Journal of Medieval Military History. Volume X [10] 1843837471, 9781843837473

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The Journal’s hallmark is broad chronological, geographic and thematic coverage of the subject, bearing witness to ‘the range and richness of scholarship on medieval warfare, military institutions, and cultures of conflict that characterises the field’.  HISTORY

CONTENTS David Alan Parnell Bernard S. Bachrach and David Bachrach Francisco García Fitz Nicolás Agrait

The Careers of Justinian’s Generals Early Saxon Frontier Warfare: Henry I, Otto I, and Carolingian Military Institutions War in The Lay of the Cid The Battle of Salado (1340) Revisited

Steven Muhlberger

Chivalry and Military Biography in the Later Middle Ages: The Chronicle of the Good Duke Louis of Bourbon

John J. Jefferson

The Ottoman-Hungarian Campaigns of 1442

James P. Ward Michael Prestwich

Security and Insecurity, Spies and Informers in Holland during the Guelders War (1506-1515) Edward I’s Wars in the Chronicle of Hagnaby Priory

An imprint of Boydell & Brewer Ltd PO Box 9, Woodbridge IP12 3DF (GB) and 668 Mt Hope Ave, Rochester NY 14620-2731 (US) www.boydellandbrewer.com

ROGERS, DEVRIES, FRANCE (editors)

Cover: Coll. Bibliothèques municipales de Chambéry, MS13, fo. 105r (circa 1170-1190). The Italian artist who illuminated this copy of Gratian’s Decretum beautifully captured the deadly seriousness of medieval warfare -for townsmen as well as knights. Image used by generous permission of the Bibliothèques municipales de Chambéry.

JOURNAL OF MEDIEVAL MILITARY HISTORY VIII JOURNAL OF MEDIEVAL MILITARY HISTORY

X

J ournal of

MEDIEVAL MILITARY HISTORY

·  X  · Edited by CLIFFORD J. ROGERS, KELLY DEVRIES and JOHN FRANCE

JOURNAL OF

Medieval Military History Volume X

JOURNAL OF MEDIEVAL MILITARY HISTORY

Editors Clifford J. Rogers Kelly DeVries John France ISSN 1477–545X

The Journal, an annual publication of De re militari: The Society for Medieval Military History, covers medieval warfare in the broadest possible terms, both chronologically and thematically. It aims to encompass topics ranging from traditional studies of the strategic and tactical conduct of war, to explorations of the martial aspects of chivalric culture and mentalité, examinations of the development of military technology, and prosopographical treatments of the composition of medieval armies. Editions of previously unpublished documents of significance to the field are included. The Journal also seeks to foster debate on key disputed aspects of medieval military history. The editors welcome submissions to the Journal, which should be formatted in accordance with the style-sheet provided on De re militari’s website (www.deremilitari.org), and sent electronically to the editor specified there.

JOURNAL OF

Medieval Military History Volume X Edited by CLIFFORD J. ROGERS KELLY DeVRIES John France

THE BOYDELL PRESS

© Contributors 2012 All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under current legislation no part of this work may be photocopied, stored in a retrieval system, published, performed in public, adapted, broadcast, transmitted, recorded or reproduced in any form or by any means, without the prior permission of the copyright owner First published 2012 The Boydell Press, Woodbridge ISBN 978–1-84383–747–3

The Boydell Press is an imprint of Boydell & Brewer Ltd PO Box 9, Woodbridge, Suffolk IP12 3DF, UK and of Boydell & Brewer Inc. 668 Mt Hope Avenue, Rochester, NY 14620–2731, USA website: www.boydellandbrewer.com A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library The publisher has no responsibility for the continued existence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party internet websites referred to in this book, and does not guarantee that any content on such websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate Papers used by Boydell & Brewer Ltd are natural, recyclable products made from wood grown in sustainable forests

Printed and bound in Great Britain by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY

Contents

List of Illustrations

vi

1. The Careers of Justinian’s Generals David Alan Parnell

1

2. Early Saxon Frontier Warfare: Henry I, Otto I, and Carolingian Military Institutions Bernard S. Bachrach and David Bachrach

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3. War in The Lay of the Cid Francisco García Fitz

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4. The Battle of Salado (1340) Revisited Nicolás Agrait

89

5. Chivalry and Military Biography in the Later Middle Ages: The Chronicle of the Good Duke Louis of Bourbon Steven Muhlberger

113

6. The Ottoman-Hungarian Campaigns of 1442 John J. Jefferson

133

7. Security and Insecurity, Spies and Informers in Holland during the Guelders War (1506–1515) James P. Ward

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8. Document: Edward I’s Wars in the Chronicle of Hagnaby Priory Michael Prestwich

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Illustrations

The Battle of Salado (1340) Revisited Map 1 The Iberian Peninsula in the Fourteenth Century Map 2 The Strait of Gibraltar Region in the Fourteenth Century Map 3 Christian and Muslim Encampments Prior to the Battle According to Huici Miranda Map 4 Battle Formations and Christian and Muslim Encampments Prior to the Battle According to López Fernández Map 5 Battle of Salado: First Stage Map 6 Battle of Salado: Second Stage Map 7 Battle of Salado: Third Stage Map 8 Battle of Salado: Dénouement The Ottoman-Hungarian Campaigns of 1442 Map 1 The Campaigns of 1442

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1 The Careers of Justinian’s Generals David Alan Parnell

From A.D. 545 to 546, Totila, the king of the Ostrogoths, besieged the city of Rome.1 The general in charge of the Byzantine garrison in Rome was Bessas, himself a Goth born in Thrace. The historian Procopius of Caesarea tells us that Bessas was lethargic in the defense of Rome and, more than that, used his powers as a general to extort money from the populace by selling the scarce grain within the city at enormously inflated prices. When Rome fell to Totila in 546, Bessas fled the city. The fall of Rome just six years after the general Belisarius had apparently pacified Italy was with good reason seen as a disaster. Bessas was in disgrace. Yet less than four years later, he again received a major appointment, as the general of Armenia, and was sent to Lazica in the Caucasus to take charge of operations against the Persians. Once there he acted vigorously and apparently with immense personal valor, leading his troops in capturing the city of Petra in 551. This restored his reputation so much that Procopius reported that by this one act he salvaged his reputation as a general and “became once more an object of respectful admiration among all men.” Yet three years later, facing new military reverses in Lazica through his own neglect, Bessas was dismissed from the service, deprived of his property, and exiled to live in Abasgia in the Caucasus. It may be said without exaggeration that Bessas had been an institution in the Byzantine army in terms of the length of his career. He first saw service when he was dispatched to the eastern front as an officer in 503 under the emperor Anastasius (491–518). His final disgrace and exile occurred in 554. Over the course of that half-century, he served all over the Mediterranean with varied success, as we have seen.2 This study will examine

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The idea for this study came in the course of work on my doctoral dissertation, “Justinian’s Men: The Ethnic and Regional Origins of Byzantine Officers and Officials, ca. 518–610.” I am indebted to Warren Treadgold, Kelly DeVries, and my anonymous reviewer for their suggestions, which have substantially improved this piece. For the career of Bessas generally, see A.H.M. Jones, J.R. Martindale, J. Morris, The Prosopography of the Later Roman Empire, 3 vols. (Cambridge, 1971–92) [Hereafter PLRE], 2:226–29. For Bessas’ early career in the reign of Anastasius, see Geoffrey Greatrex, Rome and Persia at War, 502–532 (Leeds, 1998), p. 74, n. 4. For the indictment on his conduct during the siege of Rome, see Procopius of Caesarea, The History of the Wars 7.17.9–14, ed. and trans. H.B. Dewing, 5 vols. (Cambridge, 1914–40). For Bessas’ success at Petra in Lazica, see Procopius,

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the generals of the emperor Justinian (527–565).3 By considering the careers of Justinian’s generals separately and together as a group, we will come to understand the origins of these generals, their conditions of service, and the special challenges that they faced while practicing their craft. Thanks to his campaigns of expansion and their careful documentation in the sources, the reign of Justinian is a particularly interesting period for the study of generals in the Byzantine army. The famous general Belisarius seems often to take the center stage when discussing sixth-century generals, and deservedly so. He was the preeminent general not only of Justinian’s reign but arguably of the Byzantine Empire’s thousand-year existence. Yet the fame of Belisarius should not blind us to the Bessases of the Byzantine army and the lessons they have to teach.4 Despite his accomplishments and the fact that we know so much about his career, Belisarius remains but one of many generals used prominently in the reign of Justinian. To truly understand the Byzantine generals of the period as a group and to properly appreciate their jobs, we will try to take the experiences of all known individuals into account as much as possible. The sources of the sixth century, while limited in the sense that Byzantine sources for most periods are limited, are rich in comparison to those of the fifth century before it and the seventh after it. Procopius, the outstanding historian of the period and one of the best of all Byzantine historiography, is certainly the most important source. As assessor (legal adviser) and private secretary to Belisarius, Procopius accompanied the general and his armies to the eastern front, Africa, and Italy in the 520s and 530s. After leaving Belisarius’ service, he wrote multiple historical pieces, the most importance of which for our purposes are The History of the Wars and the Secret History.5 While his proximity to the

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Wars 8.12.29–35. For Bessas’ subsequent and final disgrace, see Agathias, The Histories 3.2.6–7, ed. Rudolf Keydell (Berlin, 1967), trans. Joseph Frendo (Berlin, 1975). There has been surprisingly little research specifically dedicated to examining the generals of Justinian as a group, although countless broader studies on the reign of Justinian and Late Antique warfare of course have occasion to discuss at least some generals. The relevant portions of this historiography will be introduced in the notes. Special mention should be made of these particularly important pieces of scholarship: Hugh Elton, “Military Forces,” in Cambridge History of Greek and Roman Warfare, 2 vols., ed. Philip Sabin, Hans Van Wees and Michael Whitby (Cambridge, 2007), 2:270–309; Michael Whitby, “War,” ibid., 2:310–41; Philip Rance, “Narses and the Battle of Taginae (Busta Gallorum) 552: Procopius and SixthCentury Warfare,” in Historia: Zeitschrift für Alte Geschichte 54.4 (2005), 424–72; A.D. Lee, “The Empire at War,” in The Cambridge Companion to the Age of Justinian, ed. Michael Maas (Cambridge, 2004), pp. 113–33; and Michael Whitby, “The Army, c. 420–602,” in The Cambridge Ancient History, ed. Averil Cameron, 3rd ed., Late Antiquity: Empire and Successors, AD 425–600 (London, 2001), 14:288–314. Modern authors of ancient or medieval military histories or surveys of Justinian’s reign have paid little attention to Justinian’s generals aside from Belisarius and Narses. For example, Pat Southern and Karen Ramsey Dixon, The Late Roman Army (New Haven, 1996), mention that there were “many fine generals” in Justinian’s reign, but name only Belisarius and Narses (p. 176). Procopius, Wars cited in note 2. For the Secret History, see Procopius of Caesarea, The Anecdota, ed. and trans. H.B. Dewing (Cambridge, 1914).



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important people and events of the period make him a knowledgeable source, some modern historians have charged that Procopius distorted individual facts in order to make larger arguments and have sought to undermine his reliability.6 Despite this criticism, Procopius is easily the most important source of the century and should generally be trusted unless there is a specific reason to believe he would have a reason to alter the facts for a particular event.7 Some definition of the term “general” and how it applies to the sixth century may be useful as a starting point for this study. The rank of general typically indicates one of the highest ranks in an army. In the case of the Roman and Byzantine army, a general was the highest-ranking commanding officer in a particular field army, so for the purposes of this study that will define the category of generals. The official title held by generals fluctuated throughout the Byzantine army’s history. In the sixth century, the position of commander in chief of a field army was held by a man with the title of magister militum, or master of soldiers. A magister militum was either the commander-in-chief of a mobile field army, one of the comitatenses, or was a high-ranking general in a separate expeditionary force, such as that gathered by Belisarius to invade Italy.8 When he commanded one of the mobile field armies, the general’s title reflected the regional location of his army, as when Belisarius was the magister militum per Orientem (Master of Soldiers for the [Diocese of the] East). When he was a high-ranking commander of a separate expeditionary force, the title was magister militum vacans, meaning that his rank was free from regional restriction.9 Of course, these are all technical Latin terms, and most literary sources 6

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For criticism of Procopius as a source, see Averil Cameron, Procopius and the Sixth Century (Berkeley, 1985) and especially Anthony Kaldellis, Procopius of Caesarea: Tyranny, History, and Philosophy at the End of Antiquity (Philadelphia, 2004), who notes of Procopius that sometimes his “historiography is concerned with a larger, typical truth that overrides the facts in specific cases” (p. 12). Cf. Cameron, Procopius and the Sixth Century, p. 136: “To assess the evidential value of Procopius’ work we need if possible to examine the credentials of every individual passage.” On Procopius as “the single most important source for his age,” see Kaldellis, Procopius of Caesarea, p. 4. For a generally more sympathetic view of Procopius’ trustworthiness, see Warren Treadgold, The Early Byzantine Historians (New York, 2007), pp. 176–226. Treadgold finds that “Procopius’ stated commitment to truth seems to have been sincere” (p. 213). For another sympathetic view of Procopius, especially as a military source, see Lee, “The Empire at War,” p. 115. Before Justinian’s conquests, there were six field armies spread around the empire: two near Constantinople, designated praesentales because they were stationed in the emperor’s presence, two in the East (one embracing the diocese of the East from Mesopotamia down to Egypt, and one embracing the region of Armenia) and two in the Balkans (one each for Illyricum and Thrace). By the end of Justinian’s reign there would also be field armies in North Africa, Italy and Spain. All these armies had their own magistri militum. See Warren Treadgold, Byzantium and Its Army, 284–1081 (Stanford, 1995), pp. 15–17. When generals were appointed to lead separate expeditionary forces, they often maintained their title from their former region of command (Elton, “Military Forces,” p. 277). A.H.M. Jones, The Later Roman Empire, 284–602: A Social, Economic and Administrative Survey, 3 vols. (Oxford, 1964), 1:535.

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of the period do not refer to them explicitly, which is a common feature of late classicizing historiography generally. Even Procopius, our most knowledgeable military source, writes in Attic Greek, which means he must eschew the use of technical Latin terms. To refer to the Latin title magister militum, Procopius and other Greek authors of the period resorted to using the Greek term strategos.10 This study seeks to analyze the highest-ranking officers in the top level of command in the sixth-century Byzantine field armies, who are defined as individuals bearing the title of magister militum (usually identified with the term strategos), and who are therefore collectively called “generals” for the sake of simplicity. In framing the study in this fashion, the other major portion of the Byzantine military establishment of the time, the limitanei, the border troops, and their commanders, the duces, are explicitly excluded.11 This is not because the limitanei were unimportant, but because the duces that led units of border troops were subordinate to the nearest magister militum.12 Therefore in almost all instances in which a dux and his unit participated in a campaign or battle, they did so with a field army and under the command of a magister militum. Aside from their common occupations, Justinian’s generals have little in the way of group identity. What is most remarkable is not the similarity of their social, economic, or even ethnic origins, but their extreme diversity. By the sixth century, the days when Roman generals had been drawn from the ancient elite of society were long gone. While all who received the title of magister militum also received the civil rank of a vir illustris, which granted them membership in the senate, extremely few were already illustrious because of old family background when they first became generals.13 Of the forty-seven generals described by Procopius, for example, only two may be definitively identified as belonging to old and noble families, although this does not exclude the possibility that there are others for whom Procopius did not provide that sort of background information.14 To put this in perspective, this is the same number of generals

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Southern and Dixon, The Late Roman Army, p. 64. Often the term strategos was modified with geographical terms to offer an approximation of the Latin title. For example, Procopius describes Belisarius not as magister militum per Orientem but as being in command “of the troops of the East” (Wars 3.11.1–21). On the limitanei generally, see Benjamin Isaac, The Limits of Empire: The Roman Army in the East (Oxford, 1992). On the general distinctions between comitatenses (field armies) and limitanei (border troops), see Whitby, “The Army, c. 420–602,” pp. 288–89. On a dux being responsible to his magister militum, see Elton, “Military Forces,” p. 275, and Southern and Dixon, The Late Roman Army, pp. 58–60. By the sixth century, membership of the senate was confined to illustres, a rank that was accorded to high civil officials and magistri. See Jones, Later Roman Empire, pp. 528–29. Elsewhere (p. 383), Jones argues that men of high birth were “sometimes appointed magistri with little or no previous military experience,” but the only example he provides from the sixth century is Areobindus, who was more likely an exception than a general rule. Liberius was a patrician from Rome and was related to an aristocratic Roman family, and so was presumably aristocratic himself (Procopius, Wars 7.36.6, see also Liberius 3 in PLRE 2:677).



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who may be definitively identified as cubicularii, that is palace officials who were frequently eunuchs from obscure or even servile families.15 From eunuchs to illustrious senators, generals were appointed from all sorts of different backgrounds. For many generals, we have no certain information on their background, while others clearly rose through the ranks of the officer corps of the Byzantine army on merit. It was not uncommon for a general to serve first as a dux of border troops, a comes rei militari (a mid-ranking commander under the overall command of a general), or even as a bucellarius (a guardsman) for another general.16 There were some other common paths to becoming a general. Not surprisingly, it helped to have a close connection to the emperor himself. Three of the generals described by Procopius were probably promoted to their rank because they had belonged to Justinian’s household in the years before he became emperor, usually as a guardsman.17 Belisarius probably received his appointments first as dux Mesopotamiae and later as magister militum per Orientem because he had been one of Justinian’s guardsmen during the reign of Justin I.18 Members of the imperial family also received special preferment for generals’ positions. No fewer than six members of Justinian’s family served him as generals.19 It is worth noting, however, that this was not typically just blind nepotism. Family connection could lead to military command, but did not do so automatically. Germanus, Justinian’s cousin, was perhaps the most famous non-emperor

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Areobindus was described by Procopius as “a man of the senate and of good birth” (Procopius, Wars 4.24.1). Although six of Justinian’s relatives were generals (see note 19, below), I have chosen to emphasize them here as imperial relatives rather than men from a noble family. Truly noble families would likely have considered Justinian and his family parvenus anyway because of the extremely rustic origins of the emperor Justin I (518–527) (Procopius, Anecdota 6.2–3). For a full listing of all forty-seven generals described by Procopius in his works, see the table at the end of the article. On cubicularii generally, see Jones, Later Roman Empire, pp. 567–70. The two cubicularii referred to here are Narses (Procopius, Wars 1.15.31, 1.25.24) and Scholasticus (Wars 7.40.35). Buzes served as a dux in Syria in 528 and later appeared as a general in Armenia in 540 (Procopius, Wars 1.13.5, 2.3.28). Theoctistus served as a dux in Syria in 540 but by 570 was in North Africa as a general (Theoctistus 2 in PLRE 3:1226). Procopius states that both Belisarius and Sittas were guardsmen of Justinian when he was a general (Wars 1.12.20–21), while he describes Chilbudius as belonging to Justinian’s household (Wars 7.14.1–6). On the career of Belisarius, see Belisarius 1 in PLRE 3:181ff. Germanus was the emperor Justinian’s cousin (Procopius, Wars 4.16.1). Justin the son of Germanus also became a general (Iustinus 4 in PLRE 3:750). Justinian, another son of Germanus, followed the family tradition of high military office (Iustinianus 3 in PLRE 3:744). Justus, also a cousin of the emperor Justinian, served as a general in the East (Iustus 2 in PLRE 3:758). Marcellus the nephew of the emperor Justinian and brother of the future emperor Justin II also served as a general in the East (Marcellus 5 in PLRE 3:816). Finally, Areobindus (see note 14, above) married Praiecta, the niece of the emperor Justinian, which brought him into the imperial family (Procopius, Wars 4.24.3–4). On imperial relatives as generals, cf. Whitby, “The Army, c. 420–602,” p. 308.

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among Justinian’s relatives and was quite a competent general.20 On the other side of the coin, the future emperor Justin II (565–578), although a nephew of Justinian, was never favored with a general’s command, possibly because he did not have military skills.21 Even for those members of the imperial family who did manage to become generals, they did at least sometimes have to progress through the ranks, starting as junior officers, before they worked their way up to the highest levels of command. For example, Justin, the son of Justinian’s cousin Germanus, first entered the limelight by helping to reveal a plot against the emperor in 549, then served as a commander under a different general in 551, and does not appear to have become an independent general until 557.22 Not all generals were what the Byzantines would have called Roman. The subject of ethnicity in Late Antiquity is a contentious issue with a large historiography.23 Though joining the debate is not a concern of this study, it is germane to note that the Byzantine sources apply labels to both individuals and groups to set them apart from one another. Officially anyway, these sources see a great dichotomy splitting humanity. On the one hand are those whom the Byzantines called Romans, meaning themselves, and on the other are those called “barbarians.” What made an individual either Roman or a barbarian? Many factors were involved. Anthony Kaldellis puts it best: “it was a social consensus that all belonged to a single historical political community defined by laws, institutions, religion, language, and customs, in other words to a nation, that provided the foundation of Romania.”24 Identity was open to interpretation and to change, and those who did not fit into enough categories to be considered Roman could 20

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Although Germanus had, in the words of one historian, “a long career of frustrated promise” (Warren Treadgold, A History of the Byzantine State and Society [Stanford, 1997], p. 207), the one time he was given resources adequate to complete a task, he did so in a satisfactory manner. Germanus demonstrated his competence by putting down the mutiny in North Africa between 536 and 539 with a combination of diplomacy, placating the soldiers, and victory in battle (Procopius, Wars 4.16.1–7, 4.17.1–35). For a general assessment of Germanus, see Germanus 4 in PLRE 2:505. Justin did, however, receive the high rank of curopalates, indicating that Justinian did not dislike him. See Theophanes Confessor, Chronographia, AM 6051, ed. C. de Boor, 2 vols. (Leipzig, 1883–5), trans. Cyril Mango, Roger Scott and Geoffrey Greatrex, The Chronicle of Theophanes Confessor (Oxford, 1997). Justin’s exclusion from military office therefore might have been because he was not competent in military matters. For Justin’s career prior to ascending the throne, see Iustinus 5 in PLRE 3:754. Justin the son of Germanus helped reveal Arsaces’ plot against Justinian (Procopius, Wars 7.32.13–51), served as a commander under the general Scholasticus (Wars 7.40.34–35), and finally became general in Armenia (Agathias, The Histories 4.21.1). For a start on the historiography of ethnicity in Late Antiquity, see Andrew Gillett, ed., On Barbarian Identity: Critical Approaches to Ethnicity in the Early Middle Ages (Turnhout, 2002), Stephen Mitchell and Geoffrey Greatrex, eds., Ethnicity and Culture in Late Antiquity (London, 2000), and especially “The Transformation of the Roman World” series, including Walter Pohl and Helmut Reimitz, eds., Strategies of Distinction: The Construction of Ethnic Communities, 300–800, The Transformation of the Roman World 2 (Leiden, 1998). Anthony Kaldellis, Hellenism in Byzantium: The Transformations of Greek Identity and the Reception of the Classical Tradition (Cambridge, 2007), p. 43.



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become Roman over time – service in the army and particularly as a general was a good way for this to happen. Nevertheless, many generals began their periods of service as individuals of non-Roman origin whom Byzantine authors would put in the category of barbarian. Byzantine generals could be Iberians (inhabitants of Georgia in the Caucasus), Persians, Gepids (Germanic inhabitants of the Balkans) or Goths. It is worth noting that of the forty-seven individuals whom Procopius identified as generals, it appears that sixteen of them, or about one third, had a non-Roman ethnic origin.25 Being a “barbarian” then was no bar to serving the emperor as a general during this period.26 Many of these non-Romans rose high in the emperor’s service. Claiming descent from a royal barbarian house could also be an asset. Five of these non-Roman generals claimed to be descended from barbarian royalty or to have attained such royalty themselves. The general Peranius, for example, was said to be either the son or the brother of the Iberian king Gurgenes.27 While the generals had very disparate backgrounds and could not be considered to form a class prior to their military appointments, once they became generals, the differences of their backgrounds began to disappear into the similarities of their service. It is a commonplace that military service tends to eliminate distinctions and promote similar experiences, and to a certain degree that was true of the Byzantine military in the sixth century. Forging careers in the crucible of the uncertainty of war, generals not surprisingly had varied success in their assignments. Success could lead to a prolonged term of office, but it could also just as easily lead to reassignment to a different theater of war. For example, although Belisarius was reasonably successful fighting the Ostrogoths in Italy up to 540, he was transferred from that theater before the war was completely won in order to take command against the Persians in the East, a transfer which 25

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For a full listing of all forty-seven generals described by Procopius in his works, see the table at the end of the article. To create this statistic, the following generals were identified as having non-Roman origins; Amalafridas, Aratius, Artabanes, Bessas, Chilbudius, Dagisthaeus, Gontharis, Marthanes, Mauricius, Mundus, Narses, Peranius, Peter, Rufinus, Sittas, and Suartuas. Here generals were identified as non-Romans either because Procopius explicitly identifies them as such or because their names appear to be “barbarian” (frequently Germanic). While identification by name has been described as a “crude approach” to identity, it is still useful in the absence of additional information. See Elton, “Military Forces,” pp. 300–01. Of course, “barbarians” holding positions as Roman generals was not a new phenomenon in the reign of Justinian and there are many examples of this dating back to the fourth century. As one example among many, see the influential career of Aspar in the fifth century (Treadgold, A History of the Byzantine State and Society, p. 155). For Peranius, see Procopius, Wars 1.12.11. Among the other four, Mundus claimed to be the son of a Gepid king (Theophanes, Chronographia AM 6032). For a full reconstruction of his career, see Brian Croke, “Mundo the Gepid: From Freebooter to Roman General,” in Chiron 12 (1982), 125–35. The young general Mauricius was the son of Mundus, and so his claim to royal descent is inextricably linked to that of Mundus (Wars 5.7.2). Procopius identifies Amalafridas as the grandnephew of Theoderic, king of the Ostrogoths (Wars 8.25.11). Finally, Suartuas had been appointed by Justinian as ruler of the Heruli, but they had rejected him and driven him out after some undetermined amount of time, at which point Suartuas returned to Justinian and received an appointment as a general (Wars 8.25.11).

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contributed to drawing out the Ostrogothic War for decades.28 It seems that the frequency of transfer that Belisarius experienced was not exceptional. It can be demonstrated that Justinian shifted his generals around and rarely left them in a particular office for more than a few years. Of the generals named by Procopius, we know that about half (twenty-five of the forty-seven) certainly held more than one command over the term of their careers.29 It is not clear how many of the other half may also have held multiple commands, but it is not unreasonable to suspect that many of them might have. Although Procopius and other sources do not say so explicitly, it is probable that some of the men identified as only holding one command may have served in additional theaters with little to no action that would not have attracted the attention of historians, who generally liked to record important events rather than mundane ones. All of these twenty-five generals who held multiple commands served in at least two different theaters of war. We have already noted the varied career of Bessas, a Goth born in Thrace who served on the eastern front against the Persians in Mesopotamia in 531, then from 535 to 546 in Italy against the Ostrogoths, and still later served again on the eastern front, this time in the Caucasus, from 550 to 554.30 Other examples abound and serve to show the diversity of theaters and enemies these generals had to experience. The general Martin was born in Thrace, served on the eastern front in Mesopotamia in 531, fought in the invasion of Vandalic North Africa, 533–536, served in Italy, 536–540, served again in Mesopotamia, 543–544, and ended his career fighting against the Persians in the Caucasus, 551–556.31 Belisarius is of course the best-known example of a general of the period who served in multiple theaters. Another native of Thrace, he fought in the East against the Persians in Mesopotamia, 527–531, helped crush the Nika Riot in Constantinople in 532, commanded the invasion of Africa, 533–534, commanded the invasion of Italy, 535–540, fought a second time in Mesopotamia, 541–542, returned a second time to Italy, 544–548, and finally near the end of his life in 559 fought the Kutrigur Huns in Thrace, not far from Constantinople itself.32 Sometimes these transfers of theater could occur without the general actually losing the official title he gained from the original theater. For example, Belisarius maintained his title of magister militum per Orientem throughout the 530s while he fought in Africa and Italy. Vitalius, the magister militum per Illyricum, retained that title while fighting in Italy in 544.33 28 29

30 31 32

33

Procopius, Wars 6.30.1–2. For a full listing of all forty-seven generals described by Procopius in his works and separated according to the number of commands that we know they held over the course of their career, see the table at the end of the article. For Bessas’ career generally, see note 2, above. For Martin’s career generally, see Martinus 2 in PLRE 3:839. For Belisarius’ career generally, see note 18, above. On careers with multiple commands, see Elton, “Military Forces,” p. 308, who notes that it was “possible [for generals] to have wideranging careers.” For Belisarius, see Procopius, Wars 3.11.1–21, who says the general was in command “of the



The Careers of Justinian’s Generals

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Justinian’s generals therefore had to be comfortable with more than one enemy and multiple terrains on different fronts.34 They could expect to command on one front for no more than a few years before they were transferred. There were no doubt many reasons for the transient nature of the generals. Failure is an obvious reason for dismissal and transfer, since Justinian obviously could not leave an individual in command when he was not performing effectively. However, even sustained victory did not ensure a continued tenure in a command. In fact success was far more likely than failure or even mediocrity to trigger the concerns of the emperor that his general might build an independent power base and threaten imperial authority. Procopius ascribed the downfall of Belisarius in 542, while he was magister militum per Orientem and at the height of his popularity after the successive conquests of Carthage and Ravenna, to the suspicion of Justinian and Theodora that the general was untrustworthy and a possible threat to their thrones.35 It is important to emphasize that transfers were a normal part of service as one of Justinian’s generals, and that dismissal from one office, even dismissal in disgrace because of a defeat, rarely meant the end of a general’s career.36 The emperor seems to have preferred to appoint tried and true veterans as generals, even if those veterans had recently suffered failure or had less-than-desirable qualities, and so second chances were frequent. Procopius himself sardonically notes, “Justinian was accustomed to condone, for the most part, the mistakes of his commanders, and consequently they were found very generally to be guilty of offenses both in private life and against the state.”37 In addition to being prepared for frequent transfers, generals in Justinian’s reign occasionally had to show themselves capable of winning with undermanned armies. Belisarius gained his fame because of his great successes in the Vandalic and Ostrogothic wars. However, his legend is typically embellished by emphasis on his relatively small armies and chronic shortage of troops during these campaigns. Belisarius’ army consisted of a mere 18,000 combat troops in the invasion of Africa in 533.38 To put this in perspective, the previous attempt

34

35

36 37 38

troops of the East” at the time of the invasion of Africa. See also Treadgold, Byzantium and Its Army, p. 15. For Vitalius, see Wars 7.10.2, where Procopius says Vitalius was “General of Illyricum” at the time when he was called to Italy. The military handbook attributed to the emperor Maurice (582–602) emphasizes how important it was for a general to be able to handle multiple terrains. Maurice cautioned, “The general should know the country well, whether it is healthy and safe or unhealthy for his troops and inhospitable, and whether the necessities such as water, wood, and forage are nearby.” Maurice, Maurice’s Strategikon: Handbook of Byzantine Military Strategy, trans. George T. Dennis (Philadelphia, 1984), 8.2.75. In the Wars, Procopius only briefly reports that Belisarius was recalled from the East (2.21.34), but in the Anecdota, Procopius explains the details surrounding the recall, which included an alleged plot against Justinian while the emperor lay sick with the plague (4.1–16). As noted earlier on p. 1, the career of Bessas was reincarnated in the Caucasus after his failure in Italy. Procopius, Wars 8.13.14. Treadgold, A History of the Byzantine State and Society, p. 183. Also see Procopius, Wars 3.11.2–20. There were also 30,000 sailors and Belisarius’ personal guardsmen, who might

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to recapture Africa from the Vandals was in 468, when the Eastern emperor Leo I and the Western Emperor Anthemius together allegedly sent some 100,000 troops.39 The most extreme examples of small armies assigned large objectives are Belisarius’ campaigns in Italy. In Belisarius’ original invasion of Italy in 535, the emperor gave him only 7,500 troops. Belisarius was obliged to reinforce his small army with his own private guardsmen, who at this time numbered some 7,000 cavalry.40 Contemporaries recognized that the strength of Belisarius’ army in Italy rested on the strength of his own retinue. Procopius records that the citizens of Rome exclaimed that “one man’s household was destroying the power of Theoderic” (the founder of the Ostrogothic kingdom of Italy, c. 454–526).41 In his second campaign in Italy (544) during the drawn-out Ostrogothic War, Belisarius was less successful. He was again given a small army, which numbered only some 4,000 troops, but this time, as a result of his fall from grace in 542, he was stripped of his guardsmen and was unable to supplement his army. He therefore constantly begged Justinian for more troops, insisting in his most poignant request that his army was a “small and pitiful band, men without

39

40

41

have numbered a few hundred or even up to a thousand at this point, but certainly were not as plentiful as they were later in Italy. On the numbers given here and in the next few notes, it should be noted that while classical and classicizing historians generally have a reputation for being unreliable with numbers, Procopius as a source deserves a bit more faith with regard to this issue in most instances, since he had access not only to Belisarius’ official paperwork but possibly also to official government papers in Constantinople as well. See Treadgold, Early Byzantine Historians, pp. 210–18. It should also be noted that it is not necessary for all these numbers to be completely precise anyway. What matters in comparing situations where generals had many soldiers to situations where generals had few soldiers is how the numbers compare broadly, rounded off to the thousands, not specifically down to each individual soldier. Procopius, Wars 3.6.1–2; Treadgold, Byzantium and Its Army, pp. 189–92. Treadgold notes that this expedition had 300,000 sailors to bring the 100,000 troops. It was a massive expenditure on an unparalleled scale and its failure crippled the government of the West and weakened the finances of the East for a generation. While the 468 expedition was destroyed at sea by fire ships, it still indicates the number of soldiers that the Roman government believed to be reasonable to expel the Vandals from North Africa – a number far higher than Belisarius received in 533. On the numbers in the expedition, see Procopius, Wars 5.5.1–4. On the number of Belisarius’ guardsmen, see Procopius, Wars 7.1.18–21. Modern historians have criticized Procopius’ figure. Hugh Elton has charged that the number is “probably an exaggeration” without further explanation (Elton, “Military Forces,” p. 282). Michael Whitby, “Recruitment in the Roman Armies from Justinian to Heraclius” in The Byzantine and Early Islamic Near East, ed. Averil Cameron and Lawrence E. Conrad, 3 vols. (Princeton, 1992), 3:61–124, argues that this was too large a number of guards to be “employed permanently by an individual” without further explanation (p. 117). There is no particular reason why this number has to be an exaggeration, and neither critic has suggested a plausible motivation for Procopius to exaggerate it. As Belisarius’ private secretary, Procopius was in excellent position to know exactly how many guardsmen his boss employed. Moreover, Belisarius is known to have needed soldiers in the Ostrogothic War, and known to have been rich from his victory over the Vandals. It is not hard to imagine that he would hire as many soldiers as he could, even up to 7,000. The number does seem high, but this does not mean it is incorrect. Also see Treadgold, Early Byzantine Historians, p. 219. Procopius, Wars 7.1.18–21.



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a single weapon in their hands and altogether unpracticed in fighting” and that “it is necessary that my spearmen and guards should be sent to me, and next to them, a very large force of Huns and other barbarians is needed.”42 Although we know a lot about his troop shortages thanks to Procopius, it is clear that Belisarius was not the only general to be given an army too small to accomplish its goal. When Justinian received word in 552 that the Visigothic kingdom in Spain was possibly ripe for imperial reconquest because of conflict between the king and a pretender, he sent a small expedition under the command of the aged Liberius, although he must certainly have known the army to be too diminutive to do more than secure a foothold on the peninsula.43 While Justinian’s generals sometimes faced manpower shortages and had to make do with small armies, the emperor was not always miserly in distributing troops. On the contrary, the generals also had to be prepared to fight traditional campaigns and set-piece battles with large armies of around 20,000 soldiers.44 For example, the eunuch Narses received a sufficient army for his 552 expedition into Italy. While exact numbers are not available, Procopius does make clear that Narses obtained “money and men and arms in quantities worthy of the Roman empire.”45 This was clearly a sizable army and it must have been rather larger than any army that Belisarius had ever commanded in Italy. It is not unreasonable to estimate that Narses’ army numbered around 20,000, in addition to whatever troops he would pick up in Italy upon arrival.46 This sizable army made possible a direct and aggressive campaign that led quickly to the set-piece battle of Busta Gallorum (also known as the battle of Taginae) in 552.47 Further significant battles followed in quick succession in this theater: the battle

42 43

44

45 46 47

For the number of Belisarius’ troops in 544 (4,000), see Procopius, Wars 7.10.3. For Belisarius’ letter, see Wars 7.11.1–10. Because of its limited success in Spain, Liberius’ army was probably on the small side, although no contemporary source describes its size. It is mentioned by Jordanes, The Gothic History, ed. Alfred Holder (Tübingen, 1882), p. 58. Treadgold guesses the army was about 5,000 in Byzantium and its Army, p. 63. See also Ernest Stein, Histoire du Bas-Empire, 2 vols. (Paris, 1949–1959), 2:562. The smaller armies and troop shortages of the 540s especially and the second half of Justinian’s reign generally were probably the result of financial constraints, likely linked to the plague (see note 58, below). Cf. Whitby, “The Army, c. 420–602,” p. 307. The average size for most field armies on campaign was between 10,000 and 20,000 (Elton, “Military Forces,” p. 285). Michael Whitby argues that an army considered to be large normally had around 20,000 soldiers (Whitby, “The Army, c. 420–602,” pp. 292–93). For army sizes in battles of the sixth century, see Rance, “Narses and the Battle of Taginae,” pp. 447–49. Maurice noted that an army of 2,000 to 6,000 was “moderate” in size and the largest size he gave instructions for organizing was 15,000 to 20,000 and up, indicating that this would be considered the typical range for a large army of the period (Maurice, Strategikon 3.10). Procopius, Wars 8.26.9. Treadgold, A History of the Byzantine State and Society, p. 208; John Haldon, The Byzantine Wars (Stroud, 2000), p. 37; Rance, “Narses and the Battle of Taginae,” p. 447, n. 85. For Busta Gallorum, see Procopius, Wars 8.29–32. The best modern treatment of the battle is Rance, “Narses and the Battle of Taginae,” pp. 424–72.

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of Mons Lactarius in 553 and of Casilinum in 554.48 Large armies were also common on the eastern front in Mesopotamia. Belisarius commanded 25,000 at the battle of Dara in 530, and at least 20,000 at Callinicum in 531.49 Therefore, although it has been argued that Byzantine strategy developing in this period emphasized indirect warfare and avoidance of open battles, such battles actually did occur with some regularity in Justinian’s reign.50 Although generals were careful in their management of their armies, and Belisarius certainly did avoid major battles in Italy, generals of the period were not afraid to gamble a campaign on such a battle when the circumstances seemed right. Generalizations on imperial strategy and allocation of troops to different armies in this period are difficult. At most, one might be accurate in stating that Justinian carefully allocated personnel and was extremely wary of endangering the empire by committing too many troops to one campaign. This might suggest innate conservatism in long-term strategic thought, even during a period of reconquest.51 When a relatively small army could accomplish the goal, even if it meant the objective took much longer to attain, it was worthwhile to use the smaller army. Belisarius’ first campaign in Italy is a good example of this strategic conservatism. On the other hand, Justinian was certainly willing to invest in large armies when a situation demanded it, such as the defense of the Mesopotamian frontier against a significant Persian foe in the 530s, or the chance to bring a quick end to a drawn-out campaign in Italy in the 550s. Justinian’s 48

49

50

51

For Mons Lactarius, see Procopius, Wars 8.35.15–38 and Stein, Histoire du Bas-Empire, 2:604. For Casilinum, see Agathias, The Histories 2.1–14, Haldon, The Byzantine Wars, p. 41 and Stein, Histoire du Bas-Empire, 2:608. For 25,000 in Belisarius’ army at Dara, see Procopius, Wars 1.13.23. At Callinicum, Belisarius apparently had around 20,000 plus Arab allies. See Wars 1.18.5–7 and Whitby, “The Army, c. 420–602,” pp. 292–93. On the avoidance of battle as strategy in the Byzantine Empire, see Walter Kaegi, “Some Thoughts on Byzantine Military Strategy,” in Byzantine Warfare, ed. John Haldon (Princeton, 2007), pp. 251–68 at p. 256. See also Edward N. Luttwak, The Grand Strategy of the Byzantine Empire (Cambridge, MA, 2009). Although Luttwak argued that the Byzantine “operational code” included injunctions to avoid “all-out attacks” and to replace “the battle of attrition with the ‘nonbattle’ of maneuver,” he also acknowledged that this strategy was not fully formed until the reign of Heraclius, after the period of interest to us in this study (pp. 13, 416). See also Stephen Morillo, “Battle Seeking: The Contexts and Limits of Vegetian Strategy,” in Journal of Medieval Military History 1 (2003), 21–41 at p. 24. Morillo, like Luttwak, found that battle avoidance strategy did not become common in Byzantium until the seventh century. As suggested by this citation, a parallel debate on battle avoidance exists in the historiography of western medieval military history. Regular readers of the Journal of Medieval Military History will recall the vigorous discourse among Clifford J. Rogers, Stephen Morillo, and John Gillingham in the first two volumes of the journal. See Rogers, “The Vegetian ‘Science of Warfare’ in the Middle Ages,” Journal of Medieval Military History 1 (2003), 1–19; Morillo, “Battle Seeking”; and Gillingham, “‘Up with Orthodoxy!’: In Defense of Vegetian Warfare,” Journal of Medieval Military History 2 (2004), 149–58. Geoffrey Greatrex has argued for a “grand strategy” of defensive imperialism in the sixthcentury empire. See Greatrex, “Roman Frontiers and Foreign Policy in the East,” in Aspects of the Roman East: Papers in Honor of Professor Fergus Millar FBA I, ed. Richard Alston and Samuel N.C. Lieu (Turnhout, 2007), pp. 103–73.



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generals therefore had to be able to master large, set-piece battles, and also had to be competent to manage drawn-out campaigns with smaller forces. Flexibility was the order of the day.52 It is also worth noting that the flexibility of the generals needed to extend to the ability to assimilate small groups of reinforcements consistently and rapidly into an existing force. Especially in Italy, reinforcements trickled in as the emperor could prepare them, and usually came over the course of several years in small groups rather than all at once as a new army that was ready to fight. Therefore generals frequently had to extend their authority over newly arrived reinforcements, and often more importantly, over their commanders. Belisarius had to deal with this problem consistently in Italy. He received 1,600 reinforcements under the command of Martin and Valerian in 537. Later in that same year, he received another 5,600 troops under the command of no fewer than five officers named John, Paul, Conon, Alexander, and Marcentius. The next year, in 538, Belisarius had to incorporate another 7,000 soldiers who arrived under the command of Narses and Justin, the magister militum per Illyricum.53 In addition to assimilating these new troops into his campaign planning, Belisarius had to exert his personal authority over the new commanders.54 It has been recognized that dissension among generals reached one of its peaks in the Byzantine military during this period.55 Belisarius failed to win the obedience of Narses, who contested Belisarius’ authority and also commanded the loyalty of John and Justin, who refused to act without a direct order from Narses.56 These conflicts over the supreme command resulted in the Byzantine loss of Milan in 539, which finally prompted the emperor Justinian to confirm Belisarius in his command and recall Narses.57 In addition to managing unruly subordinate officers, generals also had to hold their armies together despite the fact that the soldiers’ pay was often years late. The arrival of the plague in 541 compounded the problems of Justinian’s finances, which were already stretched to the breaking point by the wars of reconquest and his expensive building projects.58 The emperor economized not 52

53

54 55 56 57 58

The emperor Maurice also dwelt at length on the importance of flexibility for generals. See Maurice, Strategikon, book 8, generally for a list of maxims, many of which emphasize flexibility (particularly 8.1.26, 8.2.13, and 8.2.36). See also book 11, titled “The Characteristics and Tactics of Various Peoples,” which implies the need for flexibility by admonishing would-be generals that they should alter their tactics to fight different enemies. For the 1,600 soldiers under Martin and Valerian, see Procopius, Wars 5.27.1. For the 5,600 soldiers under John, Paul, Conon, Alexander, and Marcentius, see Wars 6.5.1. For the 7,000 soldiers under Narses and Justin, see Wars 6.13.16–18. See Rance, “Narses and the Battle of Taginae,” p. 470: “The very concept of high command in this period was essentially supervisory rather than technical.” Kaegi, “Some Thoughts on Byzantine Military Strategy,” p. 255. See also Lee, “The Empire at War,” p. 125. Procopius, Wars 6.21.16. Ibid. 6.22.1–5. On the Justinianic plague generally, see Lester Little, ed., Plague and the End of Antiquity: The Pandemic of 541–750 (Cambridge, 2007). On the economy in Justinian’s reign, see Peter

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by decreasing the pay of his field troops, but by delaying it repeatedly, while always promising that it would come soon. The delay of pay was the major cause of resentment and disloyalty on the part of the soldiers during Justinian’s reign. Events such as the African mutiny of Stotzas and the surrender of Rome by soldiers disgruntled about late pay were severe problems that reflected this resentment. Fortunately for the Byzantines, such mutinies and disloyalty proved to be the exception to the rule.59 As a whole, the generals were able to maintain the cohesion of their armies and do their jobs despite their chronic shortage of money and other complaints of the soldiers. Their success in holding their armies together may at least partially be ascribed to their ability to stimulate morale, especially by promises that pay was coming soon and that other plunder was to be won to enrich the soldiers.60 In conclusion, it is evident that the career of a Justinianic general was anything but stable. Whether plucked from the imperial family, the ranks of the army, or the personal guard of an important general, the newly elevated general had to become flexible quickly to flourish in his position. He could probably expect to serve in multiple posts, and only rarely would he be given the luxury of more than a few years in a particular position. This helped to ensure the security of Justinian, who did not have to worry about his generals becoming ensconced in their positions to the point where they could raise an independent power base, but it did little to help the generals to adjust.61 It is perhaps not surprising then that failure and dismissal were not uncommon experiences. It is however interesting and novel to emphasize that such dismissal often resulted in an appointment to a new post in a different theater of war rather than total retirement from service. The explanation seems to be that Justinian preferred men of loyalty and experience, even experience of failure, to untested leaders. Perhaps the emperor also understood that the transitory nature of the position

59

60

61

Sarris, Economy and Society in the Age of Justinian (Cambridge, 2006). On the way the plague specifically affected military pay, see Treadgold, Byzantium and Its Army, p. 204. Procopius gives several special reasons for the African mutiny (Wars 4.14.7–21) but also notes that when Germanus brought their back pay, many of the mutineers returned to loyal service (Wars 4.16.5–6). On the desertion of the soldiers guarding a gate in Rome because of late pay, see Wars 7.36.7. The most prominent example of a general using the possibility of plunder to stimulate morale in his soldiers is Narses, who before the battle of Busta Gallorum held up in the air “bracelets and necklaces and golden bridles on poles and displayed certain other incentives to bravery in the coming struggle” (Procopius, Wars 8.31.9). Of course promises of pay also helped Germanus to put down the African mutiny (see note 59, above). On the importance of a general’s “moraleboosting measures,” see also Philip Rance, “Battle,” in Cambridge History of Greek and Roman Warfare, 2:342–78 at p. 375. Belisarius’ steadfast loyalty, seen especially in his refusal to attempt to overthrow Justinian, also certainly contributed to the emperor’s security. See A.D. Lee, “Warfare and the State,” in Cambridge History of Greek and Roman Warfare, 2:379–423, at pp. 399–400. Justinian’s security on the throne, which was at least partially due to his policy of shifting around his generals, stands in stark contrast to the insecurity of Phocas (602–610), who was eventually overthrown by Heraclius, the son of one of his generals.



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made the task of his generals difficult, and so did not blame them alone when they failed. Justinian’s generals were exposed to a variety of conditions in the course of their careers, from small scale actions which bordered on guerrilla warfare, to drawn out campaigns with relatively small armies, to large set-piece battles with the biggest armies assembled in the period. While mastering these various forms of combat, the general was expected to manage his sometimes insubordinate officers and sometimes mutinous troops and to mold these occasionally motley groups of soldiers into effective armies. The task of a general in the sixth century was not an easy one, and if Belisarius was admittedly a prodigy, what is perhaps more remarkable about his era is that so many other generals were at least competent.

Appendix Justinian’s Generals Mentioned by Procopius of Caesarea Name of general Belisarius Martin Valerian

Number of commands References 4 Wars 1.11.21, 1.12.20, 3.11.21, 8.21.1, Anecdota 4.4, 4.39, Agathias 5.16.1 4 Wars 1.21.27, 2.13.16, 2.24.13, 3.11.5–15, 4.14.39, 5.24.18, 6.21.13, 7.1.1, 8.17.12, Anecdota 4.13, Agathias 2.18.8, 3.2.8 4 Wars 2.14.8, 3.11.5–15, 4.14.40, 5.24.18, 7.1.1, 8.23.4, 7.27.3, 8.33.2, Agathias 1.11.3, 2.8.3, 3.20.10

Aratius

3

Artabanes

3

Bessas

3

Germanus Justinian Sittas Buzes

3 3 3 2

Constantianus 1

2

Dagisthaeus Dorotheus Irenaus John 1, nephew of Vitalian John 2 Troglita

2 2 2 2 2

Wars 1.12.21, 6.13.17, 7.34.40, 7.40.34, 8.19.3, 8.25.11, 8.27.13 Wars 4.24.2, 4.27.9, 4.28.27–33, 7.31.10, 7.39.8, 8.24.1, 8.25.24, Agathias 1.11.3, 2.2.5, 2.8.3 Wars 1.8.3, 5.5.3, 5.16.2, 5.19.15, 6.30.2, 7.6.8, 7.19.14, 8.9.4, 8.11.40, 8.12.29–34, Agathias 2.18.8, 3.2.6–7 Wars 2.6.9, 4.16.1, 4.19.1, 7.37.24–26, 7.39.9, 7.40.6–9 Wars 7.40.10, 8.25.1–11, Theophylact 3.12.6 Wars 1.12.20, 1.15.3, 2.3.25–27 Wars 1.13.5, 2.3.28, 2.20.20, 7.32.41, 7.34.40, Anecdota 4.4, Agathias 2.18.8 Wars 5.7.26, 5.16.1–15, 6.30.2, 7.2.8, 7.3.4, 7.6.8, 7.32.41, 7.34.40, 7.40.34 Wars 2.29.10, 8.8.1–16, 8.9.4, 8.26.13, 8.33.24 Wars 1.15.3, 3.11.5–15, 3.14.14 Wars 1.12.14–15, Anecdota 29.16, Irenaeus 7 in PLRE 2:625 Wars 6.5.1, 6.10.8–10, 6.11.23, 6.26.1–14, 6.30.2, 7.6.8, 7.13.20, 7.39.10, 8.23.7, 8.26.24, Agathias 1.11.3 Wars 2.14.12, 4.17.6, 4.28.45, 8.17.20, 8.24.33

Justinus 1

2

Wars 6.13.17, 6.21.16, 6.23.2, 7.5.1–4, 7.13.19, 8.28.4

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Justinus 2

2

Liberius Mundus Peranius Peter Sergius

2 2 2 2 2

Theoctistus Vitalius Amalafridas Areobindus Chilbudius Conon Constantianus 2 Constantinus

2 2 1 1 1 1 1 1

Demetrius Gilacius Gontharis

1 1 1

John 3 John 4 Tzibus Justus

1 1 1

Libelarius Marcellus Marthanes Mauricius Narses

1 1 1 1 1

Paulus Rufinus Scholasticus Suartuas Thomas Guzes

1 1 1 1 1

Notes

Wars 7.32.14–15, 7.40.34, 8.25.1–11, Agathias 2.18.8, 4.21.1–4, Theophanes AM 6063 Wars 7.36.6, 7.37.26, 7.39.6, Anecdota 27.17 Wars 1.24.43, 5.5.2, 5.7.5 Wars 2.24.15, 2.28.1, 5.5.3, 5.23.13, 6.19.1 Wars 1.12.9, 2.16.16, 2.24.13, Anecdota 4.4 Wars 4.21.1, 4.22.1, 4.24.16, 7.27.2, Anecdota 5.28–33, Agathias 5.23.8 Wars 2.8.2, 2.24.13, Theoctistus 2 in PLRE 3:1226 Wars 6.22.7, 6.28.2, 7.1.34, 7.10.2, 7.11.11 Wars 8.25.11–15, Amalafridas in PLRE 3:50 Wars 4.24.1, 4.26.33 Wars 7.14.2 Wars 6.5.1, 7.6.2, 7.17.2, 7.30.7, Conon 1 in PLRE 3:331 Wars 2.24.3, 2.28.2, Constantianus 1 in PLRE 3:333 Wars 5.5.3, 5.16.1, 5.19.16, 6.1.4, 6.8.1–18, Anecdota 1.24–30 Wars 5.5.3, 6.23.2, 7.6.13 Wars 7.26.24, Gilacius in PLRE 3:536 Wars 4.19.6–9, 4.25.1, 4.26.33, 4.28.27–33, Guntharis 2 in PLRE 3:574 Wars 3.11.5–15, 4.5.5, 4.16.2, John 16 in PLRE 3:636 Wars 2.15.9, 2.17.4 Wars 1.24.53, 2.20.20, 2.24.15, 2.28.1, Iustus 2 in PLRE 3:758 Wars 1.12.23 Wars 2.28.2, Theophanes AM 6054 Anecdota 29.28, Marthanes 1 in PLRE 3:835 Wars 5.7.2, Mauricius I in PLRE 3:854 Wars 1.15.31, 6.13.16, 7.13.21, 8.21.6–19, 8.26.13, 8.33.1, 8.35.33, Agathias 1.8.1 Wars 6.5.1, 6.7.16, Paulus 5 in PLRE 3:976 Wars 4.19.1, 4.20.19, Rufinus 2 in PLRE 3:1098 Wars 7.40.34, Scholasticus 1 in PLRE 3:1117 Wars 8.25.11 Wars 2.30.4–5

(1) Generals are sorted first by the number of commands that we know they certainly held (although, as acknowledged on p. 8, they might have held more) and second alphabetically by name. (2) The references are not intended to be comprehensive. References have been provided sufficient to prove the multiplicity (or not) of each general’s commands. Where the nature of their command(s) is debatable, the PLRE is cited for further argumentation.

2 Early Saxon Frontier Warfare: Henry I, Otto I, and Carolingian Military Institutions Bernard S. Bachrach and David Bachrach Introduction For more than a century, specialists in medieval German history have labored diligently to establish a Sonderweg or special route for the history of the early medieval German kingdom.1 These efforts have focused, in their initial phase, on distinguishing and distancing the institutions of the Saxon monarchy (919– 1024) in Francia orientalis from those of the French kingdom, i.e., Francia occidentalis. While often recognizing continuity between Carolingian institutions in the West into the tenth century and beyond, specialists in the history of the German lands have tried either to deny or to diminish the supposed role of continuity and even influence of their mutual Carolingian predecessors on the development of Francia orientalis.2 1

2

There are many versions of the supposed German Sonderweg along with myriad putative causes and dates for its beginning. Many Anglophone readers are familiar with Timothy Reuter, “The Medieval German Sonderweg? The Empire and its Ruler in the High Middle Ages,” in Kings and Kingship in Medieval Europe, ed. Anne J. Duggan (London, 1993), pp. 179–211, who describes the historiographical tradition in some detail. Reuter is mildly critical of the traditional model of the German Sonderweg that postulates government institutions were less fully developed in the German kingdom during the medieval period, and that this likely was one of the reasons why Germany “failed” to develop as a nation state in a manner similar to France and England. Rather than arguing for the significant development of government institutions in Germany, however, Reuter argues the administrative institutions in the French and English kingdoms were less well developed than often has been asserted. Consequently, Reuter posits, the German kingdom was not all that different from its western neighbors. Specialists in Ottonian history generally see the German kingdom of the tenth century as operating without significant government institutions. Thus, for example, a leading specialist in Ottonian history, Hagen Keller, argued: “Despite the continuity of the idea of empire and the model of Charlemagne, everything that was of particular importance for high Carolingian imperial organization – centrality, office, law-giving, and writing – was absent in its successor states. Indeed they simply came to an end.” For the quotation, see Hagen Keller, “Zum Charakter der ‘Staatlichkeit’ zwischen karolingischer Reichsreform und hochmittelalterlichen Herrschaftsausbau,” Frühmittelalterliche Studien 23 (1989), 248–264, here p. 257. See the survey of the literature regarding the lack of government institutions in the Ottonian kingdom in David S. Bachrach, “Exercise of Royal Power in Early Medieval Europe: The Case of Otto the Great 936–973,” Early Medieval Europe 17 (2009), 389–419. In this regard, see the survey of the relevant literature by Bernard S. Bachrach and David S. Bachrach, “Continuity of Written Administration in the Late Carolingian East c. 887–911. The

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According to specialists in this period of German history, the early Saxon kingdom was not an heir to secular institutions of Carolingian origin. Rather, all important aspects of governance are seen to have been based upon personal ties (Personenverbände) between the king and the great men of the regnum.3 In this context, royal “friendship” or amicitia with the great nobles was the technique used by the Saxon kings to rule over their kingdom.4 The concomitant argument is that the Ottonian kingdom did not possess a central administration (Verwaltung).5

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Royal Fisc,” Frühmittelalterliche Studien 42 (2008), 109–46; and D. Bachrach, “Exercise of Power”. This view grew out of a rejection of the constitutional historical school (Reichsverfassungsgeschichte) that had been led by scholars including Georg Waitz and Heinrich Brunner. The practitioners of the so-called “new constitutional history,” including such leading scholars as Theodor Mayer, Otto Brunner, and Walter Schlesinger, sought to identify the specifically “Germanic” character of the early medieval state. They insisted upon a state model (Staatlichkeit) based on the “Germanic” concept of lordship (Herrschaft), characterized by personal ties between the lord and his retainers, or the aristocratic association (Herrschaftsverband) of the king and the nobles. See, for example, Otto Brunner, Land und Herrschaft. Grundfragen der territorialen Verfassungsgeschichte Österreichs im Mittelalter, 4th ed. (Vienna, 1959; 1st ed. 1942), idem, Land and Lordship in Medieval Austria, trans. H. Kaminsky and J. van Horn Melton (Philadelphia, 1992); and Walter Schlesinger, Die Entstehung der Landesherrschaft. Untersuchung vorwiegend nach mitteldeutschen Quellen (Dresden, 1941 and repr. Darmstadt, 1964), where at p. 113 he emphasized “Der antike Staat ist gemeines Wesen, der germanischdeutsche Staat ist Herrschaft.” Regarding the new constitutional history and its role in shaping current views of the early medieval state, see Hans-Werner Goetz, “Die Wahrnehmung von ‘Staat’ und ‘Herrschaft’ im frühen Mittelalter,” in Staat im frühen Mittelalter, ed. Stuart Airlie, Walter Pohl, and Helmut Reimitz (Vienna, 2006), pp. 39–58, here p. 39; and Steffen Patzold, “Die Bischöfe im karolingischen Staat. Praktisches Wissen über die politische Ordnung im Frankenreich des 9. Jahrhunderts,” in Staat im frühen Mittelalter, pp. 133–62. The development of these scholarly traditions regarding the nature of the early medieval state, and the implications for royal administrative practice are discussed in detail by David S. Bachrach, “The Written Word in Carolingian-Style Fiscal Administration under King Henry I, 919–936,” German History 28 (2010), 399–423. Gerd Althoff and Hagen Keller, König Heinrich I. und Otto der Grosse: Neubeginn auf karolingischem Erbe, 2nd expanded ed. (Göttingen, 1994), pp. 56–80; and Henry Mayr-Harting, Church and Cosmos in Early Ottonian Germany: The View from Cologne (Oxford, 2007), p. 3. Bernard S. Bachrach and David S. Bachrach, “The Saxon Military Revolution, 912–973: Myth and Reality,” Early Medieval Europe 15 (2007), 186–222, suggest that this notion of amicitia is greatly overworked. The tendency of German scholars to ignore the problem of administration was addressed more than eighty years ago by March Bloch, “A Problem in Comparative History: The Administrative Classes in France and in Germany,” in Land and Work in Medieval Europe: Selected Papers by Marc Bloch, trans. J.E. Anderson (Berkeley, 1967), pp. 44–81, here p. 44. The article was first published in Revue historique de droit français et étranger 7 (1928), 46–91. Regarding the putative absence of administration in the Ottonian kingdom, see Otto Brunner, “Moderner Verfassungsbegriff und mittelalterliche Verfassungsgeschichte,” MIÖG Ergänzungs-Band 14 (1939), 513–28, repr. in Herrschaft und Staat im Mittelalter in Wege der Forschung 2 (Darmstadt, 1956), pp. 1–19; and Heinrich Mitteis, “Land und Herrschaft. Bemerkungen zu dem gleichnamigen Buch O. Brunners,” Historisch Zeitschrift 163 (1941), 255–81, 471–89. Karl Leyser, Rule and Conflict in an Early Medieval Society: Ottonian Saxony (London, 1979), p. 102, concluded on the basis of an impressionistic investigation of a small selection of the



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Indeed, there is considerable controversy about whether it is even possible to describe the Ottonian kingdom as a state (Staat).6 Saxon Military Forces Since the late nineteenth century, specialists in German history, and particularly in German military history, have identified the contingents of secular and ecclesiastical magnates as dominating the armies that were commanded by the king.7 Each such magnate is presumed to have led his own Gefolgshaft (Lat.

