of the cathedral could easily address the people who gathered below. The Lusignan-period design of the piazza was heavily obscured and lost much of its functionality in the Venetian period, when an additional buttress supporting the cathedral was added at its centre.

The central square(s) of Famagusta The public squares which have so far been identified in Acre and Nicosia did not play central roles in the layouts of the metropolises they were located in. If Acre had a central market square it would most likely have been mentioned in the

106  Tomasz Borowski sources describing the city in the thirteenth century. In Nicosia the absence of a central piazza frustrated the Venetian authorities so much that the Republic decided to build a new square, designed according to Renaissance planning principles, in the 1540s.62 The most plausible explanation of the absence of a central market square in either of the two cities, in the Crusader period, is that the core of their urban layouts was developed before the Crusader conquest. Thus, their pre-­existing streets, and other architectural features, limited the scope for the design of new, broad, open spaces within them. Consequently, the piazzas added to Nicosia and Acre during the Latin period were restricted in size and could only serve as centres of neighbourhoods or districts, for example Italian quarters or areas around single churches (parishes?), not entire cities. These limitations did not apply to towns which developed primarily under the Latin rule. The prime example of this is Famagusta, which, unlike other metropolises of the Latin Levant, was not built on top of an important Islamic or Byzantine city and thus its medieval plan could develop almost de novo in the Frankish period.63 The effects of this are clearly discernible in its spatial organization. The medieval layout of the walled city (Figure I.6.6) is oriented towards a large central piazza (1) located in front of the Latin cathedral of St Nicholas (a). I have written extensively about Famagusta’s medieval street network in the past, so only the data relevant to piazzas will be discussed here.64 From an urbanist perspective, the dominant spatial position of the central piazza in Famagusta is confirmed by a series of measured syntactic values, such as the piazza’s depth, connectivity, control and integration.65 It was the most accessible and frequently visited public space in the city – a notion that was confirmed by a computer simulation of pedestrian

62 Gilles Grivaud, “Secular Monuments and Topography,” in Historic Nicosia, ed. Demetrios Michaelides (Nicosia, 2012), 148. 63 In the classical period the area of Famagusta was occupied by a small town called Arsinoe, but it was mostly abandoned in the later period, which is indicated by the site’s Greek name ‘Ammochostos’ (meaning ‘buried by sand’). Before the Crusader conquest Famagusta was a small Greek settlement, which probably had one church. For discussion see Tassos Papacostas, “Byzantine Famagusta: An Oxymoron?” in Famagusta Art and Architecture, ed. Annemarie Weyl Carr (Turnhout, 2015), 30–32; Thomas Kaffenberger, “Harmonizing the Sources: An Insight into the Appearance of the Hagios Georgios Complex at Various Stages of Its Building History,” in The Harbour of All This Sea and Realm Crusader to Venetian Famagusta, eds. M. Walsh, T. Kiss and N. Coureas (Budapest, 2014), 169–190; also D. Jacoby, “The Rise of a New Emporium in the Eastern Mediterranean: Famagusta in the Late Thirteenth Century,” Meletai kai Hypomnemata 3/1 (1984), 145–179. 64 Tomasz Borowski, “Space, Perspective and Public Preaching. Reconstructing the Role and Functionality of Public Squares in the Latin Levant: The Case of Famagusta (Northern Cyprus),” Material Religion 14 (2018), 500–519. 65 For detailed discussion of the significance of these values and their role in the layout of medieval Famagusta see Tomasz Borowski, “Jews in Famagusta Spatial and Visual Seclusion Under Italian Rule in the Levant,” in Cultures and Practices of Coexistence from the Thirteenth Through the Seventeenth Centuries Multi-Ethnic Cities in the Mediterranean World, eds. Marco Folin and Antonio Musarra (New York, 2020), 47.

Public squares in the Latin East  107

Figure I.6.6 Centre of medieval Famagusta, showing its principal piazzas and the religious buildings associated with them: 1) piazza in front of the Latin cathedral (a), 2) piazza in front of the church of St Peter and St Paul (b), 3) piazza in front of the Greek cathedral (c). © T. Borowski

movement within Famagusta’s medieval layout.66 It was also a convenient starting point for exploring the city, as it offered a quick and easy access to nearly all of its neighbourhoods. Two other large piazzas were preserved, south and west of the main central square, both of which have Frankish, fourteenth-century origins. One is located in front of the Greek cathedral of St George (c, 3) and the other is in front of the church of St Peter and St Paul (b, 2). All three of these major squares are discernible on the late fifteenth-century model of Famagusta stored in the arsenal museum in Venice (Figure I.6.7).67 This model pre-dates the extensive Venetian modernization of Famagusta’s defences (the imposing Martinengo Bastion is not visible there), which indicates that the piazzas depicted there also pre-date the Venetian reconstruction of parts of the

66 Tomasz Borowski, “Armenians and the Christian Society of Medieval Famagusta: Evidence from Spatial Analysis,” in The Armenian Church of Famagusta and the Complexity of Cypriot Heritage Prayers Long Silent, ed. Michael Walsh (Cham, 2017), 216–219. 67 The model was first identified by George Jeffery, A Description of the Historic Monuments of Cyprus: Studies in the Archaeology and Architecture of the Island (Nicosia: The Government Printing Office, 1918), 115–116.

108  Tomasz Borowski

Figure I.6.7 Late fifteenth- or early sixteenth-century model of Famagusta showing three major public squares in the city: the central piazza (1), the piazza in front of the church of St Peter and St Paul (2) and the piazza in front of the Greek cathedral (3) (Arsenal Museum, Venice, photo: Allan Langdale).

city.68 The central piazza is also mentioned in several Latin-period sources,69 including the account by Giacomo da Verona from 1335, which coincides with the construction of the Latin cathedral which crowned this piazza.70 A text attributed to Nicola Martoni, and dated to 1394, specifically mentions that Famagusta had numerous (!) fine squares and compares them to those in Capua, Italy.71 Thus, it not

68 For discussion see Allan Langdale, “At the Edge of Empire: Venetian Architecture in Famagusta, Cyprus,” Viator 41/1 (2010), 157–158. 69 The most evocative is the description of a Mass carried out in the square fronting the Latin cathedral during the Ottoman siege in 1571: Angelo Gatto, Narrazione del terrible assedio e della resa di Famagosta nell’anno 1571, ed. Policarpo Cattizani (Orvieto, 1895), 34–35. 70 Giacomo da Verona, Liber peregrinationis, ed. Ugo Monneret de Villard (Rome, 1950), 18; for English translation of the relevant passage see: Claude Delaval Cobham, trans. and ed., Excerpta Cypria: Materials for a History of Cyprus, with an Appendix on the Bibliography of Cyprus (Cambridge, 1908), 17. 71 Nicola de’ Martoni, Liber peregrinationis ad loca sancta, in “Relation du pèlerinage à Jérusalem de Nicolas de Martoni, notaire italien (1394–1395),” ed. L. Le Grand, Revue de l’Orient latin 3 (1895), 566–669, esp. 629–631.

Public squares in the Latin East  109 only indicates the existence of other, subsidiary, piazzas in the city, but also testifies that Famagusta’s urban landscape at the time inspired direct associations with Western Europe.72 Finally, the Latin-period attribution of the public squares in Famagusta has also been confirmed archaeologically. In 1939 excavations revealed the medieval pavement and delimited the triangular boundaries of the southern part of the piazza in front of the Greek cathedral.73 The report from the excavations carried out west of the Greek cathedral in 1936 also concluded that, most likely, this whole area was open in the Lusignan period.74 The fact that the architecture of St Peter and St Paul is almost identical to that of the Greek cathedral makes it likely that the space in before it was also left open already in the fourteenth century, which is when both these churches were built.75 The Lusignan origins of Famagusta’s three largest piazzas, therefore, is well documented. The exceptional preservation of these public squares, surviving together with the religious monuments attached to them, provide a unique insight into the spatial organization and functionality of their medieval design. It is evident that these public spaces did not develop spontaneously but were carefully planned in relation to the monumental churches in their proximity. It is no coincidence that all three public squares in question are all located in front of the city’s three largest churches. The open spaces provided by the piazzas exposed these churches’ facades to public view and visually enhanced their symbolic meaning, as well as the social messages conveyed through their decoration.76 Furthermore, the layout of the streets surrounding each piazza ensured that pedestrians crossing them as part of their daily routine would obtain ‘ideal’ views of the facade of the churches placed near them (‘ideal’ views were views adhering to Pythagorean ‘musical’ proportions of 1:1 ratio of building height to its viewing distance).77 The perspectival logic behind these spatial arrangements is revealed by the absence of streets running in direct vicinity of the churches’ western towers. This is particularly apparent in the case of the Greek cathedral and the church of St Peter and St Paul, which both have only one tower, each located in their respective south-western

72 ‘The City of Famagusta . . . has fine squares and houses very much like those in Capua’: English translation after Cobham, Exerpta Cypria, 22. 73 Theophilus Mogabgab, “Excavations and Researches in Famagusta, 1937–1939,” Report of the Department of Antiquities, Cyprus 1937/39 (1951), 189. 74 Theophilus Mogabgab, “Excavations and Improvements in Famagusta,” in Report of the Department of Antiquities Cyprus 1936 (1939), 104. 75 Margit Mersch, “Hybridity in Late Medieval Architecture on Cyprus, and the Difficulties of Identifying Saints Peter and Paul of Famagusta,” in Identity/Identities in Late Medieval Cyprus, eds. Tassos Papacostas and Guillaume Saint-Guillain (Nicosia, 2014), 258–262. 76 For discussion regarding the decoration of the facade of the Latin cathedral see Allan Langdale, “Notes on the Marginal Sculpture of the Cathedral of St Nicholas,” in Medieval and Renaissance Famagusta: Studies in Architecture, Art and History, eds. Nicholas Coureas, Peer Edbury and Michael Walsh (Farnham, 2012), 93–113. 77 For discussion regarding the formulae for creating ‘ideal’ perspectival views of public monuments in the medieval western Europe see Trachtenberg, The Dominion of the Eye, 155.

110  Tomasz Borowski corners; these are the only corners of their facades without any streets in their proximity. As a result, pedestrians walking near these churches’ facades were spatially discouraged from walking too close to the churches’ towers; thanks to this they were more likely to obtain a preferable view of the towers’ tops, without the need to uncomfortably raise their heads. Conscious manipulation of traffic is also manifested by the absence of streets running north–south, along the western facades of the exposed churches. Without such streets, pedestrians had no reason to casually stroll close to the churches’ facades, unless they intended to enter the particular church or participate in a gathering in front of it. These two examples demonstrate the spatial tools which allowed the layout of Famagusta to direct pedestrian movement away from the areas immediately in front of the city’s major churches, thus ensuring that daily traffic would not disturb special events or other daily activities taking place there.78 The division of space within public squares indicates that different functions were served by different sections of the piazzas. This fits with the multi-purpose roles assigned to them in Western medieval urban systems. They served as communication hubs, places of social interaction, commercial areas and as stages for theatric displays, as well as for secular and religious ceremonies, such as public processions.79 These activities, though recorded in historic sources, rarely leave tangible traces in the material record. The fact that all three of Famagusta’s piazzas were used for public preaching is indicated by balconies and external preaching platforms attached to the facades of both the Latin and Greek cathedrals, as well as to the church of St Peter and St Paul.80 It is possible that St Bridget of Sweden used one such balcony when she addressed the people of Famagusta in her fiery speech in 1372.81 It is important to note that the examined church edifices belonged to Christians of different rites: Latin, Greek and Syrian (?) respectively.82 This indicates that the concept of a multi-purpose piazza, planned in relation to the architecture of its principal public monument, must have been a sufficiently familiar and desirable element of

78 For detailed analysis of the measurements and visual arrangements of individual piazzas see Borowski, “Space Perspective and Public Preaching,” 510–519. 79 Known examples include royal processions, which customarily followed the coronation ceremonies in the cathedral of St Nicholas or religious procession organized by St Peter Thomae during a time of plague: Philippe de Mézières, The Life of St. Peter Thomas by Philippe de Mézières, ed. and trans. J. Smet (Rome, 1954), 97–100; Leontios Machairas, Chronicle of Cyprus, in Leontios Machairas, Recital Concerning the Sweet Land of Cyprus, ed. Richard M. Dawkins (Oxford, 1932), 1:82–120. 80 For photographs and discussion of individual platforms see Borowski, “Space Perspective and Public Preaching,” 510–519. 81 Birgitta of Sweden, The Revelations of St. Birgitta of Sweden, Liber Caelestis, trans. Denis Searby (Oxford, 2012), 7:238. 82 The church of St Peter and St Paul has been identified as either a Dominican or Syrian (Nestorian?) edifice. Its veneration by Syrians is attested by an estrangelo inscription surviving inside, which commemorates some building or decorative works conduced there in 1351–1352; Michele Bacci, “Patterns of Church Decoration in Famagusta (Fourteenth to Sixteenth Centuries),” in Famagusta Art and Architecture, ed. Annemarie Weyl Carr (Turnhout, 2014), 227–228.

Public squares in the Latin East  111 urban planning to attract its use by communities of both Western and Eastern Christians. By the mid-fourteenth century at the latest, it was well rooted in the local Cypriot urban tradition and thus, no longer seen as a Western import associated solely with the Latin elites. The perception of piazzas, therefore, seems to have followed a similar development to that of the ‘Gothic’ style of architecture, which, despite its Western origins, acquired a local Cypriot character through acculturation and was embraced by all major religious groups making up the island’s medieval society.83

Concluding remarks Studying open public spaces within historic urban layouts involves overcoming a different set of challenges than analysing individual buildings. After all, functionality of public spaces is often revealed through their relation to architectural monuments and streets in their proximity. The Latin Levant is a particularly difficult region to study in this context, as few of its metropolises preserve significant portions of their medieval layouts. Those which do survive, often developed prior to the Crusader conquest and thus, as has been shown, had limited capacity to house new, Westernstyle piazzas. The absence of a central public square is notable not only in Latin Acre or Nicosia, but also in Jerusalem, which, in terms of symbolism and religious significance was the most important city in the region. It is lamentable that so little is known about the plans of new Crusader foundations, such as the towns of Atlit/ Château Pèlerin, Margat/Valenia or the fortified suburb of Acre, Montmusard. Nonetheless, historic, spatial and material evidence discussed in this chapter demonstrate that public squares were a noteworthy feature of the urban landscape of the Latin Levant. Introduced as local centres of quarters and neighbourhoods in pre-existing layouts, or given prominence in new urban spatial systems, they contributed to the reshaping of Latin Levant’s urban habitus and differentiated it from those regions in the Eastern Mediterranean that remained outside of Crusader control. The few surviving records of privileges regarding the shapes of individual piazzas, and their spatial relation to public monuments and surrounding streets, demonstrate that the design of Levantine piazzas had to be negotiated between religious and secular authorities so that the new space would accommodate different functions. In the West, laymen and city communes assisted the clergy in obtaining piazzas designated for preaching,84 and the close relations between many of the

83 Michael Given, “Architectural Styles and Ethnic Identity in Medieval to Modern Cyprus,” in Archaeological Perspectives on the Transmission and Transformation of Culture in the Eastern Mediterranean, ed. Joanne Clarke (Oxford, 2005), 207–213; also relevant Tassos Papacostas, “Byzantine Rite in a Gothic Setting: Aspects of Cultural Appropriation in Late Medieval Cyprus,” in Towards Rewriting?: New Approaches to Byzantine Archaeology and Art, eds. Piotr Grotowski and Sławomir Skrzyniarz (Warsaw, 2010), 117–132. 84 To list just one example, in 1233 the citizens of Parma created a public square for the Dominicans in the city Caroline Bruzelius, “Friars in the Medieval City: Preaching, Building and Burying,” in Monastic Architecture and the City, ed. Catarina Almeida Marado (Coimbra, 2014), 14.

112  Tomasz Borowski identified public squares with corresponding Latin churches indicate that the same may have been true in the Crusader States. The presence of piazzas in the Latin East should not be perceived, however, as a mere colonial transfer, implanting Western architectural features into subjugated, Eastern spatial systems. Elements of Western urban traditions were adopted in the Crusader States selectively, and not all were embraced by the Greek and Syrian communities living in the region. Some, for example town halls, were widely rejected, as Levantine metropolises never obtained the degree of autonomy enjoyed by their Western counterparts.85 When present, Western-style piazzas were appreciated for their high functionality, not as a symbol of Western identity. As such, they formed one of many elements contributing to the diverse character of the great urban centres of the Latin East.

85 For discussion regarding urban autonomy in the Kingdom of Jerusalem see Joshua Prawer, Crusader Institutions (Oxford, 1980), 294.

7

The churches of Genoese Famagusta in the notarial acts, inquests and other sources of the later fifteenth century (1448–1474) Nicholas Coureas

The Genoese invasion of Cyprus in 1373 and their ensuing occupation of Famagusta between the years 1373 and 1460 had an effect on the religious institutions as well as on other aspects of the city’s life. Ships from other trading nations, like Venice, Barcelona and the Provençal towns, ceased to frequent the port, causing a contraction of trade, a drop in the population and an overall decrease in revenues. Genoa attempted to remedy this by transferring the governance of the city in 1447 to the Office of St George, an association of Genoese bond-holders, but Famagusta remained impoverished.1 Nonetheless, the religious life of the city during those years does not present a picture of unrelieved and unqualified decline. A church of St Catherine is recorded as a new construction in the fifteenth-century Genoese massaria, the accounts of the treasury of Famagusta under Genoese rule. The massaria is invaluable in serving as evidence for the churches, fortifications and other monuments of the city.2 In 1427 the incumbent bishop of Famagusta, Nicholas of Tenda, desired to import planks from Genoa to repair his episcopal palace. Furthermore, in 1450 an indulgence was promulgated for the repair of the circuit of walls of the city.3 New constructions or repairs of existing edifices also occurred in the capital Nicosia during the fifteenth century, although both in Nicosia and Famagusta these were far fewer than in the preceding century. This paper shall focus, with the exception of burials, on the non-liturgical uses, namely uses other than the celebration of Mass, to which the churches of Famagusta were put in the third quarter of the fifteenth century. The principal sources are the notarial deeds of Antonio Folieta, a Genoese notary working there in the mid-fifteenth century. Additional sources are the judicial inquests into the

  1 George Hill, A History of Cyprus, 4 vols (Cambridge, 1940–1952), vol. 3, 505–508; Nicholas Coureas, The Burgesses of the Lusignan Kingdom of Cyprus, 1192–1474 (Nicosia, 2020), 91–94.   2 Michel Balard, “La massaria génoise de Famagouste,” in Diplomatics in the Eastern Mediterranean 1000–1500, eds. Alexander D. Beihammer, Maria G. Parani and Christopher D. Schabel (Leiden: Brill, 2008), 238–241.   3 Michael Olympios, “Resting in Pieces: Gothic Architecture in Cyprus in the Long Fifteenth Century,” in Medieval Cyprus: A Place of Cultural Encounter, eds. Sabine Rogge and Michael Grünbart (Münster: Waxmann, 2015), 313.

DOI: 10.4324/9781003146957-8

114  Nicholas Coureas administrations of Pietro de Marco and Napoleone Lomellini, two Genoese captains of Famagusta, as well as other documentary sources and chronicle accounts. These non-liturgical uses included the following: the conduct of legal processes, the preparation of commercial and apprenticeship contracts, the selection of churches as places of burial and as beneficiaries of bequests in secular wills, as reference points for business to be transacted in front of them and the existence of pilgrim hospices attached to particular churches. In addition, objects of material culture found in these churches will be mentioned and discussed. The types of documentation discussed in this chapter, written by Latin notaries and clerks, focus chiefly on the Latin community, have occasional references to Greeks and Syrians and do not mention the Armenians, although they are mentioned in the Genoese massaria. Within these limitations, however, they offer useful and interesting information. Among the churches mentioned in the notarial deeds and the other extant documentation, that of St Francis in Famagusta, mentioned eight times in the context of non-liturgical transactions and five in that of burials, is the most popular. This is not difficult to explain, for from the early fourteenth century onwards it inspired great devotion among the Latin population of Famagusta, both those residing permanently there and visitors from overseas. This is reflected in the extant wills of Latin merchants, where the church of St Francis is mentioned in their bequests more than any other church in Famagusta.4 Another popular church was St Catherine and its pilgrim hospice, mentioned three times. This church, constructed by the wealthy merchant Joseph Zaphet in the later fourteenth century, must have been a well-known establishment, especially as the care of the church and the pilgrim hospice were entrusted to the canons of the cathedral church of Genoa.5 The cathedral of St Nicholas of Famagusta was likewise popular for non-liturgical transactions and even more so for burials, with seven burials recorded there, on account of its central location and function as a cathedral church. Hospices attached to churches are also mentioned in three instances, probably because they housed pilgrims and so were well-known and convenient locations for transacting various types of business. In line with standard Genoese practice, the notary Antonio Folieta, whose deeds form the majority of notarial acts discussed here, gave the exact location of where each transaction took place. Those taking place in the church of St Francis

 4 Camille Enlart, Gothic Art and the Renaissance in Cyprus, trans. and ed. David Hunt (London: Trigraph Ltd, 1983), 262–263; Nicholas Coureas, The Latin Church in Cyprus, 1195–1312 (Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing, 1997), 224–229; Margit Mersch, “Zyperns Mendicanten zwischen den Konfessionen,” in Abrahams Erbe, Konkurenz, Konflikt und Koexistenz der religionen im europäischen Mittelalter, eds. Klaus Oschema, Ludger Lieb and Johannes Heil (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2015), 325–327 and 333–334.   5 Catherine Otten-Froux, “Notes sur quelques monuments de Famagouste à la fin du Moyen Age,” in Mosaic: Festschrift for A.H.S. Megaw, eds. Judith Herrin, Margaret Mullett and Catherine Otten-Froux (London, 2001), 145–146.

The churches of Genoese Famagusta  115 sometimes were conducted in the choir.6 An alternative location in the same church were the cloisters.7 One act was drawn up in front of the pilgrim hospice of St Catherine’s church and another within the church, although the act does not specify in which part of it.8 An act drawn up in the pilgrim hospice of St Stephen does not specify the exact location, but specifies the time as being shortly before compline, the seventh canonical hour of prayer said at the end of the day. Another act was drawn up in front of the door of the hospice of St Nicholas, and a subsequent one near the Latin cathedral of St Nicholas of Famagusta, which in this instance simply served as a reference point describing the whereabouts of the business transacted.9 Other notarial acts regarding churches were concluded in houses, on one occasion within the courtyard of a house and on another occasion in the house of a priest.10 The Genoese practice of noting the location in which acts were concluded appears in Genoese documents from early fourteenth-century Cyprus. In those of the Genoese notary Lamberto di Sambuceto, who worked in Famagusta from 1296 to 1307, churches, hospitals, the customs house, shops and streets are variously given as locations, but of all these locations the most popular was the shop of the spice seller Bertozius Latinus, an indication of the importance of the spice trade at that time.11 By way of contrast, the notarial deeds drawn up in late fourteenth-century Cyprus by the Venetian notaries Nicola de Boateriis, working in Famagusta between the years 1360 and 1362, and the priest Simeone, who worked there between the years 1362 and 1372, do not specify the locations in which the transactions they recorded were concluded.12 The churches of Famagusta themselves owned houses that they rented out. The document dated 5 September 1453 and recording how the Genoese citizen Lucas de Gavi added a codicil to a previous will of his, drawn up in Genoa in 1447, states that it was drawn up in the house in which Luca, described as infirm, was resident and which he rented from the church of St Symeon, a Greek church and abbey in Famagusta, subject to the Monastery of Mt Sinai and granted the privilege of having its own cemetery by Pope John XXII in 1334. On 1 June 1468 King James II, by way of almsgiving, granted St Symeon exemption from paying an annual impost of 12 bezants due on four shops or taverns adjacent to the royal palace in

  6 Michel Balard, Laura Balletto and Catherine Otten-Froux, eds., Gênes et l’Outre Mer: Actes notaries rédigés à Chypre par le notaire Antonius Folieta (1445–1458) (Nicosia, 2016), 64 and nos. 85–86.   7 Antonius Folieta, nos. 13, 25, 90 and 217.   8 Antonius Folieta, nos. 73 and 95.  9 Antonius Folieta, nos.87, 96 and 124. 10 Antonius Folieta, nos. 47–49, 66–67, 82, 167, 179, 187 and 212. 11 Nicholas Coureas, “The Structure and Content of the Notarial Deedfs of Lamberto di Sambuceto and Giovanni da Rocha, 1296–1310,” in Diplomatics in the Eastern Mediterranean 1000–1500: Aspects of Cross-Cultural Communication, eds. Alexander D. Beihammer, Maria D. Parani and Christopher D. Schabel (Leiden, 2008), 226. 12 Nicolas de Boateriis notaio in Famagosta e Venezia (1355–1365), ed. Antonio Lombardo (Venice, 1973); Catherine Otten-Froux, “Un notaire vénitien à Famagouste au XIVe siècle, les actes de Simeone, prêtre de San Giacomo dell’Orio (1362–1371),” Thesaurismata 33 (2003), 15–159.

116  Nicholas Coureas Famagusta that the abbey rented out. The cemetery of St Symeon probably still functioned in the following centuries, and certain Greek chapels in Famagusta built during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries in the late Gothic style possessed graves.13 Unfortunately the names and locations of these chapels are not known. On 9 November 1453, the priest Ventura Misaihi, chaplain and administrator of the church of St Stephen, rented a house belonging to this church for 29 years to Madela, the daughter of the late John Lamera and widow of Santus of Crete. The location of the house and its adjoining streets or houses is described in detail. One of the adjoining streets led from the city square to the Limassol gate to the southwest, while among the adjacent houses was that of Petrinus of Famagusta, a maker of jugs, and of the wife of a certain Manoli Mediabracha. The priest Ventura Misaihi, whose name indicates his Syrian origins, promised not to increase the rent for the duration of the 29 years Madela would be living in the house, while Madela for her part promised to maintain and even improve the house at her own expense and not allow it to deteriorate. In addition, it was stipulated that if on the expiry of the rental term of 29 years the priest Misaihi or his lawful successors should have Madela or her heirs evicted from this house, this could not be done unless the tenants had first been paid the sums of money they had contributed towards improvement of the property.14 The churches of Famagusta were also venues for the conduct of legal proceedings, sometimes involving the personnel of these churches. In the inquest conducted against Pietro di Marco, the Genoese captain of Famagusta, taking place in the years 1448–1449, one of his accusers was the friar Antonio Giustiniani, prior of the church of St Mary of Mt Carmel. He accused the captain in December 1448 of having reduced the monthly salary he was entitled to receive from the treasury by 15 white bezants, claiming he was entitled to receive 105 white bezants to cover the shortfall over the previous seven months and to be restored his former salary of 85 white bezants per month. The syndics appointed to examine the case absolved the captain, claiming he had acted thus on account of the great needs of the treasury.15 In the inquest conducted subsequently against the Genoese captain of Famagusta Napoleone Lomellini, several churches are recorded as venues for various stages of these legal proceedings. The church of St Francis near the cathedral was where Lomellini’s refutations of the charges brought against him by Antonio Reibaldo, a prominent citizen and burgess of the city, were registered on 17 September 1459. The second declaration of another accuser, Girolamo Freihius, who had brought charges against Guirardo de Guirardis, Lomellini’s deputy was also

13 Antonius Folieta, no. 47; Nicholas Coureas, The Latin Church in Cyprus 1313–1378 (Nicosia, 2010), 472; Jean Richard, ed., Le Livre des remembrances de la secrète du royaume de Chypre (1468–1469) (Nicosia, 1983), no. 160; Brunehilde Imhaus, “La mort dans la société franque de Chypre,” Epeterida Kentrou Epistemonikon Ereunon XXIV (1998), 31. 14 Antonius Folieta, no. 67. 15 Silvana Fossati-Raiteri, ed., Genova e Cipro: L’inchiesta su Pietro de Marco Capitano di Genova in Famagosta (1448–1449), Collana Storica di Fonti e Studi (henceforth CSFS) no. 41, (Genoa, 1984), nos. 39 and 277 (39).

The churches of Genoese Famagusta  117 registered there on 17 October 1459. The church was employed to this end because those bringing accusations and those accused had to submit or respond to the charges under oath.16 Other churches mentioned in the inquest against Napoleone Lomellini were the Latin cathedral of St Nicholas and the aforementioned church of St Catherine. The witness John Baricante testifying on 3 October 1459 alluded to how once when there was no grain in the square in front of the cathedral of St Nicholas Lucas the son of Napoleone Lomellini gave a quantity of grain to Francisco Gado, the ministralis or officer in charge of checking the prices of victuals and weights and measures, who in turn gave it to the women baking bread for sale in the square. This is valuable testimony, not only on the use of spaces attached to the church but also on the participation of women in the economy of Famagusta.17 Hieronymus Verdura, another prominent citizen and burgess of Famagusta testifying against Lomellini on 28 September 1459, affirmed in his testimony that he had been present at the church of St Catherine along with Antonio Reibaldo in order to examine the charges brought against Lomellini and see if they could be proven by trustworthy witnesses. In his response on 5 October 1459 Lomellini cited this testimony to claim that Hieronymus Verdura was in fact simply testifying under orders and so his testimony should be considered inadmissible.18 The churches of fifteenth-century Famagusta also served as venues for the signing of commercial contracts by members of the laity, as well as for disputes regarding such contracts. One dispute was over the hire of a ship by Giovanni de Via, a resident of Chios who had signed a contract to hire a ship for five months from Dominic Vegius. According to Giovanni Dominic had not handed over the ship at the beginning of the agreed term, but had instead journeyed to Beirut, claiming that this had been done on the orders of the Genoese captain of Famagusta. Giovanni did not believe this and through his procurator Andreas de Passano lodged a written protest, claiming that the days the ship had spent journeying to Beirut and back to Famagusta should be deducted from the period of five months for which he had to pay for the ship’s hire, at a rate of 300 ducats of Chios per month. The protest was read out in Dominic’s presence and witnessed by the Genoese notary Antonio Foglietta in the cloister of the church of St Francis of Famagusta on 11 October 1454. Dominic rejected this protest, maintaining that he had indeed been ordered in writing by the Genoese captain of Famagusta to sail to Beirut on account of a shortage of supplies.19 St Francis was also the venue for a contract of arbitration and the ensuing verdict. On 28 August 1454, the two Genoese citizens Lucas Barbus and Simonetus de Nozilia submitted their various differences, which included 16 pounds that Luca

16 Catherine Otten-Froux, ed., Une enquête à Chypre au XVe siècle: Le sindicamentum de Napoleone Lomellini, capitaine génois de Famagouste, (Nicosia, 2000), 42, 83 and 232 (121). 17 Une enquête, 165 [245] and 239 [190]. 18 Une enquête, 156 and 188. 19 Antonius Folieta, no. 90.

118  Nicholas Coureas had obtained in Genoa from a brother of Simonetus and a cape that Luca had sold Simonetus on Chios, to the arbitration of the three persons named Antony of Jubail, Giovanni Battista de Novi and the goldsmith Battista Ihaferus. It was agreed that the party not abiding by the arbitrators’ sentence was to pay a penalty of 50 ducats. In addition, Simonetus swore on the Holy Gospels that he would not contradict the arbitrators’ sentence on account of being a minor in years. The fact that an oath on the Gospels was taken explains why this agreement, to last for four days, took place in the choir of the church of St Francis. In fact, the arbitrators pronounced their sentence later in the same day, stating that Luca had to pay Simonetus 130 Venetian ducats, with half to be paid by 15 September 1454 and the other half by 25 December 1454. In addition, a condition was added that Luca could instead give Simonetus by way of payment five pieces of camlet to be valued by the arbitrators and with the first payment to take place in September. Like the arbitral agreement, the sentence was pronounced in the choir of the church of St Francis.20 Contracts of apprenticeship, which also involved the taking of oaths, were concluded in the churches of Famagusta. On Sunday 15 October 1452, during Vespers, a burgess of Famagusta named Nicholas Cigala handed over his illegitimate son James, of around nine years of age ‘as was maintained’, to the Genoese master of adzes Simon Paysano de Corniliano, so that the latter could teach him how to fashion adzes, an instrument shaped like an axe but with an arched blade set at a right angle to the tool’s shaft, used for smoothing or carving rough-hewn wood. James consented to this apprenticeship transaction and was to stay with Simon for the next ten years to learn the craft, serving him honestly and not departing without his express permission. Simon for his part promised to feed and clothe James for the duration of the apprenticeship, both in sickness and in health. Whichever party defaulted on the agreement would have to pay a penalty of ten Genoese pounds, and the contract was concluded in the choir of the church of St Francis of Famagusta. A later contract of apprenticeship dated 25 February 1455 was concluded in the church of St Catherine of Famagusta. In this instance the resident of Famagusta Cola of Taranto solemnly promised the goldsmith Luca Barbus that his nephew, the son of the late Giovanni of Taranto, would serve him for the next five years as his apprentice, working for Luca both in his shop and his house, either in Famagusta or in Genoa or in any other place, honestly and without departing except with Luca’s express permission. In this instance, however, whichever party defaulted on the agreement had to pay a penalty of 100 white bezants.21 A particularly important contract for hiring a ship, involving the Hospitaller grand preceptor of Cyprus Louis de Magnac and two Venetian merchants was concluded in Famagusta in front of the pilgrim hospice of St Catherine on 24 January 1454. According to its conditions Louis de Magnac hired a ship from a burgess of Famagusta named Antonio Reibaldo. The latter promised to fit out a ship with

20 Antonius Folieta, nos. 85–86. 21 Antonius Folieta, nos. 25 and 95.

The churches of Genoese Famagusta  119 a crew of 60 or more that sailing from Famagusta would reach Limassol, taking with it 100 empty wine casks on the grand preceptor’s account and unloading them there. It would then sail to Vasilopotamos and take on board around 3,000 modii of wheat in Cypriot measures and around 2,000 modii of barley. After that the ship would sail to Salines and take on board around another 4,000 modii of barley, and returning to Limassol would take on board the 100 wine casks, now full of wine. It would then sail to Pissouri to the west of Limassol and take on board around 2,000 modii of wheat and finally would sail to Rhodes and unload its cargo there. This accomplished, the grand preceptor promised to pay Anthony at the rates of one Rhodian ducat per cask of wine, 50 Rhodian ducats for each 1,000 modii of wheat in Rhodian measures and 50 Rhodian florins for each 1,000 modii of barley in Rhodian measures.22 Furthermore, the grand preceptor promised to pay for the transportation to Rhodes of seven sacks of cotton he had in Famagusta, at a rate to be decided by Bartholomew de Auria, a merchant resident in Rhodes and the probable recipient of this cotton. Additional clauses were that Anthony had to be with his ship in Cyprus for 45 days to take on board the aforementioned cargo, that if the grand preceptor wished to take on board supplies or goods over and above those stipulated he could do so, paying the same rates as those agreed and that he would not take on board goods of other persons, with the exception of 4,000 modii of barley belonging to the Venetian citizen Giovanni Martini, a member of one of Venice’s most prominent commercial families, as well as 1,000 modii of barley belonging to Antonio Reibaldo himself. Were the agreement not honoured, the preceptor would have to pay the freight charges even for goods not taken on board, while Antonio Reibaldo would pay a penalty of 500 ducats. The Venetian noble and citizen of Venice undertook to be guarantor for both parties to the agreement, pledging all his goods as security. The aforementioned agreement is important in showing the needs for Cypriot agricultural produce on Hospitaller Rhodes, that lacked selfsufficiency in foodstuffs, as well as the role of Venetian merchants in Cypriot commerce.23 Antonio Reibaldo is mentioned in another contract, this time involving the purchase of a ship and concluded in the cloister of the church of St Francis. On 20 May 1458 his brother Francis, who a week earlier had bought a ship named the St Hilarion for 70 Venetian ducats from Vital Taci of Kerynia, promising to pay him 25 ducats at once and the balance by 15 August, now associated Anthony and the crossbowman Hieronymus de Coronato in the purchase of the ship in question. Each of them undertook to contribute one third towards the purchase price of this ship. Following this, they would each be entitled to one third of whatever profits the ship would gain in its voyages and would be liable for one third of the corresponding losses that might be incurred ‘as is the custom among the Genoese in similar cases’, a clause showing the origin of all three parties to the contract. The

22 Antonius Folieta, no. 73. 23 Antonius Folieta, no. 73.

120  Nicholas Coureas ship in question, a griparia, was a small lateen rigged galley common throughout the Mediterranean from the fourteenth century onwards.24 Other contracts concluded in churches were debt repayments and appointments of procurators. The hospice of St Stephen in Famagusta was the venue for the acknowledgement of a debt of 11 gold Venetian ducats by Julian de Cela de Castigliolo. Without having been misled but in sure knowledge, feeble in body but of sound mind, as he himself stated, he acknowledged on 28 August 1454 owing this sum to Bartholomew de Fuce Nova, who was present, promising to repay it on request. The two witnesses present were Fulo de Bisanne and Chiriacos of Famagusta. The latter, a master of adzes, was almost certainly Greek, as his name suggests. The hospice, attached to the homonymous church, was in existence during the first part of the fourteenth century, for in his will of 5 December 1333 John the son of the late Frederick Rau bequeathed the sum of 150 white bezants ‘to the church or hospice of St Stephen of Famagusta to the brotherhood of which my father did and does belong’ as the will states.25 The church, moreover, regularly received a subvention from the Genoese treasury, the massaria, of Famagusta from 1391 onwards, as did other churches, namely those of SS Dominic and Francis, of St Augustin, of St Mary of Carmel, St Mary of Tyre, St Claire and St Mary of Tortosa. The cloister of the church of St Francis, already mentioned several times as a venue for contracts and legal proceedings, was the venue on 27 July 1452 for the transfer of the office of procurator. According to the written agreement, Antonio Coronato, a burgess of Famagusta, transferred the general powers of procurator he was exercising in the interests of his wife Agnes since 17 December 1450. An instrument drawn up by the notary Antonio de Precipiano to Augustinus Fatinanti, another burgess of Famagusta, records this.26 A particularly interesting and important grant of powers of procuration was that made by Hugh Podocataro, the butler of the kingdom of Cyprus. This office, first recorded in the Lusignan kingdom in 1328 under King Hugh IV, appears to have been ceremonial in nature and without specific responsibilities attached to it. Nonetheless, Hugh Podocataro is recorded several times between 1443 and 1454 as King John II’s ambassador to the papacy, to Tuscany, to France, to Aragon and to Genoa. His visits to the first four powers involved soliciting their support for the defence of Cyprus against a Turkish attack, but his embassy to Genoa was over the repayment of the sums King John II owed this Italian republic.27 Perhaps the

24 Antonius Folieta, no. 217; John H. Pryor, Geography, Technology and War: Studies in the Maritime History of the Mediterranean 649–1571 (Cambridge, 1988, repr.1992), 46. 25 Antonius Folieta, no. 87; Catherine Otten-Froux, “Documents inédits sur les Pisans en Romanie aux XIIIe – XIVe siècles,” in Les Italiens à Byzance, eds. Michel Balard, Angeliki E. Laiou and Catherine Otten-Froux (Paris, 1987), no. 13, 184–186. 26 Balard, “La massaria génoise,” 240; Otten-Froux, “Notes sur quelques monuments de Famagouste,” 146; Antonius Folieta, no. 13. 27 Peter Edbury, The Kingdom of Cyprus and the Crusades 1191–1374 (Cambridge, 1991, repr.1994), 183; George Hill, A History of Cyprus, 4 vols. (Cambridge, 1940–1952), vol. 3, 504, note 3, 517– 518 and 524, note 4.