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relevant sources that the German royal government operated on the basis of “a modest array of institutions” and “very little use of written documents.” His views were seconded by Timothy Reuter, “Making of England and Germany,” p. 285, who observed: “The medieval German polity...from its beginnings...was decentralised (or better polycentric), unbureaucratic, untaxed, lacking any homogeneous network of administrative institutions which could be controlled from the center.” Nevertheless, Leyser did attempt to describe a limited set of administrative structures, particularly those of the church, which could be put to use by the government. However, even Leyser’s limited effort to rehabilitate the image of Ottonian government has been rejected by German scholars over the past three decades. See, in this context, Hagen Keller, “Grundlagen ottonischer Königsherrschaft,” in Reich und Kirche vor dem Investiturstreit: Vorträge beim wissenschaftlichen Kolloquium aus Anlaß des achtzigsten Geburtstag von Gerd Tellenbach, ed. Karl Schmid (Sigmaringen, 1985), pp. 17–34; idem, “Zum Charakter der ‘Staatlichkeit’ zwischen karolingischer Reichsreform und hochmittelalterlichen Herrschaftsausbau,” Frühmittelalterliche Studien 23 (1989), 248–64, here p. 257; Timothy Reuter, Germany in the Early Middle Ages 800–1056 (London, 1991), pp. 89 and 211; John W. Bernhardt, Itinerant Kingship and Royal Monasteries in Early Medieval Germany c. 936–1075 (Cambridge, 1993), p. 5; and Gerd Althoff, Die Ottonen: Königsherrschaft ohne Staat (Stuttgart, 2000), p. 8. For a slightly more positive assessment of the existence of a royal administration, along the lines proposed by Leyser, see Hans-Werner Goetz, “Staatlichkeit, Herrschaftsordnung und Lehnswesen im Ostfränkischen Reich als Forschungsprobleme,” in Il Feudalesimo nell’alto Medioevo: Settimane di studio del centro italiano di studi sull’alto medioevo (Spoleto, 2000), pp. 85–147, here p. 123. Regarding the scholarship on this point, see D. Bachrach, “Exercise of Power”. Althoff, Die Ottonen, p. 8, and passim, relegates the Ottonian kingdom to the status of an “archaic” society, making use of Max Weber’s conceptual model. By contrast, Goetz, “Die Wahrnehmung von ‘Staat’ und ‘Herrschaft’,” pp. 39–58, while agreeing with Althoff that the Ottonian kingdom was largely without administrative institutions, nevertheless wishes to characterize the Ottonian and late Carolingian polities as states. See the discussion of this point in D. Bachrach, “The Written Word.” In this context, see Franz Beyerle, “Zur Wehrverfassung des Hochmittelalters,” in Festschrift Ernst Mayer zum 70. Geburtstag (Weimar, 1932), pp. 31–91; Eugen von Frauenholz, Das Heerwesen der germanischen Frühzeit, des Frankenreiches und des ritterlichen Zeitalters (Munich, 1935); Paul Schmitthenner, “Lehnskriegswesen und Söldnertum im abendländischen Imperium des Mittelalters,” Historische Zeitschrift 150 (1934), 228–67; Heinrich Sproemberg, “Die Feudale Kriegskunst,” in Beiträge zur belgisch-niederländischen Geschichte III: Forschungen zur mittelalterliche Geschichte (Berlin, 1959), pp. 30–55; and Leopold Auer, “Der Kriegsdienst des Klerus unter den sächsischen Kaisern,” Mitteilungen des Instituts für Österreichische Geschichtsforschung part 1, 79 (1971), 316–407; and part 2 in ibid., 80 (1972), 48–70, have been particularly influential in structuring the debate regarding the central role of magnate military households. See Heinrich Fichtenau, Lebensordnungen des 10. Jahrhunderts: Studien über Denkart und Existenz im einstigen Karolingerreich, 2 vols. (Stuttgart, 1984), 1:171.

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comitatus) composed of heavily armed mounted fighting men, Panzerreiter, and in some cases Panzerritter, to war.8 The state of the question in regard to the dominance of heavily armed mounted troops in military operations was set forth for a generation of Anglophone readers by Karl Leyser. He observed, “The mounted warrior, the miles armatus, was now [in the tenth century] the backbone of effective belligerency.” Leyser avers that such heavily armed horsemen possessed a “monopoly” of military force.9 As will be seen below, Leyser, whose grasp of the history of ideas was much firmer than his understanding of military matters, confused or perhaps more accurately confounded social philosophy as expressed, in the present context, in terms of the theory of the “Three Orders” with actual military operations.10 Many modern Anglophone historians, by and large, have now abandoned the romantic comitatus-rhetoric, made famous by Tacitus (died c. A.D. 117) in his Germania, a text which earlier generations of medievalists greatly overworked and frequently misused.11 The replacement of the term comitatus or Gefolgschaft with the more prosaic and less romantically evocative term “military household” has gone some distance in remedying this rhetorically unfortunate situation for Anglophone scholars.12 However, the battle is hardly won as, despite devastating criticism, the term “warrior,” as contrasted to soldier or fighting man, still remains a part of the ongoing effort by some medievalists to maintain a romantic 8

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The continued dominance of this view in German-language scholarship is evident in the recently published textbook by Malte Prietzel, Kriegführung im Mittelalter: Handlungen, Erinnerungen, Bedeutungen (Paderborn, 2006), pp. 21–23, and passim; and idem, Krieg im Mittelalter (Darmstadt, 2006), passim. See, for example, Karl Leyser, “Early Medieval Canon Law and the Beginning of Knighthood,” in Institutionen, Kultur und Gesellschaft im Mittelalter. Festschrift für Josef Fleckenstein zu seinem 65. Geburtstag, eds. Lutz Fenske, Werner Rösener, and Thomas Zotz (Sigmaringen, 1984), and reprinted in Communications and Power in Medieval Europe: The Carolingian and Ottonian Centuries, ed. Timothy Reuter (London and Rio Grande), pp. 51–71, and for the quotation, pp. 54–55. Dominique Barthélemy, The Serf, the Knight, and the Historian, trans. Graham Robert Edwards (Ithaca, NY), p. 193, claims, “mounted squads ... appear decisive if not exclusive” in the warfare of this period. See the critical review by Bernard S. Bachrach in The Journal of Military History, 73 (2009), pp. 1307–10. A similar methodological lapse was committed by the military historian J.F. Verbruggen when he assumed that Charlemagne’s legislation regulating the mobilization of mounted troops meant that such fighting men were the tactically dominant element of the Carolingian army. See Bernard S. Bachrach, “Verbruggen’s ‘Cavalry’ and the Lyon-Thesis,” Journal of Medieval Military History 4 (2006), 137–63, for a critique of Verbruggen’s obsession with mounted shock combat. For two critiques of Leyser’s treatment of military history, see Bernard S. Bachrach, “Magyar-Ottonian Warfare: à-propos a New Minimalist Interpretation,” Francia 13 (2000), 211–30; and Bachrach and Bachrach, “The Saxon Military Revolution, 912–973”. Of fundamental importance here is Steven C. Fanning, “Tacitus, Beowulf and the Comitatus,” The Haskins Society Journal 9 (2001), 17–38, which deserves special attention for showing how generations of scholars wedded to a primitivist approach to the early Middle Ages have misused both Tacitus’ Germania and the notion of the comitatus, as a part of an effort to sustain the “warrior culture” myth. The locus classicus here is J.O. Prestwich, “The Military Household of the Norman Kings,” The English Historical Review 96 (1981), 1–35.



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patina for the Middle Ages.13 Some scholars, intent upon finding “chivalry” in pre-crusade Europe, have now embraced the term “knight” (Ger. Ritter) to describe members of the Carolingian and Ottonian obsequia.14 This is anachronistic in regard to the mid-tenth century when there was no “knightly class,” (Ritterstand), in the German regnum or even a legally constituted chivalric class in Francia occidentalis.15 According to this construction of German military organization, the supposed German “knights” of the Ottonian kingdom are assumed to have been “feudal vassals” (Ger. “lehnlichen Vassallen”) bound by homage and fealty as retainers to the “feudal lords” in whose private military warbands or Gefolgschaften they served, and who, at least on some occasions, were granted fiefs (Lehen).16 Susan 13

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The fundamentally important study by Roberta Frank, “Germanic Legend in Old English Literature,” in The Cambridge Companion to Old English Literature, ed. M. Godden and M. Lapidge (Cambridge, 1991), pp. 88–106, has effectively undermined the validity of the term “warrior.” See, for example, Karl Leyser, “The Battle on the Lech,” History 50 (1965), 1–25, and reprinted in idem, Medieval Germany and Its Neighbours: 900–1250 (London, 1982), pp. 53, 56–58, 60, 61, 63, who insists upon considering the milites discussed by Widukind as “knights” rather than as soldiers. More recently, this tendency has shown up in Janet L. Nelson, “Ninth-century Knighthood: the Evidence of Nithard,” in Studies in Medieval History Presented to R. Allen Brown, eds. C. Harper-Bill, C. Holdsworth and Janet L. Nelson (Woodbridge, 1989), pp. 255–66; and Eric J. Goldberg, “‘More Devoted to the Equipment of War than the Splendor of Banquets’: Frontier Kingship, Military Ritual, and Early Knighthood at the Court of Louis the German,” Viator 30 (1999), 41–78. Barthélemy, The Serf, the Knight and the Historian, p. 139, claims that all heavily armed mounted fighting men in “France” beginning in the era of Charles Martel (717–741) and up to the later eleventh century are to be considered “knights.” See Bernard S. Bachrach, “The Milites and the Millennium,” The Haskins Society Journal 6 (1995), 85–95; and idem, “The Culture of Combat in the Middle Ages,” Cithara 48 (2007), 3–24, where this problem is discussed with the relevant literature. The reader should be aware that the English word “knight” is not only anachronistic in regard to the period under discussion here but it is also ambiguous. When the word “knight” ceases to be anachronistic, it remains ambiguous. It can mean a member of a social stratum or a heavily armed mounted fighting man with a horse who belongs to a particular social stratum, or simply a heavily armed professional soldier with a horse. Miles, the key Latin word traditionally translated as knight, is generally used in the period under discussion here to describe a professional fighting man. See the two studies by David S. Bachrach, “Memory, Epistemology, and the Writing of Early Medieval Military History: The Example of Bishop Thietmar of Merseburg (1009–1018),” Viator 38 (2007), 63–90; and “The Military Organization of Ottonian Germany, c. 900–1018: The Views of Bishop Thietmar of Merseburg,” Journal of Military History 72 ( 2008), 1061– 88. In England this situation lasted at least through the first half of the twelfth century. See William Delehanty, “Milites in the Narrative Sources of England, 1135–1154” (PhD. Disseration, University of Minnesota, 1975). In this context, see the unsuccessful effort to identify milites as feudal vassals by Hans Fehr, “Das Waffenrecht der Bauern im Mittelalter,” Zeitschrift der Savigny-Stiftung für Rechtsgeschichte. Germanistische Abteilung 35 (1914), 111–211, here p. 134; Schmitthenner, “Lehnskriegswesen und Söldnertum,” p. 233; Josef Fleckenstein, “Zum Problem der agrarii milites bei Widukind von Corvey,” in Beiträge zur niedersächsischen Landesgeschichte zum 65. Geburtstag von Hans Patze im Auftrag der Historisichen Kommission für Niedersachsen und Bremen, ed. Dieter Brosius and Martin Last (Hildesheim, 1984), pp. 26–41, here pp. 34–36; Benjamin Arnold, “German Bishops and Their Military Retinues in the Medieval Empire,”

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Reynolds, of course, has effectively demolished the so-called “feudal” model, i.e., “feudalism” as a tool for understanding the structures of military organization in the Middle Ages, and especially the earlier Middle Ages. She has, in fact, demonstrated that the “feudal construct” lacks even heuristic value for understanding military organization or anything else in the pre-Crusade era, whether east or west of the Rhine. In short, claiming that a military effort was a “feudal” war or that a fortification was a “feudal castle” or that a vassus was a “feudal” retainer not only adds nothing of substance to the discussion but is perniciously misleading.17 Specialists in the history of the military organization of the Ottonian kingdom, however, have failed to develop a cogent treatment of the relevant narrative and documentary sources in light of this fatal blow that has been dealt by Reynolds to the very existence of the so-called “feudal” knight.18 The general question to be examined here is whether under the leadership of the early kings of the Saxon dynasty, a radical change was instituted in the military organization of the East Frankish realm. In specific terms, the western and eastern frontiers will be the focus of this study. To put matters precisely, this study asks whether the Saxon rulers, Henry I (919–936) and Otto I (936–973), altered in a fundamental manner the military institutions of the East Frankish kingdom either in Lotharingia and its environs in the west or in the Elbe region, which had been inherited from the last of the Carolingians in the east, i.e., Louis the German (d. 876) and his offspring? Or was there fundamental continuity in regard to military institutions in Francia orientalis from the later Carolingians to the early Ottonians? In other words, have scholars greatly exaggerated the differences between the military institutions of the early Ottonian kingdom and those of their Carolingian predecessors?19

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German History 7 (1989), 161–183, here p. 170; and Franz-Reiner Erkens, “Militia und Ritterschaft: Reflexionen über die Entstehung des Rittertums,” Historische Zeitschrift 258 (1994), 623–659, here pp. 629–30. Susan Reynolds, Fiefs and Vassals: The Medieval Evidence Reinterpreted (New York, 1994), and the very favorable review by Bernard S. Bachrach in Albion, 27 (1995), 466–67. Well before Reynolds published this seminal work, three specialists in Norman history, writing independently of each other, made clear that the army of Duke William that conquered England was not a feudal army. See Marjorie Chibnall, “Military Service in Normandy Before 1066,” Anglo-Norman Studies 5 (1982), 65–77; Emily Zack Tabuteau, “Definitions of Feudal Military Obligations in Eleventh-Century Normandy,” in On the Laws and Customs of England: Essays in Honor of Samuel E. Thorne, eds. M. Arnold (Chapel Hill, 1982), pp. 18–59; and David Bates, Normandy Before 1066 (London, 1982), pp. 122–25, 156–57. Goetz, “Staatlichkeit, Herrschaftsordnung und Lehnswesen,” p. 118, is one of the few German scholars to take note of Reynolds’ crucial study. However, even Goetz does not take into account any of Reynolds’ sustained criticisms of the feudal model. Reynolds’ study was also criticized by Johannes Fried in Bulletin of the German Historical Institute 19.1 (1997), 28–41, with a response by Reynolds in ibid., 19.2 (1997), 30–40. Regarding Louis, see Eric J. Goldberg, Struggle for Empire: Kingship and Conflict under Louis the German, 817–876 (Ithaca, NY, 2006), pp. 119–31; and concerning his offspring on the western frontier, Martina Hartmann, “Lotharingien in Arnolfs Reich. Das Königtum Zwentibolds,” Kaiser Arnolf: Das ostfränkische Reich am Ende des 9. Jahrhunderts (Munich, 2002),



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The Carolingian Background It is not at all controversial to emphasize that the supposed “feudal” model of military organization of the Saxon regnum, as currently favored by specialists in German medieval history, is sharply divergent from what is known of later Carolingian military organization.20 It is also clear that the present German model for the military organization of Saxon kingdom is very different from post-Carolingian military organization in Francia occidentalis.21 By contrast with the Saxon feudal model, as outlined above, scholars are in agreement that a tri-partite military organization flourished in the Carolingian empire, both west and east, and also in post-Carolingian western Francia.22 It is clear, for example, that even the rulers of the Norman duchy, which ostensibly was established around 910 by men who previously had never been a part of the west Frankish kingdom, cultivated what obviously were pre-existing Carolingian military institutions, which were in radical contrast to their own Viking heritage.23 The General Levy At the basic level of Carolingian military organization, all able-bodied men, whether free or unfree, were required to participate in providing for the local defense.24 This, however, was not a vestige of what was once supposed to be a peculiarly Germanic “nation in arms” dating back seven or eight centuries to the primeval forests which dominated the landscape between the Rhine and the

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pp. 122–44, who unfortunately does not examine East Frankish military organization. With regard to continuity in the maintenance of Carolingian heavily armed mounted troops, see Bachrach and Bachrach, “The Saxon Military Revolution, 912–973”. The state of the question regarding military organization in the Frankish kingdoms is summarized with the relevant literature by Bernard S. Bachrach and Charles R. Bowlus, “Heerwesen,” in Reallexikon der Germanischen Altertumskunde, ed. Heinrich Beck et al. (Berlin and New York, 2000), pp. 14, 122–36. See, in addition to Bachrach and Bowlus, “Heerwesen,” pp. 122–36, Simon Coupland, “The Carolingian Army and the Struggle against the Vikings,” Viator 35 (2004), 49–61. The sources and scholarly literature are treated in Bernard S. Bachrach, “Early Medieval Europe,” in War and Society in the Ancient and Medieval Worlds: Asia, The Mediterranean, Europe, and Mesoamerica, ed. Kurt Raaflaub and Nathan Rosenstein (Cambridge, MA, 1999), pp. 271–307; Bernard S. Bachrach, “On Roman Ramparts, 300–1300,” in The Cambridge Illustrated History of Warfare: The Triumph of the West, ed. Geoffrey Parker (Cambridge, 1995), pp. 64–91; and Bernard S. Bachrach, “Medieval Military Historiography,” Companion to History, ed. Michael Bentley (London, 1997), pp. 203–20. See, for example, Bernard S. Bachrach, “Dudo of Saint-Quentin as a Military Historian,” The Haskins Society Journal: Studies in Medieval History 12 (2002), 155–85; J. Yver, “Les premières institutions du duché de Normandie,” Settimane di Studio del Centro Italiano di Studi sull’alto Medieovo 16 (1969), 299–366; and Bates, Normandy Before 1066. B. Bachrach, “Medieval Military Historiography,” pp. 203–20; idem, “On Roman Ramparts, 300–1300,” pp. 64–91; idem, “Early Medieval Europe,” pp. 271–307; and John France, “The Composition and Raising of the Armies of Charlemagne,” Journal of Medieval Military History 1 (2002), 61–82, here p. 66.

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Oder.25 Nor did these militia forces gradually disappear a thousand or so years after the famous battle of the Teutoburger, to be replaced by a so-called “feudal” military organization, which supposedly was based upon small numbers of heavily armed knights engaged in mounted shock combat.26 Even Karl Leyser recognized that on the western frontier of the Ottonian kingdom, “Already in the tenth century much warfare focused on or was about castles.”27 Obviously, as all medievalists, not only military historians, know, the strategic and tactical importance of fortifications increased continuously throughout the course of the Middle Ages as the number of strongholds increased and medieval warfare was dominated by sieges.28 In this context, Leyser was aware that the nature of siege warfare heightened the tactical importance of men fighting on foot, whether they were footsoldiers or dismounted horsemen. He also recognized the importance of specialists, e.g. engineers and artillerymen, at the expense of the heavily armed “mounted warrior.” However, Leyser chose to believe, once again in accord with his focus on social history and contrary to the facts evident from the study of military operations, that “the growth in the scale of equestrian warfare preceded, if only by a little, the equally important developments of siege technology.”29 Rather than having its roots in the Germanic forests, the militarization of the civilian population west of the Rhine was an imperial innovation introduced during the later Roman empire. This was done in order to help in the defense of fortress cities constructed during the fourth and early fifth centuries and of 25 26

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Bernard S. Bachrach, Merovingian Military Organization 481–751 (Minneapolis, 1972). Despite the regular assertion by scholars, noted above, that the military forces of the late Carolingians and Ottonians were dominated by contingents of heavily armed, mounted vassals, it has long been recognized that the select levy continued to be mobilized for offensive operations by the Ottonian kings. Key, in this regard, is the detailed criticism by W. Erben (“Zur Geschichte des karolingischen Kriegswesens,” Historische Zeitschrift 101 (1908), 321–336, here p. 322) of the third volume of Hans Delbrück’s Geschichte der Kriegskunst in Rahmen der politischen Geschichte, published in 1907. Erben emphasized that Delbrück failed to account for the continued deployment of expeditionary levies by the Carolingians well into the ninth century. Similar observations regarding the continuing deployment of levies are Schmitthenner, “Lehnskriegswesen,” p. 257; Erich Sander, “Die Heeresorganisation Heinrichs I.,” Historisches Jahrbuch 59 (1939), 1–26, here p. 7; and Ernst Klebel, “Zur Rechts-und Verfassungsgeschichte des alten Niederösterreich,” Jahrbuch des Vereins für Landeskunde von Niederösterreich ns 8 (1939–1943), 11–120, here p. 21. “Early Medieval Warfare,” in The Battle of Maldon, ed. Janet Cooper (London, 1993), pp. 87–103; and reprinted in Communications and Power in Medieval Europe: The Carolingian and Ottonian Centuries, ed. Timothy Reuter (London and Rio Grande), pp. 29–50, and for the quotation, p. 31. The fact that siege warfare dominated military operations throughout the Middle Ages is stressed by Jim Bradbury, The Medieval Siege (Woodbridge, 1992), whose study remains the state of the question, and Bernard S. Bachrach, “Medieval Siege Warfare: A Reconnaissance,” The Journal of Military History 58 (1994), 119–133; reprinted in Bernard S. Bachrach, Warfare and Military Organization in Pre-Crusade Europe (London, 2002) (same pagination), where the earlier literature is surveyed, which indicates this basic reality. “Early Medieval Canon Law,” p. 69, for the quotation.



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lesser strongholds, e.g. castra and castella, that dotted the countryside of Gaul and other parts of the empire in the West.30 For want of a better term, modern scholars describe these militia forces as the “general levy” or in each specific case a “local levy” component of a kingdom-wide institution.31 This terminology is by way of an analogue of the “great fyrd,” which flourished in Anglo-Saxon England for the local defense.32 In this context, it is of fundamental importance to recognize that many specialists regard the later Anglo-Saxon state, i.e., prior to the Norman conquest, as having been constructed as a Carolingian-type polity

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The myth that Roman citizens were disarmed by the imperial authorities was ably shattered by Peter Brunt, “Did Imperial Rome Disarm Her Subjects?” Phoenix 29 (1975), 260–70, with special attention to Gaul, and with a positive focus in regard to the use of civilian forces. In a negative context, the so-called Bagaudae, as militarized rebels, also deserve our attention even if John Drinkwater is correct in claiming that their threat to the survival of the empire has been exaggerated. See John Drinkwater, “Peasants and Bagaudae in Roman Gaul,” Classical Views NS, 3 (1984), 349–387; and “The Bagaudae of Fifth-Century Gaul,” in Fifth-Century Gaul: A Crisis of Identity?, ed. John Drinkwater and Hugh Elton (Cambridge, 1992), pp. 208–17. For more detail regarding civilian defense of urban sites in Gaul, see, for example, an attack on Tours by Franks in 260 beaten off by cives as no troops were stationed there (Eusebius, fr. 5; Théodore Reinach, “Le premier siège entrepris par les Francs,” Revue historique 43 (1890), 34–46, and cf. Drinkwater, The Gallic Empire, pp. 84–85. Reinach (ibid., pp. 38–39) also discusses the defense of the fortress city of Autun for seven months by citizens against a regular Roman army in 270. For the failure of the Visigoths to capture Arles in 460 see Penny MacGeorge, Late Roman Warlords (Oxford, 2002), pp. 83–87. Regarding the defense of Chinon, see Gregory of Tours, Gloria Conf., ch. 22; and for the successful defense of Clermont by the cives on three occasions during this era, see Sidonius Appolinaris, Epist., bk. VII, 7, 3; Epist., bk. III, no. 1; bk. VII, no. 11.1. Nov. Val. V.2, from 440, with its now lost predecessor(s), provides a good example of the kind of detail involved in using civilians for urban defense, and Nov. Val. 9.1 provides a good example of using civilians for defense outside the cities. The fact that these novellae were maintained successfully as part of the legal collection under discussion here is prima facie evidence that they were considered of enduring value. Here cf. Hugh Elton, Warfare in Roman Europe, AD 350–425 (Oxford, 1998), pp. 102–03: “It seems unlikely that there was a universal official militia in the late Roman empire.” Elton argues that this is the case because no evidence for such an edict survives in the CTh. We are reminded here of the observation by Jill Harries, Law and Empire in Late Antiquity (Cambridge, 1999), p. 212, that “interpreting the history of Late Antiquity from its laws is an enterprise fraught with risk”; and vice-versa, we suggest that it is equally fraught with risk to interpret the history of Late Antiquity from what has not survived from the laws for one reason or another. For a useful summary of this material, see Bernard S. Bachrach, “Grand Strategy in the Germanic Kingdoms: Recruitment of the Rank and File,” in L’Armée romaine et les barbares du IIIe au VIIe siècle, ed. Françoise Vallet and Michel Kazanski (Paris, 1993), pp. 55–63; and idem, “The Fortification of Gaul and the Economy of the Third and Fourth Centuries,” Journal of Late Antiquity 3 (2010), 38–64. Bernard S. Bachrach, Early Carolingian Warfare: Prelude to Empire (Philadelphia, 2001), pp. 52–54. The basic work remains C. Warren Hollister, Anglo-Saxon Military Institutions on the Eve of the Norman Conquest (Oxford, 1962), pp. 25–37. Cf. Richard Abels, Lordship and Military Obligation in Anglo-Saxon England (Berkeley, 1988).

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with military institutions similar to those which flourished under Charlemagne’s successors.33 The Select Levy The second element of Carolingian military organization in terms of manpower included all people whose wealth reached a legally established minimum level, probably originally one manse, or its monetary equivalent. Each such bundle of wealth, whether landed or moveable, required that the possessor either go to war himself or provide a qualified fighting man for expeditionary service as his or her substitute. By the latter part of Charlemagne’s reign, the quantity of wealth required to produce a lightly armed foot soldier for such services was varied according to the needs of the res publica and on occasion reached four manses.34 This wealth-based requirement fell on both males and females, whether lay or ecclesiastic. The troops raised in this manner, whether the possessor or a substitute, were all required to serve defensively in the locality in which they lived alongside those poorer militia men, who only participated in the general levy, and locally based professional soldiers, i.e., milites (on whom see below). In addition, the expeditionary forces were organized to serve in offensive military operations beyond the borders of their home civitas, pagus, or Gau.35 Those men and women who possessed more than the minimum quantity of facultates required for such service, whether landed or monetary, were required when called upon to provide quantities of troops consistent with their wealth. For example, a woman who held ten mansi, when called upon to provide fighting men at a rate of one man per four mansi, could be required to support 2.5 lightly armed troopers for expeditionary service.36 This select militia force, 33

34

35

36

See two important articles by James Campbell; “Observations on English Government from the Tenth to the Twelfth Century,” Transactions of the Royal Historical Society, fifth series 25 (1975), 39–54, and “The Significance of the Anglo-Norman State in the Administrative History of Western Europe,” in Histoire comparée de l’administration (IVe-XVIIe siècles), ed. Werner Paravicini and Karl Ferdinand Werner (Munich, 1980), pp. 117–134. Both of these studies have been reprinted with additional notes in James Campbell, Essays in Anglo-Saxon History (London, 1986). For further comments see Appendix I: Administrative and Military Controversies. B. Bachrach, Early Carolingian Warfare, pp. 54–57, identifies the likelihood that the lower wealth limit that would obligate an individual for service in the expeditionary levy began at one manse before gradually rising to three, and then to four manses. The claim that one manse was the original starting point for the system at issue remains at this time undisputed since the publication of Early Carolingian Warfare. Cf. Timothy Reuter, “Plunder and Tribute in the Carolingian Empire,” Transactions of the Royal Historical Society, 5th series, 35 (1985), 75–94, here pp. 88–91. France, “The Composition and Raising of the Armies of Charlemagne,” p. 66, notes that Reuter’s findings in this regard, “need to be treated with some caution” and are not “wholly convincing.” Bachrach, Early Carolingian Warfare, pp. 54–57; France, “The Composition and Raising of the Armies of Charlemagne,” p. 66; and Helen Maud Cam, Local Government in “Francia” and England (London, 1912). Bachrach, Early Carolingian Warfare, pp. 54–5.



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which provided the vast majority of fighting men for large armies on campaign, has come to be called the “select levy.” This term has been coined by modern scholars as analogy to the later Anglo-Saxon “select fyrd.” The latter ultimately came to be based upon a five-hide unit for recruitment and mobilization.37 Troops of the Military Household The third element in the organization of the armed forces in the West was the military household. These included the obsequia of the kings and of their magnates, both lay and ecclesiastical. These household troops were paid professional soldiers with regular employment.38 These soldiers may be contrasted to groups of mercenaries, to whom contracts were offered on a time-limited basis and thus were temporary members of the royal obsequium or the military household of whichever magnate hired them.39 The king’s military household, both praesentales, i.e., those who served at the court, and those established on military lands throughout the kingdom, constituted the basis or core of the standing regular army of the kingdom.40 The magnates of the kingdom were given royal licentia to maintain military households of professional soldiers. With these men and others hired for the purpose, the great men and women (e.g. abbesses) of the regnum, who owed large quantities of military service consistent with the obligation incumbent upon their landed and moveable wealth, were able to respond to the bannum when called upon to mobilize by their ruler or his duly constituted representative.41 A man of any status could serve in these military households, but all of them, including servi, were required to take an oath of faithfulness to the king in addition to taking an oath to the man under whom they served directly. Along with the troops of the obsequium regalis, which was by far the largest of all the obsequia in the kingdom, these military forces employed by the magnates constituted the professional standing army of the kingdom.42

37 38 39

40 41 42

The basic work remains, Hollister, Anglo-Saxon Military Institutions, pp. 38–102. Bachrach, Early Carolingian Warfare, pp. 59–76. See Bernard S. Bachrach, “Merovingian Mercenaries and Paid Soldiers in Imperial Perspective,” in Mercenaries and Paid Men in the Middle Ages: Proceedings of a Conference held at the University of Wales, Swansea, 7th–9th July 2005, ed. John France (Leiden, 2008), pp. 167–92. Cf. Timothy Reuter, “The Recruitment of Armies in the Early Middle Ages: What Can We Know?” in Military Aspects of Scandinavian Society in a European Perspective, A.D. 1–1300, ed. Anne Norgard Jorgensen and Birthe L. Clausen (Copenhagen, 1997), pp. 32–37, who considers mercenaries to be a fourth element of military organization rather than adjuncts recruited to augment obsequia. Bernard S. Bachrach, “Military Lands in Historical Perspective,” Journal of the Haskins Society, 9 (1997), 95–122; and Bachrach, “On Roman Ramparts, 300–1300,” pp. 64–91. B. Bachrach, Early Carolingian Warfare, pp. 75–77. B. Bachrach, Early Carolingian Warfare, pp. 68–71.

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Sources and Methodology In order to ascertain whether the military organization maintained by the early Saxon kings demonstrates continuity with Carolingian practice or evidences a decisive break with that past, it is necessary to turn to the available narrative sources, e.g. various annals, chronicles, and histories.43 These descriptive texts are to be contrasted, in this context, with prescriptive sources, e.g. law codes or royal edicts, which may or may not have seen their provisions put into practice as effectively as some earlier historians once assumed.44 This focus on narrative

43

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The following sources provide important information about Ottonian military affairs, and will be cited, below, in abbreviated form. These are Adalberts Fortsetzung der Chronik Reginos (Adalberti continuatio Regionis) in Quellen zur Geschichte der sächsischen Kaiserzeit, trans. and ed. Albert Bauer and Reinhold Rau based on the translation of Paul Hirsch, Max Büdinger and Wilhelm Wattenbach; Annales of Einsiedeln, MGH SS 3; Alpert of Metz, De Diversitate Temporum, ed. G.H. Pertz, MGH SS 4; Annales Magdeburgenses a. 1–1188. 1453–1460, ed. G.H. Pertz, MGH SS 16; Les Annales de Flodoard, ed. Ph. Lauer (Paris, 1905); Annales Ottenburani MGH SS 5; Die Annales Quedlinburgenses, ed. Martina Giese (Hanover, 2004); Anselmi Gesta Episcoporum Leodiensium MGH Scriptores 7; Arnulfi Gesta Archiepiscoporum Mediolanensium, ed C. Bethmann and W. Wattenbach MGH SS 8; Benedicti Sancti Andrea Chronicon, ed. G. Zucchetti (Rome, 1920) in Fonti per la Storia d’Italia 55; Gerhard of Augsburg, Vita Sancti Uodalrici, ed. Walter Berschin and Angelika Häse (Heidelberg, 1993); Chronicon Salernitanum, ed. G.H. Pertz, MGH SS 3; Gesta episcoporum Cameracensium Liber I. II. III. Usque ad a. 1051, ed. L.C. Bethmann MGH SS 7; Giovanni Diacono, La cronaca Veneziana, ed. G. Zucchetti (Rome, 1890) in Fonti per la Storia d’Italia 9; Herimanni Augiensis Chronicon, ed. G.H. Pertz, MGH SS 5; Leonis Marsicani et Petri Diaconi, Chronica monasterii Casinensis, ed. W. Wattenbach, MGH SS 7; Liudprandi Cremonensis Opera Omnia: Antapodosis, Homelia Paschalis, Historia Ottonis, Relatio de Legatione Constantinopolitana, ed. P. Chiesa (Turnholt, 1998); Lupi Protospatarii annales, ed. G.H. Pertz MGH SS 5; Othloni Vita S. Wolfkangi MGH SS 4; Richer, Histoire de France, vol. 1, 888–954, ed. Robert Latouche (Paris, 1930); Richer, Histoire de France vol. 2, 954–995, ed. Robert Latouche (Paris, 1937); Rodulfi Glabri Historiarum Libri Quinque: Rodulfus Glaber Five Books of Histories, ed. and trans. John France (Oxford, 1989); Ruotger, Vita Brunonis, ed. Walter Berschin and Angelika Häse (Heidelberg, 1993); Thietmar von Merseburg, Chronik, ed. and trans. Werner Trillmich, 8th ed. (Darmstadt, 2002); Vita Sancti Bernwardi episcopi Hildesheimensis auctore Thangmaro, ed. Walter Berschin and Angelika Häse (Heidelberg, 1993); Sigebert, Vita Wicberti, MGH SS 8; John Abbot of St. Arnulf, Vita Iohannis Abbatis Gorziensis, MG SS 4; Widukind of Corvey, Res gestae Saxonicae, ed. and trans. Reinhold Rau in Quellen zur Geschichte der sächsischen Kaiserzeit, vol. 8 (Darmstadt, 1971). The most important examples of such texts for the Carolingian era are royal capitularies. For the basic work, see F.L. Ganshof, Recherches sur les capitulaires (Paris, 1958), which is strengthened with much additional information by Hubert Mordek, Bibliotheca capitularium regum Francorum manuscripta: Überlieferung und Traditionszusammenhang der fränkischen Herrschererlasse (Munich, 1995); idem, “Kapitularien und Schriftlichkeit,” in Schriftkultur und Reichsverwaltung under den Karolingern, ed. Rudolf Schiefer (Opladen, 1996), pp. 34–66; Gerhard Schmitz, “The Capitulary Legislation of Louis the Pious,” in Charlemagne’s Heir. New Perspectives on the Reign of Louis the Pious (814–840), ed. Peter Godman and Roger Collins (Oxford, 1990), pp. 425–453; Rosamond McKitterick, “Zur Herstellung von Kapitularien: Die Arbeit des Leges Skriptoriums,” in MIÖG 101 (1993), 3–16; and Janet L. Nelson, “The Intellectual in Politics: Context, Content and Authorship in the Capitulary of Coulaines, November 843,” in The Frankish World, 750–900 (London, 1996), pp. 155–68. It was once believed that



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sources, however, does not mean that chronicles and histories are to be read uncritically as plain text.45 Therefore, it is of importance that methods have been developed, some by the present authors, to treat narrative sources critically, especially with regard to the value of their information for military matters.46 In addition to maintaining a critical treatment of the written sources in terms of various narrative techniques, such as rhetorical plausibility, used by the relevant medieval authors in this study, archaeological evidence is of fundamental importance.47 Those historians who crafted the “feudal cavalry model” for Saxon military history, have, in general, scrupulously avoided treating the material realities, e.g. fortifications, that impinged significantly upon military organization, strategy, and tactics.48 In regard to the importance of archaeological infor-

45

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capitularies were not used in the East Frankish kingdom, but now see Goldberg, Struggle for Empire, pp. 18, 229, who points out that Louis the German issued capitularies jointly with his brothers and, in addition, maintained by edict that all previously issued capitularies had the force of law. The fact that no capitularies have survived from Louis’ chancery is consistent with the massive loss of other written materials from his reign. With regard to institutional continuity in administrative matters from the later Carolingians in eastern Francia to the early Ottonians, see Bachrach and Bachrach, “Continuity of Written Administration in the Late Carolingian East,” pp. 109–46; and D. Bachrach, “Exercise of Power,” and idem, “The Written Word.” With regard to the misuse of sources with particular attention to Saxon matters, see Bachrach and Bachrach, “The Saxon Military Revolution, 912–973,” pp. 191–212. For other examples, less focused on the distortion of the Saxon sources, but which nevertheless deal with matters concerning military history, see three studies by Bernard S. Bachrach; “Early Medieval Military Demography: Some Observations on the Methods of Hans Delbrück,” in The Circle of War, ed. Donald Kagay and L.J. Andrew Villalon (Woodbridge, 1999), pp. 3–20; “Verbruggen’s ‘Cavalry’ and the Lyon-Thesis”; “‘A Lying Legacy’ Revisited: The Abels-Morillo Defense of Discontinuity,” The Journal of Medieval Military History 5 (2007), 154–93. A still useful but general examination of the sources for the reign of Henry I is provided by Gian Andri Bezzola, Das ottonische Kaisertum in der französischen Geschichtsschreibung des 10. und beginenden 11. Jahrhunderts (Graz-Cologne, 1956). Also see now Wolfgang Giese, Heinrich I.: Begründer der ottonischen Herrschaft (Darmstadt, 2008), pp. 11–20. Regarding the critical methods for using narrative sources to write military history, see Bernard S. Bachrach, “Gregory of Tours as a Military Historian,” in The World of Gregory of Tours, ed. Kathleen Mitchell and Ian Wood (Leiden, 2002), pp. 351–363; idem, “Dudo of Saint Quentin and Norman Military Strategy,” in Anglo-Norman Studies 26 (2004), 21–36; and D. Bachrach, “Memory, Epistemology,” pp. 63–90. Note the judicious treatment of the narrative sources by Charles R. Bowlus, The Battle of Lechfeld and its Aftermath, August 955: The End of the Age of Migrations in the Latin West (Aldershot, 2006), pp. 7–12; and the positive review by Bernard S. Bachrach, in Speculum 83 (2008), 179–81. In this context, the recent publication by Justin C. Lake, “Truth, Plausibility, and the Virtues of Narrative at the Millennium,” Journal of Medieval History 35 (2009), 221–38, makes very clear the obligation upon medieval authors to provide an account that was plausible to an audience that was familiar with the matters under discussion. A small number of historians have discussed one or another aspect of fortifications as they relate to Ottonian warfare. See, in this context, Konrad Schünemann, “Deutsche Kriegsführung im Osten während des Mittelalters,” Deutsches Archiv 2 (1938), 54–84, here 56–61; Leyser, “The Battle at the Lech, 955,” p. 35; and Leopold Auer, “Zum Kriegswesen unter der früheren Babenbergern,” Jahrbuch für Landeskunde von Niederösterreich 42 (1976), 9–25, here p. 11.

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mation, it is important to emphasize that the Sachkritik method, which gives focused attention to the brute facts of physical reality, e.g. the carrying capacity of horses, the speed of ox-drawn vehicles, or the range of missile weapons, and to a lesser extent the material constraints imposed by institutional realities, can be very valuable in providing a basis for the critique of written sources and in helping us to understand early Saxon military organization.49 Early Saxon Military Operations The present study is divided into two parts. The first part deals with Ottonian military operations on the western frontier of the kingdom where great fortress cities dating from the later Roman empire dominated the military topography. In order to gain military success on this frontier, the armies of Henry, Otto, and their commanders, it will be shown, had to follow the traditional forms of warfare that had dominated the region since at least some of these fortifications were made operative during the later third through the early fifth century. The second part deals with the eastern frontier. There, the early Saxon kings were not faced with great stone fortress cities, largely of Roman imperial origin, that were similar to what was found in the west. Rather, the Slavs, who proved to be Henry’s and Otto’s major adversaries, understood that in order to gain or to hold territory, it was necessary to build new fortifications. While these fortifications did not rival either in size or strength the great fortress urbes of the west, it was still necessary, as will be made clear below, that Ottonian military operations should focus on sieges.

49

Most historical analysis of military organization in pre-Crusade Germany simply has ignored the problem. However, in some cases the dominant account of the transition to the Ritterheer sometime in the ninth or tenth-century has led historians to very odd conclusions regarding fortifications. Heinrich Sproemberg, “Die Feudale Kriegskunst,” in Beiträge zur belgisch-niederländischen Geschichte III: Forschungen zur mittelalterliche Geschichte (Berlin, 1959), pp. 30–55, here pp. 39–40, at a loss to explain the very large number of fortified cities and other fortified sites throughout Germany and the West, felt compelled to argue that it was impossible to capture these fortifications given the absence of foot soldiers and siege artillery. Heinrich Koller, “Das mittelalterliche Stadtmauer als Grundlage städtischen Selbstbewußtseins,” in Stadt und Krieg, ed. Bernhard Kirchgässner and Günter Scholz (Sigmaringen, 1989), pp. 9–25, here p. 17, argued that “the grotesque situation was in force that the nobility built fortifications that could only be defended on foot, but continued to hold fast to the principle of only fighting on horseback.” Michael Toch, “The Medieval German City Under Siege,” in The Medieval City Under Siege, ed. Ivy A. Corfis and Michael Wolf (Woodbridge, 1995), pp. 35–48, here pp. 35–36, similarly asserted the very futility of siege warfare given armies that were composed, almost exclusively, of mounted warriors. He argues specifically that cavalry battles were the only manner in which wars could be settled because sieges were so rarely successful. With regard to Sachkritik, see B. Bachrach, “Early Medieval Military Demography,” pp. 3–20. For a clear statement of the “realist” view regarding the nature of “objective facts”, see John R. Searle, The Construction of Social Reality (New York 1995). This topic is considered in detail in D. Bachrach, “Memory, Epistemology,” pp. 63–90.



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The Western Frontier According to the treaty of Verdun, which was established by Louis the Pious’s sons, Lothair, Louis, and Charles, in 843, the Carolingian empire was divided into three equal parts according to economic and demographic criteria.50 Lothair, the eldest, received what scholars have come to call Francia media, which included the central portion of the Carolingian empire from the eastern reaches of the English Channel and North Sea to Rome. His brothers, Louis and Charles, respectively, received Francia orientalis, which encompassed much of what today constitutes western and west central Germany, and Francia occidentalis, which encompassed much of what today is France.51 Following the death of King Lothair I and his immediate heirs, the last of whom died in 869, the latter’s uncles, Louis the German and Charles the Bald, along with various of their successors, undertook a long-term strategy aimed at dismembering Francia media for the territorial aggrandizement of their respective regna.52 Through a wide variety of diplomatic negotiations and military operations, Louis the German was able to secure control much of Francia media including the Rhineland, most of Lotharingia, and much of what today we consider Alsace, which he incorporated into Francia orientalis.53 The western frontier of the east German kingdom was supported on the east by the great fortress cities on the Rhine such as Cologne, Mainz, Worms, Speyer, and Strasbourg. Further to the west, Verdun, Trier, Metz, and Toul were of considerable military importance, as well. However, following the death of Louis the Child, Louis the German’s grandson, in 911, the new king in Francia orientalis, Conrad of Franconia (d.  918), lost control of Lotharingia to the west Frankish ruler Charles the Simple.54 In the wake of Conrad’s election, it was also the case that

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F.L. Ganshof, “The Genesis and Significance of the Treaty of Verdun (843),” in F.L. Ganshof, The Carolingians and the Frankish Monarchy, trans. Janet Sondheimer (London, 1971), pp. 289–302, remains basic. A useful guide is provided by Rosamond McKitterick, The Frankish Kingdoms under the Carolingians: 751–987 (London, 1983), pp. 172–73, and Map 9. The basic work remains Robert Parisot, Le royaume de Lorraine sous les Carolingiens, 843–923 (Paris, 1899), pp. 337–575. Of great interest is the wide-ranging work of Thomas Bauer, Lotharingien als historischer Raum: Raumbildung und Raumbewusstsein im Mittelalter (Cologne, Wiemar and Vienna, 1997). In light of the role of war in this region, it is unfortunate that Bauer does not deal with the details of military organization and military operations as cultural phenomena, which, in general, impinge on the formation of a historical space and peoples’ consciousness of such a territory. Goldberg, Struggle for Empire, pp. 236–37, 260–61, 295–98, 305–06, 313–14. Parisot, Le royaume de Lorraine, pp. 515–75. Auguste Eckel, Charles le Simple (Paris, 1899), pp. 91–115; and Reuter, Germany in the Early Middle Ages, pp. 140–41, 145–46, 153–60, 167, 176. For a useful collection of essays dealing with the reign of Conrad I, see Konrad I. Auf dem Weg zum “Deutschen Reich”? ed. Hans-Werner Goetz (Bochum, 2006). However, there is no detailed study of the organization of his armed forces or an examination of his military operations.

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parts of Alsace began to act in an autonomous manner and eastern influence in Burgundy deteriorated.55 The west Franks remained in control of Lotharingia through the course of Conrad’s reign and even following the selection of Henry I, the Saxon duke, as east Frankish king in 919. However, Henry I (d. 936) did not abandon eastern efforts to reassert control over Lotharingia and he managed to restore east Frankish ditio in the region in 925.56 Throughout the early reign of Henry I and even after he gained political control of Lotharingia, the region between the Rhine and the Meuse as well as areas further to the west and to the south emerged as hotly contested theaters of military operation for the east Frankish monarchs and their commanders.57 Military Topography and Military Organization It is important to emphasize that the military topography of the western frontier region was dominated by great fortress cities, i.e., the fortified urbes of the later Roman empire, and numerous lesser strongholds. The impressive walls that protected these cities, in general, were maintained in defensible condition throughout the history of pre-Crusade Europe.58 It is fair to say that military campaigns undertaken for purposes of conquest were dominated throughout the Middle Ages in the West by the military topography, i.e., fortress cities, lesser fortifications, roads, and ports, that initially had been constructed or developed by the Romans, in large part during the later empire, especially in Gaul.59

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See the brief survey by Thomas Zotz, “Das Elsass-Ein Teil des Zwischenreichs?” in Lotharingia: Eine europäische Kernlandschaft um das Jahr 1000, ed. Hans-Walter Herrmann and Reinhard Schneider (Saarbrücken, 1995), pp. 65–66; and René Poupardin, Le royaume de Bourgogne (888–1030) (Paris, 1907), pp. 30–33, respectively. Parisot, Le royaume de Lorraine, pp. 576–621; Eckel, Charles le Simple, pp. 130–131; Reuter, Germany in the Early Middle Ages, pp. 140–41, 145–46, 153–60, 167, 176. See, for example, Eduard Hlawitschka, Lotharingien und das Reich an der Schwelle der deutschen Geschichte (Stuttgart, 1968), pp. 243–267, regarding Lotharingian particularism. Regarding these monumental fortress cities, the best introduction remains Stephen Johnson, Late Roman Fortifications (Totowa and New Jersey, 1983). See also L’Architecture de la Gaule romaine. Les fortifications militaires, Documents d’archéologie française 100, directed by Michel Reddé with the aid of Raymond Brulet, Rudolf Fellmann, Jan-Kees Haalebos, and Siegmar von Schnurbein (Paris and Bordeaux, 2006). The older works by Adrien Blanchet, Les enceintes romaines de la Gaule (Paris, 1897), pp. 13–219; and Albert Grenier, Manuel d’archéologie gallo-romaine, 6 vols. (Paris, 1924–1934), 5:281–361, are still of substantial value. Regarding continuity, see Jean Hubert, “Evolution de la topographie de l’aspect des villes de Gaule du Ve au Xe siècle,” Settimane di Studio del Centro Italiano di studi sull’alto Medioevo, VI (1959), 529–58. Carlrichard Brühl, Palatium und Civitas: Studien zur Profantopographie spätantiker Civitates vom 3. bis zum 13 Jahrhundert, I Gallien (Cologne and Vienna, 1975); and II Belgica I, beide Germanien und Raetia II (Cologne and Vienna, 1990). The sources and scholarly literature are treated in B. Bachrach, “Early Medieval Europe”; idem, “On Roman Ramparts, 300–1300,” pp. 64–91; idem, “Medieval Military Historiography,” pp. 203–20; and idem, “Imperial Walled Cities in the West: an Examination of their Early Medi-



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These urbes, however, were far from being sterile piles of stone that merely protected lonely bishops, their cathedral canons, and the schools of various types run by the clergy.60 Rather, these fortress cities also served as centers of regional political power and of the administration of the civitas or pagus, including the headquarters of the judicial system. On the whole, the greatest agglomeration of population in any particular region was concentrated within the walls of its urban capital and in its environs, sometimes called a suburbium. The urbes and suburbia also provided homes for the largest aggregations of artisans and the sites for their workshops. In light of the relative size of the population, the urbes provided the largest concentrations of consumers for all kinds of goods, both necessities and luxuries, and, as a result, they served as centers for local and regional trade. Sometimes they were even foci for long distance commerce.61 On the northeast of the German kingdom’s western frontier was the fortress city of Cologne and on the northwest was the fortress city of Cambrai. Both urbes saw a considerable extension of their old Roman walls during the later ninth and early tenth centuries. These were constructed to protect newly developed suburbs, the growth of which, in turn, had been stimulated by economic and demographic expansion.62 Trier, Verdun, Metz, and Toul all saw their walls strengthened and their suburbs fortified to complement the original Roman walls in order to provide protection for a growing population.63 In addition to the fortress cities, there were many scores of lesser fortifications, e.g. castra and castella, through the kingdom’s western frontier region. Many of these lesser fortifications, like the fortress cities, were based upon erstwhile Roman fortifications.64 This is a pattern similar to that employed by Alfred the Great (d. 899), and his immediate heirs, who relied in a noteworthy manner upon Roman imperial strongpoints for the fortifications of the Burghal Hidage.65

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63

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eval Nachleben,” in City Walls: The Urban Enceinte in Global Perspective, ed. James T. Tracy (Cambridge, 2000), pp. 192–218. Regarding the importance of cathedral schools and the well developed urban communities which supported them, see C. Stephen Jaeger, The Envy of Angels: Cathedral Schools and Social Ideas in Medieval Europe, 950–1200 (Philadelphia, 1994). B. Bachrach, “Imperial Walled Cities in the West,” pp. 192–218; and in more general terms, idem, “On Roman Ramparts, 300–1300,” pp. 64–91. These points are summarized briefly by David Nicholas, The Growth of the Medieval City from Late Antiquity to the Early Fourteenth Century (London, 1997), p. 71, regarding Cologne, and pp. 55–56, regarding Cambrai. Nicholas, The Growth of the Medieval City, pp. 65–66, 69–72. It is important to emphasize that the written evidence for development and building usually lags behind the actual facts on the ground as institutional arrangements tend to call attention to what already had occurred. For the identification of various Roman strongholds in the area under consideration here, the place to begin is H. Schönberger, “The Roman Frontier in Germany: An Archaeological Survey,” Journal of Roman Studies 59 (1969), 144–97; and Harald von Petrikovits, “Fortifications in the North-Western Roman Empire from the Third to the Fifth Centuries A.D.,” Journal of Roman Studies 61 (l97l), l78–2l8. See Bernard S. Bachrach and Rutherford Aris, “Military Technology and Garrison Organization: Some Observations on Anglo-Saxon Military Thinking in Light of the Burghal Hidage,” Technology and Culture 31 (1990), 1–17; and reprinted in Bernard S. Bachrach, Warfare and

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These lesser fortifications on the western frontier of the kingdom varied greatly in size and quality of construction. There were massive stone castra, which sometimes rivaled the fortified urbes mentioned above. For example, the castrum at Laon, though located west of the Meuse, saw numerous military operations involving troops from the east Frankish kingdom and its western frontier.66 The same was true in regard to the castrum at Dijon, which on the basis of its size and massive fortifications, Gregory of Tours, writing late in the sixth century, thought should have been considered an urbs.67 There were also wooden towers surrounded by a curtain wall composed of a ditch and bank and topped by a wooden palisade of sharpened stakes.68 Some of these castella could be built very rapidly and, when necessary, abandoned even more rapidly and destroyed.69 In light of the German “feudal” model with its emphasis on heavy cavalry and the tactics of mounted shock combat, it is hardly pedantic to insist that not even the least of these fortifications could be stormed effectively by troops on horseback. Regardless of how well armed and brave German “warriors” are purported to have been, mere Reiter rather than Ritter, they cannot have relied upon their horses to be effective in charging against large stationary objects.70 This was the case even when such fortifications may only have been constructed of wood or a combination of wooden and earthen walls. For example, in 891, King Arnulf required that his mounted troops dismount in order to storm a Viking encampment on the banks of the Dyle.71 Mammoth stone walls, of course, were well beyond the capacity of any foolhardy German warrior, despite his supposed innate lack of discipline and untrammeled courage, to attack effectively on horseback.72

66 67 68 69 70

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Military Organization in Pre-Crusade Europe (London, 2002), with the same pagination; and Richard Abels, Alfred the Great: War, Kingship and Culture in Anglo-Saxon England (Harlow, 1998), pp. 198–99, 204–06. Jackie Lusse, Naissance d’une cité: Laon et le Laonnois du Ve au Xe siècle (Nancy, 1992). Johnson, Late Roman Fortifications, pp. 84–86. J.-F. Finó, Forteresses de la France médiévale (Paris, 1977) provides a useful introduction to this topic. See, for example, Flodoard, Annals, 63. The most recent among many studies which have made clear that previous scholars have grossly exaggerated the importance of the charge of heavily armed mounted troops is John France, “A Changing Balance: Cavalry and Infantry, 1000–1300,” Revista de História das ideias 30 (2009), 153–77, who sees men on foot as the dominant force even on the battlefield. In addition, France recognizes that “sieges were a commonplace of the age and while cavalry had a part to play...horses were of little value on siege-ladders” (p. 155). Annales Fuldenses, s.a. 891; and the discussion by Bernard S. Bachrach, “Charles Martel, Mounted Shock Combat, the Stirrup and Feudalism,” Studies in Medieval and Renaissance History 7 (1970), 49–75; and reprinted in idem, Armies and Politics in the Early Medieval West (London, 1993), pp. 51–53. Concerning the supposed behavioral characteristics of German “warriors” that, in a practical sense, were inimical to the execution of proper military operations, see Fichtenau, Lebensordnungen des 10. Jahrhunderts, 1:191–92, for some insights regarding the irrational pursuit of glory.



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In order to capture a fortification of any significance, it was necessary to deploy large numbers of men prepared to fight on foot. A ratio of four or five attackers to each defender was required in order to establish a credible threat to storm the walls effectively. In this context, it was regarded as the norm to have approximately each 1.3 meters of wall defended by a man capable of launching missiles, usually arrows from bows and less commonly bolts from crossbows, at the attackers.73 In addition, the military forces defending these strongholds on the western frontier had available to them men using slings and javelins as well as various types of catapults mounted on the walls.74 A fortress city such as Mainz was protected by an elaborate stone perimeter wall of approximately 3,850 meters, which was reinforced by numerous mural towers, corner towers, and gate towers. These fortifications enclosed a surface area of 98.5 hectares, i.e., about the same order of magnitude as Cologne with a surface area of 97 hectares.75 By using one of the more conservative techniques employed by modern demographers regarding the density of habitation of these fortress cities, i.e., the army camp model, there is a basis for suggesting that the population within the walls of Mainz was at least around 30,000 range, and it probably was considerably greater.76 This estimate, of course, does not include the large numbers of people settled in Mainz’s extensive suburbia, which are also generally agreed to have been densely populated at this time.77 With regard to defending fortified cities, note should be taken of the quinta, defensa, or defensaria which required rustici from the surrounding area, up to a distance of ten to twelve kilometers, to defend the town.78 Using the defense figures noted above, the perimeter wall at Mainz at approximately 3,850 meters would need only some 2,960 men to defend it at a minimum deployment of one man per 1.3 meters, which was required by contemporary military estimates.79 However, with a population of some 30,000, Mainz would, in fact, have had a force of around 9,000 able-bodied men between the ages of 15 and 55 living within the walls.80 Thus, a combination of militia forces, i.e., the men of the local and select levies, and the obsequia of the bishop and his fideles with their military households, which are well attested 73

74 75 76 77 78 79 80

Bachrach and Aris, “Military Technology and Garrison Organization,” pp. 1–17. Regarding the use of bows by the defenders of fortifications, see Richer, Histoire de France 1, p. 214, with regard to the siege of Rheims in 946; Richer, Histoire de France 2:124, and 132–34 with regard to the deployment of archers and crossbowmen in Lotharingia against the invasion by King Lothar IV in 983, particularly in the defense of Verdun. With regard to wall-mounted artillery in Ottonian warfare, see Widukind, Res gestae, 2.11; Thietmar, Chronicon, 7.63; and Gesta Treverorum, ed. G. Waitz MGH SS 8, ch. 30. Brühl, Palatium und Civitas, 2:99–100. See Appendix II: The Size of Mainz and Its Population, below. See the basic work by Ludwig Falck, Geschichte der Stadt Mainz (Mitte 5. Jahrhundert bis 1244 (Düsseldorf, 1972), pp. 75–78, 82–83; Nicholas, The Growth of the Medieval City, p. 69. This is a subject that would merit detailed research. See Nicholas, The Growth of the Medieval City, p. 55. Bachrach and Aris, “Military Technology and Garrison Organization,” pp. 1–17. On the size of Mainz and its implications, see Appendix II, below.

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in the sources, could easily have mobilized 10,000 or more men to defend the walls.81 However, even with only 2,000 men defending the urbs, anyone seeking to capture Mainz would require some 8,000–10,000 men to establish a credible threat to take the city by storm. In fact, Mainz is one of those fortress cities on the continent concerning which evidence has survived regarding a system for the defense of the walls similar to that used for the Anglo-Saxon Burghal Hidage under Alfred the Great and his immediate successors. Certain cives at Mainz, who would seem to have been merchants, made agreements with the archbishop to keep in repair and to defend with their retainers a particular segment of the wall called a Zinnen. Each segment is calculated by modern scholars to have measured approximately three meters and thus each contract holder would have to provide at least three men to defend the relevant portion of the wall if the city came under attack. In return for this service, the merchants, who contracted to repair and to defend the walls, were freed from paying tolls in the city market, which was controlled by the bishop.82 It should be noted, as well, that the fortress city of Worms, which also played a key role in strengthening the western frontier of the German kingdom, was organized for military purposes no later than 914, and probably at least a decade earlier. The inhabitants of each of the four quarters of the urbs were assigned military duties which required them to keep the walls in repair and defend them when necessary.83 In addition, the wealthier inhabitants of each of the four quarters of the city were required to support expeditionary levies of well trained and well armed effectives from each quarter. By the mid thirteenth century, each quarter was required to send 1,000 men into the field.84 Just as the specific information surviving from Mainz and Worms provides 81 82 83

84

Brühl, Palatium und Civitas, 2:92–94, 106–07, for the date of the reconstruction of the river wall, and pp. 109–10 for the St. Albans suburb. Falck, Geschichte der Stadt Mainz , pp. 74–75; and Nicholas, The Growth of the Medieval City, p. 69. Brühl, Palatium und Civitas, 2:120, makes clear that there is much debate concerning the order of magnitude of the circuit walls at Worms. The first wall, originally of Roman construction, was maintained throughout the early Middle Ages and into the thirteenth century. During the period 1235–1273 there was a vast expansion of the wall, which may have more than doubled its extent to 5,300 meters. In the early tenth century, Bishop Tietlach of Worms (891– 914) issued an ordinance regarding the maintenance of the city walls that required neighborhoods within the city, and also a series of villages in the region around Worms, to maintain specific sections of the wall. See the discussion by Heinrich Büttner, “Zur Stadtentwicklung von Worms im Früh-und Hochmittelalter,” in Aus Geschichte und Landeskunde. Forschungen und Darstellungen. Franz Steinbach zum 65. Geburtstag gewidmet von seinen Freunden und Schülern (Bonn, 1960), pp. 389–407, here 394. The text of the ordinance (Mauerbauordnung) is published in Heinrich Boos, Quellen zur Geschichte der Stadt Worms III: Annalen und Chroniken (Berlin, 1893), p. 203. With regard to the military obligations on each of the four parish districts (Ss. Peter, Andreas, Rupert, and Lambert) within the city, see Annales, edited by Heinrich Boos, Quellen zur Geschichte der Stadt Worms III: Annalen und Chroniken (Berlin, 1893), pp. 143–62, here pp. 149, 150, 153, 154, 156, 156–57, and 161. This military obligation is discussed in detail



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evidence concerning the institutional structures developed to defend against an enemy siege, a detailed examination of military operations discussed in the narrative sources that treat the western frontier of Francia orientalis will make clear that warfare was dominated by attacks on and the defense of fortifications. These operations required that men fight on foot both as defenders and as members of an attacking force. It is well established that there were, in fact, very few battles in the field and even fewer in which units of heavily armed mounted troops might have had the opportunity to undertake a cavalry charge.85 Even in regard to such very rare battles, the sources give no indication that heavily armed mounted troops were, in fact, deployed tactically in a manner which enabled them to engage the enemy from horseback and to sweep them from the field by dint of the shock of their charge.86 In short, demonstrating the overwhelming prevalence of siege warfare, as will be done below, provides prima facie evidence that foot solders, in general, dominated warfare. In addition, it makes untenable the view that the military organization of the Ottonian kingdom, at least on the western frontier, was dominated strategically, tactically, or operationally by heavily armed mounted troops executing cavalry charges. In tactical perspective, major fortified urbes, such as Cologne, Mainz, Worms, Speyer, and Strasbourg, were protected by great stone walls. They could not be defended by heavily armed mounted troops deployed on the battlements and in towers that, in general, were some ten meters or more in height. Similarly, from an offensive perspective, attacking forces on horseback could neither breech the walls nor scale them. Only men fighting on foot, generally in appropriately large numbers, could manipulate and climb the scaling ladders or man the siege towers which made in possible to go over the top of the walls of fortress cities. When siege engines were used, it is clear that catapults and batting rams required operation by foot soldiers, indeed, well trained foot soldiers. Training was also important with regard to sappers, who were deployed to tunnel under enemy fortifications.87

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by David S. Bachrach, “Making Peace and War in the ‘City-State’ of Worms, 1235–1273,” German History 24 (2006), 505–25. Even Leyser, “Early Medieval Warfare,” p. 44, recognizes that “pitched battles” were relatively rare, and thus he undermines his own assertion, quoted above, that heavily armed mounted knights were the “backbone” of effective warfare. France, “A Changing Balance,” pp. 153–177, also recognizes both the paucity of battles in the field and the infrequent use of mounted shock combat in major battles during this period. See Bernard S. Bachrach, “Caballus et caballarius in Medieval Warfare,” in The Story of Chivalry, eds. H. Chickering and T. Seiler (Kalamazoo, 1988), pp. 173–211; reprinted in Bernard S. Bachrach, Warfare and Military Organization in Pre-Crusade Europe (London, 2002), with the same pagination; and idem, “Verbruggen’s Cavalry,” pp. 137–63. Almost half a century ago, Hollister, Anglo-Saxon Military Institutions, p. 131, pointed out that in every important battle of the Anglo-Norman age the bulk of the cavalry dismounted to fight on foot. France, “A Changing Balance,” pp. 155–58, adds many more non-Anglo-Norman examples. Jim Bradbury, The Medieval Siege (Woodbridge, 1992); and Bernard S. Bachrach, “Medieval Siege Warfare: A Reconnaissance,” The Journal of Military History 58 (1994), 119–33,

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Part I Military Operations on the Western Frontier In 922, Charles the Simple, king of western Francia, raised an expeditionary force in Lotharingia, i.e., east of the Meuse, and led it west against an enemy force commanded by Hugh the Great, which was being deployed to attack the stronghold at Épernay. First, the royal army is reported to have crossed the Marne and encamped against Hugh in the area of this fortification. As a result, a contemporary source observed that Hugh found it impossible to execute the planned siege. Obviously, if Hugh persisted in trying to maintain a siege of Épernay, his forces could easily be caught in a pincer and attacked on two fronts at the same time. Charles’ army could attack from the rear while the garrison and the militia men, who were defending the walls of Épernay, were positioned to sally forth and attack Hugh’s army from the front.88 Most battles in the field that were fought during the Ottonian era resulted from efforts to relieve a siege.89 After having raised the siege of Épernay, Charles re-crossed the Marne and encamped at Chaumuzy for the purpose of threatening the fortress city of Rheims with a siege. While his army was encamped, the locally based militia forces (cives) from Rheims stole some horses belonging to Charles’ army that were in pasture not far from the city. Realizing that not only his logistic assets but also his forces in general were at risk if a lengthy siege were conducted, Charles ordered the walls of the city to be stormed. Flodoard, a contemporary who lived at Rheims, reports that many Lotharingians were killed in this effort and many others were wounded before Charles ordered the attack to cease at nightfall.90 After the failed attack on Rheims, Charles ordered his forces to advance against the highly fortified castrum at Laon. This was a march of more than fifty kilometers, which required Charles’ army to cross both the Vesle and the Aisne, and to bypass enemy-held fortifications at Roucy, which protected the best crossing of the Aisne in the area, as well as the stronghold of Corbeny,

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reprinted in idem, Warfare and Military Organization in Pre-Crusade Europe, with the same pagination. Flodoard, Annals, 6. All references in the notes are to the edition and translation of The Annals of Flodoard of Rheims, 919–966, by Steven Fanning and Bernard S. Bachrach (Ontario, 2004). Of the ninety-five or so major military operations that contemporary sources record as being undertaken by Henry I, Otto I, and their commanders, eighty involved the siege of one or more fortifications. Of the fifteen major battles fought by the Ottonians in the period 919–973, the great majority took place in the context of sieges. These are Lenzen (929), defeat of Hungarian invasion of Thuringia (933), Riade (933), Andernach (939), Wels (943), battle between Conrad the Red and the supporters of Otto I on the Maas (953), battle of Regensburg (954), Lechfeld (955), Recknitz (955), Rome (964), and Ascoli (969). The only battle that clearly took place outside the direct context of a siege was Birten (939). The remaining battles; the defeat of Haika (939), Duke Burchard of Swabia’s victory over Adalbert the son of King Berengar (965), and Otto I’s battle in Calabria (968), may have taken place in the context of sieges, but the sources do not provide sufficient information to be sure. Flodoard, Annals, 6.



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which dominated the route to Laon about twelve kilometers further to the north. In the period between the attack on Rheims and the advance on Laon, some of the Lotharingians in the king’s army are reported to have returned home. Others, however, were prepared to take part in operations against the fortress of Laon.91 When Charles was refused entry at Laon, i.e., his command to render the fortress was rejected, the royal army encamped on the banks of Serre and plans for an attack on the walls were made.92 However, Charles, likely with the advice of his commanders, concluded that his force was insufficient in size to storm the walls successfully, indicating that his army lacked the four or five attackers per defender ratio discussed above. In addition, Count Robert of Paris had arrived on the scene and was encamped in the environs of Laon. It was Robert’s aim to dissuade further operations by Charles’ army against the fortress.93 Despite Charles’ setbacks at Rheims and at Laon and the loss of significant elements of the Lotharingian forces with which he had begun military operations in 922, the king did not send his troops home and call an end to the campaigning season. Rather, upon learning that the castrum of Chièvremont was in enemy hands, he led the forces that had been serving at Laon, including remnants of the Lotharingian expeditionary forces mentioned above, on a march of more than 200 kilometers north-northeast to the eastern bank of the Meuse. Chièvremont was located approximately ten kilometers southeast of Liège. Charles’ army established a siege, but before a result could be obtained, Hugh the Great arrived with an army to relieve the stronghold. At this time Charles, understanding that the maintenance of siege operations in the face of an enemy relief force was a very dangerous strategy, broke camp, retreated from Chièvremont, and sent his Lotharingian levies home. If Charles had given serious consideration to engaging Hugh in a battle in the field, the king obviously dismissed that option as impractical.94 Charles the Simple’s military operations in 922, using the expeditionary levy of Lotharingia, were focused on siege warfare. It is clear that these Lotharingian forces were organized to operate in the west beyond the frontiers of the duchy and were prepared to undertake siege operations both against major fortifica-

91 92

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Flodoard, Annals, 6. Flodoard, Annals, 6. At issue here is the right of “rendition.” For other examples of royal control over the licensing and rendition of fortifications constructed and held by magnates, see Gesta episcoporum Cameracensium Liber I. II. III. Usque ad a. 1051, ed. L. C. Bethmann, MGH SS 7, pp. 402–489, here p. 112; Ex Miraculis S. Wigberhti, ed. G. Waitz, MG SS, c. 5; Ekkehard IV, Casus Sancti Galli, ed. Hans F. Haefele (Darmstadt, 1980), p. 44. Regarding the practice and law of rendition in the early medieval period, see Charles L.H. Coulson, “Fortresses and Social Responsibility in Late Carolingian France,” Zeitschrift für Archäologie des Mittelalters 4 (1976), 29–36; and idem, “Rendibility and Castellation in Medieval France,” Château Gaillard 6 (1975), 59–67. Flodoard, Annals, p. 6. In fact, Flodoard reports that Robert’s force was being increased in size by the arrival of new units and likely would be ready to engage Charles’ army if the king remained at Laon. Flodoard, Annals, p. 6.

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tions, i.e. the great fortresses of Rheims and Laon, and comparatively minor fortifications, e.g. the castrum at Chièvremont. In fact, they stormed the walls of Rheims. In regard to the defense of Chièvremont, which had gone over to the king’s enemies, Lotharingian local militia forces, strengthened by garrison troops, were prepared to hold out against a siege which Charles apparently had planned. Numerous other examples of the domination of warfare by sieges in Lotharingia in the years prior to the reestablishment of East Frankish ditio are evident in the sources. This information demonstrates that Carolingian traditions had been maintained during the reign of Louis the German and his successors so that they were still in place when Charles took control of the region.95 Saxon Lotharingia under King Henry I When the Saxon king, Henry I, took control of Lotharingia in 925, it is clear that traditional Carolingian military strategy based upon the holding of fortified positions and siege warfare along with the institutions needed to support such operations were in place. Even prior to asserting his royal authority in Lotharingia, i.e. in 923, Henry commanded sufficient numbers of effectives to lay siege to the great fortress city of Metz, which boasted an urban defensive circuit of some 3,200 meters.96 The question may now be posed: did King Henry radically alter the Carolingian military organization of Lotharingia when he came to power there? First, however, it is to be noted that Henry took advantage of the internal conflicts that bedeviled the West Frankish kingdom and rather easily asserted control over Lotharingia. He initiated the process with a show of force by taking by storm the erstwhile Roman fortress (oppidum) of Zülpich, located approximately fifty kilometers west of the Rhine.97 This show of force would appear to have been sufficient to convince the magnates of the region to recognize Henry’s authority.98 Throughout the remainder of his reign, Henry rarely found it necessary to lead troops mobilized from east of the Rhine into this western frontier region of his kingdom. In one major exception, in 927, Henry is known to have commanded a large force mobilized east of the Rhine and laid siege to the castrum Durofostum on the Meuse, which belonged to Count Boso of Pérthois, and bent its defenders to the royal will.99 Throughout the remainder of his reign, Henry left the majority of military operations on the western frontier of the Saxon kingdom to Duke Giselbert of

95 96

97 98 99

Flodoard, Annals, pp. 5–9, for numerous operations against fortifications. Flodoard, Annals, p. 9. Regarding the walls of Metz, see Brühl, Palatium und Civitas, 2:48; and for background, see Bernard S. Bachrach, “Fifth-Century Metz: Later Roman Christian Urbs or Ghost Town?” Antiquité tardive 10 (2002), 363–381. Flodoard, Annals, p. 14. Flodoard, Annals, p. 15. Flodoard, Annals, p. 18.



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Lotharingia.100 In this context, the strategic pattern identified above as taking place during the reign of King Charles was maintained. For example, in the period between 930 and 935, Giselbert led the region’s expeditionary levies on campaign beyond the borders of Lotharingia on at least six occasions. In the course of these campaigns, the duke found it necessary to besiege or to threaten to besiege the strongholds of Douai, Durofostum, Arras, Péronne, and SaintQuentin. Some of these fortifications were attacked or threatened with a siege on more than one occasion.101 Various other commanders, e.g. magnates who lacked any official officium, either acting under the authority of the Lotharingian duke or without direct orders, and, on occasion, even contrary to Giselbert’s policies, are seen to have led lesser forces, i.e., elements of the Lotharingian select levies, for the purpose of laying siege to enemy fortifications or threatening a siege. The strongholds of Mont-Saint-Jean, Douai, Vitry-en-Pérthois, Mouzon, Durofostum, Montagnedu-Nord, Chalon-sur-Marne, Rheims, Laon, Arras, Péronne, Saint-Quentin, Charleville, Château-Thierry, Ham, Roye, and Dijon, were all either the object of a siege or saw their walls stormed or threatened with attack, some several times, in the six years under consideration.102 This pattern of military operations makes it abundantly clear that warfare on the Lotharingian frontier of Francia orientalis and territory in its environs was dominated by strategy focused on fortifications. Saxon Lotharingia under Otto I Following the death of Henry I and the accession of his son, Otto I, in 936, Duke Giselbert continued to lead the expeditionary levies of Lotharingia in military operations similar to those that had been executed prior to the first Saxon king’s death. For example, in 938, Giselbert commanded Lotharingian expeditionary forces which played a key role in the siege and capture of castrum of Pierrepont, 100 kilometers west of Douzy on the Meuse.103 Giselbert, however, became involved in a revolt against King Otto. He lost control of the expeditionary levies of the Lotharingian regnum and was killed in 939.104 During this period of revolt, King Otto laid siege to the very important stronghold at Chièvremont, but was forced to break off the siege when the West Frankish king, Louis IV, undertook an invasion of Alsace in support of his ally Duke Giselbert.105 After a series of inconclusive maneuvers that included a

100 101 102 103 104 105

Concerning the dukes of Lotharingia, see Rüdiger E. Barth, Der Herzog in Lotharingien im 10. Jahrhundert (Sigmaringen, 1990), pp. 39–82. Flodoard, Annals, 12–16. Flodoard, Annals, 19–26. Flodoard, Annals, 31. Barth, Der Herzog in Lotharingien, pp. 76–77. Adalberti continuatio Regionis, p. 198; Herimanni Augiensis chronicon, ed. G.H. Pertz, MGH SS 5, p. 113; Annales Magdeburgenses, p. 144; Widukind, Res gestae, 2.22.

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battle at Birten, Otto returned to his siege efforts in Lotharingia and undertook operations at Breisach on the lower Rhine, which was a traditional base for the dukes of the region, as well as other fortifications that recognized the ditio of Giselbert and his allies.106 During the course of this siege, Giselbert and his ally Duke Eberhard of Franconia sought to disrupt Otto’s efforts by again crossing the Rhine and threatening the king’s lines of communication. However, forces loyal to Otto, under the command of the comites Udo and Conrad, shadowed the army of the rebel dukes. When the latter were in the midst of crossing the Rhine near Andernach by ship, the royalist troops (milites) launched an assault in which the rebel dukes were killed.107 When word reached Breisach of Giselbert’s death, the fortress surrendered to the king.108 Other military forces operating on behalf of Otto laid siege to Montreuil, Rheims, and Laon in the wake of the revolt.109 Following the revolt, Otto established his own brother, Henry, as ruler of Lotharingia, and Henry was given several strongholds for his own. Actual command of the army in the region, however, was left to Otho, count of Verdun, who is referred to by contemporaries as dux.110 However, Immo, who had been a sometime supporter of Giselbert, refused to recognize the new order and his stronghold was surrounded and besieged in mid-winter by the royal exercitus. He surrendered to the king, and was permitted to remain in possession of his castellum; he once again was regarded as a royal fidelis.111 Although Giselbert had been killed during the revolt, his nephews were given treatment similar to that of Immo. They were permitted to retain possession of their strongholds.112 In addition, the important of stronghold of Chièvremont, which was held jointly by two castellans, Ansfrid and Arnold, was taken by the king after a vigorous siege.113 However, Otto left this stronghold in the hands of the two castellans despite their numerous machinations.114 On the death of Otho of Verdun in 944, a West Frankish army marched into Lotharingia. King Otto saw to it that this invasion was halted in its tracks by ordering the mobilization of a large force under Duke Hermann of Swabia. 106

107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114

With regard to the importance of Breisach, see Thomas Zotz, “Est in Alsaciae partibus castellum Brisicau. Breisach als Schauplatz der politischen Geschichte im 10 Jahrhundert,” Zeitschrift des Breisgau-Geschichtsvereins 111 (1992), 1–23; and Gerd Althoff, “Breisach – ein Refugium für Rebellen im früheren Mittelalter?” Archäologie und Geschichte des ersten Jahrtausends in Südwestdeutschland, ed. Hans Ulrich Nuber, Karl Schmidt, Heiko Steuer and Thomas Zotz (Sigmaringen, 1990), pp. 457–71. Adalberti continuatio Regionis, p. 200. Udo and Conrad were the brothers of Duke Hermann of Swabia I (926–949), who remained loyal to Otto I during the rebellion of 938–939. Widukind, Res gestae 2.24; and Liutprand, Ant., 4.27. Flodoard, Annals, p. 33. Barth, Der Herzog in Lotharingien, pp. 83–104. Flodoard, Annals, p. 32, and p. 75, n. 118; Widukind, Res gestae, 2.26, 28. Widukind, Res gestae 2.27. Widukind, Res gestae, 2.28. Widukind, Res gestae, 2.22. Widukind, Res gestae, 2.28.



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Hermann’s army moved west and ensured that Ottonian control of the region was maintained. Of key importance in this context were Otto’s orders to Hermann, which were to lay siege to any strongholds in Lotharingia that had abandoned their ditio to the German king.115 Otto’s strategy was to control the fortifications of the region. He was not seeking to engage the West Frankish army in a battle in the field. In the wake of this difficult situation, Otto made his Franconian son-in-law, Conrad the Red, duke of Lotharingia.116 The political situation in Lotharingia, which required military action against various fortifications, was mirrored in problems further to the west. In 946, after conducting military operations in Burgundy, King Otto, who was then commanding “an army composed of diverse peoples” moved his forces into the West Frankish kingdom. These forces were mobilized from throughout his regnum and advanced across the Rhine and Meuse.117 The first target was the fortress city of Rheims, to which the king laid siege. Rheims surrendered after being surrounded and placed under siege for only three days. It is clear from a contemporary report by a cleric who was at Rheims at this time that the archbishop and his advisers understood that Otto’s army was sufficiently large that it could take their fortress city by storm.118 Ultimately, Otto moved his army on to Paris, which also was besieged during the summer in the famous episode of the “straw hats.”119 However, prior to this show of force, Otto, following the surrender of Rheims, moved his forces against the fortress city of Senlis. The bishop of Senlis refused to surrender.120 Au fond, Otto was faced with three options. He could establish a siege and starve the defenders into submission. This would require a significant amount of time. The king could have his army try to take the stronghold by storm. Finally, he could bypass Senlis and continue his campaigning. A contemporary report indicates that Otto decided that Senlis was not worth “taking by storm with the slaughter of his own men.” Accordingly, he chose to bypass this fortress and continue his military operations.121 The military operations against Rheims and of Senlis, despite differing results, make clear that heavily armed cavalry prepared to initiate mounted shock combat tactics on a field of battle were not of primary importance to Otto’s operational goals. Two years after aiding his brother-in-law, Louis IV, King Otto again ordered Duke Conrad to mobilize the army (exercitus) of Lotharingia to aid the West Frankish king in 948. A prominent part of this army, which took four weeks to 115 116 117

118 119 120 121

Flodoard, Annals, p. 39. Barth, Der Herzog in Lotharingien, pp. 105–29. Widukind, Res gestae, 2.33; and Flodoard, Annals, p. 41. Flodoard, Annals, p. 44, and Widukind, Res gestae, 3.2, who is the source of the quotation and who puts Otto’s forces at thirty-two legiones, as compared with the eight legiones mobilized for the Lechfeld campaign in 955. Flodoard, Annals, p. 44. Widukind, Res gestae 3.2; Flodoard, Annals, pp. 33–34. Flodoard, Annals, p. 44; and Adalberti continuatio Regionis, p. 202. Flodoard, Annals, p. 44.

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mobilize, was composed of expeditionary troops commanded by the Lotharingian prelates, Archbishop Robert of Trier, Bishop Raoul II of Laon, and Bishop Adalbero of Metz. These bishops possessed vast landed wealth and, therefore, were responsible for mobilizing large numbers of expeditionary levies. Robert and his colleagues led their forces to besiege and subsequently to threaten to storm the castrum of Mouzon. The commander of the stronghold recognized that the enemy forces were too large to withstand and surrendered. As the chronicler who discusses the situation makes clear, Mouzon surrendered because it was faced by an overwhelming force.122 These episcopal units then joined the rest of the Lotharingian exercitus, and the united force laid siege to the stronghold of Montagu, which fell quickly.123 In 952, the Lotharingians were again called out to establish a siege. This time the munitio of Mareuil was the target. The contemporary chronicler Flodoard makes specific mention of the fact that the besieging force constructed “many machines” (multae machinae) to attack the stronghold, and he also takes note of the fact that the besieging force suffered noteworthy losses before taking Mareuil.124 This episode makes clear that reinforced local levies were positioned to defend a stronghold even when it was besieged by a large force that was equipped with artillery. A brief discussion of the revolt against Otto I in 953, which included Duke Conrad as one of the leaders, once again provides a glimpse into the overwhelming importance of siege warfare on the western frontier of the German kingdom. When Otto initially responded to the rebels, Conrad took refuge in the fortress city of Mainz.125 However , before moving on to Mainz, Otto laid siege to and took a number of Conrad’s fortifications in Lotharingia, and, in this context, a second successful siege of Breisach was undertaken.126 Otto then moved his main force to Mainz with a substantial artillery train, i.e., multae machinae, and laid siege to this massive stronghold for two months.127 While undertaking the siege of Mainz, Otto learned that the fortress city of Regensburg had revolted in support of his son Liudolf. In the autumn of 953, therefore, Otto led a column to Bavaria. Because he lacked sufficient numbers of troops (the historian Widukind of Corvey says that Otto departed “cum paucis”), and also lacked a siege train, this campaign came to nought.128 The next spring, however, Otto again invaded Bavaria, on this occasion with a large army and a substantial siege train. On the way south, Otto besieged the powerful fortress

122 123 124 125 126 127

128

Flodoard, Annals, pp. 49–50. Flodoard, Annals, pp. 49–50. Flodoard, Annals, p. 57. Flodoard, Annals, pp. 57–58; Widukind, Res gestae, 3.18. Widukind, Res gestae, 3.18. Flodoard, p. 953; Adalberti continuatio Regionis, p. 210; Ruotger, Vita Brunonis, ed. Walter Berschin and Angelika Häse (Heidelberg, 1993), p. 200; Die Annales Quedlinburgenses, ed. Martina Giese (Hanover, 2004), pp. 466–67; Widukind, Res gestae, 3.18, 21, 28. Widukind, Res gestae, 3.20 and 3.26.



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of Roßtal, located twenty kilometers south of Nuremberg, which was held by Liudolf’s ally, the count of Hammerstein.129 The fort, originally constructed by Charlemagne circa 800, was built on a plateau west of the Rednitz river and enclosed an area of some five hectares. In 953, it was protected by a blended wall, comprising a mortared stone surface approximately two meters thick fronting an earthen and timber wall seven meters in width. The wall was protected by a 5.5 meter berm, and two ditches. The inner ditch was 15 meters wide and 3.5 meters deep.130 Not wishing to waste any time in his pursuit of Liudolf, Otto decided against investing the fortress and beginning what might be a lengthy siege. Instead, he ordered an assault on the walls that lasted all day long. According to Widukind, both sides suffered heavy losses, but when night fell the defenders still held out.131 Following the indecisive action at Roßtal, Otto, who was in a hurry to reach Regensburg, decided to move on to his main target.132 During the course of the siege of Regensburg, a variety of tactics were used both by the defenders and the attacking force. For example, among those besieged at Regensburg was a force of mounted troops, likely composed of the men in the obsequia of the local magnates. These troops sallied forth from the city in a ruse to draw the king’s troops from their fortified camp. At the same time, a ship-borne force was dispatched to attack the king’s camp through an amphibious assault from the Danube. Otto, however, had maintained a unit of mounted troops as a reserve in the event that the besieged should attempt such a tactic. The result was that Otto’s mounted troops drove the Regensburger contingent back into the city. At the same time, the troops in the camp were able to drive off the attackers who had come by ship.133 This situation provides a clear example of the auxilliary role that mounted force could play the course of a siege. The next year saw Regensburg in revolt once again. Otto once again found it necessary to bring his forces to lay this fortress city under siege. This time the king was again accompanied by a large siege train, “armis machinisque,” which cowed the rebels, who hurried to treat with the king for the surrender of the city.134 During the late 950s, Archbishop Bruno, Otto’s younger brother who had been appointed duke of Lotharingia in 953, can be seen to follow what obviously was traditional Carolingian strategy in using the Lotharingian expeditionary force on the western frontier of the duchy. His initial military operations were undertaken against “adulterine fortifications.” These had been constructed during the revolt 129

130 131 132 133 134

Widukind, Res gestae, 3.35, for the assault on the fortress. Regarding the identity of the defending commander, see Peter Ettel, “Der Befestigungsbau im 10. Jahrhundert in Süddeutschland und die Rolle Ottos des Großen am Beispiel der Burg von Roßtal,” Europa im 10. Jahrhundert: Archäologie einer Aufbruchszeit, ed. Joachim Henning (Mainz, 2002), pp. 365–79, here p. 373. Regarding the defenses at Roßtal, see Ettel, “Der Befestigungsbau,” pp. 373–78. Widukind, Res gestae, 3.35. Widukind, Res gestae 3.34–5. Widukind, Res gestae 3.36. Widukind, Res gestae, 3.44.

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without licentiae from the king, and Bruno saw to their destruction.135 In 960, Bruno also led his exercitus against the fortresses at Chièvremont and Namur. In the same year, he led the levies to Burgundy and also laid siege to Troyes in Champagne.136 In 960, Bruno led his Lotharingians to lay siege to the fortresses of Troyes and Dijon. However, while Bruno was laying siege to the latter, he learned that there was a revolt at Chièvremont. As a result, he raised the siege of Dijon and returned to besiege the rebels who had taken Chiévremont, where he was successful.137 Conclusions from Part I It is clear that military operations on the western frontier of the Ottonian kingdom under Saxon rule were dominated by siege warfare during the reigns of Henry I and Otto I. This meant that expeditionary levies composed largely of foot soldiers and probably also men who rode horses on campaign but dismounted to fight, like their Anglo-Saxon neighbors across the Channel, were needed to carry out these operations. Forces of heavily armed and mounted household troops based in the obsequia of the king and the magnates could play only relatively minor tactical and strategic roles, if they remained on horseback. Secondly, this type of warfare undertaken by the troops of Henry I and Otto I was an obvious continuation, both tactically and strategically, of what had been done by the Carolingians, and, indeed, even by the Merovingians. Finally, the military topography of the region, built on a base developed during the later Roman empire and improved in the following centuries, played a key role in helping to condition the type of warfare that could be undertaken and the military organization required to sustain such efforts.

Part II The Eastern Frontier Carolingian Background During the reign of Louis the German (840–876), the eastern frontier of Francia orientalis spanned almost a thousand kilometers from the fortress of Moosburg, near Lake Balaton, in the south, to the mouth of the Elbe in the north.138 A report commissioned by King Louis sometime between 846 and 862, the Descriptio civitatum et regionum ad septentrionalem plagam Danubii, provides a detailed description of the number of fortifications that had been constructed by Louis’ opponents, and potential opponents, in the Slavic lands between the North Sea 135 136 137 138

Flodoard, Annals, p. 63. Flodoard, Annals, p. 64. Flodoard, Annals, p. 65. See the discussion by Goldberg, Struggle for Empire, p. 119.



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and the Danube.139 According to the author of the report, sometimes referred to anachronistically as the work of the Bavarian Geographer, the Obodrites in the far north had 53 civitates, the Wilzi to their south 95, the Hevelli 8, the Sorbs 50, the Daleminzi 14, the Bohemians 15, and the Moravians 11.140 Extensive archaeological work over the past fifty years has identified large numbers of these fortifications dating to the mid ninth century.141 In the southeast, Louis the German regularly deployed expeditionary levies as well as the military households of both secular and ecclesiastical magnates from Saxony, Thuringia, Franconia, and Bavaria to besiege major fortifications in both Bohemia and Moravia.142 These fortifications included the massive complex at Staré Mesto, located on the Morava river. The enormous settled area here, comprising 300–350 hectares, was protected by a fortress whose circuit of walls measured 2,150 meters. The blended walls at Staré Mesto were 8.8 meters wide, with a stone front two to three meters thick. These were enhanced with a series of defensive ditches.143 To conduct his campaigns in these regions, Louis required armies that probably numbered well in excess of 10,000 men.144 Further north, on the middle Saale, Louis the German established Frankish dominance over several Slavic peoples, including the Daleminzi and Hevelli. Louis’ hegemony over the regions to the east of the Saale, Mulde, and middle Elbe was exercised from a system of fortifications that were organized under a regional command denoted as the Sorbian march.145 For the most part, this march was based upon the defensive system that had been constructed by Charlemagne along the course of the Unstrut and middle Saale. Comprising at least nineteen fortifications, this defensive system allowed Charlemagne to project his military forces across the Saale, and also to interdict Slavic raids directed toward Erfurt in the south, and the eastern foothills of the Harz to the north.146 139 140 141

142 143

144 145

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The report survives in one copy, Munich Clm 560, fols. 149v-150r. The text is discussed in detail by Goldberg, Struggle for Empire, pp. 135–37. See Goldberg, Struggle for Empire, p. 136. For example, Torsten Kempke, “Bemerkungen zur Delvenau-Stockitz-Route im frühen Mittelalter,” Hammaburg 9 (1989), 175–84, here at p. 176, points out that at least thirty-five of the fifty-three Obodrite fortifications identified in the Descriptio have been excavated by archaeologists and dated to the early Slavic period. For an overview of these campaigns, see Goldberg, Struggle for Empire, pp. 119–32, 127–46, and 263–88. Ludek Galuska, “Die großmärischen Siedlungsagglomeration Staré Mesto-Uherské Hradisté und ihre Befestigungen,” in Frühmittelalterliche Burgenbau in Mittel und Osteuropa, ed. Joachim Henning and Alexander T. Ruttkay (Bonn, 1998), pp. 341–48, here p. 345. See Appendix III: The Size of Armies. Regarding this defensive system, see Hansjürgen Brachmann, “Der Limes Sorabicus – Geschichte und Wirkung,” Zeitschrift für Archäologie 25 (1991), 177–207; and Goldberg, Struggle for Empire, p. 127. See the discussion by Walter Schlesinger, Die Entstehung der Landesherrschaft, Teil I (Dresden, 1941), p. 79; Paul Grim, Handbuch vor-und frühgeschichtlicher Wall-und Wehranlagen Teil I: Die vor- und frühgeschichtlichen Burgwälle der Bezirke Halle und Magdeburg (Berlin, 1958), pp. 44–46; Matthias Hardt, “Linien und Säume. Zonen und Räume an der Ostgrenze des Reiches im frühen und hohen Mittelalter,” in Grenze und Differenz im frühen

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The linchpins of this defensive system were the fortresses at Merseburg and Querfurt, which guarded the principal fords across the Saale.147 The northernmost third of Louis the German’s frontier was anchored by the fortress at Magdeburg along the middle Elbe, and Hamburg near the mouth of the Elbe. Magdeburg had been established in the late 790s by Charlemagne in the course of his campaign against the Obodrites.148 Hamburg was established by Charlemagne in the first decade of the ninth century to protect the mouth of the Elbe. In 831, Louis the Pious established Hamburg as an archbishopric under Ansgar, thereby signaling the crucial role the fortification there was to serve in securing the lower Elbe frontier.149 Henry I During the early tenth century, the Saxon Duke Otto (d. 912), and his son Henry (duke from 912 and king 919–936), began a series of military operations that were intended to extend Saxon rule north of the middle Elbe and east of the Saale, against the Hevelli and the Daleminzi.150 As had been true of Louis the German, in conducting his campaigns, the Saxon ducal army had to contend with Slavic fortifications, many of which were quite substantial Fluchtburgen that were designed to protect local populations from invading armies.151 Recent archaeological investigations have demonstrated that these fortifications were constructed by the Slavs specifically as defensive measures against Saxon invasions during the late ninth and early tenth century. Dendrochronological dating of the wooden ramparts of Slavic fortifications in the lower Lausitz, for example, has demonstrated that at least nine substantial fortresses were built around 900. A further seven were built by 916.152 In early 929, Henry I, now king, mobilized a very large army comprising both professional soldiers (milites) and expeditionary levies (exercitus) for a campaign of conquest that was intended to capture the main political centers

147 148 149 150 151

152

Mittelalter (2000), pp. 39–56; idem, “Hesse, Elbe, Saale and the Frontiers of the Carolingian Empire,” The Transformation of Frontiers from Late Antiquity to the Carolingians, ed. Walter Pohl, Ian Wood, and Helmut Reimitz (Leiden, Boston, Cologne, 2001), pp. 219–232; and Ernst Nickel, “Magdeburg in karolingisch-ottonischer Zeit,” Zeitschrift für Archäologie 7 (1973), 102–42, here p. 104, who emphasizes that Magdeburg was already well established by 805. Grimm, Handbuch, p. 45. Regarding the establishment of Magdeburg as a Carolingian base in the late eighth century, see Hardt, “Frontiers of the Carolingian Empire,” pp. 219–32. Rimbert,Vita Anskarii, ch. 12, ed. Georg Waitz, MGH Scriptores rerum Germanicarum (Hanover, 1884). Widukind, Res gestae, 1.17. Joachim Henning, “Archäologische Forschungen an Ringwällen in Niederungslage: Die Niederlausitz als Burgenlandschaft de östlichen Mitteleuropas im frühen Mittelalter,” in Frühmittelalterliche Burgenbau in Mittel und Osteuropa, ed. Joachim Henning and Alexander T. Ruttkay (Bonn, 1998), pp. 9–29. Henning, “Archäologische Forschungen an Ringwällen in Niederungslage”, pp. 13, 24–25.



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of the Hevelli at Brandenburg, of the Daleminzi (Sorbs) at Jahna (Gana), and of the Bohemians at Prague.153 The first stage of the campaign at Brandenburg culminated in the capture of the fortress by storm.154 Henry then left a garrison at Brandenburg, before continuing his campaign toward Jahna. Brandenburg’s location was strategically important for the German king for both defensive and offensive purposes. Constructed 85 kilometers east of Magdeburg, the German garrison at Brandenburg became an important component of the extended forward defense of the Ottonian “capital.” In addition, Brandenburg controlled access along the Havel to the lower reaches of the Elbe and the North Sea.155 From an offensive perspective, the fortifications at Brandenburg that were captured by Henry opened up the possibility of campaigning further east along the Havel toward the Oder river, and northwards toward the Baltic. Because of its strategic value, Brandenburg experienced rapid economic development and was established as a bishopric in 946.156 After his capture of Brandenburg, Henry “turned his banners toward Daleminzia,” as one writer put it, and marched approximately 180 kilometers, as the crow flies, toward the fortress at Jahna, which may have been constructed at the modern site of Stauchitz, ten kilometers south of the Elbe.157 According to Widukind, Henry besieged Jahna for twenty days before finally capturing the center of Dalemeninzi political power, slaughtering the garrison, and taking the youths and girls as slaves.158 The German king then immediately began construction of a replacement for Jahna at Meißen, located 25 kilometers southeast of the 153

154 155

156

157

158

Widukind, Res gestae, 1.35. With regard to Widukind’s habit of differentiating between the Saxon exercitus and the milites who served in the military household of the Saxon dux and then king, Henry I, see Josef Fleckenstein, “Zum Problem der agrarii milites bei Widukind von Corvey,” in Beiträge zur niedersächsischen Landesgeschichte zum 65. Geburtstag von Hans Patze im Auftrag der Historisichen Kommission für Niedersachsen und Bremen, ed. Dieter Brosius and Martin Last (Hildesheim, 1984), 26–41, here p. 35. For other examples of Widukind’s effort to distinguish between the exercitus and the king’s milites, see Res gestae, 1.17, 1.21 and 1.31. Widukind, Res gestae, 1.35, uses the phrase “by iron (ferro),” to indicate the fate of the defenders when Henry captured (capere) the fortress. The confluence of the Havel and the Elbe was controlled by the fortress at Havelberg, which originally had been a Slavic fortified center, before being captured by Henry I at some point prior to 929. A bishopric was established there by Otto I in 948. See Christian Popp, “Gründung und Frühzeit des Bistums Havelberg,” Mitteilungen des Vereins für Geschichte der Prignitz 3 (2003), 6–82, here p. 18 for the Slavic fortifications at Havelberg. Regarding the fortification at Brandenburg and the development of this site after its capture by Henry I, see Klause Grebe, “Die Ergebnisse der Grabung Brandenburg,” Berichte über den II. Internationalen Kongreß für slavische Archäologie vol. III (Berlin, 1973), pp. 269–78, here p. 269. Widukind, Res gestae, 1.35, “signa vertit contra Dalamantiam.” For the location of Jahna, see the discussion by Judith Oexle, “Auf der Spuren der ‘urbs, quae dicitur Gana,’ der Hauptburg der Daleminizier: erste archäologische Untersuchungen in der slawischen Befestigung von Hof/Stauchitz,” Arbeits- und Forschungsberichte zur sächsischen Bodendenkmalpflege 46 (2004), 253–63. Widukind, Res gestae, 1.35.

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erstwhile Sorbian fortress, on the Elbe at a ford that controlled the main route toward the Lausitz, and then to Bohemia.159 Dendrochronological dating of the wooden structures at Meißen indicate that construction began in 929, which suggests that Henry detached forces to build the fortress even as he continued the campaign toward Prague.160 The final phase of Henry’s 929 winter campaign was directed at Prague 230 kilometers south of Meißen, on the Ultava, a left tributary of the Elbe. In addition to its own substantial circuit of walls measuring 1,200 meters, which encompassed six hectares within its double fortification, Prague was defended by two further fortifications at Levy Hradec and Vysehrad.161 Levy Hradec, constructed on the Ultava, nine kilometers north of Prague, was approximately the same size as Prague in the early tenth century with a fortified area of 6.4 hectares.162 Vyserad was built just to the south of the Prague walls.163 Like Prague, Vyserad was a double fortress constructed on a steep hill whose circuit of walls measured approximately 1,300 meters.164 The Saxon historian Widukind stresses that Henry arrived at Prague cum omni exercitu, the Saxon monk’s term for the expeditionary levy.165 The Annales Ratisbonensis adds that Henry’s Saxon troops were joined by a Bavarian column under the command of Duke Arnulf (907–937).166 Clearly, capturing these three major fortifications would require a very large army indeed. If Henry I intended to assault the defenses at Prague, Levy Hradec, and Vysehrad, he would require a numerical advantage of four or five to one over the defenders, who likely numbered at least 3,000 men given the length of the walls that they had to guard.167 That Henry’s army, drawn from Saxony, Thuringia, and Bavaria, had well in excess of the number of men necessary to storm the defenses at Prague is made clear by the decision of the Bohemian “rex” Vaclav (Wenceslaus I, 159 160

161

162

163 164 165 166

167

For the construction of the fortress at Meißen, see Thietmar, Chronicon, 1.16. Regarding the dating of the earliest construction, see Arne Schmid-Hecklau, Die archäologischen Ausgrabungen auf dem Burgberg in Meißen: Die Grabungen 1959–1963 (Dresden, 2004), p. 205. For the fortifications at Prague, see Ivana Bohácová, “Zum Befestigungssystem der Premyslidenburgen (am Beispiel der archäologischen Untersuchungen in der Prager Burg und in Stará Boleslav),” in Frühmittelalterliche Burgenbau in Mittel und Osteuropa, ed. Joachim Henning and Alexander T. Ruttkay (Bonn, 1998), pp. 37–47; and Jan Frolik, “Prag und die prager Burg im 10. Jahrhundert,” Europa im 10. Jahrhundert: Archäologie einer Aufbruchszeit, ed. Joachim Henning (Mainz, 2002), pp. 161–69. Katerina Tomkova, “Die Stellung von Levy Hradec im Rahmen der mittelböhmischen Burgwälle,” in Frühmittelalterliche Burgenbau in Mittel und Osteuropa, ed. Joachim Henning and Alexander T. Ruttkay (Bonn, 1998) 329–39, here p. 329. Frolik, “Prag und die prager Burg,” p. 165. Frolik, “Prag und die prager Burg,” p. 167. Widukind, Res gestae, 1.35. Annales Ratisponenses, ed. W. Wattenbach, MGH SS 17, p. 583, “Heinricus Boemiam vicit cum Arnolfo.” Also see Auctarium Garstense, MGH SS 9, p. 565, “Hainricus rex cum Arnolfo duce Boemanos vicit.” Regarding the minimum number of men who were required to defend a particular length of wall, see Bachrach and Aris, “Military Technology and Garrison Organization,” pp. 1–4.



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921–935), to surrender and accept the German king’s ditio rather than risk a siege, or more likely see the walls stormed.168 It bears repeating that siege operations of the type carried out by Henry I’s army in 929 depended almost exclusively on men serving on foot. Mounted warriors had limited effectiveness when attempting to charge over deep ditches and scale high walls. Moreover, given the number of soldiers who served in this campaign, it is also necessarily the case that the bulk of the troops were men of the expeditionary levy, as Widukind makes clear by denoting the presence on campaign of the exercitus as well as Henry’s milites. Following the successful completion of his winter campaign, Henry faced a renewed threat in the summer of 929 on the eastern frontier from the Redarii, who lived in the region between the lower Elbe and the Oder. In July or early August 929, a major force of Redarii launched an assault on the German fortress of Walsleben, located in the modern Kreis of Stendal, approximately twenty-two kilometers west-southwest of the fortress at Havelberg which was sited at the confluence of the Elbe and Havel rivers.169 In response, Henry dispatched a very large force of Saxon troops, including the military households of the magnates Bernhard and Thiatmar, as well as the Saxon expeditionary levy (exercitus), to capture the Slavic fortification at Lenzen, located on the right bank of the Elbe approximately eighty-five kilometers northwest of Walsleben.170 The Saxon task force was prepared for a lengthy siege of Lenzen having brought with them substantial supplies including tents (tentoria). After arriving at Lenzen on 30 August, the two commanders, Thiatmar and Bernhard, established a regular fortified camp (castra) and posted guards to ensure that the Saxon troops would remain protected from assaults by the defenders of the fortification. They also posted scouts (custodes exercitum) to ensure that they would have warning of any effort to relieve the defenders.171 On the fifth day of the siege (3 September), scouts reported to the Saxon commanders that a large force of Slavs was located nearby. They also reported that the Slavs planned a night attack on the fortified Saxon camp.172 One might surmise here that the scouts obtained this information through the vigorous interrogation of prisoners. In response, Thiatmar and Bernhard sent out additional scouts who were able to confirm the information brought by the first group of custodes. Once they obtained confirmation of the disposition of the Slavic army, Thiatmar ordered his troops to go on guard so that any night attack could be met effectively.173 Early the next morning, the Slavs drew themselves up in an infantry phalanx opposite the Saxon siege camp. Bernhard drew up his own foot soldiers to 168 169 170 171 172 173

Widukind, Res gestae, 1.35. Widukind, Res gestae, 1.36. Widukind, Res gestae, 1.36. Widukind, Res gestae, 1.36. Widukind, Res gestae, 1.36, “et quia nocte contigua inpetum in castra facere decrevissent.” Widukind, Res gestae, 1.36, “eadem hora collega dictante precepit, ut per totam noctem parati essent, ne qua forte irruptio barbarorum in castra fieret.”

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face the Slavic army, and sent out a mounted force (equites) to test their lines. According to Widukind, however, the ground was too wet for the mounted soldiers to maneuver properly and they were unable to draw the Slavs out from their phalanx using the tactic of the feigned retreat.174 Bernhard then launched a series of attacks against the Slavic phalanx with his foot soldiers. These assaults were unsuccessful in breaking the Slavic formation and led to heavy losses on both sides.175 In the last phase of the battle, Thiatmar was able to bring his mounted troops into position to charge into the flank of the Slavic army, disrupting the enemy front and causing the soldiers to panic and then to run. After the defeat and slaughter of the relief force, the garrison of Lenzen capitulated.176 The Lenzen campaign marked the second time in eight months that men of the Saxon expeditionary levy were dispatched to undertake siege operations. At Lenzen, moreover, the foot soldiers of the levy fought a pitched battle all day long during which they kept their formation despite suffering heavy losses (“multi hinc atque inde caderent”).177 These two campaigns in 929, therefore, show not only the crucial role that these militiamen played in Henry I’s offensive campaigns, but also their versatility in combat operations. It is to be emphasized that they fought on foot. Otto I Like his father, Otto I (936–973) routinely mobilized large armies for campaigns beyond the eastern frontiers of the German kingdom. In 950, Otto launched a major invasion of Bohemia with the object of capturing Prague.178 In July of this year, Otto captured the fortress at Nimburg (Czech Nymburk) on the Elbe, approximately forty kilometers east of Prague.179 Otto then marched on Prague.180 There, Duke Bolislav I of Bohemia (935–972), making the same deci174 175 176

177 178 179

180

Widukind, 1.36, “ut vix ab equitibus coacti ad pugnam procederent.” Those killed there included two great-grandfathers of Thietmar of Merseburg. See Thietmar, Chronicon, 1.10. Widukind, Res gestae, 1.36. In this discussion of the battle of Lenzen, Karl Leyser, “Henry I and the Beginnings of the Saxon Empire,” The English Historical Review 83 (1968), 1–32, here p. 20, leaves the misleading impression that a mere fifty mounted fighting men dominated the battlefield arguing, “it is possible to detect once more the difference between the mass of warriors and a small élite of armati on horseback in the army which defeated the Redarii ... The Slavs had very few horsemen; the Saxons forced a decision with only fifty.” Widukind, Res gestae, 1.36. Widukind, Res gestae, 3.8. Widukind, Res gestae, 3.8. While at Nimburg, Otto issued a charter on behalf of the monastery of St. Emmeram. See Die Urkunden der deutschen Könige und Kaiser: Konrad I., Heinrich I. und Otto I., ed. Theodor Sickel (Hanover, 1879–1884), pp. 207–08, DO I, 126 (i.e. charter number 126 of Otto I). See Les Annales de Flodoard, ed. Ph. Lauer (Paris, 1905), s.a. 950, “Otto rex qui quandam Wenedorum magnam obsederat urbem, nomine Proadem, regem ipsorum in subjectionem recipit.”



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sion as his brother Vaclav had made in 929, surrendered rather than face an assault on the city. According to Widukind, Bolislav made his decision because of the strength and enormous size of the German army (innumera multitudo exercitus).181 As was his practice, Widukind used the term exercitus to denote the expeditionary levy, which he contrasted with the milites who were professional soldiers serving in the military households of magnates.182 Otto’s army, again as had been true of Henry I in 929, included both Saxon troops and Bavarian troops led by Duke Henry, Otto’s younger brother.183 In 954, Margrave Gero was dispatched with Conrad the Red, who had been forgiven by the king for his revolt of the previous year, to conquer the territory of the Ukrani, i.e. the region of Uckermark.184 Henry I had campaigned there in 933 and 934 without attaining any permanent control over the region.185 Gero, however, attained noteworthy success, bringing back immense booty (preda ingens).186 Crucial, in this context, is that the entire region of the Uckermark was strongly defended by a network of at least seventeen mutually reinforcing fortifications, each of which was supported by a large number of settlements whose inhabitants could take refuge within the walls of the Fluchtburgen and help in the defense of the walls.187 One of these regional fortifications, at Drense, eight kilometers east of Prenzlau and thirty-four kilometers west of the Oder, has benefited from extensive excavations. These have demonstrated that over the course of the tenth century, the fortifications were continually improved, so that the walls grew from a width of 6.4 meters to 14.2 meters over a period of several decades.188 These earth and timber walls were protected by substantial stone facings, as well as deep ditches, so that attackers had to surmount walls that rose in excess of eight meters above the base of the defensive trenches.189 In the autumn of 955, Otto launched another major invasion east of the frontier, this time directed against the Obodrites, to punish them for a series of attacks on German fortifications in the regions east of the lower Elbe, while the German king was occupied by his campaign against the Hungarians at Augs-

181

182 183 184 185 186 187 188 189

Widukind, Res gestae, 3.8, “Considerata itaque virtute Regis ac innumera multitudine exercitus.” Adalberti continuatio Regionis, p. 204, states that in 950 Otto put down a rebellion by the Bohemian princeps Bolislav with a validissima manus. Regarding the standard meaning of miles as professional soldier, see the discussion by D. Bachrach, “Memory, Epistemology,” pp. 63–90. Henry is identified in Sickel, ed., Urkunden, DO I, 126 as intervening with his brother, the king, on behalf of the monastery of St. Emmeram, located in Regensburg. Widukind, Res gestae, 3.42. See the discussion in Adalberti continuatio Regionis, p. 196; and Die Annales Quedlinburgenses, p. 458. Widukind, Res gestae, 3.42. See the discussion by Volker Schmidt, Drense: Eine Hauptburg der Ukraine (Berlin, 1989), p. 55. Schmidt, Drense: Eine Hauptburg der Ukraine, pp. 10–11. Schmidt, Drense: Eine Hauptburg der Ukraine, p. 16.

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burg.190 In September and October 955, Otto’s army marched some 240 kilometers north-east of Brandenburg, reaching a major ford across the Recknitz river on 15 October 955. There, Otto was confronted by an enormous Obodrite army (ingens exercitus), commanded by the princes Nacco and Stoignew, that sought to block his path further to the north and east.191 Otto ordered his archers and siege engines to be deployed at the ford to hold the attention of the Obodrites. He then dispatched a column of troops under the command of Markgraf Gero, including allied Slavic Rani, one mile down the river to build three bridges for the army to cross, out of sight of the Obodrites.192 The building of this type of temporary, pontoon bridge was a standard element of Carolingian military operations when campaigning in under-developed regions, particularly in the east.193 When Gero sent word back to the king that the bridges were completed, Otto dispatched his mounted forces, consisting largely of the military households of his magnates (milites), to cross the bridges and launch a flank attack on the Slavs.194 The Obodrite foot soldiers could not move quickly enough to stop Otto’s mounted troops, and so were caught in a pincer of foot soldiers attacking across the ford, protected by their archers and engines, and the mounted forces attacking them from the flank. The Obodrite army disintegrated during the attack, and their prince Stoignew was killed during the retreat.195 Following his victory over the Obodrites on the Recknitz, Otto began a sustained program of conquest across the middle Elbe into the lower and upper Lausitz. Between 955 and 960, Otto personally led armies in the east on at least four occasions, in 956, 957, 959, and 960.196 During Otto’s extended absence in Italy from 961 to 963, Markgraf Gero launched several additional campaigns, finally capturing all of the main Slav fortifications in the Lausitz by 963. These operations were directed principally toward the capture of Slavic fortifications, which were then either provided with German garrisons, or replaced with newly constructed forts that were held by German garrisons.197 190 191 192 193 194 195

196 197

For the Obodrites’ attacks, see Widukind, Res gestae, 3.52. For Otto’s response, see ibid., 3.53–3.55. See the discussion by Adalberti continuatio Regionis, p. 212; Die Annales Quedlinburgenses, pp. 467–68; and Widukind, Res gestae, 3.53. Widukind, Res gestae, 3.54. See the discussion by B. Bachrach, Early Carolingian Warfare, p. 137. Bachrach, Early Carolingian Warfare, p. 137. In this context, Widukind, Res gestae, 3.55, draws attention to the reward earned by a soldier named Hosed who was awarded twenty mansi by Otto I for killing Stoiognew. Sickel, ed., Urkunden, DO I 133, issued on 27 July 951, similarly records a grant of property by Otto I to a miles named Walpert for his service against the Slavs. See the discussion in Adalberti continuatio Regionis, pp. 212, 214, 220; Widukind, Res gestae, 3.58, 66; and Thietmar, 2.12. Regarding the large number of Slavic forts east of the Elbe, and the dating of their construction to the period of German conquest in the period after 955, see Joachim Henning, “Der slawische Siedlungsraum und die ottonische Expansion östlich der Elbe: Ereignisgeschichte – Archäologie-Dendrochronlogie,” Europa im 10. Jahrhundert: Archäologie einer Aufbruchszeit, ed. Joachim Henning (Mainz, 2002), pp. 131–46; and Felix Biermann, “Handel, Haus- und



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Some General Conclusions The organization of the armed forces of the East Frankish kingdom both on its western and eastern frontiers under the early Saxon monarchs demonstrates clear continuity with the way in which the Carolingians had organized and used their military forces. This is the case not only in regard to the general levies who helped to defend their local fortifications along with garrison troops, but also in regard to the mounted troops of the royal and magnate obsequia. The present study, because of its focus on siege warfare, the overwhelmingly dominant form of military operations undertaken during this period, has shown that the select levies were of primary importance. This was the case because men were needed in large numbers to undertake offensive military operations against both major and minor fortifications. On the whole, siege operations were executed by men fighting on foot to storm the walls on ladders, but also required men who could construct and operate the various machinae and instrumenta that were fundamental to siege warfare. However, the matter of institutional continuity from the Carolingians to the Saxon dynasty permits us to penetrate more deeply into the nature of Ottonian society than one might suspect from a simple recounting of ubiquitous military operations focused on the attack and defense of fortifications. It would not have been possible to sustain Carolingian military institutions and, indeed, reduplicate them in newly conquered territory on the eastern frontiers, if all other relevant forms of Carolingian government either had disappeared or been destroyed by the Ottonians. In this regard, it is of considerable importance that the organization and control of the royal fisc throughout the territory of the Ottonian kingdom during this period saw no break with that of their Carolingian predecessors. If anything, Henry I and Otto I were even more effective than their Carolingian predecessors as they did not hesitate to confiscate both royal and allodial lands held by magnates.198

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Handwerk in frühmittelalterlichen Burg-Siedlungskomplexen zwischen Elbe und Lubsza,” in Frühmittelalterliche Burgenbau, pp. 95–114, here p. 95, who has identified forty-five fortress and settlement complexes within an 800-square-kilometer region of the Lower Lausitz; and Sebastian Brather, “Karolingerzeitlicher Befestigungsbau im wilzisch-abodritischen Raum: Die sogenannten Feldberger Höhenburgen,” in ibid., pp. 115–26, here p. 116, who notes that more than 600 fortifications have been unearthed in the area between the Elbe/Saale, and the Oder/Neiße rivers systems, of which more than 200 contain pottery from the Carolingian period. Bachrach and Bachrach “Continuity of Written Administration in the Late Carolingian East,” pp. 109–146; and D. Bachrach, “Exercise of Power,” pp. 389–419; and idem, “The Written Word.”

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Appendix I Administrative and Military Controversies With specific attention to military organization, we reject the suggestion of Timothy Reuter (“The Making of England and Germany, 850–1050: Points of Comparison and Difference,” in Timothy Reuter, Medieval Polities and Modern Mentalities, ed. Janet L. Nelson (Cambridge, 2006)) that “The medieval German polity...was indubitably not like the Anglo-Saxon one...” (p. 284). Note also his observations (ibid., pp. 292–94), where he disagrees with Campbell’s views in regard to both administration systems. Indeed, Reuter even deploys the model of the nineteenth-century kingdom of Bali as appropriate for understanding the Anglo-Saxon state of the tenth century, suggesting (ibid., p. 294) that Clifford Geertz’s claim in Negara (Princeton, 1980, p. 13), that “power served pomp, not pomp power,” is the proper lens through which to consider England in this period. Reuter had what is here called a primitivist vision of the early Middle Ages, and rarely recognized that a normative text represented a meaningful reality as contrasted to the wishful thinking of its authors. Reuter takes the same approach to the study of both the Carolingian and Ottonian kingdoms and empires. With regard to the former, in Germany in the Early Middle Ages (p. 27), Reuter argued: “What is important in the present context is the mass of material transmitted in this way – between 100 and 200 capitularies, depending on what one counts, have survived. This is a lot of material, but it deals with what should have happened. If we take it to describe what did happen, as an older generation of legal and constitutional historians generally did, we can construct a picture of a very elaborate state. If, on the other hand, we are sufficiently skeptical of how far what was supposed to happen did happen, we can deny the Carolingian ‘state’ almost any degree of institutionalization we choose. For our purposes, there is the further difficulty of deciding how far the institutions of the Frankish heartland were also found in lands which were to make up the east Frankish kingdom. This cannot for a number of reasons be taken for granted.” This fails to acknowledge a vast body of scholarship that demonstrates the actual implementation of capitulary edicts in the eastern portions of the Carolingian empire. See, in this context, Wolfgang Metz, Das karolingische Reichsgut: Eine Verfassungs- und Verwaltungsgeschichtliche Untersuchung (Berlin, 1960), p. 17; Carlrichard Brühl, Fodrum, Gistum, Servitium Regis: Studien zu den wirtschaftlichen Grundlagen des Königtums in Frankenreich und in den fränkischen Nachfolgestaaten Deutschland, Frankreich und Italien vom 6. bis zur Mitte des 14. Jahrhunderts vol. 1 (Cologne and Graz, 1968), p. 68; Marianne Schalles-Fischer, Pfalz und Fiskus Frankfurt: Eine Untersuchung zur Verfassungsgeschichte des fränkischen-deutschen Königtums (Göttingen, 1969), p. 326; Michael Gockel, Karolingische Königshöfe am Mittelrhein (Göttingen,



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1970), p. 27; and Peter Schmid, Regensburg: Stadt der Könige und Herzöge im Mittelalter (Kallmünz, 1977), p. 230. Similarly with regard to the Ottonian kingdom, in “The Making of England and Germany,” (p. 292), Reuter remarks of an observation by James Campbell that if scholars were to look for administration under the Ottonians, they would likely find it, “This is a tempting assumption, but it is probably not really tenable. No doubt there were more administrative records in tenth-century Saxony, and indeed in the tenth-century Reich than we now know of, but that does not make it into a highly organized polity. Indeed, there is much evidence to show that it was not because, as several scholars have suggested, of the very loose nature of law and order, the importance of ritualised and symbolic action in its politics, and the absence of clear administrative structures.” Here, rather than actually examining the problem of how the numerous functions of Ottonian government, which are reported in narrative sources, were carried out, Reuter simply dismisses the effort a priori as futile. We would argue that Reuter treated narrative sources in much the same way, to support his view that early medieval Germany was a primitive society. In this context, it is important to note the critique by Eric Goldberg, “Ludwig der Deutsche und Mähren. Eine Studie zu karolingischen Grenzekriegen im Osten,” in Ludwig der Deutsche und seine Zeit, ed. Wilfried Hartmann (Darmstadt, 2004), pp. 67–94, at p. 70, n. 7, where he makes clear that Reuter, in his translation of The Annals of Fulda: Ninth-Century Histories (Manchester, 1992), mistranslated a key text dealing with Louis the German’s campaigns against the Sorbs. The text records that the Carolingians wore down their Slavic adversaries with numerous sieges, but Reuter leaves out the word sieges (obsidione), writing instead that Louis “oppressed them severely.” This mistranslation supports Reuter’s general view on the nature of warfare in the Carolingian era as being dominated by small bands of warriors seeking booty by obscuring the fact that siege warfare was at issue. See, in this context, Reuter, “Plunder and Tribute,” pp. 75–94.