The churches of Genoese Famagusta  121 Genoese held him in some regard for this reason. On 3 November 1455 Hugh appointed Giacomo Centurione as his procurator. He empowered him to appear in Genoa before the Office of St George, entrusted with the administration of Famagusta since 1447 for 29 years, in order to represent Hugh and uphold his rights against Benedict de Vernazza, the agent for the commissioners of the estate of the late Prince of Galilee. In addition, Hugh granted Giacomo power to act for him against the commissioners and heirs to the estate of the late Anthony Grillo, the son of the deceased Marcelino. The fact that this grant of powers by Hugh to his appointed procurator took place at the cathedral church of St Nicholas underlines its importance. Another indicator of its significance is provided by the fact that one of the three persons witnessing the appointment of a procurator was Marco Corner. This member of a powerful Venetian noble family, a close friend of King John II and father to Catherine Corner, the future queen of Cyprus, had considerable commercial interests in Cyprus, especially the sugar-producing estates at Episkopi that made his family together with the Hospitallers and the Cypriot crown one of the island’s three major producers of this commodity.28 Contracts involving the sale or rent of houses were also concluded in churches. One particular case showing the participation of women in the economy of fifteenth-century Famagusta involved the sale of a house adjoining property of the aforementioned cathedral of St Nicholas. On 25 February 1455 Barnabas Ternatius, the husband and procurator of his wife Isabelle, sold on her behalf for the sum of 38 Venetian ducats a house that belonged to her to another woman named Marrotia Pansana. This particular house, however, functioned as the premises of a business, namely a tavern run by a third woman named Eleni Cachotripitri, whose name suggests she was Greek. The location of the house is given in some detail. On one side was the street going from the palace square to the customs house joining a second street on another side. On the east side was the house of a certain Barnabas de Marasio and on the fourth side an empty space belonging to the cathedral of St Nicholas called the small orchard. The document states that Barnabas Ternatius had received the 38 bezants for the sale of his wife’s house, and another 14 bezants that was paid to the cathedral of St Nicholas; the reason for this payment is not stated. The transaction itself was concluded by the gate of the hospice of St Nicholas, where Marrotia happened to be living at the time. This is the third hospice recorded for Famagusta, besides those of the churches of St Catherine and St Stephen, and it was probably attached to the cathedral church of St Nicholas.29 As in earlier periods, the laity of Famagusta opted for burial in specific churches and made provision for their funeral expenses or bequests to clergy in their wills.

28 Antonius Folieta, no. 124; Benjamin Arbel, “A Royal Family in Republican Venice: The Cypriot Legacy of the Corner della Regina,” Studi Veneziani, N.S. 15 (1988), 135–138. 29 Antonius Folieta, no. 96: Laura Balletto, “Ethnic Groups, Cross-Social and Cross-Cultural Contacts on Fifteenth-Century Cyprus,” in Intercultural Contacts in the Medieval Mediterranean, ed. Benjamin Arbel (London, 1996), 42.

122  Nicholas Coureas St Symeon, the aforementioned Greek church and abbey in Famagusta subject to the Monastery of Mt Sinai, was granted the privilege of having its own cemetery by Pope John XII in 1334. It probably still functioned later on, and certain Greek chapels in Famagusta built during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries in the late Gothic style possessed graves.30 The Latin cathedral of St Nicholas of Famagusta was predictably a popular choice as a place of burial. Those buried there included King James II and his son James III, the penultimate and ultimate kings of Cyprus. King James II had captured Famagusta from the Genoese, who had possessed it for 90 years, in 1464 following a siege. Therefore, his burial there had a symbolic character, marking the restoration of Famagusta, the island’s premier port, to the Lusignan kingdom. The chroniclers George Boustronios and Florio Bustron, both writing in the sixteenth century, impart interesting details regarding his burial. Following his death in July 1473 he was buried crudely because there was no wax in Cyprus. Its arrival was awaited so that he could be buried properly. After his burial in the cathedral of St Nicholas his corpse was cut open so that the entrails could be extracted, and it was then anointed with balsam. His widow Queen Catherine then asked the cathedral chapter of the cathedral of the Holy Wisdom in Nicosia to have a porphyry or jasper sarcophagus in the cathedral sent to Famagusta so that the king’s body could be interred therein. In exchange, she proposed to have sent to Nicosia the marble tomb wherein the king’s corpse had been interred. The chapter refused, however, forbidding its transfer on pain of excommunication and sending the dean to Famagusta, where he told the queen that the pope had forbidden the transfer. On hearing this the queen requested Pope Sixtus IV (1471–1484) to grant permission, but without success. The Dominican friar Felix Faber, who visited Cyprus in 1483, saw and described the sarcophagus in question, still located within the cathedral of the Holy Wisdom of Nicosia. King James III of Cyprus, who died in infancy on his first birthday in August 1474, was also buried in the cathedral of St Nicholas next to his father.31 Another exalted personage choosing burial in the cathedral of St Nicholas was Ianinus Ratus from Corbeil near Paris. Sound in mind but ill in body and fearing impending death, he drew up his final testament on 3 November 1453. He chose burial in the cathedral, leaving the sum of 30 Venetian ducats for his funeral expenses. His asked his executor James Danieli to purchase out of this sum candles, the expense of transporting his corpse to the cathedral, sounding the bells and

30 Antonius Folieta, no. 47; Nicholas Coureas, The Latin Church in Cyprus 1313–1378 (Nicosia, 2010), 472; Brunehilde Imhaus, “La mort dans la société franque de Chypre,” Epeterida Kentrou Epistemonikon Ereunon, 24 (1998), 31. 31 George Boustronios, A Narrative of the Chronicle of Cyprus 1456–1489, trans. Nicholas Coureas (Nicosia, 2005), §§99 and 104; Florio Bustron, “Chronique de l’île de Chypre,” in Collection des documents inédits sur l’histoire de France: Mélanges historiques, V (1886), ed. René de Mas Latrie (Paris, 1886), 433–434; Excerpta Cypria: Materials for a History of Cyprus, trans. Claude D. Cobham (Cambridge, 1908), 42; Stephen de Lusignan, Chorograffia et Breve Historia Universale dell’ Isola di Cipro (Bologna, 1573, repr. Nicosia, 2004), fol. 73verso; Stephen de Lusignan, Description de toute l’isle de Cypre (Paris, 1580, repr. Nicosia, 2004), fol. 185verso.

The churches of Genoese Famagusta  123 for his burial. He also decreed that the priest of the cathedral should have the Gregorian Mass sung for the good of his soul, again payable from the aforementioned sum. The bishop, however, also made other bequests, leaving the sum of 60 escudos to the church of St Martin in France where he had been christened and 70 Venetian ducats to an illegitimate daughter of his. Her name was unknown to him, as he had not been present at her birth, but her mother Maria was a slave on Chios belonging to Lord Imperiale Giustiniani. Ianinus’s bequest to a natural child of his born in the eastern Mediterranean was by no means an isolated case. Few Western women emigrated to the eastern Mediterranean lands and so numerous Western merchants, sailors and craftsmen resident or paying regular visits there entered into relationships with local women and had children by them.32 Others choosing burial in the cathedral of Famagusta included Violantina, the daughter of George Lulus and wife of Hieronymus de Loreto, a prominent citizen of Genoa and burgess of Famagusta mentioned earlier. She left the sum to be spent on her funeral expenses to the discretion of her brother the priest John Lulus, in her will dated 18 July 1454. Furthermore, people of lesser social prominence also chose burial in the cathedral. Among them was the master of adzes Finarinus Galea, a resident of Genoa who nonetheless, having fallen sick and unwilling to die intestate, made a will on 11 April 1455 expressing his wish to be buried in the cathedral and decreeing a sum for his funeral expenses according the discretion of his executors, asking them to spend as little as possible. He also mentioned two priests in his will, stating that the priest Dominic of Jubail owed him five and a half ducats as the balance of the price of a flute sold to him while the priest Stephano Greco owed him 12 bezants for services rendered to him. Furthermore, he bequeathed two ducats to Friar Berthold de Alamania for the Gregorian chants the latter was to sing after his death for the good of his soul. A woman called Belle, daughter of Giovanni Tarantino and wife of Battistino de Marchexio, made her will, having fallen ill, on 23 May 1456, choosing burial in the cathedral and decreeing that the sum paid for her funeral expenses was at the discretion of her husband. She also bequeathed one ducat for the Gregorian chant to be sung for the wellbeing of her soul. Finally, on 9 July 1457, Giovanni Antonio de Schanavino, son of the late Facinus, made his will, choosing burial in the cathedral, leaving the sum for funeral expenses at the discretion of his executors and a sum of 25 white bezants to the Franciscan friar Christopher de Ferraria for the singing of the Gregorian chant for the good of his soul.33 The church of St Francis in Famagusta was likewise a popular choice for burial. In his provisional will to which he had added a codicil and his final will, both drawn up in September 1453, the Genoese citizen Lucas de Gavi chose burial in the church of St Francis, leaving the sum for his funeral expenses at his executors’ discretion but stipulating that they should spend as little as possible. Giacomo de

32 Antonius Folieta, no. 66; Eliyahu Ashtor, Levant Trade in the Later Middle Ages (Princeton, 1983), 407–408. 33 Antonius Folieta, nos. 82, 97, 167 and 212.

124  Nicholas Coureas Fragiis of the city of Valenza in Lombardy also made his final will on 15 September 1453, choosing burial in the same church and leaving the sum to be spent on his funeral at the discretion of his brother Giovanni Matteo. Neither of the previous testators bequeathed sums for Masses to be sung for their souls. Unlike them, the Genoese citizen Antonio Cigala, who drew up his will on 20 July 1456, expressed his wish for burial in the church of St Francis, in the chapel of Our Lady in a wooden coffin, decreeing the sum for his funeral expenses to be at the discretion of his son Lanzaroto. He bequeathed 15 bezants to the Franciscan friar Ludovico de Francia, the guardian of the church of St Francis of Famagusta, for Masses to be sung for his soul, as well as ten ducats a year to be dispensed in perpetuity every year by his executors from his goods for the marriage of indigent damsels originating from or resident in Famagusta. Pometa, the widow of the Genoese citizen Augustinus Ternatius, made a will on 27 September 1456 stating her desire to be buried in the church of St Francis with as little expense as possible at the discretion of her son and appointed executor Barnabas. She also decreed, likewise at Barnabas’s discretion, that Masses should be sung in Genoa or elsewhere for the good of her soul and that of her late son Battista, who had clearly predeceased her.34 One of the more prominent persons buried in the church of St Francis according to the chronicler George Boustronios was the Catalan Sir John Arognon, his surname probably a corruption of Aragon, who died on 20 August 1473. The chronicler states that he was poor on arriving in Cyprus but from a good family, and that King James II conferred many benefits on him, also marrying him to Margaret, the daughter of Francheschin de Bandes. His appointment as one of the executors of the king’s will underlines his importance as a supporter of King James. The chronicler Florio Bustron states that between the years 1464 and 1468 the king granted him the fief of Kalavassos and 200 measures of wine annually. His wife Margaret, moreover, originated from a prominent burgess family of Famagusta recorded in Genoese notarial deeds as early as the year 1300. She too was granted the fiefs of Katokopia and Syrkati by King James sometime between 1464 and 1468. Sir John clearly became acquainted with Famagusta through his wife, and towards the end of his life he became a Franciscan friar, hence his burial in the church attached to the Franciscan house of Famagusta.35 Members of the clergy developed good relations with Famagusta’s secular population, which helped them when necessary. In the denunciation against Augustine Squarsaficus, a former Genoese captain of Famagusta, Francis de Casali, vicar general of the Order of Augustinian hermits in Cyprus, recounted how he received such help. The captain of Famagusta began proceedings against the vicar general because the latter had allegedly seized certain letters belonging to the Augustinian friar Thomas Babor so as to deprive him of the office of prior of the Augustinian

34 Antonius Folieta, nos. 47–49, 179 and 187. 35 Boustronios, Narrative, §§98, 110 and note 250; Bustron, “Chronique,” 421–422 and 433; Valeria Polonio, ed., Notai Genovesi in Oltremare: Atti rogati dal notaio Lamberto di Sambuceto (3 luglio 1300 – 3 agosto 1301), CSFS 31 (Genoa, 1982), no. 115.

The churches of Genoese Famagusta  125 church of St Anthony in Famagusta. In passing sentence against the vicar general the Captain condemned him to pay 300 Venetian gold ducats to the treasury of Famagusta and had him confined in a harsh prison where he was placed in irons between two walls without air or victuals, so that he might die there. To prevent this, however, merchants and others paid the 300 ducats due to the treasury, money used, as the cartulary entries of the treasury showed, for the benefit of the commune of Famagusta. The denunciation went on to accuse Thomas Babor of being dishonest and of having intruded into the office of prior. Augustine Squarsaficus, moreover, was accused of being an incompetent judge. Finally, the denunciations requested the governor and council of elders of Genoa to compel the treasury and commune of Genoa to reimburse the sum given to them from the heirs of the late Augustine and to pay Francis damages and compensation. The commune of Genoa for its part objected to the formation of a commission to deal with the claim, and Francis countered that the government of Genoa should form it. The governor of Genoa and the council of ancients finally decided that the syndics assigned with correcting the misdemeanors of Genoese officials sent out to the East should dispense justice by acting against the heirs of the late Augustine, if he were culpable, but that no action could be taken against the commune.36 The notarial documentation on the churches of Famagusta affords interesting insights on the material objects present in these churches. A detailed inventory of the goods found in the church, the sacristy and the hospital of St Catherine of Famagusta, drawn up on 11 May 1452, has been discussed in detail by Catherine Otten and so need not be discussed here.37 What merits discussion is a reference to certain carpets in charges brought by the Genoese citizen Simon de Ceva against the former Genoese captain of Famagusta, Pietro de Marco. He accused Pietro of impounding certain objects ‘and firstly certain carpets from lord Calamano’. Simon de Ceva maintained that Pietro de Marco should be compelled to pay fines for his actions. In judging the case, the syndics condemned Pietro to pay a fine of ten ducats and to consign to the cathedral church of St Nicholas of Famagusta the three carpets designated and mentioned in the accusation. This placing of carpets in Latin churches can be placed in a wider context. The carpets in question, given the geographical location of Cyprus, were probably imports from Syria or the emirate of Karaman in southern Turkey. From the thirteenth century onwards the demand in Western societies for such rugs was stimulated through the Crusading movement, as well as the concurrent trade between the West and the Levant. Other than rulers and noblemen, the Roman Catholic Church and clergy used such articles. In a letter of 1391 to Francesco Datini and Company of Pisa the merchant Inglese di Inglese stated that he had brought a consignment of rugs to Rome for sale, including ‘some rugs of ten braccia (about 60cm) for use by the Church’. Paintings from religious contexts show the possible uses of rugs and document the

36 Svetlana Blijnyuk, ed., Die Genuesen auf Zypern, Ende 14. und im 15. Jahrhundert (Frankfurt am Main, 2005), nos. 41–42. 37 Antonius Folieta, no. 8; Otten-Froux, “Monuments de Famagouste,” 145–146.

126  Nicholas Coureas demand for rugs used in churches. Rugs and draperies in churches were used to prepare the scene for major feast days and so became symbolically charged. An inventory of 1471 from the government palace in Florence alludes to how one such rug was placed on the podium of the high altar.38 In conclusion one can state that the interaction between the churches of fifteenth-century Famagusta, the clergy serving them and the secular inhabitants of the city was diverse and multifunctional. It was not by any means confined to the promotion of Christian worship and the dissemination of the teachings of Jesus Christ, but encompassed commerce, litigation, the drawing up of wills, the choosing of burial places and the appointment of procurators. The various types of source materials in general and the Genoese notarial deeds in particular present a valuable and vivid record of the interrelationship between sacred and secular in fifteenth-century Famagusta.

38 L’inchiesta, nos. 155 and 277 (34); Heinrich Lang, “The Import of Levantine Goods by Florentine Merchant Bankers: The Adaptation of Oriental Rugs in Western Culture,” in Union in Separation: Diasporic Groups and Identities in the Eastern Mediterranean (1100–1800), eds. Georg Christ, Franz-Julius Morche, Roberto Zaugg, Wolfgang Kaiser, Stefan Burkhardt and Alexander D. Beihammer (Rome, 2015), 517–518 and 520.

8

Thirty years of war The cities of the Lombard plain c. 1189–c. 1220 John France

Modern writers looking at the military history of Italy in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries have tended to emphasize the great imperial expeditions, especially those of the Hohenstaufens, Frederick I Barbarossa (1155–1190) and Frederick II (1220– 1250), and their conflicts with the cities of the Lombard League. These emperors, and to a lesser extent Henry VI (1191–1197), produced great and spectacular events which helped to determine much of the history of the peninsula. Indeed, wars in Italy in this period are commonly referred to as between Guelfs and Ghibellines, those against and for imperial rule. But most historians of medieval warfare have tended to focus on France, the Netherlands and England.1 In 1954 Jan F. Verbruggen produced a very important general history of medieval warfare which became highly influential with its translation into English. In his chapter on the knights Italy is barely mentioned while in that on foot soldiers the ‘Italian Communal Armies’ are considered fairly briefly. The communal armies of Liège are treated at much greater length.2 Contamine’s brilliant survey of medieval warfare offers a highly thematic treatment, but Italy is given prominence only for the later Middle Ages.3 This is not to be merely critical of two great historians, but to make the point that generally military historians of the high medieval period have a focus on northern Europe, to which this essay offers a mild corrective. By contrast there has been enormous interest in Italian military history after about 1250 with the production of some very distinguished work.4 This chapter seeks to examine: 1

The nature of the armies of the north Italian city-states as revealed in the sources for the period of about 30 years after 1183, and in the process to consider the context from which they arose. This will take into account   modern work in

  1 Even the close study of war in medieval Germany has been uncommon amongst English-language writers. A brilliant exception is D. S. Bachrach, Warfare in Medieval Germany (Woodbridge: Boydell, 2012).   2 J. F. Verbruggen, The Art of Warfare in Western Europe during the Middle Ages, trans. S. Willard and R. W. Southern of a 1954 Dutch original (Woodbridge: Boydell, 1997), 111–203, 144–147, 153–159.  3 P. Contamine, War in the Middle Ages, trans. M. Jones (Oxford: Blackwell, 1984).   4 M. Mallet, Mercenaries and Their Masters. Warfare in Renaissance Italy ((London: Bodley Head, 1974) to mention a classic work amongst many.

DOI: 10.4324/9781003146957-9

128  John France French and Italian, which has done much to clarify our knowledge of these societies. 2 To show that their armies, while they had their special characteristics, were essentially very similar to those of northern Europe. 3 To reveal the intensity and scale of the wars waged by these city states and to compare them with contemporary warfare in the north. The reality of the great Italian wars of the twelfth century was that, to a considerable extent, the German emperors were intervening in the strife of the Italian citystates which dominated the area. These native conflicts had many causes other than attitudes to imperial domination, most especially the anxiety of each city to control its contado, the land around it from which it drew food and other supplies. And warfare was not simply a result of rivalries between cities, but also of acute tensions within them. This becomes very obvious in the period of about 30 years at the turn of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. By the Peace of Constance of 1183 Barbarossa largely accepted his failure to enforce his sovereignty over the cities of Lombardy and accepted the claims of the cities to rule themselves and their contados.5 In 1188 he took the cross and in 1189 departed for the East, never to return.6 His successor, Emperor Henry VI, was not ineffective when he chose to intervene, but he was, for the most part, occupied elsewhere.7 The imperial coronation of Frederick II in November 1220 and his assertion of power in the Sicilian kingdom by the Capua Assize of the same year cast a long shadow on events in the Lombard plain, but his preoccupation with the crusade kept him busy elsewhere for some years.8 Yet this period of relative imperial indifference did not produce peace. For during these 30 years the plain of the Po was wracked by intense warfare. Intensity, of course, must be seen in a medieval context. Medieval states did not have the capacity for unremitting warfare, and as a result their hostilities were punctuated by truce, peace and intervals of little activity. This period of about 30 years provides, therefore, an opportunity to examine inter-city warfare and the armies which fought in it. The sources for in this period are quite plentiful and occasionally very explicit on the subject of how war was fought. The greatest of the cities, Milan, produced only some very brief annals for these years.9 However, the Chronicle of Piacenza   5 John K. Hyde, Society and Politics in Medieval Italy (New York: St Martins, 1973), 98–99.   6 On the crusade of Frederick Barbarossa see Graham A. Loud, ed., The Crusade of Frederick Barbarossa. The History of the Expedition of the Emperor Frederick and Related Texts (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2010).   7 ‘Henry VI’ in Clifford J. Rogers, ed., The Oxford Encyclopaedia of Medieval Warfare and Military Technology, 3 vols (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 2:258.   8 Michael Toch, “Welfs, Hohenstaufen and Hapsburgs” and David Abulafia, “The Kingdom of Sicily under the Hohenstaufen and Angevins,” in New Cambridge Medieval History 5 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 184, 502–503.  9 Annales Mediolanenses and Annales Mediolanenses breves, ed. G. H. Pertz, Monumenta Germaniae Historica, Scriptores, vol. 18 (Hannover, 1863), 357–382, 389–391 and Annales Mediolanenses Minores, ed. J. P. Jaffé, in MGH. SS 18: 383–402.

Thirty years of war  129 by Codagnellus, a notary of that city, who seems to have begun to write his history about 1222, presents us with a coherent narrative which is very focused on military matters. He was devoted to the alliance with Milan and as a consequence provides at least a partial history of the doings of that great city with which Piacenza was very closely aligned.10 It is very interesting that this writer rarely bothers to tell us why war broke out in this period, although he generally describes events in detail. He simply seems to regard war as a normal state of affairs. Sicard, bishop of Cremona (1185–1215), provides a viewpoint from the city most bitterly opposed to Milan and Piacenza, while the annals of Parma, its frequent ally, are often useful.11 Galvano Fiamma wrote an important history centred on his city of Milan, but this Dominican was writing in the fourteenth century and readers need to beware of his burning patriotism.12 The picture that emerges from studies of these cities is of composite and fractured entities. The claim of each city to its contado ultimately derived from the rights of the bishop over his diocese, but from the first many and various interested groups were clustered around the bishop. The cities were expanding and attractive places in the twelfth century. Piacenza profited from its position along the trade route from Genoa via Milan up into northern Europe. By the early thirteenth century a wide range of interest groupings had developed there. The Piacenzan sources speak of the popolo, sometimes described as pedites, and the nobles referred to as milites: the military nomenclature is very revealing of the militarization of outlook. But the reality was much more complex than this bipolar view. Amongst the popolo great merchants and bankers, gathered in the societatas mercatorum, cultivated close relations with Genoa and established outposts in places as far separated as Acre in the Holy Land and the fairs of Champagne. Below them the mercatura was made up of lesser merchants who might, however, aspire to higher things, and then there were the major and petty manufacturers, notably textile artisans, who in turn had waged employees.13 The nobles, who tended to retain estates and residences in the contado, gathered in the societas militum. They claimed to have noble Lombard or Frankish forbears, and it was this descent and blood which gave them their identity. However, many of them had large investments in trade and manufacturing, so they were not a totally separate group from the merchant class. Indeed, while the Piacenzan annals speak of the milites leaving the city over a new law demanded by the popolo, it has been noted that that some of the popolo leaders were in fact nobles, and that the quarrel, while it reflected class divisions, was actually indicative of factional struggles which

10 Iohanis Codagnelli, Annales Placentini, ed. O. Holder-Egger (MGH: Hannover, 1901). 11 Sicard of Cremona, Chronicon MPL 213, 529–540; G. H. Pertz, ed., Annales Parmenses Maiores, MGH SS XVIII: 664–790. 12 Gualvaneus de la Flamma, Chronicon maius, ed. A. Ceruti (Torino: Miscellanea di Storia Italiana 7, 1869). 13 Pierre Racine, Plaisance du X ème à la fin du XIIIème siècle, 3 vols (Paris: Diffusion, 1979–1980), 2: 713–720.

130  John France were far more complex.14 And in general a reasonable conclusion is that in any military conflict within the cities the nobles held the upper hand.15 Butler suggested long ago that in the face of the determination of the city people to assert their power over their contado, most nobles, isolated in their rural strongholds, preferred to come to arrangements.16 He relied heavily on the remarks of Otto of Freising that: ‘scarcely any noble or great man can be found in all the surrounding territories who does not acknowledge the authority of the city’.17 Quite apart from the attractions of city life, a powerful factor in such decisions was the simple fact that nobles as a group were torn by faction and jealousy. To stand out against the city was to invite attack from predatory peers. Nevertheless, great families, like the Montferrats, were strong enough to remain aloof, and so did a number of lesser houses down to the fourteenth century.18 But when noble families moved into the cities they did so on their own terms, because cities needed their leadership and fighting power in their struggles with rivals. There was a strong tendency for these country aristocrats to merge with the wealthy rich patricians who bought into their lifestyle by the purchase of rural properties.19 But to a degree the country nobles retained their sense of identity as a privileged group; as late as 1250 knights of long-standing families at Bologna retained tax exemptions.20 They often built towers, usually in the section of the city nearest to their lands. As early as 1088–1092 the archbishop of Pisa regulated the heights of such structures.21 Their fondness for feud and predatory squabbling certainly contributed to the instability of the cities.22 In a northern European context this would be referred to as the culture of violence which is integral to chivalry.23 However, they were never simply absentee landlords because their military supporters, knights and others, lived on their estates.24 Sometimes groups amongst the nobility of the contado chose to resist claims by the city people, and this could easily involve rival cities. Thus in 1191 some nobles

14 Codagnellus, Annales Placentini, 68–69; Racine, Plaisance 2: 748–754. 15 Racine, Plaisance 2:790–795. 16 William F. Butler, The Lombard Communes. A History of the Republics of North Italy (London: Fisher Unwin, 1906), 172–180. 17 Otto of Freising and Rahewin, The Deeds of Frederick Barbarossa, ed. C. C. Mierow (New York: Norton, 1966), 127. 18 William Caffero, “The Florentine Army in the Age of the Companies of Adventure,” Millars: Espai i historia 43 (2017), 132–136 [129–150]. 19 For an analysis of this process see G. Tabacco, “Northern and Central Italy in the Eleventh Century” and “Northern and Central Italy in the Twelfth Century,” in The New Cambridge Medieval History IV Part 2, eds. D. Luscombe and J. Riley-Smith (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 72–93 and 422–441 and M. Barber, The Two Cities. Medieval Europe, 1050–1320 (London: Routledge, 1992), 251–270. 20 Paolo Grillo, Cavalieri e popoli in armi. Le istituzioni militari nell’Italia medievale (Bari: Laterza, 2015), 148–149. 21 M. Ascheri, The Laws of Late Medieval Italy 1000–1500 (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 146. 22 E. Coleman, “Cities and Communes,” in Italy in the Central Middle Ages, ed. D. Abulafia (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004), 43 [27–56]. 23 R. W. Kaeuper, Chivalry and Violence in Medieval Europe (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999). 24 Jacques Heers, La città nel medioevo in Occidente. Paesaggi, poteri e conflitti (Milan, 1995), 227–232.

Thirty years of war  131 of the countryside around Brescia attempted to appeal to neighbouring Bergamo against the claims of Brescia to dominate them, and this drew in Cremona, which had its own grievances against Brescia, and it was joined by Pavia and Parma. In turn Piacenza and Milan supported Brescia and inflicted an enormous defeat on their enemies on the river Oglio, an event which the Cremonan bishop, Sicard, called the Malamort.25 Again, at Brescia in 1200 the milites fled the city in the face of the anger of the popolo, who had gathered together in the association called the Bruzellam. The nobles then allied with the ancient enemy, Cremona, and crushed the Bruzellam, and dominated the city. Although they and the Bruzellam reached a settlement in 1207, the whole affair demonstrated the sheer importance of the nobles who defeated the popolo in the open field and, in effect, blockaded the city.26 In practice the cities were led by nobles who, while distinctive in the city, retained their estates from which they drew their armed retainers. By the end of the twelfth century the milites of the sources were dominated by magnates who tended to merge with the urban patricians, and they led the 10–15% of the population who could afford to fight on horseback – essentially the rich of the city.27 So the armies of the cities, like those of northern Europe and elsewhere, were led by the traditional ruling class augmented by the greater non-nobles. In the mid-thirteenth century the cities legislated to require people to arm themselves according to their wealth, and we may suspect that this simply formalized an existing situation implied by the frequent association of great merchants and nobles who often had commercial enterprises and investments. The complex socio-political situation was particularly elaborate at Milan, where civil strife broke out in 1198. The artisans formed the credentia Sancti Ambrosii, but this was led by the great family of the Turriani.28 Another faction of rich commoners and some nobles gathered in la Motta, although the richest amongst the popolo seem to have inclined towards the societas capitaneorum et valvassorum, amongst whom a fighting elite of young men formed the Galiardi who appear as particular enemies of the credentia Sancti Ambrosii. Many of the popolo seem not to have followed the lead of the aggressive credentia, but formed a floating faction giving birth to the military society called the societas fortium, which was a counterpoise to the Galiardi.29 In 1205 the redential and the Galiardi had a fight without

25 Codagnellus, Annales Placentini, 19; Sicard, Chronicon, 530; Gualvaneus de la Flamma (Galvano Fiamma), Chronicon maius, ed. A. Ceruti (Torino: Miscellanea di Storia Italiana 7, 1869), 736 (506–784). 26 Codagnellus, Annales Placentini, 33. 27 Jean-Claude Maire-Vigueur, Cavalieri e cittadini. Guerra, conflitti e società nell’Italia comunale (Paris: Il Mulino, 2004), 107–109; Aldo A. Settia, Comuni in guerra. Armi ed eserciti nell’Italia delle città (Bologna: Clueb, 1993); Paolo Grillo, Cavalieri e popoli in armi. Le istituzioni militari nell’Italia medievale (Rome: Laterza, 2008), 109–128. 28 Flamma, Chronicon maius, 745. 29 François Menant, “La Transformation des Institutions et de la vie politique Milanaises au dernier age consulaire (1186–1216),” in Milano e il suo territorio in età comunale, Atti del XI congresso internazionale di studi sull’alto Medioevo (Milano 26–30 ottobre 1987), 2 vols (Spoleto, 1989), 1: 118–128 (113–144).

132  John France arms outside the city walls in an effort to resolve their differences, and afterwards elected six Podestàs between them to govern the city.30 This term, Podestà, demands some explanation.31 Down to the beginning of this period the cities had been ruled by Consuls, who were representative of the various interests in the city. Up to 1183 these factional tensions within the cities were moderated because all had a common interest in resisting imperial domination. When the empire ceased to threaten, the system of Consuls became unworkable as internal faction exploded: in the late eleventh century Landulphus Senior had remarked that internal conflict sprang up ‘whenever enemies on every side are lacking’.32 At the same time the city had to be governed. The result was the handing over of power to Podestàs, who were given extraordinary and wide-ranging authority. They were often foreigners with no connections in the city, the idea being that they would rule above faction. In practice they favoured the milites everywhere, reflecting the simple fact that, although there were periods of popular ascendancy, the nobles and their followings were the dominant forces within almost all cities.33 There were families whose members specialized in being Podestàs, and in a few cases cities became totally dominated by a great family. Azzo VI Marquise of Este (1170–1212) became Podestà of Mantua and Verona, while Azzo VII was granted the same office at Ferrara for life.34 The factional struggles in the cities were overlaid by and influenced the waging of external war. The nobles who were drawn into the cities had a warlike tradition which valued prowess above all virtues. This turbulent value system seems to have been communicated to the higher reaches of city society. The nobles were of value to the cities because of their military ability, but in turn this must have promoted war. Their fondness for ravaging other people’s lands and property, the cavalcate, made war a continuous process, and the internal tension this generated must have complicated peace-making.35 Throughout this period the cities of the Lombard Plain were basically divided amongst themselves along the lines assumed under Frederick Barbarossa. Those that had adhered to the former Lombard League, Milan, Piacenza, Brescia and some others faced a shifting coalition at the heart of which were Cremona, Parma,

30 Flamma, Chronicon maius, 752. 31 Lester K. Born, “What is the Podestà?” The American Political Science Review 21 (1927), 869– 871 [863–871]. 32 Landulphus Senior, Mediolanensis historiae libri quatuor, ed. A. Cutolo (Bologna: RIS, 1942), 63 cited by Aldo A. Settia, “Fanti e cavalieri in Lombardia (secoli XI–XII),” in Communi in Guerra. Armi ed eserciti nell’Italia delle città (Bologna: CLUEB, 1994), 93–114, trans. Valerie Eads, “Infantry and Cavalry in Lombardy (11th–12th Centuries),” Journal of Medieval Military History 6 (2008),64 [58–78]. 33 Menant, “La Transformation des institutions et de la vie politique Milanaises” 131–144; Hyde, Society and Politics in Medieval Italy, 100–103; Philip Jones, The Italian City-State. From Commune to Signoria (Oxford: Clarendon, 1997), 408–419. 34 Daniel P. Waley and Trevor Dean, Italian City Republics (London: Routledge, 2013), 40–44. 35 Maire-Vigueur, Cavaliers et citoyens, passim.

Thirty years of war  133 Pavia and Lodi, with occasional support elsewhere.36 These ‘imperial’ cities too had internal quarrels, and indeed Cremona was actually two cities, the inner and older of which was exclusively for the nobles and their dependents. The most common military activity was, as in northern Europe, raiding, aimed at forcing the enemy to a peace or some concession. It is easy to dismiss such activity as minor, but it was actually a highly effective strategy, damaging the enemy’s economy and undermining political loyalty. And raids were not necessarily small events. In 1189 Parma raided Piacenzan territory around Pontremoli, in what was probably an effort to break the important trade link between Piacenza and Genoa. This resulted in the dispatch of a Piacenzan force of ‘knights, foot and archers’ which killed many foot and captured ‘60 greater and lesser knights’ and ‘seized great booty including horses’.37 In May 1193 a major force of the allied cities of Pavia, Lodi, Cremona, Mantua and Bergamo attacked the contado of Milan, provoking the mobilization of the Milanese army, which was supported by 1,000 milites of Brescia and the same from Piacenza, and 1,000 archers and 100 knights from Novara and Vercelli. This force brought perriers and mangonels, which they used to destroy a fortified camp at Lodi Vecchio and went on to inflict a defeat upon their enemies, capturing 150 Cremonan knights ‘de societate Lupanorum’ and killing perhaps 600, including knights, many of whom drowned in the Adda.38 The use of fortified camps as bases for raids in an enemy contado is a very notable feature of this warfare between cities in this period. This in part explains why siege equipment was so commonly carried by raiding forces.39 Of course sieges of substantial places were also quite frequent, for much of the fighting was about their possession, especially as all the cities established fortified places at key points in their territories.40 Emperor Henry VI seems to have made a real effort to establish peace in the plain of the Po, and for three years, 1194–1197, this was successful, but in an effort to conciliate anti-imperial Piacenza he bestowed the key fortress of Borgo San Donnino upon her, to the detriment of imperialist Parma. On his death Parma promptly besieged Borgo San Donnino, and the Piacenzans brought out their carroccio, a sure sign of a major effort, but this provoked dissension within the city between popolo and milites. The siege clearly failed, because in 1199 Parma came again with support from Cremona, Verona and Mantua, but their camp was penetrated by an allied force of Milanese and Piacenzans. More forces, including those of Como, Brescia and the Marquis of Montferrat, were drawn into the conflict until in October 1199 Milan and her allies raised a major army to attack Castelnovo

36 Gianluca Raccagni, The Lomrad League 1167–1225 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010). 37 militum et peditum atque sagittariorum, Codagnellus, Annales Placentini, 18. 38 Codagnellus, Annales Placentini, 20–21. 39 John France, “Campements fortifies, sièges et engins de siège dans la vallée du Po au XIII siècle,” in Artillerie et Fortification 1200–1600, eds. N. Prouteau, E. de Crouy-Chanel and N. Faucherre (Rennes: Presses Universitaires de Rennes, 2011), 33–40.g. 40 Duane Osheim, “Rural Italy,” in Italy in the Central Middle Ages: 1000–1300, ed. D. Abulafia (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004), 164–167 [161–182].

134  John France Bocca d’Adda where the Cremonans and their allies had established a great camp fortified with carts and wooden towers, and garnished with perriers and trebuchets. The Milanese deployed their own trebuchets, mangonels and perriers and used wooden bridges to attack the camp, but suffered a major defeat, and soon after were forced to concede Borgo San Donnino.41 But this did not bring an end to fighting, because the Cremonans, emboldened by their success, now pressed their ancient claim to the city of Crema: in July 1201 they and their allies besieged Fiorenzuola d’Arda ‘with 2 mangonels and 8 perriers’ to no effect, but while they were so occupied Milan and Piacenza destroyed the army of their ally, Pavia, at the battle of Nigrino on 27 July, forcing this city, once the proud capital of Lombardy, to submit. This victory enabled Milan to pursue her ambitions to the west in Lomellina and elsewhere.42 In 1202 the warring parties in the Lombard Plain made peace. This was partly because Pope Innocent III (1198–1216) had launched a new effort to recover Jerusalem, which we know as the Fourth Crusade. He sent legates to northern Italy who pressed the warring parties to make peace in order to facilitate recruitment for the new crusade.43 This was far from a perfect peace. Piacenza fortified strong points and launched raiding expeditions against its lesser neighbours, while the imperialist cities and their enemies fought a proxy war in the civil strife which paralysed Brescia in these years. But the next and very long-lasting round of wars was provoked by external matters.44 The death of Henry VI in 1197 had precipitated a struggle in Germany between Philip of Swabia and Otto of Brunswick for the imperial crown. The success of Phillip and the prospect of another Hohenstaufen master prompted Milan in April 1208 to reconstitute the Lombard League which had so successfully defied Barbarossa. This was resisted by Cremona and caused bitter divisions in Brescia, which was the scene of major fighting. On 12 August Milan raised a huge army which included people from all over Italy to confront the whole force of Cremona at Pontevico. This phase of conflict was ended only by the death of Phillip of Swabia and the arrival of Otto on his way to coronation in Rome in 1209. Otto’s ambitions in south Italy led to his excommunication by Pope Innocent III, who espoused the cause of his rival, Frederick II of Hohenstaufen. Despite this, many of the cities allied with Milan who were traditionally anti-imperialist clung to Otto in hatred of a descendant of Barbarossa. When Frederick came north in 1212 on his way to claim his German inheritance, Milan and her allies did everything possible to block his journey, while the Pavians took the opportunity to resurrect their

41 Codagnellus, Annales Placentini, 23–26, Butler, Lombard Communes, 202; The terms used here are as given in the sources, but it is not always clear what the differences were between trebuchets, mangonels and perriers because there was little consistency of use, on which see John France, Western Warfare in the Age of the Crusades 1000–1300 (London: UCL Press, 1999), 118–124. 42 Codagnellus, Annales Placentini, 29–31; Sicard, Chronicon, 533–534. 43 Michael Angold, The Fourth Crusade (Pearson: Harlow, 2003). 44 Codagnellus, Annales Placentini, 31 and see earlier in this chapter.

Thirty years of war  135 independence, but suffered a heavy defeat.45 Writing from the perspective of the early fourteenth century the Milanese patriot Flamma proclaimed that it was during this period that the contending forces assumed the names Guelf for the church and Ghibelline for the empire. We need not give this too much credence. Imperial or papal support could help or hinder cities in their ambitions and enmities, but the hostilities essentially arose from rival interests rather than any ideological concerns.46 The Hohenstaufen revival sparked renewed conflict in the Po plain. In May 1213 Cremona brought out its carroccio, which essentially meant its full army, and established a strong camp at Castelleone 4 miles south-east of Crema. This further attempt to subordinate Crema provoked a major effort by Milan, which brought out its carroccio and dragged along the allied cities of Piacenza, Lodi, Brescia and Novara to attack the Cremonan camp on 2 June. They suffered a terrible defeat and the loss of the carroccio.47 The battle of Castelleone ushered in a crescendo of fighting amongst the cities. Milan and Piacenza repeatedly thrust south to devastate the lands of Pavia and to dominate the Po crossings and simultaneously to expand south-west into the Lomellina, which was frequently laid waste. Repeated attacks from Cremona and its allies could not prevent the establishment of strong outposts on the Po by the Milanese and the Piacenzans. The numerous mentions of trebuchets, mangonels and perriers being carried by these raiders suggests substantial forces and a readiness to attack strong places on both sides. The years 1214–1215 were particularly savage, with all the powers of the area dragged into the conflict, including the Montferrats, the counts of Sabaudia and the Marquises of Salucio. On 24 May 1215 Milan called up the milites and pedites of three gates and all those from the outside districts dependent upon them: this is an indication of a system of recruiting. The ‘gates’ were quarters of the city, called to service either individually or collectively, and it seems that particular areas outside the city were associated with each of them. They were joined by a similar force of Piacenzans, and they brought with them mangonels, perriers, cats and wooden towers which enabled them to capture the fortresses of Bosnasco, Negretto and Rovescala. The Cremonans took the opportunity to raid into their exposed contados with fire and sword. This was followed by more intense raiding and attempts by both sides to establish fortified camps in the lands of the other. Innocent III had by this time called Fourth Lateran Council, which was intended to provide great authority to his appeal for a new crusade, and most particularly to establish peace in Europe as a necessary precondition.48 However, his attempt to use the moral authority of Fourth Lateran to end the conflicts in this area failed dismally, and Piacenza and

45 Codagnellus, Annales Placentini, 40–41; for the full circumstances of the imperial conflict see Michael Toch, “Frederick II,” in The New Cambridge Medieval History, Vol. V: c. 1198–c. 1300, ed. David Abulafia (Cambridge University Press, 1999), 381–384. 46 Flamma, Chronicon maius, 746, 758. 47 Codagnellus, Annales Placentini, 43–44. 48 Andrew Jotischky, Crusading and the Crusader States (Harlow: Pearson, 2004), 176–184.

136  John France Milan were put under interdict. Hostilities were suspended during the appalling winter of 1216 when the River Po and food supplies froze.49 By May 1217 Piacenza and Milan were again on the march, but suffered a severe defeat at the hands of an alliance of Cremona and Parma at Pontenure, the Piacenzans losing 60 milites et pedites plus 300 scuderios et rusticos.50 Despite this, in May 1217 Pavia again submitted to Milan, but Cremona and her allies continued the war. The strain must have been considerable, not least because the sources report the use of archers and other foot soldiers brought in from the contados of Piacenza and Milan and their allies, and an ever-widening range of destruction by these forces. The death of Otto in May 1218 produced a truce between Piacenza and its enemies, Parma and Cremona, but this was made by a party of Piacenzan nobles and was disowned by the popolo who felt they were betraying the alliance with Milan. The treaty was overthrown, and in June 1218 Milan and Piacenza raised a great army around their carroccios and moved into Cremonan territory at Zibello ad Padum, where they attacked Parman and Cremonan forces in a strong encampment. Codagnellus is very coy about the resulting defeat, but the Parma chronicle makes it clear that the attack failed and that the carroccios of Milan and Piacenza were captured.51 On 15 November 1218 Cardinal Hugh of Ostia finally managed to broker a truce, perhaps because the strains of war were becoming very evident. In 1220 the milites of Piacenza left the city and a full-blown civil war broke out with a notable battle at the bridge of Trebbia on 8 March. As usual the popolo could triumph in the narrow streets of the city, but they could not impose their will on the countryside, while the milites strengthened their position by allying with Cremona. As a result the conflict dragged on until 1225 or 1226. The intensity and scale of warfare in this period is very notable. It is evident that the cities of Piacenza and Milan were being pressed very hard and that this was one cause of the civil strife which affected both of them at various times, although they were not alone in this. In both the citizens extended the obligation to military service into the countryside where areas were assigned to the ‘Gates’ of the city. References to knights recruited from beyond the city’s own territories are not uncommon, even on one occasion from all over Italy. In 1227 Genoa recruited mounted men from Lucca and parts of Tuscany as well as Lombardy, which suggests paid men. The fact is that the word ‘mercenary’ was uncommon because it was so pejorative.52 However, there can be little doubt that all the cities hired such men though as yet not at the level which became common in the fourteenth century. Armies for the most part were raised from the cities and their hinterlands.

49 Ibid., 48–53. 50 Ibid., 58–59; Sicard, Chronicon, 540. 51 Codagnellus, Annales Placentini, 65–67; Annales Parmenses Maiores, ed. G. H. Pertz, MGH SS XVIII: 664–790. 52 John France, “People Against Mercenaries. The Capuchins in Southern Gaul,” Journal of Medieval Military History 8 (2010), 7–8 [1–22].

Thirty years of war  137 In common with the rest of Europe, the milites formed the central component of the armies of the cities, though their personal equipment varied with income.53 Verbruggen and others have been sceptical of the quality of Italian knights, though they seem to have fought well against Germans at the battle of Carcano in 1160 and reasonably well at Legnano in 1176.54 It is certainly true that Italian cavalry performed rather poorly when the French intervened in Italy later in the thirteenth century.55 The knighting of city people in time of need certainly was scorned by Otto of Freising and others, but it was a cheap way of raising mounted troops.56 However, a greater cause of inconsistency may have been because cavalry included light horse, called cavalcatores or scutiferi (later often called berrovieri) who would have found it difficult to face up to properly equipped knights.57 The term scutifer in northern Europe was usually employed to mean a youth aspiring to knighthood, but in Italy denoted lightly armed horse soldiers of humble origins, largely drawn from the inhabitants of the noble estates of the contado.58 Such troops would have been very useful in the cavalcate, raiding and destruction, which formed the bulk of the fighting between the cities in the period under discussion. They were the equivalent of the mounted sergeants in French and Flemish armies to which Gilbert of Mons, for example, so frequently alludes.59 Verbruggen saw the infantry of the Italian city-states as presaging the steady foot of Bruges, who defeated the French at Courtrai in 1302, and believed that they cooperated well with their cavalry. This theme of well-trained infantry cooperating with mounted fellow-citizens has been developed considerably by Settia, who sees this as the hallmark of the armies of the Italian city-states that gave both of them remarkable efficiency.60 Infantry raised from the city militias were usually equipped with helmets, hauberks and shields for defence, and a pike or bow for offence. Bowmen are often identified as a separate component. These may be crossbowmen, as the mention of scuderios (shield-bearers) suggests, and perhaps 53 Aldo A. Settia, “I Milanesi in guerra: Organiezazione militare e tecnicho di combattimento,” Atti, Congresso Internazionale di Studi sull’Alto Medio Evo 11 (1989), 275–285. 54 Verbruggen, Art of Warfare in Western Europe during the Middle Ages, 145, 145; J. France, “The Battle of Carcano: The Event and Its Importance,” War in History 6 (1999), 245–261; “Italy,” in The Oxford Encyclopedia of Medieval Warfare and Military Technology, ed. C. J. Rogers, 3 vols (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 2:400; “Legnano,” in Oxford Encyclopedia of Medieval Warfare 2: 499–500. 55 Notably at the battles of Benevento (1266) and Tagliacozzo (1268): J. France, Western Warfare in the Age of the Crusades (London: UCL Press, 1999), 178–183. 56 Waley and Dean, Italian City-Republics, 24. 57 Settia, Comuni in guerra, esp. 91–114, 149–152, 193–195. 58 François Menant, “Les écuyers (« scutiferi »), vassaux paysans d’Italie du Nord au XIIe siècle,” Publications de l’École Française de Rome 44 (1980), 285–297. 59 Gislebert de Mons, Chronique, ed. L. Vanderkindere (Bruxelles: Kiessling, 1904) trans. L. Napran (Woodbridge: Boydell, 2005) makes very frequent mention of them, sometimes as light cavalry. See, for example, chapters 114, 120, 126 143, 148, 150. 60 Verbruggen, Art of Warfare, 144–145; Settia, “Fanti e cavalieri in Lombardia (secoli XI–XII),” in Communi in Guerra, trans. Valerie Eads, “Infantry and Cavalry in Lombardy (11th–12th Centuries),” Journal of Medieval Military History 6 (2008), 64.

138  John France sometimes they were mounted. Verbruggen seems to base his belief in the cooperation of horse and foot in the communal armies on events at the battle of Legnano. This seems a rather thin basis for the assertion, but Settia produces convincing evidence to suggest that the foot of the cities were trained in mock battles and that this added to the communal spirit to make them truly steady soldiers.61 However, in view of Settia’s own comments about the ‘grave discord’ between infantry and cavalry in the same article we may be doubtful about his view of them fighting in friendly cooperation with their mounted brethren.62 However, it is difficult to see how the constant warfare of this period could have been sustained, often in quite elaborate operations, without some degree of the discipline such training would have produced. On campaign these armies were supported by non-combatants, rusticos, whose essential task must have been doing domestic tasks, making camps and preparing siege material. In general, little is said about logistics, perhaps because fighting took place in a relatively limited theatre where distances were fairly short, and within which a rich agriculture could provide sustenance. Those who served in war all received some degree of financial support from their cities, and knights always sought compensation for horses lost in combat. In general military service in expeditions and garrisoning of fortifications would not have been pressing because the ‘Gates’ of the cities took it in turn to serve.63 However, during the period under consideration the frequency of expeditions must have been onerous, and the sheer cost coming on top of this helps to explain the outbursts of internal conflict. Sieges, including attacks on fortified camps, were common in the fighting, and armies in consequence carried siege machinery on their expeditions. Because of this military engineering became highly developed in the cities, and professionals accompanied the armies.64 The size of medieval armies is always a difficult question. A late thirteenthcentury source suggests that Milan had a population of 200,000 and was capable of raising 10,000 cavalry and 40,000 foot to which the contado could add another 30,000.65 This evidence relates to a latter period and would have involved a levy of 25% of the total population of the city itself, which seems unlikely. By comparison the battle of Bouvines between France and an alliance of England, Germany and the Low Countries was fought by 7,000 on each side.66 Many of the 61 Settia, “I giochi militari e l’addestramento delle fanterie,” in Comuni in Guerra, 29–52, trans. Valerie Eads, “Military Games and the Training of Infantry,” Journal of Medieval Military History 11 (2013), 1–24. 62 Ibid., 31 and trans. 3. 63 Jones, Italian City-State, 385–390. 64 Settia, Communi in Guerra, 288–306. 65 Contamine, War in the Middle Ages, 117. 66 John France, “The Battle of Bouvines 27 July 1214,” in The Medieval Way of War. Studies in Medieval Military History in Honor of Bernard S. Bachrach, ed. Gregory L. Halfond (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2015), 257, 259 [251–272]; Dominique Barthélemy, La Bataille de Bouvines (Paris: Perrin, 2018), 89–95. The figures given in both these recent works are based on Jan F. Verbruggen, The Art of Warfare in Western Europe during the Middle Ages, trans. Sumner Willard and R. W. Southern of a 1954 original in Dutch (Woodbridge: Boydell, 1997), 241–247.

Thirty years of war  139 conflicts noted in this article were raids, but many of these seem to have been on a large scale.67 When a city called out its carroccio it meant that a major effort was being made. As a result, a major defeat, like the Malamort of 1191, must have been devastating. It is impossible to be in any way precise on the total size of armies or the proportion of horse to foot, but for a city with a population of about 200,000 an army of 7,000 would have been a major effort representing over 14% of the total males of the city, amongst whom a large number must have been children or the elderly or clergy. However, a city could usually draw on the manpower of its contado or, if it had the means, hire mercenaries, of which there were plenty in Italy. It is worth noting that by the early fourteenth century Florence, as Contamine has indicated, could afford 1,500 mercenary horse, but, of course, this was more than a century later. Alliances would have produced much bigger armies again. So it may be that some armies in this period were very large because pacts, like that between Milan and Piacenza, were common. However, even after defeats like Castelleone in 1213 the defeated cities did not immediately drop out of conflict, and indeed this disaster for Milan produced an upsurge in violence. 68 The armies of the Italian cities, therefore, showed a remarkable resilience, and it may be that because fighting took place in a small theatre individuals could escape more easily, and the elite could do so by ransom and so be available soon after for further fighting. In general, the armies of the Italian cities were organized in much the same way as those of other powers with the nobles at the helm.69 When a very large force was called out the forces of a city rallied around a wagon, the carroccio, bearing all its standards and guarded by elite soldiers.70 What was different about this warfare was the frequent use of strong camps whose establishment often provoked siege and very heavy fighting.71 Northern European armies did sometimes establish camps. At the siege of Château Gaillard, which lasted from August 1203 to March 1204, Philip II of France (1180–1223) established a quite elaborate camp and deployed all the kinds of siege engines which appear in Italy.72 His son Louis invaded England in 1216 and established a strong camp around Dover Castle.73 But this was unusual. 67 Maire Vigueur, Cavaliers et citoyens, 360 suggests that the milites often raided simply for loot rather than any policy objective, in accordance with their culture. However, in the period under consideration here war was on a much bigger scale and for wider purposes, although loot is frequently mentioned as a token of success. 68 See earlier in this chapter, 135. 69 John France, Western Warfare in the Age of the Crusades, 1000–1300 (London: UCL Press, 1999), 39–52. 70 H. Z. Tucci, “Il carrocio nella vita communale Italiana,” Quellen und Forschungen aus italienischen Archiven und Bibliotheken 65 (1985), 1–104. 71 France, ‘Campements fortifies’ passim. 72 Oeuvres de Rigord et de Guillaume le Breton, ed. H.-Francois Delaborde 2 vols (Paris: Renouard, 1885), 2:218–219. 73 Sean McGlynn, Blood Cries Afar (Stroud: Spellmount, 2011), 176–180.

140  John France It is likely that the Italian cities used camps because the plain of the Po is flat, all-round visibility is not good and the horizon is close. In addition, it is cut by rivers and canals. Creating really strong camps was, therefore, prudent. The use of camps suggests that expeditions were fairly carefully planned, rather than mere plundering sallies. The frequent establishment of such field fortifications partly explains why expeditions, even when the carroccio was not called out, took heavy siege equipment. But, of course, these engines could also be used against more permanent fortifications which were the object of most expeditions. Many of these were probably earthworks because stone castles are remarked upon as though they were exceptional, and this may explain the constant success of sieges, which would be unusual elsewhere. However, the same castles keep being destroyed and besieged again, which suggests that decisive victory and occupation was difficult, probably because the cities and alliances of cities were very evenly matched. The warfare of this period was, by medieval standards, very intense: year by year and month by month the cities fought, and fought on despite defeats. The often indecisive results were probably the result of the even balance of forces which alliances and defections from alliances could produce. The armies which so enthusiastically ravaged the rich Lombard plain were not notably different from those of other parts of Western Europe. The frequent wars between the cities produced a dependence on nobles who alone could provide effective military leadership and the efficient fighting power embodied in their knightly retinues. As in other parts of Europe the knights were supplemented by light cavalry. Moreover, when the cities needed more infantry than could be provided within their walls, they were drawn from the peasantry of the noble estates who were integrated into their ‘gates’. Frequent reference to mercenaries shows that some cities, at least, had considerable means at their disposal. The military importance of the nobles meant that cities had to tolerate their cult of violence and the factionalism to which they were prone. War in Italy, as elsewhere, was largely a matter of ravaging and sieges, though major cities were rarely attacked directly. In Italy the armies employed field fortifications more regularly and on a larger scale than elsewhere and perhaps because of this deployed artillery more frequently. This quite possibly contributed to the reputation of city infantry who often had to fight behind these field fortifications. Since artillery was very expensive it suggests how considerable the wealth of the cities was. But perhaps what is most remarkable about this period is the ability of the cities, whose wealth depended on trade and communication, to sustain warfare on a scale so substantial that we would regard it as so disruptive to the very basis of their power. Given that their fighting methods were not different from those of northern Europe a comparison with a contemporary northern war is interesting. When Richard I of England returned home in 1194 after a long absence on crusade and in German prisons, he began a war to recover land lost to the French king during his absence. This, like the fighting in the Po valley, was largely a matter of raids and sieges conducted in a fairly limited theatre on the Norman-French

Thirty years of war  141 frontier.74 And like the Italian wars it was very intense. After Richard’s death the war was renewed early in the reign of King John (1199–1216), who lost Normandy, and when his attempt to recover it was defeated at Bouvines in 1214 England was invaded by the French prince Louis, who claimed the English throne. And once again sieges and raids were the main substance of war until the battle of Lincoln in 1217, itself arising out of a siege, which ended the conflict under John’s son Henry III (1216–1272).75 This great Anglo-French war involved naval conflicts, but there were only three battles in a period of warfare slightly shorter but broadly comparable in intensity with the events in Italy discussed here. But they exhausted the English kingdom and thrust it into civil war. By contrast the Italian cities, despite a positive crescendo of war and several battles, went on to flourish later in the thirteenth century.

74 John Gillingham, “Richard I and the Science of War in the Middle Ages,” in War and Government in the Middle Ages, eds. James C. Holt and John Gillingham (Woodbridge: Boydell, 1984), 78–79, reprinted in John France, ed., Medieval Warfare 1000–1300 (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2006), No. 15. 75 Stephen D. Church, King John, England, Magna Carta and the Making of a Tyrant (London: Macmillan, 2015); McGlynn, Blood Cries Afar tells the story of the French invasion of England in 1216–17.

9

The role of captives in peacemaking Yvonne Friedman

Historians usually treat captivity as an aspect of military history, as one possible outcome of warfare. But prisoners of war also had links to, and were part of, peacemaking. In the medieval Middle East and in Muslim–Christian diplomatic relations generally, the need to free captives was often the first reason or pretext for peacemaking endeavors. Freeing one’s comrades who were in enemy hands could be seen as a valid reason for making an agreement, a pretext necessary in societies that saw holy war as their honorable occupation and peacemaking as something that had to be explained.1 Captives served not only as “human cattle,”2 a precious commodity that could function as a bargaining chip in negotiating a treaty but could also take an active role in peacemaking. These roles, which have been less dwelt on by historians, included contributing to peacemaking through cultural mediation that helped to bridge the gulf of mistrust between enemies, and sometimes also through active diplomacy in the context of treaty-making. This chapter first treats what can be defined as the passive roles of captives in negotiations for captive exchanges that preceded peacemaking. It then provides examples of how captives served as cultural mediators. It concludes with the lessexamined roles of captives in active diplomacy. The arena is the medieval Middle East, but as this was a meeting place for different cultures and religions – Muslims and Christians in the Early Middle Ages, and even the Mongols in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries – the result was a melting pot of different mores, with the captives moving, and sometimes bridging differences, between the parties and languages.

Prelude to peacemaking: captives as a precious commodity In the context of the frontier (thugur) warfare between the Byzantine and Abbasid empires in the Early Middle Ages (seventh–tenth centuries) a tradition of captive exchanges developed, often conducted by the local commanders or rulers. These

  1 Yvonne Friedman, “How to End Holy War? Negotiations and Peace Treaties between Muslims and Crusaders in the Latin East,” Common Knowledge 21/1 (2015), 83–103.   2 John Gillingham, “Christian Warriors and the Enslavement of Fellow Christians,” in Chevalerie et christianisme aux XIIe et XIIIe siècles, eds. Martin Aurell and Catalina Girbea (Rennes, 2011), 237–256 (here 237).

DOI: 10.4324/9781003146957-10

The role of captives in peacemaking  143 exchanges were described by the Muslim chroniclers, who emphasized their official character, the value of the captives, and the importance of the mediators who were explicitly named. The captives’ ranks and prices were enumerated in detail, and the events of the exchanges that often took place at the Lamos River were apparently prestigious public events. Contacts and negotiations of some sort between the belligerents made these exchanges possible, but even as captive exchanges became almost a regular ritual after a ceasefire they did not exclude a possible second round of fighting and were therefore not automatically a prelude to peace.3 Nonetheless, almost every treaty between the Christian and Muslim empires included either captive exchanges or ransom of captives when captives were unmatched in number or rank.4 Thus, even if not every captive exchange brought stable peace in its wake, nearly every treaty included an exchange of captives. In northern Syria, where the Seljuq empire dissolved into almost independent emirates in the eleventh century, organized captive exchanges were less common, but ransom of captives was part of treaties.5 In Fatimid Egypt and their Levantine territories it was so common that a set minimum price for a captive was the norm.6 When the Crusaders arrived in the Middle East they were at first unwilling to take responsibility for their comrades who fell into captivity or conduct captive exchanges, but they gradually learned the local mores and, in the thirteenth century, captives were part of Frankish–Mamluk peace treaties and alliances.7 Captives could be bestowed as a diplomatic gift to the enemy ruler, part of opening negotiations, similar to the use of costly garments, jewelry, exotic animals, or other valuables. In such cases, captives served as a commodity, evaluated by their number and worth. The recipient was supposed to reciprocate with a comparable gift, thereby establishing first contact between the enemies. The negotiations that followed this initial contact usually included larger exchanges of captives, as mentioned earlier. In contrast to exchanges, only limited numbers of captives were presented as diplomatic gifts; these usually included the more valuable captives for whom special negotiations were often required. These gifts were instrumental to foreign policy and diplomatic maneuvering and created a framework for

 3 Al-Tabari, Ta’rikh al-rusul wa’l muluk: The History of Tabari, vol. 30, trans. C. E. Bosworth (Albany, 1989); vol. 34, trans. J. Kraemer (Albany, 1989); vol. 38, trans. F. Rosenthal (Albany, 1985); Ahmad ibn Ali al-Maqrizi, Kitáb al-Mawâ’iz wa-l-I`tibâr fi dhikr al-khitat wa-l-â thâr yakthtassu dhâlika bi akhbâr iqlîm Misr wa-l-Nil wa dhikr al-Qâhira wa mv yata`allaqu bihâ w-bi-iqlimihâ (Cairo, 1853), extracts translated by Maria Campanolo-Pohitou, “Les échanges de prisonniers entre Byzance et l’Islam aux IXe et Xesiècles,” Journal of Oriental and African Studies 7 (1995), 11–21; Yvonne Friedman, Encounter between Enemies: Captivity and Ransom in the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem (Leiden, 2002), 33–54.  4 Friedman, Encounter between Enemies, 36–38, 48–54.   5 James David Wilson, “Diplomacy, Warfare and Conquest: The Political World of Bilad al-sham Prior to and During the Early Crusading Period 442–522/1050–1128,” PhD Dissertation (University of London, 2019), chapter 6. I thank James Wilson for letting me read his thesis prior to publication.  6 Friedman, Encounter between Enemies, 44–47.   7 Friedman, Encounter between Enemies, 19–32, 76–89.

144  Yvonne Friedman compromise, dialogue, and even cooperation.8 Using captives as diplomatic gifts was usual in the early Fatimid and Abbasid courts and was fitting in societies where people had a price, from the price of an individual on the slave market to the worth of a noble warrior or prince. Captives were worth more than slaves and in the tenth and eleventh centuries there were set prices for captives that rose according to rank.9 The Crusaders, who came from societies in which slavery was not economically profitable, had to learn those mores, but they were pleasantly surprised to receive important captives as presents and soon learned the worth of important captives, both their own and their enemies’. In these cases, captives were abstract, tradable resources that could be accepted, exchanged, or distributed depending on political exigencies. They provided monarchs with the means to meet the obligations of peace treaties (as tribute payments), to reward followers, and to gain prestige.10 Their passive role as a commodity in treaty negotiations has long been recognized, with their numbers sometimes even determining the duration of a truce. Thus, in 1319 James II of Aragon instructed his ambassadors to adjust the length of the truce to be granted to the Muslim prince of Tlemcen according to the number of captives he was willing to release: a ten-year pact in exchange for the liberation of two or three hundred captives, but two or three years if only 50 Christians were freed.11 But both contemporary sources and historical analysis frame the captives’ role as passive. When the captive was a highborn prince or even a king, he could take a more active role, even though he was only part, but not necessarily the initiator, of negotiations on the price of peace. In the first Crusader generation, its leaders took pride in their steadfast refusal to trade important captives for territorial assets. Gervase of Bazoches was cruelly and publicly executed in Damascus in 1108 when Baldwin I refused to ransom him for cities already conquered by the Crusader army.12 Perhaps the most famous case of such a failed negotiation was Conrad of Montferrat’s refusal to save his elderly father; through this means Saladin had hoped to force Conrad to surrender Tyre after the surrender of most of the Latin Kingdom in the wake of the Battle of Hattin (July 1187).13 According to the Eracles continuation of William of Tyre, Conrad’s response was a firm refusal to give even a stone of Tyre to free his father: “Tie him to a stake and I shall be the   8 Friedman, Encounter between Enemies, 147–148.  9 Friedman, Encounter between Enemies, 44–47, and passim. 10 Jarbel Rodriguez, “Captivity and Diplomacy in the Late Medieval Crown of Aragon,” in Center and Periphery: Studies on Power in the Medieval World in Honor of William Chester Jordan, eds. Katherine L. Jansen, Guy. Geltner and Anne E. Lester (Leiden, 2013), 107–117. 11 James W. Brodman, “Captives or Prisoners: Society and Obligation in Medieval Iberia,” Anuario de historia de la Iglesia 20 (2011), 201–219 (here 218). Medieval Iberia was another Christian– Muslim meeting point. 12 Albert of Aachen, Historia Hierosolymitana 10.56–57, ed. and trans. Susan B. Edgington (Oxford, 2007), 770. 13 For Conrad’s career in the Holy Land, see David Jacoby, “Conrad, Marquis of Montferrat, and the Kingdom of Jerusalem (1187–92),” in Atti del Congresso internazionale “Dai feudi Monferrini e dal Piemonte ai nuovi mondi oltre gli oceani,” ed. Laura Balletto (Alessandria, 1993), 187–238.

The role of captives in peacemaking  145 first to shoot at him. For he is too old and is hardly worth anything.”14 Saladin was shocked by this cruel answer which fit a newcomer to the Latin East who had the same set of values as the first Crusaders, but in fact Conrad’s set of priorities saved Tyre and made the Third Crusade and the Second Kingdom possible. In contrast to Conrad, the vanquished king Guy de Lusignan, who lost his kingdom at the Battle of Hattin and became Saladin’s captive, negotiated his freedom by persuading the burgesses of Ascalon to surrender the city for his freedom: Sirs, Saladin has said that if I will surrender the city to him he will let me go. It would not be right for such a fine city to be surrendered for just one man, so if you think that you can hold Ascalon for the benefit of the Christians and for Christendom do not surrender it. But if you do not think you can hold it, I beg you to surrender it and deliver me from captivity.15 Ascalon was traded for the captive king’s freedom. The chronicler juxtaposes the two stories in one chapter and, although he explains that Ascalon had no hope of standing against Saladin and that Guy was in fact freed together with ten important captives of his choice, it is clear that the chronicler here critically contrasts the king’s behavior with Conrad’s harsher, but more successful, policy. Despite Guy’s active role in these negotiations, he still remained only a commodity, albeit a valuable one, in peace negotiations. This use of a former ruler taken captive to pressure his domains to surrender was not Saladin’s invention. Apparently, it was a well-known Seljuq strategy. Already in 1106, after defeating Jokermesh of Mosul and taking him captive, Jawuli Saqāo tried the same tactic. When Jawuli subsequently besieged Mosul, he “gave orders that Jokermesh should be brought out every day on a mule and that he should call upon his men in Mosul to surrender the city.”16 When the inhabitants elected not to surrender, Jokermesh became worthless to Jawuli and subsequently died after being imprisoned in harsh conditions.17 Saladin also used this tactic to achieve surrender of territories with varying degrees of success. Saladin brought Reynald of Sidon before the castle of Beaufort and tortured him until he asked the defenders to surrender, but this was done by treachery and breaking a safe conduct promised to Reynald by Saladin. In compensation, he allowed Reynald to remain lord of Sidon.18 After Louis IX negotiated his release in Egypt following the battle of Mansura, he explained that although he was unable to offer

14 La continuation de Guillaume de Tyr (1184–1197), ed. Margaret R. Morgan (Paris, 1982), 62; Friedman, Encounter between Enemies, 89–90. 15 La continuation de Guillaume de Tyr, 62. Translation by Peter W. Edbury, The Conquest of Jerusalem and the Third Crusade: Sources in Translation (Aldershot, 1996), 54. 16 Ibn al Athir, al-Kāmil fi’l-ta’rīkh, 10:424 ed. C. J. Tornberg (Leiden, 1851, repr. Beirut, 1966); trans. by Donald S. Richards, The Chronicle of Ibn al-Athir for the Crusading Period, Part 1 (Aldershot, 2006), 113. 17 Wilson, “Diplomacy, Warfare and Conquest,” 343. 18 La continuation de Guillaume de Tyr, 70.

146  Yvonne Friedman any castles or territories in the Holy Land, he was willing to surrender Damietta, which he himself had conquered, and also paid an enormous sum to free the other captives. A royal captive could therefore assume a more active role in negotiations, but was still in the hands of, and totally dependent on, his captor.19

Captives as cultural brokers or sources of information Whereas the more passive situations associated with captivity and ransom have been dealt with quite extensively in recent decades,20 less attention has been devoted to how skills acquired in captivity led to captives taking on active roles as translators and mediators. Placement of captives themselves in the center in recent historiography may also lead to better appreciation of their contribution to their new surroundings and of their active role in peacemaking. The subtitle of Catherine M. Cameron’s recent book on captives and how they fueled social change in small societies, How Stolen People Changed the World, points to this direction in future work on captives.21 Although captives might play a decisive role in transferring cultural concepts to their new host societies, in the case of female captives especially it was taken for granted that they would adopt the mores of their new environment and consign their former religion and culture to oblivion. In one of his anecdotes Usamah ibn Munqidh tells of a captive servant girl who was given to the ruler of Grabar and subsequently became the mother of the next regent. Usamah was shocked that following her husband’s demise, she preferred to run away and become the wife of a Christian cobbler rather than stay on as the regent’s mother. According to Usamah, she was the real power behind her son, although he had “come of age.” Is it feasible that the mother exercised no cultural influence on her son? We can surmise that if those were her priorities and she preferred to return to her former Christian society even though it meant losing her social standing, she probably left her imprint on her offspring, the new ruler.22 Sometimes it is possible to pinpoint the contribution made to peacemaking through the transfer of cultural knowledge. Thus, Albert of Aachen describes how a captive wife instructed her husband, a Turkish knight, whom to approach and what gestures were needed to make an alliance or treaty with the Franks, namely to extend one’s right hand (1097). The ruler of Azaz, who had made earlier overtures through known diplomatic channels without any success, took this advice

19 Jean sire de Joinville, Histoire de Saint Louis: Credo et lettre à louis IX, ed. and trans. Natalis de Wailly (Paris, 1874), #340, # 342. 20 John Gillingham, “The Treatment of the Defeated c. 950–c. 1350: Historiography and the State of Research,” https://www.academia.edu/779331/The_treatment_of_the_defeated_c_950_c_1350_ historiography_and_the_state_or_research; Yvonne Friedman, “Captives and Prisoners of War,” in The Oxford Handbook of Military History, eds. John France et al. (in press). 21 Catherine M. Cameron, Captives: How Stolen People Changed the World (Lincoln, NE, 2016). 22 Usama ibn Munqidh, The Book of Contemplation: Islam and the Crusades, trans. Paul M. Cobb (London, 2008), 142–143.

The role of captives in peacemaking  147 and approached Godfrey of Bouillon; this time the alliance was made and sealed by giving a hostage, a guarantee known to both sides.23 Similar tips were probably given in other cases too. Another area in which knowledge of mores played a role was in the ratification of treaties by oath. The Western way of invoking divine surety for the keeping of the treaty was to take an oath on holy relics and to give the right hand. For their part, the Muslims demanded an oath that was in fact a declaration of faith, an oath in the name of what was holy to the person uttering the oath, as well as an intricate list of the beliefs that he was perjuring if he failed to keep his word. Such a list, drawn up for each treaty individually, necessitated a knowledge of the Other’s beliefs and mores. This knowledge was often obtained through captives who were not necessarily great theologians but knew at what things his coreligionists would balk, such as eating pork for Muslims or trampling the cross for Christians.24 After the final fall of the Latin Kingdom, Roger of Stanegrave, who was held in captivity in Mamluk Egypt for several decades before being ransomed, wrote an extensive description of his life in captivity.25 He dedicated the book to Edward III in hopes of sparking a new crusade. As he had been an ambassador of Edward I in Acre and a Hospitaller brother before his captivity, he was able to provide information not only on how to plan a new crusade, but also on how to deal with the Mamluks in more peaceful circumstances, diplomacy, and conditions in Mamluk Egypt. The need for cultural information was especially prominent when the Western Christians tried to connect to the Mongols and sometimes even make treaties with them. If the Eastern, Muslim cultures were alien to the Crusaders, knowledge of the “Tatars” was shrouded in fearsome fables and total misunderstanding. Nevertheless, most European knowledge about the Mongols was derived from captives. Franciscan and Dominican friars who were sent as diplomatic envoys, missionaries, and spies learned from captives not only about their everyday life and situation but also the mores of their captors. Often this information was given in the hope that the captives’ assistance might contribute to a future military campaign through which they could gain their freedom, but the information was also a basis for more peaceful contacts.26 In the prologue to John of Plano Carpini’s Ystoria Mongalorum the author states: 23 Albert of Aachen, Historia Hierosolymitana 5.7–8. 24 Yvonne Friedman, “Learning the Religious Concepts of the Other: Muslim-Christian Treaties in the Latin East,” in Religion and Peace: Historical Aspects, ed. Yvonne Friedman (Abingdon, 2018), 67–83; Benjamin Z. Kedar, “Religion in Catholic-Muslim Correspondence and Treaties,” in Diplomatics in the Eastern Mediterranean, 1100–1500, eds. Alexander D. Beihammer, Maria G. Parani and Christopher D. Schabel (Leiden, 2008), 407–421. Joinville, Histoire de Saint Louis, #360–362. 25 Roger of Stanegrave, “L’Escarboucle d’armes de la conquête précieuse de la Terre saints de promission,” in Projets de croisade, ed. Jacques Paviot (Paris, 2008), 293–387. Roger fell into captivity at Homs in 1281 and was ransomed in 1315. 26 Gregory G. Guzman, “European Captives and Craftsmen among the Mongols, 1231–1255,” Historian 72 (2010), 122–150.

148  Yvonne Friedman we have seen everything with our own eyes, for during a year and four months and more we travelled about both through the midst of them and in company with them and we were among them, or have heard it from Christians who are with them as captives and are, so we believe, to be relied upon.27 The information included explanations of the Mongol religion and habits, but also descriptions of a coronation and the diplomatic envoys sent to take part in the celebrations. It contained tips, such as the presents offered as tribute to the Mongol ruler, that could be useful in future negotiations.28 The Mongols employed captives as craftsmen and domestic slaves, but also as translators. Thus, the Ilkhan was able to send letters written in Latin to the pope, whereas Western rulers did not usually have parallel linguistic knowledge available at their courts.29 If in the Latin Kingdom the royal courts and the Military Orders had in their service scribes who knew the languages needed to confer with the Muslims, this did not extend to Mongolian.30 Many of these translators were former captives whose linguistic proficiency in both their mother tongue and that of their new surroundings enabled them to reach high positions.

Captives as active mediators and diplomats Because noble captives often spent long periods in captivity – as they were worth their upkeep to the captor in hope of fetching a high ransom or being used as a trump card – they usually learned the language and mores of the enemy and could therefore serve not just as translators but also as mediators. Although their l­ inguistic skills were required by the Latin Kingdom, they suffered from their compatriots’ suspicion regarding their conduct in captivity; thus, they did not enjoy the automatic trust of their former compatriots. Not just captives who had converted to save their lives or improve their conditions in captivity were seen as traitors, even steadfast captives who had managed to retain their former identities might be suspected of seeking to better their conditions and therefore of not being impartial mediators. Although translators were much in demand, their linguistic skills were not a source of pride, because of the circumstances in which they acquired this 27 Christopher Dawson, The Mongol Mission: Narratives and Letters of the Franciscan Missionaries in Mongolia and China in the Thirteenth and Fourteenth Centuries (New York, 1955), 3–4; Guzman, “European Captives,” 129. 28 Na’ama O. Arom, “Arrowheads of Hülegü Khan: Envoys and Diplomacy in His Invasion of the Middle East, 1255–1262,” New Approaches to Il-Khanid History, eds. Timothy May, Christopher Atwood and Bayarsaikhan Dashdondog (Leiden: Brill, 2021), 249–271 (esp. 259–267); Naʿama O. Arom, “‘In-Ger’ and ‘Outer’ Diplomacy: Ilkhanid Contacts with the Mongols and the Outside World, 1260–1282,” Eurasian Studies 17 (2019), 286–309 (here 294–300). 29 Arom, “Arrowheads of Hülegü Khan,” 268–269. 30 The Master, the Seneschal, the Commander of the Kingdom of Jerusalem, the Commander of the City of Jerusalem, and the Commanders of the lands of Tripoli and Antioch all had an escrivain sarazinois in their retinue. See La règle du Temple, ed. Henri de Curzon (Paris, 1886, repr. 1977), §77, 75; §99, 86–87; §110, 94; §120, 100; and §125, 102.

The role of captives in peacemaking  149 language. William of Tyre describes the choice of a mediator only because of his linguistic skills: For this mission [peace negotiations with Anar of Damascus, 1147] was selected a man of rather doubtful repute (qui suspectus habebatur), who, once before, on a similar errand, had acted disloyally toward the people of Christ. Yet because of his familiarity with the language of the Turks (lingue commercium), this mission also was entrusted to him. In the response to the injunction that he should faithfully perform the duty laid upon him, he is reported to have said: “The suspicions against me are unjust and far beyond anything that I have deserved; yet I will go. But if I am guilty of the charges brought against me, may I not be permitted to return; or rather, may I perish, by the sword of the enemy.” The wretched man had pronounced his own sentence of death and soon experienced the judgement of God, for before he reached the Turks and accomplished his mission he perished at the hand of the enemy.31 One might have thought that his sad end would have exonerated the messenger of doubts regarding his sincerity, but apparently the suspicions against him were so strong that even the fact that he was killed by the enemy was not sufficient and could be in hindsight explained as God’s wrath against a potential traitor. The task of mediator was not a very safe occupation, even though envoys to diplomatic negotiations were usually granted safe conducts. Captives who converted while in captivity and were able to rise to importance in their new surroundings were naturally frowned upon as traitors by their former coreligionists. But even they were sometimes used in diplomatic missions. Converts to Islam did at times go back to Christian territories as envoys or to negotiate prisoner releases, but they enjoyed immunity from action by Christian authorities: the Libre dels feits of James I of Aragon, for example, relates that during the expedition that conquered Mallorca the king allowed the renegade Giles of Alagön to act as an intermediary in negotiations with the Muslims who were defending the island.32 But Louis IX refused flatly to receive any help from a renegade while in captivity in spite of his difficult conditions.33 But the saintly king was exceptional and his seneschal Joinville did converse with the convert. Converts were suspected by their adopted society too because conversion could be seen as a possible way out of captivity. This cast doubts on their sincerity, and accordingly they would not usually be called on for negotiations with their former society.

31 William of Tyre, Chronicon, ed. Robert B. C. Huygens, CCCM 63A (Turnhout, 1986) [hereafter, WT] 16.12, 731–732. Trans. Emily Atwater Babcock and August C. Krey, A History of Deeds Done beyond the Sea, 2 vols. (New York, 1943), 2:155. 32 Alan J. Forey, “Western Converts to Islam (Later Eleventh to later Fifteenth Centuries),” Traditio 68 (2013), 153–231. 33 Joinville, Histoire de Saint Louis, #394–395.

150  Yvonne Friedman Captives could, nonetheless, become diplomats and negotiators for peace. William of Tyre, himself an occasional diplomat, recounts the offer by the Muslim leader Shirkuh to his captive Hugh of Caesarea to mediate between him and King Amaury in 1167: You are a great prince of high rank and much influence among your own people, nor is there any one of your barons to whom, if free choice was offered me, I would prefer to communicate this secret of mine and make my confidant. Of her own accord Fortune has granted and the chance of war has afforded an advantage which otherwise may have been sought with much effort, namely that I may have the benefit of your experience for this present need. . . . You are a man of high rank, as I have said, dear to the king, and influential both in word and deed; be the mediator of peace between us.34 The foremost, twice-repeated characteristics a diplomat required were high rank and nobility. Even though Hugh was Shirkuh’s captive at the time, his former standing in the Crusader camp was a valid credential in the Muslim leader’s eyes, or at least that was what William thought. Hugh’s experience both as an envoy and as somebody intimate with the captor was supposed to make him an influential, trusted mediator. Hugh, however, was evidently less certain of his influence on the Latin king. Familiarity with enemy culture was often viewed with suspicion. Hugh indeed had former experience in diplomacy. Somewhat earlier, King Amaury had sent him to ratify the treaty with the caliph el-Adid, who had asked for Amaury’s help against Shirkuh and his nephew Saladin. Other messengers, including the Templar Geoffrey Fulcher, were members of the delegation, but William of Tyre chose to depict the meeting as being mainly conducted by Hugh of Caesarea and made him the main hero of the diplomatic achievement. Hugh made the caliph recite the oath of ratification of the treaty of alliance syllable by syllable and extend his bare hand, a gesture unheard of in the Egyptian court. William clearly relished this diplomatic supremacy and, in order to enhance the achievement of Amaury and his envoys, described the splendor of the court in detail.35 Thus, in William’s eyes the captive noble was still deemed a worthy diplomat and messenger to the Crusader king. On this first mission Hugh was not just a bearer of a message to the caliph but took the initiative and exploited the caliph’s need for military assistance to show off Latin supremacy by insisting on the use of Latin peace gestures. In the second instance, although it was Hugh who “put the final touches to the treaty” proposed by Shirkuh that ended the siege of Alexandria and in fact made both Shirkuh and Amaury return to their respective lands in the north, he preferred to allow another captive to take front stage so he would not be thought to be “more interested in obtaining his own liberty than concerned for the public welfare.”