Appendix II The Size of Mainz and Its Population If the army camp model is properly applied, then Mainz’s population likely was in the 30,000 range around the year 400. Cf. J.H.W.G Liebeschuetz, Decline and Fall of the Roman City (Oxford, 2003, pp. 83–84), who applies the army camp model, but not to Mainz. He believes, consistent with his fundamental bias (see below) that army camps had denser populations than cities. Mainz had a surface area at this time of 98.5 hectares (Brühl, “Mainz,” pp. 99–100), larger by 8.5 hectares than Toulouse, which Liebeschuetz mistakenly claims was the largest. Contrary to Liebeschuetz, comparison of an army camp with a city makes clear

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that cities had more space for habitation. As Graham Webster (The Roman Imperial Army, 3rd ed. (Totowa, NJ, 1985), pp. 167–230) makes clear, army camps contained vast empty spaces required for the training of horses and for the drill of infantrymen as well as ranges where archery and spear throwing were practiced. In addition, extensive space was dedicated to stables for horses and other draft animals attached to the legion. Finally, buildings in military camps, and especially barracks, were one story in height. By contrast, cities such as Mainz (Brühl, “Mainz,” pp. 89–111) were crowded, contained multi-story buildings, did not devote extensive space for the keeping of animals, and the only large “open” spaces were cemeteries, which developed slowly following the toleration of Christianity. Of course, it is well established that living people also made their homes in cemeteries. In regard to Liebeschuetz’s bias, see the review by Richard Alston of Liebeschuetz, Decline and Fall of the Roman City in Journal of Roman Studies 92 (2002), 406–07, where he observed (p. 406), that Liebeschuetz provides a “radically conservative statement that challenges a new orthodoxy among historians of Late Antiquity, who tend to emphasize continuity...and are deeply suspicious of grand historical narratives.” As to the size of the population of Mainz during the tenth century, the subject of this paper, the army camp model is still valuable. However, the city and its suburbs grew greatly from the Late Antique as it assumed a role as the most important city in the Ottonian Reich, which among other developments saw an increase in the area enclosed by the walls. In general, see Brühl, “Mainz,” pp. 89–111. Crucial in regard to the suburbs is Konrad Weidemann, “Die Topographie von Mainz in der Römerzeit und frühen Mittelalter,” Jahrbuch der Römisch- Germanischen Zentralmuseums Mainz 15 (1969 appeared 1970), 146–199. However, of considerable importance is the observation by Ludwig Falck, Mainz im frühen und hohen Mittelalter (Mitte 5. Jahrhundert bis 1244) (Düsseldorf, 1972), pp, 73–74, that the early tenth century saw the massive expansion of the city walls by Archbishop Hatto to protect the rapidly growing commercial district located along the Rhine. In this context, it is of importance that professional demographers (e.g. Paul Bairoch, Jean Batou, and Pierre Chèver, La population des villes européennes de 800 à 1850 (Geneva, 1988), p. 7) estimate the population of Mainz c. 800 at 20,000 and c. 1000 at 30,000. These data, published by the Centre d’histoire économique internationale de l’université de Genève, were developed prior to the consensus by economic historians (e.g. Adriaan Verhulst, “Economic Organization,” in The New Cambridge Medieval History, c. 700–c. 900, vol. 2, ed. Rosamond McKitterick (Cambridge, 1995), pp. 481–509; idem., The Rise of Cities in North-West Europe (Cambridge, 1999); and Michael McCormick, The Origins of the European Economy: Communications and Commerce, A.D. 300–900 (Cambridge, 2001), pp. 10–11), that from the reign of Charlemagne through the ninth and tenth centuries, western Europe saw a burst of population growth, amounting in some cases to an average increase of one percent per year.



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Appendix III The Size of Armies Using the model of four or five attackers for every defender, it would require 6,500 to 8,000 men simply to storm the walls of Staré Mesto. This does not include all of the military personnel who were required for the myriad other duties undertaken by soldiers on campaign in hostile territory. Goldberg (Struggle for Empire, p. 126) estimates that each of the five regions within the East Frankish kingdom could provide 6,000 men for expeditionary service for a total of 30,000 men, but that the king usually mobilized far fewer than the maximum. In this context, he contends that Louis’ armies, when they were mobilized from just one or two of the five regions, ranged in size from 2,000 to 12,000 men. Goldberg then suggests, given the repeated emphasis by the contemporary chroniclers on the great size of Louis the German’s armies, that the military forces mobilized by this Frankish king “often approached 10,000 men.” When due consideration is given to all of the military tasks that had to be completed on campaign, in addition to providing a sufficiently large force of foot soldiers to provide a credible threat to storm large-scale fortresses, we believe that the upper range, estimated by Goldberg, is too low, and that consequently, the large armies that Louis the German mobilized were significantly larger than 10,000 men. In this context, Goldberg (p. 125) accepts the basic model postulated by Karl Ferdinand Werner (“Heeresorganization und Kriegsführung im deutschen Königreich des 10. und 11. Jahrhunderts,” Settimane di Studio de Centro Italiano sull’alto Medioevo, 15 (Spoleto, 1968), 813–32, here pp. 820–21) regarding the pool of manpower that was available for mobilization by Charlemagne north of the Alps for offensive campaigns. However, Goldberg misread Werner’s argument that 30,000–35,000 heavily armed mounted fighting men and a minimum of 100,000 lightly armed mounted fighting men and foot soldiers were available for expeditionary military service. Instead, Goldberg indicates that Werner had argued for a total of 100,000 men of whom 30,000 were heavy cavalry. Hence, Werner’s actual estimate is a third larger than Goldberg believed, corresponding to a figure of 40,000 rather than 30,000 for the east Frankish kingdom. If we increase the range of forces identified by Goldberg as being mobilized by Louis the German, i.e. 2,000–12,000, in a manner consistent with Werner’s model, we come to a maximum of 16,000 men. Consequently, we suggest that armies of more than 10,000 men were commonly deployed by Louis the German, especially when he was besieging large fortresses such as Staré Mesto, and that probably many armies were substantially larger than this. A further point that requires emphasis here is that Louis the German’s kingdom expanded, geographically, in population, and in wealth over the course of his entire reign. The ninth century was a period of significant population growth. See the work of Adriaan Verhulst, The Carolingian Economy (Cambridge, 2002),

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pp. 23–28. In addition, from 870 onwards, Louis the German ruled substantial portions of Francia media, including the exceptionally wealthy and populous Rhenish archiepiscopal sees of Trier and Cologne. Thus, the East Frankish king had access to far more than the one-third of the military forces that Werner identified as being available to Charlemagne in 800. The conquest by Henry I of the entire region of Lotharingia, including Elsaß, which was completed in 925, as well as the substantial conquests in the east made by both Henry I and Otto I, meant that they ruled a kingdom that was significantly larger than that ruled by Louis the German at his death in 876. In addition, the demographic pattern of increasing population, with the concomitant increase in agricultural production, that characterized the ninth century was still in effect throughout the tenth century as well. See, in this context, Joachim Henning, “Der slawische Siedlungsraum und die ottonische Expansion östlich der Elbe: Ereignisgeschichte –Archäologie-Dendrochronlogie,” Europa im 10. Jahrhundert: Archäologie einer Aufbruchszeit, ed. Joachim Henning (Mainz, 2002), 131–46, here p. 141. Consequently, Henry I and Otto I ruled a more populous and wealthier kingdom than did Louis the German as well. It is therefore very likely that both Henry I and Otto I had a larger pool of fighting men which could be mobilized for expeditionary military service than did their Carolingian predecessor.

3 War in The Lay of The Cid Francisco García Fitz

The Lay of the Cid is, without doubt, the most important epic poem of Spanish medieval literature.1 As is well known, the poem narrates the heroic deeds of the Castilian nobleman, Rodrigo Díaz de Vivar, also known as El Cid Campeador (Campi Doctor in Latin sources). During his exile from Castile to Muslim territory the Cid led a small army formed by his vassals and friends, a force which was involved in numerous military engagements. Rodrigo Díaz de Vivar’s exploits took place between the end of the eleventh century and the beginning of the twelfth. The poem, however, was composed some time later, possibly in the early thirteenth century, and refers only to the last twenty years of his life.2 The poem is clearly a literary work rather than a historical account and thus the poet is under no obligation to adhere rigorously to the truth when narrating the deeds performed by the real Cid. However, it is no less true that, as in any other man-made creation, this literary composition is the fruit of a particular historical context, which, therefore, will be reflected directly or indirectly in the text. In my opinion, The Lay of the Cid is a subjective description of Castilian society of the poet’s time – that is to say, a society marked by the existence of the border with the Islamic world, in which war occupied a central and decisive place in the lives of individuals and communities. It has often been referred to as a “society organised by and for war.”3 Thus it is not surprising that combat is represented in the Lay as the main activity of its characters. It is also the means by which the hero regains the honour lost before the king, overcoming

1

2 3

Cantar de Mio Cid, ed. Alberto Montaner (Barcelona, 2007). For an English version, The Poem of My Cid, trans. Peter Such and John Hodgkinson (Warminster, 1987). The present article was presented in the course on El Cantar de Mio Cid hace ocho siglos: incardinación sociocultural, organised by the Universidad Complutense de Madrid and held in El Escorial from 23 to 27 July 2007. It is part of the work carried out for research project FFI2009–11162 of the Spanish Ministry of Science and Innovation. Alberto Montaner Frutos, “Prólogo,” in Cantar de Mio Cid, pp. LXXI–LXXIX. Elena Lourie, “A Society Organized for War: Medieval Spain,” Past and Present 35 (1966), 54–76; James F. Powers, A Society Organized for War. The Iberian Municipal Militias in the Central Middle Ages, 1000–1284 (Berkeley, 1988); idem, “Life on the Cutting Edge: the LusoHispanic Frontier in the Twelfth Century,” in The Medieval City under Siege, ed. Ivy A. Corfis and Michael Wolfe (Woodbridge, 1995), pp. 17–34.

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the adversities of exile, the account of which constitutes the ongoing theme of the poem. In such a panorama, so deeply influenced by warfare, the ways and means of warfare could not be relegated to a secondary role. The poet had to demonstrate that the hero mastered the military art; knew how to fight, organize, lead, and defeat his enemies. All these things would be necessary for him to be successful in his mission. For this reason, the “art of war” – the way in which campaigns and battles are conducted – is an explicit feature of the Lay. However, it is equally true that the poet could have chosen to describe completely fictitious, imaginary types of behaviour which had nothing to do with the actual military reality of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. Indeed, he could easily have resorted to the models available at the time of exaggerated, incredible or implausible feats by drawing, for example, on the French epics or other literary traditions.4 Yet the author’s approach by no means reflects such models. On the contrary, when describing the art of war his style is governed by the principles of authenticity and proximity to his audience. As is the case with many other facets of the Lay, in narrating the battles, he strives to reflect the reality of those to whom his poem is addressed: the people of a frontier society. Thanks to the poet’s realism, these people would have been able to identify with the characters and share with the hero and his men the way they did battle, what they sought to achieve through war, and what their aspirations were.5 Consequently, the poet provides descriptions based on models of behaviour that his audience would recognize as familiar realities. It is for this reason that the Lay may be considered a relevant historical source for the study of war in the Hispanic kingdoms of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. This is so not because the poem narrates the military actions actually performed by the hero – something that many experts place in doubt6 – but because it conforms to and illuminates patterns of behaviour which, generally speaking, reflect the ways in which men of the time actually made war.7 As is well known, armed conflicts in the Middle Ages consisted principally of a combination, to varying degrees, of pillage and destruction (marches, raids, and chevauchées or cabalgadas) and siege warfare (blockades of and 4

5

6 7

Jules Horrent, Historia y poesía en torno al “Cantar del Cid” (Barcelona, 1973), pp. 343–74; Francisco Collado Rodríguez, “Realidad y fantasía en dos gestas medievales: del Beowulf al Poema de Mio Cid,” in El Cid en el valle del Jalón (Calatayud, 1991), pp. 185–96; Montaner, “Prólogo,” pp. CLIV-CLV. Francisco Rico, “Estudio preliminar. Un canto de frontera: La Gesta de Mio Cid de Bivar,” in Cantar de Mio Cid, ed. Montaner, pp. XI–XLIII; Salustiano Moreta Velayos, “Y el héroe tascó la hierba,” in La Guerra en la Historia. Décimas Jornadas de Estudios Históricos (Salamanca, 1999), pp. 28–43. María Eugenia Lacarra, El Poema de Mio Cid. Realidad histórica e Ideología (Madrid, 1980). See the similar line of argument in Matthew Bennett, “Wace and Warfare,” and John Gillingham, “War and Chivalry in the History of William the Marshal,” in Anglo-Norman Warfare. Studies in Late Anglo-Saxon and Anglo-Norman Military Organization and Warfare, ed. Matthew Strickland (Woodbridge, 1992), pp. 230–50 and 251–63.



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assaults on strongholds which governed vital spaces). Less often, there were also battles in which the enemies confronted each other in the open. These were rare and normally avoided.8 The panorama of war depicted in the Lay generally adheres to these parameters. It also, however, has the virtue of providing details and particularities that shed light on aspects not always brought into focus in conventional sources. Through this realistic approach to warfare between the eleventh and thirteenth centuries, the poet highlights throughout the text the predominance of mounted raiding expeditions, or cavalry expeditions (cabalgadas) in the hero’s way of fighting. It is in the first Cantar, when describing the campaigns that the hero conducts at the start of his exile in the valley of the Henares, Jalón and Jiloca rivers (today in the Spanish provinces of Soria, Guadalajara, Zaragoza and Teruel), that the author provides a model account of this type of action.9 8

9

R.C. Smail, Crusading Warfare (1097–1193) (Cambridge, 1956); Claude Gaier, Art et organisation militaires dans la principauté de Liège et dans le comté de Looz au Moyen Ages (Brussels, 1968); John Gillingham, “Richard I and the Science of War in the Middle Ages,” and “War and Chivalry,” in Strickland, ed., Anglo-Norman Warfare, pp. 194–207 and 251–63; Christopher J. Marshall, Warfare in the Latin East (Cambridge, 1992); John France, Victory in the East. A Military History of the First Crusade (Cambridge, 1994) and Western Warfare in the Age of the Crusades, 1000–1300 (London, 1999); Stephen Morillo, Warfare under the Anglo-Norman Kings, 1066–1135 (Woodbridge, 1994); Michael Prestwich, Armies and Warfare in the Middle Ages. The English Experience (New Haven, 1996); Matthew Strickland, War and Chivalry. The Conduct and Perception of War in England and Normandy, 1066–1217 (Cambridge, 1996); Francisco García Fitz, Castilla y León frente al Islam. Estrategias de expansión y tácticas militares (siglos XI al XIII) (Seville, 1998) and Ejércitos y actividades guerreras en la Edad Media occidental (Madrid, 1998); Helen Nicholson, Medieval Warfare. Theory and Practice of War in Europe, 300–1500 (Basingstoke, 2004); Matthew Bennett, Jim Bradbury, Kelly DeVries, Iain Dickie and Phyllis Jestice, Fighting Techniques of the Medieval World: Equipment, Combat Skills and Tactics (London, 2005). Except for the Lay, no other source alludes to these first campaigns, which has led many historians to doubt their authenticity. Hence, they are not studied or they are treated as though they are fictitious episodes. Thus: Ramón Menéndez Pidal, La España del Cid (Madrid, 1956), pp. 275–76; Horrent, Historia y poesía en torno al “Cantar del Cid,” pp. 273–76; Colin Smith, Estudios Cidianos (Madrid, 1977), pp. 109–12; Peter E. Russell, “¿Dónde estaba Alcocer? (Poema de Mio Cid, vv. 553–861),” and “Nuevas reflexiones sobre el Alcocer del Poema de Mio Cid,” in Temas de “La Celestina” y otros estudios. Del Cid al “Quijote” (Barcelona, 1978), pp. 37–44 and 45–69; Richard Fletcher, The Quest for El Cid (London, 1989); Joseph J. Duggan, The “Cantar de Mio Cid.” Poetic Creation in its Economic and Social Contexts (Cambridge, 1989), pp. 82–83; Alberto Montaner Frutos, “La toma de Alcocer en su tratamiento literario: un episodio del Cantar de Mio Cid,” in El Cid en el valle del Jalón, pp. 156–60; Gonzalo Martínez Diez, El Cid histórico (Barcelona, 1999); Margarita Torre Sevilla-Quiñones de León, El Cid y otros señores de la guerra (León, 2000), pp. 165–78; Francisco J. Peña Pérez, El Cid. Historia, Leyenda y Mito (Burgos, 2000); Francisco García Fitz, “El Cid y la guerra,” in Actas del Congreso Internacional El Cid. Poema e Historia (Burgos, 2000), pp. 383–418. In contrast, other authors support the authenticity of the itinerary described by the poet and consider that the operations described in the framework of these first campaigns are true. Thus: José María Gárate Córdoba, “Introducción a la táctica del Cid,” Revista de Historia Militar 15 (1964), 7–47; José Luis Corral and Francisco J. Martínez, “Geografía e Historia en el Poema de Mio Cid: la localización de Alcocer,” Revista de Historia Jerónimo Zurita 55 (1987), 43–64; Francisco J.

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Certain circumstances must be taken into account in order to understand fully such military operations: the cabalgada was usually a short expedition lasting anything from a few days to several weeks; only the more important operations would last longer than a couple of months. It was also seasonal, taking place between spring and autumn, and covered a short but varying radius, anything from dozens of kilometres to several hundred. The expeditions were lightly equipped, imposed little on their organizers’ financial resources and were made up of relatively few soldiers: between ten and several hundred, although on occasions this figure could reach the thousands. The modus operandi was invariably the same: with the aim of ruining their enemy and increasing their own wealth, the expedition’s forces would steal livestock, take prisoners, burn crops, cut down fruit trees, demolish farm buildings and raid small rural enclaves, threatening their inhabitants and demanding payment in return for peace, safety and freedom. Although the ultimate aim of a cabalgada might vary from case to case – to pillage, obtain supplies, cause political upheaval, and wear down the enemy’s economic resources and undermine his morale before laying siege to a stronghold – a fundamental characteristic was its essentially temporary nature. Once sufficient spoils had been obtained, the expedition would withdraw before its victims had time to react or organize a chase.10 The behavior of the Cid and his troops, as narrated in the Lay, is no different from what we describe above: the first cabalgada that the poet relates was led by the Cid’s comrade, Minaya Álvar Fáñez, with only two hundred men, in the Henares valley. They plundered the fields of several townships – Hita, Guadalajara, Alcalá de Henares – within a radius of some sixty kilometres in a short operation that lasted several days and which produced the usual effects: Now behold the two hundred and three men of the raiding party riding on fearlessly; Minaya’s ensign reached Alcalá, and from that point they returned with their booty up the Henares valley past Guadalajara. They brought such great wealth;

10

Martínez García, “Metodología para la localización de un yacimiento medieval, a través de los de El Torrecid y Alcocer,” in Actas de las IV Jornadas sobre metodología de la investigación científica sobre fuentes aragonesas (Zaragoza, 1989), pp. 309–20, and “El Otero del Cid o Cerro Torrecid: enclave militar del Campeador en el valle del Jalón,” in El Cid en el valle del Jalón, pp. 49–95; José Luis Corral Lafuente, “Método arqueológico y cantares de gesta,” in El Cid en el valle del Jalón, pp. 33–48, and “Realidad y ficción en el Poema del Cid: historia, literatura y arqueología,” in El Cid Histórico y el Cid en la Leyenda, ed. Salustiano Moreta Velayos (Burgo de Osma, 2000), pp. 93–126; Gerold Hilty, “El problema de la historicidad del Cantar Primero después del descubrimiento de Alcocer,” in El Cid en el valle del Jalón, pp. 97–105. García Fitz, Castilla y León frente al Islam, pp. 59–170.



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Many cattle and flocks of sheep, clothing and other riches.  476–481b11

However, the deeds performed by the Cid and his men during this first phase of their exile are different in one respect from the ordinary cabalgadas of other armies of the period: the Cid’s army has no established base or safe territory to return to; they are obliged to roam continuously. The units that set out on the expeditions leave from and return to the same point, the Cid’s camp,12 but this camp is, by necessity, mobile, never becoming permanent. The reasons for this constant changing of military base are highlighted in the Lay. Firstly, the longer they spent in enemy territory, the more exposed they were to a counter-attack. Indeed, the reason the hero gives for withdrawing his troops from the recently occupied position in Castejón was precisely the danger that King Alfonso would attack them: It occurred to My Cid, the man born in a favoured hour, that the men of King Alfonso might draw near and the King with all his troops might make an attack. we cannot stay at Castejón – My Cid says to his men – King Alfonso is nearby and will come in pursuit.  507–509/531–532.

Secondly, the prolonged presence of an armed force in an area eventually led to the depletion of resources and it became necessary to move on in search of new supply sources. In the words that the poet attributes to the hero when he decides to abandon the camp at Tévar: “Now, my knights, I shall tell you the truth: Anyone who stays for ever in the same place may find his fortunes on the wane. Let us ride on tomorrow, leave this camp and be on our way.”  947–950

Several important military considerations arise from this constant need to be on the move, with no stable base. First of all, the Cid’s army never dissolved in the way that most medieval armies did. Normally, a fighting force was assembled for a particular purpose and when that purpose was fulfilled, the force was disbanded. In the Cid’s case, the very circumstances of exile and the need to be constantly in a state of war meant that the nucleus of the army remained intact, with other troops joining gradually over time and with the gaining of victories, 11 12

All quotes taken from The Poem of My Cid, trans. Peter Such and John Hodgkinson (Warminster, 1987). For the Spanish version, see Alberto Montaner’s edition of The Lay of the Cid. The establishment, in the course of a march, of a provisional camp from which units sallied back and forth on raids or algaras, returning with the spoils obtained, was habitual practice and is documented in other sources: Fuero de Cuenca. Formas primitiva y sistemática, texto latino, texto castellano y adaptación del Fuero de Iznatoraf, ed. Rafael Ureña y Smenjaud (Madrid, 1935), Forma Sistemática, cap. XXX, rubs. XIII–XIV; Alfonso X, Las Siete Partidas, ed. Gregorio López (Salamanca, 1555), Partida II, Título XXIII, Leyes XXII y XXIX; Juan Manuel, Libro de los Estados, in Obras Completas, vol. 1, ed. José Manuel Blecua (Madrid, 1982), I, cap. LXXVIII, p. 353.

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and thus it became permanent. The importance of this circumstance lies in the fact that it produced a professional, highly disciplined and well-trained fighting force. Secondly, with no stable territorial base, this army had to live off the land, wherever it was at the time. It is precisely this latter circumstance that explains the particular nature of the Cid’s warfare: the need to live at the cost of one’s enemy meant that the main aim of the military operations described in the poem was survival – to provide food, clothing, weapons and horses; and, with luck, to obtain wealth.13 Naturally, these essential resources could be obtained by stealing livestock and other goods as well as by taking prisoners, as seen above in the account of the raid of Minaya Álvar Fañez through the Henares valley, which appears to have had a clear logistic purpose. The same aim would also appear to have driven the troops to abandon their base in Castejón and make for Alcocer, a course that led them through the lands of the Alcarria, the caves of Anguita, Campo de Taranz, between Ariza and Cetina, Alhama, Bubierca, and Ateca. The poet is at pains to point out the profit this movement afforded: Great was the plunder he took in the lands through which he passed  548

However, on occasion, the military operations conducted in order to obtain supplies and other resources were more complicated and involved more than simply requisitioning everything the soldiers came across in open countryside. Such operations took on a greater scale which included the provisional occupation of a town, such as the taking of Castejón, the first of the Cid’s feats described in the poem. The strategy that the hero employed was that of an ambush. He had his men lie in wait outside the town walls and, when the inhabitants opened the gates at daybreak to go out to work in the fields, he ordered the attack:14 At the place known as Castejón, beside the river Henares, My Cid prepared an ambush with his followers. … The inhabitants of Castejón rose from their beds, opened the gates and went out to go about their labours and work their land. They had all left, leaving gates open, with few people remaining in Castejón.

13

14

David Porrinas González, “La percepción de la guerra del Poema de Mío Cid: entre la realidad y la distorsión,” Revista de Historia Militar 94 (2003), pp. 169–70. For later centuries, see Martin van Creveld, Supplying War. Logistics from Wallenstein to Patton, 2nd ed. (Cambridge, 2004), pp. 5–17. Horrent, Historia y poesía en torno al “Cantar del Cid,” pp. 333–40; Smith, Estudios Cidianos, pp. 113–16; Spurgeon Baldwin, “Deception and Ambush: The Cid’s Tactics at Castejón and Alcocer,” Modern Language Notes 99 (1984), pp. 382–84; Hilty, “El problema de la historicidad del Cantar Primero,” pp. 102–03; Dolores Oliver Pérez, “Las batallas del Cantar de Mio Cid desde la perspectiva de la historiografía árabe,” Revista de Historia Militar 73 (1992), pp. 31–32.



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The people had all scattered outside the town. The Battler left his hiding place and fell at once upon Castejón. They captured Moorish men and women and took all the cattle near town. My Cid Don Rodrigo made straight for the gate; those who guarded it, when they saw the attack, took fright; it was left unprotected; My Cid entered through the gate  435–436/458–470

Although experts have put forward different hypotheses regarding the literary source which the poet used to inspire his account of the Cid’s tactics,15 the fact is that this type of manoeuvre was well known and was referred to by thirteenth- and fourteenth-century Castilian writers with military experience. Don Juan Manuel, for example, explains that when an army invaded enemy territory in order to “raze and destroy the land,” “the attack should be carried out at dawn, leaving some men outside, should it be necessary to aid or defend the men who have entered.”16 Situations such as those described – a surprise attack on a town once its inhabitants had left to work in the fields – must have been common, as is borne out by the fact that certain places were obliged to take preventive measures such as appointing neighbourhood watchmen, expelling potential enemies and setting watch on the gates so as to ensure that the town was defended while its people were engaged in harvesting the crops.17 Nevertheless, it should be noted that the Cid’s intention on taking Castejón was not to place it under his permanent control but to obtain financial gain: They were all rich men when they left the citadel they had taken  540

It is clear that references to the spoils in the Lay fulfil a fundamental purpose: not only is the booty the material reflection of the characters’ success but it is also a form of subsistence and of financial and social enhancement for the soldiers. So it was for the frontier communities of the medieval Iberian Peninsula and, therefore, it is not surprising that the author refers to the spoils repeatedly and pauses to give detailed and extraordinarily realistic descriptions of its distribution among the soldiers, as occurs at the end of the army’s stay in Castejón:18 15 16 17 18

Smith, Estudios Cidianos, pp. 113–16; Baldwin, “Deception and Ambush,” pp. 381–82; Hilty, “El problema de la historicidad del Cantar Primero,” pp. 102–03. Juan Manuel, Libro de los Estados, I, cap. LXXVIII, p. 353. Fuero de Cuenca, Códice Valentino, Tít. XIIII, 1, p. 635. Descriptions of actual divisions in Alfonso X, Partidas, II, tít. XXVI; Fuero de Cuenca, Versión escurialense, cap. XXX, rubs. V, XV–XXII, XXVI-LXVI, cap. XXXI, rubs. XI–XVI. See also Carmen Pescador del Hoyo, “La caballería popular en León y Castilla,” Cuadernos de Historia de España 35–36 (1962), 172–89; Hilda Grassotti, “Para la historia del botín y de las parias en Castilla y León,” Cuadernos de Historia de España, 39–40 (1964), 43–132; Powers, A Society Organized for War, pp. 162–87. For a discussion of the spoils in the Lay, Lacarra, El Poema de Mio Cid, pp. 32–50; Duggan, The “Cantar de Mio Cid,” pp. 20–21.

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Francisco García Fitz He commanded that all this wealth be carefully divided up, and that the officials should give him a written record. His knights received their share: to each of them fell a hundred silver marks, and to each of the footsoldiers exactly half that sum. My Cid was left with a fifth share  510–515

In other circumstances, the sharing out of the booty would have taken place once the riders had returned to their place of origin. However, it should be remembered that the Cid’s army had no such place to return to. Consequently, Rodrigo Díaz and his men were obliged not only to divide up the booty immediately, but also to conduct other more complex financial operations such as the auctioning off or sale of goods which could not be transported – this is what the Cid does with the fifth part of booty which fell to him (instead of to the king, as would normally be the case) – or of the prisoners that they did not intend to take with them, because such prisoners would hinder the march. In this case, it is the Muslims from neighbouring towns of Hita and Guadalajara, who had, presumably, been the victims of the plunder, who buy the booty for three thousand marks of silver: but here it could not be sold or given away. He wanted to take with him no prisoners, neither men nor women; he negotiated with the people of Castejón and sent messengers to Hita and                            Guadalajara to determine what they would pay him for his fifth share: despite what they paid, they would gain from the deal. The Moors offered three thousand silver marks and this sum satisfied My Cid; on the third day it was paid in full.  516–523

If the prisoners taken in these operations were “sold” to the people of Hita and Guadalajara, from which they must have come as a result of Álvar Fáñez’s attack in that area, then this was actually a case of ransom of prisoners, another habitual trade along the frontier.19 In addition to theft and the taking of prisoners, the riders had other, more sophisticated methods of ensuring a living and accumulating wealth at their enemy’s expense. We refer to the extortion of towns and villages, which were forced to hand over sums of money to avoid or detain a campaign of destruction in their lands. The poet calls this type of imposition “parias.” Frequently, in those times the imposition of parias on Muslim states by the Christian kingdoms signified a degree of protection for the former. However, on occasion, such practices were merely a form of extortion and did not, in reality, offer any better guarantee for the victims than if they simply took shelter from attacks. In

19

Alfonso X, Partidas, II, Tít. XXIX; Fuero de Cuenca, Versión escurialense, cap. I, rub. XXIII, cap. X, rub. XXXIX, cap. XXX, rubs. XXI y XXXIII–XXXIV.



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other words, a paria was simply a way of buying safety, a payment of “protection money” or blackmail:20 The inhabitants of Alcocer paid tribute willingly and so too did the inhabitants of Ateca and of the town of Terrer. Those of Calatayud, I tell you, were deeply worried  570–572 and camped on a hill near to Monreal. High is the hill, wondrous and imposing, safe from attack on all sides. First he imposed a tribute on Daroca, and then on Molina, in the other direction, thirdly on Teruel, which lay further away. He also had under his domination Cella del Canal  863–869 While he was there, he made raids in all directions, and imposed a tribute throughout the valley of the Martin  903–904 Don Rodrigo passed beyond Teruel. In the pine grove at Tévar camped Don Ruy Díaz. He raided throughout these lands and imposed a tribute on Saragossa  911–914

The cabalgada was not an improvised or chaotic operation. On the contrary, it followed well-established patterns of organization which are described in detail in the Lay.21 Once the riders had entered enemy territory they were exposed to all kinds of danger. They, therefore, had to proceed with utmost caution. For this reason, while on the march, the army was divided into two or more elements to afford mutual support under attack. A vanguard set the course and kept watch and a rearguard sealed off the formation, in addition to two companies along either side to protect the flanks, where possible.22 This formation is reflected in the Lay when, in the description of the return from the attack led by Álvar Fáñez through the Henares valley, the poet states that: Minaya’s ensign moved ahead [it came back to Cid’s camp] None dared to attack the rear. The force returned with this booty  482–484

It should be noted in this respect that the author’s references to tactics are very accurate. Anyone with experience in this type of operation knew that the return march, with the army loaded with booty, was always one of the most dangerous moments. This was the moment when, if it were to happen at all, 20

21 22

Grassotti, “Para la historia del botín y de las parias”; José María Lacarra, “Aspectos económicos de la sumisión de los reinos de taifas (1010–1102),” in Homenaje a Jaime Vicens Vives, 2 vols. (Barcelona, 1965), 1:255–77; Mikel de Epalza, “El Cid y los musulmanes: el sistema de parias-pagas, la colaboración de Aben-Galbón, el título de Cid-León, la posadita fortificada de Alcocer,” in El Cid en el valle del Jalón, pp. 107–25. García Fitz, Castilla y León frente al Islam, pp. 126–70. Alfonso X, Partidas, II, Tít. XXIII, Ley XVII; Juan Manuel, Libro de los Estados, I, cap. LXX, p. 336 and cap. LXXVIII, p. 354.

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the aggrieved party would normally strike back. It was also well known that such retaliatory actions were most often against the rearguard. Thus the poet’s words are far from gratuitous; they highlight the military skill of Minaya Álvar Fáñez.23 On the largest and longest cabalgadas, and the ones described in the first part of the Lay are of this kind, the body of the army formed a camp, setting up their tents in a place which could easily be defended. This would normally be a vantage point on high ground, and with water, grass and firewood easily available. In addition, the camp was fortified with a stockade and moats. The poet provides some very detailed and realistic descriptions of such camps:24 My Cid halted at Alcocer on a rounded hill, massive and commanding. Nearby runs the Jalón, ensuring a certain supply of water. My Cid Don Rodrigo plans to take Alcocer. Firmly establishing his camp, he posted many men on the hill, some towards the mountains and some down by the river. The good Battler, born in a favoured hour, ordered that, round the hill, by the river-bank, all his men should dig a defensive ditch so that no surprise attack could be made on them by day or by night, and that it should be known that My Cid had come to stay.  553–563

Once the camp was established it became the army’s centre of operations, from which raids were launched to steal, to take prisoners and to extort the local inhabitants.25 Note that it was after camping near Alcocer, Monreal and Pinar of Tevar, that the people of those areas had to pay tribute (see verses 570–572, 863–869, 903–904 and 911–914). Certainly also, the camp acted as a shelter for the rearguard, a place where the units that went out to do battle could find protection and assistance if they suffered retaliation from those they had attacked. This is what the Cid seems to be referring to when, during the first campaign, he sends Álvar Fánez to attack the Henares valley, warning:

23

24

25

On the vulnerability of the rear to enemy attack, both for tactical and psychological reasons, Alfonso X, Partidas, II, Tít., XXIII, Ley XVII. The idea was already put forward in Epitome Rei Militaris, in Edición crítica y traducción del Epitoma Rei Militaris de Vegetius. Libros III y IV, a la luz de los manuscritos españoles y de los testimonios más antiguos europeos, ed. Mª Felisa Barrio Vega (Madrid, 1982), Lib. III, cap.VI. See other medieval sources, Alfonso X, Partidas, II, Tít. XXIII, Leyes XIX–XXI; Juan Manuel, Libro de los Estados, I, cap. LXX, p. 337. Similar recommendations appear in Vegetius, Lib. III, cap. VIII. Alfonso X, Partidas, Tít. XXIII, Ley XXII; Alfonso X, Espéculo, ed. Gonzalo Martínez Diez and José Manuel Ruiz Asensio (Ávila, 1985), Lib. III, Tít. VI, Ley VII. A specific case in point appears in Chronica Adefonsi Imperatoris, ed. Antonio Maya, in Chronica Hispana Saecvli XII, Pars I, eds. Emma Falqué, Juan Gil and Antonio Maya (Turnholt, 1990), Lib. I, 36, p. 167.



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“If you should encounter any danger in the advance, send me word immediately to the rear. All Spain shall talk of this deed.”  451–453

It also appears that another of the main episodes in the first part of the Lay, the taking of Alcocer, is related to this method of action in enemy territory.26 Research into closely related contexts reveals that, on occasion, it was safer to take a fortified town or castle and convert it into the centre of operations rather than set up a camp. Apart from the gains to be had from its capture, such a fortified place provided a more solid defence than a provisional camp and more comfortable conditions. At the same time it equally well fulfilled the role of a base from which to launch attacks. Examples such as those provided by the actual, historical Cid; the castellan of Aledo – who was a contemporary of the Cid – in Murcia; and the garrison of the fortress of Salvatierra, illustrate the great advantages to an army of commanding a stronghold which could easily be defended and which was near to the field of operations.27 In the Lay, direct control of Alcocer seems to increase significantly the military pressure that the Cid’s army exercised over the surrounding territory. While the troops were based in the provisional camp of the “Otero,” they could plunder neighbouring districts and extort the inhabitants. However, it was when they took the fortress of Alcocer that the Muslims felt a much greater and more alarming threat. This new situation gave the Cid’s troops greater stability, which meant that what was now at stake was not wealth alone but actual command over a whole district. It is no wonder, therefore, that in such circumstances the inhabitants turned to Valencia for military aid: The inhabitants of Ateca were greatly alarmed, and the people of Terrer and those of Calatayud, I can tell you, were much troubled. They sent a message to the King of Valencia … “If you do not help us, you will lose Ateca and Terrer; you will lose Calatayud, which cannot escape, and along the valley of the Jalón all will go from bad to worse, and so too at the other extreme, along the Jiloca.”  625–628/632–635

Naturally, in such a situation, the most difficult task for a cabalgada was to attack and successfully lay siege to a fortified place when it would not normally possess the means to do so. Once more, the poet provides a model description 26

27

W.S. Hendrix, “Military Tactics in the Poem of the Cid,” Modern Philology 20 (1922), pp. 45–47; H. Ramsden, “The Taking of Alcocer (Cantar de Mio Cid),” Bulletin of Hispanic Studies 36 (1959), 129–34; Luis Beltrán, “Conflictos interiores y batallas campales en el Poema de Mio Cid,” Hispania 61 (1978), pp. 237–40; Epalza, “El Cid y los musulmanes”; Dolores Oliver Pérez, “Una nueva interpretación de la batalla de Alcocer,” Revista de Historia Militar 74 (1993), 15–44; Juan Carlos Conde, “Estilo y retórica: notas sobre la descripción de los combates en el Poema de mio Cid,” Boletín de la Sociedad Castellonense de Cultura 77 (2001), 59–71 (See also above n. 9 and 14). García Fitz, Castilla y León frente al Islam, pp. 207–12.

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which adheres to the practices of the time and illustrates certain basic principles of the art of war. We refer to the storming of Alcocer, a tactically complex operation but one which should not necessarily be seen as mere literary fiction.28 On this occasion, after having camped in the area for several weeks, the hero designs a plan to enter the town. This plan consists in feigning a retreat. By leaving only one tent standing in the camp, he planned to entice the Muslims out of their stronghold in order to give chase to their “retreating” enemy. Having achieved their aim, the Cid’s troops then doubled back and divided into two groups, one of which attacked in open countryside the inhabitants of Alcocer who had left the safety of the fortress, while the Cid led the vanguard on to the town and its eventual capture: When My Cid saw that Alcocer did not yield to him, he at once prepared to trick its people: he struck camp but left one tent standing, and moved off down the Jalón, with his standard raised, his men wearing their armour and with swords girded on; with cunning, he aimed to draw his enemies into a trap. The inhabitants of Alcocer saw this. Lord God, how they boasted! “My Cid has run out of bread and fodder … Let us attack him and bring back great booty” … In great haste, they rushed out from Alcocer. My Cid, seeing them outside the town, rode off as though fleeing from the                              field Down the Jalón he went, together with his men. The people of Alcocer said: “Our booty is slipping away from us!” All hurried out from the town, lusting for plunder, thinking only for that; they left the gates open and unguarded. The good Battler looked round and saw the great distance between them and the citadel. He ordered the ensign to turn back and the spurred on at a great pace … They fell to battle in the middle of the plain My Cid and Álvar Fáñez spurred on ahead … Now they passed between the Moors and the fortress … as the Cid, with his small band spurred on towards the fortress;

28

On the literary models which might have inspired the poet, see several proposals in Smith, Estudios Cidianos, pp. 117–22; Baldwin, “Deception and Ambush,” pp. 381–85; Hilty, “El problema de la historicidad del Cantar Primero,” p. 102; Montaner, “La toma de Alcocer,” pp. 161–63.



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with their swords drawn, they waited by the gate; soon their fellows arrived, for the victory was complete 574–581/584/587–596/600–601/603/607–609

The account of these feats, which the poet describes both as “art” and “guile” is in fact no more than a combination of military tactics that were typical of the time. On one hand, the feigned retreat, or tornafuy (literally: turn and flee), drawing out the enemy in a hasty and disorganized manner to then suddenly turn about when he has lost all cohesion. The fact is that when sources describe such strategies, they usually refer to two forces which confront each other in the open. This is not the case described in the Lay since, initially, the defenders of Alcocer were entrenched behind the town’s walls. However, the Cid’s strategy is in consonance with tactical logic of the tornafuy.29 On the other hand, there is nothing strange about the reaction of the inhabitants of Alcocer, as it is presented in the poem. In fact, military tacticians of the time were at pains to advise against any attempt by a besieged population to leave their stronghold and carry out a disorganized assault on their adversaries and to point out that experience had proven the potentially disastrous consequences of impulsively pursuing an apparently retreating enemy. Indeed, such behaviour was considered one of the classic errors of warfare.30 Thus, the behaviour of the inhabitants of Alcocer constitutes a magnificent example of how not to behave when a town was attacked. In any event, in the account contained in the Lay, neither the taking of Castejón nor that of Alcocer, the latter of which the troops also abandoned almost immediately after having defeated a Muslim army sent from Valencia to aid the town, can be considered the result of a siege in the true sense of the word, nor did the conquerors intend their conquest to be permanent. On the contrary, these events appear to adhere closely to the predatory practices characteristic of the cabalgadas. For a real siege, it is necessary to wait until the Cid’s troops approach Valencia. Regarding the way in which the poet deals with the conquest of the kingdom of Valencia, the experts point to several aspects which directly affect the way in which the historical, political and military realities of this process are described. The first of these refers to the scarce attention given in the Lay to the narration of the events, the occupation of the kingdom of Valencia, which, from a 29

30

For descriptions of this tactic in other sources, see: Juan Manuel, Libro de los Estados, I, cap. LXXVI, pp. 347–48 and cap. LXXIX, pp. 355–56; Ibn Jaldún, Introducción a la historia universal (al-Muqaddimah), ed. E. Trabulse (México, 1997), pp. 495–496. On its use by the Muslims in the West and the East, see Smail, Crusading Warfare, pp. 78–80, 125–130, 156–203; Christopher J. Marshall, “The Use of the Charge in Battles in the Latin East, 1192–1291,” Historical Research 63, no. 152 (1990), 221–226; Nicolle, Medieval Warfare, pp. 6–73 and 103–08; García Fitz, Castilla y León frente al Islam, pp. 392–94. The interpretation of the Alcocer episode as a tornafuy: Montaner, “La toma de Alcocer,” pp. 151–53 and Oliver, “Una nueva interpretación.” Castigos e Documentos del Rey don Sancho, in Escritores en prosa anteriores al siglo XV, ed. Pascual de Gayangos (Madrid, 1952), cap. XLVI, p. 173.

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historical and biographical perspective are much more transcendental than the campaigns of pillage and plunder described earlier. Secondly, the poet omits all tactical details of how the conquest was conducted, while in the raids of pillage and destruction in the Henares, Jalón y Jiloca valley he provides a stepby-step account and description of the army’s movements. Now, however, in the region of Levante, there is only a very general and imprecise description of military behaviour and tactical warfare. Thirdly, the events of Levante are well documented and, therefore, considered historical fact, which is not the case of the campaign in Castejón and Alcocer. Thus it is strange that not only is the succession of events much altered in the poem but that these events have been considerably simplified. The result is that what was actually a long, complex and fluctuating process of all kinds of relationships (military, political and economic) between the Cid and the Muslim authorities of Valencia becomes a strictly belligerent, linearly developed campaign planned solely in terms of a military conquest from the outset.31 These “anomalies” have been well explained by analysts of the Lay. The poet had already demonstrated to his audience in the first part of the poem that the Cid was well acquainted with the art of war and was capable of organizing, planning, leading, and taking part in battle himself; that, at the head of his troops, his bravery and military skills were unquestionable. In short, that he was capable of performing the great feats of war that characterise a hero. This achieved, it was no longer necessary to detail the hero’s acts but simply provide a succinct account of his achievements and of events so as to situate the audience in the context and to highlight what is apparently the poet’s objective: the extraordinary consequences of the Cid’s deeds, namely, the possession of a principality, the reuniting of his family, a royal pardon, the marriage of his daughters to members of the Castilian nobility and, in summary, the recovery of the honour lost at the beginning of the poem.32 Consequently, the poet had no need to give a “correct” account of the succession of events or to provide tactical details about wars of conquests and sieges. Nevertheless, despite the aforesaid, once again the poet’s realistic approach and his knowledge of military matters become apparent. Obviously, a precise account of the annexation of these territories is not to be sought in the Lay. However, the poet possessed sufficient narrative skill to provide his audience with a concise idea of basic strategy and of almost all the important tactics employed in great sieges of walled towns and the conquest of regions. Any man of the period with military experience would recognize these things perfectly well: they were the same methods used during the annexation of Toledo in the decade between 1080 and 1090, in Zaragoza at the beginning of the twelfth 31

32

David Hook, “The Conquest of Valencia in the Cantar de Mio Cid,” Bulletin of Hispanic Studies 50 (1973), 120–26; Porrinas, “La percepción de la guerra del Poema de Mío Cid,” pp. 173–78. Hook, “The Conquest of Valencia,” p. 126; Rico, “Estudio preliminar,” pp. XVI–XVIII (see above n. 5).



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century and in the conquest of Valencia, Jaen and Seville conducted by Jaime I and Fernando III in the mid thirteenth century.33 Without doubt, the patterns of behaviour were well established and they are perfectly reflected in the 230 verses that the author devotes to them. Nevertheless, in order to understand them completely, several points regarding the organization of great sieges need to be taken into consideration.34 Firstly, the conquest of a large, wealthy, well supplied and well defended walled city or town was an operation that required a much greater military, human, economic and administrative effort than was necessary for ordinary operations. The defenders possessed a considerable advantage over the attackers in every respect: logistically, technologically and tactically. This meant that a leader found it extremely difficult to gather and keep together for sufficient time the troops and the technical and financial resources which were needed to organize a full assault on a fortified stronghold such as that described above. It is evident that at the beginning of the campaigns in Levante, as the poet describes, the Cid was not in a position to lay siege to the walls of Valencia directly. Secondly, this type of operation required long and careful preparation during which the attackers would obstruct communications between the city and its surroundings and, above all, wear down its financial resources, its military capacity and morale. The idea was simple: wear down the enemy so that, when the siege took place, there would be the least resistance. These preliminary phases tend to possess common features which are apparent in the poem. For example, they all required a long time to achieve their objective. In the model provided in the Lay, the Cid spent three years on the conquest of Valencia (verse 1169). However, this is no exaggeration when compared with the seven years that it took Alfonso VI to conquer Toledo or the twenty years needed by Fernando III to break down the resistance of Jaen. In almost all historic sieges of great cities, during the preliminary phase of wearing down the enemy, the attackers gradually took the fortified positions in the area surrounding the place they wished to conquer, creating a “noose” which strangled communications with the outside world, destabilized the enemy’s economy and endangered the sources of finance so vital for the defence. The description of this process in the Lay is as unreal and ahistorical as it is brief, though not less expressive for that reason: My Cid took Jérica and Onda and Almenar, And overran all the lands of Burriana …

33

34

García Fitz, Castilla y León frente a Islam, pp. 179–89 and 215–77 and “Guerra y fortificaciones en contextos de frontera. Algunos casos hispánicos de la Plena Edad Media,” in Simpósio Internacional sobre Castelos. Mil Anos de Fortificações na Península Ibérica e no Magreb (500–1500) (Lisbon, 2002), pp. 523–29. Jim Bradbury, The Medieval Siege (Woodbridge, 1992); Randall Rogers, Latin Siege Warfare in the Twelfth Century (Oxford, 1992); Ivy A. Corfis and Michael Wolfe, eds., The Medieval City under Siege (Woodbridge, 1995). See also above, n. 8.

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Francisco García Fitz and thus it was captured Murviedro. Now My Cid saw that God was protecting him. Inside Valencia there was great fear.  1092–1097

Later, the poet also refers to the storming of Cebolla (v. 1150), and Peña Cadiella (v. 1163). Normally, each of the positions conquered became a base from which to launch continuous attacks to wear down the city’s resources. In the poem, the focus is on the castle of Murviedro: My Cid’s men plundered the battlefield and returned to their camp. They entered Murviedro with the great booty they carried with them.  1152–1153

The type of attack conducted from these strong-points was the short cabalgada, or ride, whose objective was to destroy crops, take prisoners and steal livestock. Unlike the initial cabalgadas described in the first part of the poem, these short-distance raids were not only intended to obtain supplies and live at the enemy’s expense but they were also used as a mechanism with which to wear down the adversary by causing poverty, a shortage of provisions and isolation. All the fortresses controlled by the Cid around Valencia bear these functions, as is manifested by the poet’s summary: In the domain of the Moors, taking and conquering, Sleeping by day and marching by night, My Cid spent three years overcoming those towns. The people of Valencia had been taught a lesson; they dared not leave the city or engage My Cid in battle. He cut down their plantations and did them great harm; each year My Cid deprived them of their food.  1167–1173.

The success of this type of harassment was reached when the besieged population started to suffer from hunger: as a result of the methods employed by the attackers, they were forced to resort increasingly to the provisions stored within the walls. If, therefore, there were no supplies arriving from outside, soon provisions would run out and the people inside would begin to starve. The way this is expressed in the Lay is dramatic: The people of Valencia bitterly lamented – they knew not what to do; from nowhere could they get food. Father could not aid son nor son help father, nor could friend bring consolation to friend. It is a harsh fate, my lords, to have not enough to eat, and to see women and children dying of hunger.  1174–1179

Thirdly, when the attackers deemed that the preliminary phase had produced the desired results – weakening of the enemy, making him incapable of resisting for a long time – they advanced their lines nearer to the walls so as to close access and exit hermetically, leaving it completely isolated. This they did by establishing camps nearby, occupying neighbourhoods which lay outside the



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walls and preventing the entry and exit of men, food and weapons: that is, anything that could contribute to prolonging resistance. It was at this stage that the attacking forces needed to make their greatest effort and use of resources. A few small garrisons posted in forts around a city may have been enough to cause considerable harm and destabilize the defence. However, a direct blockade was another matter. It required a huge number of soldiers: first there would have to be enough men to cover the whole of the walls’ perimeter, or at least to cover every entrance and exit; secondly, because each camp needed enough men to stave off any counter-attack launched against it from the city or from a relief force sent to aid the besieged. For this reason, the Cid’s first reaction on receiving certain news of the disastrous situation in Valencia, produced by the effects of the preliminary phase – “My Cid heard this [says the poet] and was greatly pleased,” (v. 1184) – was to search for reinforcements in Aragón, Navarre and Castile so as to better ensure the success of the direct blockade that he intended to undertake: He ordered it to be proclaimed throughout Aragón and Navarre, and sent messengers into the lands of Castile: “Whoever wishes to escape poverty and find wealth should come to My Cid, for he desires to ride into battle; My Cid plans to lay siege to Valencia and place it in Christian hands!” 1187–1191

Once these reinforcements had been found, the last stage of the siege – the final blockade – began: When My Cid saw the forces that had gathered, he began to rejoice. My Cid Don Rodrigo did not wish to delay; he made straight for Valencia ready to launch an attack on the city. My Cid encircled it so tightly that there was no way through; he stopped the people going out and stopped them entering.  1201–1205

Of course, the defenders of the city had means of defending themselves and of obliging the attackers to lift the blockade. For one thing, they had the protection of their walls, which were extremely difficult to breach with the machinery and technology of the time. For another, the attacking army did not always succeed in maintaining the discipline and cohesion of its troops throughout the siege. In addition, it was always difficult for the attackers to guarantee a steady supply of provisions – time often played against them – and many sieges had to be abandoned for logistical reasons. Finally, there was a risk that the besieged forces would break out or launch a surprise attack which might oblige the attackers to withdraw. This last possibility was extremely risky since if the defenders were defeated in such an action, it would leave the city exposed, not only through the loss of men but also through the negative effect on morale and the will to fight. Indeed, the Lay mentions the Valencians carrying out such an action, with the difference that instead of an assault on the attacking camp, it concerned an attempt

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to trap the Cid while he was in his base at Murviedro, that is to say, during the preparatory phase of the blockade: They decided in counsel to besiege him [the poet says, referring to the Valencians when they were aware that the Cid had taken that fortress and they realized his aim was to conquer the capital] they marched through the night, and at dawn they pitched camp near Murviedro  1099–1101

On this occasion, the defenders of Valencia failed as they were met and defeated by a force from Murviedro sent out against them (vv. 1102–1148). Another possibility for the defenders was to find help, imploring an ally to send a rescue army which would force the attackers to withdraw or engage in an open battle, since it might place the attackers in a difficult situation between the defenders and the rescuers. Experience showed that the success or failure of a siege lay not so much in the effects of military pressure or of starvation but more in the chances of outside help arriving. In the worst of cases, a garrison or population under siege could resist if there was hope of assistance. In this regard, the example of Valencia under siege by the real Cid – not the Cid of the Lay – is paradigmatic.35 In contrast, the certain knowledge that no such rescue was at hand rendered senseless any sacrifice made to resist. In his own way, the poet alludes to a similar reality, though not identical. What drives the Lay’s Cid to make the decision to advance his lines from Murviedro and tighten the noose round the city was the knowledge that the Almoravids – the king of Morocco in the text (vv. 1181–1184) – were not in a situation to help the Valencians. Although in this case the point had not been reached where the besieged were about to surrender due to lack of help (they actually resisted the direct blockade for some time) the poet considered the news that they would receive no assistance to be sufficient justification for the hero to take such a significant strategic decision: the organization of a blockade. A city subjected to a blockade, with no chance of launching a successful attack against the enemy or of receiving outside help, was inevitably forced to surrender in a very short time. As the city had not yet been taken, the defenders still had some room to negotiate with the attackers. It was at this point when a convention of war came into play, halfway between chivalrous and pragmatic, which tended to put an end to the conflict without the need for greater efforts or further sacrifices. With a “conditional respite” the two sides agreed on a period of time during which the besieged were allowed to search for outside help. If they failed, once the deadline was reached, they pledged to hand over the city with no further resistance or delay.36 It is precisely in this way that the siege of Valencia ends in the Lay, with the application of this type of convention: 35 36

García Fitz, “El Cid y la guerra,” pp. 404–10. Maurice Keen, The Laws of War in the Late Middle Ages (London, 1965), pp. 128–30; Bradbury, The Medieval Siege, pp. 297 and 325–26; Morillo, Warfare, p. 142; Strickland, War and Chivalry, pp. 208–12.



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He granted the city a period of respite in case any aid should come; he waited there for a full nine months, I tell you, and when the tenth month came the city surrendered.  1208–1210

As we have seen, the art of war in the pages of the Lay is presented mainly as a combination of operations of pillage carried out to maintain and enrich the hero’s army – cabalgadas, provisional conquests of small towns – and of sieges and territorial conquests – conducted through raids, sieges and blockades. However, the whole text is marked by another type of operation that takes on special importance and to which the poet pays extraordinary attention and which deserves a detailed analysis: we refer to the open battle. In the overall context of medieval armed conflicts, it is common to find in modern historiography statements to the effect that open battles were exceptional. Experts have ascertained that these operations, involving a clash between two armies in the open, were truly unusual or, at least, infrequent. The reasons for this have often been described: they were dangerous operations in which not only the lives or liberty of the leader and a good number of noblemen were at risk but also the fortunes of a dynasty or a kingdom. The risks were too high to either propose or agree to such battles. Certainly, a victory could mean the gain of an entire kingdom or a throne, but, equally, defeat could signify their loss. Moreover, the fact was that, however carefully preparations were made and however favourable the initial conditions of combat appeared, a battle was always steeped in uncertainty and the amount of unforeseen circumstances, errors, misunderstood orders, actions badly executed or sudden attacks of unjustified panic meant that it was impossible to guarantee the outcome of such a great confrontation. Therefore, it is not strange that military leaders did everything possible to avoid it, except when there was absolutely no other option available. After all, political or military gain could be obtained through other means: slower but less risky. Avoidance of open battle, therefore, became axiomatic and thus the rarity of this type of operation in the overall panorama of medieval warfare.37 Of course, there are also exceptions, such as a military commander who took part in, accepted or originated an unusually high number of open battles. The Cid is precisely one such character: throughout his successful military career he was involved in many more battles than any other commander of the time: Graus (1063), Llantada (1068), Golpejera (1072), Cabra (1079), Almenar (1082), Morella (1084), Tévar (1090), El Cuarte (1094), Bairén (1096–97), are the names of open engagements that adorn his military deeds. Perhaps the name Campeador 37

This type of behaviour has become paradigmatic in historiography – the so-called “Gillingham paradigm” – which has given rise to much debate. On this, see Clifford J. Rogers, “The Vegetian ‘Science of Warfare’ in the Middle Ages,” Journal of Medieval Military History 1 (2003), 1–19; Stephen Morillo: “Battle Seeking: The Contexts and Limits of Vegetian Strategy,” Journal of Medieval Military History 1 (2003), 21–41; John Gillingham, “‘Up with Orthodoxy!’: In Defense of Vegetian Warfare,” Journal of Medieval Military History 2 (2004), 149–58. For the Hispanic context, see García Fitz, Castilla y León frente al Islam, pp. 279–348.

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– meaning “Lord of the Battlefield” – which he won for himself was not unrelated to his skill in resolving such clashes.38 Bearing in mind the poet’s emphasis on verisimilitude and the reference to which he had access in the form of the curriculum of the real, historical Cid, it is not unusual that in the Lay the Cid was the protagonist of a good number of open battles. Of course, some of them were invented. For example, the poet narrates three clashes with the Almoravids after the taking of Valencia – against the king of Seville (vv. 1224–1235), against King Yusuf of Morocco (vv. 1620– 1745), and against General Búcar (vv. 2312–2428) – when, in fact, there was only one: the battle of El Cuarte. However, others are historical – the battle of El Cuarte itself. The battle of El Pinar de Tévar was also a real battle, but fought in a different context.39 Therefore, although the detail is distorted, the portrait of an extremely combative hero (compared with normal parameters of the period) that the poet depicts is far from fictitious. On occasion, there exists in the Lay a distortion that affects the perception of military reality. We refer to the considerable attention, detail and extension which the poet devotes to these combats as opposed to other operations.40 Two examples illustrate this point: while the poet dispatches in three or four verses such important actions as the conquest of a sizable part of Levante – Jérica, Onda, Almenara, Borriana, Murviedro, (vv. 1092–1095), annexations which were vital to the control of Valencia – the battle of Murviedro, in which the Cid defeats the Valencian army which had besieged him in the fortress, extends over fifty verses – vv. 1098–1148. What is more, while to describe the final blockade of Valencia the poet requires only nine verses (vv. 1202–1210), dispensing with references of a tactical nature, the battle against King Yusuf of Morocco is detailed over a length of more than one hundred and twenty verses (vv. 1622–1745). In fact, the poet’s attitude to battle is no different from that of his contemporaries, who were seduced by a fascination for open battles. Chroniclers of the time were habitually more extensive in their accounts of open battles than any other type of military operation. The most important Castilian chronicler of the thirteenth century, Rodrigo Jiménez de Rada, devoted almost a whole book – twelve chapters of a total of fifteen which comprise Book VIII (of the nine books which constitute his Historia de rebus Hispani) – to an account of the 38

39

40

García Fitz, “El Cid y la guerra,” pp. 390–402; David Porrinas González, “Una interpretación del significado de Campeador: el Señor del Campo de Batalla,” Norba. Revista de Historia 16, 1 (1996‑2003), 257–76. On these two historic battles of the Cid and their relationships with the Lay, see Hendrix, “Military Tactics in the Poem of the Cid,” pp. 47–48; Gárate Córdoba, “Introducción a la táctica del Cid,” pp. 35–39; Louis Chalon, “La bataille du Quarte dans le Cantar de mio Cid,” Le Moyen Âge 72 (1966), 425–42; Beltrán, “Conflictos interiores y batallas campales,” pp. 241–242; Alberto Montaner Frutos, “La batalla de Tévar,” in Actas del Congreso Internacional El Cid. Poema e Historia (Burgos, 2000), pp. 353–82; Alberto Montaner Frutos and Alfonso Boix Jovaní, Guerra en Šarq Al’andalus: Las batallas cidianas de Morella (1084) y Cuarte (1094) (Zaragoza, 2005). Porrinas, “La percepción de la guerra del Poema de Mío Cid,” pp. 178–99.



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Battle of Las Navas de Tolosa; a campaign which lasted little more than three months in 1212. Yet he compresses the whole of the previous century into Book VII, and the next thirty years, a time which included such important events as the struggle for the conquest of Córdoba, are summarized in Book IX. Undoubtedly, for the people of the Middle Ages, battles were extraordinary and memorable events which deserved to be recounted and remembered. In this sense, it should be borne in mind that, following a tradition that went back at least to the times of the Greek hoplites, in the medieval West the most dignified way to confront an enemy was face to face: the direct clash whose outcome was total victory over one’s adversary. It was in this way that a warrior might demonstrate his valour. Compared with any other type of warfare, the open battle was considered the most admirable and important form of combat.41 The poet seems to have shared this view, which is reflected in the words he puts in the mouth of the Cid’s companion, Minaya, when he refuses part of the spoils that the hero offers him after the campaign in the Henares valley and the taking of Castejón, arguing that he would only deserve it had he won it by his own efforts on the battlefield: “I promise to God on high that until I have had my fill of fighting on my fine horse, against the Moors on the plain of battle, and till I use my lance and wield my sword and blood flows down to my elbow in the presence of Ruy Díaz, the celebrated warrior, I shall not take from you a rotten pennyworth. All this is yours”  497–505

The ubiquitous, disproportionate attention paid to battles is understandable. However, besides this, the open battle also provided poets with a privileged scenario in which to develop the action with the hero in all his facets. This is an ideal scenario for the poet, who can use it to present the protagonist’s companions and have him speak and inspire his men, express his feelings and values, give orders and explain tactics, show how brave he is in the fight or how he puts up with suffering. In short, so that he can perform the great deeds that define a hero. One example alone suffices to illustrate this point. In Alcocer (vv. 665–778) when confronted with the troops of Fáriz and Galve, who had him surrounded, the poet is able to highlight the role of Minaya. It is Minaya who determines the action but what is important is that, by so doing, he directly involves the hero, who immediately before the engagement, addresses his troops to explain his strategy: “Let us all go forth and none remain behind save two footsoldiers to guard the gate”  685–686

41

Francisco García Fitz, Las Navas de Tolosa (Barcelona, 2005), pp. 9–58.