34 WT 19.29, Babcock and Krey, Deeds Done beyond the Sea, 2:339–340. 35 WT 19.17–19, 886–889.

The role of captives in peacemaking  151 Because his liberty was at stake and he might be suspected of working for his own benefit, he asked that a different captive, Arnulf of Turbessel, serve as mediator, and he lent his expertise behind the scenes to add the final touches on the agreement.36 But Hugh is depicted not only as a messenger but an influential diplomat who conveyed his opinion of the proposed treaty. After listening to his [Shirkuh’s], speech, Hugh, as he was a man of good sense and discretion, for a long time carefully considered in his own mind this proposal. He did not doubt that the terms of peace under the conditions of the treaty would be advantageous to the Christians.37 As a mediator, a captive could achieve the standing of an influential diplomat and take an active part in peacemaking.38 A similar situation occurred during the Third Crusade and the protracted negotiations between Richard the Lionheart and Saladin that ended with the Treaty of Jaffa in September 1192. This time the captive diplomat was Saif al-Din al-Mashțūb, one of Saladin’s emirs whom Richard explicitly asked to act as mediator: “Let al-Mashțūb be the mediator between us and the sultan.”39 Thomas Asbridge has analyzed the negotiations in detail and has shown that Richard deliberately cultivated friendly relations with Saladin’s envoys, alternating between diplomacy and warfare in order to achieve better results.40 Saif al-Din al-Mashțūb was an important warlord and diplomat before he became a captive. After the Crusader siege of Muslim-held Acre, 1189–1190, Saladin put him in charge of the garrison and relief forces on 13 February 1191. In that capacity he negotiated the surrender of the city in early July 1191 and himself became Richard’s captive. Although he was closely confined and probably in chains,41 Richard apparently cultivated friendly relations with him and let him ransom himself nine months later, in April 1192. He joined Saladin’s forces in Jerusalem and started playing a prominent role in the peace negotiations. The most senior diplomat from the Muslim side was al-Adil, Saladin’s brother, but al-Mashțūb had a decisive role in the negotiations. He seems to have favored Richard’s demands for compensation for Ascalon, which at that point, after two futile expeditions conducted by Richard to Jerusalem, remained the main bone of contention. Asbridge summarized his part as follows: “On the 36 WT 19.30, 907. 37 Ibid., 906. 38 Yvonne Friedman, “From Interpreter to Policymaker: Diplomats’ Roles in Peacemaking,” in Warfare and Peace in the Crusader Period, eds. Luis García-Guijarro and Manuel Rojas, SSCLE (Caceres, forthcoming). 39 Bahā’ al-Din Ibn Shaddād, al-Nawādir al-Sulțāniyya wa’l-Mahāsin al-Yūsufiyya, trans. Donald S. Richards, The Rare and Excellent History of Saladin (Aldershot, 2001), 213. 40 Thomas Asbridge, “Talking to the Enemy: The Role and Purpose of Negotiations between Saladin and Richard the Lionheart during the Third Crusade,” Journal of Medieval History 39 (2013), 275–296. 41 Asbridge, “Talking to the Enemy,” 285–286; Bahā’ al-Din Ibn Shaddād, in Richards, Rare and Excellent History of Saladin, 186–187.

152  Yvonne Friedman basis of the surviving evidence neither al-Mashțūb, nor Dildirim could be accused of actively betraying Saladin, but, whether through political pragmatism or selfinterest, they were willing to play both sides during the Third Crusade.”42 In both cases the captives had an important standing before falling into captivity. Their noble descent and prominent role as diplomats made the captor realize that it would be profitable to use them as mediators. And, in both cases, the diplomat had his own opinion about the terms of peace offered and their influence was far beyond that of bearer of messages. Thus, it appears that captives had an important role in peacemaking. Whether it was a passive role, constituting a problem that had to be solved between former enemies, or an active role, by putting their knowledge and experience in the service of the belligerent parties, we have seen several examples in which captives helped them find a way to establish peace.

42 Asbridge, “Talking to the Enemy,” 289.

10 Some thoughts on warriors and war in Usāma ibn Munqidh’s Kitāb al-Iʿtibār1 Reuven Amitai

Unlike many other periods and places in the medieval Middle East, the military history of the Franks in the Levant – from the initial conquests at the end of the eleventh century to the taking of Acre by the Mamlūks in 1291 – has received serious and comprehensive coverage by scholars and more popular writers, and worthy new studies keep appearing. This treatment of military history covers a wide span of themes: the compositions of the Frankish armies and Crusading forces, tactics and strategy, logistics, fortifications, siege warfare, and the reconstruction and analysis of specific battles and campaigns. Included in this field also is the situation of the enemy, i.e. the armies of various local Muslim rulers, from the disparate forces in Syria that the first Crusaders encountered, to the mighty Mamlūks who put an end to the whole Crusading project in 1291. Yet, one can note that the majority of scholars writing seriously and in depth about the military history of the Crusaders in the Levant have been mostly from the Frankish side of the disciplinary divide, working mainly in the European sources and assisted by translations from the Arabic. It is not as if there have been no historians of military affairs of the period from among the Arabists,2 but we are on firm ground when we state that military history of the Crusading period that is rooted in the Arabic sources still has a way to go in order to compare reasonably to the plethora of rich studies written by modern “Crusading historians.” This chapter is a modest contribution to the study of military history during the Crusading period, looking at one particular Arabic source that is well known, but

  1 An earlier version of this paper was given at an evening to note the publication of the translation of Usāma ibn Munqidh’s book into Hebrew by Ella Elmagor, at Yad Ben-Zvi, Jerusalem, on 28 May 2012. Since then, the paper has laid untouched. I am happy to now have the auspicious opportunity of this Festschrift in honor of my friend and colleague Prof. Adrian Boas to return to and expand it. I should, however, take the opportunity to note in sorrow the passing of Dr. Elmagor in January 2022.   2 One can note with appreciation: Lev for the Fatimids, Cahen for several important matters, Jackson and Lyons for Saladin’s campaigns, Humphreys for the military organization of the later Ayyubids and, of course, Ayalon for the Mamlūks. Still, compared to the parallel Franks of the Levant, students of the military history of the Muslim armies in the late medieval Levant are at a clear disadvantage.

DOI: 10.4324/9781003146957-11

154  Reuven Amitai bears further investigation. This is the Kitāb al-Iʿtibār (“The Book of Contemplation”) by Usāma ibn Munqidh (1095–1188), part memoir, part ruminations, that is chock full of information about the era. From it we can learn much regarding the history of the Muslim rulers and the societies over which they ruled during most of the twelfth century, on Muslim–Frankish relations at this time, and even information on local Frankish society and history itself. It also has some particularly interesting and precious information for the military history of this period and place, and thus I propose in this present chapter to focus on three matters from this area of study. The first will be the role of the Arab elite in the military and political life of the region at a time of great transformation (I am not only referring to the coming of the Franks). Secondly, I will look briefly at the nature of the actual fighting with them as described by Usāma. Finally, I will address the use of the terms ghulām (pl. ghilmān) and mamlūk (pl. mamālīk) by him. The former term is literally translated “youth,” which might be referring to attendants or servants. I will, however, suggest that more often than not it was applied as a synonym for mamlūk, i.e. a solider – usually of Turkish provenance – who had been or still was a slave.3 I can already note that nearly always, translators do not make the connection between the two terms. But first, just a few words on the author and his book. Usāma b. Murshid b. ʿAlī ibn Munqidh was born in 1095 to a distinguished Arab clan that controlled the fortress of Shayzar, “a fortified town perched on a crag overlooking the Orontes (al-ʿĀṣī) River, some 15 km. northwest of Ḥamāt.”4 In the 1130s Usāma left this fort, now ruled by his uncle, and spent the next few decades in the service of various rulers in Syria and Egypt: Zengi in northern Syria, Börid-controlled Damascus, Fatimid Cairo, then back in Damascus, this time under Nūr al-Dīn b. Zengi, and eventually on to Artuḳid-controlled Ḥiṣn Kayfā (today in southwestern Turkey). Throughout he was active (at times too active for his own good) at these courts, serving often as an envoy – including to the Franks. In fact, he often visited Frankish towns, including Jerusalem, and has related some remarkable (and highly entertaining) anecdotes about them. He also was an experienced warrior during these years, and thus his information on military matters has a clear immediacy: he was no armchair soldier or scholar writing of vicarious experiences. No less important he was himself a litterateur of some distinction – famous for his poetry on the one hand and his prose on the other. The most famous of the latter – and important in the context of this chapter – is his Kitāb al-Iʿtibār, noted earlier. In 1174 Usāma joined Saladin’s court, but after two years “a certain chill set in between them, and the old man was forced to live out his last years in an

  3 In this chapter I adopt the convention of writing mamlūk (in italics with a small initial “m”) to refer to a military slave, while Mamlūk with an upper case first “m” refers to the Mamluk Sultanate of Egypt and Syria (1250–1517).   4 R. Stephan Humphreys, “Banū Munḳidh,” Encyclopaedia of Islam, Second edition, online edition, consulted online (via the library of the Hebrew University) on 23 May 2021, http://doi. org/10.1163/1573-3912_islam_COM_0796.

Some thoughts on warriors and war in Kitāb al-I`tibār  155 honorable   but bitterly resented retirement.”5 It was in this last period that the Kitāb al-Iʿtibār was composed; Usāma died in 1188.6 For this present study, I mainly used the 1987 Riyad edition of Kitāb al-I`tibār edited by Qāsim al-Sāmarā’ī, and will refer to its pagination, as well as the 1886 edition by Hartwig Derenbourg.7 For those who do not read Arabic, I provided references to Paul Cobb’s excellent 2008 translation into English, which has superseded the hitherto much-cited rendition by Philip Hitti from 1929.8 The last mentioned was a pathbreaking work, full of insights, and until the early 2000s has been a very useful work for the Anglophone non-Arabist working on the period. However, his translation has now been superseded by the exemplary rendition into English by Paul Cobb already noted.9 We start by looking briefly at Usāma and his family’s role in the political and military life of Muslim Syria in the twelfth century. We should be blunt: the Banū Munqidh clan are among the small remnant of the Arab elite of the country,10 which starting in the late eleventh century, has been all but pushed aside by a Turkish military-political class, which in turn was partially replaced as the twelfth century progressed by a family of Kurdish origin, i.e. the Ayyūbids. In fact, we can discern

  5 Ibid.   6 Besides Humphreys’ article noted earlier (he translates the title of Kitāb al-Iʿtibār as “the Book of instruction by example”), see also Usama ibn Munqidh, The Book of Contemplation: Islam and the Crusades, trans. with introduction and notes by Paul M. Cobb (London: Penguin Books, 2008), xi– xlii; Usama Ibn Munkidh, The Lessons of My Life: Memoirs of an Arab Nobleman and Warrior in the Time of the Crusades [Hebrew], trans. with introduction and notes by Ella Almagor (Tel Aviv: Xargol and ʿAm ʿOved, 2011), 16–36. See also the extremely interesting article by Robert Irwin, “Usāmah ibn Munqidh: An Arab-Syrian Gentleman at the Time of the Crusades Reconsidered,” in The Crusades and Their Sources: Essays Presented to Bernard Hamilton, eds. John France and William G. Zajac (Aldershot: Ashgate, 1998), 71–87.   7 Usāma ibn Munqidh, Kitāb al-Iʿtibār, ed. Qāsim al-Sāmarā’ī (Riyāḍ: Dār al-Aṣāla lil-Thiqāfa wal-Nashr wal-Iʿlām, 1407/1987); Ousâma Ibn Mounḳidh, Un èmir syrien au premier siècle des Croisades (1095–1188), ed. Hartwig Derenbourg (Paris: Ernest Leroux, 1886). I also consulted the edition prepared by ʿAbd al-Karīm al-Ashtar (Beirut, Damascus, Amman: al-Maktab al-Islāmī, 1423/2003).   8 Cobb, The Book of Contemplation; Philip K. Hitti, An Arab-Syrian Gentleman and Warrior in the Period of the Crusades: Memoirs of Usāmah Ibn-Munqidh (New York: Columbia University Press, 1929; reprinted by Princeton University Press in 1987). I have read carefully the excellent Hebrew translation by Ella Almagor (noted in the previous note), and also consulted these translations: Usâma ibn Munkidh, Memoiren eines syrischen Emirs aus der Zeit der Kruezzüge, trans. Georg Schumann (Innsbruck: Verlag der Wagner’schen Universitäts-Buchhandlung, 1905); Usâma bin Munqidh, Ein Leben im Kampf gegen Kreuzritterheere, trans. Gernot Rotter (Munich: Edition Erdmann, 2004); Hartwig Derenbourg, Ousâma ibn Mounkidh: un émir syrien au premier siècle des croisades (1095–1188) (Paris: Ernest Leroux, 1889).   9 I will also note that Ella Almagor’s translation into Hebrew is excellent, with extensive notes; this work is a real boon in Israel for the study of and instruction in the history of the Crusades from the perspective of the Muslim and other Arabic-speaking communities. 10 Humphrey (“Banū Munḳidh”) writes: “Like many of those who rose to power in Syria between the mid-4th/10th and the late 5th/11th centuries, the Banū Munḳid̲h̲ were of Arab and Bedouin origin.” The role of the Bedouins in the countryside from the twelfth century onward goes beyond the limits of this chapter.

156  Reuven Amitai an ever-growing role of Turkish troops and their commanders in the region from the ninth century onward. The Tulunid and Ikhshidid dynasties, who ruled Egypt in the ninth and tenth centuries and made many attempts to control Syria – with varying degrees of success – were of Turkish origin and had large units of Turkish slave soldiers – let us call them mamlūks for simplicity’s sake – in their armies.11 The Fatimids – albeit of Arab origin and heavily supported by Berber and Black African troops – also had significant contingents of Turkish mamlūk horsemen in their military forces.12 Of course, the coming of the Seljuks in the second half of the eleventh century, preceded and accompanied by Turcoman tribesmen, completely changed the rules of the game in Syria, not long before the coming of the Franks, and in the early decades of their presence.13 Usāma encountered and dealt with myriad Turkish princes and commanders, but he was mainly a trusted agent, not someone calling the shots. True, his uncle controlled the northern fortress of Shayzar and the surrounding area, but this was almost a unique occurrence in Syria, the Arab exception that confirms the Turkish rule. Some might say: what does it matter, all were Muslim? Others might ask: am I being anachronistic with these ethnic labels? I will answer the second question first: at this time one can talk about ethnic identity and ethnic solidarity. We are not dealing with nationalism, the search for national determinism and the creation of a national state, but people were proud of their ethnic background and lamented the weakening of their “people’s” position and power.14 And this is how it matters: the Turks brought with them new forms of military and political culture, and the fact that they hailed from far away

11 For the emergence of the large formations of Turkish slave soldiers under the ʿAbbasids in the ninth century (and some of their successor state later that century and beyond), see Matthew S. Gordon, The Breaking of a Thousand Swords: A History of the Turkish Military of Samarra (A.H. 200–275)/815–889 C.E) (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2001); Hugh Kennedy, The Armies of the Caliphs: Military and Society in the Early Islamic State (London: Routledge, 2001), 118–147; Jürgen Paul, The State and the Military: The Samanid Case. “Papers on Inner Asia,” no. 26 (Bloomington: Indiana University, Research Institute for Inner Asian Studies, 1994). For a general survey of the origins of military slavery and its subsequent functioning under different regimes, see Reuven Amitai, “The Mamluk Institution: 1000 Years of Military Slavery in the Islamic World,” in Arming Slaves: From Classical Times to the Modern Age, eds. Philip Morgan and Christopher Brown (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2006), 40–78. 12 Yaacov Lev, “Army, Regime, and Society in Fatimid Egypt, 358–487/968–109,” International Journal of Middle East Studies 19/3 (August 1987), 337–365 (esp. 342–344). 13 Robert Irwin, “Islam and the Crusades, 1096–1699,” in The Oxford Illustrated History of the Crusades, ed. Jonathan Riley-Smith (Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 1997), 218– 223; Claude Cahen, Pre-Ottoman Turkey: A General Survey of the Material and Spiritual Culture and History, c. 1070–1330, trans. J. Jones-Williams (London: Sidgwick and Jackson, 1968), 30–32; idem, Orient et Occident au temps des Croisades (Paris: Aubier, 1983), 25–31; Yaacov Lev, “Turks in the Political and Military Life of Eleventh-Century Egypt and Syria,” in The Influence of Human Mobility in Muslim Societies, ed. Kuroki Hidemitsu (London: Kegan Paul, 2003), 43–62; Nicholas Morton, The Crusader States and Their Neighbours: A Military History (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2020), 62–85. 14 For examples of Turkish ethnic solidarity in the eleventh and twelfth centuries, see: David Ayalon, “Aspects of the Mamlūk Phenomenon,” Der Islam 53/2 (1976), 209–212. For some general considerations of the matter of ethnicity in the Middle Ages, see Walter Pohl, “Conceptions of

Some thoughts on warriors and war in Kitāb al-I`tibār  157 affected – not necessarily always in a negative way – their relationship with local political and civil elites, particularly in the urban religious arena.15 In short, Usāma and his family, the Banā Munqidh, represent the swan’s song of the urban Arab military-political elite in Syria, although the Bedouin leadership of the region still had some kick left in it, and will have a role to play in future politics and military affairs, not least during the Mamluk–Mongol wars of the late thirteenth and early fourteenth centuries.16 In the context of this chapter, I will note that when we read about Usāma and his kinfolk’s military encounters with the Franks we should keep in mind that it may well be that this was a peculiar, “Arab” approach to fighting that was not necessarily representative of the military challenges that the Franks encountered with their arrival in the Levant, their subsequent organization in the area and in the later onslaughts that they had to face. This brings us to the second matter of this chapter: what kind of military encounters do we find in Kitāb al-Iʿtibār? Here and there, we read about large-scale confrontations between Franks and Muslims in which our author was involved. Thus, at the beginning of the book, Usāma tells us of the months he spent in Ashkelon, then besieged by the Franks. This began in late 1150, and he stayed according to his own testimony for four months.17 As befits this long-term standoff – finally resolved by the capitulation of the city in 1153 – there was here occasional fighting with lots of troops involved. Usāma himself relates that he took part in a raid to Yubnā (ancient and modern Yavneh, known as Ibelin by the Franks; about 30 km to the north of Ashkelon), in which 100 Franks (not necessarily soldiers) were killed and some more were captured.18 Another operation where a relatively large number of troops were involved was in a previous campaign, in the early 1120s. The prince of Hama, Maḥmūd b.

Ethnicity in Early Medieval Studies,” in Debating the Middle Ages – Issues and Readings, eds. Lester K. Little and Barbara H. Rosenwein (Malden, MA and Oxford: Blackwell, 1998), 15–24. 15 For Turkish tactics, see Ayalon, “Aspects of the Mamluk Phenomenon,” 218–223; R. S. Smail, Crusading Warfare, 1097–1193, Second edition (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 64–83. For Turkish relations in the eleventh and twelfth centuries with the local urban populations and how this affected the ruling of cities, see Jere Bacharach, “Administrative Complexes, Palaces, and Citadels: Changes in the Loci of Medieval Muslim Rule,” in The Ottoman City and Its Parts: Urban Structure and Social Order, eds. I. A. Birman, R. A. Abou-el-Haj and D. Preziosi (New Rochelle: Arstide D. Caratzas, 1991), 111–128 (esp. 122–127). For more on the relations with the new Turkish elites (and also the Turcoman tribesmen), see: Andrew C. S. Peacock, Early Seljūq History: A New Interpretation (London and New York, Routledge, 2010), ch. 4; A. K. S. Lambton, Continuity and Change in Medieval Persia: Aspects of Administrative, Economic and Social History, 11th–14th Century (Albany: Bibliotheca Persica, 1988), passim (of course, this last work deals mainly with greater Iran, but these matters are relevant also to Syria and the surrounding countries). 16 See Kurt Frantz, “Bedouin and States: Framing the Mongol-Mamlūk Wars in Long-term History,” in Nomad Military Power in Iran and Adjacent Areas in the Islamic Period, ed. Kurt Franz and Wolfgang Holwarth (Wiesbaden: Dr. Ludwig Reichert Verlag, 2015), 29–106. 17 The chronology of Usāma’s activities within the large events of the region have been conveniently worked out by Paul Cobb in his translation, pp. xi–xiv. 18 Ed. al-Sāmarā’ī, 40–41; ed. Derenbourg, 13; trans. Cobb, 24.

158  Reuven Amitai Qarājā, took out a force combined with the army of Shayzar, from where Usāma hailed, who led this contingent, heading for Afāmiyā (Apamea, ca. 55 km northwest from Hama; Shayzar was about midway between the two cites). These Muslims probably numbered several hundred horsemen, not an enormous force, but not a trifling one either. The Franks, however, were well positioned at Afāmiyā and could not be dislodged. Operations were limited to skirmishing and reconnoitering, although Maḥmūd b. Qarājā later died of a minor arrow wound sustained there.19 Likewise, we learn that the Frankish prince of Tripoli, Jourdain II (referred to as al-Sardānī, i.e. from Cerdagne)20 set out with 300 (regular Frankish) horsemen and 200 Turcopoles (who are referred to as “the archers of the Franks” wa-hum rummāt al-ifranj),21 but apparently lost their way. This was 1108, and young Usāma was not himself involved, but rather he tells the story of his father and uncles, who took out the forces of Shayzar to confront these Franks. When the forces bumped into each other, the Muslims were repulsed, but then a mamlūk of Usāma’s uncle – the prince of Shayzar – was able to pick off two Franks with his spear. So, the troops involved were not insignificant, but the actual fighting was pretty low-key, and the story ends with a couple of dead Franks resulting from individual heroism.22 However, most of the time, these meetings with Franks recorded by Usāma were relatively small-scale encounters. Thus, in the summer of 1119, when Usāma was still – according to his own words – an inexperienced fighter, he set out with 20 horsemen and a group of irregulars and Bedouins for Afāmiyā, not thinking that there were any Franks in the area. Usāma and his charges soon found instead 60 Frankish horsemen and a similar number of foot soldiers there, and this was more than they bargained for. Yet, he relates that he did not lose his head, and in the mêlée with the vanguard of the aforementioned force, he killed two Franks with his spear.23 At an unknown time, but with Usāma still being a young man, Franks from Antioch tried to draw out the men of Shayzar into an ambush: about ten Frankish horsemen rode up to the city and then beat a hasty retreat. The men of Shayzar (with Usāma among them) confronted the Frankish vanguard, and a fight ensued, with some 16 horsemen involved in both forces. It was touch and go, but there are

19 Ed. al-Sāmarā’ī, 69–71; ed. Derenbourg, 34–36; trans. Cobb, 37–59. 20 On him, see Cobb’s note 51 on p. 290. 21 For the Turcopoles, see Jean Richard, “Les turcoples au service des royaumes de Jérusalem et de Chypre: musulmans convertis ou chrétiens orientaux,” Revue des Etudes Islamiques 54 (1986), 259–270; reprinted in J. Richard, Croisades et etats latins d’Orient: Points de vue et documents (London: Variorum, 1992); Yuval [Noah] Harari, “The Military Role of the Frankish Turcopoles,” Mediterranean Historical Review 12/1 (1997), 75–116. 22 Ed. al-Sāmarā’ī, 73–74; ed. Derenbourg, 37–38; trans. Cobb, 61–62. Another raid of a force from Tripoli against Shayzar is recorded around 1110; Usāma, who describes himself as a youth, writes that his father and uncle were out hunting when they confronted these Franks. There is, however, no mention of serious fighting; ed. al-Sāmarā’ī, 78–79; ed. Derenbourg, 41; trans. Cobb, 66–67. 23 Ed. al-Sāmarā’ī, 62–63; ed. Derenbourg, 29–30; trans. Cobb, 49–50.

Some thoughts on warriors and war in Kitāb al-I`tibār  159 no reports of serious casualties on either side.24 Subsequently, Usāma tells of another time when he went out with the army of Shayzar (under his uncle’s command), raiding a Frankish caravan in the direction of Afāmiyā, killing around 20 men (not necessarily all soldiers), and then how he and a comrade took on and routed eight more knights.25 The stories of these small-scale mêlées follow each other one after another. Usāma’s intention is not to present a systematic military account, but rather to provide examples of personal bravery and their impact, while meditating on the capriciousness of fate and how this is in the hands of a greater authority. However, for us, they provide a window into one important aspect of the ongoing military reality of northern Syria in the first decades after the Frankish invasion and the establishment of their rule along the coast and farther inland. Thus, there is the story of how Usāma and some comrades were caught in an ambush set up by Frankish cavalrymen from Kafr Ṭāb. The Muslims’ resolute action soon turned the encounter to their advantage: a bunch – 18 altogether – of the Franks were dismounted, but many continued a spirited resistance on foot, until they were overcome. Subsequent fighting was also an intense, small group situation.26 Usāma describes more than once that the army of Frankish Antioch campaigned in the region of Shayzar. Evidently, a lot of Franks were involved in these operations, but the descriptions of the actual fighting are usually small group actions. In one case, Usāma recalls a one-on-one encounter with a member of the vanguard (awā’ilahum, awā’il khaylihim) who lost his helmet, shield and lance before retreating.27 Another story regarding the army of Antioch (evidently not the same campaign) describes how two Franks captured a Muslim man – seemingly a peasant – and his beast (bahīma, presumably a cow) from under the nose of 20 Muslim horsemen pasturing their mounts. Subsequently, a local Muslim champion was able to avenge this humiliation, rescuing the man and animal.28 At times, however, larger forces from Antioch were involved in the fighting: Thus, we read of fighting between the horsemen of Antioch, under the command of Tancred, and the infantry of Shayzar, in which around 70 of them in several charges.29 The overall impression is that in the first decades of Frankish rule in large swaths of northern Syria, small-scale skirmishes were an important, maybe even the main, form of military encounter between the Frankish and local Muslim troops from those territories remaining unconquered. The frontier was an open one (as fits the medieval Levant – and beyond), and small and medium-size forces from either side could and did penetrate deep into the territory of the enemy, leading to often intense fighting, but involving just a few troops on either side. Full-fledged pitched battles, in which relatively large numbers of troops were involved, were also part 24 Ed. al-Sāmarā’ī, 79–80; ed. Derenbourg, 42; trans. Cobb, 67–68. 25 Ed. al-Sāmarā’ī, 80–81; ed. Derenbourg, 42–43; trans. Cobb, 68–69. 26 Ed. al-Sāmarā’ī, 81–82; ed. Derenbourg, 43–44; trans. Cobb, 70–71. 27 Ed. al-Sāmarā’ī, 84–85; ed. Derenbourg, 45–46; trans. Cobb, 72–73. 28 Ed. al-Sāmarā’ī, 86–87; ed. Derenbourg, 47; trans. Cobb, 75. 29 Ed. al-Sāmarā’ī, 88–90 (esp. 90); ed. Derenbourg, 48–50 (esp. 49–50); trans. Cobb, 77–79 (esp. 79).

160  Reuven Amitai of the norm,30 but we should not be blinded by their scale and strategic significance to other types of fighting. The frequent small group mêlées could be quite intense and provide plenty of opportunity for the demonstration of personal bravery, horsemanship, lance work and other martial skills. One might suggest that such stories were picked due to Usāma’s perspective and aims in his book: let us remember that this is a “Book of Contemplation” (Kitāb al-Iʿtibār), and the stories of these small-scale encounters could provide much material to consider the vagaries of fate, the importance of luck and other compelling matters. At the same time, these stories also well reflect much of the military reality at this time in north Syria: lots of skirmishes and raids toward and from the Franks and not only (or perhaps even mainly) pitched battles with them. It is thus not a coincidence that in the list that Usāma provides of battles (maṣṣāfāt) in which he participated, the first with the Franks is only in 531/1137, at Rafīna (or Rafaniyya), when he fought with the Atabeg Zengi.31 We might also note that these skirmishes involve a lot of stabbing and thrusting with swords and lances, and there is very little evidence of the use of the bow and arrow on horseback, let alone in a concerted way by a group of soldiers. This might not come as a surprise: Usāma describes the warfare of his family and their mostly Arab retainers, with the occasional Kurd or Turk (mamlūk or otherwise) thrown in. Thus, the preferred Turkish tactic of employing bodies of disciplined mounted archers would not have been found much here. As I noted earlier, the Turks – as rulers, officers and soldiers – were clearly in the ascendancy now, and thus we should note that Usāma’s evidence for the actual nature of fighting with the Franks should be used carefully. Indeed, there was surely lots more raiding and skirmishing throughout north Syria, but not necessarily all of it was of the type described by Usāma. In any event, we find no evidence in Usāma’s account of truly large battles, such as those waged by Saladin at Ḥiṭṭīn (1187) or Arsūf (1191), with large masses of mounted archers on the Muslim side. Usāma’s descriptions are good as far as they go for the military history of the period and area, but the evidence he provides is only part of the story. There is frequent mentioning en passant by Usāma of mamlūks, i.e. slave soldiers (or at least starting off as slaves), mostly of Turkish provenance. Usāma tells us about how his father, truly crazy about hunting, would go out on such an

30 We can see this in the tables provided in the first two chapters of Morton, The Crusader States and Their Neighbours. 31 This information is found in a section of the book that is not in the main manuscript, but rather in a passage cited in al-Dhahabī’s Ta’rīkh al-Islām (the reference is to MS British Library 739B, fol. 16a); see the introduction to ed. al-Sāmarā’ī, 17; trans. Cobb, 242. This is the campaign that resulted in the conquest of Barʿīn that year; Morton, The Crusader States and Their Neighbours, 105; Guy Le Strange, Palestine under the Moslems: A Description of Syria and the Holy Land (Boston: Houghton, Mifflin and Co., and Cambridge, Riberside Press, 1890), 420; ʿIzz al-Dīn Ibn Šaddād, Description de la Syrie du nord, trans. Anne-Marie Eddé-Tarrasse (Damascus: Intsitut Français de Damas, 1984), 293, n. 5.

Some thoughts on warriors and war in Kitāb al-I`tibār  161 expedition with an entourage of some 40 riders, some of them family members and the rest his mamlūks.32 Elsewhere we learn that the mamlūks of Shayzar would be broken up into groups of two or three, each accompanying a gamekeeper while they were out driving out the birds that were to be hunted. Interestingly enough, in the same passages, these mamlūks are also referred to as ghilmān (plural of ghulām, “youth”), a point to which I will return later.33 It should not surprise us to find mamlūks in such endeavors as hunting. Mamlūks, usually purchased as boys or very young adolescents, were part of the extended households of their patrons, and the hunt, certainly in Shayzar, was a major source of entertainment for such households, while at the same time serving as good training for fighting (riding, coordination and following orders, use of weapons and individual initiative on the spot). But what of the Shayzari mamlūks in other capacities? Once, we learn, Usāma himself was sent off with most of the army of Shayzar to the castle of Maṣyāf, in order to bring there the wife of his uncle and other womenfolk, while his uncle and father returned to Shayzar with the young mamlūks (al-mamālīk al-ṣighār) who had with them the spare horses (al-janā’ib) and weapons. Later it becomes clear that these mamlūks did not number more than ten. The elder Banū Munqidh found themselves at a numerical disadvantage when upon their approach to Shayzar, they ran into some Franks who had decided to raid the town. Brave action by the princes and their young troops drove the Franks away, with significant losses to the latter.34 We know the name of some of the local mamlūks. For instance, Usāma’s father had a mamlūk named Yāqūt al-Ṭawīl (“the long”), who played a role in the successful confrontation with the Franks of Tripoli around 1108, referred to earlier. Usāma also tells a story from another of his father’s mamlūk, Khuṭlukh,35 who reported that during the Frankish–Byzantine siege of 532/1138 of Shayzar, the local troops beat back a Byzantine assault on the castle walls in spite of destructive mangonel hits.36 It is difficult to ascertain how significant these mamlūks were in the military forces of Shayzar. My guess is that there were several tens there, maybe a little more. Mamlūks were expensive to buy and train, and then maintain, and Shayzar was a small principality. However, it does show how prevalent this institution had spread by the early twelfth century, even to this corner of northern Syria. A family of Arab princes could not afford to do without them, in spite of their great expense. They provided loyalty on the one hand, and tough, good soldiers on the other hand. However, the low numbers would have prevented them from having a critical mass

32 Ed. al-Sāmarā’ī, 146; ed. Derenbourg, 92; trans. Cobb, 137. 33 Ed. al-Sāmarā’ī, 231; ed. Derenbourg, 166; trans. Cobb, 233. 34 Ed. al-Sāmarā’ī, 166–167; ed. Derenbourg, 110–111; trans. Cobb, 160–161. 35 A nice Turkish name meaning “the Possessor of [Good] Luck” (or “the Lucky One”), also rendered at times in other sources as Quṭlugh or Quṭlū. These represent different pronunciations of Turkish as transcribed in Arabic. 36 Ed. al-Sāmarā’ī, 134; ed. Derenbourg, 84; trans. Cobb, 126. The Arabic text has majānīq, plural of manjanīq, which were most probably traction trebuchets.

162  Reuven Amitai of mounted archers to launch the wave(s) of horsemen letting off with their bows that so characterized Turkish warfare of the Turcoman or mamlūk variety. Usāma himself later had a few mamlūks. For the years he was active in Fāṭimid Egypt (1144–1154), Usāma twice notes his personal mamlūks, once a group of six and once a group of five (the latter group is also referred to as ghilmān).37 Perhaps, these were part of a much larger unit, but I am doubtful – again given the high expense of purchasing, training and maintaining mamlūks – he probably kept a modest team – my guess being a dozen or so. These were to provide personal protection to their patron, and perhaps give him some heft when he was acting in various administrative and diplomatic capacities (when somebody shows up at your door with half a dozen mamlūks, one might think twice before saying no). Presumably, they were with Usāma when he went into battle or skirmished during these years and probably subsequently. The last matter that I want to discuss in this chapter is the term ghulām, the plural of which is ghilmān, literally meaning “youth.”38 Here I have some disagreements with a few of my betters, as I claim that at least in some of these instances, the intention is clearly to a mamlūk, i.e. a military slave and not just a servant or helper.39 As is well known, ghulām was for centuries the way that slave soldiers were usually referred to, although with the centuries the term mamlūk came increasingly into play.40 In fact, the twelfth century may have been the final transition period between the two terms, and thus there could be some confusion between them. We have just seen one example, where the same group of Shayzaris were once called mamālīk and once ghilmān. Elsewhere, there is the story of one Muwaffaq al-Dawla Shamʿūn, who is presented as the epitome of loyalty to his master. He is first referred to as the ghulām of Usāma’s uncle and later as his mamlūk. The former is rendered as “servant” and the like by several scholars.41 I find, however, that the inescapable conclusion is that in this particular case the two terms are being used interchangeably. At this point, some readers’ eyebrows might be raised, when they ask themselves “What kind of name is Shamʿūn for a mamlūk, let alone the laqab Muwaffaq al-Dawla? One might even think that he was a Christian.” However, Shamʿūn’s mamlūkness is clearly seen when he tells Riḍwān

37 Ed. al-Sāmarā’ī, 34, 52; ed. Derenbourg, 8, 21; trans. Cobb, 19, 37. 38 It is interesting to note the Hebrew cognate: ʿelem (where, as usual, the ghayn of Arabic has assimilated into the Hebrew ʿayn). 39 This is a matter about which I had some (friendly) disagreement with Ella Almagor while she was working on the Hebrew translation of Kitāb al-Iʿtibār. I had suggested that she should render this term as transliterated from Arabic, i.e. ghulām/ghilmān, with an explanatory note the first time, but Dr. Almagor demurred, saying that it would interfere with the reading comfort of the average (i.e., non-Arabist) reader of Hebrew. She was surely correct, and she opted for the neutral ʿōzer/ʿōzrim, i.e. helpers. This is good as far as it goes, but I fear that something got lost here. 40 Gordon, The Breaking of a Thousand Swords, passim; Kennedy, The Armies of the Caliphs, passim David Ayalon, “The Mamlūks of the Seljuks: Islam’s Military Might at the Crossroads,” Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society, 3rd ser., 6/3 (1996), 305–333. 41 Cobb, 64–65: “servant”; Hitti, 81–82: “attendant”; Schumann, 86–87: “der Diener”; Rotter, Ein Leben im Kampf, 75, comes closest when rendering ghulām as “ein Sklave.”

Some thoughts on warriors and war in Kitāb al-I`tibār  163 b. Tutush, Seljuq ruler of Aleppo, how he had aided his master (mawlā) to escape from the captivity of the latter’s father, to whom he said when his act was discovered: My lord, if you had cut off my head and my lord escaped to return to his home, then I would have been happy. For he only brought me and raised me so that I might redeem him with my own life.42 This is the raison d’etre of the institution of military slavery, that the patron buys and raises the young mamlūk with the hope of getting his total loyalty, and this is one of the finest expressions of it that I know. Prof. David Ayalon could not have found better. Another example of the clear equivalence between mamlūk and ghulām is found here, when Usāma was a young commander of a small force raiding near Afāmiyā: Now, there was with me a young mamlūk who was leading a black mare alongside me. Under him was a fine-looking saddle-mule sporting a thick silver saddle-blanket. The mamlūk dismounted, left the mule on its own, mounted the mare and flew off back to Shayzar. As soon as I had rejoined my comrades, wo had caught hold of the mule, I asked after the ghulām, but they said, “He left.”43 In these cases, our source provides explicit evidence that mamlūk and ghulām were being used on occasion as synonyms. Thus, we should be prepared to see ghulām when found alone as indicating a soldier of slave origin status or origin, and not just an “attendant.” Thus, we learn – in the flow of one of the numerous stories about hunting – of a ghulām belonging to Usāma’s uncle named Bashtakin Gharza (or so it was read by Derenbourg and others).44 The second element of the first name is clearly derived from the Turkish word tegin (“prince”), not uncommon as part of mamlūk names. It is tempting to read the first element of this name as bash, Turkish for head, and thus the whole name might mean “Head Prince”; Gharza remains unexplained for now. Given what we know about the possibility of ghulāms really being mamlūks, the Turkish nature of at least part of the name, and the frequent appearance of mamlūks in hunts, it does not seem completely without basis to consider this fellow a mamlūk too.45

42 Ed. al-Sāmarā’ī, 77–76; ed. Derenbourg, 39–40; trans. Cobb, 64–66, from which this translation was taken. 43 Ed. al-Sāmarā’ī, 104; ed. Derenbourg, 30; trans. Cobb, 51. The story continues on but need not concern us here. 44 Ed. al-Sāmarā’ī, 146 (Bastakin); ed. Derenbourg, 93; trans. Cobb, 138. 45 Another story of a Shayzari ghulām who may well really have been a mamlūk is Lu’lu’: He carried a quiver (tarkash), hinting at his military role; ed. al-Sāmarā’ī, 222; ed. Derenbourg, 158 (who gives tarqība instead of tarkash); trans. Cobb, 223. Elsewhere a local mamlūk name Lu’lu’ is mentioned. Were these two Lu’lu’s one and the same? See ed. al-Sāmarā’ī, 161, ed. Derenbourg, 104–105; trans. Cobb, 154–155. In this story we find three ghilmān, perhaps also mamlūks.

164  Reuven Amitai However, Usāma was writing neither for twenty-first-century scholars nor their students, nor was he expecting tenure at a university. He could allow himself to be inconsistent, perhaps giving unwitting expression to the transition from ghulām to mamlūk (as in the previous case). Likewise, he could use ghulām for someone who was probably not a mamlūk: thus, Usāma had a groom (rakkāb) called Yūsuf, who is also call a ghulām and joined in one of his most challenging hunting experiences, dealing with hyenas.46 Another ghulām was also named Yūsuf: he unabashedly stayed behind during a hunting trip to watch the spare horse and other equipment: there was no adventure in him at all.47 This was almost certainly not a mamlūk, and if he was, he did not have much of a career in front of him. Here, for sure, “attendant” is the preferred way to translate ghulām in this case, as does Cobb here. Even with such cases, I think that we are on somewhat solid ground to assume that when the term ghulām/ghilmān is used in this work, it may well be that mamlūk/mamālīk is intended. All of this is just a preliminary taste of what is waiting for the military historian of the period in Usāma ibn Munqidh’s opus. As I have suggested, Usāma’s world was one that was fast changing, and his own corner in it was soon to disappear, but from his book we still learn much about life on the Frankish–Muslim frontier in the first decades after the arrival of the Crusade. It awaits a thorough examination.

46 Ed. al-Sāmarā’ī, 163; ed. Derenbourg, 106; trans. Cobb, 156. 47 Ed. al-Sāmarā’ī, 221; ed. Derenbourg, 157; trans. Cobb, 222.

11 Human suffering and the social implications of the wars of the Crusades Yaacov Lev

A topology of warfare War was enmeshed in every aspect of life in the medieval Middle East, but each war differed in its scope and extent of destruction. In order to make sense of medieval warfare a basic topology of wars is required. Many wars were small affairs of limited extent, fought between professional armies for the political ambitions of their leaders. This type of warfare is best exemplified by the wars of Aḥmad ibn Ṭῡlῡn, who in September 868 was appointed Abbasid governor of Egypt. For the next 16 years he also expanded his rule to Palestine and parts of Syria, including Damascus. Aḥmad ibn Ṭῡlῡn’s campaigns were conducted with restraint and the avoidance of wide-spread killings and destruction. The region could sustain such warfare, with fighting being limited and taking place between the rival armies only. Aḥmad ibn Ṭῡlῡn operated within the political framework of the Abbasid caliphate, and he sought, and received, Abbasid authorization for his political ambitions and territorial achievements. Egypt was Aḥmad ibn Ṭῡlῡn’s secure territorial and political base, enabling his wars in Syria to be conducted with considered calculation.1 The twelfth-century Middle East, however, saw a different version of this type of warfare: wars aimed at building a new state from scratch. The careers of ʿImād al-Dīn Zankī (1122–1146) and his better-known son, Nῡr al-Dīn (1146–1174), the sultan of Syria, illustrate this type of warfare. ʿImād al-Dīn al-Zankī’s independent career began in 521/1127 when he was appointed governor of Mosul, which he had taken peacefully after negotiating a settlement with the local emir. In the political world of the twelfth-century Middle Eastern Muslim states and principalities, territorial expansion became the lifeblood of their survival. Muslim armies of the period were maintained through the iqṭāʿ system, i.e. granting fiscal rights over land in exchange for military service, with the

  1 For Tulunid campaigns, see Balawī, Sīrat Aḥmad ibn Ṭῡlῡn, ed. K.ʿAlī (Damascus, 1939), 62, 62, 68–69, 70–72, 92–93, 94–97; Matthew S. Gordon, “Aḥmad ibn Ṭῡlῡn and the Campaigns into Syria,” in In the House of Understanding: Histories in Memory of Kamal S. Salibi, eds. Abdul Rahim Abu Husayn et al. (Beirut, 2017), 323–348. For broader aspects of the Tulunid rule, see Z. M. Hassan, Les Tulunides (Paris, 1933).

DOI: 10.4324/9781003146957-12

166  Yaacov Lev territorial size of any political entity being of utmost importance.2 Much of ʻImād al-Dīn al-Zankī’s territorial expansion was at the expense of other Muslim rulers and local emirs, which brings us to the issue of how bloody intra-Muslim warfare really was. The sources are reticent in this regard, which is seldom the focus of the narrative. One exception to this is the conquest of the Ashab fort in the Kurdish region of Jabal Hakkari, north of Mosul, which throws some light on the issue. The fighting was fierce and involved much bloodshed, including the execution of captured Kurdish officers. ʿImād al-Dīn al-Zankī razed the fort to the ground and constructed a new one, named Qalʿat al-ʿImādiyya. Ibn al-Athīr (1160–1233), a Zankid sympathizer, is apologetic in his report, stating that the population of the region thereby became safe from the Kurds, but his comment is open to several different interpretations, including the possibility that ethnic enmity between the Turks and the Kurds had also played a role in these events.3 As significant as ʿImād al-Dīn al-Zankī’s territorial gains were, he failed to take Damascus. In the winter of 534/1139 he besieged the town, which was vigorously defended by its local militia, the aḥdāth, which suffered heavy losses. Eventually, the local elite sought the help of the Kingdom of Jerusalem. The town had the financial resources to pay the Franks, and members of the local elite offered hostages in order to secure the fulfillment of their obligations. In 544/1149, Nῡr al-Dīn’s drive against Damascus compelled its leaders to seek again the help of the Kingdom of Jerusalem. In 546/1151 and 548/1153, having failed to take the city, Nῡr al-Dīn changed tactics and tried to subdue Damascus by cutting off its grain supplies and starving its people. This too failed, eventually, only a direct assault on Damascus brought about results. In 549/1154, Nῡr al-Dīn entered Damascus peacefully, and its ruler, Mujīr al-Dīn Abaq, surrendered the citadel in exchange for the city of Homs.4 The notion that Nῡr al-Dīn’s territorial expansion, at the expense of other Muslim rulers, was achieved without shedding blood figures prominently in Ibn ʿAsākir’s biography of Nῡr al-Dīn. Ibn ʿAsākir (1105–1176) was a scholar and historian whose biography/obituary of Nῡr al-Dīn in Taʾrīkh Dimashq, a vast biographical dictionary of people associated with the history of the town, is an important contemporary twelfth-century account. The narrative is presented in the form of a list, enumerating Nῡr al-Dīn’s virtues (manāqib), but neither dates nor context are offered. Ibn ʿAsākir states that Nῡr al-Dīn besieged Damascus twice and that the town surrendered peacefully through a treaty (ṣulḥ) since the population feared the Franks and the cost of food and other goods in the town had soared. Ibn ʿAsākir’s emphasis is on the positive aspects of Nῡr al-Dīn’s rule in Damascus: the improvements made to fortifications, markets, and roads and the establishment of law colleges. On the moral front, Nῡr al-Dīn enforced the ban on drinking

  2 Ibn al-Athīr, Al-Taʾrīkh al-bāhir, ed. A. A. Tolaymat (Baghdad, 1963), 37.   3 Ibn al-Athīr, Al-Kāmil fī l-Ta’rīkh, ed. ʿAlī Shayrī (Beirut, 2004), IX, 236–237.   4 Ibn al-Qalānisī, Dhayl taʾrīkh Dimashq, ed. H. F. Amedroz (Leiden, 1908), 227–228, 244–248, 306, 308–310.

Human suffering and the social implications of the Crusades  167 alcohol and implemented the scale of punishment laid down by God (ḥadd pl. ḥudῡd).5 When twelfth-century military realities are examined, it is clear that it was much easier for rulers such as ʿImād al-Dīn al-Zankī and Nῡr al-Dīn to fight their Muslim rivals than to fight the Franks. Muslim foes could be subdued by generous surrender offers, whereas the Franks had to be defeated on the battle field and their towns and strongholds taken by force. Although twelfth-century Middle Eastern realities were complex, and the Franks were integrated into the politics of the region and cooperation between them and the Muslim rulers was common, the conclusion that Muslim–Frankish warfare was more ferocious than intra-Muslim warfare reflects the fact that the wars of the Crusades were religiously motivated. Although participation in the Crusades was motivated by a myriad of reasons, the movement’s underlying religious motivation cannot be denied. In the words of Paul E. Chevedden: “Yet ideology played a key role in giving political coherence to the crusading movement, and Pope Urban was instrumental in making the crusading enterprise and ideologically and politically coherent movement”.6 The Crusades were inspired by a religious worldview and couched in religious terms, unleashing religious zeal and eliminating moral restraint. In this context, the question of why the deadly uncalled-for attacks took place also against European Jewry, mainly in the Rhineland, should be asked, and many explanations have been put forward. However, this aspect is beyond the scope of the present chapter.7 A number of sieges during the territorial expansion of the Kingdom of Jerusalem in the first decades of the twelfth century ended in the slaughter of the conquered population (see later in this chapter). It is highly instructive, however, how Archbishop William of Tyre, the renowned historian of the Latin East, writing many decades after the events, explains the massacre in Jerusalem. He writes that for those who carried out the slaughter it was a horrifying experience, but he offers both justification and an explanation. His justification involves the argument that it constituted a punishment for the infidels, while his explanation points out that the common soldiers and others killed people in order to seize their homes and plunder their possessions.8 Medieval warfare was a complex affair, and the underlining religious motivation behind the wars of the Crusade cannot always explain its many manifestations. We can again benefit from William of Tyre’s insights, in stating that when towns were conquered the interests of the military leaders and those of the simple soldiers clashed. While the leaders were interested in an orderly conquest, the   5 Ibn ʿAsākir, Ta’rīkh Dimashq, ed. ʻUmar al-Amrawī (Damascus, 1997), LVII, 120.   6 See “Pope Urban II and the Ideology of the Crusades,” in The Crusader World, ed. Adrian J. Boas (New York, 2016), 20.   7 For broad discussion of the topic, see Judith Bronstein, “The Crusades and the Jews: Some Reflections on the 1096 Massacre,” History Compass 5/4 (2007), 1268–1279.    8 See A History of Deeds Beyond the Sea, trans. E. A. Babcock and A. C. Krey (New York, 1043), I, 371–372, 377, II, 227, 352, 355.

168  Yaacov Lev soldiers hoped for personal gains from killing and plundering the conquered population. In 1124, during the siege of Tyre, although dissent broke out in the Christian camp when the soldiers feared they would be denied their chance to loot and to kill the conquered population, the intentions of the leaders prevailed. In 1168, during the campaign in Egypt, the events took another turn and the population of Bilbays was massacred by the Franks. William of Tyre again offers his oft-repeated explanation about the conflict of interests between the leaders and soldiers.9 What happened during the conquest of Edesa by ʿImād al-Dīn Zankī is well known but difficult to explain. Michael the Great (Rabo, 1126–1199), the Syriac Orthodox Patriarch of Malatya (Melitene), in Eastern Anatolia, blames Joscelin II, the Count of Edessa, for providing military assistance to Kara Arslān against ʻImād al-Dīn Zankī. Joscelin II’s blunder is described by Michael the Great as a failure to understand “that he had no advantage to quarrel with Turks on account of a Turk”. The town was left with no adequate military presence, and ʿImād al-Dīn Zankī was ready to accept its surrender. Michael the Great blames Hugh II, the Latin Archbishop of Edessa, for being over-confident that a relief force would arrive and, consequently, rejected the offer. The fighting was fierce, and following the breach of the town’s defenses the Muslim troops stormed the town. The massacre of the town’s population was eventually brought to a halt by ʿImād al-Dīn Zankī, who consulted Basil, an Arabic-speaking local bishop, on how to rebuild the town. Michael the Great is clear that the understanding reached between Basil and ʿImād al-Dīn Zankī involved only the Armenian and Greek inhabitants of the town, whereas Franks were killed “wherever they were found”.10 ʿImād al-Dīn Zankī’s initial intention to take Edessa peacefully is also noted by Ibn al-Atīir, who explains that the order to stop killing and looting was motivated by political wisdom (siyāsa), which did not allow the destruction of a town like Edessa. According to Ibn al-Athīr, ʻImād al-Dīn Zankī ordered the release of the captives and the return of the looted goods, and he claims that the town returned to its former state. Ibn al-Athīr’s claim seems improbable, but Michael the Great also states that ʿImād al-Dīn Zankī was benevolent toward those inhabitants who had survived the conquest. The main divergence between the accounts by Michael the Great and Ibn al-Athīr concerns, however, the Frankish attempt to reconquer the town in 1147, following ʿImād al-Dīn Zankī’s death.11 According to Michael the Great, Armenian guards on the city’s wall collaborated with the Franks who had entered the city but were unable to conquer the citadel. As the Muslim relief force approached the town, the Franks used the local population as human shields and left Edessa after setting it on fire. The Frankish cavalry deserted the infantry, which nonetheless reached safely a fort, while the

  9 William of Tyre, II, 19, 351. 10 See The chronicle of Michael the Great, ed. and trans. Amir Harrak (Piscataway, 2019), 218, 222. 11 Michael the Great, 232; Yaacov Lev, “The jihād of sultan Nῡr al-Dīn of Syria (1146–1174): History and Discourse,” Jerusalem Studies in Arabic and Islam 35 (2008), 247.

Human suffering and the social implications of the Crusades  169 fleeing cavalry were decimated by the Turks. The focus of Michael the Great’s account is on the immense suffering of the civilian population caught between the two warring sides, the Franks and the Turks. He notes, however, that bishop Basil fled the town and survived the ordeal.12 Ibn al-Athīr supplies no military details regarding the Frankish attempt to reconquer Edessa; but, like Michael the Great, he states that it had horrific consequences for the local population.13 The main difference between the two historians lies not so much in the details as in their perspectives: Michael the Great writes from the local Syriac perspective, and the Franks are depicted as villains. Where religious factors behind medieval warfare are concerned, a topology of wars cannot always explain the ferocity of the fighting and how non-combatant populations were treated. Warfare was dynamic and demanding and made the controlling of armies difficult.

Raiding, looting, and state building Raiding and conquest constituted two contrasting categories of medieval warfare. The internal logic behind raiding was the destruction of enemy territory and its population and the taking of plunder, whereas conquest envisioned the gaining of a permanent hold over a territory. Raiding typified the warfare between Byzantium and Islam prior to the wars of the Crusades. In 837, for example, the Byzantines invaded Muslim territories through the Pass of Melitene and took Sozopetra (Zibatra) following a short siege. The town was looted and burned, Muslim men were put to sword, and the women and children were enslaved. The lives of the Christian population were spared, but they suffered material losses. A year later, in August 838, the Byzantine town of Amorium was conquered by the Muslims, and its population suffered as much as had the people of Sozopetra. The great historian al-Ṭabarī (839–923), who is the main source for these events, provides a full account of the atrocities that had taken place. Captives taken after the fall of Amorium were sold by auction, but during the retreat common captives were executed; only the high-ranking were kept alive. In a broader perspective of Muslim–Byzantine frontier warfare, the exchange of prisoners (men, women, and children) was an established practice. Furthermore, the fate of the captives should also be seen in the context of slavery: women and children were always considered of value as domestic slaves.14 The killing of male captives and the enslaving of women and children also took place during the wars of the Crusades. In 530/1135, for example, ʿImād al-Dīn Zankī laid siege to Atharib, southwest of Aleppo; and following the capitulation 12 See 238–240. 13 Ibn al-Athīr, Al-Kāmil, IX, 304. 14 Al-Ṭabarī, The History of al-Ṭabarī, trans. and annotated by C. E. Bosworth (Albany, 1991), XXXIII, 93–121, esp. 93, 116–117, 118–119. For prison exchanges with the Byzantine, see Yaacov Lev, “Prisoners of War during the Fatimid-Ayyubid Wars with the Crusaders,” in Tolerance and Intolerance, eds. Michael Gervers and James M. Powell (Syracuse, 2001), 20–22.

170  Yaacov Lev of the fort he had all the male captives killed, while enslaving the women and children. There are no indications that slave male labor played a significant role in the economy of the Latin East and, therefore, one can assume that low-class male captives had little “economic value”, so to speak. Although territorial expansion and state building were ʿImād al-Dīn Zankī’s and Nῡr al-Dīn’s primary motives, raiding was also practiced. In 530/1135, ʿImād al-Dīn Zankī’s governor of Aleppo successfully raided the Frankish territory of Laṭakiyya, capturing 7,000 men, women, and children, as well as animals. The emphasis on the number and composition of the captives indicates that this area was populated by a Latin rural population.15 Permanent conquest of territory and its integration into the expanding state posed other problems. In 531/1137, ʿImād al-Dīn Zankī reconquered Maʻarrat al-Nuʻmān and Kfar Ṭāb, east of the Orontes. In these two places, he returned lands to their Muslim owners, whose claims were verified according to the tax registers (dafātir) held in Aleppo. The insistence on some kind of documentary evidence leaves open the question of what happened when claims to land were not supported by documentation. ʿImād al-Dīn al-Zankī’s action lingered long in the Muslim collective memory and came to symbolize a just and pious ruler. The historian Ibn Wāṣil (1208–1298) recounts a meeting between his father and the Ayyubid sultan al-Malik al-Muʿzzam ʿIsā in Jerusalem and their conversation about what had happened in the wake of ʿImād al-Dīn al-Zankī’s conquest of these two towns. Ibn Wāṣil’s father explained to the sultan that ʿImād al-Dān al-Zankī had adhered to the Ḥanafī school of law, which maintained that when a town is conquered by the infidels Muslim property owners lose their rights since the land becomes, in legal terms, the Abode of War (dār al-ḥarb). When the land is re-conquered by a Muslim ruler, properties formerly owned by Muslims go to the Treasury. Although jurists whom ʿImād al-Dīn al-Zankī consulted upheld the tenets of the Ḥanafī school on this issue, ʿImād al-Dīn al-Zankī did not follow their ruling. Ibn Wāṣil’s father maintained that sultan al-Malik al-Muʿzzam ʿIsā was appreciative of ʿImād al-Dīn al-Zankī’s action, implying that he had too adopted this policy.16 The point of the tale is that although both sultans were Ḥanafīs, their deviation from the teachings of their school of law when it served the interests of their subjects was acceptable and laudable. The sources are quite informative and appreciative regarding those rulers who initiated policies of economic revitalization of the territories conquered by them. In 1076, for example, Atsiz, the Turkish ruler of Damascus, took steps to improve agriculture in the Ghῡṭa, the cultivated belt around Damascus. He supplied the fellahin with seeds and ordered them to repair the damaged infrastructure. The 15 Lev, “The jihād,” 246. 16 See Mufarrij al-kurῡb fī akhāar Banī Ayyῡb, ed. Jamāl al-Dīn al-Shayyāl (Cairo, 1953), I, 74–75; eds. Ḥassanein Muḥammad Rabīʻ and ʻAbd al-Fatāḥ ʻĀshῡr (Cairo, 1072), IV, 213–214; Yehoshhua Frenkel, “The Impact of the Crusades on Rural Society and Religious Endowments: The Case of Medieval Syria (Bilād al-Shām),” in War and Society in the Eastern Mediterranean, 7th–15th Centuries, ed. Yaacov Lev (Leiden, 1997), 240.

Human suffering and the social implications of the Crusades  171 revival of the rural hinterland of Ashkelon took place after the 1154 conquest of the town by the Franks. William of Tyre writes enthusiastically about the exceptional fertility of the long uncultivated land. In the Arabic sources the theme of economic prosperity (ʿimāra) is combined with the notion of justice or, to put it differently, justice was perceived as instrumental in ensuring economic prosperity. It served as both a literary motif and a reflection of certain cases. In this vein, Ibn al-Azraq al-Fariqī (1116–1176) describes the beginning of the Artuqid rule in 1118 in the partially ruined town of Mayyafariqin (modern Silvan). The Artuqid rule brought stability and security and was sustained by tax remissions.17 Policies of economic revitalization were implemented when a conquest was envisioned as building a state through territorial expansion. Muslim rulers who adopted these policies were praised, irrespective of which regime they represented. One of the most telling examples of how the motif of ʿimāra and justice permeated Arab historiography is the case of Anushtakīn al-Dizbirī, who served intermittently as governor of Palestine and Syria (Damascus and Aleppo) between 1023 and 1042. A former military slave who, from the point of view of Sunnī historians like Ibn al-Qalānisī (d. 1160) and Ibn al-ʿAdīm (1193–1262), represented the despised Fatimid regime, is praised by both of them for his just rule and treatment of the population in the towns he ruled.18 Not surprisingly, tax remission implemented by exemplary Sunnī rulers such as Nῡr al-Dīn and Saladin are at the focus of the historical narrative. Nῡr al-Dīn’s tax remissions figure prominently in twelfth–thirteenth-century historiography. Two features of his tax policy are prominent: the remission of taxes unauthorized by Islamic law and the beneficial effect that those remissions had. In certain cases, Nῡr al-Dīn’s tax policy had a clear context: taxes were remitted following the conquest of major towns. In 1154, immediately after the conquest of Damascus, taxes previously levied under the tax farming system on the sale of watermelons and vegetables, were abolished. In 553/1158–1159, tax farmers offered money to Nῡr al-Dīn to reinstate these two taxes, but Nῡr al-Dīn refused and extended the tax remissions to include the sale of cheese and milk as well.19 Tax remissions were also declared following the seizure of Mosul in 566/1170– 1171. Construction of the Nῡrī mosque in the town also began immediately after Nῡr al-Dīn’s seizure of the town. Ibn al-Athīr insists that lands on which the mosque was built were purchased for a hefty price from their owners, and that the vast sum of 60,000 dīnārs was allocated for the construction of the mosque. In other cases, the context of the tax remissions is unclear. For example, in Rajab 551/ August–September 1156, taxes levied on merchants traveling to Iraq were abolished. No reason is offered for the edict from Rajab 567/February–March 1172, 17 Lev, “The jihād,” 242. 18 Ibn al-Qalānisī, 72, 75; Ibn al-ʿAdīm, Zubdat Ḥalab min taʾrīkh Ḥalab, ed. S. Dahan (Damascus, 1951), I, 257. 19 Ibn al-Qalānisī, 329, 352–353. For broader discussion of Nῡr al-Dīn’s taxation, see Stefan Heidemann, “Charity and Piety for the Transformation of the Cities,” in Charity and Giving in Monotheistic Religions, eds. Miriam Frenkel and Yaacov Lev (Berlin, 2009), 165–167.

172  Yaacov Lev which announced huge tax remissions that involved the major towns under Nῡr al-Dīn’s rule in Syria, such as Damascus, Aleppo, Homs, and Hama, as well as in Iraq, including Mosul.20 In the historiography of the period, Nῡr al-Dīn’s tax remissions primarily served to highlight his virtues and compliance with Islamic law. This, however, obscures the economic impact of his deeds. One lingering question that has remained unanswered is: were these tax remissions permanent or temporary? It seems that those announced over the years in Damascus were well-calculated and, perhaps, enduring acts. The tax remissions announced in the 1172 edict were so huge and comprehensive that one might ask what they really indicate about the economy of Nῡr al-Dīn’s state. Was it so prosperous that the sultan could afford such a vast reduction in revenues or, rather, had the tax burden become so unbearable that it needed to be adjusted? There is no straightforward answer to this question; but, perhaps, one can infer something from the defeat of 558/1163 and the way in which Nῡr al-Dīn rebuilt his army. In 1163, Nῡr al-Dīn’s army was surprised and defeated while besieging Crak [or Krak] des Chevaliers, and it was only due to the selfsacrifice of a Kurdish soldier that the sultan himself managed to flee to safety. Nῡr al-Dīn used the resources of Damascus and Aleppo to replenish the army’s equipment, while also transferring the iqṭāʿ’s grants of the fallen soldiers to their sons, restoring the numerical strength of the army.21 It seems, therefore, that at any given time Nῡr al-Dīn had sufficient cash reserves and an effective administration, enabling him to afford certain tax remission.

The surrender of cities The two sieges on Jerusalem that took place during 1099 exemplify the broader social implications of conquest, slaughter, and surrender. In the first case, when al-Afḍal, the military ruler of the Fatimid state, accepted after heavy fighting the surrender of Jerusalem, he treated well its two Turkish commanders and their men. He bestowed on them money and sent them to Damascus. Although the extent of the slaughter committed in Jerusalem after the fall of the town to the Crusaders is debated, one should note that some were granted safety and allowed to leave for Ashkelon, other captives were kept for ransom and thousands were slaughtered. What happened twice in Jerusalem during 1099 is illustrative of the fate of other cities, of the actions of their ruling military and civilian elites and of the fate of the local populations during the Frankish conquest of the eastern Mediterranean coast during the two first decades of the twelfth century.22 20 Ibn al-Athīr, Al-Kāmil IX, 461; Yaacov Lev, “The Social and Economic Policies of Nῡr al-Dīn (1146–1174): The Sultan of Syria,” Der Islam 81 (2004), 223–229. For Nῡr al-Dīn’s mosque in Mosul, see Yasser Tabbaa, “The Mosque of Nῡr al-Dīn in Mosul 1170–1172,” Annales islamologiques 36 (2002), 339–362. 21 Ibn al-Athīr, Al-Kāmil IX, 415, 429. 22 Ibid., 425. For the conquest of Jerusalem by the Crusaders, see, for example, Paul M. Cobb, The Race for Paradise (Oxford, 2014), 101–102.

Human suffering and the social implications of the Crusades  173 In 1101, Haifa was conquered, but the fate of its population is not known, while Arsuf surrendered and its population, of unknown size, was allowed to leave. In 1102, Acre warded off a Frankish siege, but in 1104 the town was conquered. Its Fatimid governor managed to flee to Damascus. Eventually, he was sent to Cairo, where he was imprisoned and released only in 1122. Despite being accused of surrendering Acre to the Franks, after 13 years of imprisonment his position and wealth were restored and he was appointed governor of the Buḥayra province in Egypt.23 How military commanders who had failed were treated is rarely mentioned in the sources. The inherent difficulties in commanding medieval armies on the battlefield is something that the people of the time must have understood. Even the most celebrated military leaders and state builders, like Nῡr al-Dīn and Saladin, were, occasionally, defeated and fled the battlefield. There appears to have been a fine line between an acceptable military failure and the dereliction of duty. In 1124, for example, the commander of a Fatimid expeditionary force in Palestine was put to death after his army crumbled in the face of the Franks without fighting.24 In 1109, in Beirut, unlike in Acre, the events took a different turn: both the governor and the commander of the Fatimid navy were killed in the fighting and, following the capture of the town, its population was enslaved.25 In 1110, during the siege of Sidon, the initiative for surrender came from the civilian elite – the cadi and notables (shuyῡkh). They managed to secure safe conduct for themselves as well as for the two top officials of the Fatimid regime in the town (the governor and the army commander, zimām), the troops, and many civilians, all of whom went to Damascus.26 The power of the local civilian elite and its ability to take independent action is again demonstrated in the surrender of Tyre in 1124. Ibn al-Athīr begins his long account of the fall of Tyre by stating that, until 1112, the town had been ruled by a Fatimid governor. In that year the population – Ibn al-Athīr uses the term ahl, apparently meaning an elite – sent a request to Ṭughtakīn, the ruler of Damascus, to appoint a governor on his behalf to prevent the fall of the town. Ṭughtakīn sent troops and a governor, Maʿsῡd, on whom Ibn al-Athīr lavishes praises for his bravery and military skills. Although Damascus became the defender of Tyre, Fatimid sovereignty was proclaimed during the Friday sermons, and coins were struck in the name of the Fatimid rulers. This peculiar arrangement was in place until the assassination of al-Afḍal in 1121. The new men in power in Cairo ordered the fleet dispatched to Tyre to arrest Maʿsῡd, explaining to Damascus that this was done at the request of the ahl, who had complained about Maʿsῡd’s oppressive conduct. Maʿsῡd survived the arrest, was well treated

23 Ibn al-Athīr, Al-Kāmil, VIII, 451, IX, 16; Ibn Muyassar, Akhbār Miṣr, ed. Ayman Fuʾād Sayyid (Cairo, 1981), 75. 24 Al-Maqrīzī, Ittiʿāẓ al-ḥunafāʾ bi-akhbār al-aʾimma al-Fāṭimiyyīn al-khulafāʾ, ed. Muḥammad Aḥmad (Cairo, 1976), III, 100. 25 Ibid., 34. 26 Ibid., 46.

174  Yaacov Lev in Cairo and then sent to Damascus, while the new Fatimid governor of Tyre appeased Ṭughtakīn. Ibn al-Athīr states that the removal of Maʿsῡd led the Franks to renew their siege on Tyre in 1124. Ṭughtakīn positioned his army in Banyas to deter the Franks, who continued their siege, while request to Egypt for naval support went unheeded. Ibn al-Athīr implies that Ṭughtakīn arranged the peaceful surrender of Tyre, which allowed its troops and population to leave the town unmolested and with some of their belongings. Ibn al-Athīr ends the account by stating that the fall of Tyre was a tremendous blow for the Muslims, demonstrating their weakness.27 Why Ibn al-Athīr did not lament the fall of Tripoli in 1109 remains unknown, but with the benefit of hindsight, what had happened in Tripoli was a prelude for what was to happen in Tyre. As in the case of Tyre, the local elite in Tripoli tried in vain to get Damascus and Cairo to collaborate in order to stave off the Frankish threat. Tripoli was ruled by the Banῡ ʿAmmār, an Ismaili family with a long record of service in the Fatimid state. In 1095, a member of the Egyptian branch of the family, cadi Abῡ ʿAbd Allāh Muḥammad ibn ʿAmmār, was put to death in Alexandria by al-Afḍal. A year earlier, upon the death of al-Mustanṣir (1035–1094) al-Afḍal had manipulated his succession by transferring it from Nizār to al-Mustanṣir’s youngest son, whom he installed as imām al-Mustaʿlī (1094–1101). Nizār fled to Alexandria, but the rebellion he launched from there was crushed. In the eyes of Ismaili loyalists, like the Banῡ ʿAmmār, al-Mustaʿlī and his successor al-Āmir (1101–1130) and al-Afḍal were all illegitimate rulers. According to ʿUmar ʿAbd al-Salām al-Tadmurī, the first member of the ʿAmmār family who became prominent in Tripoli was the cadi Amīn al-Dawla Abῡ Ṭālib c. 1033.28 He and subsequent members of the family became de facto rulers of the town but recognized the Fatimid imams as their religious leaders and political overlords. Mid-eleventh-century Tripoli was a thriving hub of Mediterranean trade, and if one believes Naṣir-i Khusraw, a Persian traveler and Ismaili sympathizer, under full Fatimid control. The incomes derived from customs levied on trade financed the upkeep of the Fatimid garrison. Amīn al-Dawla Abῡ Ṭālib died in 464/1071–1072 and was succeeded by his nephew Jalāl al-Mulk Abῡ l-Ḥasan ibn ʿAmmār.29 Tripoli warded off Frankish sieges during the first decade of the twelfth century, and Ibn al-Athīr lavishes extraordinary praise on its leader at that time, Fakhr alMulk Ibn ʿAmmār, whom he describes as resolute in defending Tripoli, brave, and politically savvy.30 Nonetheless, the internal situation in the town deteriorated and Fakhr al-Mulk made every effort to secure the help of Ṭughtakīn, the ruler of Damascus. He went first to Damascus and eventually to Baghdad to seek military

27 See Al-Kāmil, IX, 187–188. 28 See Taʾrīkh Ṭarāblus (Beirut, 1978), I, 245. 29 Nasir-i Khusraw, Book of Travels, trans. W. M. Thackston (New York, 1986), 13; Ibn al-Athīr, Al-Kāmil, VIII, 292. 30 See Al-Kāmil, X, 56.

Human suffering and the social implications of the Crusades  175 assistance for Tripoli. During his absence his cousin took over control of the town and asked al-Afḍal to provide Tripoli with grain and to appoint a governor on his behalf. In 501/1107–1108, probably in the summer of 1107, the Fatimid navy indeed brought provisions, but its commander, undoubtedly with local help, arrested members of Fakhr al-Mulk’s family, including his brother, and brought them and their wealth to Cairo, where the brother was well treated. However, Tripoli was conquered by the Franks in 1109 after a long siege (1st Shaʿbān-Dhῡ l-Ḥijja 502), and the Fatimid navy failed to assist the town, while the governor and his troops secured safe passage for themselves to Damascus. Despite no commentary on the events being offered in the sources, the narrative is sufficiently detailed and suggestive to allow a broader interpretation of Banῡ ʿAmmār’s rule in Tripoli.31 Although Naṣir-i Khusraw’s claim that the population of Tripoli was Shiite is doubtful, the Ismaili character of the Banῡ ʻAmmār’s rulers of the town is undeniable. They established in Tripoli an Ismaili learning institution, Dār al-ʿIlm, modeled on that established in 1005 in Cairo. Both institutions were endowed with large libraries. However, the manipulation of al-Mustanṣir’s succession by al-Afḍal brought about Fakhr al-Mulk’s estrangement from the dynasty and state to whom he had previously been loyal. His attempts to secure the help of his Syrian neighbors reflect his rancor in face of the political developments in Cairo. Thus, asking help from Cairo was not an option for him. In his absence, however, other members of the family pursued a different policy. Fakhr al-Mulk’s travels between Damascus and Baghdad in search of help for the besieged Tripoli reflect his elite status and the interplay between the civilian urban elite of twelfth-century Syria and the military rulers of the Muslim world of that period. He traveled in grand style, conferring gifts on his hosts in Damascus and Baghdad. In Baghdad both the caliph and the sultan went out of their way to welcome him, and Ibn al-Athīr is quick to point out that he was a recipient of worldly rewards for pursuing jihād and that he could expect even greater rewards in the afterlife. However, the personal esteem in which others held him was not translated into action by them. A curious twist in Fakhr al-Mulk’s lobbying for help took place upon his return, empty-handed, from Baghdad to Damascus: with Ṭughtakīn’s military assistance he took control of the small coastal town of Jabala. Following the fall of Tripoli, however, Fakhr al-Mulk’s position in Jabala became untenable, and he returned to Damascus and was given the governorship of another region.32 Eventually, in 1122, following al-Afḍal’s assassination, Fakhr al-Mulk returned to Cairo. This was not an unconditional return: he had first to recognize al-Āmir as a legitimate imām and to retract his allegiance to the Nizārī line. Having done

31 Ibn Muyassar, 78. 32 Ibn al-Athīr, Al-Kāmil, IX, 80–81, 96.

176  Yaacov Lev so, he became a well-provided-for pensioner of the Fatimid regime, enjoying a monthly stipend and the provision of food.33 While not entirely immune from the horrors of warfare, the military and civilian elites nonetheless managed in most cases to survive wars and maintain their social positions and roles. A notable change in the patterns of warfare took place around the middle of the thirteenth century, with the Khwarizmian and Mongolian invasions into the Middle East, but this subject is beyond the scope of the present chapter.

33 Al-Maqrīzī, III, 78–80.

12 The attempted assassination of Lord Edward of England at Acre, 1272 Susan B. Edgington

The eldest son and heir to King Henry I of England, known to contemporaries as The Lord Edward, had sailed with King Louis on the French king’s second crusading expedition in July 1270, but after Louis’s death in August of the same year he withdrew from Tunis to over-winter in Sicily with the French army.1 Edward was still set on fulfilling his crusade vow, so he sailed to Acre, arriving early in May 1271. He was accompanied by an army of English, probably no more than 1,000 men, and a few French nobles. Once in the Holy Land, however, Edward was faced with the increasing power of the Mamluks under Baybars, who had recently captured Krak des Chevaliers and was now threatening Tripoli. A couple of minor raids and an attempt to act against the Mamluks in concert with the Mongols failed, and militarily Edward achieved nothing. In the summer of 1272 an attempt on his life narrowly failed, which probably precipitated his departure and his making his will at Acre.2 The assassination attempt is to be the subject of this investigation into medieval myth-making. A number of medieval sources agree that the attack itself took place and on many of its details. The closest in time and place to the incident was written by William of Tripoli in the Tractatus de statu Saracenorum et de Mahumeti pseudopropheta, written in 1273 for Pope Gregory X.3 William was a Dominican missionary who is believed to have been resident in Acre at the time of the attack. He described it thus: Since the sultan saw that he could not win against Lord Edward by arms and that Edward had come to protect the Holy Land with 300 knights, acting as if

  1 For the background to the crusade, the preparations, and Edward’s performance against the Mamluks, see Christopher Tyerman, England and the Crusades 1095–1588 (Chicago, 1998), 124–132.   2 A transcript and translation of the will are included as an appendix. Although the will throws little or no light on the assassination attempt, it has some intrinsic interest and it has not, to my knowledge, previously been translated into English.   3 Edited as an appendix in Hans Prutz, Kulturgeschichte der Kreuzzüge (Berlin, 1883), 575–598. Because of the pandemic I have been unable to access the more recent German edition and translation by Peter Engels: Wilhelm von Tripolis, Notitia de Machometo: De statu Sarracenorum (Würzburg, 1992).