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so as to deploy certain men and give them precise instructions: “And you, Pedro Bermúdez, take my ensign. As you are an honourable man, you will carry it loyalty; But do not ride ahead with it unless at my command.”  689–691

to set the moment and pace of the attacks: “Be still, my troops, do not move from here; Let none break ranks till I give the command.”  702–703

and even to establish a dialogue with certain of his key men, as is the case with Pero Vermúdez, and thus reproducing the tension prior to the battle, showing not only the soldiers’ uncontainable impetuosity and indiscipline but also, in contrast, the hero’s caution and his loyalty to his own: This same Pedro Bermúdez could not endure it, and bearing the ensign in his hand he spurred ahead: “May the Creator procter you, Cid, O loyal Battler! I am going to post your ensign in the main enemy line. We shall see how you can protect it – those of you who are responsible!” The Battler shouted out: “Do not go, for the love of mercy!” Pedro Bermúdez replied: “There is no other way!” He spurred the horse on and set the ensign in the main enemy line. Moors rushed forward towards him to seize the ensign; though they struck him heavy blows, they could not pierce his armour. The Battler cried out: “Help him, in love of mercy!”  704–714

Once the attack is underway, the poet uses the description of the battle to name and exalt the main characters in the hero’s army: Mounted on his gilded saddle. Oh how well fought My Cid, the good warrior! And Minaya Álvar Fáñez, who was lord of Zorita; Martín Antolínez, worthy man of Burgos; Muño Gustioz, whom the Cid had brought up; Martín Muñoz, lord of Montemayor; Álvar Álvarez and Álvar Salvadórez; Galindo García, good man of Aragón; Félez Muñoz, nephew of the Battler. The whole army then went to the aid of the ensign of My Cid the Battler  733–743

to describe the way the army fights – the cavalry charge: They clasped their shields before their hearts and lowered their lances with their pennants; they kept their heads low over the saddle-bow and advanced to strike them with strong hearts  715–718

in order to explain the progress and incidents occurring in the various phases of the battle:



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They all struck at the battle line, round Pedro Bermúdez; there were three hundred lances, each with its pennant; they killed as many Moors, with one blow each, and as many again in the next charge  722–725

and to afford an impression of the magnitude and the drama of the fight: You could see so many lances lowered and raised again, so many shields pierced right through, so much armour holed and torn, so many white pennants stained red with blood, so many fine horses, wandering riderless  726–730

which sometimes the poet personalizes in incidents involving particular individuals: Minaya Álvar Fáñez’s horse was killed under him and the Christian troops rushed to his aid. Though his lance was broken he drew his sword, and though scarcely still standing he delivered valiant blows  744–747 Minaya rode, sword in hand, cutting his way fiercely through the enemy; those within his reach he killed  756–758 Martín Antolínez struck Galve a blow which shattered the rubies on his helm, and cut through it to the flesh.  765–768

or to express, albeit contained in a cry or shout, the ideological perspective of the conflict: The Moors cried out, “Mahomet!” and the Christians, “Santiago!”  731

In particular, the author uses the battle to show the hero instilling courage in his men through his battle-cry: “Strike them, my knights, for the love of mercy! I am Ruy Díaz the Cid, the Battler of Vivar!”  720–721

assisting them in moments of difficulty: He gave the horse to Minaya Álvar Fáñez: “Mount, Minaya, you are my right arm!”  752–753

and, above all, attacking his enemies, performing great feats; possibly the only acts which go beyond the overall realism of the rest of the poem:42

42

Alfonso Boix Jovaní, “Un nuevo comentario a la vieja polémica de los golpes épicos en el Cantar de Mio Cid,” in Actas del IX Congreso Internacional de la Asociación Hispánica de Literatura Medieval, 3 vols. (La Coruña, 2001), 1:479–88; Jeremy Lawrance, “Chivalry in the Cantar de Mio Cid,” in Mio Cid Studies: “Some Problems of Diplomatic” Fifty Years On, ed. A. Deyermond, D.G. Pattison and E. Southworth (London, 2000), pp. 40–41.

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Francisco García Fitz he drew close to a Moorish general riding a fine horse, and with his right arm struck him such a blow with his sword that he severed his body at the waist, throwing half of it to the ground. 749–751 My Cid Ruy Díaz, the man born in a favoured hour, Had delivered three blows at King Fáriz: Two had missed but one struck him, and now blood dripped down his armour. He pulled at the reins to flee the battle. With that blow the whole army was defeated.  759–764

Although some of the battles described are merely figments of the poet’s imagination, and although during these engagements the hero stands out among ordinary men for his courage, strength and skill, the fact is that the narrative never departs from the overall sense of realism that permeates the poem. Two features that illustrate this point are worthy of mention. The first refers to the strategic perspective of the battle. Very rarely in open battles in the Middle Ages did such engagements occur as a result of the express will of one adversary to annihilate the other’s army. Seldom did an army move deliberately in search of a battle, since, in fact, a battle hardly ever formed part of a preconceived strategy to defeat the enemy. Normally, if a battle took place, it did so within the context of a siege or a cabalgada and occurred spontaneously, when there was no alternative.43 In this sense, the battles contained in the Lay are truly paradigmatic. For example, in the case of Alcocer, referred to earlier in this paper, the open battle takes place within the context of a siege. After having been besieged for three weeks by the troops of Fáriz y Galve, the Cid decides to abandon the safety of the walls and try his luck in the open, not for any tactical reason in particular, but because he had no option: he did not have enough water to allow his force to resist for much longer nor could he break through the enemy’s lines. In these circumstances, and despite his inferior numbers, there was nothing for him but to risk open combat: At the end of the third week, at the beginning of the fourth My Cid again took counsel with his men: “They have cut off our water; our bread will run out. Their will not allow us to break out at night; Their numbers are great for us to engage them in battle. Tell me, my knights, what you think we should do!” First to speak was Minaya, an excellent knight: “We have come to this place from our beloved Castile. If we do not fight with Moors we gain no bread. There are a good six hundred of us, indeed a few more. In the name of the Creator, let us take no other way but to attack them tomorrow!”  665–676

43

García Fitz, Castilla y León frente al Islam, pp. 288–348.



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In Murviedro, the recognition that there was no other way to continue the campaign than to give battle is explicit: This will not be settled without a battle  1106

And the three battles narrated that took place around Valencia form part of an attempt by the Muslim forces to evict the Cid’s troops from the city. The only battle that does not correspond to this pattern is that which took place in Pinar de Tévar, against the count of Barcelona. In this case, the clash occurred when the Count decided to put a stop to the cabalgada which the Cid had undertaken in lands which the Count considered his own, or subject to his influence: A report came to the ears of the Count of Barcelona that My Cid Díaz was ravaging all his lands  957–958

And, as in certain earlier cases, the hero decides to do battle because he appears to have no alternative, as is reflected by two mentions in the text. First the poet states: Now My Cid, the man from Vivar, realized that there was no other way but to fight  983–984

and later, aloud, the Cid tells his men: “and he would not leave us in peace without a battle”  989

The second military aspect of the battles in which realism imposes itself on the narration of the Lay refers to the tactical approach described. This, basically, consists of two models. The first of these is the head-on heavy-cavalry charge. This was a characteristic tactic of feudal cavalry in Europe whose origins seem to lie in the eleventh century. A requirement of this type of manoeuvre in open battle was that the knights were heavily protected with a coat of mail, helmet and a shield on their left arm. They were armed with a long lance and a sword and their equipment was designed to withstand a forceful clash: a special war horse or destrier and a firm, stable seat fitted with long stirrups and a deep saddle, which left the rider practically standing and “encased” in place. The power of a heavy-cavalry charge lay in the force of impact with which the riders struck the enemy’s line. To achieve this impact, the cavalry was organized in units, acies, which were several lines deep.44 Often the charge formation

44

J.F. Verbruggen, The Art of Warfare in Western Europe during the Middle Ages. From the Eighth Century to 1340, trans. Sumner Willard (Amsterdam, 1977), pp. 62–64 and 72–97; David Nicolle, “The Impact of the European Couched Lance on Muslim Military Tradition,” The Journal of The Arms & Armour Society 10, 1 (1980), 6–40; Victoria Cirlot, “Techniques guerrières en Catalogne féodale: le maniement de la lance,” Cahiers de civilisation médiévale 28, 1 (1985), 35–43; Jean Flori, “Encore l’usage de la lance.… La technique du combat chevaleresque vers l’an 1100,” Cahiers de civilisation médiévale 31 (1988), 213–40.

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would consist of one group on the front lines, another at the rear and two on the flanks. It is precisely to such a formation that the poet refers in the battle against Búcar, when Pedro Vermúdez suggests to the Cid: I, with my men, wish to attack at the front; You, with yours, safely guard the rear  2358–2359

Furthermore, for the charge to be successful, each unit had to enter into combat at exactly the right pace, arriving neither too soon nor too late, so as to give immediate support to the previous wave of riders before their impetus was spent. Once again, when referring to the battle against Búcar, the Lay provides a magnificent description of the succession of charges, though the action itself focuses on Bishop Don Jerónimo, who was in the vanguard, and the Cid, who was at the rear: Bishop Don Jerónimo spurred on, and met the Moors in the battle near their camp. … with his first blows he killed two Moors with his lance; he broke the shaft and laid his hand upon his sword; the Bishop attacked; Lord God, how well he fought! He killed two with his lance and five with his sword; there were many Moors and they gathered around him, striking him heavy blows, but without piercing his armour. The man born in a favoured hour [el Cid] setting his eyes upon him, steadied his shield on his arm and lowered his lance; he spurred – on Babieca, his fine charger, and he rode to attack with all his heart and soul; The Battler rode in among the foremost ranks  2384–2396

Also, the attack by each unit needed to be coordinated in such a way that the whole group fell as one on the enemy lines, thus multiplying the effects of the charge. Hence, the soldiers’ movements are described step by step. If the charge were correctly executed, the attackers might smash through the enemy formation, thus allowing another attack to be launched from the other side of the field (see vv. 715–725, quoted above). It stands to reason also that no soldier should advance ahead of his comrades since to do so would cause the formation to break up and lose its effectiveness. This type of situation is precisely what the hero sought to avoid at Alcocer when he refused to allow his standard-bearer, Pedro Vermúdez, to attack (see vv. 689–710, quoted above). The second tactical model of open battle which appears in the Lay involves the use of manoeuvres to surround and attack the enemy flanks or rearguard. Again, this is not attributable purely to the poet’s imagination but was, in fact, a common tactic employed in open battle by, among others, the historical Cid himself. It was a practice compatible with a cavalry charge. Indeed, it was designed to complement such an action. While the main force fought the enemy face-to-face, another group previously detached from the rest and lying in wait



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out of sight would attack the adversary’s camp or rearguard.45 This is the tactic described before the walls of Murviedro and in Valencia against the king of Morocco, on both of which occasions Minaya Álvar Fánez proposes: Give me one hundred knights, I ask no more of you; You with the others attack them from the front, Striking resolutely and without fear; I with the hundred will attack from behind.  1129–1132 “Since that is what you want, My Cid, give me a different task. Give me a hundred and thirty knights to fight with me; when you go to strike the enemy, I shall attack from the other direction; either on one side or on both, God will give us his aid.”  1694–1697

It is clear from the foregoing discussion that an analysis of the art of war in The Lay of the Cid gives the readers and specialists in the subject an insight into how the men of medieval Castile made and perceived war, and how they deployed their forces, especially in their engagements with the Muslims. And this is so because the scenarios portrayed there are essentially true to fact. This does not mean that the poet recounts the Cid’s actual deeds but that his descriptions are totally compatible with those of the Cid and with those of his contemporaries of the eleventh, twelfth and thirteenth centuries. It also means that the acts described in the poem adhere to the patterns of behaviour of that time and thus correspond to the actual way that men waged war: the cabalgadas, destructive campaigns, extortion, sieges, and open battles. Furthermore, the account not only reflects reality, it also helps us to understand that reality, since the poet provides details that conventional chroniclers omit. Of course, it should never be forgotten that the text is, above all, a literary work and, therefore, it also distorts and hides certain aspects of military actions while paying undue attention to others, such as the open battles. However, even when this occurs, a historian may still perceive in this distortion a true portrait of combat: the kind of military engagement that the elite group of individuals to which knights belonged would have wished to take part in and of which the Lay provides a model.46

45 46

This is how the historical Cid acted in the battle of El Cuarte, Montaner and Boix, Guerra en Šarq Al’andalus, pp. 179–204 (see above, n. 39). Salustiano Moreta Velayos, “El caballero en los poemas épicos castellanos del siglo XIII. Datos para un estudio del léxico y de la ideología de la clase feudal,” Studia Histórica 1–2 (1983), p. 7, and Mio Cid el Campeador (Zamora, 2000), pp. 229–30.

4 The Battle of Salado (1340) Revisited Nicolás Agrait

The battle of Salado (1340) remains one of the most compelling episodes of Iberian medieval military history. This is unsurprising when one considers that it appears to have everything to fire the imagination – an encounter between armies led by charismatic and powerful rulers on both sides, a moment in which the fate of the Reconquest appeared to hang in the balance, and a resounding Christian victory over the Muslims – and also the tools to analyze it – detailed accounts in the Christian and Arabic chronicles1 and ample documentary sources to place it in context. In fact, from classic studies2 to more recent ones, Salado continues to inspire debate among historians as to the significance of Castile’s victory over the Marinids. Some argue that the battle constituted a major juncture in the Reconquest,3 others espouse the view that the battle was significant only in light of further Castilian conquests in the area,4 and more recently as to the 1

2

3

4

The most comprehensive account of the battle is in the Crónica del rey don Alfonso, el Onceno, in Crónicas de los Reyes de Castilla, ed. D. Cayetano Rosell (Madrid, 1875–78; repr. Madrid, 1953). Crónica, 2 vols., ed. Diego Catalán (Madrid, 1977) is an official history of his reign commissioned by Alfonso XI ending in 1344 after his capture of Algeciras. It also contains an addendum dealing with the monarch’s untimely death in 1350. The Gran Crónica is a later, expanded version. They both cover essentially the same ground. Hereafter, I shall refer to them as Crónica and Gran Crónica respectively. The Crónica do rei Afonso IV In Crónicas des sete primeiros reis de Portugal, vol. 2, ed. C. de Silva Torouca (Lisbon, 1962), which stresses the role of the Portuguese monarch, contains another account of the campaign, although it appears to draw much of its information from the Castilian chronicle. The Arabic sources covering northern Africa also cover the event but only a few of them have been translated. Among these are Ahmad Al-Maqqari, History of the Mohammedan Dynasties in Spain, ed. and trans. Pascual de Gayangos, 2 vols. (London, 1840–1843; repr. New York, 1964) and Ibn Musa II (r. 1359–89), Kitab Wāsitat al-sulūk fī siyāsat al-mulūk (El collar de perlas: obra que trata de política y administración), ed. and trans. Mariano Gaspar Remiro (Zaragoza, 1899). Ambrosio Huici Miranda, “El sitio de Tarifa y la batalla de Salado,” in Las grandes batallas de la Reconquista durante las invasiones africanas (Madrid, 1956), pp. 331–79 remains the classic treatment of this campaign, while Miguel Cuarteto Larrea, “El Salado,” Ejército 13 (1941), 33–42, is also important. Derek Lomax, The Reconquest of Spain (London, 1978), p. 167; Joseph F. Ocallaghan, History of Medieval Spain (Ithaca, NY, 1975), pp. 412–13; Salvador de Moxó, “Epoca de Alfonso XI,” chap. in Historia de España vol. XIII: La expansión penínsular y mediterránea (c.1212-c.1350). vol. I: La coróna de Castilla, ed. José María Jover Zamora (Madrid, 1990), p. 400. Norman Housley, The Later Crusades; From Lyons to Alcazar 1274–1580 (Oxford, 1992), p. 280; Julian Bishko, “The Spanish and Portuguese Reconquest, 1095–1492,” in A History of

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exact reasons for the Christian triumph.5 My aim in this contribution is to reconcile the discrepancies that remain between the different historians regarding the development of the battle of Salado, specifically taking into account the speed of the Castilian cavalry and the location of the Muslim encampments, and in the process introduce this important topic to an Anglophone audience that perhaps may be unfamiliar with it. My study is also in keeping with the recent trend in medieval military historiography that again returns to close analysis of that rare occurrence that was the pitched battle.6 Alfonso XI (1312–50) could be forgiven for thinking that the Marinid campaign of 1340 to capture Tarifa was just the latest thing that could go wrong. The previous seven years had seen the loss of Gibraltar to the Moroccan forces under Abu Malik, heir to the Moroccan throne.7 He then had to deal with unrest from various sectors of the Castilian aristocracy which only ended with the submissions of Don Juan Núñez de Lara and Don Juan Manuel’s reentry into royal service.8 On top of this, Castile became embroiled in border conflicts with

5

6

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8

the Crusades, ed. Harry W. Hazard, vol. 3 (Madison, WI, 1975), p. 438; Nicolás Agrait, “The Experience of War in Fourteenth-Century Spain: Alfonso XI and the Capture of Algeciras (1342–44),” in Crusaders, Condottieri and Cannon, ed. D.J. Kagay and A.J. Villalon (Boston, MA, 2002), pp. 213–35; Manuel Rojas, “La batalla en la Edad Media y su contexto estratégico. El choque del Salado (1340), reexaminado,” in Tarifa en la Edad Media, ed. Manuel González Jiménez (Tarifa, 2006), p. 172. Wenceslao Segura González, “La batalla del Salado,” Al-Qantir 6 (2009), 1–32; idem, “La batalla del Salado según Gil de Albornoz,” Aljaranda: revista de estudios tarifeños 15:58 (2005), 9–15; idem, “La toponimia tarifeña después de la conquista cristiana,” Aljaranda: revista de estudios tarifeños 66 (2007), 7–10, and idem, “La batalla del Salado,” in Tarifa en la Edad Media, pp. 173–200; Manuel López Fernández, “La batalla del Salado sobre la toponimia actual de Tarifa,” Aljaranda 67 (2007), 2–10, idem, “Los caminos y cañadas de Tarifa en los itinerarios del rey Alfonso XI de Castilla,” Aljaranda 14:53 (2004), 5–10, and “Del desastre de Getares a la victoria del Salado: la crítica situación en la zona del Estrecho en 1340,” Espacio, tiempo y forma. Serie III. Historia Medieval 20 (2007), 135–62. Some examples of this trend include Kelly DeVries, The Norwegian Invasion of England in 1066 (Woodbridge, 1999); idem, Infantry Warfare in the Early Fourteenth Century (Woodbridge, 1996); James Fraser, The Battle of Dunnichen, 685 (Charleston, SC, 2002); David Green, The Battle of Poitiers: 1356 (Charleston, SC, 2002); Michael K. Jones, Bosworth 1485 – Psychology of a Battle (Charleston, SC, 2002); K.S. Lawson, The Battle of Hastings: 1066 (Charleston, SC, 2002); Andrew Ayton and Philip Preston, eds., The Battle of Crecy, 1346 (Woodbridge, 2005); Juliet R.V. Barker, Agincourt: Henry V and the Battle That Made England (New York, 2006), idem, Agincourt: the King, the Campaign, the Battle (London, 2006); Anne Curry, Agincourt: A New History (Stroud, 2005); Charles Jones, The Forgotten Battle of 1066: Fulford (Stroud, 2006); and Francisco García Fitz, “Batallas Campales,” chap. in Castilla y León frente al Islam; Estrategias de expansión y tácticas militares (siglos XI-XIII) (Seville, 1998), pp. 279–403. Al-Maqqari, History of the Mohammedan Dynasties in Spain, Bk. 8, chap. 6, pp. 2:354–55; Crónica, chaps. 94, 126, pp. 248, 257–58; Gran Crónica, vol. 2, chap. 135, pp. 39–40; “Treaty beween Yusuf I of Granada and the Anfós IV of Aragón adhering to the terms set in the truce between Abu-l-Hassan of Morocco and Alfonso XI of Castile (July, 1333)”; M. Alarcón y Santón and Ramón García de Linares, ed. and trans., Los documentos árabes diplomáticos de Archivos de la Corona de Aragón (Madrid, 1940), doc. 30, pp. 61–63. Crónica, chaps. 135, 188, pp. 263, 293–94, chaps. 135, 154, 156, 158, 161, 164, 166, 172 and



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Navarre9 and Portugal, the latter conflict only coming to an end because of the papacy’s intervention and the growing Muslim threat.10

Map 1.  The Iberian Peninsula in the Fourteenth Century11

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10

11

188, pp. 263, 273–80, 282–83 and 293–94; “Letter from Alfonso XI to the council of Murcia ordering it accept Don Juan Manuel and return all of his goods, privileges and honors (Mérida, June 4, 1337)”; Andrés Giménez Soler, Don Juan Manuel. Biografía y Estudio Crítico (Zaragoza, 1932), doc. 550, pp. 631–32. Crónica, chaps. 142–50, pp. 267–71. The most complete study so far of this episode remains Pilar Azcárate Aguilar-Amat, “La guerra de 1335 entre Castilla y Navarra,” Hispania 49:173 (1989), 805–40. Crónica, chaps. 166–68, 177, 180, 184, pp. 280–81, 287–89 and 291–92; Crónica do rei Afonso IV, chap. 32, 35–36, 40, pp. 244–47, 253–54, 258 and 267: “Instrument drawn up by Pedro Afonso as procurator for Martim Lourenço da Cunha (June 11, 1338),” “Response from King Afonso IV to Pope Benedict XII’s nuncio and to the French ambassador (October 23, 1338)”; As gavetas da Torre de Tombo, vols. 5, 8 (Lisbon, 1960–71), doc. 3659, pp. 5: 662–67, doc. 4420, pp. 8: 462–77: “Letter from Benedict XII to Alfonso XI announcing that Bernard of Alby, bishop of Rhodes, was headed to the Peninsula to mediate a peace treaty between him and King Afonso IV of Portugal (Avignon, December 30, 1336)” and “Bull Etsi nos from Benedict XII to Bernard of Alby, bishop of Rhodes (Avignon, June 16, 1337)”; Monumenta Henricina, vol. 1, ed. Manuel Lopes de Almeida, Idlaino Ferreira da Costa Brochado, and Antonio Joaquim Dias Dinis (Coimbra, 1960), docs. 81–82, pp. 173–75. All maps in this article were prepared by Shelley Reid.

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The concern over the latter was not exaggerated since the Marinids had initiated in 1338 a constant transfer of effectives – the Gran Crónica puts it at 7,000 troops – into Gibraltar and Algeciras, a clear violation of the CastilianMoroccan truce.12 This development also led Castile and Aragon to set aside their differences and agree to a peace and mutual assistance accord.13 Yet it is important to note that this intervention was the latest episode in a long-standing conflict between the Castilians on one side and the Granadans and Marinids on the other.14 The strategic preoccupation with possessing fortified points along the Strait stretched back to the Almoravid and Almohad occupations of Al-Andalus, with strong ports like Algeciras, Gibraltar and Tarifa being especially significant. Tarifa, with its deep natural harbor, beaches ideally suited for anchorage, and relatively easy land access to the rest of the peninsula, was particularly important.15 As the Muslims gave way to the large Christian expansion after the Almohad defeat at Las Navas de Tolosa (1212), the diplomatic and military lines in the struggle were drawn between Castile, the Marinids of Morocco and Granada – especially after Murcia was annexed by Alfonso X (1252–84) in 1266, effectively cutting off Aragón-Catalonia from Muslim expansion by land.16 The focal points of the conflict were Tarifa and Algeciras whose occupation represented for Castile bases from which to assume and cement control over the area, further isolating Granada, and potential launching pads against Morocco. For the Marinids, the ports could be strategic footholds in the peninsula into which they could transfer forces and supplies for any potential military operations. Granada viewed them as a way to shore up its independence and defenses against both Castile and Morocco.17 The balance of power tipped slightly when Sancho IV captured Tarifa with Granada’s help in 1292.18 The Marinids found themselves with one less friendly base of operations across the Strait. Castile could now conduct surveillance upon and interfere with Moroccan

12 13

14 15

16 17

18

Miguel Manzano Rodríguez, La intervención de los Benimerines en la Península Ibérica (Madrid, 1992), p. 242; Gran Crónica, vol. 2, chap. 255, pp. 260–62. “Alliance between Kings Alfonso XI of Castile and Pere el Ceremonios (Madrid, May 1, 1339)” in Colección de Documentos Inéditos del Archivo General de la Corona de Aragón, vol. 7, ed. Próspero Bofarull and Mascaró (Barcelona, 1841–1910), doc. 5, pp. 87–96 (hereafter, CDIACA). See Maps 1 and 2. Francisco García Fitz, “La conquista de Tarifa en la estrategia de expansión castellano-leonesa del siglo XIII,” in Tarifa en la Edad Media, ed. Manuel González Jiménez (Tarifa, 2006), pp. 105–6. Crónica del rey Alfonso X in Crónicas de los Reyes de Castilla, ed. D. Cayetano Rosell (Madrid, 1875–78; repr. Madrid, 1953), chaps. 15–16, pp. 11–12. García Fitz, “La conquista de Tarifa,” p. 107; Manuel López Fernández, “La actuación de las flotas de Castilla y Aragón durante el cerco meriní a Tarifa en el año 1340,” Aljaranda: revista de estudios tarifeños 64 (2007), 4; Rojas, “La batalla,” pp. 158–59. Manzano Rodríguez, La intervención , pp. 134–44.



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naval traffic and Granada could exert little, if any, control over its Islamic ally’s use of Algeciras and Gibraltar.19

Map 2.  The Strait of Gibraltar Region in the Fourteenth Century

By the start of the fourteenth century, the protracted struggle over the Iberian peninsula’s southern coast, with all sides having progressively built up their possessions into impressive defensive systems composed of walled towns, towers and other fortifications,20 had become one in which victory in one battle or campaign was unachievable. Any progress would be difficult, expensive and devoid of the large territorial gains seen in the previous century. Castile’s military strategy consisted in the slow acquisition of fortified enemy points through siege operations, with periodic chevauchées deeper into enemy territory. The Marinids, for whom the potential recovery of Al-Andalus was of secondary importance to their North African fronts, conducted masterful raids causing great damage and keeping the Christian frontier towns under constant threat of attack. The small emirate of Granada, always striving for survival against an increasingly large and powerful Castile, engaged in raids like the Moroccans’, with the occasional minor frontier conquest.21 Gains like the capture of Gibraltar in 1309 by Fernando IV (1295–1312),22 Granada’s recovery of Huesca, Ores,

19 20

21 22

García Fitz, “La conquista de Tarifa,” pp. 115–16, 125. The Christian Andalusian defense network boasted no fewer than eighty-three fortified towns, castles and towers, divided into three geographic zones according to proximity to Muslim territory. Manuel García Fernández, “La defensa de la frontera de Granada en el reinado de Alfonso XI de Castilla, 1312–1350,” in Relaciones exteriores del reino de Granada, ed. Cristina Segura Graiño (Almería, 1988), pp. 54–55; idem, El reino de Sevilla en tiempos de Alfonso XI (1312–1350) (Seville, 1989), pp. 44–49. Rojas, “La batalla,” p. 160. Crónica del rey don Fernando IV in Crónicas de los Reyes de Castilla, ed. D. Cayetano Rosell (Madrid, 1875–78; reprint Madrid, 1953), chaps. 16–17, pp. 161–64.

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Galera in 1319 and Martos in 1325,23 and Alfonso’s gaining the submission of Olvera, Pruna, Ayamonte, Alháquime, Teba and the towers of Las Cuevas and Otergicar between 1327 and 1230,24 all fit into this general pattern. This state of affairs changed in 1333 with the Moroccan conquest of Gibraltar and the implementation of a progressive transfer of effectives into it and Algeciras. In this case, the Marinids no longer appeared interested just in raiding Christian territory, but in actual conquest and expansion.25 In addition to the usual Andalusian targets, the Moroccans may have also been planning an ambitious invasion of Valencia, which had a large Mudéjar or subject Muslim population and was the constant subject of Islamic naval raids. Certainly the Aragonese throne felt the threat was serious enough to shore up their Valencian frontier defenses and begin a diplomatic offensive aimed first at achieving peace with the Marinids and, when that failed, a mutual defense pact with Castile.26 Even though the Valencian offensive never materialized, the steady military build-up in Gibraltar and Algeciras did, even as Alfonso conducted a series of chevauchées deep into Muslim territory, targeting Ronda, Antequera and Archidona in 1339.27 In response, Abu Malik initiated a miliary operation ravaging the environs of Medina-Sidonia before heading further north and encamping close to Jerez de la Frontera. He then divided his army and attacked several places at once. In this instance, the Castilian frontier defensive system worked efficiently. The Marinid forces were unable to capture Arcos de la Frontera and were also repelled when they attempted to pillage Lebrija. Abu Malik, after failing to take Jerez, lifted the siege and attempted to march his host, laden with booty, back to Algeciras. Castilian forces from diverse towns, however, chased him down and launched a surprise attack upon his encampment. In the ensuing chaos, the Christians defeated the Muslims, who appear to have had no inkling that they could come under fire, and killed their commander, Abu Malik. 28 Although Castile’s frontier defenses had driven this offensive back, the crisis was by no means over, for the military build-up continued as the Moroccan ruler Abu-l-Hassan (1331–51) made plans to lead the armies himself. When the information reached Alfonso back in Seville, he sent reinforcements and commanded the Castilian fleet under High Admiral Jofre Tenorio to do everything it could to

23 24 25

26

27 28

Rachel Arié, L’Espagne musulmane au temps des Nasrides (1232–1492) (Paris, 1973), p. 98. Crónica, chaps. 57–58, 86–88, pp. 207–9, 226–27. Rojas, “La batalla,” pp. 161–64. The sentiment that the Moroccans were preparing for invasion rather than raids appears both in a letter of 29 March 1333, from Don Juan Manuel to King Anfos IV of Aragon (in Giménez Soler, Don Juan Manuel, doc. 510, p. 600) and in the Gran Crónica (vol. 2, chaps. 288, 315, pp. 332–33, 393), which expressed the concern of a progressive Marinid offensive beginning with Tarifa and working its way to the very walls of Seville. Segura González, “La batalla del Salado,” pp. 3–6; Francisco Sevillano Colom, “Crisi hispanomusulmana: un decenni crucial en la Reconquista (1330–1340),” Estudis d’Historia Medieval 3 (1970), 55–74. Crónica, chap. 195, pp. 296–97. Ibid., chaps. 199–200, pp. 299–302.



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impede the flow of effectives and supplies across the strait.29 In spite of leading a fleet outnumbered and in serious need of relief, Jofre Tenorio attempted several times to draw the Marinid fleet, anchored at Gibraltar, into battle. The situation deteriorated when the Castilians were suddenly attacked on 8 April 1340 by a Marinid flotilla. Even though the Christian chronicles present the episode as a heroic moment for the Castilian high admiral, in which he ordered his galleys into battle against overwhelming odds,30 it appears more likely that the Muslims caught the Castilian vessels in a state of relative unpreparedness while anchored off the beach at Getares, near Algeciras. In the ensuing battle, the Castilian flagship was captured, the high admiral killed and the fleet nearly destroyed. Only about six galleys managed to escape along with an undetermined number of rigged vessels. As one would expect, this was a disaster of untold proportions for Alfonso since Abu-l-Hassan’s fleets now lay unchallenged in the Strait.31 Alfonso, knowing that he needed to maintain a naval presence in the Strait of Gibraltar, was compelled to seek support from Portugal,32 Aragon,33 and the Republic of Genoa.34 Even so, the logistics of assembling, paying for, commanding and waiting for these fleets to arrive at the Iberian southern coast, made challenging the Moroccan vessels nearly impossible. The situation then became critical when Abu-l-Hassan marched his armies from Algeciras and lay siege to Tarifa on 23 September 1340. Losing it would deprive Castile of its only possession on the strait and provide Morocco with yet another foothold on Iberian soil. The Marinids encircled the city from the north and east using artillery fire from siege engines – the Christian sources claim there were twenty such devices – building a stone wall and digging a ditch to impede access in and out of the city, setting up camp in the flat areas northwest of the city, and deploying a fleet to blockade the port from the sea. Even though they inflicted heavy damage upon Tarifa its defenses and garrison held out, managing constantly to send information back to Alfonso at Seville and even engaging in limited harassment forays against the besiegers. The Castilian king, in turn, responded by hastily putting together and dispatching a fleet to the area. The sight of the Christian ships boosted the Tarifans’ morale, threatened the besiegers’ sea supply routes and forced the Marinid ruler to take another potential attack threat into account. In fact, the Castilian fleet could perhaps have played a more significant role since 29 30 31 32 33

34

Ibid., chap. 207, p. 306. Gran Crónica, vol. 2, chap. 281, pp. 316–18; Crónica, chap. 209, pp. 307–8; Crónica do rei Afonso IV, chap. 54, pp. 311–12. López Fernández, “La actuación de las flotas,” p. 4. Crónica do rei Afonso IV, chap. 55, p. 314. “Letters from Alfonso XI of Castile to Pere el Ceremonios (Jerez de la Frontera, April 14, 1340, and Seville, May 24, 1340),” “Letters from Pere el Ceremonios to Alfonso XI of Castile (Zargoza, May 2, 1340, and Barcelona, September 23, 1340)”; CDIACA, vol. 7, docs. 14, 18, 21 and 23, pp. 108–9, 114–15, 123–26. Georgius et Iohannes Stellae (d. 1418), Annales genuences, ed. Giovanna Petti Balbi (Bologna, 1975), p. 134.

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Abu-l-Hassan, under the assumption that Alfonso could not possibly quickly assemble another fleet to challenge him, had sent most of his navy back to Ceuta and other North African ports, keeping only twelve galleys in nearby Algeciras. The Christian squadron, however, was caught in a storm which destroyed most of the galleys and scattered the rest. The Muslims then picked through the wreckage and took the survivors prisoner.35 Understanding that without prompt relief Tarifa’s resistance could break, Alfonso held a war council, with many nobles, prelates and townsmen in attendance. In the end, the king decided to relieve the besieged port, even though whatever force he gathered would be outnumbered. He dispatched an embassy led by his wife to the court of Afonso IV of Portugal, who agreed to come to his aid and met Alfonso with an army en route to Seville.36 The campaign also enjoyed papal support as Benedict XIII (1334–42) gave it the status of a crusade and also gave Alfonso the right to collect decimas, a 10 percent share of the total of ecclesiastical rents, and tercias reales, a roughly two-ninths share of ecclesiastical rent incomes set aside for the construction, repair and supply of church buildings across the realm (in other words, a share of the tithes).37 In spite of the significant ecclesiastical support, the Castilian monarchy was in such a precarious fiscal state that Alfonso was forced to secure loans from some of the citizens of Seville and could only gather enough supplies for fifteen days.38 Without much time for preparations, the Castilian and Portuguese kings sent messengers to Abu-l-Hassan, who by now had been joined by Yusuf I (1333– 54) of Granada, rejecting his offer to accept a peaceful surrender of Tarifa and announcing that they intended to relieve it.39 The armies took a familiar route through the frontier regions of Andalucía, proceeding more slowly than necessary to give all the different components of the host time to prepare and join them. As they approached the areas adjacent to Tarifa, they took a somewhat circuitous route to avoid the enemy and encamped at the Peña del Ciervo on 29 October.40 At this point in time, the numerical advantage of the Muslim forces, if the Christians had not previously been aware of it, may have become patent. Unfortunately, none of the texts chronicling this battle include reliable troop

35 36 37

38 39 40

Crónica, chaps. 240–41, 246, pp. 317–18, 321–22. Crónica do rei Afonso IV, chap. 59, pp. 324–27. “Epistola ad Benedictus XII de approbatione indictionis Cruciatae et impositione decame pro bello contro reges Granatae et de Benamarin, aliosque Sarracenos (Avignon, May 10, 1340),” in J-M. Vidal, ed., Benoit XII (1334–1342). Lettres Communes (Paris, 1902), doc. 8355, p. 306; Crónica, chap. 242, p. 318; Rogelio Pérez-Bustamante, “Benedicto XII y la Cruzada del Salado,” in Homenaje a Fray Justo Pérez de Urbel OSB, 2 vols. (Burgos, 1976–77), 2:191–93. Crónica, chap. 247, p. 322. Ibid., chap. 249, p. 323. The actual route was Sevilleà Utreraà Torrez de Alocazà Coyosà Lebrija à Jerez de la Frontera à Guadalete Riverà Medina-Sidoniaà Benalupà Almodójar Riverà Valdevaqueros (10 km from Tarifa) à Peña del Ciervo. The whole journey was accomplished in about two weeks. Segura González, “La batalla del Salado según Gil de Albornoz,” pp. 1–2, http:// www.tarifaweb.com/aljaranda/num58/art2.htm; Crónica, chap. 248, p. 323.



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figures. In the classic study of this battle,41 Ambrosio Huici Miranda brought together all the references in Christian and Muslim sources. Starting with the troop review conducted at Seville prior to launching the campaign,42 he estimated that Alfonso’s armies consisted of 8,000 mounted warriors, with both a la jineta and a la brida riders,43 and 12,000 infantry. This was supplemented by Afonso IV’s army, which probably contained no more than 1,000 cavalrymen and an unspecified contingent of infantry not mentioned in the sources, though the royal call to arms to the Portuguese nobles and others must have implied foot soldiers as well. The Tarifan garrison, taking into consideration the city’s spatial limitations, could not have been more than 1,000 men. The overall tally likely did not surpass 22,000–25,000 effectives. Figuring out how many soldiers were under Abu-l-Hassan’s command is also difficult, especially when one considers the exaggerated numbers presented by the Christian chroniclers. The Cronica do rei Afonso IV claims that there were 100,000 Muslim volunteers of the faith and later presents the figure of 450,000 killed during the battle. The Castilian chronicler claimed 200,000 men were in the Muslim force. These are bloated figures that were discarded even by the authors who provided them since they all claimed that the Christian forces amounted to close to one-quarter of those of their enemies. As such, the combined Marinid-Granadan armies could not have exceeded around 80,000 soldiers. Two other, maybe more sensible references considering the limitations of the terrain and the difficulties in assembling such large forces, were provided by the Nobiliario de Ajuda, a Portuguese livre de lignage, which claimed that the Muslim force amounted to 57,300 soldiers, and the North African writer Abu Musa II (1351–89) who claimed that all of Abu-lHassan and Yusuf I’s forces, including support staff, numbered 60,000.44 About the only fact that appears to come through in all the source material is that the Muslims outnumbered the Christians.45 This is not surprising considering that the Marinids had engaged in an ongoing military build-up for nearly two years and the Christians had hastily conducted theirs in response to the siege of Tarifa. Even so, the number of soldiers could never be as high as the sources claim

41 42 43

44 45

Ambrosio Huici Miranda, “El sitio de Tarifa y la batalla de Salado” in Las grandes batallas de la Reconquista durante las invasiones africanas (Madrid, 1956), pp. 331–79. Crónica, chap. 247, p. 322. By the late Middle Ages and beyond, there were two recognizable riding techniques in Castile: a la brida, which was used when the rider was more heavily armed and resembled the Northern European style of mounted combat, and consisted in using a higher saddle, and stirrups that maintained the rider’s legs straight (sacrificing some of the rider’s mobility in return for strength); and a la jineta, adopted from the Muslims, in which the rider used a lighter saddle, lighter armor and stirrups that kept the legs bent. This type of riding, much suited to the Castilian-Muslim frontier of southern Iberia, prized speed and maneuverability over power. Alvaro Soler del Campo, La evolución del armamento medieval en el reino castellano-leonés y Al-Andalus(siglos XII–XIII) (Madrid, 1993), pp. 157–68. Ibn Musa, Kitab Wāsitat, pp. 373–75; Al-Maqqari, History of the Mohammedan Dynasties in Spain, Bk. VIII, chap. 6, pp. 2: 355–56. Huici Miranda, “El sitio de Tarifa,” pp. 368–70.

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since they would have found it difficult to fit on the battlefield, so one must assume that all the numbers are exaggerated. Perhaps it was this numerical superiority that drove Abu-l-Hassan to accept the Christian offer of a pitched battle so readily. It could also have been the case that his armies were running low on supplies, making it difficult perhaps to sustain any further efforts at Tarifa’s walls while fending off potential attacks from the Christian relief forces. The Moroccan emir moved his encampment well away from the city and burned all of the siege engines used to bombard it.46 Essentially, he ensured that the success or failure of his whole campaign depended upon achieving victory on the battlefield. Regardless, Alfonso achieved one of his principal goals, which was to take pressure off the besieged port. After all, his decision to offer battle was not an offensive move to destroy the enemy, but a defensive one to prevent Tarifa’s fall.47 Where exactly Abu-l-Hassan and Yusuf I decided to encamp is still a matter of debate. The chronicles are ambiguous at best and there is no archeological evidence pointing to a specific locale. As research into this topic has developed, two distinct possibilities have emerged. Huici Miranda in his classic study places the Marinid emir’s camp on a hill named Cortijo del Alfaneque,48 which is far enough to take the pressure off the city, but still close to the routes toward Algeciras, while the Granadans settled on a location closer to the mountains (see Map 3). More recently, Wenceslao Segura González has also agreed with his assessment.49 Manuel López Fernández has advanced a different view. He believes that the Muslim camps were located closer to the battlefield, with the Marinid main camp on a hill known today as Cerro del Tesoro and the Granadan on a nearby one named Bujeo de la Breña50 (see Map 4). However, it is important to note that, to accommodate all the Muslim soldiers, the tents would have had to be spread out over a large area, maybe two or more square kilometers, assuming that perhaps there were 60,000 Islamic effectives and support staff, or both of the abovementioned hills and some of the surrounding area. Rather than being completely separate, the Marinid and Granadan camps were very close to each other.

46 47 48

49 50

Crónica, chap. 248, p. 323. Rojas, “La batalla,” pp. 166–67. The Christian chronicles use the term rreal for encampment. The term alfaneque comes from the Arabic meaning “tent” or “booth.” In this case, what the sources describe as alfaneques are the more elaborate tents set up for Abu-l-Hassan and Yusuf I and/or the specific section of the camp where they were located. This would have been the central part of the encampment. Huici Miranda, “El sitio de Tarifa,” p. 350; Segura González, “La batalla del Salado,” in Tarifa en la Edad Media, p. 190. “La batalla del Salado sobre la toponimia actual de Tarifa,” p. 5.



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Map 3.  Christian and Muslim Encampments Prior to the Battle According to Huici Miranda51

Although strong arguments can be made for both views – placing the Marinid camp in the Cortijo del Alfaneque, for example, would make perfect sense as it is farther from the hostilities and therefore more protected, and there is also the temptation of assuming that a place name and the historical event are inevitably linked – I believe that López Fernández is correct. Even if the Islamic camps were closer to the battlefield, both were located on top of hills, providing perfect vantage points and taking advantage of the topography for protection. Furthermore, the distinction between rreal (encampment) and alfaneque (tent), provides an additional clue. One of the deciding events of this battle was an attack by most of the Castilian vanguard on the tents of Abu-l-Hassan and his family. Since the sources present this as a spontaneous action, it would stand to reason that they must have been able to see the alfaneque or at least its banners from the battlefield in order to target it, especially since they bypassed the rest of the enemy forces. The center of a camp at Cortijo de Alfaneque would not

51

The basic map of the battlefield is from Huici Miranda, “El sitio de Tarifa” (pp. 352–53), the added symbols represent the different actors. The symbols used do not reflect the armies’ actual size or exact arrangement, but their location and general movements. It is also evident that the arrows reflect the general direction of these forces’ movements since the terrain does not generally allow progress by moving in a straight line.

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have been visible and therefore would have constituted a ride away from the field toward an unseen destination.52

Map 4.  Battle Formations and Christian and Muslim Encampments Prior to the Battle According to López Fernández

Prior to the battle, on 30 October 1340, both sides had enough time to hold war councils and prepare their strategic plans. The first thing to consider is the actual battlefield, a valley bounded by the Río de la Jara (Jara river) on the northwest and the Río de la Tabla (Tabla river) on the southwest with the small Salado river between the two. It was roughly a little more than 4 km from the Peña del Ciervo, 3–4 km from Tarifa, and about 1.5–2 km from the Muslim camps. The area close to the shore, where the bulk of the fighting was slated to take place, is relatively flat, giving no particular advantage to either side. The Salado river that gives the battle its name was little more than a stream, providing not a grand obstacle, as the Christian chronicles present, but a minor barrier to negotiate during the fighting. However, this small valley gives way to sharp hills on its eastern part, necessarily giving the advantage of high ground 52

I created a three-dimensional projection of the battlefield and environs which clearly shows that Abu-l-Hassan’s alfaneque would be visible if located in the Cerro del Tesoro and Bujeo de la Breña, but not in the Cortijo de Alfanque. España Digital. Mapa de España. Carta Digital V. 2.5.2., ed. Secretaría General Técnica, Ministerio de Defensa (Madrid, 2005).



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to the Muslim armies moving in a southeast-to-northwest direction, since the Christians had to march in the opposite direction53 (see Map 4). The broken territory could appear hazardous or even impassable until one considers that while there were some steep hills there also were ample trails between them allowing for safe, if difficult, passage. The second issue to keep in mind is that even though they were in constant contact, the Muslim military system differed from the Christian in fundamental ways. By the fourteenth century, the Granadans and the Marinids had left behind any use of heavily armored cavalry. Islamic troops favored the use of light mail along with a helmet for the rider and little, if any, protection for the horses. Each cavalryman was armed with a short lance, which he could wield or throw at the enemy, and a small round shield. Supplementing this principal weapon were alfanjes or short, curved swords sharpened on only one side of the blade, and extra lances.54 Since they rode a la jineta,55 stressing speed and mobility, their principal strategy was not a direct charge, even though they also engaged in that when it suited their purposes, but to gallop toward the enemy formation and attempt to disrupt it either by surrounding it or outflanking it, all the while throwing small missiles such as dardos (small javelins) or even shooting bolts from small crossbows. If the enemy remained disciplined, they generally then performed a feigned retreat maneuver to entice their opponents to break formation. At this point, they would turn back and re-launch their attack. When faced with an enemy charge, the Muslims countered by splitting into various tropeles or units and then using their speed and mobility to harass the attacker from the flanks and even from behind.56 The Muslim cavalry, always the principal attack body in battles, was supplemented by its infantry, whose presence according to Don Juan Manuel was a certain sign that the Muslims were willing to engage in battle rather than exclusively in raids.57 Their body armor was composed of light mail or leather, helmets and shields. The footsoldiers were further divided into spearmen and archers and crossbowmen. Both groups probably also carried shields and short swords or daggers into battle.58 At first glance it would appear that Salado was not just a battle between two armies, but also between the two fighting systems of the heavy, northernEuropean influenced Castilians and Portuguese and the lighter, faster Granadans and Marinids. However, this would be a gross and incorrect oversimplification. The long-standing contact between Christians and Muslims along the Andalu53 54 55 56 57 58

Huici Miranda, “El sitio de Tarifa,” pp. 351–52; López Fernández, “La actuación de las flotas,” p. 4; Segura González, “La batalla del Salado,” pp. 188–89. Rachel Arié, España Musulmana (Siglos VIII-XV) in Historia de España, vol. 3, ed. Manuel Tuñón de Lara (Barcelona, 1982), pp. 139–40. See note 43. Don Juan Manuel, Libro de los Estados in Escritores en prosa anteriores al siglo XV, ed. D. Pascual Gayangos, Biblioteca de Authores Españoles 51 (Madrid, 1928), chap. 76, p. 323. Ibid., chap. 79, pp. 325–26. Arié, España Musulmana, pp. 139–40, 143–44.

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sian frontier caused the North African riding techniques to spread and influence Castilian military practice. The result were the adalides, much prized mounted warriors who were experts in frontier warfare. In addition to their intimate knowledge of the area and the enemy, they had adopted and mastered the faster and more mobile a la jineta riding technique.59 Castilian armies, especially when fighting in southern Spain, always had both heavy and light cavalrymen and utilized them as conditions necessitated. In fact, some of Alfonso XI’s donceles, knights who spent a great amount in the royal household and who were among the monarch’s most trusted men, rode a la jineta.60 The fact that this was a clash between Muslim light and mixed Castilian cavalry, without discounting some advantages that could come from mounted warriors riding a la brida, does throw at least some doubt on the argument, still presented by some, that the heavier Castilian cavalry was the key to victory.61 The next step for the armies was how to arrange themselves on the battlefield (see Map 4). It was determined by the Christians that Afonso IV would take his forces and face off against the Granadan army. Alfonso XI would take the rest of the armed forces and engage the Marinid host. To counteract the enemy’s numerical superiority, Alfonso did not command his forces to mirror the Marinids’ hazes or subunits. Instead, he organized his cavalry into two larger units to serve as vanguard and main body and then arranged for his infantry corps to serve as his rearguard. His rationale was that placing his cavalry into two tight formations would maximize its attack and defense capability, while trying to match the Muslims unit per unit would have spread his forces too thin.62 Yet the Castilians did not limit their actions strictly to the chosen field of battle. Taking advantage of the diminished Muslim pressure upon Tarifa, Alfonso acceded to the plan suggested by Juan Manuel of dispatching a force, with cavalry and infantry, to break through into the city. The purpose was not only to provide a boost to the unrelenting but strained garrison, but also for these effectives to partake in the battle and make the Muslims fight on more than one front. To retain the element of surprise, this operation was carried out at night with the mixed force moving as fast as possible. They did meet some resistance, enough to alert the rest of the Marinid camps, but they were able to break through. The darkness and confusion prevented the Marinid forces and Abu-lHassan from determining what exactly had taken place. They could not have been particularly thrilled the next day to discover a Christian contingent ready

59

60 61 62

Antonio Torremocha Silva, Algeciras entre la Cristiandad y el Islam: estudio sobre el cerco y la conquista de Algeciras por el rey Alfonso XI de Castilla, así como de la ciudad y sus términos hasta el final de la Edad Media (Algeciras, 1994), p. 131. Gran Crónica, vol. 2, chap. 328, p. 422. Segura González, “La Batalla del Salado,” p. 23. Gran Crónica, vol. 2, chap. 323, p. 409.



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to fight and assembled behind them.63 Even though it certainly was not apparent at that time, the Castilians had taken their first step toward victory. Early on the eventful day, the armies carried out their rituals and last minute preparations and then marched, the Christians heading in a southeasterly direction through the pass west of the Peña del Ciervo and the Muslims marching to the northwest from their encampments, to take their places in the battlefield. At first glance it was clear that the Christians were outnumbered, and had also ceded the high ground. Afonso IV led his host to face the Granadans in an area east of the main battlefield, closer to the mountains and Yusuf I’s camp. Alfonso XI, feeling the force was too small, reinforced it by sending several nobles with their retinues and several urban militias. The Castilian king’s vanguard was led by some of the realm’s most powerful magnates and their followers. He himself rode with his army’s main body. The rearguard remained at the foot of the Peña del Ciervo and was composed of the Cordoban militia and others led by Gonzalo de Aguilar. As a reserve and stationed on his left flank he gathered the infantrymen that had come from the northern sections of the kingdom and placed them under the command of Pedro Núñez de Guzmán.64 The Muslim forces, more numerous, were arranged across the battlefield facing roughly northwest. The Marinid contingent was divided into several units, in addition to those left by Abu-l-Hassan to guard his encampment. To his left flank, closest to the shore, was a unit led by his emir Abu Umar. The Moroccan ruler was in the middle body and to his right and up the hill was the Granadan army.65 The Granadan and Marinid forces were spread out enough so that the former’s left flank and the latter’s right flank were very close to each other (see Map 4).

63

64

65

The force was led by several of Alfonso’s most trusted nobles including Alfonso Fernández Coronel, Martín Fernández de Portocarrero, Pedro Ponce and Enrique Enríquez as well as the contingents from Jaén and Xerez. The chronicler claims that this force could have numbered about 1,000 cavalry and 4,000 infantry. Gran Crónica, vol. 2, pp. 415–16. The Portuguese contingent was composed of Afonso IV’s host, the retinues of the bishop of Braga, the prior of Crato, López Fernández Pacheco, Gonzalo Gómez de Sousa, and Gonzalo de Acevedo, and the Orders of Santiago and Avis. The Castilian reinforcement was led by the vassals of the crown-prince, under the command of Pedro Fernández de Castro and Juan Alfonso de Alburquerque; the Orders of Calatrava and Alcántara; the retinues of Diego de Haro, Gonzalo Ruiz Girón, and Gonzalo Núñez Daza; and the urban contingents from Salamanca, Aillón, Belorado, Badajoz, Ciudad Rodrigo, Olmedo, Carrión and Saldaña. Alfonso’s vanguard included Juan Manuel, Juan Núñez de Lara, Fernando Rodríguez Villalobos, and the master of the Order of Santiago among others as well as the urban militias from Écija, Seville, and Carmona. The main body, in addition to the monarch’s personal forces, also included those of the principal bishoprics across the kingdom, and any urban contingents not specifically sent elsewhere. Assisting these forces were three Castilian galleys and twelve Aragonese ships under Pedro de Moncada (“Credentials granted to Admiral Pedro de Moncada by the king of Aragón to be given to Alfonso XI [Barcelona, September 23, 1340];” CDIACA, vol. 7, doc. 23, pp. 125–26), which were also supposed to guard the waters of the Strait. Crónica, vol. 2, pp. 411–13; Miguel Cuarteto Larrea, “El Salado,” Ejército 13 (1941), 37–38. Segura González, “La batalla del Salado según Gil de Albornoz,” p. 3; Cuarteto Larrea, p. 38.

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The battle commenced around nine in the morning with the Portuguese army, supplemented by Castilian forces, moving against the Granadan forces and the Castilian and Marinid vanguards engaging in an artillery barrage.66 In addition to enemy missile fire, the first real obstacle faced by the Castilian forces was how to get over the Salado stream. Even though in normal circumstances crossing it would simply be a minor inconvenience, at this point the Christians could potentially put themselves at a disadvantage right before they attacked. This was most likely the reason why the bulk of the Castilian vanguard, including Don Juan Manuel, hesitated to move forward once they reached it. As he neared the Salado, Alfonso ordered the crossing up and down the small stream to begin. It was here that the first real hand-to-hand fighting took place. Sheer numbers gave the initial advantage to the Marinids who very nearly overwhelmed the ­Christians until they were reinforced by another Castilian cavalry unit. Once Alfonso’s group was almost at the Salado river, the rest of the C ­ hristian vanguard crossed over.67 Once he rode across, Alfonso’s intention was to regroup all of his forces and attack the Marinid’s main body. However, two factors conspired against him. The first was that Abu-l-Hassan, noticing that his enemy had crossed the Salado, ordered emir Abu Umar, commanding a unit to the Marinid ruler’s left flank, to charge directly toward Alfonso’s host. As the attack unfolded, the royal host found itself pinned down with the attackers nearly reaching the king himself. Even as the royal host tenaciously resisted, they were saved by the regrouped Castilian vanguard’s timely intervention, which drove back the Marinid forces. The second was that the Castilian vanguard, rather than rejoin the monarch after repelling this initial attack, turned southeastward and headed up the hills toward the Abu-l-Hassan’s encampment, passing to the right of the Marinid main force.68 The Christian chronicles make no mention of any plan to attack the camp instead of the Marinid main army and present this as an entirely spontaneous action, smacking of indiscipline. Even so, after the first Christian contingents headed away from the main battlefield, they were then joined by other Castilian forces, leaving Alfonso dangerously exposed. The sources leave three key issues unanswered regarding precisely what happened at this crucial juncture. First, how could many of these nobles justify leaving their commander in such a vulnerable position? Second, how could the Castilian cavalry charge past the Marinid and Granadan armies and encounter apparently minimal, if any, resistance? Third, why did the Marinid leader not react to this development, even when he could clearly see the Castilian units headed straight past him to his camp?

66 67 68

Segura González, “La batalla del Salado según Gil de Albornoz,” p. 6. Gran Crónica, vol. 2, chap. 330, pp. 426–28. Ibid., p. 428.



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Map 5.  Battle of Salado: First Stage

With regard to the nobility riding away from Alfonso, the Crónica and Gran Crónica both claim that magnates like Juan Núñez de Lara and Alfonso Méndez intended to follow Alfonso’s orders, but were surprised to see their own standard bearers charge up toward the encampment with their forces following them. As such, they were compelled to ride away from the main battlefield to reestablish their command over them. After these first contingents charged, most of the Castilian vanguard, including Juan Manuel, joined the new attack.69 As to how the Christian cavalry were able to progress almost unopposed, the only possible explanation is that a gap must have formed between the two Muslim fighting forces through which the Christian cavalry charged.70 While there is the possibility that the Muslim armies simply lacked the discipline to remain in position, a more likely explanation is that the Granadan army, while engaged with the Portuguese host, was attacked by the Castilian infantry. To avoid being surrounded, the Granadans moved their position to their right, opening up a gap with Abu-l-Hassan’s right flank. This apparently occurred very shortly before the Christian cavalry charge.71 As for Abu-l-Hassan’s apparent non-reaction to the Castilian cavalry charge, though it is difficult to know for certain, the Moroccan ruler may have felt that 69 70 71

Ibid., vol. 2, chap. 330, p. 428; Crónica, chap. 251, p. 326. Segura González, “La batalla del Salado,” Al–Qantir, pp. 23–24. Robert Ricard, “La relation portugaise de la bataille du Salado (1340),” Hesperis 43 (1956), 15–16; López Fernández, “La actuación de las flotas,” p. 9.

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the forces guarding his camp and his rearguard were strong enough to defeat the attackers.72 In retrospect, not reacting to the Castilian charge had destructive consequences. Abu-l-Hassan may not have had the chance, however, since the Christian charge would have taken between three and five minutes to cover the 2 km or so that separated them from his alfaneque.73 This would not have left much time to marshal and direct forces in a new direction. The camp guards could very well have defended against the Castilian mounted vanguard if it had been the only attacking force. However, the Tarifan garrison, assembled and reinforced the night before, had advanced toward the camp and attacked it from the east. The hilly terrain actually acted in their favor. Even though the Tarifans would have been visible at all times, the Marinids would have had great difficulty finding a suitable place to stop their advance. Whether the two attacking forces overwhelmed the Muslims or, as López Fernández argues, the Tarifan garrison drew away the camp’s defenders toward them, leaving them at the mercy of the charging Castilian vanguard,74 the Christians pillaged the camp and alfaneque, scooping up anything of value, taking any survivors as prisoners and killing the bulk of the Marinid royal family and their servants (see Map 5). After ransacking the area and setting the remaining Muslim guards to flight, these forces joined together and started to return to the main battlefield to attack the Marinids from the rear.75 Even as the Christian cavalry rampaged in the camp and alfaneque, victory still lay within Abu-l-Hassan’s grasp. Alfonso, with most of his vanguard away toward the encampment, his infantry aiding the Portuguese, and his host outnumbered, found himself in a dangerous position. The Marinid main body launched an attack directly at Alfonso’s army. The attack came close enough to the king that apparently a spear hit the harness of his steed. Alfonso himself became concerned enough to attempt to join the fight until Gil Albornoz, archbishop of Toledo, grabbed his horse’s reins and prevented him from doing so. At this time, the outcome of the battle hung in the balance. If the Muslims captured or killed the enemy king, they could certainly expect victory to follow, even if they sustained heavy losses. Yet this was not to be since Alfonso’s host was able to stop the offensive and even launch a counterattack of its own. The Castilian forces were also reinforced by mounted warriors from the urban contingents of Mondoñedo, Écija, Zamora and Córdoba, from the reserve.76 72 73

74 75 76

Segura González, “La batalla del Salado,” in Tarifa, p. 191. Horses at full gallop would have gone at a speed of 30–40 km/hour depending on the terrain. They would have covered this distance in a very short time. Bernard S. Bacharach, “Caballus et Caballarius in Medieval Warfare,” in The Study of Chivalry: Resources and Approaches, ed. Howell Chickering and Thomas H. Seiler (Kalamazoo, 1988), pp. 173–211 (http://www. deremilitari.org/resources/articles/bachrach3.htm) and idem, “Animals and Warfare in Early Medieval Europe,” Settimane di Studio del Centro Italiano di Studi sull’alto Medioevo 31 (Spoleto, 1985), p. 746. López Fernández, “La actuación de las flotas,” pp. 9–10. Gran Crónica, vol. 2, chap. 330, p. 428. Ibid., p. 429–30.



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With the fortunes of Abu-l-Hassan on the wane, several decisive events occurred that tipped the result to the Christians. First, the Castilian vanguard and the Tarifan garrison descended back from the Marinid camp to attack the Marinid rearguard. Second, the combined Portuguese-Castilian forces defeated the Granadans, who fled back toward their camp and beyond. The Christian forces then regrouped and headed toward the coast to join Alfonso’s host. In a short time, Abu-l-Hassan found himself fighting on two fronts and without being able to rely on Yusuf’s forces77 (see Map 6).