DOI: 10.4324/9781003146957-13

178  Susan B. Edgington he were beaten he called the emir [of Ramla] and told him to pretend to be Edward’s friend and the enemy of his own lord the sultan and a traitor to him. The emir formed a great friendship with Lord Edward by way of a messenger, whom he sent to him as if he himself were loyal, and this very messenger became so at home and familiar that whenever and just as he wanted he had access to Lord Edward without arousing the slightest suspicion. And so it came about that one night he entered, and when he found himself alone with Lord Edward with only a single interpreter present, he struck his lord and friend, but after he was struck the death blow by God’s mercy Lord Edward rose up against his enemy and struck him with his own poisoned knife and killed him, and he himself was was cured despite his friends’ despair, and his health was restored.4 An Arabic version, written by Ibn al-Furāt (1334–1405), confirms one or two of William’s details while differing on others. Ibn al-Furāt wrote that the sultan Baybars told the emir of Ramla to pretend he wanted to surrender to the Christians and to establish relations with the prince, which the emir did by way of two fédaïs, or agents, of the Old Man of the Mountains who had orders to assassinate Edward.5 They entered Edward’s service and then one day, when the prince was alone with an interpreter, one of the agents was admitted. He attacked Edward and stabbed him five times. Unsurprisingly, Ibn al-Furāt did not know how Edward’s wound was treated, just that “the Assassin was arrested and put to death; as for the prince, he did not die of his wounds.”6 Another near-contemporary report was written by the so-called Templar of Tyre, who recounted as an eyewitness the fall of Acre in 1291.7 The author probably incorporated oral evidence into his chronicle, and there is a great deal of circumstantial (but unverifiable) detail about the attack.8 The assailant, he wrote, was a  4 Tractatus, ed. Prutz, 587–588. Videns soldanus, quod contra dominum Odoardum non posset armis prevalere, quod cum CCC militibus ad terram sanctam custodiendam venerat, velut superatus almirallum vocavit et docuit ipsum, ut se fingeret Odoardi amicum et sui domini soldani inimicum et proditorem. Qui admirallus tantam amicitiam contraxit cum domino Odoardo per nuncium, quem ad ipsum dirigebat quasi fidelem, quod ipse nuncius fieret ita domesticus et familiaris, ut quandocumque et sicut vellet, intraret ad dominum sine dubitacionis scrupulo Odoardum. Accidit igitur, ut quadam nocte inraret et dum solum se invenit cum solo, interprete tantum presente, percussit ipsum dominum et amicum, sed dominus percussus ad mortem divina virtute surgens hostem suo cultello venenato percussit et interfecit et ipse post paucos dies contra spem amicorum curatus surrexit sanus. All translations are mine.   5 The Old Man of the Mountains was the head of the Nizārī Ismā‘īlī sect, called the Assassins by Westerners.   6 Joseph Toussaint Reinaud, Extraits des historiens arabes, relatifs aux guerres des Croisades (Paris, 1829), 530 (in French translation).   7 Paul E. Crawford, “Did the Templars Lose the Holy Land? The Military Orders and the Defense of Acre, 1291,” in Acre and Its Falls: Studies in the History of a Crusader City, ed. John France (Leiden, 2018), 105­–115.   8 What follows is paraphrased from the Old French of Les gestes des Chiprois, ed. Gaston Raynaud (Geneva, 1887), 201, §382; the same text in RHC Darm 2: 779. As before, I have not been able to

The attempted assassination of Lord Edward of England at Acre  179 Saracen whom Edward had converted to Christianity and who was employed by him as a spy. He had gained Edward’s trust to the extent that he was allowed unrestricted access to the prince. He arrived one night demanding to see the prince and report on his activities, and Edward came to the door clad only in shirt and breeches. The Saracen came close and stabbed him on the hip, a deep and dangerous wound. Edward felled his attacker by a punch in the middle of his forehead and then seized a knife from the table and killed him. The barons (seignors) of Acre “summoned all the medics and slaves who sucked the wound and extracted the poison, and he was cured of it.”9 Some key points of difference and elaboration are: the idea that the attacker was acting for the Mamluks is omitted; the location of the wound is specified; Edward used a different knife, not the attacker’s poisoned blade; and medics and slaves are particularly mentioned as responsible for curing Edward. Most particularly, it was the slaves who sucked the poison from the wound: a more likely choice of agent than the royal or noble persons who were woven into the legend later. One of the earliest surviving accounts of the assassination to be written in western Europe was by Baldwin of Avesnes (d. 1295).10 This followed William of Tripoli quite closely and recounted that the assassin (Hasasis) was sent by an emir to discuss the emir’s conversion to Christianity. The identification of the assailant as a member of the Nizārī Ismā‘īlī sect confirms Ibn al-Furāt. It is likely accurate, for as Robert Irwin has written, Baybars and his successors “employed them [the Nizārīs] as a kind of state assassination bureau.”11 Lord Edward believed the emissary’s cover story and frequently spoke with the man alone, despite the suspicions of his people. One day the assassin found Edward alone in his chamber, and he drew his knife and attacked him; Lord Edward wrested the knife from him and succeeded in killing him. Edward’s attendants heard the noise and rushed in, dismayed to find the prince wounded. They despaired of his life, but he was saved thanks to a stone given by the master of the Hospital “which was good against poisons” (par une piere que li maistres de l’Hospital li douna, qui estoit bonne contre venin, il torna a garison).12 This last added detail suggests, if true, that

access the modern translation: Paul Crawford, The “Templar of Tyre”: Part III of the “Deeds of the Cypriots” (Aldershot, 2003). I am grateful to Paul Crawford for his advice by email.  9 “[Ils] firent venir tous les mieges, et esclas quy li suserent sa plaie et en traistrent le venin, dont il fu bien guary.” This account in the Gestes des Chiprois found its way into the sixteenth-century Chronicle of Amadi, written in Italian, which diverges in only one detail: the prince is said to have seized un trespito from the table and killed the Assassin with that: R. de Mas Latrie, “Chronique d’Amadi,” in Chroniques d’Amadi et de Strambaldi, 2 vols (Paris, 1891–1893), 1: 212–213; see also Nicholas Coureas and Peter Edbury, The Chronicle of Amadi (Nicosia, 2015), 209, where un trespito is translated as “the leg of a table.” A three-legged stool is a more likely translation, see the paragraph on Walter of Hemingburgh later. 10 Chronicon Hanoniense quod dicitur Balduini Avennensis, ed. I. Heller, MGH SS 25 (1880), 464. 11 Robert Irwin, “Assassins,” in The Crusades: An Encyclopedia, ed. Alan V. Murray, 4 vols (Santa Barbara, 2006), 1:113–115, at 114. 12 Hugh Revel was Grand Master of the Hospital 1258–1277. Baldwin does not explain whether the stone was used topically, internally, or as an amulet – all three uses were recorded by Hildegard of

180  Susan B. Edgington every known remedy was resorted to in the medical emergency, but it supplants here the idea of sucking the poison from the wound, which was to gain more currency. A generation later, so up to 50 years after the event, Tolomeo of Lucca (c. 1236–c. 1327) recorded the most famous version of Edward’s cure. The incident was included in Tolomeo’s Historia Ecclesiastica because, as he tells us in his introduction to the episode, his informant was the archdeacon of Liège, the future Pope Gregory X, who was in Lord Edward’s entourage.13 While Edward was preparing to withdraw from Acre . . . a terrible misfortune happened to him. A Saracen of the race of Assassins became very friendly with him, but Edward did not know of the Assassin’s disposition. For he was so obliging both in his company and his ministrations that on Prince Edward’s orders he had easy entry and access to him, because of his pleasantness. Therefore one day while Edward arose from sleep, this Saracen came and gained entry to him, and seeing that there were no witnesses, he drew his poisoned Assassins’ sword and struck him with many blows. Lord Edward, as one dazed from sleep, did not have the advantage of his own weapons, but he grappled with the Assassin and killed him with his own sword. The prince called doctors and the best surgeons he could who were experienced in such great wounds, and he was treated with much benefit by them. But because the venom was so powerful, although he was as if made whole he was yet troubled now and then by pains in the place he was wounded, so on the advice of the doctors the wounds were still kept open and he was fully cured by dressings of precious ointments, in which that province is very abundant. Moreover, they say that at that time his Spanish wife, the sister of the king of Castile, showed great devotion to her husband, because she licked his open wounds all day with her tongue and sucked out the humour, and by her courage she drew out all the substance of the poison so that once the scars on the wounds were entire he felt that he was even more completely cured.14

Bingen in the twelfth century. Hildegard of Bingen, “Subtilitates diversarum naturarum creaturarum: De lapidibus,” PL 197, cols 1247–1266. 13 Ptolomæi Lucensis, Historia Ecclesiastica, RIS 11, col. 1167. See also J. M. Blythe, The Life and Works of Tolomeo Fiadoni (Ptolemy of Lucca) (Turnhout, 2009), 203–210. 14 Ptolomæi Lucensis, cols 1167–1168: dum se pararet ad recessum de Achon . . . accidit eidem mirabile infortunium. Quidam enim Saracenus de genere Assassinorum factus eidem multum familiaris, ignorante tamen ipso talis eum esse conditionis. Tantum enim erat eidem gratiosus & in conversando, & in ministrando, quod ad ipsum ex mandato Principis Odoardi facilis erat introitus, & ingressus propter suam placibilitatem. Quodam igitur die dum Odoardus surrexit a somno, venit iste Saracenus, & accessit ad eum, vidensque ipsum sine arbitris, extraxit gladium Assassinorum venenatum, eumque multis ictibus percussit. Dominus autem Odoardus sicut ex somno stupidus non habens opportunitatem suorum armorum, dictum tamen Assassinum amplexatus, cum suo gladio occidit ipsum. Hic autem Princeps advocans Medicos, & Chirurgos meliores, quos habere potuit, & et in talibus vulneribus magis expertos, cum multa sua utilitate curatus est. Sed quia venenum nimis fuit acutum, in loco vulnerum, quamvis integratus quasi, inquietabatur tamen

The attempted assassination of Lord Edward of England at Acre  181 Despite Tolomeo’s assertion that his informant was well placed to know what happened, it is evident that the story was becoming distorted by the time he wrote it down. Edward himself is depicted as approachable to the point of gullibility, but no longer the dupe of Baybars. The assailant’s small knife (cultellus) has become a sword (gladius), and Edward’s cure resulted from the attention of doctors and surgeons with precious oriental medicaments. Most strikingly, in this version sucking the poison was not the assigned task of slaves, but an act of devotion by Edward’s wife, Eleanor of Castile.15 Eleanor was certainly present at Acre, and she and Edward were a devoted couple: as evidence may be cited their 15 children (not all of whom survived infancy), including “Joan of Acre” born in spring 1272, and the 12 “Eleanor crosses” with which Edward marked the overnight stops of Eleanor’s funeral procession from Lincoln to Westminster.16 Marital devotion notwithstanding, the idea that Eleanor participated in Edward’s cure in the way described was always unlikely and has long been discredited.17 Significantly, Tolomeo himself distanced himself by introducing the tale with “They say” (Tradunt), thus dissociating this part of the story from his informant, the archdeacon. Nevertheless, this is the version of the assassination story that gained the most traction beyond the medieval period, as shown, for example, in some Victorian illustrations. It is notable that in these the site of the wound is Edward’s arm, rather than the hip (hanche) that was specified in Les gestes des Chiprois.18 Walter of Hemingburgh, also writing in the first decades of the fourteenth century, was the first chronicler in England to describe the attack.19 He did not record the source of his information, which is very circumstantial and includes direct speech. According to Walter, Edward’s reputation in the Holy Land had become so formidable that the Mamluks conceived a plot to kill him. The emir of Jaffa (not Ramla) feigned an interest in conversion to Christianity, and his messenger gained privileged access to Edward. On his fifth visit, even though he had been searched for weapons by Edward’s servants, he smuggled in a poisoned knife (cultellus) and

interdum doloribus; unde consilio Medicorum adhuc apertæ sunt plagæ, fomentis unguentorum pretiosorum, quibus illa superabundabat Provincia, plene curatus est. Tradunt autem, quod tunc uxor sua Hispana, & soror Regis Castellæ ostendit in viro suo magnam fidelitatem, quia plagas ipsius apertas omni die lingua lingebat, ac sugebat humorem, cujus virtute sic attraxit omnem materiam veneni, quod, integratis cicatricibus vulnerum, sensit ulterius se plenissime curatum. 15 Bernard Hamilton, “Eleanor of Castile and the Crusading Movement,” in Intercultural Contacts in the Medieval Mediterranean, ed. Benjamin Arbel (London, 1996), 92–103. 16 Eleanor died in 1290; for her life and marriage, see Sara Cockerill, Eleanor of Castile: The Shadow Queen (Stroud, 2014). 17 For example, T. A. Archer and C. L. Kingsford dismissed it as Tolomeo’s “romantic story” in a footnote: The Crusades: The Story of the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem (London, 1894), 406. Their narrative followed Walter of Hemingburgh’s very closely, although he was not acknowledged as the source. 18 Copies held in the Wellcome Collection may be accessed freely online: https://wellcomecollection.org/collections [accessed 17 May 2022]. 19 Walter is also known as Walter of Guisborough. Here consulted as Walter of Hemingburgh, Chronicon, vol. 1 (London, 1848), 334–336.

182  Susan B. Edgington stabbed the prince. Edward wrestled him to the ground and stabbed him in the stomach with his own knife. The assailant was dead before the servants rushed in, but one of them, the harpist (citharedus) seized a three-legged stool (tripodes) and hit him over the head anyway. Walter claims that a cure was attempted by the master of the Temple,20 who gave Edward a precious potion, but neither this nor the remedies of surgeons who were called prevented Edward’s flesh turning black. There was much anxious muttering among the medics before one of them, an Englishman, said Edward could be cured but it would be very painful as the only possible remedy was to cut away the gangrenous flesh. The English writer, notably, did not give Eleanor a heroic role at all: she was weeping and wailing at Edward’s bedside, and the king’s surgeon had her forcibly removed for the duration of the operation. Her escorts said to her, “Leave off weeping, my lady, it is better for you to pour out tears than for all England to weep.”21 The gangrenous flesh was excised, and Edward was promised a complete recovery within a fortnight. The detail included by Walter suggests an oral, English source: he describes the successful operation as the initiative of an English surgeon, and he names the two noble attendants who led Eleanor away as Edward’s brother Edmund and John de Vescy. As Bruce Beebe observed, though, there is good evidence that Edmund had already left for home the previous month, May 1272.22 Some of the more prosaic details echo the two earliest reports, by William of Tripoli and in Les gestes des Chiprois, but there is clearly a great deal of embellishment, either by Walter himself or by his informants. The dramatic presentation of the episode has an anecdotal, performative quality that is typical of oral tradition.23 The chauvinistic spin on events was not confined to the English writer. John of Ypres, probably writing in the 1330s, told a similar story to Tolomeo’s about the attack itself.24 There is the Saracen who had insinuated himself into Edward’s confidence, the attack as Edward was waking from sleep, and the struggle between them. According to John, Edward threw the assassin to the ground and seized the poisoned dagger; his attendants heard the din, rushed in, and put the assassin to the sword. John of Ypres has a markedly different account of Edward’s cure, however, which he introduces with a warning that it is hearsay only: “And I who am writing heard it told by certain Savoyards, honest and trustworthy men but telling

20 Thomas Bérard was Grand Master of the Temple 1256–1273. 21 Walter Hemingburgh, Chronicon, 336: “Sine, domina, melius est quod tu effundas lachrymas quam quod lachrymetur tota terra Anglicana.” 22 Bruce Beebe, “The English Baronage and the Crusade of 1270,” Bulletin of the Institute of Historical Research 48 (1975), 127–148, at 131–132, citing the evidence of the Eracles Old French continuation of William of Tyre: “L’estoire de Eracles empereur et la conqueste de la Terre d’Outremer,” RHC Oc, 2: 462. 23 Carol Sweetenham, “What Really Happened to Eurvin de Créel’s Donkey? Anecdotes in Sources for the First Crusade,” in Writing the Early Crusades: Text, Transmission and Memory, eds. Marcus Bull and Damien Kempf (Woodbridge, 2014), 75–88. 24 Chronicon S. Bertini, Thesaurus Novus Anecdotorum, eds. E. Martène and U. Durand, vol. 3 (Paris, 1717), cols 750–751.

The attempted assassination of Lord Edward of England at Acre  183 of things they heard not saw.”25 In fact, they began by telling John that when Otto de Grandson, a fellow Savoyard, was born, astrologers foresaw a powerful and victorious future for the child, and one of them plucked a brand (facula) from the fire, saying that as long as the brand survived, so would Otto. His father walled up the brand to ensure a long life for his son, and when Otto was extremely old and weary of living, he had it taken out and thrown on the fire, whereupon he died. Otto de Grandson did indeed live to the age of 90, as was established by the time John of Ypres was writing. This is the context in which the Savoyards made Otto the poison-sucking hero, and not Eleanor. Otto de Grandson was certainly in the service of Edward and with him on crusade.26 The Savoyards’ story was that Otto heard that Edward had been attacked with a poisoned weapon, “and he alone dared to suck his poisoned wounds . . . and thus Edward was restored to health.”27 John of Ypres’ informants were thus demonstrating the power of the prophecy of longevity. They further claimed that this was how Otto and his men gained reputation and honour with the kings of England, neglecting the evidence that Otto had been in English royal service since the 1250s and in Edward’s since at latest 1268, when he and the prince were knighted together. The writer himself casts doubt on the whole story by repeating at its end, “I claim this only as something told me from hearsay.”28 In a final transformation of the tale, the victim as well as the saviour was changed. Guido da Vigevano was physician to Jeanne of Burgundy, the wife of Philip VI Valois of France.29 When King Philip was planning to go on crusade in the 1330s, Guido took it upon himself to write a “treasury” (texaurus) of advice for him.30 This included a section, illustrated, of ingenious but unworkable war machines and advice on the maintenance of health with a guard against poisons.31

25 Chronicon S. Bertini, col. 751: Et audivi qui scribo, narrantibus quibusdam Sabaudiis viris honestis et fide dignis, sed narrata non visa narrantibus. 26 Girart Dorens, “Sir Otho de Grandison 1238?–1328,” Transactions of the Royal Historical Society 3 (1909), 125–195. 27 Chronicon S. Bertini, col. 751: solus ausus fuit sugere vulnera invenenata [for vulvam invenenatam in the printed text] [ . . . ] et sic Edoardus sanatus est. 28 Chronicon S. Bertini, col. 751: Haec non assero nisi ut dictum est ex relatu. It may be noted in passing that Berger, writing in 1914, suggested that the two versions of Tolomeo and John of Ypres could easily be reconciled by proposing that Otto and Eleanor took it in turns: Élie Berger, “Guy de Vigevano et Philippe de Valois,” Journal des Savants (1914), 5–14. 29 Carlo Dell’Orbo, “Io, Guido medico. . .,” Viglevanum 4 (1994), 56–66. 30 Norman Housley, The Later Crusades (Oxford, 1992), 33–36; C. J. Tyerman, “Philip VI and the Recovery of the Holy Land,” English Historical Review 100 (1985), 22–52; Christopher Tyerman, How to Plan a Crusade (London, 2015), 255. 31 The work’s full title was Texaurus regis Francie acquisicionis terre sancte de ultra mare, necnon sanitatis corporis ejus et vite ipsius prolongacionis, ac eciam cum custodia propter venenum. The war machines have been studied and reproduced: Giustina Ostuni, G., Le Macchine del Re: Il Texaurus Regis Francie di Guido da Vigevano (Vigevano, 1993); Bert S. Hall, “Guido da Vigevano’s Texaurus regis Francie,” in Studies on Medieval Fachliteratur, ed. William Eamon, Scripta 6 (Brussels, 1982), 33–44. The pages of the regimen sanitatis are in Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, MS lat. 11015, fols. 32r–41r: online at https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/btv1b520009994/

184  Susan B. Edgington The advice on poisons began with a version of the assassination attempt included as a cautionary tale for readers. Guido warned about the danger of the enemy employing poison to attack crusaders in the Holy Land: And this is clear from the Sultan of Egypt [Baybars] who wanted to have St Louis, king of France, killed by an assassin, since he had him wounded by a poisoned sword in the presence of my lord, Lord Otto de Grandson, who told me this.32 Guido gave no more details of the attack or Edward’s treatment, simply concluding: “Hence I shall give on this subject the best and securest safeguard against poison.”33 It is not impossible that Guido was informed by Otto de Grandson, since Otto died at the age of 90 in 1328, at a time when Guido had been in the service of the German emperor for almost 20 years. It is also possible that Otto had confused memories of Louis’s second crusade, since he and Edward were with the king in Tunis before sailing to Acre. However, it was more probably Guido himself who fused together elements of different legendary events attached to Louis IX’s crusades. On his first expedition when Louis was in Acre, in 1250 or 1251, he received quite graphic death threats from the Old Man of the Mountains, though they did not specify death by poison.34 However, Guido’s claim that Otto de Grandson was there to see this is unlikely: Otto was no more than 12 or 13 at the time of Louis’s first crusade, and there is no evidence that he accompanied him. Otto did participate in Louis’s second crusade, but as part of the entourage of Lord Edward of England, and they were in Acre only after Louis had died.35 Élie Berger charitably explained the switch in victims from King Louis to Lord Edward as Guido’s being confused by “his noble interlocutor,” namely Otto de Grandson.36 It seems much more likely that Guido da Vigevano had heard a version of a royal assassination story that was current at the time of writing in 1335 and that he was aware that the intended victim was Lord Edward of England. By making King Louis the hero, however, he flattered and encouraged Philip VI by invoking his

f73.item.r=MS%20lat [accessed 20 May 2021]. I am grateful to Norman Housley for drawing this manuscript to my attention. The regimen has not yet been translated into English. 32 Folios 39r–39v: Et hoc apparuit per soldanum Babilonie qui per assassinum voluit sanctum Ludovicum regem Francie perimi facere veneno, cum per gladium venenatum fecerit ipsum vulnerari presente domino meo domino Ottone de Grandisono qui hoc michi narravit. 33 Vnde super hoc dabo custodiam optimam et securam a ueneno. 34 Jean de Joinville, Histoire de Saint Louis, ed. Natalis de Wailly (Paris, 1874), 246–250; trans. Margaret Shaw (Harmondsworth, 1963), 277­–280. There was also a legend circulating in the thirteenth century that the Old Man of the Mountains sent assassins to France in 1236 or 1237: Guillaume de Nangis, Gesta sancti Ludovici, RHGF 20: 309–559, at 324; Chronique rimée de Philippe Mouskes, ed. F. A. F. T. de Reiffenberg, Collection de Chroniques Belges Inédits, 2 vols (Brussels, 1838), 2: 624–626, vers 29340–29391. 35 Tyerman, England and the Crusades, 125; Michael Prestwich, Edward I (New Haven, 1997), 78­–79. 36 Berger, “Guy de Vigevano,” 12.

The attempted assassination of Lord Edward of England at Acre  185 great-grandfather, a crusading legend and saint. Furthermore, ten years later, in 1345, Guido updated the regimen to include it in a manuscript compendium and he provided a footnote.37 It read: “I put in this example because I believed that King Philip was journeying overseas to fight the Saracens.”38 This does not fall far short of an admission that the anecdote was a conscious distortion. In tracing the development of the narrative around the attempt to assassinate Lord Edward at Acre, we have seen almost every detail change. In the earliest accounts written in the Levant – William of Tripoli and the Gestes des Chyprois – and in Ibn al-Furāt, the only Arabic version, it is possible to discern a core of likely truth. The attack was a Mamluk initiative; the agent had gained Edward’s trust; he stabbed and wounded him; but Edward survived. The information around this core is fluid, no matter how circumstantially it is presented, especially when the story reaches western Europe. Some of the changes, such as the weapon used, how Edward was dressed, and whether he had anyone with him, are likely to have been evolutionary: the way a story grows as it passes from person to person orally so that a small knife that is easily concealed, for example, may become a sword. Writers were conscious of the hearsay effect and acknowledged it: Tolomeo of Lucca distinguished between his trusted source, the archdeacon of Liège, and popular rumour, the tradunt that introduced the unlikely sucking of the poisoned wound by Edward’s wife and future queen, Eleanor of Castile.39 Some additions and stylistic choices appear to be conscious elaborations on the part of an author who is striving to create an immediate, performative effect. Walter of Hemingburgh’s level of detail and his use of personal names and direct speech are a prime example of this. Walter also slanted his narrative in the service of patriotism, laying stress on the English surgeon and recording, perhaps inventing, the comment of Eleanor’s escorts. In the case of John of Ypres, who presented a prosaic account of the attack itself, the inclusion of Savoyard hearsay about Edward’s cure is hedged with caveats, and it is likely that John himself doubted that Otto de

37 The revised regimen is Chantilly, Musée Condé, MS 334, fols. 241r–255v. The manuscript is digitised at: https://portail.biblissima.fr/fr/ark:/43093/mdataffb066c8173a9f56f576fa82e09f70ce9c5569a0 [accessed 20 May 2021]. The first 240 folios comprise extracts of Galen (very dull); the last section, folios 257r to 273v, is the best known part of the volume, Guido’s anatomical drawings and text: Ernest Wickersheimer, “L’Anatomie de Guido de Vigevano, médecin de la Reine Jeanne de Bourgogne (1345),” Archiv für Geschichte der Medizin 7 (1914), 1–25; idem, Anatomies de Mondino dei Luzzi et de Guido de Vigevano (Geneva, 1926). 38 Folio 251v: Hoc exemplum posui quia credibam Philippum regem ultra mare contra Sarracenos se transferre. 39 This particular romantic embellishment evidently caught the imagination of Pietro Giannone in the eighteenth century. He transferred it to Robert Curthose returning from the First Crusade. Robert was suffering from a wound sustained during the siege of Jerusalem in 1099 and his new wife, Sibyl of Conversano, sucked the pus from it as he slept: Pietro Giannone, Istoria civile del regno di Napoli, vol. 2 (Naples, 1723), 127. It is worth noting that in the second edition of Giannone’s Istoria (1766) there was a parenthetical addition that “Alcuni stimano favoloso questo racconto del succhiamento del veleno,” 97; in the 1821 edition a footnote to the parenthesis was added: “Adizione dell’Autore,” 305.

186  Susan B. Edgington Grandson sucked the poisoned wound. In its final transformation, at least in the fourteenth century, Guido da Vigevano appears to have heard the Savoyard version that pinned the cure on Otto de Grandson, but his taking the step of changing the injured party to King Louis IX of France was almost certainly deliberate, pressing the story into service as an exemplum to illustrate his treatise on the danger of poisoning in the Levant for presentation to the French king. Once all the accretions that gathered around the original episode have been stripped away, we can be sure of only two things: there was an assassination attempt on Edward of England, and he recovered from it. An extra piece of evidence that demonstrates how seriously the danger to Edward’s life was taken at the time is his will made at Acre, which is dated 18 June 1272. The sources give two different dates for the attack, Walter of Hemingburgh 16 June and the Old French continuation of William of Tyre 18 June; one way or another, the will was made within a few hours or days of Edward’s wounding.40 It is appended here, and although the desperate circumstances in which it was made are not mentioned, several of the characters in the different stories are, including Eleanor and Otto de Grandson. Edward sailed for home on 22 September, about as late in the year as was considered prudent, which may be another indication of the severity of his wounding. He stayed to overwinter in Sicily, and it was there that he heard of his father’s death and that he had become king of England.41

40 Walter of Hemingburgh, Chronicon, 1: 335, dies Jovis infra octavas Pentecostes, which was 16 June in 1272.; “Eracles,” RHC Oc, 2: 462. 41 Henry III died on 16 November 1272.

Appendix The will of Lord Edward made at Acre, 18 June 127242

Transcript En nun du pere du fiuz e du seynt esprit amen . Nus Edward einsne filz au noble Rey dengletere . fesoms nostre testament en nostre bon sen e en nostre bone memorie le samedy procheyn apres la Pentecouste . en le an de nostre seygnur mil deu cent . setannt secund en ceste manere En primes nus divisoms a deu e a nostre dame seinte marie e a tuz seyns nostre alme & nostre cors ensevelir . ou nos esseketurs . ceo est a saver sire Johan de Bretayne . sire William de Vallence sire Roger de Clifford sire Payn de Chaurtes . sire Roberd Tibetot . sire Otes de Graunison . Robert Burnett & Antoyne Bek . o aukuns de eus aurunt devise [2] As queus nus donoms et grauntoms plener poer ke il pusint ordiner pur nostre alme de tuz nos beyns moebles e noun moebles cum en rendre nos dettes, e redrecher les torz ke nus avoms fet par nus ou par nos baliz e rendre a nostre gent lur seruise suloin ceo ke il verrunt ke bon seyt et par ceo ke nus savoms ben ke noz moebles ne purrunt pas suffire a ceo. Vuluns e otroioms ke noz avaunt diz exseketurs eyent plener poer lequel nus les grauntoms si avaunt ke nus pouns de ordiner establir de tutes nos teres d’engletere, de Irelaunde, ce Gastonie e de tutes nos autres teres ke il en pusent ourir en memes la manere ke nus feymes quant eles furent en nostre meyn saunz vendre ou doner . e en lur meyns tenir ensemblement o la garde de nos enfannz iusque au plener age de eus pur nostre testament acomplir & nos aumones fere en engletere & aillurs sulun ceo ke nos esseketurs verrunt ke seyt afere. As queus fere nus ordinoms ceynt milie mars & apres nostre devis fet & nos aumons acomplies volums ke les issues des avaunt dites teres turgent au profit de noz enfannz et demurgent en les meyns des avaunt diz exseketurs iuskes al age de noz enfaunz avaunt nomes & si aventure avenge ke nostre seygnur Rey nostre pere murge dedenz le age de nos enfauns ke deu defende . nos voloms ke le reaume dengletere & tutes les autres teres ke porrunt eschair a noz enfaunz demorgent en les meyns de nos esse-keturs avaunt nomes ensemblement o . . . nostre cher piere

42 Kew, The National Archives, MS E 36/274: I thank the NA for supplying a digital copy. I am also very grateful to Simon Parsons for his much needed and invaluable help with both the transcription and translation of Edward’s will.

188  Susan B. Edgington le Erceuesk de Everwyk e sire Roger . . . evesk et autres prodes hommes du reaume ke il akondrunt, si mestier seyt Jeskes al plener age de nos enfaunz sus nomez . e ke les issues des avaunt dites teres seyent cuilliz e gardez per les meyns de nos exseketurs avaunt diz e liuerez a nos enfaunz quant il serrunt de plener age a lur profist E sur ceo nus voloms & ordinoms ke deus ou plus de noz esseketurs eyent poer de oiir nos acuntes e de receyvere de tuz nos balliz ou ke il seyent . devaunt nostre departir dengletere e puis se il ne poent muster ke il eyent leal acunte rendue . e si nul de nos balif seyt mort ke ses heyres seyent tenuz a rendre la cunte pur luy Endreyt de dowarie de nostre chere femme Alianore volums ke ele eyt pleynement ceo ke fust nome quant l’espusams . e si de ceo ne se tent pas a pae nus voloms ke ele eyt ceo ke dreyt e ley la dorra . sulom les usages e le leys dengletere E voloms ausi ke la ou tuz noz esseketurs ne porrunt estre pur fere le exsecution de nostre testament avaunt dit . ke quatre ou plus en nun des autrys eyent poer par eus e pur les autrys pur acomplir les choses sus dites E pur ceo priums a nostre seynt pere lapostle ke il wyle ceste chose tenir & fere tenir e confermer . E ke il wyle prier nostre cher pere ke il wyle tenir estable e fere tenir par tut sou ke Reaume e tot son poer [3] quel part ke il seyt . les choses avaunt nomes En testinoniaunce de la queu chose a ceo testament avoms fet mettre nostre sel . & avoms prie sire Johan Erceueske de Sur & vicarie de la seinte eglise de Jurusalem & les honurables bers frere Hue Revel mestre dil Hospital & frere Thomas Berard mestre du Temple ke acest escrit meisent ausi lur seus . les queus si le unt fet ensembelement o nos esseketurs avaunt nomes en tesmoyaunce des choses fus dites . Donez a Acre le samedy avaunt nome le disutime jur de Juen . Lan de Regne le Rey nostre pere Cinkaunt e sime.

Translation In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost. Amen. We, Edward, eldest son of the noble king of England, make our testament, in our good sense and good memory, the Saturday next after Pentecost in the year of Our Lord 1272 in this manner. First we bequeath to God and to Our Lady Holy Mary and to all saints our soul, and our body to be buried where our executors, that is to say: Sire John of Brittany43; Sire William de Vallence44; Sire Roger de Clifford45; Sire Payn de Chaworth46; Sire Robert Tybetot47; Sire Othon de Grandison; Robert Burnell48 & Antony Bek49; or any of them, will arrange. [2] To whom we give and grant full

43 Bruce Beebe, “The English Baronage and the Crusade of 1270,” Bulletin of the Institute of Historical Research 18 (1975), 128–148, at 132, 148. See also Reinhold Röhricht, “La Croisade du Prince Édouard d’Angleterre (1270–1274),” AOL 1 (1881), 617–632. 44 Beebe, “English Baronage,” 132, 142, 147. 45 Ibid., 132, 142, 144. 46 Ibid. 47 Ibid., 132, 142, 147. 48 Ibid., 132, 144. 49 Thomas Rymer, Foedera, Third edition (The Hague, 1745), 114.

The attempted assassination of Lord Edward of England at Acre  189 power to dispose of all our goods for our soul, movable and immovable, and to pay our debts and redress the wrongs that we have done on our own account or through our bailiffs and repay to our people their service in accordance with what seems to them to be good, and because we know well that our movable goods cannot suffice for this, we will and authorise our aforesaid executors to have full power, which we grant them, to such an extent as we can, to ordain and legislate concerning all our lands in England, in Ireland, in Gascony, and in all our other lands, that they may be able to act in the same way that we did, when they were in our demesne, without selling or giving them away, and in their demesnes hold them collectively for the maintenance of our children until the age of majority, in order to fulfil our testament and to give our alms in England and elsewhere according to what our executors consider appropriate. To do this we ordain a hundred thousand marks and after our bequests are made and our alms granted we will that the revenues of the aforesaid lands are turned to the profit of our children and remain in the custody of the aforesaid executors until the [coming of] age of our aforesaid children, and if perchance it should happen that our lord King our father die before our children reach the age of majority, which God forbid, we will that the realm of England and all the other lands that can revert by escheat to our children should be left in the custody of our executors named above together with . . .50 our dear father the Archbishop of York51 and Sire Roger . . .52 bishop and other worthy men of the realm that they will appoint if it is necessary until the age of majority of our children named above, and that the revenues of the aforesaid lands are collected and kept by the demesnes of our aforesaid executors and delivered to our children when they are of full age to benefit from them. And on this we will and ordain that two or more of our executors shall have the power to audit our accounts and to receive from all our bailiffs wherever they are, if, since before our departure from England and subsequently, they cannot show that they have rendered a faithful account, and if any one of our bailiffs has died, his heirs are obliged to render account for him. Regarding the dowry of our dear wife Eleanor. We will that she have in full what was named when I married her, and if, on this matter, [the dowry] does not persist in paying we will that she have what justice and law will give according to the customs of England. And we also will that where all our executors cannot be present to carry out the execution of our testament aforesaid, then four or more in the name of the others should have the power to act on their own account and for the others to accomplish the things said above. And for this we pray our holy father the pope that he will hold to this matter, and have it held to and confirmed. And that he will ask our dear father to have it held to as binding and to have observed everywhere under his kingship and the extent of his power [3] wherever it may be the things named above. In testimony of which thing, to this testament we have had our seal set, & we have asked John, archbishop of

50 Illegible. 51 Walter Giffard, 1266–1279. 52 Lacuna.

190  Susan B. Edgington Tyre53 and vicar of the holy church of Jerusalem & the honourable barons brother Hugh Revel, master of the Hospital,54 and brother Thomas Bérard master of the Temple55 who have also set their seals to this document, which they have also done together with our executors named above in witness of those things that have been said. Given at Acre, the Saturday as named above, the eighteenth day of June in the fifty-sixth year of our father the King’s reign.

53 John of St Maxentius, archbishop of Tyre 1267–1272, see Bernard Hamilton, The Latin Church in the Crusader States: The Secular Church (London, 1980), 272–273. 54 Hugh Revel, Grand Master 1258–1277. 55 Thomas Bérard, Grand Master 1256–1273.

13 Frankish intervention in Egypt during the reign of Amalric Conquest or extortion? Michael S. Fulton In the autumn of 1168, Amalric of Jerusalem, along with his army, waited outside the walls of Cairo. This was the fourth time that he had invaded Egypt since becoming king in 1163. Although Amalric would invade once more the following year, this campaign, and the motives that inspired it, are perhaps the least understood. It is not uncommon for scholars to characterize Amalric’s policies and actions relating to Egypt as part of a broader effort to conquer the region; however, there is very little that can be put forward as direct evidence of this prior to 1168.1 Although the campaign of that year is often used to highlight Amalric’s apparent expansionist objectives, I believe the king’s general aims relating to Egypt in the mid-1160s were more opportunistic and less absolute. When examined individually, Amalric’s invasions in 1163, 1164 and 1167 were motivated and guided by a desire for money, not conquest. The conclusion of an alliance with the Byzantines thereafter, however, changed the political dynamic in which Amalric had been operating. By the late summer of 1168, with a cooperative campaign planned with the Byzantines for the following year, Amalric may have believed this was his last opportunity to exploit the Fatimids before Egypt was conquered and divided. He marched into Egypt and then did what he had done on his previous three incursions: he attempted to use the presence of his army to extract a large cash payment. In certain ways, the campaign marks a transition, from a Frankish policy of extortion to a cooperative Greco-Frankish policy of conquest. Amalric’s actions in 1168 inadvertently assisted the Ayyubids’ rise to power in Cairo, which resulted in a new regional political environment that rendered his previous strategy of exploitation inapt.

  1 For examples of the common generalization that Amalric’s primary interest in Egypt was conquest, see Jonathan Philips, “The Latin East, 1098–1291,” in The Oxford History of the Crusades, ed. Jonathan Riley-Smith (Oxford, 1999), 111–137, at 122; idem, The Crusades, 1095–1197 (Harlow, 2002), 95–99; Jill N. Claster, Sacred Violence: The European Crusades to the Middle East, 1095–1396 (Toronto, 2009), 180–181; Thomas Asbridge, The Crusades (London, 2010), 268–272. For more focused suggestions or assumptions that the campaign of 1168 was motivated by conquest, see Yaacov Lev, Saladin in Egypt (Leiden, 1999), 58–60; John France, Hattin (Oxford, 2015), 49; Alan V. Murray, The Crusades and the Holy Land (Santa Barbara, 2015), 5.

DOI: 10.4324/9781003146957-14

192  Michael S. Fulton According to William of Tyre, Amalric’s first invasion of Egypt took place in September 1163, seven months after the death of his brother, Baldwin III. The campaign was motivated by the Fatimids’ refusal to pay a tribute that had been agreed upon during Baldwin’s reign. The Fatimid force that confronted the king and his army was defeated near Bilbays; however, the advance of the Franks was halted when the Fatimids then opened a number of dykes, flooding the surrounding countryside.2 The apparently small size of Amalric’s force confirms that this was not a campaign of conquest, but Amalric hints at the prospect of conquering Egypt in a letter that he sent to Louis VII of France shortly afterwards, part of a broader effort to entice the French king to lead another crusade to the Levant.3 The Fatimids had been suffering internal issues through much of the past century, but by the early 1160s Egyptian emirs were fighting openly for power, leading to a succession of four different viziers between the start of 1161 and Amalric’s first invasion.4 The king’s second invasion, in 1164, was a direct result of this instability. Shāwar, who had usurped Ruzzīk to become vizier at the start of 1163, was pushed out of power by Ḍirghām in August, leaving Ḍirghām to confront Amalric’s first invasion. Shāwar, who travelled to Syria and gained the support of Nūr al-Dīn, returned to Egypt, backed by a Syrian army led by one of Nūr al-Dīn’s emirs, Shīrkūh.5 Ḍirghām was subsequently defeated outside the walls of Cairo in the spring of 1164, allowing Shāwar to reclaim the office of vizier. Once reinstated, however, Shāwar refused to honour the agreement he had made with Nūr al-Dīn and called on Amalric to help drive Shīrkūh from Egypt. Enticed by promises of wealth, Amalric responded positively.6 The king led a Frankish army into Egypt, united his force with that of Shāwar, and then besieged Bilbays, where Shīrkūh had established himself. The siege began in late July and lasted for three months, by which point all parties were probably agreeable to peace: Shīrkūh was running desperately low on supplies; the Franks were receiving worrying reports that Nūr al-Dīn had won a great battle over an army of northern Christians and then taken Banyas; and Shāwar simply wanted both the Franks and Syrians out of

 2 William of Tyre, Chronicon 19.5, ed. R. B. C. Huygens (Turnhout, 1986), 870–871. Cf. al-Maqrīzī, al-Khiṭaṭ, trans. Paul Casanova, Description topographique et historique de l’Egypte, pts. 3 and 4, appearing as vols. 3–4 (Cairo, 1906–1920), 4:33.  3 Recueil des historiens des Gaules et de la France [hereafter RHGF], vol. 16 (Paris, 1878), no. 194, pp. 59–60.   4 For an overview of the final century of Fatimid rule in Egypt, see Michael Brett, The Fatimid Empire (Edinburgh, 2017), 233–295.   5 For Shāwar’s agreement with Nūr al-Dīn, see Ibn al-Athīr, al-Kāmil fī al-taʾrīkh, trans. D. S. Richards, The Chronicle of Ibn al-Athīr for the Crusading Period, 3 vols. (Aldershot: 2006–2008), 2:144; Abū Shāma, Kitāb al-Rauḍatain, ed. and trans. as Livre des deux Jardins, RHC Or 4–5 (Paris, 1898–1906), 4:106–107.   6 William of Tyre claims Amalric had already received a delegation from Ḍirghām, which had been dispatched to gain Frankish support when it was learned that Shāwar had gone to Syria. Ḍirghām’s envoys had offered to pay the tribute that had been secured by Baldwin III, and more. Shāwar’s delegation appears to have offered similar terms for assistance against Shīrkūh, William of Tyre, Chronicon 19.5, 7, pp. 871–873.

Frankish intervention in Egypt during the reign of Amalric  193 Egypt.7 Whereas Nūr al-Dīn had clear imperialist motives, accepting Shāwar’s offer to turn Egypt into what would have been effectively a protectorate, Amalric’s actions in 1164 seem to have been motivated by a desire to exact a large payment, something which could only come about if Egyptian independence was preserved. There was no notion of conquest in any of Amalric’s actions: he defended the independence of Fatimid Egypt, keeping the region out of Zankid hands and preserving the prospect of tribute. A two-year intermission ensued before both Amalric and Shīrkūh returned to Egypt. According to Bahāʾ al-Dīn ibn Shaddād, Shīrkūh “remained in Syria, laying plans and thinking how to return to Egypt, dreaming of this and preparing the basis for this with al-ʿĀdil Nūr al-Dīn until the year 562 [1166–1167].”8 Nūr al-Dīn eventually bowed to Shīrkūh’s wishes, and in January 1167 another Syrian army set out for Egypt. This triggered a corresponding Frankish invasion, led by Amalric. Upon reaching Egypt, Shīrkūh skirted Cairo and moved south up the Nile. Before pursuing him, Amalric sought certain assurances. With his army outside Cairo, he negotiated a peace with Shāwar, which William of Tyre claims involved the Fatimids paying the king a tribute of 400,000 gold pieces (presumably dinars), half of which was to be paid immediately and the other half later. In return, Amalric was to defeat Shīrkūh and his army completely or drive them from Egypt.9 While Shīrkūh was interested in conquest, Amalric appears once more to have been motivated by money. In the ensuing campaign, Amalric and Shāwar pursued Shīrkūh into Upper Egypt, as far as Ashmunayn, more than 250 km south of Cairo. There was an indecisive engagement on 19 March at al-Bābayn, from which Shīrkūh emerged the better off, but he nevertheless departed quickly northward, making his way to Alexandria. When the Franks and Fatimids arrived and siege efforts began, Shīrkūh left Alexandria under Saladin’s command and returned to Upper Egypt in search of money and support. The episode came to a conclusion around the start of August when a peace agreement was arranged, stipulating that both Amalric and Shīrkūh leave Egypt. Shāwar also committed to pay Amalric an annual tribute of 100,000 dinars and may have allowed the king to leave behind a force of cavalry in Cairo, to both protect Shāwar’s position and ensure that tribute payments were sent regularly to the kingdom of Jerusalem.10   7 William of Tyre, Chronicon 19.7, 9–10, pp.  873, 874–877; Abū Shāma, Kitāb al-Rauḍatain, 4:108–109, 125–128; Ibn al-Athīr, al-Kāmil, 2:145–149. See also RHGF 16, nos. 195, 196, 197, 243, 244, 245, pp. 60–63, 79–81. For a secondary overview of this episode, see Malcolm Cameron Lyons and D. E. P. Jackson, Saladin: The Politics of the Holy War (Cambridge, 1982), 7–9.   8 Bahāʾ al-Dīn ibn Shaddād, al-Nawādir al-sulṭāniyya wa al-maḥāsin al-Yūsufiyya, trans. D. S. Richards, The Rare and Excellent History of Saladin (Aldershot, 2001), 42.   9 Shāwar’s duplicitous dealings three years earlier had not been forgotten, leading Amalric to stipulate that the caliph, al-ʿĀḍid, also agree to the arrangement. William claims that Hugh of Caesarea, acting as Amalric’s proxy, insisted the caliph agree to a bare handshake to express his sincerity, William of Tyre, Chronicon 19.17–19, pp. 886–889. 10 For details of the final peace agreement, see Abū Shāma, Kitāb al-Rauḍatain, 4:133; Ibn al-Athīr, al-Kāmil, 2:165; al-Maqrīzī, al-Khiṭaṭ, 3:286; William of Tyre, Chronicon 19.30–32, pp. 906–909.