Map 6.  Battle of Salado: Second Stage

This crucial moment in the battle is a bit of a mystery. The Marinids, who still outnumbered the Christian combined force and had up to that moment displayed the ability to launch multiple attacks, panicked and collapsed, scattering in all directions. How did Abu-l-Hassan go from commanding an army in trouble to retreating at all speed toward Algeciras? The Christian sources are not especially helpful. The Castilian chronicles attribute the Marinid defeat to their inability to withstand the pressure and Abu-l-Hassan’s personal indecision, demoralization and perhaps cowardice.78 The Portuguese chronicler stresses Afonso IV’s actions against the Granadan army as a key reason for the Christian victory.79 77 78 79

Ibid., pp. 430–31. Ibid., p. 431. Crónica do rei Afonso IV, chap. 62, pp. 340–41.

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Although there are plenty of instances of medieval armies that panicked when surrounded, the Marinid main armies appeared to be resisting the Christian attacks. So what exactly happened? At this point, Abu-l-Hassan was in all likelihood aware of the Granadan defeat and the pillage of his encampment. Therefore, simply resisting was not a realistic option. The pivotal maneuver that doomed the Marinids was his reaction to the new attacks upon his right flank and rearguard. The Moroccan general ordered his main body to turn and face his new attackers. Yet rather than direct his forces to where they were needed, the change in direction had lethal consequences (see Map 7). The bulk of the Marinid army, most of them only able to see the commander’s banners at a distance and dependent on them for direction, could have seen them moving in the opposite direction from Alfonso’s host. The importance of banners for soldiers cannot be overestimated. Not only did they serve to organize and lead soldiers, but in the heat of battle, where the commotion and din made it nearly impossible to convey orders and the soldiers could only direct their attention elsewhere for a split second, the commander’s banner would have served as a rallying point. Not finding it, or worse, seeing it retreating from the field, spelled disaster.80 In other words, on top of being under attack from two directions at once and more and more Christians joining in the fight, their leader’s standard was in retreat. Upon seeing this, they became demoralized and panicked.81 Once the Marinid armies collapsed, a disorganized retreat ensued with soldiers scattering in all directions (see Map 8). The most unfortunate headed toward the coast and were driven into the sea and ended up drowning. The Castilian monarch, now joined by his father-in-law, launched a chase with the specific intent of capturing Abu-l-Hassan and Yusuf I, who were both fleeing in the direction of Algeciras. To Alfonso’s dismay, he could not maintain the discipline of his troops as many ignored the pursuit and turned instead to pillage. The Muslim rulers were both able to make it the relative safety of Algeciras. Later on, fearing that the Christians could besiege them, they crossed the bay of 80

81

J.F. Verbruggen, The Art of Warfare in Western Europe during the Middle Ages from the Eighth Century to 1340, 2nd ed., ed. and trans. Summer Willard and R.W. Southern (Woodbridge, 1997), pp. 89–91; John France, Western Warfare in the Age of the Crusades (Ithaca, NY, 1999), p. 156. Gutierre Díaz de Gamez in his Crónica de don Pedro Niño, conde de Balbuena (Madrid, 1782), part I, chap. 25, p. 107, stressed the importance of standards in battle when he wrote: “Bien saben los guerreros, que todos miran á la bandera, tan bien los enemigos, como los amigos; é si la ven retraer estando en la pelea, pierden los suyos el esfuerzo, é cóbranle los contrarios; é si la ven estár firme ó ir adelante, eso mesmo” (“Men of war know well that all look to their standard, foes as well as friends; and if they see it retreat during the fight, they will lose heart, and their opponents will gain it; and if they see it standing firm or moving forward, [they will do] the same”). Ibn Musa Kitab Wāsitat, pp. 2:373–75. Regardless of their differences in where each of the armies and camps were located, all the modern authors agree that Abu-l-Hassan’s change of direction was the crucial event that led to the crushing defeat of the Moroccans. Huici Miranda, “El sitio de Tarifa,” pp. 361–62; López Fernández, p. 10; Segura González, “La batalla del Salado,” Al-Qantir, p. 23–24.



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Map 7.  Battle of Salado: Third Stage

Algeciras under cover of night to Gibraltar. From there, Abu-l-Hassan boarded a galley and crossed the Strait of Gibraltar to Ceuta and Yusuf I went to Marbella, before heading home. Alfonso’s frustration at not capturing the Moroccan ruler could not have been greater since he had asked the Aragonese admiral Pedro de Moncada to guard the Strait that night specifically to bar the Moroccan ruler from crossing over. Moncada, not wanting to risk being attacked by a Marinid fleet, had refused.82 After the unsuccessful chase, Alfonso XI and Afonso IV returned triumphantly to their encampments at the Peña del Ciervo. At that point Alfonso tried to take control of the distribution of the significant amounts of plunder taken from the field and enemy camps. He was also advised that nearby Algeciras was in a weakened state and therefore vulnerable to assault. The Castilian king, as much as he wanted to take the fortified port city and further his dominance over the Strait of Gibraltar, decided against a siege operation because his forces only had limited supplies. Before doing so, he inspected Tarifa, ordered that its fortifications be rebuilt and its garrison supplied as best as he could. He then led his armies out of the area and encamped outside the Jerez de la Frontera.83 The two monarchs later made a triumphant entrance into Seville at the head of armed forces laden with booty and captives. After taking some plunder and a 82 83

Gran Crónica, vol. 2, chap. 330, pp. 432–36. Ibid., pp. 436–37.

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Map 8.  Battle of Salado: Dénouement

few hostages, including one of Abu-l-Hassan’s sons, Afonso IV headed home. Alfonso then sent a delegation to the Holy See that included banners and standards taken from the Marinids as well as hostages and horses as gifts.84 Considering that the battle of Salado was the last serious campaign from Morocco into the peninsula it is perhaps natural to consider it a landmark in the Reconquest.85 This, however, exaggerates its significance and indeed that of pitched battles in general. While it is true that the Moroccan ruler never returned, and failed to defend his peninsular possessions, it was not for lack of military capacity, but rather that he faced a bitter civil war at home and brokendown diplomatic relations with Granada.86 While not all this can be attributed to Salado, the defeat cannot be discarded offhand because it tarnished Abu-lHassan’s reputation and encouraged the restive sectors in his dominions, even if it did not destroy the Marinid armed forces. It also gave Granada legitimate grounds to doubt the wisdom of cooperating diplomatically and militarily with Morocco. Castile did become dominant in the Strait of Gibraltar until after another four years of campaigns and the capture of Algeciras after a long and bitter siege.87 It is also crucial to keep in mind that this encounter took place as 84 85 86 87

Ibid., pp. 442–47. See note 3. Manzano Rodríguez, La intervención , pp. 281–82. See note 4.



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part of the siege of Tarifa, with the Muslims trying to counter a Christian relief attempt. Alfonso’s triumph, resounding as it may have been, did not change the Reconquest’s modus operandi of advancing only through the difficult capture of fortified locales. In short, victory at Salado did not by itself secure Castile’s ascendancy over the Strait, nor did it end the Reconquest. Yet if the military consequences of the battle were not as grandiose as is sometimes claimed, there certainly were significant benefits for Alfonso. First, it took some of the pressure off his most remote frontier outposts and gave him enough leeway to prepare his next campaigns. Second, he earned a grand reputation as a great conqueror that reverberated well beyond Castile, as evidenced by his contact with other European rulers as well as his inclusion in many nonCastilian chronicles.88 Finally, his victory at Salado was an absolute political coup for Alfonso. It enabled him to continue his program of centralizing royal administration and augmenting the power of the monarchy. The restive magnates that had given him so much trouble a mere four years before could hardly mount any serious challenges to his authority. The border disputes with Portugal and Navarre were settled, even if some latent hostility remained. Even Afonso IV, who had hoped as the senior Iberian monarch to establish some sort of authority over his son-in-law, especially with regard to his treatment of Queen María, was pushed to the side. Alfonso had triumphed over them all.

88

Letter from Pedro of Aragón congratulating Alfonso XI on his victory at Salado (8 December 1340); CDIACA, vol. 7, doc. 29, pp. 142–43; Gran Crónica, chap. 334, vol. 2, pp. 446–47; Adam Murimuth (d. 1347), Adae Murimuth continuatio chronicarum: Robertus de Avesbury De gestis mirabilis, ed. E.M. Thompson (London, 1889), p. 267; Chronicle of Peter III of Catalonia, trans. Mary Hillgarth, intro. J.M. Hillgarth (Toronto, 1980), chap. 2, sec. 38, p. 226; Chronique de Philippe de Valois in Les grandes chroniques de France, vol. 9, ed. Jules Viard (Paris, 1937), chap. 27, pp. 216–17.

5 Chivalry and Military Biography in the Later Middle Ages: The Chronicle of the Good Duke Louis of Bourbon* Steven Muhlberger

I would like to begin my talk today with sincere thanks to De Re Militari and the Society for Military History, and in particular to Kelly DeVries, for inviting me to give this year’s Journal of Medieval Military History Lecture. This series of lectures and the other military history sessions at Kalamazoo have for years brought together on a regular basis some of the most active medieval military historians, who constitute an enthusiastic and very discerning audience. I am honored and happy to have this opportunity to speak to such a group. Although I spent my early years as a professional scholar studying late antique and early medieval history, I learned an important lesson that is still relevant to my current work on chivalry and the culture of late medieval warriors: old sources deserve a new look every once in a while. When I was a graduate student, Walter Goffart urged me to look at the Chronica Minora of the fourth through seventh centuries, and “see what there was in them.” These minor chronicles had not exactly been neglected in the previous five centuries of scholarship, but most of the work had been devoted to reconstructing authoritative but lost sources, many of them hypothetical, from bare-bones chronicle accounts. The great hope of editors and critics of the nineteenth century had been that diligent work on these sources would allow us to understand what really happened to the Roman Empire after A.D. 400. I was encouraged to ask whether we could instead use the same material to reconstruct the interests and perceptions of these minor chroniclers. Could the chroniclers, obscure and in many cases anonymous, become the stars of the show, rather than being perceived as stupid men who constituted a barrier between us and their hypothetical sources? In my first book, The Fifth-Century Chroniclers,1 I tried this approach, with some success.

* Editors’ Note: This article continues the tradition of including a version of the Boydell and

1

Brewer/De Re Militari special lecture presented at the International Congress of Medieval Studies, Kalamazoo. Here, Professor Muhlberger has deliberately elected to retain the style of the verbal presentation, to give a better flavor of the original. Steven Muhlberger, The Fifth-Century Chroniclers (Leeds, 1990).

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When I got into the history of chivalry and war, I found myself being pulled in the same direction, which might be defined as “look at the storyteller as much as the story.” Following up on a personal interest in formal combats, I began by looking at accounts of jousts and tournaments and duels of honor, to see how they were run, what the rules were, what the techniques of the fighters were. My first step was to pick up an old copy of Froissart and look at some of the more famous single combats of the fourteenth century. I quickly found out things that other people had known for a long time: first, that Froissart was as much or more a figure in the history of the European novel as he was a historian; and second, that even the most prolix and interested writer on the subject of formal combats didn’t actually tell us very much about a given event: precision and accuracy were not high priorities.2 Indeed, Sydney Anglo had already forty-some years ago made this latter point in an excellent but obscurely-published article about an Anglo-Burgundian deed of arms in 1467. Most unusually, one combat, between Anthony Woodville, Lord Scales and the Bastard of Burgundy, was documented by four independent eyewitnesses, two English and two Burgundians. Yet the accounts have very little resemblance to each other and on some points are in flat contradiction. Why? Because the observers were partisans for the opposing fighters, and for the “national” groups they represented. They had different accounts of this combat at Smithfield near London because they needed a narrative to support their side’s claim to have won the fight, or rather, to have gained honor by the standards of the 1460s.3 For anyone interested in the practical details of the martial arts and the conduct of formal combats of the late Middle Ages, Anglo’s article raises a daunting problem. If even the people who were there could not agree about what happened in a closely scrutinized combat, about what blows were struck, about what weapons or armor were effective, about what was fair conduct and what was cheating, what can we do? But we can do more than throw up our hands. When we take our eyes away from the fast and furious action on the list field, obscured as it is by a cloud of passion, and direct them to the action on the sidelines, we see another conflict, between passionate observers arguing with each other about what constitutes chivalry and honor in a formal combat.4 This second conflict is at least as significant as the physical contest for those of us interested in war making and war makers in the later Middle Ages.

2 3

4

J.J.N. Palmer, ed., Froissart: Historian (Woodbridge, 1981) provides essential background. Sydney Anglo, “Anglo-Burgundian Feats of Arms: Smithfield, June 1467,” Guildhall Miscellany 2 (1965), 271–83, shows that even having multiple eyewitness accounts does not assure certainty. Froissart is famous for relying on eyewitness accounts, and seems often to have been led astray by them. A good example can be seen in Froissart’s depiction of the arguments arising from the supposedly friendly joust between Sir John Holland and Renaud de Roye. Jean Froissart, Oeuvres, ed. Kerven de Lettenhove, 29 vols. (Brussels, 1867–77; reprint Osnabrück, 1967) [hereafter abbreviated KL], 12:120–23; I discuss this incident in Deeds of Arms: Formal Combats in the Late Fourteenth Century (Highland Village, TX, 2005), pp. 69–71, 181–83.



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Indeed, in some ways we are in much the same position as contemporaries. Formal combats were oh-so-ephemeral, and quite often ended without a clear victory. But the fights were dangerous, and life, limb and reputation were all at risk; even a supposedly friendly deed of arms in time of truce might raise passions sufficient to revive a war between kingdoms – or so canny politicians feared.5 Meanings attributed to a combat and its outcome were as important as any other aspect of the exercise, and some of them at least are able to be known through close attention to chronicles and other sources. And we, too, can argue about what constituted good and honorable behavior. There is a lot of room for detailed analysis of these topics, and I think that such work can produce interesting results. If this sounds like Huizinga, fair enough. As I said at the beginning, every source and type of source deserves to be re-examined every once in a while; once a century is about right.6 For one thing, like other current students of the subject, I am not so sure that chivalry, admirable or not, was the hollow, hypocritical ideal that Huizinga felt it was. Too many men risked their bodies enacting chivalry for me to be confident of that.7 So my research began as an examination of fighting, blow-by-blow, and slowly became focused on the significance of the accounts of fighting as remembered and recorded. This leads us into today’s subject, the Chronicle of the Good Duke Louis of Bourbon, one of a number of French chivalric biographies of the fourteenth and fifteenth century and a neglected treasure for those who want to trace the meaning of chivalry for the working man-at-arms. Ostensibly about a peer of France, Duke Louis II of Bourbon, a leading member of the royal family, it also has very interesting things to say about his military household or troop of warriors and how they saw him and themselves in the context of the campaigns between the battle of Poitiers in 1356 and Duke Louis’s death in 1410. That to my mind is the good stuff. But first some basic background: The Chronicle of the Good Duke is a product of that interesting year for France, 1429. It was written in fact in the weeks following the breaking of the siege of Orléans. It probably was commissioned by Charles, duke of Bourbon, who visited the Bourbonnais at that precise time. The few surviving copies of the Chronicle are associated with the Bourbon family,8 while the author Jean Cabaret D’Orville dedicated the work to Duke Charles, who is credited with a serious interest in the inspirational members of his own line. The Chronicle might be seen as a tract for the times, as it depicts Duke Louis as precisely the kind of “good duke” that France needed in 1429: the kind of royal prince who was loyal and useful to his king, even when his 5 6 7 8

Deeds of Arms, pp. 172–80, 197–205. A view evidently shared by the new translators of Huizinga’s masterwork: The Autumn of the Middle Ages, trans. Rodney J. Payton and Ulrich Mammitzsch (Chicago, 1997). See David Crouch’s characterization of Huizinga in David Crouch, The Birth of Nobility: Constructing Aristocracy in England and France 900–1300 (London, 2005), p. 15. A.M. Chazaud, ed., La Chronique du bon duc Loys de Bourbon [hereafter CBDL] (Paris, 1876), pp. iii–x.

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king was demanding and not always properly appreciative of his efforts;9 who was aware of his obligations to his family, and was willing to defend their interests in a selfless way; the kind who could work with practical soldiers, win their respect, and even inspire them by his own vigorous, determined, and ingenious approach to warfare. And he was chivalrous: that is a slippery word, but in this case I will use it to indicate that Duke Louis combined military effectiveness with an awareness of what the decent limits were. When he captured the wife of his enemy, the Duke of Brittany, he refused to make war on ladies. There was no question of holding her for advantage. Rather, after making sure that no one stole from her baggage train, he released her and had her escorted to safe territory. When his mother was later captured by forces allied with that same traitorous Duke of Brittany, they did not return the favor; they held his lady mother in hopes of gaining advantage. Duke Louis was a cool customer. Anguished as he supposedly was, he did not go running off to rescue Mom, but continued his systematic destruction of the English garrisons and the recovery of large regions for the crown of France. His hard-headed behavior paid off. He made military gains and got his mother back anyway.10 For a modern historian or even someone with ordinary modern views of human nature, Duke Louis, as depicted in the Chronicle, is just a little bit too perfect.11 But one admirable aspect of his character is simple enough to understand, given even a slight acquaintance with the problems of France during the Hundred Years War. Cabaret D’Orville, the author of the Chronicle, begins not with Louis’s birth or education, but with his return from captivity in England in 1366. Louis, as heir to Bourbon, had been one of the hostages demanded by Edward III to guarantee that King John of France would pay ransom after his capture at Poitiers. When Louis was released, he found a duchy partly occupied by English brigands and seriously divided by factional politics. Cabaret shows his readers, in an account that is meant to inspire and instruct, however factual it may actually be, that Louis’s bearing and determination quickly turned things around. Having gathered his lords together he reassured them that he would not punish them for infractions of his rights, as one of his lowborn bureaucrats wanted him to do; at the same time he is shown embarrassing them by pointing out that they had done little to defend the country from brigands. But he was not harsh, and what won over the essential support he required from his fighting nobility was this heartfelt declaration: “I find myself [happy] alongside you for I am in the company where I wish to live and die… I hope to govern myself through you and your good counsel in things which 9 10 11

One example of royal pique on the part of Charles V and one where Duke Louis is less deferential than usual: CBDL, p. 106. CBDL, pp. 37–39, 74–93. Yet Olivier Mattéoni argues that Louis’s loyalty was for contemporaries his foremost virtue: “L’image du Duc Louis II de Bourbon dans la litterature du temps de Charles VI,” in SaintDenis et la royauté: Études offertes à Bernard Guenée, ed. Françoise Autrand et al. (Paris, 1999), pp. 145–56.



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affect my country and the welfare of this kingdom, which I hope to use to the extent of my power, by your good help, … I pray you to help me to make up for lost time and advance the house from which I am sprung. For I have the heart and will to not be idle. And concerning this I wish to ask you that along with the other benefits which you have done for me, you will willingly help me; for I want to live and die with you12 and I think that you also want to do the same with me…”

Smooth, gentle, yet confident, this speech had its effect: At the end of these beautiful words, the baronage present, and the knights and squires, wept with joy saying “God be blessed! For we have our lord and master.”13

A good lord and master: that was what they had been looking for, and if you believe the Chronicle, that is what they found in Duke Louis, who never gave them any reason to feel differently. The virtues of Duke Louis are mainly seen, directly or indirectly, through the eyes of someone of the same sort as those who wept at his return. Cabaret D’Orville, someone presumably too young to remember the Good Duke, relied very heavily on an experienced military man of the Bourbonnais for his information, Jean de Châteaumorand. His influence, especially on the early pages of the Chronicle, is evident, to the point that some modern scholars consider Châteaumorand to be the true author, with Cabaret only his secretary.14 Certainly all sorts of details in the text, of events a half-century old, we have to attribute to the older man: for instance, why would Cabaret remember that a captured English captain taken during a French attack on Rye and Lewes in 1377 was wearing a velvet covered cuirass?15 Is it more likely that Cabaret, or Châteaumorand, remembered the emotional response of Duke Louis to the unexpected death, also back in the 1370s, of the lord of Beaujeu, “one of the finest knights of the realm?”16 Châteaumorand’s value as a witness goes beyond the mere fact that he was old enough to have seen much of Duke Louis’s career. He was also one of the most experienced military men of his era, comparable in some ways to the more famous Boucicault the younger, whom he fought alongside on numerous occasions. Like Boucicault, Châteaumorand was from a family of some but not extraordinary status and influence; where Boucicault’s father had been a marshal of France, Châteaumorand’s father had been a close associate of the Good Duke, one of the first members of his private heraldic order, and at some point a royal chamberlain.17 Such men as Châteaumorand and Boucicault had, due to their 12 13 14

15 16 17

Live or die (a son bon commandement) also at CBDL, p. 17; the theme of “you and me together” is evoked in connection with an abortive crusade to Granada, CBDL, p. 108. CBDL, pp. 7–8. Chazaud in his introduction, CBDL, p. xvi; similarly, Olivier Mattéoni, “Portrait du prince idéal et idéologie nobiliare dans ‘La Chronique du bon duc Loys de Bourbon’ (1429),” Studi Francesi 115 (1995), 4–9. CBDL, p. 71. CBDL, p. 61. Gustave von Schlumberger, Jean de Châteaumorand (Paris, 1919), p. 7.

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connections with aristocrats and military men, enhanced opportunities to rise in the service of great princes, but no guarantees. Some of the most colorful warriors of the later fourteenth century spent much of their youth being as conspicuous as possible on the battlefield and fighting individual challenges in the lists with the enemies of their monarchs, hoping that the renown they gained in this way would lead them on to better things.18 The younger Boucicault is a striking example of how well this could work for an ambitious, vigorous and lucky young knight. He began his armed service in 1378 at the age of twelve accompanying the Good Duke to Normandy. From that point until 1391 he fought extensively in France and Spain and traveled to more distant Prussia, Hungary and Palestine looking for opportunities to fight more exotic enemies. His determination was such that in 1387, he and his brother-in-arms Renaud de Roye visited the court of the Ottoman Sultan Murad, where according to his own chivalric biography the two Frenchmen “presented [the Sultan] with their service in case he was making war against any other Saracens.”19 In late 1391, at the age of twenty-five, Boucicault’s tireless war-making was rewarded with the office of Marshal of France, which he held until his death. Jean de Châteaumorand never served as Marshal of France, but his military career has to be rated as extraordinarily successful. A little older than Boucicault, he waited to the great old age of sixteen for his first campaign. This was one of the Duke of Bourbon’s expeditions against brigands, many of them English or claiming English allegiance, who were terrorizing the duchy of Berry. Most noteworthy of Châteaumorand’s military accomplishments was his stint as commander of the Franco-Genoese garrison of Constantinople in the years 1399–1402, which garrison was the only force preventing the imperial capital from falling to the Ottoman Turks. Even before that, he had attained a high profile, and been entrusted by the king of France with important political and diplomatic roles, as other renowned champions of his sort were.20 His two most notable diplomatic assignments were in the late 1380s and 1390s: first, negotiation of the marriage between King Charles VI’s sister Isabelle and Charles’ English rival, Richard II, a marriage that was meant as a prelude to a general peace; and second, his leadership in negotiating with the Turkish Sultan the ransoms of the survivors of the disastrous crusading defeat at Nicopolis, the survivors being a rather small but select group that included such men as Boucicault and John of Nevers, heir to the Duchy of Burgundy. These were both matters of absolutely vital significance to the crown of France and its nobility, 18 19 20

Muhlberger, Deeds of Arms, pp. 155–56. Muhlberger, Deeds of Arms, pp. 165–66, with reference to Le livre des fais du…Boucicaut, ed. Denis Lalande (Geneva, 1985), p. 27. Charny’s political and diplomatic role, for instance, is discussed in Geoffroi de Charny, The Book of Chivalry of Geoffroi de Charny: Text, Context and Translation, ed. Richard Kaeuper and trans. Elspeth Kennedy (Philadelphia, 1996), pp. 9–16. Olivier Mattéoni sums up Châteaumorand’s career, including holding office under the crown, in “Portrait du Prince,” pp. 4–7 and Servir le Prince: Les officiers des ducs de Bourbon à la fin du Moyen Âge (1356–1523) (Paris, 1998), pp. 394–95.



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and required of Châteaumorand the utmost discretion, intelligence, and practicality. It should be pointed out that Châteaumorand succeeded in both of these missions. Thus Châteaumorand was a pillar of the royal establishment, if a lesser pillar, a man who excelled in war and in peace; when he looked back at Duke Louis of Bourbon, he looked back at someone who had played military and diplomatic roles comparable to his own, insofar as a non-prince and a prince could be compared. His written evaluation of the wars of his youth was, somewhat like Jean de Bueil’s Le Jouvencel, the evaluation of a man who knew what he was talking about, and wanted to present a model of chivalric behavior to younger generations.21 Certainly, Châteaumorand’s positive view of the Good Duke was shaped by the way Bourbon gave him his start, gave him opportunities, and regarded him as one of the knights “he loved the most.” However, if we are interested in what makes for success of such key figures – both the Duke and Jean de Châteaumorand count as such – and particularly if we want to see the glue that held together important military retinues, then this is an advantage. In a moment I will talk about how the first third of the Chronicle shows the creation of a military-political force by a young general/prince in a difficult situation, and how his success was perceived by his followers. Now I’d like to return for a moment to how the Good Duke was portrayed by Cabaret and Châteaumorand. Duke Louis is presented as a public-spirited, unselfish champion of the ruling dynasty and supporter of the traditional aristocracy. Insofar as the book was actively commissioned by the current duke, this portrayal was very likely part of the commission. Duke Louis, the reader learns, was a man willing to help his royal master and his aristocratic peers whenever they needed him. They made many demands on him but he always graciously put his talents to their purposes. Louis was also a man of good sense, a man of determination, a man whose appreciation of warfare was a very practical one. Interestingly he receives personal credit for his skill in the creation and use of siege engines – as the Duke of Anjou gets credit for assembling advanced artillery. Bourbon’s biographers portray him as the man who makes all the difference in recovering territory from English vagabond war bands, an accomplishment that leads to him being repeatedly rewarded with celebrity and celebration. Of course his biographers don’t credit him with sole responsibility for victories – it adds to rather than detracts from his historical image that he often worked closely with such eminent professional military men as the Constable Bertrand du Guesclin, the Marshal Louis de Sancerre and the Admiral Jean de Vienne. But Duke Louis was always there as the quiet, competent, gracious man who knew how to defeat the enemy or win him over, all without any hint that he might himself be a willful, self-interested aristocrat like so many others. Old Châteaumorand, general and diplomat, looked back at Duke Louis’s campaigns of 1370s and ‘80s with more than a little affection and a distinct 21

Le Jouvencel par Jean de Bueil, ed. Camille Favre and Léon Lecestre, 2 vols. (Paris, 1889).

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point of view. He was proud to associate himself with such an exemplar of chivalry – chivalry in this case meaning the effective and honorable and successful waging of warfare. (Interestingly, we hear nothing about the duke’s participation in or patronage of purely celebratory jousts or pas d’armes.) Châteaumorand was well aware that his first steps on the road of chivalry were encouraged, supported, and enabled by the Good Duke. In several places in the first third of the Chronicle, Châteaumorand told Cabaret about the opportunities for attaining excellence that were thrown his way by Duke Louis. Many anecdotes make this point, the story for instance of the “amorous barrier” where “those the Duke loved the most,” including Châteaumorand, were chosen to defend a position against an English force, in the hopes that their performance would make them more renowned.22 Perhaps even better is the story of a famous deed of arms at Vannes in Brittany at the end of the Earl of Buckingham’s failed chevauchée of 1380–1, where chosen English and French champions fought on foot in hopes that victory in formal combats would provide a satisfying and self-justifying conclusion to the campaign. Châteaumorand took part and was wounded in a dastardly fashion by an Englishman who didn’t know what he was doing, or perhaps purposely thrust at an illegal target. Here is one place where the elderly soldier can be convicted of exaggeration, because Châteaumorand’s version can be compared to the version written by Froissart soon after the event, in other words fifty years before Châteaumorand’s account. Froissart, like the Chronicle, depicts an incident that discredits the English champions, and describes a serious wound to Châteaumorand’s thigh, which necessitated his being carried home in a litter by his friends. Châteaumorand, however, – or Cabaret – would have us believe that he was able the very next day, despite the thigh wound, to ride back to his own camp. Despite that unlikely boast, I have to agree with Schlumberger, author of an old but useful short essay on the career of Châteaumorand, that Châteaumorand’s contributions to the Chronicle show a certain restraint and modesty, even good taste.23 Certainly Châteaumorand was proud of his association with the Good Duke, but he was also aware how much he had benefited from his association, particularly through the provision of an inspiring exemplar. Duke Louis was appreciated more as a general than a champion, as one might expect of a prince. Yet he had enough knightly grit in him to inspire in his followers the kind of awe needed by such a figure. For instance, see him getting carried away in an encounter with some Anglo-Gascons after the taking of Brive: … the Duke and his people charged among the English in a disorderly manner; and the Duke of Bourbon who was mounted in addition on a beautiful courser, was the first to charge in among them, and knocked to the ground two men at arms in the chase, and the lord of Prustallet took their faith for the Duke of Bourbon. [Some of his men,

22 23

CBDL, pp. 50–52. Schlumberger, Châteaumorand, p. 15.



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whose names are listed] followed the Duke in disarray in this chase and when they had caught up with him, they very strongly blamed him, saying that this should not be done by such a lord as he was, namely chasing and pursuing his enemies alone and in a disorderly manner, and if a poor captain had done it he would pour blame on him. And these good knights said these things to the Duke willing to take the consequences but they knew well in their hearts that it was an act of great hardiness and of a knight among all knights.24

As the actions of his followers, their words on the occasion, and the presentation of Cabaret and Jean de Châteaumorand all attest, this was a leader that men would be proud to follow – or perhaps be ashamed not to follow. A number of other episodes demonstrate that Duke Louis had the combination of personal courage and martial skills needed by a warlord; this idea may seem exceedingly obvious however important it may be. What was less obvious to me before I read the Chronicle is the way this account emphasizes how the presence and actions of Duke Louis inspired his followers to undertake deeds that would build their own reputations, and would synergistically combine the honor of the House of Bourbon with that of the individual men at arms trying to establish their own worth and renown, their identities, in the community of noble warriors. This is best shown by a couple of episodes in Duke Louis’s early career, which is also Jean de Châteaumorand’s early career, when the biography spends a significant amount of time discussing campaigns that involve Duke Louis’s troops but not Duke Louis himself. Note the campaign led by Jean de Vienne, Admiral of France, in 1377: The Duke of Bourbon and the Constable [Bernard du Guesclin] and the Marshal left Normandy for some affairs of the King of France had at this moment [we are never told what those affairs were, despite the priority they had on the Duke’s agenda.]

Hoping to complete the conquest of Normandy, despite the king’s insistence that Duke Louis and Constable Guesclin attend him immediately, The Duke of Bourbon gave the greater part of his men to the Admiral, and likewise the Constable and the Admiral led a large army against the English. These detached companies fought extremely well at the six-week-long siege of Ponthieu de Mer, where there were performed some beautiful deeds of arms,...for the people of the Duke of Bourbon and the Constable wanted their lords, who weren’t there, to hear good news of them.25

Mission accomplished – for I think the winning of collective glory was high on their list. The combined forces of the Admiral, the Constable and the Duke of Bourbon not only totally cleaned out the resistance in Normandy but crossed the channel to attack the English town of Rye, and captured the prior of the rich

24 25

CBDL, p. 58. CBDL, pp. 69–70.

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monastery of Lewes, who paid a mighty ransom.26 This was good news indeed, as the Chronicle says: There was a great clamor about the Admiral and the Duke of Bourbon’s men and the Constable’s about the enterprise that he had accomplished in England, for never until now had the French done harm to England that anyone could remember.27

This accomplishment, reflecting the influence of the Good Duke in absentia, is presented as being as important as anything he had done personally. A similar picture emerges in chapter 23. Following a busy season of campaigning, the duke went to Savoy to visit the Green Count and the Green Count’s lady, Louis’s sister (the grandmother of Cabaret D’Orville’s patron, Amadeus VIII of Savoy). But then the king, dismayed at Louis’s absence from court, summoned him to Paris: So the Duke of Bourbon obeyed and on the parting from Savoy some asked him whether he should be pleased to give them leave to go away for the winter, mainly to Prussia where many knights from many countries had gone to follow the Reise. And the Duke of Bourbon was very happy out of his goodwill, and asked them with a smile, “Do you have money?” – “Yes,” they said, “plenty, for we have done well in the expeditions in which you have come, and M. the Duke of Anjou has given us some of his money and vessels.” Hearing this the Green Count said to the Duke of Bourbon, “Good brother, you have good people, for they don’t hide what they have in the least, but wish to employ themselves honorably.” … And at their departure, the Countess of Savoy, sister of the Duke of Bourbon, gave to each of the companions going to Prussia a diamond, about which gift of the ladies they were very joyous. And the companions left Savoy passing through Lorraine and Germany, and went towards Bohemia to Prague, where they found the Queen, aunt of the Duke of Bourbon, who saw them gladly and out of the goodness of her heart gave them some gifts; and in the city were many knights of the King of France and his household, who shared their great joy that they had taken the road to Prussia.28

This passage makes a point of showing the ducal family’s patronage of honor. The accomplishments of their retinue rest upon the active encouragement and funding not only of the Good Duke himself, but also of his various relatives and in-laws. In this case we see them supporting a traditional chivalric enterprise – the crusade to exotic Prussia, where knights seeking the good of their souls and wishing to do something extraordinary went on a regular basis to fight pagan tribes. There were individual benefits to be won in such activity, but also there was a collective element to it all; those associated with and supporting the actual pilgrims gained reflected glory or at least respectability. The crusaders they helped on their way were seen as “good men... [who] wish to employ themselves honorably,” despite risk and expense. Meeting such men, a savvy observer would conclude that their families and their lords had brought them up 26 27 28

CBDL, pp. 70–72. CBDL, p. 72. CBDL, pp. 62–63.



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well. As for networking, the Duke of Bourbon’s men not only met other sympathetic Frenchmen on the road, but upon reaching Prussia had the opportunity to meet the inspiring members of one of the great chivalric orders of the day. They traveled so much by their journeys that they entered into the frozen ice of the swamps of Prussia, and so much dragged themselves by the ice, as is the custom there, that they came to Marienburg, the great religious house of the knights of Prussia, where the high master of the order gladly received them. And there the Duke’s people found [a number of Frenchmen including Boucicault,] and many others from nations which I can’t name.29

In fairly short order both the Teutonic knights and the people they called “Saracens” agreed to a truce. Nevertheless the high master of Prussia … saw that this Reise would bring honor to him; one day on the feast of our lady at Candlemas to celebrate the chivalry which was so amply present with him, and for the honor of the day, after mass, he had a table of honor covered in his castle of Marienburg, and wanted to seat there twelve knights from many kingdoms; and from the realm of France he sat at the high table M. Hutin de Vermeilles and M. Tristan de Magneliers, whom everyone called the good knight, and two from other realms up to twelve, by the rule of the master, who were served for the eminence of the day, as well as for what appertained to them. And after grace was said to God, those twelve were told about the order of the table and how it was established. And then one of the knightly brothers in religion gave each of the twelve words written in letters of gold on their shoulders, which said “honor conquers all!” And the next day the knights took their leave of the high master of Prussia and each returned to his country.30

Thus at Marienburg members of the ducal retinue took their place in international chivalry – not because they were admitted to the order of the table, because I believe neither of the Frenchmen so honored were from the ducal household. Yet simply taking part in such a ceremony honored and renewed the unity of those who pursued chivalry – and were willing and anxious to live and die together. The willingness of the duke’s men to take their place among knights from many countries doing their Christian duty added to the renown of all concerned. This is why the Prussian expedition is relevant to the larger tale of the Good Duke. It is worth noting that although Jean de Châteaumorand took part in this Prussian journey, he says nothing about any special achievement that he himself accomplished. This is typical of his approach to the relationship between himself, the Duke of Bourbon, and the rest of his crew. Individuals had their moments, but Jean more often than not is bragging not about himself, but about the group. When he mentions his own participation in a notable deed accomplished by the Duke’s retinue, his name is usually just one on a list. He tells us of his proud moments, but also preserves many memories of others’ accomplishments. It is 29 30

CBDL, pp. 62–64. CBDL, pp. 65–66.

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he who remembers the obscure but loyal squire Barbérie, particularly beloved by the Good Duke; and it is he who makes it possible for us to know that Barbérie led the assault of a castle on Jersey, and was first to get in. Châteaumorand was generous in this way because he visualized the retinue as a whole as the secondary hero of this tale, after of course Duke Louis. This is best illustrated by a rather long passage in which Châteaumorand’s prominent part in a stirring victory is depicted in a way that subordinates his personal identity to that of his leader and his leader’s armed retinue. Châteaumorand is identified in this rather long passage with the ducal pennon or banner that he carries: And there the Duke of Bourbon – having seen his knights and the squires of his household and country and men at arms who appeared to sustain all contingencies destroy the palisade and garrison and pass through by force, – was overjoyed. And during this melee, the pennon of the Duke of Bourbon, which Jean de Châteaumorand always carried, passed through the breach in the palisade, with those who followed him. Then the English … did not know what to do, outside of retreating into the fort; and as they retreated, the pennon rushed forward with the valiant men; and in this retreat … out of the English who ran away were killed and taken a good fourscore of the better men at arms from inside … And while [the English] retreated from certain lodges which were high up, to go to their fort, the pennon of the Duke of Bourbon with the people of his household charged them so close that as [the English] entered the tower, the pennon of the Duke of Bourbon rushed among them very well accompanied, so that those Englishman were not able to close the door of the tower, and so they surrendered to the one who carried the pennon of the Duke of Bourbon. And the prisoners surrendered to him […] and the very strong place was delivered. And in this way the pennon of the Duke of Bourbon with his companions [their names are listed] and five or six others of the household of the Duke of Bourbon, with his pennon, headed over to the other tower where they found already in front of it a great party of people of Auvergne who were climbing up there, and the lord of Montmorin, who was a valiant knight, and who had a fine company, and Geraud, lord of Laqueuilhe, accompanied by good people and who was a valiant man, the lord of Lafayette and others who had advanced by the advice of the lords and who had held very close to the English when they had arrived there so that the English could not flee. But when the English saw that the pennon of the Duke of Bourbon approached them, Captain Nolimbarbe surrendered with all of his companions to the Duke of Bourbon. And so was La Roche Senadoire taken, without a word of a lie.31

Collective honor is here acquired because all these men fought under the heraldry of an inspirational leader, who, though not present on the battle line in person, is the man who accomplishes most and gains the greatest honor. Under the Good Duke’s patronage his men shared the fruits of victory in renown, as they also shared in booty. We see the mirror image of this in Châteaumorand’s depiction of the English at the siege of Belleperche, where the disgrace of a remarkable defeat is shared around the Earl of Buckingham’s military council:

31

CBDL, pp. 101–3.



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[T]he English who had decamped saw the standard of the Duke of Bourbon on the castle tower of Belleperche, and the crenellations full of bascinets [worn by the duke’s men who had taken the place], which enraged them, and they said that they [=the English] were the most dishonored people in the world … and there was a great debate among them, for they said to the Earl of Buckingham that he was the most dishonored knight that they knew of, and all those with him: for the Duke of Bourbon had recovered his castle and done them great damage, and they had done nothing to him, for which the Earl of Buckingham should hold himself dishonored. And therefore he and his people should turn back to Belleperche; and as they came they should load up with doors and gates of barns and not let any who did not carry take part in the attack, and they should make out of these a great pile before the fort, for they held themselves all shamed, because the Bourbonnois were so few in their palisade, and they said, “St. George, my lord Buckingham, it is astonishing to us and great shame is ours, that we have sat before this sad fort for so many days, and have accomplished nothing …” The earl of Buckingham, who listened to these people, was grateful to them [and immediately adopted the tactics they suggested…]32

Was Buckingham really grateful? Remember that this is Jean’s description of what might have happened at a council meeting he did not attend. The general listens, acknowledges the factor of collective honor, and despite the criticism aimed his way, is grateful to those willing to fight on for the cause and especially for his good name. Would Buckingham, the future Duke of Gloucester, whom Froissart and others portray as an arrogant and willful sort, actually show gratitude for such pointed advice? No matter; a better lord would have! The sharing of danger and accomplishment among the Duke’s men is seen most forcefully in one of the most unusual deeds of arms I have ever run across, the taking of the castle of Vertreuil, where the Duke’s initiative creates a situation where many people on both sides were able to acquire honor. It is a classic case of a warrior prince using his reserves of reputation to gain politically and personally, while at the same time demonstrating a form of battlefield largesse that benefited his followers and made them happy to be associated with him. The siege of Vertreuil took place in 1385, when the Good Duke was recovering territory that belonged to the Duke of Berry, who it should be noted was not present at this incident. Vertreuil was a position that could be taken only by digging a mine, a difficult, strenuous, and dangerous tactic, but one which had proved successful in Duke Louis’s earlier campaigns. A mine, it should be pointed out, was a tunnel or a ditch that was constructed to literally undermine a wall or a tower so that it collapsed, or, as a couple of incidents in our source attest, to make possible an infiltrating attack into a fortified position. One tactic that was used against mining was counter-mining, in which the besieged garrison dug their own tunnel to meet the attackers’, which the besieged would try to destroy or otherwise render useless. Counter-mines meeting mines led to fighting underground, an unusual and impressive feat of arms. Anyone who has been in a historic hand-dug mine tunnel, as I have in Cornwall and in Sudbury, 32

CBDL, p. 83.

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Ontario, knows how low and particularly how narrow these mines must have been. Despite the danger involved, mining done by people who knew what they were doing could be a very effective tactic for resolving a siege in favor of the attackers. It was certainly a tactic that took a lot of nerve, and we have indications that fighting in a mine was considered a particularly honorable way of the demonstrating skill at arms. Henry V took part in a famous mine fight against an enemy captain named Barbasan, which honorable confrontation led to Barbasan being considered the king’s brother-in-arms. This acquired status compelled Henry to treat Barbasan more mercifully than he wished when Barbasan was later captured.33 According to the Chronicle, the Good Duke himself supplied the necessary example of nerve and guts needed for a successful attack against Vertreuil. When the mine was ready to take an attacking force, the English did their best to stop the attack by sallying out through the gates to take on the Frenchmen above ground before the mine could be used. The attack was unsuccessful but it did cause unexpected casualties. The Duke acted almost immediately to get things moving in the right direction. Châteaumorand remembered it this way: The same day the Duke of Bourbon took a dozen knights and some squires with him, saying: “I wish to go see the mine”; which he would not have done if he had no hope of combat there; so the Duke went putting himself right up front, and sent Le Borgne de Veaulce before him and said to him, “Borgne, go ahead since you know the people of this castle, and ask them inside if there’s a knight coming forward, and tell them that he will find someone who will receive him to fight in the mine.” Then Le Borgne de Veaulce called to ask if they had no knight who wished to perform arms. So they told him no, but with them was a high gentleman who had a good company inside, and was lieutenant of the captain and was all ready and prepared to perform arms with whomever wished to come. And Le Borgne de Veaulce answered, “Come forward and see one here who is ready,” not wishing to name his master. And then the Duke of Bourbon advanced in the mine, and from the other side likewise came the squire which those of the castle had mentioned, who was called Reynaud de Montferrand…

When the fight began, some of the Duke’s men shouted out his battle cry and Reynaud heard them, disengaged, and asked with astonishment if this was actually the Duke of Bourbon. On being told yes, Reynaud seems to have been taken by the unusual situation he found himself in, and dared to ask the Duke for a favor. “Tell him that I request that it please him that in this honorable place [the mine, where only the most courageous would risk themselves] where he is that he should make me a knight by his hand, for I will never have it more honorably. And for his honor and valiance I am ready to surrender the place to him.”

After the briefest of negotiations, the Duke “who observed that all these things were to his great honor,” accepted the surrender, on condition that the keys to 33

Maurice Keen, The Laws of War in the Late Middle Ages (London, 1965), pp. 48–50, on Henry V’s mine fight with his “brother in arms,” Barbasan.



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the fortification were turned over immediately. This was done and Reynaud de Montferrand was knighted on the spot. To increase the honorable nature of this special moment, however, the Duke added on another condition: he ordered that Montferrand would surrender the place the next day. And further it was ordered that the knights and squires who were there with the Duke of Bourbon should bear arms the next day inside their mine with those of the castle, one side against the other, which M. John l’Aye the marshal would oversee, so that each would be satisfied to have fought in the mine … [And in fact the next day, this combat took place.] … They were not able to fight except with swords, because the opening had a width of only a foot and a half; but each one did his duty well, one after the other, according to the place, which was narrow and because the night grew dark, the companions returned to the tents. And the next day the Duke of Bourbon sent one of his marshals [to receive the promised surrender, which took place as agreed. Then] Reynaud de Montferrand knelt before the Duke and said to him, “My very redoubtable lord, I thank you most humbly for the benefits and honors which have come to me from you, to be a knight by the hand of so high and valiant a Prince as you are; so it is an honor to me and all my lineage forever.” The Duke answered, “M. Reynaud, chivalry is very strong in you, for you are a valiant man of good lineage.”34

Many of you can guess, I think, that before Reynaud left, the Duke loaded him down with expensive gifts. What does this story tell us about the Duke? He did very well by his practical goals and his reputation by taking unusual risks with himself, by entering the mine and daring the garrison, especially its leaders, to resist him. He won big with this tactic; his reputation was already so great, mainly perhaps because of his rank, but certainly also because of his experience as a warrior prince, that he was able to take the fortification with no further harm to himself or even his enemies. And like a winner at the gambling table, his victory increased his reserves of honor rather than diminishing them. But as before, the Duke was not content simply to take the fortification, which he returned to the Duke of Berry, or to increase only his own reputation. This Duke went out of his way to share the glory with his most valued captains. He did so by insisting that they not be cheated of the opportunity to fight in a mine. Even if nothing was at stake now except renown, the stories that could be told afterwards would amaze listeners. (They amaze me!) The dangers were entirely avoidable at this point, yet were willingly accepted by the Duke’s most prominent followers. They gladly took what had been offered them. Hours of claustrophobic and even intimate fighting took place, until the level of light fell to the point that combat could not continue. Here we see the Chronicle of the Good Duke transformed into the chronicle of the Good Duke’s men. It is one more tale of “that old gang of mine,” this time, in the mine. The group renown won on this occasion turned out to be as valuable in a practical sense as the personal renown gained by the Duke, as we see almost

34

CBDL, pp. 149–54.

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immediately in the description of the army’s return to Poitiers, which is described in the same short chapter as the taking of Vertreuil and the fight in the mine.35 Châteaumorand shows how warriors who had not benefited from the patronage of the Good Duke saw him and his men. Duke Louis left Vertreuil intending to go to Paris and attend the king, something he was always under obligation to do whether it was convenient for him or not. At Poitiers he found himself delayed by the leading people of that strategic and historic city. The Poitevins, meaning the local seigneurs, who were at least in theory military men themselves, were worried about three places in the region that were occupied by the enemy and whose garrisons were destroying the countryside. The Poitevins asked Duke Louis for half of his men to stay at Poitou and deal with this menace. Duke Louis responded by saying, “You are six hundred men-at-arms, and I have another six hundred of my house which I lead; you six hundred will easily take these three places.” So the Poitevins said to the Duke, “We are not able to do anything without your people; give us a captain to lead this war. They will be well paid and we will fly your banner, and six or seven banners of the people of your house.” The Duke relented and traded two hundred of his men at arms for two hundred Poitevins; the numbers of each force remained the same but the army in Poitou was now stronger. The Poitevin army was to be commanded by nine of the duke’s best knights and three squires. These included several warriors well known to modern military historians, including Reynaud de Roye, Boucicault, and Châteaumorand himself. But maybe more to the point, among the twelve Châteaumorand names as leading members of this reinforced Poitevin force were four men who had just fought in the mine at Vertreuil. We can perhaps understand why their names and banners were regarded as valuable military resources; because of their association with the Good Duke and their willingness to follow his path to glory and renown they were precisely the kind of men you would want in the forefront of your army. The Chronicle of the Good Duke shows us how in 1420s war and chivalry – in this case meaning impressive individual martial performance – were remembered and recounted from the second half of the 1370s and the 1380s. This military biography shows war and chivalry have yet to be divorced, certainly not in the mind of Jean de Châteaumorand, and almost as certainly in the minds of Cabaret D’Orville and the descendents of Duke Louis who commissioned, read, and circulated it; undoubtedly The Chronicle of the Good Duke was created to confirm or emphasize elements in an already existing narrative of dynastic history known and valued by the family and the circle of noble dependents that surrounded Duke Charles in the 1420s. That circle could be seen as an analog of the circle that Duke Louis had created, molded, and led to fame and fortune fifty years earlier. Is it too speculative to suggest that one important goal of the Chronicle was not just to depict the esprit de corps of Louis’s time, but to recreate it in the present incarnation of the ducal household? 35

CBDL, pp. 153–54.



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Such an assertion may not be strictly provable, but the likelihood is indicated by a couple of considerations. The first is the obvious value that Châteaumorand puts upon the group experience of the military retinue; enough has been said about that. The second is that the last generation of modern students of chivalry – which according to David Crouch is practically the first generation of professional scholars to take chivalry seriously36 – has largely abandoned the idea that chivalry was just a veneer over the framework created by “feudalism” and has directed more attention to the variety of ties, including emotional ties, friendship and love, that defined and held together the noble or at least gentle group that Charny called “men at arms” and which Froissart’s characters often called “good men at arms.”37 Scholars who have tried to recreate the atmosphere of the war-camp, the tourney ground, the holiday feast charged with heraldic symbolism, the meeting of the chivalric orders, include; Georges Duby in the collection The Chivalrous Society (rather than Bloch’s Feudal Society), John Gillingham, in his “War and Chivalry in the History of William the Marshal”, Maurice Keen in his brilliant Chivalry, and Richard Kaeuper in his Chivalry and Violence and Holy Warriors, among others. Richard Kaeuper once lamented that we will never hear the tales told by knights around their campfires, but, perhaps thanks to him as much as anyone, we approach that goal asymptotically – we get closer even though we never quite arrive.38 If we wish to understand the chivalric esprit de corps, the purported verisimilitude of the military biography is one of our best allies; I say purported because anyone interested in the fourteenth century knows how far the purported truthfulness of Froissart drifts away from the facts found in other sources. Yet even propagandistic accounts of real chivalric heroes have their great advantages over the earlier tales told of about Arthur’s and Charlemagne’s epic and romantic knights. We have before us the good example of David Crouch’s William Marshal,39 admirable for its subtle and effective use of the insight that the History is a product of the Marshal’s household. The military biographies of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, especially the later, extensive prose productions, have a lot to tell us, and not just about the protagonists. For reasons of genre, because the military biographies are more “modern” in form, I believe that they can shed light on the connection between late medieval attitudes toward rank, status, and warfare and early modern attitudes and depictions of the military life, a problem that Richard Kaeuper has wrestled with in his last two books. Was there a late medieval/early modern revolution of the military mind? Perhaps the place to start reading is with the verse lives of du Guesclin 36 37 38

39

Crouch, The Birth of Nobility, pp. 12–21. Muhlberger, Deeds of Arms, 6–12; Charny, Book of Chivalry, p. 34. Richard Kaeuper, Chivalry and Violence in Medieval Europe (Oxford, 1999), p. 34; Favre in the introduction to Le Jouvencel (1: xlix) quotes a description of one fifteenth-century military action as providing “conversation in the bivouacs.” David Crouch, William Marshal: Court, Career and Chivalry in the Angevin Empire 1147–1219 (London, 1990).

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and the Black Prince, with the prose lives of Boucicault and Good Duke Louis, with Le Jouvencel. But to do this, we must begin by investigating these sources in more depth and with more careful respect for their virtues and vices. Frankly, one reason for the neglect of such rich works is that they are or have been until recently almost inaccessible to all but the most expert. The sad career of the History of William Marshal is relevant here. For most of the twentieth century, the History was acknowledged as a key source for its period, but almost no one read it. Only a few research libraries owned the Meyer edition, and of those scholars who had physical access, how many could read its Old French? So scholars let a few rare birds – admittedly some of our best, notably Painter, Duby, Gillingham and Crouch – read and interpret it for us. In particular the lack of a translation that interested readers could use to get their feet wet, and which might lure them into wrestling with the original text, was to my mind a regrettable barrier for a potentially very large audience. For the History, the Anglo-Norman Text Society edition and translation have improved things for those individuals and institutions who got copies before it went out of print. There are also new editions of the Chanson of du Guesclin and of the Life of Boucicault. But other works, even if they can be found online in old editions at archive.org, Google Books, or Gallica, still are not available to non-specialists and enthusiasts in the way that I believe they should be. We are constantly told and constantly say ourselves that humanistic scholarship should be relevant and accessible to the greater public. What is more relevant, today, than the question of why men – and now, women – travel to exotic locales to fight strangers, and how that experience affects them, and how this all is justified? If we want to reach out to the greater public, material of this degree of inherent interest is one possible avenue to make that connection. Frankly, the biggest challenge may be coming up with a practical business model. I think that the Chronicle of the Good Duke, which I am now translating, is great. But is it $80 great or $100 great? For members of the greater public? I have my doubts, and so, I’d bet, do you. While we ponder the future of publishing – and all publishing is in a confused state – we can console ourselves by contemplating the good old fashioned scholarly questions, suitable for discussion among specialists, that arise from late medieval military biographies. I will mention two paths I have not yet had a chance to explore for any distance. One is the question of the relation of these military biographies to each other, with related questions of cui bono, audience, and mutual influence of the authors. The flashy biographies of the fifteenth century, our Chronicle, the Boucicault biography, and the later and more complex Le Jouvencel have close ties. Boucicault, Duke Louis, and Châteaumorand all knew each other, and the Chronicle and Boucicault’s Life cover some of the same events. Bueil’s career was much later than those of the other two, but he had a family connection to Bourbon – starting with his father, who was known to Châteaumorand. Olivier Mattéoni has studied the shape of this “Bourbon” connection, if such a phrase



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is justifiable; but perhaps more can be learned about the social framework that helped create and preserve these three military biographies, and how it may have influenced the view or views of chivalry promoted in them.40 One of the most recent scholars to take Le Jouvencel seriously, Matthieu Chan Tsin, who in fact has discussed it at an earlier International Congress on Medieval Studies, argued in his 2005 Purdue dissertation that Bueil’s work was a “defense and illustration of the ideals of knighthood,” which due to tactical and technological developments was under threat. It is hard to disagree with that, especially the emphasis on defending an ancient institution and ethic. Why would any champion of chivalry at any time write on chivalry if he or she was completely happy with its current manifestations? To be fair to Professor Chan Tsin, he knows that Bueil’s views and fears were shaped by the “old knight’s” own adventurous but not entirely happy or successful experience of war and politics. What I would like would be some detailed comparative work on the whole corpus of French fourteenth- and fifteenth-century treatments of chivalry.41 Despite the best efforts of the last generation of scholars, we still see “chivalry” being used entirely too loosely, including in this paper. I think the Chronicle of the Good Duke and its counterparts, re-examined, will help keep the discussion of that key concept rooted in military reality.

40 41

Mattéoni, Servir le Prince; note the brief section on “Culture, lettres et arts,” pp. 442–51. Diana B. Tyson has explored some of the field in “Authors, Patrons and Soldiers – Some Thoughts on Four Old French Soldiers’ Lives,” Nottingham Medieval Studies 42 (1998), 105–20.

6 The Ottoman-Hungarian Campaigns of 1442 John J. Jefferson

The anti-Ottoman campaigns of 1442 mark a turning point in the career of one of East-Central Europe’s most celebrated military leaders – John Hunyadi. In the course of the year Hunyadi would wage a total of four victorious campaigns against the Ottomans, two of which were decisive and celebrated throughout Christendom. His success was likewise the catalyst for two major crusade expeditions that followed in 1443 and 1444. For the Ottomans, they were the first major military defeats at the hands of a Christian army in almost four generations. They had the effect of reversing a hitherto aggressive Ottoman policy of expansion that had begun in earnest with the death of Emperor Sigismund in 1437. Nowhere was this more apparent than when Şehabeddin Pasha, one of the strongest proponents of this policy, was himself defeated and forced to skulk back to the capital in shame. Despite these famous events (or perhaps because of them) the historiography of Hunyadi’s 1442 campaigns has been from the beginning characterized by confusing discrepancies and seemingly irreconcilable variations in narrative. It is not unlike a jumbled ball of yarn, which began with a small tangle but with successive handling, beginning in the same century and continuing to today, has become increasingly snarled to the point that the original threads are no longer discernible. Take, for example, a passage from Klaus-Peter Matschke’s commendable summary of the Ottoman-Christian conflict, titled The Cross and the Crescent, the History of the Turkish Wars.1 Such works, which provide a necessary historical overview, are forced to rely mostly on secondary sources for their narratives and thus reach a wall of confusion when it comes to the campaigns of 1442. Regarding the most famous battle of that year, the defeat of Şehabeddin, the author writes, “Hunyadi stood on the field of battle against Şinabeddin at the village of Maroszentimre near the city of Sibiu/Hermannstadt. He broke the attack of the Turkish elite troops with Taborite war wagons which he employed for the first time...” All of this information, including the odd spelling of the Ottoman commander’s name, the place of battle and the use of war wagons, is either partially or completely false. Such accounts are quite common, in fact the norm, and understandable given the vast confusion surrouding these campaigns. 1

Das Kreuz und der Halbmond, die Geschichten der Türkenkrieg (Düsseldorf, 2004), p. 131.



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I attempt here painstakingly to untangle this ball of jumbled narratives, lay the strings side by side, and determine which prove most reliable. At the end, I attempt to reweave them into a more cohesive and precise narrative cloth, recognizing that certain questions cannot be definitively settled. To succeed, one must first pull away the accreted threads of these later narratives and return to those sources closest to the events themselves. I refer almost exclusively to contemporary sources, as well as a few later sources that contain at least some information derived from other, non-extant contemporary sources. There are three main groupings. The first is Hungarian sources, the second Ottoman sources and the third consists of sources not directly related either to the first two groupings or to one another. Let us begin with the first category – the Hungarian sources. These involve two lengthy narrative accounts, the chronicles of Thuróczy and Bonfini, and three official documents dating from 1443, 1444 and 1453. It is best to begin with the document sources, since they form the historiographical cornerstone of this category and their clear explication is essential to understanding future historiographical problems. The three documents mentioned (1443, 1444 and 1453) are similar in nature, for they all bestow lands on Hunyadi for his service to the crown (or in the case of the 1444 letter, service to George Branković). These sources are invaluable foremost because they were written by and published for Hunyadi’s contemporaries. Secondly, they were actual legal documents that were sealed, published and archived. They were meant to be read by a larger public, all of whom were alive during and/or participated in the events described. These two factors mitigate the tendency found in other sources to exaggerate or twist the account for ulterior motives. They therefore provide an excellent yardstick for assessing the veracity of later sources, for which in several instances they were indeed the main inspiration. The first letter, from April 1443,2 contains a summary of Hunyadi’s actions against the Turks over the two years prior. The form is quite typical of these documents, which list both the lands bestowed and the deeds that merited the bestowal. The letter cites five of Hunyadi’s military exploits: (1) his victory against Ishak Bey near Belgrade in 1441 (not discussed here), (2) his victory over Mezid Bey in Transylvania in March 1442, (3) his incursion into Wallachia where he placed Basarab on the throne, (4) his victory over Şehabeddin Pasha in Wallachia in the autumn of 1442, and (5) and (6) raids into Ottoman-controlled Bulgaria and Serbia with another force “not many days” afterward. The text below is an excerpt describing events (2) through (6): (2) Then in another case Mezid Bey, another voivode of the Turks, had entered the aforesaid parts of Transylvania accompanied by a powerful army of 16,000 men-at-

2

Lajos Thálloczy, Codex Diplomaticus Partium Regno Hungariae Adnexarum, Monumenta Hungariae Historica, vol. 33 (Budapest, 1907), no. 204, pp. 141–42.

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arms. In the first encounter, which occurred spontaneously, the aforesaid John the Voivode [Hunyadi] was wounded and routed and suffered the defeat of his comrades, and bequeathed the enemy a cruel victory. Yet on the fifth day in a new battle he emerged victorious, and won glorious vengeance, a gift of the Lord. Soon the aforesaid wicked enemy, who had consumed and plundered his [Hunyadi’s] property, paid with his own head and that of his son. (3) Having won such a joyful victory, our aforementioned voivode began to focus from there on recouping the neighboring region of Wallachia. He judged that having defeated and ruined the enemy, he might by his own wealth and assistance place in the voivodeship Basarab, the son of the former Voivode Dan, [who was] also of our party, and that thereby these same regions might be entirely subjugated to the authority of the [Hungarian] crown. (4) Trying to summarize much in a few words, next there came the Vice Emperor of the Turks, who is commonly called Pasha, supported by many pagan princes and an army numbering 80,000. Our voivode advanced upon him [the Pasha], who had been most cruelly plundering the aforementioned transalpine regions [Wallachia], in a most lively battle. From this mutual conflict there came a most bitter fight, slaughter arose, the lines were breaking and the constant, lethal battle lasted until evening, when at length, with the assistance of the Most High the final outcome of the battle occurred in our favor and soon the vanquished enemy was routed and the predators became prey. The rivers before them3 were of no small assistance in their abundant defeat, for retreating in headlong flight no fewer perished in the waves than by the sword. (5) Having joyfully accomplished these things, the concern of our voivode was little corrupted by the abundance of such prosperous events. Desiring to add more to what already amounted to much, not many days later, having gathered up a new force with our support, he marched first into the kingdom of Bulgaria to the city of Vidin, [which is] surrounded by ample estates and (6) thence again with his co-voivode Nicholas [Ujlaki] he invaded the regions of Uzura and Rascia, in which [places] many of the enemy’s homes and resources and facilities were laid waste with fire, for this particular reason, that with having reduced the power of the adversary, the enemy’s boldness in raiding the kingdom would be weakened.4

Of all of the Hungarian sources, and indeed of perhaps all the sources regarding Hunyadi’s campaigns of 1442, this document is the most significant. For one, it was written within months of the events themselves by men who had first-hand knowledge and a fresh memory of what had occurred. Perhaps more importantly their peers had this knowledge as well, which, given the legal nature of the document, eliminated the common proclivity toward fabrication or gross exaggeration. Let us therefore take a closer look at its contents. With

3

4

In Thálloczy’s edition of the text this reads: “… Ad quorum cladem magis uberem et per via eis flumina non parum suffragabantur …” Yet the words “per via” here make no sense grammatically. This must have been an oversight on the part of the editor, and “per via” should read “pre via” or “previa.” Indeed, it is extremely likely that the three letters “p, r and e” were replaced with a shortened “p” with a line through the stem, as was almost universal in fifteenth-century manuscripts, and which can be interpreted as either “pre” or “per.” In the case of this text, however, only “pre” (in classical Latin “prae”) makes grammatical sense, and the phrase must read “previa eis flumina.” Thálloczy, Codex Diplomaticus, pp. 141–42.



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regard to the battle fought against Mezid Bey, numbered (2) in the document, it tells us the following: 1. The name of the Ottoman leader – Mezid Bey 2. The number of troops at his disposal – 16,000 3. Mezid Bey entered Transylvania to plunder the region 4. Hunyadi suffered an initial defeat, but then regrouped and seized an important victory from the Turks 5. Mezid Bey and his son were killed in the battle.

The document further tells us (at (3)), that between the two major battles Hunyadi entered Wallachia, removed the Ottoman protégé and installed Basarab as Wallachian voivode, thereby restoring the territory to the Hungarian camp. This refers to the central political focus of the 1442 campaigns, which was the struggle for suzerainty between the Ottomans and the Hungarians over Wallachia. Mezid’s mission in 1442, aside from punishing Hunyadi by raiding his possessions in Transylvania, was to remove Basarab II, who was of the Danesti branch of the Basarab dynasty, and replace him with a member of the Draculesti branch of this same dynasty, most likely Vlad Dracul’s son Mircea II. Vlad Dracul had become voivode of Wallachia in 1436, supported in part by the Hungarians, among whom he had lived for quite some time. As late as mid-October 1441 Hunyadi ordered the citizens of Brasov to continue to mint coin for Dracul until after Hunyadi had a chance to meet with Vlad in early November. At the same time Vlad was negotiating trade privileges with the citizens of the same city.5 These indicate that some negotiation was taking place between the two voivodes in 1442. In any case, the increasing closeness between Dracul and the Hungarians was a cause of alarm for the Ottomans. Some time between late October 1441 and early 1442 they cajoled Vlad into traveling to the Ottoman court, where he was imprisoned just prior to Mezid Bey’s raid.6 His son Mircea II was placed on the throne instead. His obedience to the Porte was assured not only by his father’s position as a hostage in Gallipoli prison, but also by the confinement of two of Vlad’s other sons, Vlad and Radu, in the Ottoman city of Egrigöz.7 Such jockeying for position in the so-called “buffer states” between the Ottoman Empire and Hungary had been common in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, and this power struggle is of key significance to understanding the events of the year in question. With regard to the second campaign, which culminated in the defeat of Şehabeddin, the document tells us the following: 5 6

7

Gustav Gündisch, Urkundenbuch zur Geschichte der Deutschen in Siebenbürgen (1438–1457), 6 vols. (Cologne, Vienna, 1975), 5:91 (nos. 2426, 2427). Jehan de Wavrin, Anchiennes Chronicques d’Engleterre, ed. Mlle. DuPont (Paris, 1859). The citations contained herein most often refer to Colin Imber’s translation in The Crusade of Varna, 1443–45 (Hampshire, 2006). Translations contained therein are hereafter referred to as “Imber’s translation.” This cited reference is found in Imber’s translation, p. 107. Camil Muresanu, John Hunyadi, Defender of Christendom, trans. Laura Treptow (Portland, 2001), p. 77.

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1. The title (though not the name) of the Ottoman leader – “pasha” 2. The number of troops – 80,000 along with many “princes” (sanjak beys) 3. Hunyadi attacked the pasha, who had been raiding Wallachia (partes transalpinas) 4. The battle lasted until night, when the Hungarians earned victory. This was followed by the enemy’s flight 5. Rivers were a geographic feature of great significance to Hunyadi’s victory, and as many Turks drowned in flight as were slain in battle.

The document relates two other important military actions. First is the raid on the land surrounding Vidin (5), which Hunyadi and his men pillaged and plundered with the support of the king. Finally, the document mentions that Hunyadi undertook a raid into Serbia accompanied by his partner and co-voivode Nicholas Ujlaki, in which he again pillaged and laid waste to Ottoman territory (6). The next document, dating from 7 July 1444, was authored by George Branković, whose reinstatement as Despot of Serbia in 1444 was a direct result of Hunyadi’s military victories, particularly those during the Long March in 1443/44. There is an important difference, however, from the previous document. Hunyadi was a peer, not a familiaris, or subordinate client of Branković, and many historians see a hidden motive, citing the document as one of the more important pieces of evidence that Hunyadi was bribed by Branković with rights to certain lands in exchange for supporting a peace treaty with the Ottomans in 1444. The brief passage regarding the campaigns of 1442 contains only skeletal information, and is by far the shortest of the three documentary accounts.8 It adds no information not found in the previous letter, and for this reason we need not visit it further in our discussion. But as an independent source close to the period of battle it corroborates some of the information from Wladislas’ 1443 charter. The final document9 dates from eleven years after the events themselves. It is another grant of lands and privileges to Hunyadi, wrested this time from the new king of Hungary, Ladislas the Posthumous. Once again, the document refers to the various accomplishments of Hunyadi to include the campaigns of 1442: (2) Consequently, only a few days after another army of the Turks had gained some victories over us, they were proud in their abundant military and eager for glory. They had entered into Transylvania to inflict the usual predations and outrages. The aforementioned John [Hunyadi] the voivode, on account of his sense of duty, moved to fight them with people from that region. Having opposed their standards and joined arms Mars shed blood on both sides. Yet he gloriously fought the enemy such that the very 8

9

Because of its brevity, we may as well include the relevant passage here in full: “Tamen quia altissimi creatoris auxilio occurrente magnificus Johannes de Huyad Waivoda Transilvanus praedictam validam potentiam dictorum saevissimorum Turcorum primo in eisdem partibus Transilvanis Mysithbeg capitaneum ipsius potentiae Turcorum cum aliis multis Waivodis, qui ipsas partes Transilvanas, secundo vero in partibus Transalpinis Basam, Vice-Imperatorem Turcorum, qui ipsas partes Transalpinas cum magna potentia subintrassent, debellasset, triumphum victoriae reportando.” Georgius Fejer, Genus, Incunabula et Virtus Joannis Corvini de Hunyadi (Budapest, 1844), no. 63, pp. 180–94. The portion relevant to the 1442 campaigns is found on pp. 184–86.



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leader of the opposing army, who was called Mezid Bey, along with his son, the vicecaptain, was laid low. And he supplemented the regained plunder with his death and the death of his son. (3) From this deed came the following benefit, that Wallachia and the voivode of Moldavia, who previously, in the time of our ancestors, and continuing until this time, had rebelled against this sacred crown and subjected themselves to the Turks, were led by the voivode’s [Hunyadi’s] counsel as well as driven by fear and once again restored themselves to this kingdom with all their lands. And they are obliged up to the present to demonstrate to us their former obeisance and fidelity. (4) Having done these things, and with the fame of [other] fortunate events of this type still quite recent, to this most worthy of notable beginnings was added the title of a victory far more illustrious and excellent: one which is to be celebrated with worthy praise throughout the ages. For the lord of the Turks bore with indignation the abovementioned defeat and with all his strength desired revenge. He outfitted with men and arms a great force gathered from all his power from everywhere, indeed 80,000 men, as we have heard from a trustworthy account, under the command of a Pasha, namely the principal agent of the Sultan himself. This same Pasha led this horrific, vengeful army through Wallachia. And with it [Wallachia] nearly completely devastated he was bringing back great plunder in men and goods, intending next to come straightaway [e vestigio] as a plunderer to our territory of Transylvania. The aforementioned Voivode John, having gathered whatever men he could, pursued the enemy multitude, which was far greater in number than his own, up to the furthest ends of that region. He decided he must either gain victory or die. Here indeed one could see his knowledge, fortune and tactical skill. He thought it better to attack the enemy than to be attacked. He undertook a great and arduous battle with a force unequal to the enemy’s. Prudently commanded and wonderfully waged and executed he won a victory worthy of eternal praise, in which the ancient glory of the Hungarian people and their fame was returned. And by this deed his name furnished in all places a celebrated symbol of glorious triumph. An innumerable multitude of the enemy was routed, and dead corpses stretched far and wide. The spacious field of battle was rendered a graveyard, leaving an indelible story of pitiful slaughter for all generations. A great number of high-ranking enemies were led into captivity and ample treasure and all the precious furnishings of the army became our booty.

Despite its length and eloquence, this last document seems to offer little new factual information. It does not give the dates or locations of the battles, nor the size of the armies other than to repeat the 80,000 mentioned in 1443, which is most likely the “reliable account” the document refers to. Yet upon closer examination the letter provides some important supplementary information essential to further analysis. It informs us that the battle against Şehabeddin took place after he had ravaged Wallachia, and while he was leading back the plunder.10 10

Of key importance here is the tense of the two verbs ductare (“to lead”) and referre (“to bring back”). Both are in the imperfect tense and set up the mood and conditions under which the perfect tense verb secutus (est) is performed by Hunyadi. The entire relevant passage reads “ipseque Base huiusmodi attrocem et acerbe ulcionis minacem exercitum imprimis per partes transalpinas ductaret, ea quoque fere tota vastata, amplissimam hominum et rerum praedam referret, intendens dehinc e vestigio in praedictas partes nostras Transilvanas vastator succedere, praetactus Joannes Waivoda aggregatis, quibus potuit, gentibus inimicam multitudinem longe ei impar numero, ad usque illarum partium extrema persecutus.”

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It also adds that his intention after doing this was to march on Transylvania, but that Hunyadi pursued him to the “furthest ends of those regions” (illarum partium extrema), or in other words up to the borders of Wallachia. Despite the fact that the 1453 charter is mostly just an eloquent paraphrase of the 1443 document, it had greater influence on future historiography, serving as one of the sources for Thuróczy’s account of Mezid Bey’s defeat and perhaps Thuróczy’s only source for his account of the victory over Şehabeddin. Thuróczy11 was the most significant Hungarian chronicler of the early and mid fifteenth century – an honor he enjoys as much by default as by merit since there were no competitors. Although Thuróczy’s work was ambitious and comprehensive, it is also replete with errors, misunderstandings and misinterpretations. From a historiographical and critical perspective he measures up quite poorly with other contemporaries like the Polish chronicler Jan Długosz.12 The portions of the text that we are most interested in, i.e. those concerning the campaigns of 1442, were composed nearly a half century later in 1487. Yet Thuróczy did have important sources both oral and written available to him, and he did not hesitate to convey them, albeit at times with an uncritical eye. Among these sources, as he himself states in his introduction, was Michael Orszag. Orszag was treasurer under Wladislas and took part in the 1444 Varna expedition.13 He survived the battle and went on to become Palatine of Hungary. Before his death he imparted much of his knowledge of the times in which he had lived to the chronicler. With regard to written sources, “as a clerk of the Lord Chief Justice and later himself a judge, [Thuróczy] had easy access to every kind of document, some of which he no doubt carefully examined.”14 Thuróczy himself notes in the introduction to the latter part of his chronicle that he consulted the royal registry when compiling his work. This registry contained copies of documents the chancery issued. Among the documents in this registry was the above-mentioned charter of 1453. The two chapters covering the battles of 1442 represent the best and worst of Thuróczy’s work. With regard to the first major campaign, Mezid Bey’s defeat, the chronicle provides an account that is seemingly accurate in detail and full in narrative, so much so that it is too large to reproduce here.15 There are only scant references to the 1453 charter, found mostly in the beginning. There is no 11

12

13 14 15

The original print edition of Thuróczy’s work is now available in numerous places online. For example Bayerische Staatsbibliothek’s digital library: http://daten.digitale-sammlungen. de/~db/0003/bsb00032093/images/ (accessed 18 July 2011). For an excellent English translation see Johannes Thurocz, Chronicle of the Hungarians, ed. and trans. Frank Mantello (Bloomington, IL, 1991). See Mantello, ed., Chronicle, pp. 12–16, for a critical assessment of Thuróczy’s historiography and sources. As regards Długosz, for the period in question see Jan Długosz, Annales seu Cronica Incliti Regni Poloniae, ed. Ciesława Pirożyńska et al., book 12 (Warsaw, 2001). His name and seal affixed to the Act of Szeged represents his oath to undertake the campaign with the king. Mantello, ed., Chronicle, p. 15. Ibid., pp. 126–30.



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question that Thuróczy had access to another source, either oral or documentary. The tenor of the account suggests the former. Two important aspects of this narrative are independently corroborated, proving that the account is not simply a product of the author’s fancy. The first regards the battle of St. Emeric (Sanctus Emericus), in which the Ottoman forces ambushed both Hunyadi and Bishop Lepes’s troops. This is the initial defeat suffered by Hunyadi mentioned in the 1443 document. Thuróczy tells us that the bishop was killed on the battlefield (as he fell from his horse while trying to cross a small stream), information confirmed by the bishop’s own tombstone.16 The second corroborated element is the story of a Hungarian spy in the Ottoman camp. According to Thuróczy, one of Hunyadi’s men had been inserted among Mezid Bey’s troops. This spy then later informed Hunyadi of the Marcher Lord’s plan to attack and kill Hunyadi at the outset of the battle. According to Thuróczy, Hunyadi traded his horse and armor with his familiaris, Simon Kamonya, who was indeed surrounded and killed at the outset of the battle. The Ottoman chronicler Oruç Bey also mentions the presence of an enemy spy in the Ottoman camp suggesting he played an important role.17 Further elements of Thuróczy’s account of this battle harmonize with other independent sources, some of which will be discussed later. But his description of the campaign against Mezid Bey constitutes the fundamental narrative for this event. Thuróczy’s account of Şehabeddin’s defeat is quite a different matter.18 Whereas the story of the first campaign is full of additional information and rich detail derived from other sources no longer available to us, his account of the campaign against Şehabeddin is vague in the extreme and follows almost exactly, in slightly reworded form, the narrative found in the 1453 document. There can be little doubt that Thuróczy had this document before him when composing this chapter. There are two notable pieces of information found in 16

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The bishop’s inscription is as follows (Alfons Huber, “Die Kriege zwischen Ungarn und den Türken 1440–1443,” Archiv für österreichische Geschichte, vol. 86 1/2, p. 172): “… Georgii corpus et ossa praesulis Transsylvani, Lepes cognominati, … Turcarum gladio … zent Imreh … statur … in campo … truncatur die bis nono Martii anno domini millesimo CCCXL.” Zent Imreh here is the Hungarian version of the Latin Sanctus Emericus (Santimbru in Romanian and St. Emeric in English). Oruç Bey writes that Hunyadi conducted a reconnaissance of the region and discovered that Mezid Bey was alone and his camp unguarded. Oruç Bey, Tevarih-i Al-i Osman (Oruç Beğ Tarihi), ed. Necdet Öztürk (Istanbul, 2007), p. 62. Another manuscript of Oruç Bey (see Oruç Bey, Tevarih-i, p. 62, footnote 364) also mentions that Hunyadi conducted a reconnaissance, but states further that he learned about Mezid Bey’s situation “from a spy (casus/}½~\^).” As regards the Kamonya story, it was usual for the Ottomans to seek out the enemy leader and kill him in order to demoralize their opponents. Prior to battle in 1443 Murad II offered his own bounty for Hunyadi’s head, stating: “Whoever brings me the head of the accursed man called Yanko, or who fights him and brings him to me in fetters, whatever office he desires is his, and the horse I ride is his …” Halil İnalcik, ed. Gazavât-ı Sultân Murâd b. Mehemmed Hân, İzladi ve Varna Savaşları (1443–1444) Üzerinde Gazavatnâme (Ankara, 1989), p. 58 (Imber’s translation, p. 93) Mantello, ed., Chronicle, pp. 131–33.

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his narrative, however, which are not found in the 1453 document. The first is his mention of the place in which the battle was fought, which he refers to in Hungarian as “Vaskapu.” Second, he cites the place in which the Ottomans crossed the Danube as Kysnykapol, or “Little Nicopolis.” Both of these noteworthy exceptions will be discussed later. When it comes to the actual battle, the author inserts a good deal of flowery language, but gives us no real additional information: When, however, they had reached a place called Vaskapu, with a loud blast of trumpets resounding on both sides, Lord Janos engaged the pasha in a battle that was hazardous, and decisive, and worthy of record for all ages. From all directions the enemy charged, each side fighting vigorously. The pasha relied on the superior numbers of his people, and did not consider turning tail. Lord Janos the voivode wanted only to win or die, and never once considered flight. The war therefore raged on most fiercely on both sides; there was the greatest of slaughters, with many falling on the two sides, though many more casualties were Turks. For that reason the pasha and the Turks were compelled to desert the field of battle and without delay to take flight, pursued by the Hungarians, who made corpses of all they could catch up with. The result was that the whole battlefield was drenched with the blood of slaughtered men and horses and crowded with numerous corpses. It gave off the stench of putrefaction when later the sun’s heat grew warmer, and infected the air in the vicinity, so that none could come near. But in routing so many thousands of the enemy and taking a great many more prisoner, and in plundering their large store of valuables and every costly piece of their army’s paraphernalia, Lord Janos should be remembered for all time as a man of conspicuous greatness, worthy of public praise. He undertook the war courageously, directed it shrewdly, fought and finished it most successfully, and brought home a remarkable victory, revealing himself as a man deserving thereafter of whole-hearted and sincere affection, not only from the people of Hungary, but also from foreign peoples.

This general description, which aside from the place names could pertain to any one of Hunyadi’s battles against the Turks, is a far cry from Thuróczy’s account of the battle fought against Mezid Bey. This is surprising since the victory over Şehabeddin, who had brought with him not only raiders and some timariot cavalry but also the janissaries and a large portion of the Slave Army of the Porte, constitutes the first time such an army had been defeated in open battle by the Hungarians. Though the author seems aware of the significance of the campaign, he devotes far less text and detail to it. I have emphasized the general nature of Thuróczy’s account of Şehabeddin’s defeat because this had a profound effect on the next Hungarian historian to undertake a description of the campaigns – Antonio Bonfini. The Italian-born chronicler was one of the major figures of Hungarian Renaissance historiography. Hunyadi’s son, King Matthew Corvin, commissioned his most significant work, the Rerum Ungaricarum Decades.19 Bonfini began work on it in 1489, only a year after the first edition of Thuróczy’s work had been printed. Its influence on Bonfini’s history, particularly for the period in question, was enormous. 19

Antonio Bonfini, Rerum Ungaricarum Decades (Frankfurt, 1631).



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Whereas Thuróczy’s history is a product of the late Middle Ages, Bonfini’s work is in the tradition of the Renaissance. The same is true of Bonfini’s Polish counterpart Callimachus,20 whose work on King Wladislaus (De rege Vladislao) was based on the work of his medieval predecessor, Długosz, plus the author’s embellishments recounting often fictional deeds accomplished by his contemporary benefactors and their ancestors. Bonfini’s work is not as extreme in its fictional predilections as Callimachus. Yet it is still a work of Renaissance panegyric, with more emphasis on style, rhetoric and the necessity to paint his benefactors in a good light than on objective historical truth. The matter is complicated by the fact that Bonfini’s account of the events of the 1440s relies extensively on Thuróczy, Długosz and Callimachus. His attempt to reconcile both Długosz and Callimachus, giving equal credence to both, leads to a number of oddities in his history, since the latter relied almost exclusively on the former for the base narrative and then extrapolated freely. For the campaigns of 1442, however, Bonfini was forced to rely almost entirely on Thuróczy. Długosz, and therefore Callimachus, had nothing to say about Hunyadi’s victories in these years. This is not only because the events took place far from Poland, for Długosz’s history records in detail the entirety of Wladislas’s reign in Hungary. It has more to do with Długosz’s own animosity towards Matthew Corvin and his father, John Hunyadi. In any case, for the campaigns of 1442 Bonfini was forced to rely almost entirely on Thuróczy. In terms of Mezid Bey’s campaign this did not present a problem for, as already mentioned, Thuróczy’s account is rich in accurate detail and provides the sort of dramatic narrative prized by historians during the Renaissance. Bonfini does not deviate from Thuróczy in the slightest, save perhaps to add one or two place names in the beginning (seemingly referring to Hunyadi’s earlier victory as having taken place in “Albania,” and that Mezid Bey marched forth from “Macedonia”). Other than this, he rephrases Thuróczy’s narrative in more sophisticated Latin prose but follows it otherwise to the point of direct plagiarism, in a way that is typical of other portions of his work. The account of the second campaign is dramatically different. It begins with the following sentence: “It is not possible to pass over one of these battles without invoking scorn, for it took place with a certain famous pasha of the Turks whose name was Şehabeddin.”21 The name of Şehabeddin is not given in any of the above-mentioned sources. It does not appear in the three documents discussed in the beginning, and it does not appear in Thuróczy’s chronicle either. Yet we know without any doubt based on other, particularly Ottoman, sources 20

21

His actual name was Filippo Buonaccorsi. His work, dedicated to King Wladislas but also published with his patron George of Sanok in mind, was finished prior to 1488 (see Phillipus Callimachus, Historia de rege Vladislao, ed. and trans. Irmina Lichońska [Warsaw, 1961], p. 10). The name appears in Bonfini, Rerum Ungaricarum, p. 440, line 36: “Ex his unum tantum insigne bellum, silentio praeteriri, sine invidae nota, non potest, quod cum Basseo quodam Turcarum clarissimo, cui Sciabadin nomen erat, gestum est.”

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that it was indeed the name of the pasha who fought this battle. Although the Byzantine historian Chalkokondyles also gives his name, it is doubtful that Bonfini had access to this source. In any case, Chalkokondyles Hellenizes the name as “Sabatinos,” and Bonfini, “Sciabadinus.” Bonfini’s transliteration is in fact closer to the original Turkish, containing the consonant “sh” (in late medieval Latin “sh” was often written as “sci”) as opposed to “s.” Bonfini’s mention in this first paragraph of janissaries and Ottoman troops (he falsely refers to them as allies) from Anatolia as well as Europe is also significant. This information is not found in Thuróczy, yet these troops appear in a number of other Turco-Hungarian battles which Bonfini himself describes later in his chronicle. Yet where did he find the name of the pasha? Another literary source? Şehabeddin remained Beylerbey of Rumelia intermittently even into the reign of Mehmed the Conqueror; could Bonfini have heard the name of the pasha in conjunction with some later episode and then inserted it into his chronicle? Was there perhaps someone else at court who could still remember the pasha’s name? Was the name inserted by a later copyist who derived it from a separate source (such as Chalkokondyles), available to him at the time? Let us leave this curious but important mystery alone for now and focus on the rest of Bonfini’s narrative. It is the amazing length of Bonfini’s account of Şehabeddin’s defeat which first strikes the reader. The other sources we have mentioned for this battle – the charters of 1443, 1444, 1453 and Thuróczy’ chronicle – are respectively 97, 20, 244 and 468 words in length. Bonfini’s narrative is no less than 2,768 words, or thirty times the length of the original 1443 document upon which the 1453 charter and Thuróczy’s account are ultimately based. The modern historian is left with two alternatives. The first possibility is that Bonfini had a source unknown to Thuróczy, either oral or written. This source must have been very comprehensive indeed, as Bonfini’s account itself shows, offering a rather detailed description of the disposition of forces, a step-by-step narrative of the battle and the pre-battle speeches not only of Hunyadi but of Şehabeddin as well. The other option is that Bonfini, provided by Thuróczy with no real battle narrative, simply cobbled together the facts as best he could and set about filling the historical silence surrounding Hunyadi’s greatest battlefield victory with a good deal of imagination. There are a number of clues that point to the latter. First and foremost is Bonfini’s mention of the use of Hussite war wagons. And not just that they were used, but how they were used. Many historians have cited Şehabeddin’s defeat as the first tactical offensive use of Hussite war wagons in the history of Taborite warfare.22 According to Bonfini, Hunyadi’s forces were arrayed as follows:

22

For example see the relatively recent article by Emanuel Contstantin Antoche and Güneş Işıksel, “Les batailles de Sibiu (22 mars 1442) et de la rivière de Ialomita (2 septembre 1442): Essai de reconstitution d’après les sources de l’époque,” in Ana Dumitran et al., eds., “Extincta est lucerna orbis.” John Hunyadi and his Time, Mélanges d’Histoire Générale, nouvelle série 1/2, (Cluj-Napoca, 2009), pp. 405–26.



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They say that Hunyadi had placed two formations of cataphract cavalry in either corner, followed by horse archers. He stretched out in front of the troops of the banderia squadrons of cavalry, that they might fight on the flanks. In the middle, however, he placed two square formations of cataphract cavalry, and between these cohorts of heavily armored troops he placed from the rear units of javelin throwers and archers. Both were also surrounded by a long arc of wagons, which he filled with all manner of munitions.

After describing in detail the beginning of the battle, Bonfini describes the decisive action of the Hussite wagons: In the meantime Hunyadi, having spied the enemy’s ruse, allowed his men to be somewhat surrounded. Soon he ordered the lines of the battle wagons to be brought up, and ordered that all the Turks be surrounded by the war wagons. Then he rejoined battle with the enemy. Although the slaughter of the Turks was great, an enormous battle raged everywhere because of the great throng. However the Turks, when they realized that from the right flank they were surrounded by wagons and from the rear that they were being attacked by noisy weapons and firearms, became doubtful, and their spirits began to break, and though they feared what was behind them, they began to break along the front. Meanwhile the Hungarians, in order to seize the victory unfolding before their eyes, with renewed spirits began to push forward along the front. They encouraged their allies fighting from the wagons to encircle the enemy tighter. Now the Turks were falling back in disarray, and they took flight lest they become enveloped. Whomever they caught within the walls of the wagons and from the opposing lines they slaughtered. Those who fought on the left flank, however, disconcerted by the example of the others, fled. They all fled hither and thither. With their spirits raised by victory the Hungarians pressed forward from the rear. The Pasha, having given up all hope, turned and fled along with the slaves of the Porte who supported him. Hunyadi roared from the rear, examining the scattered lines of the Pasha, that he might obtain the wealth of the fallen leader and offer the rich spoils to the Great and Almighty Christ.23

Both the placement of the wagons, “in a long arc on the flanks,” and their use as a means to envelop the enemy, are the most salient features of Bonfini’s description. The great historian of Hussite warfare and tactics, Jan Durdik, made mention of this in his lengthy and detailed study titled The Hussite Art of War.24 He notes that during the period of the Hussite wars, which lasted roughly from 1418 until 1437, Hussite war wagons were only deployed defensively.25 The 23 24 25

Bonfini, Rerum Ungaricarum, pp. 444–45. Jan Durdik, Hussitisches Heerwesen, translated from the original Czech by Eberhard Wolfgramm (Berlin, 1961), pp. 156–57. It might be tempting to cite the battle of Kutna Hora in 1421 as an exception. It was there that the Hussite commander John Zizka, surrounded by King Sigismund’s troops, broke through the encircling army after forming the wagons into a column and charging into open terrain. It is not certain to what extent the wagons themselves effected the breakthrough, or simply exited through a hole already created by other troops. In any case, this use of the wagons was only out of the dire necessity to achieve a breakthrough and was executed with a good deal of trepidation, which is why Zizka attempted it at night. It is a far cry from the pre-meditated offensive deployment of the wagons Bonfini describes before Hunyadi’s battle against Shehabeddin.

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wagons would link and form a sort of fortress towards which Bohemian skirmishers and cavalry attempted to draw enemy troops, which would then be mown down by various missiles and firearms located in the “tabor” or “wagenburg”. It was not until the time of George of Podiebrady that the wagons began to be deployed offensively, nearly two decades after the battle Bonfini describes.26 Durdik confirms that there is no mention in the Hussite sources of the offensive deployment of wagons. But he goes on to cite Bonfini’s account as exceptional evidence that there was indeed use of this tactic far earlier than 1462, ending with the comment: “It should be emphasized that offensive maneuvers of the tabor could only have been the exception.”27 I argue that Bonfini’s description of an offensive deployment of wagons is not positive evidence of an early use of this tactic, but rather rather an indication of the falsehood of Bonfini’s account. First, Bonfini is the only source to mention that Hussite wagons were even present. Over a dozen contemporaneous sources discuss the encounter with Şehabeddin, half of which contain relatively lengthy narratives. Bonfini alone mentions a tabor or wagenburg. Although Hussites fought in the Hungarian army at the time, during the campaigns of 1442 they were employed by the king as mercenaries in the north to fight John Giskra and Wladislas’s rival Elizabeth. It was only after a truce with Elizabeth on 21 September that these forces were freed up for use against the Turks, over two weeks after Şehabeddin’s defeat.28 Some historians argue that Hunyadi had his own tabor, funded and produced locally in Transylvania. Indeed, it is incontestable that Hunyadi had begun constructing his own wagons in 1443. Yet there is no evidence at all that he had done so in 1442. The oft-cited letters in which he chastizes the citizens of Braşov for not building the wagons in strict accordance with the instructions

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There seems to have been no offensive tactical deployment of the war wagons in Zizka’s or any other early Hussite commander’s tactical repertoire. Durdik writes that Aeneas Silvius Piccolomini, later Pius II, also makes mention of the offensive use of wagons in his In libros Antonii Panormitae Poetae de dictis et factis Alphonsi regis memorabilibus commentarius (Helmstadt, 1700), p. 49. Yet Piccolomini had never had a chance to witness any of Sigismund’s battles personally, for he only came to the Austrian court after Sigismund’s death, where working in the royal chancellery under Kaspar Schlick he had some opportunity to familiarize himself with this style of warfare, now spreading to other parts of East-Central Europe, to include Austria. Just like Bonfini, his impressions of this combat derive from a later age, in which offensive tabor formations were being employed by Bohemian commanders such as George of Podiebrady whom he met in 1451, and with whom he maintained contact. It may be worth noting that even in his comment, Piccolomini refers to the people using this tactic as Bohemians, not specifically as Hussites, which again suggests he was writing of Bohemian tactics of a later era. Durdik, Hussitisches Heerwesen, pp. 157–58. These were likely the reinforcements that Wladislas mentions he had sent after Şehabeddin’s defeat and which Hunyadi used in the last two engagements of 1442 (see Jan Dąbrowski, Władysław I Jagiellończyk na Węgrzech (1440–1444), Rozprawy Historyczne Towarzystwa Naukowego Warszawskiego, vol. 2, part 1 (1922, 2nd ed., Vienna, 1971, p. 90).



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of a Czech expert suggest that the people of the region were new to the manufacture of these wagons, of which they had little, if any, experience.29 But perhaps the most damning evidence regarding Hunyadi’s use of war wagons in 1442 is their absence from the Ottoman sources. There are six separate Turkish accounts which make reference to this battle (see below). None of them mention war wagons. Yet several of these sources do make mention of them in the campaign of 1443,30 when they were used for the first time against the Ottomans31 and their novelty created both great difficulty and a lasting impression on the sultan’s forces. When the wagenburg is mentioned in the context of the Long March and the Crusade of Varna, its function is clearly as a defensive redoubt and not as an attack element. Take, for example, Balaban’s words to the crusaders after his capture early on in the 1443 campaign: “You return to your carts, hoping that the House of Osman will attack them so that they have tumbled to this trick of yours and will not approach the carts? No, they will surround you completely, out of range of the guns, and stay there until you are reduced to eating one another.”32 Another example is the speech that

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Gündisch, Urkundenbuch, no. 2451, pp. 110–11, and no. 2461, pp. 116–17. The latter passage refers to the problems the citizens of Kronstadt had in adhering to the advice of a Bohemian adviser Hunyadi had sent to assist in the construction of the wagons, a sign that these were a novel product for the townsmen: “Circumspecti viri sincere nobis dilecti. Ecce per hunc Michaelem Literatum familiarem nostrum vobis sex mensuras lapidum bombardarum transmisimus petentes vos ex affectu, quatenus circa quamlibet mensuram quadraginta lapides cum omnibus lapicidiis ibi existentibus usque duodecim dies sculpere faciatis et fabricare. Item petimus vos ex affectu, quatenus si vultis quod quamdiu vixerimus vobis iuxta vestrum beneplacitum refondamus extunc quadraginta puscas etiam laborari et parari faciatis. Item petimus vos, quod cum appromptuatione curruum thaboriorum iuxta demonstrationem illius Bohemi debitam festinantiam adhibeatis, quoniam ipse Bohemus nobis retulit multum improperiose, quod cum eisdem curribus satis modicam haberetis curam immo ipsum in risum recipissetis, quod a vobis denique non libenter audimus sed potius dolenter, quoniam talia negotia non tantum pro nobis sed pro tota christianitate laboratur et petimus quod praemissa omnia ad praenarratos currus disponatis et in ipsis curribus equos bonos et pingues disponatis. Cetera idem portitor praesentium dicet. Scriptis in Meggyes in vigilia nativitatis beati Johannis baptistae, anno et cetera Xlmo tertio.” Take, for example, Oruç Bey. The author describes the campaigns of 1442, 1443 and 1444, but only mentions wagons (arabalar) as being present at the latter two (Oruç Bey, Tevarih-i, pp. 63, 66). It is possible that the first use of the wagons against Ottoman troops was against Turahan Bey, not long after the Şehabeddin’s defeat, and by the Czech mercenaries mentioned above who had been freed up for use against the Turks after the truce with Elizabeth. During the campaigns of 1443, Turahan continued to warn Sultan Murad against incautiously attacking the wagenburg, which at the time was seen as a sort of cowardice, but which may well have been based on the small defeat he suffered against these troops in 1442. Halil İnalcik, ed. Gazavât-ı Sultân Murâd b. Mehemmed Hân, İzladi ve Varna Savaşları (1443– 1444) Üzerinde Gazavatnâme (Ankara, 1989), pp. 19–20 (Imber’s translation, p. 59). This is very similar to Balaban Pasha’s remarks when he was captured early on during the Long March: “You have reached here safely, but I do not know how you can continue. You return to your carts, but they will surround you and your wagenburg, as the sea surrounds the world, or like a belt surrounding the waist, and you will perish from grief like a dog.” (Gazavât, p. 10)

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the Ottoman author of the Gazavât inserts into the mouth of Hunyadi prior to the battle of Varna: “Then let the Turks attack us! If we defeat the Turks, fine! But if the Turks are victorious we shall retreat behind our carts. If the Turks then attack us, we shall fire our cannon and arquebus until their world collapses about them.”33 These words are dramatic fabrications, speeches that the author felt could/ should have been made but in terms of historical fact likely were not. Yet this is beside the point, for they reflect the Ottomans’ conception of the tactical role of the wagenburg.34 Every mention of Hussite tabor tactics during the campaigns of 1443 and 1444, and at the Second Battle of Kosovo in 1448, refer to a defensive deployment of the wagons, similar to their use during the Hussite Wars, and in a way that in no respect resembles the offensive maneuvers mentioned by Bonfini which can only date from a later period. By the same token none of the other independent sources listed below (i.e. neither Ottoman nor Hungarian), including Serbian, Byzantine, Italian, Burgundian and Franciscan, describe any use of wagons in 1442, although several mention defensive use of these wagons in 1443 and 1444. There are other aspects of Bonfini’s narrative that seem problematic. Most conspicuous is that Bonfini does not mention a river, a prominent feature in most narratives (see below). This fits the above-mentioned argument that Thuróczy had as his only source the 1453 charter, and that Bonfini had, with the minor exceptions listed above, Thuróczy as his only source. The 1453 letter, despite the fact that it echoes faithfully the document of 1443 (see above), neglects the sentence at the end of this letter, which we have already mentioned (“Ad quorum cladem magis uberem et previa eis flumina non parum suffragabantur”). Thus Thuróczy found no mention of a river in his source, the 1453 letter, and Bonfini found no mention of it in Thuróczy. This may at first seem insignificant, yet other sources lend prominence to the role of the river as an obstacle at which Hunyadi’s men inflicted great slaughter on the Turks. Based on this evidence the original theory stated above seems ever more obvious. Bonfini had Thuróczy’s chronicle before him, and given Thuróczy’s vague account of one of the voivode’s most illustrious victories (a vagueness based on Thuróczy’s own limited source, the 1453 letter), he did what any Renaissance historian might have done – he described the victory as he felt it ought to have been. But what was his model? If he did not have a source, whence did Bonfini derive his account, and in particular the innovative use of the wagons? The answer is the Wiener Neustadt review in August 1487. Bonfini witnessed this military parade personally, and in his chronicle he writes enthusiastically and at great length of the way in which Matthew Corvin’s army was arrayed and 33 34

Gazavât, pp. 59–60 (Imber’s translation, pp. 94–95). Most scholars maintain the Gazavât was composed soon after Murad’s victory at Varna, and certainly prior to the late 1450s or early 1460s when the new offensive tactical use of the tabor began to spread.



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how the king demonstrated his command and control over the various formations. Among these formations was the famed “scorpion,” in which wagons were placed in an arc at the flanks with other wagons in the rear as reserves.35 It is not certain whether this formation, or any of the formations displayed at the Wiener Neustadt Review, were ever used in battle. As Gyula Razso states, “Bonfini’s description of the Wiener Neustadt review is about a parade, not a battle, of which he saw none.”36 But given the obvious impression it made on him, and the fact that he never saw Matthias’s army at war, it is very likely that this was the inspiration for the formation and tactics he ascribes to John Hunyadi in 1442. The following conclusions can be drawn from the Hungarian sources for Hunyadi’s two great campaigns of 1442. Regarding the spring campaign against Mezid Bey, both the 1443 letter issued by King Wladislas and more importantly Thuróczy’s lengthy and detailed account, derived from another unknown source, must provide the historiographical basis. Neither Bonfini nor the 1453 charter have anything to add to these two sources, merely echoing the same information. With regard to the autumn campaign against Şehabeddin we ultimately have Wladislas’ letter from 1443. The letter of 1453 is a lengthy paraphrase of the 1443 charter minus some key information present in the latter – in particular the role the rivers played in allowing Hunyadi’s troops to slay a large part of the fleeing enemy. The 1453 document does, however, add some interesting contextual information by confirming that the pasha was returning with plunder when the battle occurred somewhere near the Ottoman-Wallachian border.37 The 35

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37

Within this passage of his chronicle Bonfini (Rerum Ungaricarum, p. 644) even seems to directly contradict his account of Şehabeddin’s defeat. He writes, “Carri pariter a latere agi, quibus pro fossa valloque, ex instituto Corvini, Ungari non solum munire castra, verumetiam falcatis in praelio ut, hostesque his circumvenire solent.” The author seems to be telling us directly that the offensive Taborite tactics were instituted by Matthew Corvinus, Hunyadi’s son. Some have translated “Corvini” in this passage to refer to John Hunyadi, but there is no basis for this. Though Bonfini most often uses the king’s first name Matthias (Matthew), he also uses the term “Corvinus” interchangeably throughout to refer to members of the dynasty. In the case where it is not the currently reigning “Corvinus,” he adds the necessary first name to avoid confusion. Just a few lines afterwards we see the following passage: “Ex quo fit, ut gens Vngarica bello aspera, ita institutis, ductu auspiciisque Corvini accreverit : ut quae non modo paternam a Pannonia glebam possidere, sed vix intra hostile pomoerium se sine sanguine tueretur, tantum fecerit accessionis, non a Sarmatis ad mare usque Adriaticum, at a Mysiis atque Macedonibus ad Noricos usque, ac Germanos sub ditione sua imperium propagarit.” This reference to “Corvinus,” found close by the above-mentioned, is clearly a reference to Matthew Corvinus. In the same chapter the author refers to Matthew’s son as “Johannes Corvinus” to distinguish him from his father. But when Matthew dies, John Corvinus is most often thereafter referred to simply as “Corvinus,” following the pattern whereby the reigning member of the dynasty in his chronicle is referred to as Corvinus, and he differentiates other references by using a first name or other distinguishing word. Gyula Razso, “The Mercenary Army of King Matthias Corvinus,” in From Hunyadi to Rakoczi, War and Society in Late Medieval and Early Modern Hungary, ed. Béla K. Kiraly and János M. Bak, East Central European Society and War, no. 13, vol. IV (New York, 1982), p. 131. For more on this see my discussion on where the battles took place (below).

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1453 charter was the only source for Thuróczy’s account of the battle. Thuróczy, in turn, was virtually the only source available to Bonfini. Unable to satisfy the need for a compelling battle narrative yet maintain the stylistic and historiographical coherence of his history, Bonfini was forced to fabricate an account based on formations and tactics of the Hungarian army under Matthew Corvin. He witnessed these personally in 1487, some forty-five years after the battle itself, and one year before he was commissioned to write his history. Leaving the Hungarian sources for the time being, the next major category of sources for Hunyadi’s 1442 campaigns is Ottoman. There are six separate items: Oruç Bey, Aşıkpaşazâde, The Anonymous Ottoman Chronicles, Sadeddin Efendi, the Annals of Murad II and the Takvimler (Historical Lists).38 As is the case with the Hungarian sources, each of these either constitutes a contemporary source or contains unique information attributable to a unique contemporary source. What we are missing from Ottoman historiography for this period are documents similar to the Hungarian charters mentioned above. The source material we do have is either narrative or annalistic. Of these, Oruç Bey and Aşıkpaşazâde are the most significant. Sadeddin is also important, but his work was composed much later and although we see that he consulted other sources for these years (sometimes he even names them), it is not always certain what constitute his own minor adjustments to the narratives and what comes from elsewhere. The other sources mentioned above – The Anonymous Chronicles, the Annals of Murad II and the Takvimler – all contain very brief passages, sometimes of only one or two sentences. Let us begin with some of the annalistic sources, since these seem to have had some influence over the other narratives. The Annals of Murad II: “[845/22 May 1441–11 May 1442] Item: Sultan Murad held court at Edirne. He sent Mezid Bey to Hungary to perform a ghaza. This ghaza did not go well. Mezid was martyred. The army was destroyed.”39 Regarding the campaign of Mezid Bey this tells us little we did not already know. What follows is another entry concerning Şehabeddin’s defeat: [846/12 May1442–30 April 1443] Item: Sultan Murad held court at Edirne. He sent his Beylerbey Şehabeddin Pasha to the land of Hungary with 3,000 janissaries. From among the Sanjak Beys [he took] Firuz Bey, Yakub Bey, Veled-i Fenari Umur Bey, as well as a number of other Sanjak Beys, 16 Sanjak Beys in total. Once again our army was destroyed; all the Sanjak Beys were martyred. This ghaza also did not go well. The remaining troops came back. 38

39

The reader might be curious that I have omitted Mehmed Neshri’s well-known history, which is referred to by a number of previous, particularly Western, historians of these campaigns, most likely because it was translated into Western languages early on. Neshri’s text for this period is virtually a verbatim copy of Aşıkpaşazâde, and the minor changes he made must be assumed to be stylistic. He has nothing unique to add. The Gazavât, which is the most important source for the campaigns of 1443 and 1444, is also absent, since it says nothing about 1442. Both entries are in V.L. Menage, “The Annals of Murad II,” Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies 39, part 3 (1976), p. 577.



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Here we have some novel information, particularly concerning the size of the army (3,000 janissaries, 16 sanjak beys). The mention of casualties, particularly the statement that “all the sanjak beys perished,” is also noteworthy. The next source is the Takvimler, or “Historical Lists”. These passages are even shorter. Regarding Mezid Bey: “The Amir Ahur Mezid Bey and his son encountered catastrophe in the land of the infidels.” This confirms the data in the Hungarian sources that both Mezid Bey and his son were present at the battle. Regarding the autumn campaign we have the equally terse passage: “Şehabeddin Pasha, who was the Beylerbey of Rumelia, encountered catastrophe and the Army of Islam was routed and fled and the infidel raided and plundered the Army of Islam.”40 Another brief source is the Anonymous Chronicle. With regard to Mezid Bey’s defeat it states: “In the year 844 Sultan Murad held court in Edirne. He decided to send Mezid Bey on a raid. He crossed through Wallachia and marched into Hungary. It did not go well. Mezid Bey suffered a catastrophic defeat.” This confirms the route mentioned in the Hungarian sources, i.e., first through Wallachia and then into Hungary. Regarding the autumn campaign it states the following: “In the year 845 Sultan Murad held court at Sophia. He sent Beylerbey Şehabeddin Pasha with the Army of Rumelia and the akinji and the janissaries. He crossed through Wallachia and marched to Hungary. He released the akinji and the troops (çeriler).41 Beylerbey Hadim Pasha42 was alone. The accursed Yanko (Hunyadi) attacked and just as Mezid Bey had been careless so those men were careless.”43 This brief passage mentions Sophia as Murad’s place of residence for these months, a fact corroborated by others. It also suggests that Şehabeddin was attacked after dispersing the raiders, in the same way as Mezid Bey. This is directly contradicted by Burgundian chronicler Jehan de Wavrin (discussed below). It is possible the author is referring to Şehabeddin’s dispatch of the majority of the Ottoman force across the Danube prior to being attacked. It is perhaps useful here to make some points regarding Ottoman raiding tactics. One of our best sources, roughly contemporary to the period, is the memoirs of Konstantin Mihalović.44 As a young Serb he was drafted into the Ottoman army, raised as a janissary and then later recaptured/liberated by Christians. His insight into the Ottoman army is first hand and his description of 40 41 42 43 44

Both passages are found in Osman Turan, ed., İstanbul’un Fethinden Önce Yazılmış Tarihi Takvimler (Ankara, 1984), pp. 30–31. This work is hereafter referred to as Takvimler. It is unclear if this refers to the provincial timariot cavalry, the janissaries, or both. Hadim was a court title also held by Şehabeddin, denoting him as one of the highest ranking eunuchs at court. Both passages are found in Friedrich Giese, ed., Die altosmanischen anonymen Chroniken, 2 vols. (Breslau, 1922–1925), 1:66. Hereafter referred to as the Anonymous Chronicle. Though there are several versions of his work, I am convinced that the Czech edition is closest to the original. For this edition, along with critical apparatus and accompanying English translation, see Konstantin Mihalović, Memoirs of a Janissary, trans. Benjamin Stolz, historical commentary and notes Svat Soucek, Michigan Slavic Translations, No. 3 (Ann Arbor, 1975).

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raiding tactics is invaluable. Once permission for a raid had been given (in the form of a destur from the Sultan) and the armies had been gathered, the troops marched into enemy territory. There they changed onto faster horses.45 As we can see from other raids of this era (though this is not explicitly mentioned by Konstantin), the Ottomans took care to rid the country of any organized resistance first, gathering some initial plunder and prisoners. They then established a future rally point, whereupon the leader would disperse the raiders and set a date of return, encouraging them to move as swiftly as possible. The actual time of raiding is variable, but in the case of the 1442 campaigns it seems to have been for a little over a week. While waiting for his troops, The voivode46 orders a small tent to be pitched in that place (his camp), having with him several hundred select men on good horses, and he awaits them (the Akinji raiders) in that place. Then the raiders carry and lead from all sides [plunder and captives]. The voivode, then, having awaited them in accordance with his earlier word, sends all the plunder ahead.

This latter passage is of great importance to understanding the two campaigns above. As we can see, the period immediately after the release of the raiders was the moment of greatest weakness and exposure for the marcher lord and his men. Yet if he had done due diligence in clearing organized resistance, and in placing scouts in key positions to warn him of a newly-organized force, he could greatly mitigate this danger. Hunyadi, with his knowledge of these tactics, succeeding in taking advantage of this weakness against Mezid Bey. Yet both Mezid Bey and Şehabeddin, as the Ottoman sources point out, contributed to their own demise through incaution. For there was a second point of great weakness encountered by Ottoman armies, particularly in Wallachia and Hungary: crossing the Danube border. Vlad Dracul refers to this when speaking to Waleran de Wavrin in 1445, while discussing the fortress of Giurgiu: Whenever the Turks want to harry Wallachia or Transylvania, they and their horses cross by this island [fortress of Giurgiu]. They go over by the castle bridge on the arm of the river leading to Wallachia, and bring whatever they have captured back across the same bridge. When the Vlachs pursue them to recover their possessions, the castle prevents them from doing any damage. However, when the Turks used to go straight

45

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Mihalović, Memoirs, p. 179: “When they have arrived (in the territory to be raided) he tells them to change to other, faster horses, for each of them has two horses – he leads one and rides the other. And the horses they have ridden earlier will remain here, for there are other Turks to look after those horses until they return, and they give them a gold piece for eight horses. And the voivode leads them a little farther, and there he will order them not to delay in anything, and he sets the day up to which they will wait for them; and having struck a drum which is called the talambas, so he releases them, and such a great tumult is raised by them as they jostle ahead of each other, each wanting to be in front, that some are killed with their horses and remain here. And so they ride away, who knows where, burning and killing, plundering and committing every evil thing.” A common Western term for Ottoman marcher lords, who were most often the leaders of such raids.



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across the river, the Vlachs always caught up with them and attacked their rearguard, killing many of them or taking them prisoner.47

It was for this reason that at several points along the Danube the Ottomans occupied pieces of enemy territory across the Danube, which they fortified as bridgeheads for safe crossing. Yet there were still some areas where the army, in crossing, was in possession of only one side and therefore exposed. An example was the fording point at Silistra in south-eastern Wallachia.48 Let us leave raiding tactics aside for the moment, and take a further look at Ottoman sources. Oruç Bey, who lived in Edirne at the time of Murad and who provides valuable insight into the events of his reign, contains the most information regarding Mezid Bey’s defeat.49 He writes: And Sultan Murad held Porte in Edirne. He gave the marcher lord Mezid Bey the permission for a raid. He crossed Wallachia and marched into the country of Hungary. He did not investigate whether the enemy was in the area or not. Unwary, he became proud. He gave permission (destur) for the raid and the akinji dispersed in all directions. Mezid Bey stayed in one place and remained alone. However, there was an infidel by the name of Yanko.… He knew both the Turks’ strategies and tactics … Yanko performed a reconnaissance; finding out that Mezid Bey was alone, he marched against the proud ones. There was no one else who had stayed at Mezid Bey’s side. Mezid Bey did battle with a man prepared. There were not even five hundred of them. There were 15,000 infidels.50 The infidels came and attacked. They routed Mezid Bey, and afterwards the late Mezid Bey was martyred. Many more men, including those from the dovicalar,51 joined the ranks of the martyrs. This raid was not successful. Our troops were defeated. The rest fled to safety. Many came back.52

The first few sentences are nearly identical to the Annals and the Anonymous Chronicle. However, Oruç Bey provides us a good deal of additional information. He emphasizes that Mezid Bey failed to perform the necessary reconnaissance before dispersing the raiders, confident, perhaps, of the unadulterated success of Ottoman raids in the last several years. He lets us know that Hunyadi used reconnaissance and espionage. Mezid Bey, having dispersed the akinji, was left alone. The source cites the ratio as 15,000 Hungarians to 500 Turks in one manuscript, and as 10,000 to 1,000 in another. These numbers are almost certainly exaggerated but they convey the point that the Turks were outnum-

47 48

49 50 51 52

Wavrin (Imber’s translation, p. 155). This crossing point is also described by Wavrin, who says that in 1445 it was in ruins from an earlier “Vlach” attack. Perhaps this was an assault on the fortress by Hunyadi in 1442? See Wavrin (Imber’s translation, p. 140). Oruç Bey, Tevarih-i Al-i Osman (Oruç Beğ Tarihi), ed. Necdet Öztürk (Istanbul, 2007). Another manuscript of Oruç Bey says 1,000 Ottomans and 10,000 infidels. Oruç Bey, Tevarih-i, p. 62, note 364. This term is synonymous here with akinji, though it is usually used at this period to refer to akinji serving under the Sultan’s pay in time of war. Oruç Bey, Tevarih-i, p. 62. Another manuscript of Oruç Bey’s work adds that “Hunyadi learned from a spy that Mezid Bey was alone and being careless.” (Ibid., footnote 364.)

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bered. Oruç Bey tells us that although Mezid Bey as well as many of the raiders died, a number of the men returned. Regarding Şehabeddin’s defeat he writes: Murad gave [Şehabeddin] permission to raid with an army of 15,000 akinji and two thousand janissaries. They crossed Wallachia and marched into Hungary. Hadim Şehabeddin Pasha was proud like Mezid Bey. He had skill, and a reputation as to what he could accomplish with this skill. This reputation was checkered. And the consensus was that sometimes he defeated the enemy and sometimes he was defeated. Şehabeddin Pasha dispersed the akinji. The marcher lords and the janissaries stayed with him. With a vile, foul army the accursed Yanko, just as he found Mezid Bey proud, so too he found him [Şehabeddin] proud. [Hunyadi’s men were] full of arms, dark blue iron, girded with iron, he was drowned in weapons. He put his infantry in front and his cavalry in the rear. With this awesome army he came upon the proud ones. From Şehabeddin Pasha’s sanjak beys there were Firuz Bey, Yakub, Hizir Bali veled-i Kaya. Along with the head of the akinji, Umur Bey, so sixteen sanjak beys died on that day. Only Şehabeddin Pasha fled and left. Our army was defeated. The accursed Yanko, after defeating them, came to Wallachia. He killed Dracula [sic!], took Wallachia and put Dan-oghlu Bey Basarab in Dracula‘s place. This was in the year 846.

Oruç Bey confirms the statement in Murad’s Annals that Şehabeddin had brought janissaries and sixteen sanjak beys with him. It is interesting that the number of janissaries he gives is different (2,000 versus 3,000) and that the names of the sanjak lords also differ slightly from the Annals. He adds that the leader of the raiders, Umur Bey, also perished. We can see from Oruç Bey’s narrative that Şehabeddin intentionally kept his regular forces behind (the janissaries and the sanjak beys) when he dispersed the raiders. This was to avoid the disaster that had befallen Mezid Bey several months prior, and it seems to have worked. We know from Wavrin’s chronicle (see below) that Hunyadi was unable to attack Şehabeddin after dispersal of the raiders due to the fact that these forces were entrenched in a fortified position typical of janissaries in the field. Also described here is the reinstatement of Basarab II in Wallachia. Although he falsely places the event after Şehabeddin’s defeat, instead of before it, he confirms the 1443 letter’s statement that Hunyadi placed Basarab II on the throne and removed the Ottoman protégé, Mircea II, whom he refers to as Dracula (though he was not actually killed). This same information is given by the Serbian Annals (see below). The next Ottoman source we will discuss at length is Aşıkpaşazâde. He says nothing of the defeat of Mezid Bey, save that Şehabeddin’s campaign was intended as vengeance for this loss. Yet he writes at length about the latter’s defeat. This is due to Aşıkpaşazâde’s own historical agenda. He, himself, had participated in raids during the period in question and had great admiration for the hardened marcher lords and their frontier lifestyle. He had equal disdain for what he perceived to be the effete Slaves of the Porte, whom Şehabeddin, one of the highest-ranking eunuchs, represented. Aşıkpaşazâde seems to relish the opportunity to ridicule the Beylerbey in his account and lionize the actions of the provincial sanjak beys:



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At this time Kula Shahin53 was the Beylerbey of Rumelia. He told the Sultan, “My Sultan! This despicable Yanko [Hunyadi] really did something to your servant Mezid. If you would be so generous, then I, your servant, will march and take revenge on this infidel.” The sultan said, “Go!” He took part of the Army of Anatolia, the Army of Rumelia and the akinji. They marched, and entered Wallachia. There they occupied themselves with eating and drinking. The Sanjak Beys said: “Our lord! This place where we are camped is not the place for eating and drinking. The enemy is here.» Kula Shahin, besotten with drink, said:“Should the enemy spy my helmet he will flee several days march from here!” Saying this, suddenly one day the enemy army appeared. With battle in the air Kula Shahin no longer ate his Turkish delight. He mounted and turned around. He began to flee. The Sanjak Beys stated:“Hey! What are you doing? Come, let us march against this enemy, for he is upon our army.” Kula Shahin said: “Persevere until tonight, at midnight I will march against him.” As soon as darkness fell he ceased to care about the enemy. He donated his helmet to the enemy, and immediately fled, asking, “Is the Danube near or far?” In short, the Army of Islam suffered defeat there.

Although Aşıkpaşazâde is profiting from the occasion to ridicule the Slaves of the Porte, his account agrees with the other sources, both Christian and Ottoman. He mentions Şehabeddin’s lack of caution in the field, the sudden appearance of the Hungarians, his flight and the death of a number of sanjak beys. The fact that the battle lasted until nightfall, and that in the morning the Ottomans had retreated, is reported elsewhere as well, most significantly in the 1443 charter. Sadeddin, who was writing in the mid sixteenth century, had access to many, if not all, of the above-mentioned sources. Yet he clearly had access to others, which is evident in his discussion of the Wallachians. Sadeddin tells us that after Murad imprisoned Vlad Dracul (in late 1441), the Hungarians installed a voivode on the throne who was “indifferent” to the Sultan. Mezid Bey’s raid was thus to bring Wallachia to heel and firmly establish Ottoman control. Indeed, Sadeddin makes no direct mention of a raid into Transylvania, but simply says that once the elites had been smitten on the head Şehabeddin dispersed his men to raid and plunder. He also tells us that it was at this point that Hunyadi attacked: “While the Army of Islam was greedily gathering plunder the King of Hungary sent a lord to help the rascals, who unfurled his banners and went with a great army. And the lord of Wallachia who had sought refuge in the high mountains organized his forces and joined the Hungarians.”54 With regard to Şehabeddin’s defeat Sadeddin mostly echoes Aşıkpaşazâde. He mentions Şehabeddin’s overconfidence and brash statement. He also states that Şehabeddin stayed on the battlefield until night fell, but then grew afraid and fled. Yet the author adds some interesting details not found in Aşıkpaşazâde. 53

54

Referring to the Beylerbey as “Kula Shahin” is itself a mild slight, with Kula referring to his status as a Slave of the Porte and Shahin being the shortened version of his full name, Şehabeddin. It does not mean, as others have suggested, “brown falcon.” Sadeddin Efendi, Tâcü’t – Tevârih, edited and rendered into Modern Turkish by İsmet Parmaksızoğlu, 2 vols. (Istanbul, 1974), 2:202.

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He writes that the Sultan assigned “six great Anatolian sanjak beys”55 to Şehabeddin’s army, which would have been in addition to the Rumelian sanjak beys who therefore numbered ten. But perhaps most interesting is the following statement: “Some of the vile ones [aşağılıklar, Hunyadi’s troops] followed this disorderly retreat and a great many of those soldiers who were striving to cross the river, but who had lost hope, perished.”56 This confirms the role of the river in the Ottoman defeat. Sadeddin ascribes heroism to the sanjak beys who attempted to cover the crossing, writing that many of them were too ashamed to flee and stayed behind to fight the enemy and die heroically even after Şehabeddin’s departure. We shall see how this information corresponds very closely to Wavrin’s account below. The third and final category of sources for the battles of 1442 consists of those that are neither Hungarian nor Ottoman. They are the Byzantine historian Chalkokondyles’ Historiarum Libri Decem, the Burgundan chronicle of Jehan de Wavrin, the Serbian Short Annals, a letter of Bartolomeo di Giano dating from February 1444, and entries in two Venetian chronicles, the Cronaca di Zancaruola and the Vite dei Dogi, both of which likely derived from the same epistolary source. The most important of these sources is the chronicle of Jehan de Wavrin. Waleran de Wavrin was the captain of the Burgundian fleet contingent whose mission it was to block Murad II’s army from crossing the Bosphorus in 1444. His brother, Jehan de Wavrin, wrote down Waleran’s account in a lengthy chapter of his own magnum opus, the Anchiennes Chronicques d’Engleterre.57 His work covers roughly the years 1439–1445, and it becomes clear relatively early on that his source for the battles of 1442 was a Vlach soldier from either Hungary or Wallachia. Some assume it was Vlad Dracul himself, with whom Wavrin went campaigning along the Danube in 1445. Wavrin also mentions redeeming several prisoners taken at the battle of Varna whom he offered to restore to their homes. During the lengthy sea voyage through the Black Sea and up the Danube he had time to hear their stories about the recent conflicts with the Ottomans, the latest of which Wavrin himself had played a part in. Also accompanying him on this journey, although on another vessel, was the Franciscan friar Bartolomeo di Giano, who was at least to some degree informed of the 1442 campaigns, as will be seen below. Wavrin’s ignorance of Balkan and Central European affairs is evident in some confusing passages. And his conceptions of geography seem more or less 55

56 57

One of these was the Anatolian sanjak bey of Germiyan, Umur Beyoğlu Osman Çelebi, whose role in the battle and whose martyrdom he emphasizes. This may give some indication of Sadeddin’s other source. Sadeddin, Tâcü’t – Tevârih, p. 204, “Bazı aşağılıklar da ol tedbirsiz kaçağa uyup Tuna’dan geçmeğe can atmakla geride kalan askerin de yüreği çürüldü, çoğu perişan oldu.” The passages relating to 1442 are to be found in Wavrin, Anchiennes Chronicques, pp. 17–20 and in Imber’s translation, pp. 108–11.