194  Michael S. Fulton About a week after returning to Palestine, Amalric married Maria Komnene in the cathedral of Tyre on 29 August 1167. The wedding was the result of a diplomatic mission that Amalric had sent to Constantinople two years earlier.11 The king probably took the opportunity of his wedding to renew negotiations with the senior members of Maria’s entourage, as it had been two years since his delegates had left the kingdom for Constantinople. The following summer, two Byzantine envoys, Alexander Gravina and Michael of Otranto, visited Palestine to continue these talks. According to Niketas Choniates, Emperor Manuel desired to conquer Egypt and took it upon himself to share this with Amalric, who agreed to help.12 William of Tyre similarly records that the delegates proposed the conquest of Egypt, but notes that some said the idea of conquering Egypt originated with Amalric. Although none of the sources provides many details of what was discussed or agreed upon, both Manuel and Amalric appear to have agreed to conquer Egypt in principle and to a division of the spoils. Amalric then dispatched his own delegation, which included William of Tyre, to take the proposed terms to Manuel for his ratification. Manuel agreed to the terms in turn, and the Frankish envoys set out on their return trip to Palestine at the start of October 1168.13 It is this apparent arrangement of a joint operation to conquer Egypt, which must have been planned for the following summer, that seems to complicate what followed: in late October, before William and the rest of the delegates had returned, Amalric and the army of Jerusalem invaded Egypt. According to Muslim sources, it was the widespread discontent with the state of things in Egypt that ultimately encouraged Amalric’s invasion. Some Egyptians objected to Shāwar’s tyrannical rule, others to the conduct of the alleged Frankish garrison that had been left in Cairo, which is not heard of again from this point. While some looked to Nūr al-Dīn, preferring Zankid rule to an ongoing Frankish alliance, others favoured friendly relations with the Franks, hoping to secure their protection through ongoing tribute payments while retaining Egyptian For overviews of this campaign, see Lyons and Jackson, Saladin, 11–19; Mahmud Said Omran, “King Amalric and the Siege of Alexandria, 1167,” in Crusade and Settlement, ed. Peter W. Edbury (Cardiff, 1985), 191–196. 11 William of Tyre, Chronicon 20.1, p. 913. Maria was the daughter of one of Emperor Manuel’s nephews and a great-granddaughter of Emperor John II Komnenos. Amalric’s older brother, Baldwin III, had also married a Byzantine princess, Theodora, who was Manuel’s niece and a granddaughter of John II. John Kinnamos, who mentions Baldwin III’s death, Amalric’s succession (both in 1163) and this wedding all in one thought, claims that following the wedding Amalric took an oath to the Byzantine emperor, as Baldwin III had done, John Kinnamos, Epitome 5.13, trans. Charles M. Brand, Deeds of John and Manuel Comnenus (New York, 1976), 179. Such a suggestion that Amalric, as well as Baldwin before him, recognized the suzerainty of the Byzantine emperor at this time is not supported elsewhere. John is keen to present the grandeur of the Byzantines relative to the Franks, as is evident in his dramatic account of Reynald of Châtillon’s act of submission to Manuel during his the emperor’s visit to Antioch in 1158–1159, John Kinnamos, Epitome 4.18, 20–21, pp. 139, 141–143. Cf. Niketas Choniates, Historia 3, trans. Harry J. Magoulias, O City of Byzantium (Detroit, 1984), 61–62; William of Tyre, Chronicon 18.23, p. 845. 12 Niketas Choniates, Historia 5, p. 91. 13 William of Tyre, Chronicon 20.4, pp. 915–917.

Frankish intervention in Egypt during the reign of Amalric  195 independence. When explaining what followed, Muslim sources tend to portray the Franks as opportunistic aggressors, who happily used the appeals from certain Egyptians as a pretext for conquest. Amalric, however, is presented in different ways. For example, al-Maqrīzī casts him as eager to conquer Egypt, while Ibn al-Athīr claims the king was a reluctant participant who would have preferred to continue collecting his tribute payments but was eventually pushed into action by his barons.14 Shāwar himself was in contact with Nūr al-Dīn, attempting to persuade him not to allow Shīrkūh to invade Egypt again. The Franks were evidently aware of this correspondence, leading to rumours that Shāwar regretted making peace with the Franks and would renounce this agreement if Nūr al-Dīn would send him support. Although William acknowledges these rumours, he notes that some believed they were used simply as a pretext for the king to break the peace then in place with Shāwar.15 William of Tyre relates that it was the master of the Hospitallers who was the strongest advocate of a pre-emptive invasion of Egypt, if not the one who first proposed it. The Templars, however, were against the campaign, either because it had been proposed by the Hospitallers, as a rivalry was already developing between the two orders, or they objected on purely moral grounds. Both scenarios are plausible, and certainly not mutually exclusive. It is perhaps noteworthy that Geoffrey Fulcher, a senior Templar, is the only other figure named alongside Hugh of Caesarea when the latter sealed the peace agreement between Amalric and the Fatimid caliph in Cairo in early 1167.16 In May of 1168, a grant was issued to the Pisans in recognition of their services during the siege of Alexandria the previous year. It is interesting to find among the witnesses three prominent Templars: Master Bertrand of Blancfort; Philip of Nablus, former lord of Transjordan who joined the order around the start of 1167; and Geoffrey Fulcher. By comparison, the only other member of a military order recorded is Gilbert of Assaily, master of the Hospitallers.17 This may indicate that no plans had yet been made for an invasion

14 Al-Maqrīzī, al-Khiṭaṭ, 4:34; Ibn al-Athīr, al-Kāmil, 2:165, 171, cf. Bar Hebraeus, Makhtebhanuth Zabhne, ed. and trans. Ernest A. Wallis Budge, The Chronography of Gregory Abū’l-Faraj, 2 vols (London, 1932, repr. Amsterdam, 1976), 1:293. See also Abū Shāma, Kitāb al-Rauḍatain, 4:111–113. For opposition to Shāwar within Egypt at this time, see Andrew S. Ehrenkreutz, Saladin (Albany, 1972), 46–47. 15 William of Tyre, Chronicon 20.5, p. 917. 16 William of Tyre, Chronicon 20.5, pp. 917–918; Abū Shāma, Kitāb al-Rauḍatain, 4:135–136. 17 Reinhold Röhricht, ed., Regesta Regni Hierosolymitani (Innsbruck, 1893) [hereafter cited as RRH], no. 449, p. 117; Hans Eberhard Mayer, ed., Die Urkunden der Lateinischen Könige von Jerusalem, MGH Diplomata regum Latinorum Hierosolymitanorum (Hanover, 2010) [hereafter cited as UKJ], no. 327, pp.  564–568. The charter, drawn up at Acre, was witnessed by many prominent men who William confirms took place in the campaign of 1167, including Frederick, archbishop of Tyre, Humphrey of Toron, constable of the kingdom, Hugh of Caesarea, Miles of Plancy, seneschal of the kingdom, Hugh of Ibelin, and William, marshal of the kingdom. The other lay signatories consist of Walter, prince of Galilee, and Gormond of Tiberias, both close supporters of the king, as well as Hugh of Ibelin’s brothers, Baldwin and Balian, all of whom may have taken part in the Egyptian campaign of 1167.

196  Michael S. Fulton of Egypt later that year. Such plans clearly existed by October, and Templar witnesses to these arrangements are conspicuously absent. As William observes, the Hospitallers were heavily invested in this campaign, the details of which are outlined in a well-known charter dated to 11 October 1168.18 The order was granted Bilbays and its associated territory, as well as sufficient lands, cultivated and uncultivated, towards Syria (to the east) and the sea (to the north) as would raise the value of Bilbays to yield 100,000 ‘old’ bezants per year. Additionally, they would gain a share in the revenues of Fustat, Tinnis, Damietta, the island of al-Maḥalla, Alexandria, Qūṣ, Aswan, Whe, ʿAydhāb and Fun (either Fayyūm or Fuwwa), receiving 5,000 bezants from each, and a portion of the plunder during the conquest.19 In return for this considerable wealth, the order was to provide 500 knights and an equal number of turcopoles, with the provision that if the force they provided was larger or smaller than that which had been stipulated, their share of the spoils would increase or decrease proportionately.20 The precise limits of the area the Hospitallers stood to gain is hard to determine, as the lands beyond Bilbays were assessed by their productivity. According to Abū al-Makārim, the al-Sharqiyya region, consisting of much of the eastern delta, included 158 villages and 294 rural districts, which collectively yielded 694,121 dinars in the late Fatimid period. This was the largest of the 14 regions of the Delta he lists, which exclude the urban centres of Alexandria, Damietta and Tinnis, and it produced slightly more than a third of the total revenue gathered from the Delta. Despite its size, this was also a fairly productive region, as it yielded the thirdhighest sum relative to the number of villages and districts within it.21 The grant issued to the Hospitallers was thus only a portion of this larger region, and similarly excluded Damietta and Tinnis. The section set aside for the Hospitallers was clearly along the very eastern edge of the Delta, as it was said to include both cultivated and uncultivated lands.22 As the lands the order was to receive were to be to the north and east of Bilbays, they would extend towards Fāqūs. If they were granted a region more north than east, this would consist of fairly productive lands, limiting the relative size of the area they would receive. Alternatively, it is possible

18 Röhricht, RRH, no. 452, p.  118; J. Delaville Le Roulx, ed., Cartulaire général de l’ordre des Hospitaliers de S. Jean de Jérusalem, 4 vols. (Paris, 1894–1906) [hereafter Cart Hosp], no. 402, 1:275–276; Mayer, UKJ, no. 336, pp. 578–582. 19 Babilone, Thanes, Damiata, insula Mall, Alexandria, Chus, Suana, Whe, Ahideph and Fun. For differing identifications of these places, see J. Delaville Le Roulx, Les Hospitaliers en Terre sainte et a Chypre (1100–1310) (Paris, 1904), 71; Mayer, UKJ, 580; Malcolm Barber, The Crusader States (New Haven, 2012), 249. 20 For an assessment of this agreement, and its consequences, from the point of view of the Hospitallers, see Jonathan Riley-Smith, The Knights Hospitaller in the Levant, c. 1070–1309 (Basingstoke, 2012), 33–35. 21 Abū al-Makārim, Taʾrīkh al-kanāʾis wa al-adyirah, ed. and trans. B. T. A. Evetts, The Churches and Monasteries of Egypt (Oxford, 1895), 17–19. 22 The alternative, that these uncultivable lands were marshes around Lake Manzala, about 100 km to the northeast, seems very unlikely.

Frankish intervention in Egypt during the reign of Amalric  197 that they were to receive a much longer stretch of land along the edge of the Delta, which would have included less productive lands, perhaps accounting for everything on the eastern side of the Bilbays channel downstream of the town. The former scenario, however, might be the more likely. Although Amalric was certainly entrusting the Hospitallers with the eastern march of the Delta, Bilbays was the only reasonably fortified inland site along this frontier – even if the order had been granted Fāqūs, for example, it would have been very hard for them to hold it. Likewise, if Nūr al-Dīn were to invade Frankish Egypt, his army would march across Sinai, so it would make more sense to concentrate the Hospitallers’ holdings farther south, closer to Bilbays. This grant appears to suggest that Amalric was carving up Egypt, and indeed al-Idrīsī claims that Amalric was doing just this.23 He notes that, having convened a council and resolved to conquer Egypt, the king had the region divided into fiefs that would be distributed among his supporters and took account of the value of each village. Although this suggests an appreciation of the grant issued to the Hospitallers, no wide-scale division of Egypt was carried out. The only apparent grant to a secular knight in Egypt at this point appears to have been issued not by Amalric but by Baldwin III. Sometime between 1157 and 1159, Joscelin Pisellus was given a loan and promised a lordship, once one became available, as well as a money fief and a guarantee of a lordship in Egypt valued at the service of 100 knights, five times greater than the lordship he was to be given in the Kingdom of Jerusalem.24 Although Amalric does not appear to have issued lands ahead of the campaign, this does not in itself rule out the possibility that this was to be a campaign of conquest. As he was to lead the expedition, it would have been easy for him to assert his authority and hand out lands at his pleasure. The Hospitallers, however, were not technically answerable to the king, so required an upfront guarantee. Explanations of Amalric’s motives and intentions leading up to the invasion of 1168 have varied. These range from those of Baldwin and Lyons and Jackson, who emphasize the lack of certainty, to Runciman’s presentation of Amalric as a reluctant participant who preferred to wait for the arrival of the Byzantines, to Lilie’s argument that Amalric was instead the principal architect of the campaign. According to the latter, Amalric saw Egypt as weak and believed he could overpower the Fatimids before his envoys returned. This would allow him to claim that the treaty with the Byzantines had not been finalized and deny them a foothold in Egypt.25

23 Abū Shāma, Kitāb al-Rauḍatain, 4:135. Cf. al-Maqrīzī, al-Khiṭaṭ, 3:286. 24 Mayer, UKJ, no. 249, pp. 457–459. This grant suggests that Baldwin III had begun to contemplate the conquest of Egypt; however, events to the north of his kingdom would occupy much of Baldwin’s attention during the final years of his reign. 25 Marshall W. Baldwin, “The Latin States under Baldwin III and Amalric I, 1154–1174,” in A History of the Crusades: Volume I, The First Hundred Years, ed. Marshall W. Baldwin, gen. ed. Kenneth M. Setton (Madison, 1969), 528–561, at 555; Lyons and Jackson, Saladin, 20–21; Steven Runciman, A History of the Crusades, 3 vols. (Cambridge, 1951–1954), 2:379–380; Ralph-Johannes Lilie, Byzantium and the Crusader States, trans. J. C. Morris and Jean E. Ridings (Oxford, 1993), 311–313.

198  Michael S. Fulton I, however, believe the environment was filled with far less certainty. The fact that there was so much correspondence flowing back and forth between Egypt and Syria, and that both Frankish and Muslim sources identify that this was a source of concern for the Franks, suggests this was a motivating factor. Likewise, the lure of Egypt was certainly an ever-present draw. However, as events would play out, William of Tyre would confirm that a number of the Frankish barons, among whom the Hospitallers can be grouped, were far more committed to the idea of conquering Egypt than was Amalric. While the king may have been open to the prospect of conquering Egypt, he was more committed to advancing his position more generally. He probably thought that he had little to lose; although an invasion would violate the peace in place with Shāwar, so would the impending coordinated campaign with the Byzantines. Amalric was in Jerusalem with many leading men of the kingdom when the charter to the Hospitallers was signed on 11 October 1168. Another charter reveals that the king was with his army at Ascalon nine days later.26 Having possibly feigned intentions of moving against Homs, to distract Nūr al-Dīn, Amalric marched his army towards Egypt, travelling via Darum. Here, Amalric may have received a delegation from Shāwar, who had learned of the Frankish mobilization.27 According to William of Tyre, the Franks marched for about ten days before they reached Bilbays. A siege was then commenced, and on 3 November the Franks captured the town; a massacre and looting ensued.28 If Amalric had hoped to deceive the Fatimid delegation at Darum, Shāwar clearly considered the Franks a threat by the time they approached Bilbays. The vizier had entrusted command of the town to his son, Ṭayy, who was among those spared by the Franks and taken prisoner instead. With the Franks poised to march on Cairo, the situation was beginning to look much like that in 1164, when Shīrkūh had encamped outside the walls of the capital, while elements of his army also occupied Bilbays. Shāwar had no intention of allowing the Franks to live off the supplies of Fustat, as Shīrkūh may have done, so took the extraordinary measure of setting fire to the city on 12 November, a day before the Franks arrived in the environs of Cairo. Although William of Tyre criticizes the Franks for not advancing faster, taking ten days to cover a distance that

26 Röhricht, RRH, no. 453, pp. 118–119; Mayer, UKJ, no. 337, pp. 582–584. 27 Abū Shāma, Kitāb al-Rauḍatain, 4:112–113, 135–137; Ibn al-Athīr, al-Kāmil, 2:172. 28 William of Tyre, Chronicon 20.6, pp. 918–919. Arabic sources provide a similar sense of timing. The History of the Patriarchs places the arrival of the Franks on 3 Safar [6 November], expressing the capture of the town in the same thought; three days of pillaging is subsequently mentioned before the Franks moved on. Ibn al-Athīr asserts that the Franks took Bilbays by force on 1 Safar [4 November], while it is found in Abū Shāma’s history that the Franks remained at Bilbays for five days. History of the Patriarchs of the Egyptian Church, eds. and trans. O. H. E. Khs-Burmester et al., pts. 5–12, appearing as vols. 2–4 (Cairo, 1943–1974), 3.2:104; Ibn al-Athīr, al-Kāmil, 2:172; Abū Shāma, Kitāb al-Rauḍatain, 4:113.

Frankish intervention in Egypt during the reign of Amalric  199 could have been traversed in a day, half of this time would appear to have been spent pillaging Bilbays.29 As in 1164, Shāwar decided to invite an outside army into Egypt to deal with another that was already there. Both he and the caliph appear to have written to Nūr al-Dīn, and perhaps directly to Shīrkūh, requesting assistance against the Franks. A force said to consist of 2,000 regular cavalry and another 6,000 Turkish horsemen eventually set out from the Damascus area under Shīrkūh in the middle of December. In the meantime, the sources agree that Shāwar, after enduring some initial skirmishing, which impressed on him the superiority of the Frankish force, tried to deceive the Franks, buying time until the Syrian army arrived. Shāwar offered Amalric an enormous sum to give up his hostility against Cairo and leave Egypt. Although the sources disagree on the amount, which may have been as much as 2,000,000 dinars, there is agreement that the king was paid an initial instalment of 100,000 dinars, following which the Franks pulled back to al-Maṭariyya and then further to Saryāqūs, about 18 km from Cairo on the road to Bilbays.30 William of Tyre is very critical of the Franks’ conduct during this phase of the campaign and Amalric’s readiness to accept a large tribute rather than attempt to take Cairo by force. He suggests that Cairo would have fallen had the Franks pushed an aggressive siege, though Muslim accounts of the Franks’ activities and morale inside the city vary. Perhaps reluctant to openly blame the king, William denounces Miles of Plancy, whom he claims advised Amalric to extort as much money as was possible from the Fatimids from the start of the campaign, though William is forced to concede that Miles was successful in this due to Amalric’s tendency towards greed. William presents a very negative description of Miles, and no doubt he had little fondness for him, but William’s hostility is suspicious in light of later events. Following Amalric’s death in 1174, Raymond III of Tripoli insisted that he be granted the regency for Amalric’s young son, Baldwin IV; however, as Amalric had not named a regent before his death, the administration of the kingdom fell initially to Miles of Plancy, as seneschal. Miles refused to grant Raymond the regency until the barons of the kingdom could be assembled and decide the matter properly. The issue resolved itself when Miles was killed later that year in the streets of Acre, leaving Raymond free to become regent. It was as regent that Raymond secured William of Tyre’s appointment as royal chancellor and then archbishop of Tyre, indicating that William was already one of Raymond’s close supporters. Returning to events in Egypt, William asserts Miles’ objective

29 William of Tyre, Chronicon 20.7, p.  919. For the burning of Fustat and Muslim accounts of the Franks’ approach, see Abū Shāma, Kitāb al-Rauḍatain, 4:113–114, 139–140; Ibn al-Athīr, al-Kāmil, 2:172; al-Maqrīzī, al-Khiṭaṭ, 3:103–104, 286–287. See also Wladyslaw Kubiak, “The Burning of Misr al-Fustat in 1168: A Reconsideration of the Historical Evidence,” Africa Bulletin 25 (1976), 51–64. 30 William of Tyre, Chronicon 20.6–9, pp. 919–922. For Arabic accounts of the appeals to Nūr al-Dīn and Shīrkūh, see Abū Shāma, Kitāb al-Rauḍatain, 4:115–117, 138–139, Ibn al-Athīr, al-Kāmil, 2:171–174, 177; Bahāʾ al-Dīn ibn Shaddād, al-Nawādir al-sulṭāniyya, 43; History of the Patriarchs, 3.2:104–105.

200  Michael S. Fulton was to help Amalric extract a large tribute, which would end up in the royal treasury, rather than allow Cairo to be taken by force, in which case the spoils would be divided among the army. William claims many in the army understandably wanted the opportunity to attempt to take the city, but Amalric, backed by his close supporters, decided against this. Here, William mentions that Amalric got his way, which is quite accurate – Amalric, not Miles, stood to gain through a large tribute. Furthermore, William admits that Amalric enjoyed the support of a significant group of lords, not just Miles.31 Informed of Shīrkūh’s approach, Amalric reportedly tried to intercept the Syrian army marching towards Cairo. But if he was willing to risk battle with the Syrians, he was not prepared to take on the combined strength of Shāwar and Shīrkūh. Having been unable to extract any more money from Shāwar, aside from the initial payment of 100,000 dinars, and reluctant to try to hold Bilbays, as Shīrkūh had done in 1164, Amalric marched his army back to Palestine. He must have hoped that events would play out similar to those four years earlier: Shīrkūh would be paid a tribute and then leave Egypt, but this was not to be. Shīrkūh finally had his army in Egypt, free of Frankish intervention, and it was only a matter of time before Shāwar was killed and he replaced him as vizier. Shīrkūh’s own death shortly thereafter led to the succession of Saladin.32 Regardless of whether Amalric had harboured any hopes of conquering Egypt when he set out in October 1168, his subsequent actions do not appear to have offended Manuel. In the summer of 1169, the Byzantine fleet set sail. According to William of Tyre, this fleet consisted of 150 galleys, 60 large vessels carrying horses, and 10 or 12 ships carrying supplies, weapons and siege engines.33 Niketas Choniates, who similarly claims that the Byzantine fleet numbered more than 200 ships, notes that command was entrusted to Andronikos Kontostephanos, who departed with the flotilla in July. On their way, they encountered a group of six Egyptian ships, four of which escaped to inform Saladin of the fleet’s movement. Meanwhile, an advance squadron of 60 vessels, under Theodore Mavrozomes, had been sent ahead to Palestine to coordinate with the Franks. Having reached Cyprus, Andronikos sent a message to Amalric asking if the king was ready and if he should bring the main fleet to Palestine. Niketas is quick to accuse Amalric of procrastinating, claiming the king regretted having committed to the alliance.34 Runciman, in his epic History of the Crusades, suggests that this delay was because Amalric’s forces were still disorganized, the Hospitallers were still recovering

31 William of Tyre, Chronicon 20.7, 9, 10, pp. 919–920, 921–922, 924–925. For William’s earlier mention of Amalric’s greed, see 19.2, p. 886. For the dispute over the regency and Miles’ death in 1174, see 21.3–4, pp. 963–965. 32 For the Franks’ attempt to intercept Shīrkūh’s force, see William of Tyre, Chronicon 20.9, pp. 922– 923. For the murder of Shāwar, see Lev, Saladin in Egypt, 47–49, 62–66. For the accession of Saladin, see Lyons and Jackson, Saladin, 28–29. 33 William of Tyre, Chronicon 20.13, pp. 926–927. 34 Niketas Choniates, Historia 5, p. 91. See Also John Kinnamos, Epitome 6.9, p. 208.

Frankish intervention in Egypt during the reign of Amalric  201 from losses sustained in the 1168 campaign, the Templars were still refusing to take part, and the barons were discouraged from their experience the previous year.35 A more likely explanation for this period of inaction relates to events that were transpiring in Egypt. In August 1169, there was a revolt in Cairo. Saladin is said to have uncovered a plot by Fatimid conspirators, which led to the murder of one of the plot’s supposed leaders, Muʾtamin al-Khilāfa, one of the most influential eunuchs of the Fatimid palace. This is presented as the final straw for members of the Fatimid military, who saw their influence waning as Saladin redistributed power and wealth to his Syrian followers. They rose up in Cairo, leading to two days of fighting in the centre of the city before they were defeated.36 While most historians judge this to have been an opportunity for Saladin to secure his position and weaken the untrustworthy Fatimid military, which he may even have orchestrated, things would have appeared quite different to the Franks. When Shīrkūh, and then Saladin, became vizier, Egypt looked stronger – the Fatimid military was simply reinforced by the Syrian forces that Shīrkūh had brought to Cairo. For Amalric, who would have learned of these dramatic events in Cairo within about a week of their occurrence, it probably looked like Saladin’s position was weakening, as a large part of the Sudanese and Armenian elements of the Fatimid army were killed or disbanded. Accordingly, it makes perfect sense that he would have wanted to wait and see how things played out. If it looked like Egypt might devolve into civil war, Amalric would have been keen to delay and allow the situation to worsen, giving his own force a greater advantage. There is little to suggest that Amalric hoped to delay things indefinitely. In August, the grant that Baldwin III had issued to Joscelin Pisellus was confirmed to Pagan of Haifa, who had married Joscelin’s daughter.37 The grant to the Hospitallers the previous year was also confirmed.38 These signify not only that Egypt remained front of mind, but that a campaign was imminent and it was suspected by some that Egypt would be conquered. Consider that the charter to Pagan of Haifa, if authentic, was drawn up at this point, not ahead of the campaign the previous year. Likewise, the confirmation of the Hospitallers’ grant, issued only the previous year, suggests they were keen to have their privileges recognized, as it was expected Egypt would fall. It seems noteworthy that Philip of Nablus, who had become master of the Templars by this point, is listed as a witness to both charters. This appears to suggest that the order, whose members are absent from the original witness list in 1168, had recommitted itself to action in Egypt.39 35 Runciman, A History of the Crusades, 2:385. Cf. Niketas Choniates, Historia 5, p. 92. 36 For overviews and assessments of this episode, see Lyons and Jackson, Saladin, 33–36; Lev, Saladin in Egypt, 49–51; Anne-Marie Eddé, Saladin (Cambridge, 2011), 40–43. 37 Röhricht, RRH, no. 465, p. 122; Mayer, UKJ, no. 340, pp. 588–590. See Mayer for the peculiarities and provenance of this document. 38 Röhricht, RRH, no. 466, p. 122; Delaville Le Roulx, Cart Hosp, no. 409, 1:283; Mayer, UKJ, no. 341, pp. 591–595. 39 For this apparent change of policy, see Barber, The Crusader States, 253–254.

202  Michael S. Fulton Testament perhaps to Amalric’s own suspicions that Egypt, or a portion of it, might fall under his rule, he made a donation to the Abbey of Saint Mary of the Valley of Jehoshaphat in early September, consisting of an annual payment of 1,500 bezants to be drawn from the revenues of Egypt.40 Looking forward, Amalric also continued to develop the relationship he was cultivating with the Pisans. The Pisans had assisted with siege efforts at Alexandria in 1167, and it was most likely they who made up the ‘Frankish’ fleet that attacked Tinnis in coordination with Amalric’s invasion of Egypt in 1168, as their involvement is confirmed in the Annales Pisani.41 On 16 September, Amalric granted the Pisans considerable privileges in Egypt. They were allowed to establish a curia and build a church, oven, mill and bathhouse in Fustat, Cairo and Rosetta, and granted a tribute of 1,000 bezants until they gained commercial rights in Alexandria, Damietta and Tinnis.42 While this might suggest that Rosetta was the intended target of the expedition, Damietta had almost certainly been selected by this point. This treaty may instead, as Lilie-Favrau was first to point out, reveal the planned division of Egypt: the Byzantines were to dominate the coast, through their possession of Alexandria, Damietta and Tinnis, while the Franks would be masters of the interior, gaining Cairo and Fustat, as well as the lesser port of Rosetta near the mouth of the main western branch of the Nile.43 By late September, with no more encouraging news coming out of Egypt, the uprising had been contained and no rival had emerged to confront Saladin, Amalric had summoned the Byzantine fleet from Cyprus. Possibly unappreciative of the events in Egypt, or less impressed by their significance, Niketas claims that Amalric continued to procrastinate as Byzantine provisions dwindled – the fleet was reportedly provided with sufficient supplies to last from the start of August to the end of October. On Amalric’s suggestion, the army marched overland from Ascalon, departing on 16 October, while the fleet had set sail for Egypt a few days ahead of them. The land forces proceeded via al-Faramā to Tinnis, where the fleet helped ferry them over a branch of the Nile, which was in full flood at this time of the year. The army then continued on to Damietta, where siege operations were initiated before the end of October. The siege eventually ended following negotiations between Amalric’s agents and those in the city, which William of Tyre claims included secret clauses, and the Greeks agreed to honour the terms that had been proposed. The besiegers then departed in late December. Although Lilie interprets these final arrangements to have involved the surrender of the city, though neither the Franks nor the Byzantines bothered to try and hold it, this seems very unlikely.

40 Reinhold Röhricht, ed., Regesta Regni Hierosolymitani: Additamentum (Innsbruck, 1904), no. 451a, p. 28; Mayer, UKJ, no. 342, pp. 595–596. 41 William of Tyre, Chronicon 20.8, pp. 920–921; al-Maqrīzī, al-Khiṭaṭ, trans. U. Bouriant, Description topographique et historique de l’Egypte, pts. 1 and 2 (Paris, 1895–1900), 2:635; Annales Pisani, ed. Charles Pertz, MGH SS 19 (Hanover, 1866), 258. 42 Röhricht, RRH, no. 467, pp. 122–123; Mayer, UKJ, no. 343, pp. 596–599. 43 Marie-Luise Favreau-Lilie, Die Italiener im Heiligen Land vom ersten Kreuzzug bis zum Tode Heinrichs von Champagne (1098–1197) (Amsterdam, 1989), 202 n. 145.

Frankish intervention in Egypt during the reign of Amalric  203 Instead, the length of the siege, the apparent failure of the besiegers to make much headway and the fact that it was widely reported that access to the city remained open, allowing reinforcements to join the defenders, along with the secret terms mentioned by William, suggest the besiegers may have been paid to lift their siege, as was a common practice at the time.44 William of Tyre and Niketas Choniates provide accounts from Frankish and Byzantine perspectives respectively; although their accounts do not conflict, they characterize the siege efforts in quite different ways. William provides a reasonably full summary of events, but it is suspiciously lacking in details. He places the blame for the siege’s failure on the army’s reluctance to attack the city as soon as it arrived, reminiscent of his criticism of the attack against Cairo the year before. William states that he was reluctant to place blame on the Byzantine commanders, fearing the reaction of Manuel to this, but does suggest that the Greeks were insufficiently supplied. Niketas, however, is full of condemnation for the Franks, who he essentially accuses of deliberately sabotaging the siege, from their continued delays to Amalric’s final negotiations, which he claims were announced just as the Greeks were about to launch a full attack.45 With such differing accounts, and Amalric’s actions the previous year to consider, scholarly interpretations of the campaign of 1169, and what Amalric hoped to gain, have varied. While many stop short of passing judgement, Lilie has argued that Amalric had no desire to conquer Egypt alongside the Byzantines and, in agreement with the Greek sources, suggests he effectively undermined the siege of Damietta.46 His argument hinges on two main points. First, Amalric desired a defensive alliance with Manuel, to discourage attacks from Nūr al-Dīn, but not an offensive one, which would allow the Byzantines to gain a foothold in Egypt, from where they might attempt to exert greater influence over the Latin principalities of the Levant. The defensive element of this is necessary to explain why Amalric sought an alliance with the emperor, but the Byzantines were in no place to offer significant defensive support to the kingdom of Jerusalem. Bohemond III, prince of Antioch, was in a much better position to benefit from a defensive alliance with Manuel, but he had already essentially gained this through his acknowledgement of Byzantine suzerainty, which was almost certainly recognized or renewed when he visited Constantinople in 1165, following his release from Muslim captivity in the aftermath of the battle of Ḥārim. If Amalric had no need for a defensive alliance with the Byzantines, but had no interest in a joint attack against Egypt, it is hard to explain why he would seek out a Byzantine alliance at all. Second, Lilie asserts that Amalric’s charter to the Pisans is indicative of his insincere commitment to Manuel. 44 William of Tyre, Chronicon 20.16, p. 932; Lilie, Byzantium and the Crusader States, 201. For the practice of paying besiegers to lift a siege, see Michael S. Fulton, Siege Warfare during the Crusades (Barnsley, 2019), 254–256. 45 William of Tyre, Chronicon 20.13–17, pp. 927–934; Niketas Choniates, Historia 5, pp. 92–96. Cf. John Kinnamos, Epitome 6.9, pp. 208–209; Bahāʾ al-Dīn ibn Shaddād, al-Nawādir al-sulṭāniyya, 46; Ibn al-Athīr, al-Kāmil, 2:183–184. 46 Lilie, Byzantium and the Crusader States, 315–317.

204  Michael S. Fulton He suggests such concessions reflect the king’s intentions to conquer Egypt with Pisan assistance, independent of the Byzantines, otherwise the Greeks would provide the necessary naval support, rendering the Pisans redundant and this grant as wasteful. On the contrary, there is every reason to believe that Amalric would have looked to secure Pisan assistance. Italian communities had been granted considerable privileges in each of the coastal cities of Palestine; although many of the earliest of these grants were in exchange for naval support to help capture these ports, the Italians provided a critical service facilitating trade in these cities over the following decades. Accordingly, it is logical to suggest that such an arrangement would be extended to Egypt, preventing any kind of commercial dependency on the Byzantines. With a presence in Rosetta and Cairo, the Pisans would be ideally placed not only to access trade in Egypt but to dominate the Egyptian corridor, connecting markets of the Mediterranean and Europe with those of South Asia.47 Each of the contemporary accounts is certainly biased. Niketas Choniates probably began composing his narrative of events no earlier than the mid-1180s, by which point relations between the Franks and Byzantines had changed and would continue to deteriorate over the following decades.48 Although closer to events, John Kinnamos, who also presents Amalric as a reluctant participant, provides a far less detailed account.49 Likewise, William of Tyre appears to refrain from sharing certain details. When considering the degree of hostility that William exhibited in the context of the campaign of 1168, when he believed the Franks should have acted more aggressively, it is perhaps surprising that he would not repeat such criticisms, if they were warranted, in relation to the campaign of 1169 – his disapproval is limited to the initial delay outside Damietta.50 It is also worthy of note that Damietta, unlike many other Egyptian communities, was surrounded by considerable fortifications; 50 years later, its defenders would hold out against the armies of the Fifth Crusade for almost a year and a half. Something rarely considered is the range of practical challenges that Amalric would face if indeed he hoped to conquer and then rule Egypt without a Byzantine presence in the region. Egypt was wealthy, so the king would be reluctant to let it out of his control, fearing it might fall into the hands of a potential rival. Such a sentiment appears to have been exhibited by Baldwin IV in 1177, when the idea of conquering Egypt, again with Byzantine assistance, came up, corresponding with one of Philip of Flanders’ crusades.51 If the king retained Egypt, administering

47 For other interpretations, see Mayer, Mélanges sur l’histoire du royaume latin de Jérusalem (Paris, 1984), 156; Favreau-Lilie, Italiener, 201–205. 48 For the dating of Niketas Choniates’ Historia, see Alicia J. Simpson, “The Versions of Niketas Choniates’ ‘Historia’,” Dumbarton Oaks Papers 60 (2006), 189–221. 49 John Kinnamos, Epitome 6.9, pp. 208–209. His brief mention that the conquests were to be split equally is the best evidence that a formal division of territory had been negotiated in 1167 and confirmed in 1168. 50 Miles of Plancy, William’s earlier scapegoat, was with Amalric in Acre from at least late August to late September, suggesting he accompanied the king to Egypt. 51 William of Tyre, Chronicon 21.13–17(14–18), pp. 979–985.

Frankish intervention in Egypt during the reign of Amalric  205 this wealthy region beyond the Sinai would be a considerable challenge. The difficulties of ruling an extended realm would not have been lost on Amalric. He had seen his brother hold the regency of the principality of Antioch for a period, while he himself briefly held this office in the aftermath of the battle of Ḥārim and continued to act as regent of the county of Tripoli until Raymond III was released, less than a year before Amalric’s death. If Egypt were to be conquered, it would have been a considerable challenge to defend it (and Palestine) from Nūr al-Dīn, a task that would have been made even more difficult due to the faction in Egypt that had already shown itself willing to assist Nūr al-Dīn. Contrary to suggestions that Amalric resisted a Byzantine presence in Egypt, he may have believed this was necessary to defend Egypt should it be conquered. Prior to the commitment of the Byzantines, it seems the ideal scenario for Amalric was to have Egypt ruled as an independent tributary kingdom; this denied Egypt to Nūr al-Dīn, while enriching his own kingdom. This may have been part of a more vague desire to one day rule Egypt, but there is little to indicate that Amalric sought to incur the upfront challenges of ruling Egypt in the mid-1160s. Amalric’s alliance with the Byzantines and the accession of the Ayyubids in Cairo mark a firm transition point in his strategy or foreign policy regarding Egypt. From the time he became king in 1163 to the start of 1169, Amalric’s Egyptian policy appears to have focused on the extraction of wealth. Although he invaded four times during this period, and clearly hoped to keep Egypt independent of Nūr al-Dīn’s realm, there is little evidence to characterize any one of these expeditions as a campaign of conquest. In 1163, he invaded to resume the tribute that had been paid during the reign of his brother, Baldwin III. In 1164 and 1167, he responded to invitations from Shāwar and was paid for the assistance he provided. By the end of summer 1168, he had negotiated with two Byzantine delegations, the first around the time of his wedding and the second the following year and had sent his own to Manuel to finalize an alliance, the terms of which he appears to have proposed. The focal point of this alliance was a cooperative campaign to conquer Egypt. With the expedition scheduled for the following year, Amalric’s greed led him to invade Egypt one last time, probably with the aim of extracting a final lump sum tribute, which Shāwar finally offered, though he would never pay more than the initial instalment. Amalric’s conduct during the campaign does not suggest he meant this to be one of conquest, though the king may have presented the expedition as such to gain the support of the Hospitallers. Alternatively, if the invasion was proposed by the order, Amalric may have agreed with the motive of using it to extract a payoff instead. Critically, the campaign does not appear to have had any adverse effects on Amalric’s relationship with Manuel, indicating there was no attempt to deceive or cheat the emperor. Although Amalric probably did not welcome the news that Shīrkūh had taken up the office of vizier in January 1169, this had fairly little impact on preparations for the campaign that was to take place later that year – the shift to a strategy of conquest rather than exploitation had already begun. The passing of the vizierate to one of Nūr al-Dīn’s emirs would have ended any serious prospects of extracting further tribute; however, this was of little significance as a plan to conquer and divide Egypt was already in place. Although the

206  Michael S. Fulton added strength that the Syrians gave Egypt was cause for concern, it must have been assumed that Nūr al-Dīn would send support to counter the Christians had not one of his emirs already become vizier. As things developed, Amalric would have been pleased when he received news of the Fatimid uprising in August 1169. The Byzantines may have resented his decision to delay the campaign, but Amalric probably did this hoping that the situation in Egypt would deteriorate further, rendering the region more vulnerable to conquest. When a civil war failed to materialize, and with the Byzantines running through their supplies, Amalric eventually agreed to set out. To conquer Egypt would require a different plan than had previously been employed. Unless they could completely crush all opposition in one campaign season, it would be necessary to take and hold one of the two fortified port cities, Damietta or Alexandria. The former was chosen, but the siege would prove unsuccessful. Although the Greek sources accuse the Franks of insincerity, it is hard to determine what would cause this. It was Amalric who had proposed the alliance and most likely he who suggested the conquest of Egypt. Damietta proved simply too strong. With the capture of the city appearing very unlikely, Amalric seized the opportunity to accept one final payoff, though this is not mentioned explicitly by the sources. Revealingly, and testament to his shift in policy, the campaign of 1169 was Amalric’s last in Egypt. Although Muslim sources claim that Amalric joined William II of Sicily and a dissident party of Shiʿites in a conspiracy against Saladin in 1174, which would have involved Frankish forces once more invading Egypt, there is little to support this. Instead, the Franks appear to have been implicated by Saladin’s propagandists, who sought to inflate their patron’s reputation as a mujāhid.52 Having invaded five times in the first seven years of his reign, Amalric did not return during the final five. His opportunity to exploit the Fatimids had ended, and he lacked the strength to displace the Ayyubids. When serious consideration was next given to an invasion of Egypt, in 1177, it was again to be a cooperative campaign with the Byzantines.

52 See Michael S. Fulton, “Disaster in the Delta? Sicilian Support for the Crusades and the Siege of Alexandria, 1174,” in Warfare in the Norman Mediterranean, ed. Georgios Theotokis (Woodbridge, 2020), 225–238.

14 Topographical and archaeological data in middle Caliphate sources Yehoshua Frenkel

Cities’ foundation myths were narrated in the Near East long before the emergence of the Islamic Caliphate.1 Historians who lived within the socio-political boundaries of the Islamicate world were familiar with this historical narrative tradition. Although the function of foundation myths changed, the transmission of these tales did not evaporate. Often, this component in cities’ history is visible in Arabic dynastic and local histories. These texts convey a sentimental longing to a legendary past and often transmit a fanciful vision of places. It served the needs of present audiences.2 The story of the foundation of Baghdad provides a case in point.3 The reception of this ancient tradition is also visible in the literary genre of the “merits of places” (faḍāʾil), which often integrate tales of biblical prophets (qiṣaṣ al-anbiyāʾ) into foundation lore. In this regard the figure of Solomon is salient,4 a tradition whose source can be traced to the Qurʾān.5 The remnants of a Fatimid geographical compilation that was presented to the imām al-ʿAzīz (r. 975–976) comprise biblical stories on the past of Bilād al-Shām (Greater Syria). David and Solomon are depicted as builders, in a narrative line

  1 David Braund, “The Historical Function of Myths in the Cities of the Eastern Black Sea Coast,” in Sur les traces des Argonautes. Actes du 6e symposium de Vani (Colchide), 22–29 Septembre 1990 (Besançon: Université de Franche-Comté, 1996), 11–20.   2 Julie Scott Meisami, “Places in the Past: The Poetics/Politics of Nostalgia,” Edabiyat 8 (1988), 63–106. Ibid, “The Past in Service of the Present: Two Views of History in Medieval Persia,” Poetics Today 14/2 (1993), 247–275. I would like to thank the anonymous reviewer for this and other references.  3 Jacob Lassner, The Topography of Baghdad in the Early Middle Ages: Texts and Studies (Detroit, MI: Wayne State University Press, 1970), 46; Charles Wendell, “Baghdad: Imago Mundi, and Other Foundation-Lore,” International Journal of Middle East Studies 2/2 (1971), 111–122; Alexandre M. Roberts, “Al-Manṣūr and the Critical Ambassador,” Bulletin d’études orientales 60 (2012), 149–150.   4 Priscilla P. Soucek, “Solomon’s Throne/Solomon’s Bath: Model or Metaphor?” Ars Orientalis 23 (1993), 109–134; Jonathan M. Bloom, “Jerusalem in Medieval Islamic Literature,” in City of the Great King. Jerusalem from David to the Present, ed. Nitza Rosovsky (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1996), 209, 213–214; Ofer Livne-Kafri, “Jerusalem in Early Islam: The Eschatological Aspect,” Arabica 53/3 (2006), 399.   5 Abū Muḥammad ʿAbd al-Malik Ibn Hishām (d. 213/828), Kitāb al-tījān fī mulūk Ḥimyar (Ṣanʿa: Markaz al-dirāsāt wal-buḥūth al-yamanī, 1979/2008), 162–173.

DOI: 10.4324/9781003146957-15

208  Yehoshua Frenkel that echoes the “merits of places” (faḍāʾil) Arabic literature.6 Narrating the story of Jerusalem (Aelia Capitolina), al-ʿAzīzī al-Muhallabī mentions the historical role of Solomon, who is also credited with the building of the temple. At that site Jacob’s ladder stood, and on its base the Umayyads constructed the Dome of the Rock (al-Ṣakhra).7 The transmission of Jewish traditions by this compiler is discerned throughout the fragments of his geographical guide. An example to illustrate this argument is the long quotation from the Ethics of the Fathers (Pirkei Avot): Ten miracles were performed for our forefathers in the Holy Temple: No woman ever miscarried because of the smell of the holy meat. The holy meat never spoiled. Never was a fly seen in the slaughterhouse. Never did the High Priest have an accidental seminal discharge on Yom Kippur. The rains did not extinguish the wood-fire burning upon the altar. The wind did not prevail over the column of smoke [rising from the altar]. No disqualifying problem was ever discovered in the Omer offering, the Two Loaves or the Showbread. They stood crowded but had ample space in which to prostrate themselves. Never did a snake or scorpion cause injury in Jerusalem. And no man ever said to his fellow “My lodging in Jerusalem is too cramped for me”.8 The aim of this contribution is to look into medieval Arabic narrative sources that transmit stories of discoveries. Archaeology is a modern discipline. Yet, Middle Islamic-period (c. 1055–1517) narrative sources inform their readers of digging, random findings and constructions’ contours.9 The sources provide accounts of building,10 demolishing and unearthing of artefacts and other physical remains, along with reports on the public’s reaction to these findings.11 In the following I will provide several translated narrations. Studying this data is a potential contribution to material history as well as to cultural history. The analysis of the gathered information will enrich, I hope, both our interpretation of past architecture and of

  6 al-Ḥasan ibn Aḥmad al-ʿAzīzī al-Muhallabī, al-Kitāb al-ʿAzīzī aw al-Masālik wal-mamālik, ed. Taysīr Khalaf (Damascus: al-Takwīn lil-ṭibāʿa wal-nashr wal-tawzīʿ, 2006).   7 al-ʿAzīzī al-Muhallabī, 73.   8 Pirkei Avot, chap. 5/5. I would like to thank Prof. J. Drory for mentioning this Hebrew source and Prof. Paul Fenton for the reference to George Vajda, “La description du Temple de Jerusalem d’apres le Kitāb al-Masālik wal-Mamālik d’al-Muhallabi,” JA (1959), 196–198, who cites Moïse Schuhl, Sentences et proverbes du Talmud et du Midrasch, suivis du Traité d’Aboth (Paris: Imprimerie Nationale, 1878).   9 Sibṭ ibn al-ʿAjamī al-Ḥalabī (753–841/1352–1438), Kunūz al-dhahab fī tārīkh Ḥalab (Aleppo: Dār al-Qalam al-ʿArabī, 1417–1418/1996–1997), 552–553 (on discoveries of gold and silver in Aleppo in 610/1233). 10 Patricia Crone and Shmuel Moreh, The Book of Strangers: Mediaeval Arabic Graffiti on the Theme of Nostalgia (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2000), 58–60 (no. 51). 11 R. Michael Feener, “Muslim Cultures and Pre-Islamic Pasts: Changing Perceptions of ‘Heritage,’” in The Making of Islamic Heritage Muslim Pasts and Heritage Presents, ed. Trinidad Rico. (Singapore: Palgrave Macmillan, 2017), 23–46.

Topographical and archaeological data in middle Caliphate  209 Ayyubid-Mamlūk (c. 1174–1517) audiences’ understanding of the uncovered findings. Middle Islamic-period historians provide several reasons for their occupation in historical narratology. The legitimation of the Caliphate is one of the major functions that these scholars ascribed to historians’ narrative discourse. This can easily be identified in Ibn Ṭūlūn’s “The Flashing Lightning: about Historical Amusement”.12 Reports of allegedly “archaeological” findings and discovery of ancient inscriptions are in line with this approach. Ibn ʿAsākir (499–571/1106–1176), for example, uses the excavation of an old inscription to affirm the location and the authenticity of Muʿāwiya’s (fl. 657–680) tomb in Damascus.13 The Damascene historian Ibn Kathīr reports on a legal tribunal that was convened in 701/June 1302, following a demand by a group of Jews (Khayābira) to be exempted from paying the poll tax (jizya).14 They issued what was claimed to be an ancient deed. Yet, based on historical arguments their appeal was rejected. In an ego-document he states: “I myself inspected the document that Jews have presented and found it baseless”.15 Another example of the validation of a claim is the story of a weaver who built a mosque. Marks appearing on the stone were said to support his case. To legitimate his initiative, he told his neighbours that the Prophet and his cousin ʿAlī had visited him in a dream. They hastened to visit the place and saw the imprint of the palm of ʿAli’s hand on the mosque’s wall (404/ April 1014).16 But the description of pre-Islamic ruins (āthār) was not motivated only by a functionalistic approach and did not aim only at legitimating the political or social order.17 It seems that accounts referred to the pre-Islamic past were employed as a tool to illuminate the ancient history of a location or to comment on the story of a place and to narrate Muslims’ historical role in the environment that they inhabited, a landscape that was richly dotted with pre-Islamic shrines and monuments. By accomplishing this strategy they achieved a holistic vision of the place.

12 Shams al-Dīn Muḥammad b. ʿAlī Ibn Ṭūlūn al-Ṣāliḥī (1473–1546/880–953), Lamaʿāt al-barqīyya fī al-nukat al-tāʾrīkhīyya, ed. Muḥammad Khayr Ramaḍān Yūsuf (Beirut, Dār Ibn Ḥazam, 1994). 13 Ibn Ṭūlūn, Lamaʿāt al-barqīyah fī al-nukat, 70. 14 Reports of this request can be detected in several sources and Geniza documents. Shelomo Dov Goitein, A Mediterranean Society: The Jewish Communities of the Arab World as Portrayed in the Documents of the Cairo Geniza (Berkeley: University of Californa Press, 1967), vol. 2: 386–387. 15 Abū al-Fidā Ismāʿil Ibn Kathīr (701–774/1301–1373), al-Bidāya wal-nihāya, ed. ʿAbd Allāh b. ʿAbd al-Muḥsin al-Turkī (Cairo: Hajar, 1998), 18: 9–10. 16 Abū al-Qāsim ʿAlī Ibn ʿAsākir (499–571/1106–1176), Taʾrīkh madīnat dimashq wa-dhikr faḍluhā wa-tasmiyat man ḥallahā min al-amāthil aw ijtāza bi-nawāḥīha min waridīhā aw ahālīhī, ed. M. al-ʿAmrawī (Damascus: Dār al-Fikr, 1415/1995), 2: 339–340. 17 Shams al-Dīn Abū ʿAbd Allāh Muḥammad Shaykh al-Rabwa al-Sūfī al-Dimashqī (654–737/1256– 1327), Nukhbat al-dahr fī ʿajāʾib al-barr wal-baḥr, ed. A. F. M. von Mehern (St. Petersburg: The Imperial Russian Academy, 1865), 200.

210  Yehoshua Frenkel Providing an account of a storm in Northern Syria (in 717/1317), the contemporary sources quote an official report that reached the Sultanate’s headquarters in Cairo: A pillar of fire came out from this hurricane and shot flashes of fire. It struck a church in al-Rubiyaʿah (Rabiʿiya). This was a very old (rūmāniyya) construction built from huge boulders (hiraqliyya, i.e. the style of the Byzantine emperor Heraclius).18 Another case in point is the following report: I saw on the cover of an ancient book that someone from Aleppo had written. He remarked that in the city, on the bridge next to the gate of Antioch, he observed (in 420/1029) a Greek inscription. He enquired about it and was informed that two respected Muslims had visited the site with a man who read the Greek inscription. They wrote down the translation of it, which said: “this city was built by the governor of Mosul at a time that the Scorpion and Jupiter were seen in the sky and the planet of Mercury was following them. Praised be God”.19 Accounts of one of Damascus’ gates (bāb jīrūn) provides an additional point of view regarding the social role of discovery stories and on the praises of location discourse. The narrative sources tell of Greek-speaking Christians who read an inscription that had been discovered during the siege and conquest of the city by the Muslims in c. 636 ce. According to his reading, the text said: Damascus is the city of the heroes. Only a powerful man can take control of it, if God did not exhaust him. Heroes will build and monkeys will destroy. The end is corrupted. And till the Day of Judgment Damascus will be inviolable.20 While the Abbasids besieged Damascus in 749, a stone had fallen from the city’s wall. A Greek inscription was discovered on it. The lines were deciphered and according to the non-Arab expert they stated: “O city of Iram (Aram?) [of the Pillars],21 of the heroes. If someone will harm you God will destroy him”.22 In 18 Samira Kortantamer, Ägypten und Syrien zwischen 1317 und 1341 in der Chronik des Mufaḍḍal b. Abī l-Faḍā’il (1973), 2 (Arabic); Yehoshua Frenkel, “Mapping the Mamluk Sultanate” (Annemarie Schimmel Kolleg for the History and Society during the Mamlūk Era (1250–1517), ASK Working Paper 10, March 2013), 14. 19 Kamāl al-Dīn ʿUmar b. Aḥmad Ibn al-ʿAdīm (586–660/1192–1262), Zubdat al-ḥalab fī taʾrīkh ḥalab, ed. Khalīl al-Manṣūr (Beirut: Dār al-Kutub al-ʿIlmiyya, 1996), 9. 20 Abū al-Ḥasan ʿAlī b. Muḥammad al-Rabaʿī al-Mālikī (d. 444/1052), Faḍāʾil al-shām wa-dimashq, ed. Ṣalāḥ al-Dīn al-Munajjid (Dasmascus: al-Majmaʿ al-ʿIlmī al-ʿArabī, 1951), 22 (no. 40); Paul M. Cobb, “Virtual Sacrality: Making Muslim Syria Sacred before the Crusades,” Medieval Encounters 8 (2002), 49. 21 Paul Neuenkirchen, “Biblical Elements in Koran 89, 6–8 and Its Exegeses: A New Interpretation of ‘Iram of the Pillars’,” Arabica 60/6 (2013), 651–700. 22 Ibn ʿAsākir, Taʾrīkh madīnat dimashq, ed. al-ʿAmrawī, 1: 17–18; Shams al-Dīn Muḥammad b. ʿAlī Ibn Ṭūlūn al-Ṣāliḥī (1473–1546/880–953), Qurrat al-ʿuyūn fī akhbar bāb jīrūn, ed. S. Munajjid (Damascus, 1964), 8 (Quoting Ibn ʿAsākir).

Topographical and archaeological data in middle Caliphate  211 Cairo an inscription containing the line “this is the mosque of Moses” was discovered as late as the early Mamlūk period.23 The name of King Solomon, whose role in the historical narratives of locations’ praises was already mentioned earlier,24 is reported to be inscribed on ancient engravings.25 Builders found an early plaque while constructing the cathedral mosque of Damascus. The Umayyad caliph searched for a scholar (ashbān) who would be able to tell him what the text says. No Hebrew, Greek or Syriac sage could read it. So he sent for Wahb b. Munabbih,26 who solved the enigma. The text had nothing to do with politics or local history. Rather, it provided the readers with ancient wisdom that Muslims could easily identify with: In the name of God the Merciful the Compassionate. Oh man, were you to perceive only a part of the future that is expecting you, you would give up most of your property and take the ascetic road. And while your foot will stumble you will express your sorrow. Your household and retinues will give you up. The beloved one will go away and close friends will betray you. You will call for help but no one will respond and you will return to your family. You will find no profit in your work. Hence take care of yourself and do the appropriate thing before the losses and sorrow that otherwise you will encounter on the Day of Judgment. Do it before your destiny strikes you, and the Angel of Death l extracts your soul from your body. On that Day the money you collected will not help you and no son you begot will support you, neither any brother nor friend. You will reach to the narrow bridge that leads to the grave and be close to the deceased. Hence before death enjoy life, and strength before weakness. Benefit from good health before illness affects you and sickness holds you back, separating between your deeds and yourself. This was written during the days of Solomon the son of David.27 A similar tone can be found on another plaque: “the person who wastes time will not accumulate capital. The lazy will not accomplish any achievement”.28

23 Mufaḍḍal b. Abī al-Faḍāʾil [Moufazzal ibn Abi-Fazaïl] d. (759/1358), al-Nahj al-sadīd wal-durr al-farīd fīmā badā taʾrīkh Ibn al-ʿAmīd [658–716], Histoire des sultans Mamelouks texte arabe publié et traduit en français par Edgar Blochet, Patrologia orientalis 12 (1919), 447 (660/1262). 24 Cf. ‘Roman cellars’ and Solomonic vault’ in a pious endowment list of properties. Kāmil Jamīl al-ʿAsalī, Wathāʾīq maqdisiyya taʾrīkhiyya (ʿAmmān: Matbaʿat al-Tawfīq, 1983), vol. 1, pp. 109–110. 25 Zayn al-Dīn Abū Ḥafṣ ʿUmar b. al-Muẓaffar Ibn al-Wardī al-Maʿarrī al-Shāfiʿī (691–749/1292– 1349), Operis Cosmographici Ibn El Vardi caput primum, de regionibus et oris, ed. Anderas Hylander (Lund: Beblincaiana, 1823), 37–40. 26 On him, see Alfred-Louis de Prémare, “Wahb b. Munabbih, Une figure singulière du premier Islam,” Annales. Histoire, Sciences Sociales 60/3 (2005), 531–549. 27 al-Rabaʿi, Faḍāʾil al-shām wa-dimashq, 34–35 (no. 62); Ibn ʿAsakir), Taʾrīkh madīnat dimashq, ed. Ṣalāḥ al-Dīn al-Munajjid (Damascus: al-Majmaʿ al-ʿIlmī al-ʿArabī, 1951–1954), 1: 9. 28 Ibn Ṭūlūn, lamaʿāt al-barqiyya fī al-nukat, 108.

212  Yehoshua Frenkel The discoveries of relics were not confined to accidental findings. In some cases active measures were taken. A report from Aleppo tells of an official who ordered to dig up and open a sealed gate. As the workers carried out the assignment, they discovered and opened a coffin. In it they found a skull, which is believed to be the remains of the prophet Zachariah. Stricken by panic, they fled the scene.29 This account reminds the reader of a similar narration from eleventh-century Damascus: Zayd ibn Wāqid said: Al-Walīd put me in charge of the workers in the building of the Great Mosque of Damascus. We came across a cave, so we alerted him to its existence. That night, he came [to the site] holding a candle, and he descended into the cave. It was actually a delightful little church, three measures wide, inside of which was a box, and in the box was a basket which in turn contained the head of John son of Zachariah. Al-Walīd ordered that it be restored to its place, and he said: “Design the column which stands above this spot so that it looks different from the other columns”. They placed the column above the spot, with a [capital that was in the shape of] a basket.30 A third example of this topos comes from Hebron. In the Cave of the Patriarchs, a headstone was discovered. It was inscribed in Greek. The lines informed the readers that it should be placed on Rebecca’s tomb. The text was translated into Arabic and this instruction was then carried out.31 Following a water shortage in Jerusalem, the governor ordered a well be inspected. At its bottom the team discovered an ancient barrier that had been built in the days of Nebuchadnezzar. It was removed and the water flowed freely.32 The use of findings bearing inscriptions was in line with rulers’ efforts to fortify their legitimacy by employing miraculous stories. Endeavouring to accomplish this goal, some sultans disseminated fantastic stories. In a panegyric addressed to the sultan Baybars and his leading commander, an official biographer wrote: Accompanied by a team of three, the sultan advanced [across the Sinai Desert]. They did not carry supplies with them. So they were forced to eat barley

29 Zayn al-Dīn Abū Ḥafṣ ʿUmar b. al-Muẓaffar Ibn al-Wardī al-Maʿrrī al-Shāfiʿī (691–749/1292– 1349), Tatimmat al-mukhtaṣar fī akhbār al bashar [taʾrīkh Ibn al-Wardī] (Najaf: al-Maṭbaʿa al-Ḥaydariyya, 1389/1969), 2: 451 (Aleppo, 738/1337). 30 al-Rabaʿi, Faḍāʾil al-shām wa-dimashq, 33 (no. 61); Nancy A. Khalek, Damascus after the Muslim Conquest: Text and Image in Early Islam (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), 113–116 (the translation is taken from her rich study). 31 Muṣṭafá b. Asʿad al-Luqaymī (1105–1178/1693–1764), La64), 93́ b. Asʿad fī taḥāʼif al-Quds walKhalīl ed. Khālid ʿAbd al-Karīm al-Hamshirī (ʿAkkā: Muʾassasat al-Aswār, 2001). 32 Nāṣir al-Dīn Shāfiʿ b. ʿAlī al-Kātib al-Miṣrī (649–730/1251–1330), Ḥusn al-manāqib, 251.

Topographical and archaeological data in middle Caliphate  213 and to swallow dry flour milled flour (daqīq).33 For three days they did not eat. Then, miraculously Baybars found a piece of sugar, yet he failed to find any liquid to melt it. So he put it into his mouth and with his saliva made it wet. Before reaching to the station of al-Aʿwaj they almost died from dehydration. But the Almighty God caused rain to water the desert. Although the ground was covered with water, Baybars was not able to drink it, because they did not carry any utensil with them. The desert ground swallowed the water. Yet Baybars’ horse dug the sand and the water gathered in the dimple. So they were able to drink. He also found a small amount of straw that the wind drove and the mountains blocked. It looked like a miracle that the merciful and gracious God made for them. So Baybars dismounted his horse and prayed, thanking God. With his mantle he collected the straw and provided it to his horse. This explains his astounding salvation.34 This story reflects a popular conviction that was profoundly anchored in the world view of Middle Islamic-period Muslims. Ibn Khaldūn’s (1322–1406) chapters on futurology, oneirocriticism (taʿbīr al-manām),35 magic, alchemy and geomancy (ʿilm al-raml)36 reflect the common reception of these fields of knowledge by pre-modern Muslim audiences.37 Since his writings on these topics have been studied by several fine scholars, we can refrain from reporting on them here and move to a short account of some artefacts that bore symbols and letters. That ancient alphabetical characters and signs attracted the attention of the public all over the Islamicate world we can learn from the book ascribed to Ibn Waḥshiyya.38

33 Paulina B. Lewicka, Food and Foodways of Medieval Cairenes: Aspects of Life in an Islamic Metropolis of the Eastern Mediterranean (Leiden: Brill, 2011), 156. 34 Muḥyī al-Dīn Ibn ʿAbd al-Ẓāhir (620–692/1223–1292), al-Rawḍ al-zāhir fī sīrat al-Malik al-Ẓāhir (The Splendid Garden concerning the life of al-Malik al-Zahir [Baybars]), ed. ʿAbd al-ʿAziz alKhuwaytir (Riyadh: ʿAbd al-ʿAziz University, 1396/1976), 58. 35 Y. Frenkel, “The Qur’an Versus the Cross in the Wake of the Crusade: The Social Function of Dreams and Symbols in Encounter and Conflict (Damascus, July 1148),” Quaderni di Studi Arabi 20–21 (2002–2003), 105–132; idem, “Dream Accounts in the Chronicles of the Mamluk Period,” in Dreaming Across Boundaries: The Interpretation of Dreams in Islamic Lands, ed. Louise Marlow (Cambridge, MA: Ilex Foundation/Harvard University Press, 2008), 202–220. 36 Robert Irwin, “Al-Maqrizi and Ibn Khaldun, Historians of the Unseen,” MSR 7/2 (2003), 217–230. 37 Felix Klein-Franke, “The Geomancy of Ahmad b. ʿAli Zunbul – A Study of the Arabic Corpus Hermeticum,” Ambix 20/1 (1973), 26–35. 38 Joseph Hammer, Ancient Alphabets and Hieroglyphic Characters Explained, with an Account of the Egyptian Priests, Their Classes, Initiation and Sacrifices in the Arabic Language (London: W. Bulmer and Co., 1806); on this work see Vanessa Davies and Dimitri Laboury, eds., The Oxford Handbook of Egyptian Epigraphy and Palaeography (New York: Oxford University Press, 2020), 177–183.

214  Yehoshua Frenkel A case in point are Mamlūk incantation bowls.39 The text that is inscribed on the sides of a bowl (ṭāsa mubarāka) from Egypt, dated 655/1257,40 promises that “this ṭāsa mubarāka resists all sorts of poison. . . . It is useful against the sting of serpents and of scorpions, fever, pains of grief, dyspepsia, rabies, suffocation, colic, migraine, stabbing pains, liver and splenic fever, facial nerve paralysis and dysentery”. The deep belief in the power of prayer and invisible powers is clearly reflected in the narrative of the Sultan Barqūq, who found shelter in the castle of Kerak in 791/1389: He was detained in a hall whose western walls had windows, which enabled him to see the city of Hebron. Blessing Abraham, he looked every day from them towards Hebron saying: “Oh friend of God, peace be upon you. Oh you merciful Abraham. I am under your protective canopy. I am guarded by you”. At that time there lived in Hebron a righteous and pious sheikh named ʿUmar. In a dream he saw Abraham, who promised him that Barqūq would win the day.41 The memory of the Frankish past, and their constructions, remained alive centuries after their withdrawal from the Holy Land. Reporting on Mamlūk efforts to renovate the canal that carried water from Hebron to Jerusalem, a chronicler says that al-Malik al-Nāṣir Muḥammad (709–741/1309–1341) ordered to renovate it so that it became “as it was during the Frankish days”.42 And indeed, stories of past military victories over the Franks served the Mamlūk sultans. They manipulated this tool in order to strengthen their image and fortify their legitimacy. They displayed recycled elements (spolia) to commemorate their achievements. By performing this action, they created a visual link between the defeated enemy and their armies’ successes on the battlefield.43 Moreover, the belief in the magical power (ṭilasmāt) of spolia prevailed among their subjects.44

39 Ahmed Zéki Pacha, “Coupe magique dédiée à Ṣalāḥ ad-Dīn (Saladin) – titre royaux, tolerance et portrait de Ṣalāḥ ad-Dīn,” Bulletin de l’Institut égyptien (2016), 247 (no. 3862); Bethany J. Walker, “Ceramic Evidence for Political Transformations in Early Mamluk Egypt,” MSR 8 (2004), 101; Aḥmad ʿAbd al-Rāziq Aḥmad, “Aḍwāʾ jadīda ʿalá ṭāsat al-khiḍa wal-nuqūsh al-mudawwana ʿalayhā,” Bulletin of the Center for Papyrological Studies 22/1 (2005), 249–271. 40 Gaston Wiet, Catalogue général du Musée de l’art islamique du Caire – Objets en cuivre (Cairo: IFAO, 1932), 121 (no. 4431). 41 Badr al-Dīn Maḥmūd b. Aḥmad al-ʿAynī (762–855/1361–1451), “ʿIqd al-jumān fī taʾrīkh ahl al-zamān,” in al-Sulṭān Barqūq The Chronicle of the Years 784–801/1382–1398, ed. I. U. Shukrī (Cairo: Maktabat Madbūlī, 2002), 253. 42 Muḥammad b. ʿAbd Allah al-ʿAbbasi al-Ṣafadī (d. after 717/1317), Nuzhat al-malik, ed. Tadmurī (Sidon-Beirut: al-Maktaba al-ʿAṣriyya, 2003). 43 Susana Calvo Capilla, “Spolia and Classical Revivals in Legitimacy Discourses: From Cordoba to the Mamluk Mosques of Cairo,” in Artistic and Cultural Dialogues in the Late Medieval Mediterranean, ed. María Marcos Cobaleda (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2021), 57–78. 44 Julia Gonnella, “Columns and Hieroglyphs: Magic ‘Spolia’ in Medieval Islamic Architecture of Northern Syria,” Muqarnas 27 (2010), 103–120.

Topographical and archaeological data in middle Caliphate  215 Several sites in Palestine/Israel illuminate the use and reuse of Frankish constructions and materials by Mamlūk sultans and governors.45 In their efforts to erase the Frankish past, these patrons actually followed in Saladin’s footsteps.46 Hana Taragan analysed two tombs and demonstrated the reuse of the past by their Mamlūk builders.47 One is the mausoleum (turba) of Aydughdī (“the moon was born”)48 al-Kubakī (the gourd; namely the master of archery).49 The second is the invented mausoleum of Abū Hurayra. In both building Crusader elements are visible, as they are in Baybars’ mosque in Cairo and in al-Ashraf Khalīl’s gates in Qalāwun’s hospital in Cairo. In the first case, a trophy from Jaffa was shipped to Egypt; in the second case, it was taken from Acre to the Mamlūk capital.50 In Ramla the Crusader cathedral was converted into a mosque. The two minarets in the city are a clear symbol of Mamlūk victory.51 Past buildings were deployed as a tool to legitimate the present order.

Conclusion Islam is not a novel detached chapter in the local geography and history of the Near East, but rather a continuation of past government and civilization. Not only did the mission of the Prophet update the past and transform it into the anticipated authentic religion, but past cultures and belief systems predicted its coming (kerygma). The past validated the only true and perfect religion that the Seal of the Prophets had reached. This vision of the past enabled Middle Islamic-period Muslims to see the pre-Islamic past as a source of legitimation and to live in peace with its material and written relics. Through the prism of Muslims’ world views, the present short contribution has looked at discovery stories and construction accounts from the Middle Islamic period. It highlighted the popular belief in the magical power of artefacts and inscriptions. The perspective that past objects are powerful articles, relevant to the present, was well received by ruler and subjects. Indiana Jones certainly would agree with them. Conventional scholars will employ a different perspective. 45 Y. Frenkel, “Baybars and the Sacred Geography of Bilad al-Sham: A Chapter in the Islamization of Syria’s Landscape,” Jerusalem Studies in Arabic and Islam 25 (2001), 153–170. 46.  Y. Frenkel, “Political and Social Aspects of Islamic Religious Endowments (awqāf): Saladin in Cairo (1169–73) and Jerusalem (1187–93),” BSOAS 62 (1999), 1–20. 47 Hana Taragan, “Politics and Aesthetics: Sultan Baybars and the Abu Hurayra/Rabbi Gamliel Building in Yavne,” in Milestones in the Art and Culture of Egypt, ed. Asher Ovadiah (Tel-Aviv: Tel Aviv University, 2000), 117–144; idem, “Mamluk Patronage, Crusader Spolia- Turbat alKubakiyya in the Mamilla Cemetery, Jerusalem (688/1289),” in Developing Perspectives in Mamluk History: Essays in Honor of Amalia Levanoni, ed. Yuval Ben-Bassat (Leiden: Brill, 2017), 269–286; see also idem, “Sign of the Times: Reusing the Past in Baybars’s Architecture in Palestine,” in Mamluks and Ottomans. Studies in Honour of Michael Winter, eds. David J. Wasserstein and Ami Ayalon (London: Routledge, 2006), 54–66. 48 Jean Sauvaget, “Noms et surnoms de Mamelouks,” JA 238 (1950), 40 (no. 39). 49 D. J. Latham, “Notes on Mamluk Horse-Arches,” BSOAS 32 (1969), 257–267. 50 Ahmaed Ragab, The Medieval Islamic Hospital Medicine, Religion, and Charity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015), 88–89. 51 K. Cytryn-Silverman, “The Mamlūk Minarets of Ramla,” Jerusalem Studies in Arabic and Islam 35 (2008), 379–432.

Index

Note: Page numbers in italic indicate a figure on the corresponding page. Acre 49–55; attempted assassination of Lord Edward of England at 177–186; documented squares of Italian districts in 96–100, 97; letters sent to King Edward I 46–49, 56–58; the Tower of the English in 44–46; will of Lord Edward made at 187–190 addressees 15–18, 16 Amalric (King) 9; intervention in Egypt 191–206 ’Aqṣā Mosque, al- 34–35 archaeological data 207–215 assassination: al-Afḍal 173, 175; attempt on Lord Edward of England 177–186 authors 12–15, 16 Caliphate: Abbasid 165; middle Caliphate sources 207–215 captives 142; as active mediators and diplomats 148–152; as cultural brokers or sources of information 146–148; as a precious commodity 142–146 castles see Montfort Castle Chapel of St Edward the Confessor 49–55; letters sent to King Edward I 46–49, 56–58; the Tower of the English 44–46 churches of Genoese Famagusta 113–114; SS Dominic and Francis 120; St Augustin 120; St Catherine 113–115, 117–119, 121, 125; St Claire 120; St Francis 114, 116–120, 123–124; St Mary of Carmel 116, 120; St Mary of Tortosa 120; St Mary of Tyre 120; St Nicholas 114–115, 117, 121–122, 125; St Stephen 115–116, 120–121; St Symeon 115–116, 122 cities, surrender of 172–176

commodities 121; captives as 142–146 confraternity of St Edward in Acre 46, 49–55; letters sent to King Edward I 46–49, 56–58 conquest 191–197, 204–206 construction of the Montfort Castle 59–60, 83–85; origins of the Teutonic Order 60–66; political instability and economic crisis 79–83; rise of the Teutonic Order under Hermann of Salza 66–79 correspondence 4–6, 7, 16–17, 22–23; addressees of 15–18, 16–17; authors of 12–15, 16–17; 46–49, 56–58; reference to letters in narrative source 21–22; schedule, carriers, and particular characteristics of 6–11, 7; subject matters of 18–21 Cradle of Jesus Mosque 36–37, 36 Crusade, First 8–14, 24, 42–43, 144–145, 182–185; Cradle of Jesus Mosque/ Masḏj̲id Mahd ‘Īsā 36–37; Dār al- ‘ilm/ house of knowledge 38–39; historical overview 25–28; Maḏj̲lis ’Abu Bakr Muḥammad al-Ṭurṭūshī 38; Madrasa Abū ‘Uqba 41–42; Madrasa al-Shāfi ‘iyya/al-Naṣriyya, al- 35, 39–41; Miḥrāb Mu‘āwiya 37–38; Miḥrāb Ya‘qūb 35, 37; notable persons and scholars killed 28–31; notable persons and scholars who fled or survived 31–34; places that hosted the activities of the ‘Ulamā’ 34–36 cultural attribution 92–95 cultural brokers, captives as 146–148 cultural-religious life see Islamic culturalreligious life

Index  217 Cyprus: and Chapel of St Edward the Confessor in Acre 44–45; and churches of Genoese Famagusta 113–116, 118–122, 124–125; and Frankish intervention in Egypt during the reign of Amalric 200–202; nobility and rural residences 86–91; and public squares 100, 102, 104, 106–111; and Teutonic Knights 63 Dār al- ‘ilm/house of knowledge 38–39 design 111–112; central square(s) of Famagusta 105–111; cultural attribution of public squares 92–95; documented and postulated squares in Nicosia 100–105; documented squares of Italian districts in Acre 96–100; new public squares in old spatial systems 95 diplomats, captives as 148–152 economic crisis 79–83 Edward of England (Lord): assassination attempt of 177–186; will of 187–190 Edward I (King) 46–49, 56–58 Egypt 32–33, 154–156; and captives 143–147; Frankish intervention during the reign of Amalric 191–206; and human suffering 165, 173–174; middle Caliphate sources 213–215 extortion 191, 199 Famagusta: central squares of 104–111, 107–108; churches of 113–126 financing the construction of Montfort Castle 59–60, 83–85; origins of the Teutonic Order 60–66; political instability and economic crisis 79–83; rise of the Teutonic Order under Hermann of Salza 66–79 Franks 1–3, 153–161; Chapel of St Edward the Confessor in Acre 45–46; and human suffering 166–175; intervention in Egypt during the reign of Amalric 191–206; and Islamic cultural-religious life 25–28; massacre by 28–31; middle Caliphate sources 214–251; occupation by 31–35, 38–40, 42–43; and public squares 106–107 Genoese occupation of Famagusta 113–126

Hermann of Salza 60, 83–84; Teutonic Order under 66–79 house of knowledge see Dār al- ‘ilm/house of knowledge human suffering: raiding, looting, and state building 169–172; surrender of cities 172–176; topology of warfare 165–169 Ibn Munqidh, Usāma 153–164 information, captives as sources of 146–148 inquests 113–114, 116–117 instability, political 79–83 Islamic cultural-religious life 24, 35, 42–43; Cradle of Jesus Mosque/ Masḏj̲id Mahd ‘Īsā 36–37; Dār al- ‘ilm/house of knowledge 38–39; historical overview 25–28; Maḏj̲lis ’Abu Bakr Muḥammad al-Ṭurṭūshī 38; Madrasa Abū ‘Uqba 41–42; Madrasa al-Shāfi ‘iyya/al-Naṣriyya, al- 35, 39–41; Miḥrāb Mu‘āwiya 37–38; Miḥrāb Ya‘qūb 35, 37; notable persons and scholars killed 28–31; notable persons and scholars who fled or survived 31–34; places that hosted the activities of the ‘Ulamā’ 34–36 Italian districts, documented squares of 96–100, 97 Jerusalem 1–3, 24, 35, 42–43, 153–154; and Chapel of St Edward the Confessor in Acre 48–55; and correspondence 6–10, 12–20; Cradle of Jesus Mosque/ Masḏj̲id Mahd ‘Īsā 36–37; Dār al- ‘ilm/ house of knowledge 38–39; and Frankish intervention in Egypt during the reign of Amalric 191–198; historical overview 25–28; and human suffering 166–172; Maḏj̲lis ’Abu Bakr Muḥammad al-Ṭurṭūshī 38; Madrasa Abū ‘Uqba 41– 42; Madrasa al-Shāfi ‘iyya/al-Naṣriyya, al- 35, 39–41; massacre committed by Franks in 28–31; and middle Caliphate sources 207–208, 212–215; Miḥrāb Mu‘āwiya 37–38; Miḥrāb Ya‘qūb 35, 37; and the nobility of Cyprus 86–87, 89–90; notable persons and scholars killed 28–31; notable persons and scholars who fled or survived 31–34; places that hosted the activities of the ‘Ulamā’ 34–36; and public squares in the Latin East 96–98; and the role of captives in peacemaking 151–152; and the Teutonic Knights 60–69, 71–77, 80, 82–85

218 Index Kitāb al-I‘tibār 153–164 letters see correspondence Lombard plain, cites of 127–141 looting 169–172 Maḏj̲lis ’Abu Bakr Muḥammad al-Ṭurṭūshī (al-Sakīna) 38, 41 Madrasa Abū ‘Uqba 41–42 Madrasa al-Shāfi ‘iyya/al-Naṣriyya, al- 35, 39–41 Masḏj̲id Mahd ‘Īsā 35, 36–37 massacre 28–31 mediators, captives as 142–143, 146, 148–152 migration 31–34 Miḥrāb Mu‘āwiya 37–38 Miḥrāb Ya‘qūb 35, 37 Montfort Castle, financing of the construction of 59–60, 83–85; origins of the Teutonic Order 60–66; political instability and economic crisis 79–83; rise of the Teutonic Order under Hermann of Salza 66–79 mosques see ’Aqṣā Mosque, al-; Cradle of Jesus Mosque narrative sources 5, 21–22, 84, 90, 208–210 Naṣriyya, al- see Madrasa al-Shāfi ‘iyya/ al-Naṣriyya, alNicosia 87–90, 95, 100–106, 103, 105, 111 nobility 86–91 notable persons and scholars: killed in massacre committed by Franks 28–31, 30; migration and Frankish occupation 31–34 notarial acts 113–115, 117, 120, 124–126 occupation, Frankish 31–35, 38–40, 42–43 peacemaking: captives as active mediators and diplomats 148–152; captives as cultural brokers or sources of information 146–148; captives as a precious commodity 142–146 persons and scholars see notable persons and scholars piazzas 111–112; central square(s) of Famagusta 105–111; cultural attribution of public squares 92–95; documented and postulated squares in Nicosia 100–105; documented squares

of Italian districts in Acre 96–100; new public squares in old spatial systems 95 political instability 79–83 provost of the fraternity of St Edward in Acre 48–49 public squares 93, 103, 105, 107–108, 111–112; central square(s) of Famagusta 105–111; cultural attribution of public squares 92–95; documented and postulated squares in Nicosia 100–105; documented squares of Italian districts in Acre 96–100; new public squares in old spatial systems 95 raiding 169–172 religious life see Islamic culturalreligious life residences see rural residences rural residences 86–91 Sakīna, al- see Maḏj̲lis ’Abu Bakr Muḥammad al-Ṭurṭūshī schedule 6–11 scholars see notable persons and scholars social implications of the wars of the Crusades: raiding, looting, and state building 169–172; surrender of cities 172–176; topology of warfare 165–169 sources 113–114, 126; middle Caliphate 207–215; see also narrative sources spatial systems 92, 95, 99, 111–112 squares see public squares state building 169–172 St Edward the Confessor see Chapel of St Edward the Confessor subject matter 18–21 suffering see human suffering surrender of cities 172–176 Teutonic Knights see Teutonic Order Teutonic Order 59–60, 83–85; origins of 60–66; political instability and economic crisis 79–83; rise under Hermann of Salza 66–79 topographical data 207–215 topology of warfare 165–169 Tower of the English 44–46, 54 ‘Ulamā’ 34–35 urban centres 111–112; central square(s) of Famagusta 105–111; cultural attribution of public squares 92–95; documented

Index  219 and postulated squares in Nicosia 100–105; documented squares of Italian districts in Acre 96–100; new public squares in old spatial systems 95 war: and the cities of the Lombard plain 127–141; raiding, looting, and state building 169–172; surrender of cities 172–176; topology of warfare

165–169; in Usāma Ibn Munqidh’s Kitāb al-I‘tibār 153–164 warfare 153, 162–163; and the cities of the Lombard plain 127–128, 133–141; and human suffering 165–169, 176; and the role of captives in peacemaking 142– 145, 151–152; topology of 165–169 warriors 153–164 will of Lord Edward 187–190