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limited to the areas he knew. He was familiar with the eastern Danube valley, in which he sailed in 1445 in an attempt to assist Vlad Dracul in seizing several Ottoman fortresses and perhaps participating in another anti-Ottoman campaign. Wavrin properly begins his chronicle with a description of Vlad’s imprisonment. He then states, “at this time, the Lord of Wallachia had only a single son, aged between thirteen and fourteen, who was not capable of governing such a kingdom, and especially not in time of war. As a result of all this, there was great distress throughout the land.”58 This is a reference to Mircea II, born in 1428, and the civil war which ensued after Vlad’s removal in late 1441. Having written of the turmoil in Wallachia he writes that Hunyadi, who had been appointed their leader, had directed the populace and soldiers to repair to the mountains: Since the Vlachs did not feel strong enough to give battle against such a multitude as the Turks, they decided to withdraw to the mountains. They announced to everybody in the plains that men, women, children and goods should all take refuge in the mountains, because they had received certain news that the Turks were about to cross the Danube to harry the land.59

Wavrin makes no mention of the battle at St. Emeric, but his narrative seems to pick up immediately afterward, albeit in a somewhat confused manner: The Turks crossed the [Danube] and captured some Vlachs from whom they learned that the entire army of Vlachs and Transylvanians had retreated into the mountains. The Vlachs, apart from their guards who were up in the mountains, never showed themselves. It was for this reason that the said Beirlabay,60 on the day after his departure from before the mountains, divided his army into three. He sent one section to harry Great Wallachia, which is downstream along the Danube, the other to Transylvania, which is upstream, and the third he kept with him to guard his camp.

We can see several motifs here mentioned in other sources, for example that Mezid Bey divided his army while keeping a portion of the forces with him. This fits precisely with Mihalović’s description of tactics, in which the raiders were released while the leader of the raid waited behind with a contingent until the raiders returned. Yet Wavrin’s geography seems confused. Transylvania was not along the Danube, but separated from Wallachia by the Carpathians. As mentioned, it is doubtful that Wavrin had much knowledge at all of these northern regions, and likely confused unknown place names. But the important fact is his description of Mezid Bey’s forces, as well as how the battle itself unfolded: 58 59

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Wavrin (Imber’s translation, p. 109). In fact, Vlad had four different sons. Ibid. Wavrin consistently refers to these people as Vlachs, an indication of his source. This by no means refers simply to Wallachians, however, since there was a very large local Vlach population in Transylvania as well, many of whom fought with Hunyadi. And Hunyadi’s army no doubt comprised Hungarians, Saxons and others from the region. Wavrin has this confused with Mezid Bey, and thought Beylerbey was his proper name. In fact, Mezid Bey was not a Beylerbey at all.

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Now Johannes de Hongnac, as you have heard, was with the Vlachs and Transylvanians. Knowing that the Turks were divided into three companies and having a poor opinion of their strength, he decided that he and his men would attack the Turkish camp, where there was neither watch nor guard, at dawn the following day. They did as decided and set out in three contingents, two to attack at each end of the encampment, and the third to attack the centre. Caught unawares by the assault, the Turks were quickly routed and killed. The fugitives, however, set out for the Danube, where some escaped and others drowned.

This brief description of a multi-pronged assault fits well with Thuróczy, who as mentioned above is the most important source for this battle. It also corresponds with the Ottoman descriptions of Mezid Bey as careless and lacking vigilance; Wavrin states his camp had “neither watch nor guard.” What comes next adds to Thuróczy’s description by describing the aftermath of the battle. Given our discussion of Ottoman raiding tactics above, Hunyadi had every reason to expect that raiders would begin arriving shortly in Mezid Bey’s camp, laden with plunder, to begin the long march home. Wavrin describes how Hunyadi profited from this knowledge to inflict further harm on the enemy through an elaborate ruse: When the Vlachs had overrun the saracens’ camp, they decided to put on the dead Turks’ clothes. They sent spies to Transylvania to find out when the saracen raiders were returning, and received the report that the ones who had been sent to Transylvania were on their way back. The Vlachs therefore hid a large contingent of their men along the Turks’ path, but allowed them nevertheless to pass beyond this ambush. The Turks were heavily laden with booty, and were bringing with them a great crowd of men and women whom they had captured as slaves, together with a great number of animals. Knowing nothing of the rout at the camp, the Turks arrived there in great joy, and great triumph, drumming and shouting as if they had conquered the entire country. But the Vlachs who were in the camp dressed up as Turks soon made them forget their joy, as they attacked them, while the men from the ambush surrounded them. The Vlachs did the same to the ones who had gone to harry Wallachia. The rout was so overwhelming that, out of a hundred thousand Turks, more than sixty thousand died. The Vlachs acquired enormous riches and treasures.

Wavrin tells us that when the sultan heard news of Mezid Bey’s defeat, he was eager to avenge himself for the outrage which he said the Vlachs had perpetrated against him, [so] he appointed one of his subashis as a new Bailarbey61 and sent him through all his lands to assemble the greatest army that he could muster. He ordered them to cross the Danube and to go to Wallachia and Transylvania. There he was to destroy everything and put everybody to the sword.

He goes on to say that the Vlachs once again repaired to the hills for shelter and left the plain open to the Turks. And once again, the Turks “sent their raiders 61

Wavrin is once again confused as to the roles of beylerbey, subashi, etc. Şehabeddin had in fact been beylerbey throughout this period, Mezid Bey had been merely a marcher lord and subashi.



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in great strength in the direction of Transylvania and Hungary.” Yet he adds a curious note here that we have already hinted at above: “This time, however, the Turks who were guarding the camp were wiser than before. They had drawn themselves up in battle order, so that the Vlachs could not enter without putting themselves in great danger. It was for this reason that the Vlachs and their allies had decided not to fight the Turks until they were re-crossing the Danube.” Hunyadi’s brilliance as a commander is shown in part here by his tactical patience. He held his men back, safe in the mountains, while the raiders pillaged the country. The raid ran its course. Wavrin tells us that [The Turks] waited like this for seven or eight days until the return of the Turkish raiders who, as I said a little earlier, had gone to Transylvania and Hungary. They brought with them a great number of prisoners – men, women and children – together with as great a haul of cattle and other moveables as men-at-arms can transport in such circumstances. They were rapturously received by the men who were guarding the camp. However, because they had no food, apart from what they could carry with them, they decided to cross the Danube with all their spoils and to return to their country of Bulgaria. Having decided to do this, they departed.

Again, this corresponds with what we know of Ottoman raiding tactics. Unlike in his encounter with Mezid Bey, whom he attacked after the initial dispersion of the raiders, Hunyadi waited in this case until the moment when Şehabeddin had struck camp. Unable to attack the army due to its size and field fortifications, Hunyadi’s men pursued the Ottoman army and attacked them as they were crossing the Danube border: When the Turks reached the banks of the Danube, they began to cross in small boats, making their horses swim over the river. At this point, the Vlachs decided that they would not place any obstacles in their way or reveal their strength until most of the Turks had crossed. This they did, and as soon as they saw that a large number of Turks were by now on the other side of the river, and that the ones left on their side were not too strong for them, they advanced to do battle with them in fine array. They completely overwhelmed them, with more of them dying by drowning than by the sword.62

Given what is written in the Ottoman sources, and in particular Aşıkpaşazâde, it seems much of Şehabeddin’s force had already crossed the river when Hunyadi attacked, and that he chose to hasten his own crossing rather than do battle against Hunyadi with a divided force. The majority of the army still on the Wallachian shore consisted of the timariot cavalry and their sanjak bey leaders. This explains why a significant portion of the Ottoman force returned unharmed, including Şehabeddin. He was not killed, as Wavrin mistakenly writes, although he was stripped of his office. The next historian worth mention is Laonikos Chalkokondyles. He was a Byzantine writer familiar with both Ottoman and Byzantine Christian society,

62

Imber’s translation, p. 110.

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which is reflected in his masterwork the Historiarum Libri Decem.63 For the period in discussion, it is obvious that he had access to Ottoman sources, both written and oral. For the most part, this lends his history a unique and invaluable perspective, yet it is not without errors. For the wars of 1442, Chalkokondyles gives us a narrative that on the one hand corroborates information from other sources, but on the other seems hopelessly confused. His narratives for Mezid Bey and Şehabeddin’s campaigns seem almost interchanged. The sultan considered Mezid’s death a great calamity. He therefore began to prepare to undertake an expedition against the Hungarians. Having sent criers throughout his kingdom he published an edict stating that all men should assemble in the spring. Afterwards, having changed his mind, he ordered that the eunuch Şehabeddin (Sabatinus), a man very experienced in military affairs, should be in charge of this war, since the eunuch felt that this plan would be the safest and best for the Sultan. The king also ordered that he not stop fighting until he had conquered all of Hungary and Transylvania. Gathering therefore the army of the king and “guests”64 and around four thousand janissaries he crossed the Danube and led all of his forces into Transylvania. From there he traveled for a number of days throughout the region of Hungary. However Choniates, whom they call John Hunyadi, an excellent man among the Hungarians at this time, to whom the region of Transylvania had been entrusted by the Hungarian council, prepared a very large army from Transylvania and Hungary. Having formed up his army he followed Şehabeddin through the mountain passes.

To begin with, we know for certain that it was Mezid Bey who fought the spring campaign and Şehabeddin who fought in the fall. Secondly, the main target of the invasion described here is Transylvania, which would also indicate that Chalkokondyles is describing the campaign of Mezid Bey, and not Şehabeddin. He goes on to write: Şehabeddin, although now in enemy country, thought that it would be a very good thing if he could lay waste to the enemy’s lands. Thus sending out the entire cavalry and a large part of the army into the enemy’s region, he wanted to pillage and plunder, because he might thereby greatly increase his wealth. Very few remained in camp with Şehabeddin. Janko (Hunyadi), when he found that the enemy‘s camp was almost deserted, thought it would be a wonderful deed if coming unexpectedly he might overrun the camp. Therefore, charging down from the mountain with his men he attacked the enemy camp void of defenders. Şehabeddin was not able to exit the camp to set up his forces for battle. Therefore he set about defending the camp. He was not able to hold it, however, as Hunyadi had burst into it with the Hungarians. He now set his whole mind to flight, and hurried, with the greatest possible speed, to cross the Danube, before the crossing would be blocked by the enemy. Having captured the camp Hunyadi placed certain men in ambush, from whom he learned of the enemy’s arrival, and that they were all laden and burdened with slaves and other plunder. And in

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Laonicus Chalcocondyles, Historiarum Libri Decem, ed. I. Bekker (Bonn, 1843). The “guests” refers to cavalry units within the Slave Army of the Porte, specifically the court sipahis and ğarıp yiğitler.



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this way a great part of the enemy army miserably perished, and Janko earned himself a victory greater than any of his ancestors had obtained.65

This battle narrative follows very closely Wavrin’s description of Mezid Bey’s defeat, particularly where he describes the ambush Hunyadi set up in the Ottoman camp after his victory. However it bears little resemblance to the descriptions of the campaign against Şehabeddin, which it claims to describe. Chalkokondyles’ second battle narrative for 1442 is even more confusing: When Murad returned from the expedition he had undertaken against Karaman, he ordered Mezid Bey, who was from the Palace, and whom he had declared the leader of Europe (Beylerbey of Rumeli), and ordered him to take as much cavalry and infantry as he might want, and to set out against Hungary, that he might join it to his Empire. He took the European Army and the Azabs of Europe and all the Emperor’s cavalry which was in Europe. He came to the Danube. Having crossed it he entered the region of Hungary called Ardelium [Transylvania]. From Ardelium he passed via Brasov into Transylvania… [ A lengthy description of Transylvania follows] …He marched against the capital [possibly Sibiu]. Where it crosses the Danube [sic] he turned his massive force. When he came as close to it as possible he set up camp. Here, while he was attacking the city with great effort, he was killed by a cannon ball.66

The first hint at Chalkokondyles’ confused chronology is given when he refers to the expedition against Karaman. This does not fit the events of 1442 at all, since Ibrahim Bey’s insurrection took place after Şehabeddin’s defeat; indeed it was prompted by it. It is quite possible that Chalkokondyles is referring to the large raid of 1438, which did follow soon after the quelling of an insurrection in Karaman, and which proceeded through Transylvania for a number of days. Furthermore, Mezid Bey was never Beylerbey, Şehabeddin held the office during this time. His geography is also muddled. He Hellenizes the Turkish word for Transylvania, “Erdel”,67 suggesting one of his sources here was Ottoman. Yet he also writes that he crossed from “Ardelium” into Transylvania, or from “Transylvania” into Transylvania. Like Wavrin, he mistakenly believed Transylvania bordered on the Danube. Lastly, the vignette regarding Mezid Bey’s death from a cannonball during a siege of Sibiu appears nowhere else. Mezid Bey was killed, as virtually every source indicates, when Hunyadi defeated his army. But there is no other evidence that Mezid Bey besieged Sibiu, or that a battle took place there. The renowned historian of medieval Transylvania, Gustav Gündisch, relying not only on a critical assessment of Chalkokondyles but also on contemporaneous Transylvanian documents, convincingly

65 66 67

These two passages are in Chalkokondyles, Historiarum, pp. 253–54. Chalkokondyles, Historiarum, pp. 254–56 The Turkish word derives from either the Hungarian word for Transylvania, Erdély, or the Romanian, Ardeal, which are of course related to one another as well. Thus, the word could refer to a Hungarian or Romanian source. Nevertheless, given the influence of Ottoman sources throughout Chalkokondyles’ work, Turkish here seems more likely.

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demonstrates that Chalkokondyles’ entry here is false, and that it arose based on confusion with accounts of the Ottoman raids in 1438.68 The final few sentences of this problematic passage are the only ones which seem relevant to the battles of 1442, and seem to refer to the slaughter of Şehabeddin’s forces on the Danube: Afterwards when an enemy army came they hastened their exit and hurried to cross the Danube. The men of the region gathered, and while the enemy was able to cross through to his territory, many of them were killed in a great defeat. The remainder were put to flight and pursued up to the Danube.

Clearly Chalkokondyles’ narrative is unreliable for reconstructing the events of 1442. Although it contains echoes from other sources – for example the ambush set up after the route of Mezid Bey’s (though in his version Şehabeddin’s) men, which appears more clearly in Wavrin – the truth is his chronicle is largely confused. There are three more sources worth mentioning here, all of which are quite brief but of great importance. The first is a letter from Bartolomeo di Giano, who at the time was serving as the prior of the Franciscans in Constantinople. The letter was first published in DuPont’s Anchiennes Chroniques d’Angleterre (pp. 1–11) where it is falsely dated as 1442. Later historians, noticing di Giano’s description of the 1442 campaigns, dated the letter from 1443. In fact it dates one year later, from 3 February 1444, as indicated by a clear reference to the Long March, which took place during the winter of 1443/1444.69 Indeed, this event likely prompted the writing of the letter, in which he recounts recent 68

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Gustav Gündisch, “Siebengürgen in der Türkenabwehr, 1395–1526,” Revue roumaine d‘histoire XII part 3 (1974), 415–433, pp. 416–17. Harald Roth in his history of Sibiu titled Hermannstadt: kleine Geschichte einer Stadt in Siebenbürgen (Bohlau, 2007), p. 50, also writes that there was no siege of the city in 1442 as some historians suggest. This passage follows immediately on the heels of di Giano’s: “… since this (Şehabeddin’s defeat) the Christians have taken such heart from this (victory) that they assembled and crossed all the way to Edirne; and they took several towns and villages, and they burned and scorched the surrounding countryside. And this was from the month of September in the year 1442. The Turks, wanting to resist this [the 1443 invasion], sent at least 15,000 soldiers against them, in order to hold the pass [Zlatitsa], such that our men could not pass through. And these [the Christians], after several exchanges, were all routed and put to flight, and several were put to the sword and died fleeing.” It is the date, 2 September 1442, that has confounded most historians. Yet the events mentioned, i.e. crossing deep into Ottoman territory, seizing towns and burning the countryside along the way (e.g. Sophia), and most significantly the Ottoman attempt to hold the pass and prevent a Christian breakthrough, as well as the hazardous Christian retreat, refer to the Long March of the winter of 1443/44. It should be noted that when di Giano begins his description of the Long March he has not yet left his account of Şehabeddin’s defeat, still referring to it by saying: “Since this [Şehabeddin’s defeat] the Christians have taken such heart from this [victory] that they assembled and crossed all the way to Adrianople …” and then immediately after the transitional sentence he slips in the date. Though poorly timed, it seems as if he is in fact giving us the date for Şehabeddin’s defeat, which he has been previously narrating. It may also be that he has simply confused the dates of the battles, but the former seems more likely.



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successes of the Christians against the Turks, including the victories of 1442 and 1443, and exhorts others in Christendom to take up the fight. Regarding Mezid Bey’s defeat he writes: In the year 1442 the Turk, wishing to destroy entirely the Kingdom of Hungary, sent a very large and powerful number of Turks to the aforesaid kingdom. And, having taken a large number of Christian prisoners, as is their custom, and upon their return to Hungary, the Hungarians, with the help of God, attacked them, and killed 36,000 of them, and this was Passion Sunday [23 March 1442]. They were so blessed by God’s grace, which brought the enemies of the faith into our grip. When the Grand Turk heard this news he was greatly upset and disturbed.

The date alone, 23 March,70 makes it quite clear that he is referring to Mezid Bey’s defeat. The number of troops, 36,000, is greatly exaggerated, as it often is in di Giano’s letters. Following this description is di Giano’s account of Şehabeddin’s defeat: When the Turk [Sultan Murad] heard of this [Mezid Bey’s defeat], he was fiercely excited with great pride and anger. He ordered up all of his power, all of his cavalry and his allies, both in Greece and in Turkey [Anatolia], such that he assembled a great, powerful host, around 180,000 combatants, which he sent to Wallachia. And he ordered the destruction of the entire country by fire and sword, and that they should seize and lead away all the prisoners they could. And when this news reached them [the Wallachians], they piteously and humbly promised obedience to the Sultan, asking for peace, which they hoped to gain. And behold the divine goodness for those ever in need. They gathered together in their mountains, and the Hungarians and Poles with them, against the Turks, and there commenced a great battle over a long period of time, but in the end the victory was given to God, for they were all routed. 52,000 of them died, aside from those who were taken [prisoner] and who took flight. And they seized their tents and pavilions and around 5,000 camels were still there, and innumerable horses. And a large number of them drowned in the Danube, such that there were few who could return and give the news to the Sultan.

This follows closely the other reliable narratives mentioned above, in terms of the large size and nature of the army,71 the pillaging of Wallachia and the reinstatement there of Ottoman authority, the flight of the Wallachians to the hills, the contingent of Hungarian (and Polish!) troops,72 a long-lasting battle, 70 71 72

This is off by one day, if we follow the date on the bishop’s tomb and the fact that the 1443 letter says the battle took place on the “fifth day” after this battle, or 22 March. Despite his obvious exaggeration in terms of numbers, he has at least most of the main components correct. It is the only mention of Polish troops at this battle, and it is likely that di Giano is merely guessing their presence based on his knowledge that Wladislas was king of both Poland and Hungary. It is doubtful that Hunyadi fought with Polish soldiers in his army at this battle, since as mentioned previously they were being used in the north against Giskra. Indeed, it is reasonable to suspect that his source here is the letters sent by Wladislas which are no longer extant but which proclaimed these victories, similar to those sent out in late 1443 and 1444, and which may not have mentioned Hunyadi specifically but would have merely said “our troops,” which given the king’s titles di Giano assumed were Polish and Hungarian.

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the seizure of vast amounts of plunder, and the loss of numerous enemy soldiers who drowned in the Danube while fleeing. Another source, quite similar to di Giano, is the brief mention of Şehabeddin’s defeat in the so-called Cronaca di Zancaruola. This chronicle was written down in the early sixteenth century, but was copied from an earlier work completed sometime around 1446. It contains the following passage: This voivode of Hungary [Hunyadi] gathered up around 25,000 men and armed with the sign of the Holy Cross, set out to find the said Turks. And this was on the second of September. The battle began at the third hour of the day and lasted until the end of the night. And it was a most difficult battle, which the Christians were able to win only through the help of Almighty God. And all the plunder was recovered, and aside from this over 70,000 Turks were killed or routed. And the number of dead was such that the entire Danube ran with blood.73

It is clear from this account that a large number of Ottoman troops were slain on the Danube. It is noteworthy here that both the date of the battle, 2 September, and the number of enemy dead is the same as in di Giano. This suggests both men were reproducing information found in a common epistolary source issued by the Hungarians after the battle. These letters were common, and there are several such letters from the 1443 campaign still existing. This theory is corroborated by another Venetian chronicle, also written in the early sixteenth century, but compiled from fifteenth-century sources, the so-called Vite dei Dogi written by Marin Sanudo.74 The chronicle is almost a week-byweek, sometimes day-by-day account of events relating to Venice in the years 1423–1474. Sanudo relied heavily on documents found in the Venetian archives. Here is a passage from his chronicle from the month of September, relating to the same battle: News arrived that the King of Poland, with the Hungarian army, routed the Turkish camp and killed more than 80,000 Turks and seized 5,000 men and 5,000 camels and mules and all his baggage train and possessions. Thanks be to the Lord our God. This was great news.75

Regarding the month of October, he writes: On 29 October letters were received from the King of Hungary and Poland [describing] how, with the aid of God, the Great Voivode of the Turks, called Amurat Bey, with a force of Turks numbering 80,000, without the baggage train and camels, had passed the Danube, come up to Transylvania and pillaged, as they have done for many years, and they carried off a great deal of our people,76 whereupon the Voivode of Hungary (Hunyadi) assembled around 25,000 cavalry armed with the Holy Cross, he went to find the Turks and fought them on 2 September. The battle was won, with the aid of 73 74 75 76

Excerpt from Nicolae Iorga, Studii şi documente cu privire la Istoria Românilor, vol. 3, pp. XVII–XVIII. Marino Sanudo, Le Vite dei Dogi, 1423–1474, vol. 1 (Venice, 1999). Ibid., p. 367. In Venetian dialect anemalli, meaning souls, i.e. people, or perhaps animals.



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God, and the Christians remained victorious and retained the plunder, and killed the majority of the enemy leader’s men and seized 5,000 and more horses, and a great quantity of mules and camels, and this was the seventh defeat the Turks had suffered from the Hungarians.77

The author makes it clear here that the source for his information is a letter from King Wladislas. It is interesting to note the similarities to di Giano’s letter. The Franciscan gives the number of Ottoman troops as 180,000, yet it seems the additional “one hundred” was a result of his normal penchant for severely exaggerating the size of Ottoman troops, adding an additional “C” to the digit provided him. Even more interesting is Sanudo’s mention of 5,000 camels and horses seized by the Hungarians, the same number we find in di Giano. The date of 2 September is also identical. It seems extremely likely that di Giano was working from the same royal letter as Sanudo and Zancaruola. It should also be noted that we first saw the number 80,000 mentioned in the king’s letter from 1443 described at the very beginning of our discussion, yet another indication that all of these had the same original epistolary source. There is one last passage in the Vite dei Dogi worth citing. It is a letter from Cardinal Cesarini in which he mentions the conclusion of a peace treaty between Wladislas and Elizabeth, and then the latter’s shocking death, followed by mention of a victory on the Danube on 6 December 1442: “He [Cesarini] also wrote that on the sixth of the said month [December] the Captain of the Hungarians [Hunyadi] did battle with the Turks at the Danube river and routed them, and he killed 8,400 of them, and many were taken prisoner.”78 This almost certainly refers to Hunyadi’s victory and pillaging near Vidin, mentioned previously in the 1443 letter though without a date. The final source discussed here, but by no means the least important, is the Serbian Annals.79 One entry mentions the defeat of Mezid Bey: “Yankulu (Hunyadi) defeated Mezid Bey in Wallachia on March 23.” Though the place name is off, the date here is obviously correct. The second pertinent entry concerns Şehabeddin’s defeat: “In the year 6951 [1442], 6 September, Yankulu and Pasha fought a battle on the Jalovnitse, and [Hunyadi] killed the Pasha.” What stands out here is of course the place name and the date. Historians almost universally assume this refers to the Ialomita River in east-central Wallachia. Still another entry for 1442 states that in this year the Turks had “attacked the Wallachian land and set fire to Targoviste. The Turks struck a deal with the voivode Vlad and concluded a peace with him.” It also states that Vlad returned “to Wallachia and cut off Bassarab’s head,”80 another reference to the dynastic conflict in Wallachia, which is corroborated by other sources.

77 78 79 80

Sanudo, Vite dei Dogi, pp. 372–73. Ibid., p. 374. Pavel Josef Šafárik, “Krátké Letopisy Srbské,” Památky dřevního pisemnictví Jihoslovanů, 2nd ed. (Prague, 1873), p. 77. Hereafter referred to as the Serbian Annals. All of the above citations are found in the Serbian Annals, p. 77.

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The above concludes our description of the source material regarding Hunyadi’s campaigns in 1442. Although several questions necessarily arise from the discrepancies within these sources, the chronology is fairly certain: (1) On 18 March 1442, Hunyadi was defeated and Bishop Lepes was killed after being ambushed by Mezid Bey’s men. (2) On 22 March 1442, Hunyadi defeated Mezid Bey, killing both him and his son, and soon after ambushed the returning raiders. (3) Soon after this event Hunyadi placed Basarab II on the Wallachian throne. (4) Some time in August Şehabeddin crossed into Wallachia with a large army, burned Targoviste and re-established Ottoman suzerainty. He sent raiders to plunder the countryside. (5) On either 2 or 6 September, Hunyadi and his men defeated Şehabeddin’s army decisively. (6) Hunyadi, having received reinforcements that were freed up by the peace treaty with Elizabeth, raided the area around Vidin. This occurred on or around 6 December. He then proceeded west, along with Nicholas Ujlaki, to raid Ottoman-controlled Serbia as well.

Though the sources tell us fairly clearly when the conflicts took place, the question of where is frustratingly complicated due to the conflicting source material. This is certainly the case for the initial battle of the spring campaign, in which Mezid Bey defeated Hunyadi and Bishop Lepes on 18 March. Thuróczy writes, and Bishop Lepes’s tombstone confirms, that this battle took place “ad campum Sancti Emerici,” or on the plains of the town of Saint Emeric (Santimbru in Romanian and Szent-Imre in Hungarian). Most historians assume this refers to the modern city of Santimbru, which lies northeast of Alba Iulia. However Dąbrowski81 argued that the battle took place at another town called Sanctus Emericus which lay at the junction of the Mures and Strei rivers. This town is mentioned in Deszo Csanki’s Historical Geography of Hungary in the Time of Hunyadi,82 according to which the second town of St. Emeric was well known in the fifteenth century. Dąbrowski’s theory supports extremely well his other argument, i.e. that Hunyadi’s victory over Mezid Bey on 22 March took place at the Iron Gates in Hunedoara county.83 Outside of Thuróczy, the only other author to mention the location of the battlefield is Chalkokondyles, who suggests that Mezid Bey was killed by a cannonball while besieging Sibiu (Hermannstadt). We have already discussed the spurious nature of this account, which confounds these events with those in 1438. In any case, it is likely this passage which prompted the assertion by some historians that the battle took place somewhere near Sibiu.84 81 82 83 84

Found on p. 102 of his work at footnote 4. Csánki Dezső, Magyarország történelmi földrajza a Hunyadiak korában, vol. 5 (Budapest, 1913), p. 137. Dąbrowski, Władysław, p. 102, note 4. Most notably Antoche and Işıksel, “Les batailles de Sibiu,” and Muresanu, John Hunyadi, p. 79. Both authors refer to another article: P. Abrudan, “Date noi cu privire la bătălia din 22



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Dąbrowski was also one of the first to argue that the place name of Vaskapu (the “Iron Gates”) given in Thuróczy as the location of the autumn defeat of Şehabeddin, was not false but simply associated with the wrong battle. To consider otherwise presents the historian with seemingly insurmountable historiographical obstacles, having forced some historians to disregard this place name entirely. Yet it is hard to ignore Thuróczy’s repeated mention of Vaskapu as the scene of a major Ottoman defeat. Dąbrowski tried to reconcile the accounts, maintaining that Vaskapu is in fact the location not of Şehabeddin’s, but of Mezid Bey’s defeat. His argumentation can be summed up as follows.85 First of all, there is no document mentioning the battle of the Iron Gates (Vaskapu) and the victory over Mezid Bey as separate from one another. Secondly, all the reliable sources indicate that the victory over Şehabeddin occurred in Wallachia, whereas the Iron Gates were well within the Hungarian kingdom.86 Since the battle of the Iron Gates could not have taken place during Şehabeddin’s invasion, and there is no source saying precisely where the victory over Mezid Bey took place, Dąbrowski asserts that Mezid Bey’s defeat took place at the Iron Gates. Dąbrowski blames Thuróczy as the source of this misunderstanding. With regard to Şehabeddin’s defeat in the autumn of 1442 Thuróczy relied almost entirely on the letter of Ladislas the Posthumous from 1453. There are two exceptions: his mention of the site of the battle as Vaskapu (Iron Gates), and his statement that the “pasha” crossed the Danube at Kysnykapol, or Little Nicopolis.87 These place names are not found in the 1453 letter, and Thuróczy must have gotten them somewhere else. Whatever his source, Dąbrowski argues that Thuróczy mistakenly associated the place name of Vaskapu with the place where the second battle took place. In reality, he argues, it referred to the place of Mezid Bey’s earlier defeat in the spring of that year. This same argument applies to the other place name Thuróczy mentions: Nicopolis. Thuróczy states that this was where the Ottomans crossed into Transylvania, a fact not found in the 1453 document. Yet it is a striking coincidence that Mezid Bey resided in Nicopolis, and was the marcher lord of that region, making it extremely likely that he gathered his army there and crossed over the river to Little Nicopolis in the spring of 1442. Both place names mentioned in Thuróczy regarding the autumn campaign therefore actually belong to the spring campaign. Thuróczy’s

85 86

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martie 1442 dintre oştile lui Iancu de Hunedoara şi Mezid-bey,” Revista de istorie 32, no. 2 (1979), pp. 322–24. Not knowing Romanian I am not familiar with its contents. Dąbrowski, ut supra. Some argue that “Iron Gates” is a general term used to refer to mountain passes in south-eastern Europe. This strikes me as a rather weak argument. The Iron Gates I refer to above near Hunedoara were certainly the most well known in the region under this name, and it seems unlikely that Thuróczy, if he thought of this a generic term, would have used the Hungarian proper name instead of the Latin. In any case, if Vaskapu/Iron Gates is the generic term some deem it to be, then the specific place name proferred by Dąbrowski is as much a valid candidate as any. Alfons Huber also noticed this curious fact (Huber, “Die Kriege,” pp. 174–75.)

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errors were later repeated by Bonfini and others who relied primarily on his chronicle, thereby confounding generations of future historians. Dąbrowski correctly points out that by accepting the above-named locations the campaign makes much clearer sense strategically and follows more closely Ottoman raiding tactics. Assuming Dabrowski is correct, Mezid Bey would have crossed at Nicopolis some time in the early days of March 1442. Marching through Wallachia88 he soon entered Transylvania in order to punish Hunyadi for his bold attack on Ishak Bey several months prior. Crossing most likely via Sibiu he swiftly headed north, following the same route, but in reverse, that Murad II had traveled during his raid in 1438.89 In accordance with Ottoman raiding tactics Mezid Bey first sought to eradicate any possible resistance.90 He marched north to Alba Iulia, where the bishop and Hunyadi had met to decide their course of action.91 Yet the Hungarians had not had time to fully assemble an army. They elected instead to pursue the Ottoman force, hoping to catch Mezid Bey when he dispersed the raiders. Mezid Bey attempted to draw the Hungarians out, and perhaps purposely broke camp and headed west in an attempt to get Hunyadi and the bishop to pursue. Hunyadi, hoping to link up with his remaining forces that had been gathering all the while, left Alba Iulia along the same route as the Turks. Mezid Bey laid his trap. On 18 March, near the aforementioned town of St. Emeric, he ambushed Hunyadi and the bishop’s men. Hunyadi escaped and fled, most likely to his nearby castle at Hunedoara. It was here that he finally would have joined with other elements of the Transylvanian army, some of which had been led from Sibiu by the Transylvanian Saxon and mayor of the city, Anton Trautenberger.92 He was likewise joined by a contingent of Wallachians, most likely under the command of Basarab II.93 Mezid Bey marched further to an open field near the Iron Gates, confident that he had cleared the area of any organized resistance. He released the akinji to raid and pillage, keeping a third of the force with him at camp, likely giving the raiders six or seven days to return. Hunyadi, aware through his spies and scouts of both Mezid Bey’s location and the fact that he had divided his force, marched upon the Ottomans, who seemed

88 89

90 91

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The fact that he marched into Transylvania via Wallachia is mentioned in the Ottoman sources cited above. This was an oft-traveled Ottoman raiding route. See Auriel Decei, “Deux documents turcs concernant les expeditions des Sultans Bayazid Ier et Murad II dans les pays roumains,” Revue roumaine d’histoire 13, part 3 (1974): 1–18 (395–413), p. 9. See Wavrin (Imber’s translation, p. 109) As mentioned earlier the most important narrative source for these events, despite the confusion over place names, is Thuróczy. Due to the length of the account I have not included it here, but I refer the reader to the excellent English translation found in Mantello, ed., Chronicle, pp. 126–130. The other sources used to construct this narrative can be found in the above pages. Muresanu, John Hunyadi, p. 81. Sadeddin, Tâcü’t – Tevârih, p. 202. Sadeddin says that that the lord of Wallachia, along with his own soldiers, joined the Hungarians, and together they attacked the Turks. In the light of other sources this lord must have been Basarab.



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blind to the fact that another major enemy force had assembled in the area. On 22 March Hunyadi’s men burst out of the hillsides surrounding the pass, taking the Ottomans completely by surprise, killing both Mezid Bey and his son in the ensuing battle. Some of the Ottomans escaped west through the pass and headed towards Vidin. Hunyadi then set an ambush for the returning Ottoman raiders, who discovered too late that the enemy had already overrun their camp.94 This brief summary of events harmonizes with the existing source material described above. It also makes sense given what we know about Mezid Bey and Hunyadi in particular as well as Ottoman and Hungarian armies and their tactics in general. It also makes sense strategically and geographically. Yet it must be admitted that such a picture of the campaign can only be arrived at by making well informed judgments about the available source material, which in general exhibits a confounding lack of clarity. Although we can be certain that Şehabeddin’s defeat did not take place at the Iron Gates near Hunedoara, determining its exact location is no less problematic than in the previous case. The 1443 letter (and other sources) clearly state that the second battle took place in Wallachia (partium Transalpinarum). The 1453 letter implies that the second Ottoman defeat occurred somewhere near the Ottoman-Wallachian border, or in the words of the document: illarum partium extrema. Some historians believe that the region (partes) referred to here is not Wallachia but Transylvania. Indeed the word partes is used to refer to both, with partes transalpinas signifying Wallachia and partes nostras Transilvanas referring to Transylvania, the latter of which appears in closer proximity in the text to the expression illarum partium extrema. Yet the use of the word illarum as the demonstrative pronoun, and more importantly the context of the narrative, make it clear that illarum partium extrema refers to the extreme regions of Wallachia, not Transylvania. According to the passage, Şehabeddin was intending to attack Transylvania but had not yet done so. He was therefore still in Wallachia at the time the battle occurred, an indisputable fact agreed upon in virtually all of the reliable sources. If Hunyadi were pursuing him, he must have therefore been pursuing him within the borders of Wallachia. The argument could be made that he was pursuing Şehabeddin northward before Şehabeddin’s intended entry into Transylvania, but this would be impossible given the 1453 document’s statement that the pasha was leading back the plunder (predam referret), and that from there he intended later to go north. He therefore must have been moving toward the south toward the Danube border and not north towards Hungary. This also makes sense given the mention of a river in the 1443 document as playing a key role in the defeat. The fact that the battle took place near a river seems certain given mention of this geographical feature in the 1443 document, in Wavrin, Aşıkpaşazâde, Sadeddin, di Giano’s letter, the Cronaca di Zancaruola and the 94

This is mentioned in Wavrin: “[Mezid Bey], on the day after his departure from before the mountains, divided his army into three.” (Imber’s translation, p. 109. For the original text, to which Imber’s translation in this passage is completely faithful, see Anchiennes Chroniques d’Angleterres, p. 16).

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Vite dei Dogi. The two candidates for this river are the Danube or the Ialomita. The Danube is mentioned by most of the sources. The only source mentioning the Ialomita is the Serbian Annals. The 1453 document states that Şehabeddin was leading the raiders and plunder back to the Ottoman border when Hunyadi attacked, and this is even more clearly stated in Wavrin. Heading south, particularly in the eastern region of the country, Şehabeddin would have crossed the Ialomita on his way to the Danube border. If the Pasha were planning to bring the raiders across the Danube at Silistra, which was one of four major crossing points into Wallachia (the others being Vidin, Giurgiu and Nicopolis),95 and the most significant in the east, he would have likely crossed the Ialomita either at Dridu or Slobozia. If one insists on a strict interpretation of the Serbian annals, then the battle took place near here. Yet one is then left with the problem of how to account for the repeated mention of the Danube in the other sources as the scene of battle. A more probable explanation is that the Serbian Annals are not referring to the river but rather the plain of Ialomita, which extends all the way south to the Danube. Given the absence of major towns or other prominent geographical features in the area this was perhaps the most convenient toponym available to the author of the annals. Using primarily the narrative of Wavrin, supplemented and corroborated by the Hungarian documents, the Ottoman sources, the letter of di Giano and the Venetian chronicles, as well as knowledge of Ottoman raiding tactics, one can propose a fairly reasonable hypothesis as to how the campaign unfolded. Şehabeddin and his men must have entered Wallachia around mid-August of 1442. They marched directly to Targoviste and burned and plundered the city to punish the Wallachians’ perfidy as well as re-establish their own puppet voivode on the throne.96 Having cleared any major enemy resistance, Şehabeddin established a time and place97 to reassemble and then released the akinji. In order to avoid the fate of Mezid Bey, Şehabeddin had the janissaries and the Slaves of the Porte establish the same defensive camp formation, complete with trenches, stakes, camels and several lines of troops, that was standard procedure for the

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Given this description, it seems reasonable that the crossing took place at Silistra. This would explain the mention of the Ialomita plain in the Serbian Annals. Had the crossing taken place at Giurgiu or Nicopolis, Hunyadi’s victory would have been impossible because in these places in 1442 the Ottomans controlled both sides of the river, precisely in order to facilitate such crossings. Again, this speaks as much to Hunyadi’s genius as Şehabeddin’s carelessness. The Serbian Annals, p. 77, state that Targoviste was seized and burned by the Turks in 1442. If Wavrin is to be believed, Şehabeddin’s camp was just in “front of the mountains,” perhaps at the base of one of the passes leading into Transylvania. Wavrin writes, “Once at the foot of the mountains, the Turks, as they had done before, sent their raiders in great strength in the direction of Transylvania and Hungary.” Imber’s translation, p. 110. As stated earlier, however, Wavrin’s geography is often confused, particularly as he gets farther from the Danube. The dispatch of raiders into Transylvania is not confirmed by any other source. Perhaps they were sent, but failed to enter the region due to the gathering presence of Hunyadi’s army, but this is pure speculation.



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Slaves of the Porte while in the field. This tactic was successful, as it prevented Hunyadi from attacking him as he had Mezid Bey. After the raiders returned, Şehabeddin escorted the baggage train to the Danube. It is uncertain whether, as the 1453 letter suggests, Şehabeddin was intending to return to Hungary after this, or whether, as Wavrin asserts, he had decided to quit the country altogether due to a lack of provisions. Wavrin’s assertion is more likely. Despite his comments regarding a lack of provisions, a more important factor was the peace negotiations taking place in Buda between the Ottomans and the Hungarians at the same time as Şehabeddin’s troops were campaigning in Wallachia.98 Any raid into Hungary would have ended these talks, which had thus far been proceeding advantageously for the Ottomans. This suggests that Şehabeddin was indeed headed back to Edirne, under strict orders not to enter the borders of Hungary. Following Mihalović’s desription of tactics, the majority of raiders would have first arrived at Şehabeddin’s camp, whereupon the pasha would have dispatched them to the Danube and waited for the remaining stragglers. After the last of the raiders arrived he would have raised camp and headed south towards the border. It was at this point that Hunyadi pursued the Ottomans from a safe distance, not revealing his strength, as Wavrin writes, but waiting for his opportunity. His patience paid off. Şehabeddin, as the Ottoman sources tell us, became overconfident just as Mezid Bey had and was unaware of the size and proximity of the Hungarian army pursuing him. He chose to begin disembarking his troops across the river into Ottoman territory. There were no bridges over the Danube, and if the crossing took place near Silistra, as is most likely, there was no bridgehead on the Wallachian side either. As Wavrin writes, the men would have been forced to cross in boats, having their horses swim. Given the amount of plunder and the large size of the army, the crossing would have been a slow and laborious process. Şehabeddin’s lack of caution seems therefore all the more egregious. As Wavrin writes, the Hungarians attacked only after much of the army had already crossed, a process that had likely taken most of the previous day. Seeing the enemy force thus divided, at around 9 o’clock on the morning of 2 September,99 Hunyadi unleashed his forces on the remainder of his army still camped on the north side of the Danube. The battle with these men, who despite their diminished numbers still represented a formidable force, lasted into the night. It seems likely that Şehabeddin and the other leadership had not yet crossed. The Ottoman sources suggest he

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Dąbrowski, Władysław, pp. 104–05. Długosz, Annales 1431–1444, p. 278. The June date given in Długosz for the arrival of this delegation is false, as Dąbrowski points out. This date seems to come from the no longer extant royal proclamation of victory which served as the source for di Giano, Zancaruola, and Saguno. The Serbian annals state 6 September. Zancaruola (see passage cited above) states that the battle began at the third hour, or 9 am, and that it lasted into the night. Sunset would have occurred at around 7.30 pm. Sunrise the next day would have occurred at roughly 6.50 am.

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did not flee across the river until after nightfall.100 After the day-long battle, in which he was only able to engage a fraction of his troops, the pasha decided he had lost. Despite the entreaties of the sanjak beys he fled over the Danube, most likely bringing with him the janissaries and the Slaves of the Porte, since as the personal slaves of Murad II their annihilation would almost certainly have cost the beylerbey his head.101 The sanjak beys were forced to cover this retreat and then attempt to cross over themselves. All of the accounts focus on this group of soldiers as bearing the most casualties, for they were forced to ford the river in total darkness while under enemy attack. Ottoman sources state that as many as sixteen sanjak beys were killed; if correct, this constituted around half of all the sanjak beys of the Ottoman Empire. Rather than relish his newfound glory and wealth, Hunyadi chose to follow up his victory.102 Having obtained reinforcements, which were made available after the truce was signed with Elizabeth on 21 September, he moved in late November towards Vidin, another major crossing point for Ottoman raiders, and plundered and pillaged the countryside as a further deterrent to the Ottomans. On 6 December he fought a battle with a force of approximately 8,400 men, defeating them soundly. He then marched further west, joining with Nicholas Ujlaki, and the two conducted raids on Ottoman-held Serbia (Ozora) to weaken further the potential of the marcher lords and raiders to conduct future operations. The scenarios presented above, particularly with regard to the defeats of Şehabeddin and Mezid Bey, rely on critical judgments, yet they are the most likely scenarios given the currently-available source material. The presentation of the sources above and their examination side by side should allow one to rule out a number of theories found in earlier histories, which often rely on a narrower and less critically assessed set of sources. Hopefully it will also serve to focus further study should other sources or archeological material come to light.

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The fact that after the battle Hunyadi seized thousands of camels, which were not used by provincial troops or raiders but which were part of the camp constructed by the janissaries in which the Sultan, or in this case the Beylerbey, had his headquarters, also indicates that Şehabeddin had not himself yet crossed when the battle began. There is also no special mention in either Christian or Ottoman sources of great casualties among these troops. Had it been extensive, as it was amongst the provincial cavalry, this would almost certainly have been noted. What follows is based on Wladislas’s letter from 1443 as well as the above-mentioned passage in the Vite dei Dogi.

7 Security and Insecurity, Spies and Informers in Holland During the Guelders War (1506–1515) James P. Ward

The Guelders Wars The origin of the Guelders wars lay in a loan of 300,000 gold guilders that Arnold, duke of Guelders, borrowed from Charles the Bold of Burgundy in 1471, and for which he pledged the title to his duchy as security. Arnold failed to repay the loan and so, when he died in 1473, Charles the Bold foreclosed and assumed the title and rights to the duchy. First Arnold’s son Adolf, and then his grandson Charles of Guelders (1467–1538) took up the cause of recovering the duchy by military means from Charles the Bold’s Burgundian-Habsburg heirs, Emperor Maximilian I (1459–1519) and his son Philip (1478–1506), called Philip the Fair. On 25 September 1506 Philip the Fair, uncrowned king of Spain, who among his many other titles was count of Holland, died unexpectedly. He was twentyeight years old, and he left as his heir a six-year-old boy, the future emperor Charles V of Habsburg. Emperor Maximilian, in a secret letter, informed the Council of Holland of his son’s death, and within a few days further letters were sent from the Council at The Hague to members of the government throughout the Habsburg Low Countries informing them too of the “dolorous report.” A seaman or ship’s captain (skipper) who arrived at Zierikzee about that time, perhaps incredulous of the rumors he heard, told listeners he had seen the king in Spain only shortly before. He was detained for questioning by the magistrates at Zierikzee, who were then ordered to report the man’s testimony to the stadholder personally in writing.1 The news of Philip’s death led at once to heightened tension in Holland, and to intensification of the war. In October 1506 the government at The Hague reminded citizens by a public announcement (plakkaat) that their personal 1

National Archives, The Hague (NA), Rek.Rek. inv. 340, ff. 256–256v (8 Oct. 1506), f. 259 (11 Oct. 1506); J.W.J. Burgers, J.P. Ward and J.G. Smit (eds.), Bronnen voor de geschiedenis der dagvaarten van de Staten en steden van Holland voor 1544, Deel VI, 1506–1515 (The Hague, 2006), pp. 1–3 (hereafter cited as Bronnen). These sources describe the Guelders war from Holland’s point of view; more particularly as seen by the city magistrates. References are to the page numbers. In my translations the spelling of proper names has been modernized.

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weapons had to be put and kept in order.2 In June 1507 Philip’s father, Emperor Maximilian, took by proxy an oath, among the provisions of which he swore to be a good guardian, protector and governor for his grandson, the future Charles V of Habsburg. In 1508 Maximilian spent several months in the Low Countries, and during that visit he affirmed that it was his task to defend Holland from the Guelders enemy.3 Thereafter Emperor Maximilian used his role as defender of Holland to pay for the war by extraordinary aides demanded of his subjects. The Guelders wars were small in scale compared with the late sixteenthcentury Wars of Religion.4 Writing before the Second World War, Charles Oman described earlier wars in the Low Countries as scuffles on dykes,5 but they were destructive, bloody and long lasting nonetheless. The Guelders wars appear now as akin to the wars fought in the Balkans in the 1990s, where bitterly divided communities were ranged along long and convoluted borders. Significantly, sources in Holland refer to the Guelders enemy as robbers, murderers and arsonists (moertbranders).6 A monk, Brother Paulus Rodolphi, who was an eyewitness to the war in the north, described how prisoners were condemned to death.7

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NA, Rek.Rek., inv. 340, f. 222v (15 Oct. 1506); James P. Ward, “The Military Role of the Magistrates in Holland during the Guelders War,” The Journal of Medieval Military History 4 (2006), 91–118. Bronnen, pp. 28 and 110–112; J.G. Smit, Vorst en Onderdaan. Studies over Holland en Zeeland in de Late Middeleeuwen (Leuven, 1995), pp. 245–47. On the Guelders wars: James D. Tracy, Holland under Habsburg Rule, 1506–1566: the Formation of a Body Politic (Berkeley, 1990), pp. 64–89; Herman Wiesflecker, Kaiser Maximilian I: das Reich, Ősterreich und Europa an der Wende zur Neuzeit, 5 vols. (Munich, 1971–86), 4:320–329, 606–9. The website, “World History at KMLA,” lists many European wars chronologically; e.g. http://www.zum.de/whkmla/military/15cen/15cenindex.html The tables are incomplete, however. For the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, they name 50 and 118 wars respectively, and provide links to encyclopedic information. But the Guelders wars are not listed, nor is the maritime war of 1510–1514 fought between Amsterdam and Lübeck for access to trade in the Baltic. “The fights that it [Holland] has seen have been narrow-fronted scuffles along the tops of dykes, or desperate attempts to cross difficult water-barriers”: Charles Oman, A History of the Art of War in the Sixteenth Century (London, 1937), p. 541. See also J.P.C.M. van Hoof, “Met een vijand als bondgenoot. De rol van het water bij de verdediging van het Nederlandse grondgebied tegen een aanval over land,” Bijdragen en Mededeelingen betr. het Geschiedenis van Nederland [BMGN] 103 (1988), 622–651. E.g. Gemeente Archief (GA) Leiden, SA I inv. 387, f. 13, 27 May 1508: “dat hij [Charles of Guelders] opstelt ende uuytmaict enige moertbranders omme in den steden ende dorpen moertbrant te stichten”; GA Leiden, SA I inv. 592, f. 36v (20 April, 1513): “alsoe die Geldersche in den laende waeren ende roefden, branden, etc.”: Bronnen, p. 392. J.G. Ottema, trans. and ed., Proeliarius of Strijdboek, bevattende de jongste oorlogen in Friesland, in het jaar 1518, beschreven door Broeder Paulus Rodolphi, etc. (Leeuwarden, 1855), pp. 81–84 and 250–253. Remarkably, in one instance the government at The Hague ordered the magistrates at Enkhuizen not to execute their prisoners; NA, inv. 2193, f. 26v (1513, undated). This may have been related to an impending peace treaty (July 1513). For an example of clemency before a treaty in 1517, see Ottema, Proeliarius, p. 253.



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But, the monk writes, a joke now and then can relieve the horrors of war.8 One of his jokes was to remark on how prisoners were treated to a present of “half a cart.” This was a reference to their slow death by hunger, thirst and exposure, tied to a cart wheel on high.9 In this article, I describe the ways and means by which the government of Holland and the magistrates of cities and towns sought to defend themselves from attacks by Charles of Guelders. The topics are: physical defenses like weapons, walls and towers; the introduction of security measures to curb the movements of travelers and strangers; military intelligence, espionage and counter-espionage; and diplomacy, together with the help of open and secret friends and allies. Charles of Guelders (1467–1538) has his admirers and his detractors.10 The inscription on his burial monument in St. Eusebius’ church in Arnhem compares him to Achilles, but Hannibal seems a more appropriate picture of him. Like Hannibal he fought cleverly and won victories. Like Hannibal he used cunning and duplicity to gain them. But like Hannibal he failed to draw political advantage from them.11 Conrad Busken Huet (1826–1886), in a character sketch first published in the 1880s, described Charles of Guelders as “a prime example of a pocket-sized Northern European medieval despot … concerned only to preserve the dubious fame of his unimportant ancestors by shedding streams of blood of innocent citizens.” But Busken Huet’s bias is clearly revealed in his remark that in Charles’ person the “Dutch provincialism of the Middle Ages fought a fight to the death against the incipient national unity of the future.”12 8

9 10

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Humor in wartime is a topos; see e.g. Wendy Doniger, Holocaust, terreur, galgenhumor, ed. Marc Chavannes, trans. Barbara de Lange (Amsterdam, 2001); based on Doniger’s “Huizinga Lecture” at Leiden, 2001, entitled “Homo ludens and Gallows Humor about the Holocaust and Terrorism.” For a rejoinder to critics, see Wendy Doniger, “Terror and Gallows Humor: After September 11?” at http://web.archive.org/web/20090131234336/http://www.pres.uchicago.edu/ News /911doniger.html/ For an illustration of executions on cart wheels, see the painting by Pieter Breughel the Elder called “The Triumph of Death.” Debate and controversy about Guelders (Gelderland in modern Dutch; Geldern in German), and on Charles of Guelders’ place in Dutch and German history continues along regional lines; Gerard Arie Noordzij, “Gelre: Dynastie, land en identiteit in de late middeleeuwen” (doctoral dissertation, University of Leiden, 2008), available online with a summary in English at https:// openaccess.leidenuniv.nl/dspace/handle/1667/13095; Johannes Stinner, Karl-Heinz Tekath, and Diete Oudesluis, Gelre, Geldern, Gelderland: Geschichte und Kultur des Herzogtums Geldern (Geldern, 2001), with a companion volume in Dutch; F. Keverling Buisman et al. (eds.), Verdrag en tractaat van Venlo. Herdenkingsbundel (1543–1993) (Hilversum, 1993); C.A. Rutgers, “Gelre: een deel van Nederland?” Tijdschrift voor Geschiedenis 88 (1975), 27–38. “Dolo erat pugnandum cum par non esset armis,” Cornelius Nepos, Hannibal, 10; “vincere scis, Hannibal, sed victoria uti nescis,” Livy, 22.51.4. Conrad Busken Huet, Het Land van Rembrand. Studien over de Noordnederlandsche Beschaving in de Zeventiende Eeuw (Haarlem, 4th impression), pp. 251–253. He refers there to Charles of Guelders by his family name, Charles of Egmond. While editor of a newspaper in the Dutch East Indies Busken Huet was a secret political agent for the government at The Hague; Olf Praamstra, Busken Huet: Een Biografie (Amsterdam, 2007), pp. 432–37.

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On the other hand, no less a historian than Pieter Geyl, in describing Charles of Guelders as a born leader, thought it impossible not to admire him for his “bold enterprise” in trying to recover the duchy.13 In a similar vein, Bernard Vlekke, writing in the aftermath of the Second World War, presented an even more sympathetic view of Charles of Guelders, portraying him as a resolute leader of his people fighting against overwhelming odds: “Besides mobilizing against the Habsburgs all discontented elements in Utrecht and Friesland, and assuming the leadership over the powerful city of Groningen, he turned constantly to the east to secure the support of Low German powers.” But ultimately Charles of Guelders failed against the Burgundian-Habsburg might of three generations, first of Philip the Fair, then of Emperor Maximilian I and finally of Charles V. Vlekke continued: “Post factum, this gave the conquests of Charles V the appearance of a final unification of the Netherlands.” With unconscious irony in view of his depiction of Charles of Guelders as a quasi World War II resistance fighter, Vlekke then added: “The latter expression, found in every textbook of Dutch history, is a perfect example of the interpretation of the past through the present.”14 Venlo was the last Guelders stronghold to fall to Charles V, Charles the Bold’s great-grandson, in 1543.15 The intermittent wars for Guelders, fought most actively in the first quarter of the sixteenth century, had by then gone on for half a century. One of the reasons why Charles of Guelders was able to persevere so long was that he was aided by successive kings of France; Charles VIII, Louis XII and Francis I. The Valois monarchs provided him at various times with money, men, ships and materials of war. Charles of Guelders’ close relative, King James IV of Scotland, who was also an ally of the French, provided him with diplomatic advice and help.16 A consequence of the French help is that the Guelders wars have been treated by historians as an episode in the larger and longer lasting confrontation between the houses of Valois and Habsburg. But in the Low Countries they formed, in retrospect, a testing ground for what was still to come during the latter part of the sixteenth century.17 As a consequence of 13

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Pieter Geyl, Geschiedenis van de Nederlandse Stam, 6 vols. (Amsterdam and Antwerp, 1961), 1: 201. “Desniettemin is het onmogelijk geen bewondering te gevoelen bij het beschouwen van dat vermetel bedrijf.” Bernard H.M. Vlekke, Evolution of the Dutch Nation (New York, 1945), p. 102. The use of the word “nation” in the title is unusual; in emulation of Geyl perhaps? The Dutch usually refer to themselves collectively as a people (Volk), but there are marked regional differences. Vlekke, in the Foreword, presents his book as a personal view. G. Brom, “Een italiaansche bericht over den laatsten Gelderschen oorlog,” Bijdragen en Mededeelingen van het Historisch Genootschap (BMHG) 35 (1914), 135–51. James P. Ward, “King James IV, Continental Diplomacy and the Guelders War,” The Scottish Historical Review 83 (2004), 70–81; G. Kalsbeek, De betrekkingen tussen Frankrijk en Gelre tijdens Karel van Egmond (Wageningen, 1932) pp. 32, 37, 50, 77, etc. Arnold, duke of Guelders (see above) was grandfather to Charles of Guelders and great-grandfather to James IV of Scotland. It has been argued that the military reforms of Emperor Maximilian I (standardization of pay and the introduction of regular military drills) were the inspiration for later innovations by



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the foreign assistance, Charles of Guelders had at his disposal men, diplomatic services, military supplies and military intelligence which were as good as those of his adversaries.

The War from 1506 to 1515 Using the device of extraordinary aides, Charles the Bold of Burgundy had taxed his subjects for money to pay for his wars and to advance his claim to the duchy of Guelders. His Habsburg successors taxed Holland in the same way in order to maintain and defend that claim.18 The magistrates of Holland in their local council meetings and in the diets of the States of Holland denounced the war repeatedly and unequivocally. The war for possession of Guelders was the Habsburgs’ war. It should not become Holland’s war, they said openly.19 Major protagonists on the Burgundian-Habsburg side were Floris van Ysselstein and Jan van Wassenaar, and on the Guelders side Charles of Guelders himself together with his commanders and allies Maarten van Rossum, Hendrik Ense (called “Snijde-wind”) and Robert de la Marck. Major events were sieges to recover Weesp and Muiden in Holland, which had been captured by Charles of Guelders in 1508. Two sieges of Poederoyen in Guelders were conducted by the Burgundian-Habsburgers in 1507 and 1508. In Holland forces of Charles of Guelders burned and destroyed Bodegraven in 1506, they captured and occupied Tienen in 1507, Weesp and Muiden in 1508, and Tiel in 1512. In a lightening attack in March 1514 they recovered Arnhem, the main city of southern Guelders, despite the cease-fire and treaty agreed at Brussels in July 1513. Charles of Guelders’s justification for this was “because his master, the king of France, was at war with Holland.”20 Major victims in all of this fighting and destruction were the ordinary citizens of Holland. Writing of the Hundred Years War in France, Clifford Rogers described how attacking non-combatants

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Maurice of Nassau and others; Harald Kleinschmidt, “Disziplinierung zum Kampf. Neue Forschungen zum Wandel militärischer Verhaltensweisen im 15., 16. und 17. Jahrhundert,” Blätter für Deutsche Landesgeschichte 132 (1996), 173–200. Charles Oman was of the opinion that Maximilian’s victory over the French at Guinegate (1479) was one of the first decisive battles in the history of early modern warfare, and that the period was influenced by the emperor’s innovations in military organization, techniques and technology; Charles Oman, A History of the Art of War in the Middle Ages, 2 vols. (New York, 1898), 2:74–88; 83. Based on estimated taxable wealth (the schiltalen) of about four million pounds in 1512, Holland paid 270,000 pounds in extraordinary aides in less than one year (October 1512– August 1513) to meet costs of the war, most of it in pay to mercenary soldiers; James P. Ward, “Hostage-taking (Gijzeling) in early sixteenth century Holland, and the Guelders war” in Bourgondië voorbij. De Nederlanden 1250–1650. Liber alumnorum Wim Blockmans, ed. Mario Damen and Louis Sicking (Hilversum, 2010), pp. 363–74; p. 367. The calculation of the schiltalen is based on: Bronnen, p. 275. “If Her Grace [the regent Margaret of Austria] has any enemies she should …”; “that the war of Guelders should not become the war of Holland …”: Bronnen, pp. 223 and 327. Ward, “Military role,” p. 102; Bronnen, p. 442.

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“could facilitate the conquest of a fortified region, compel an enemy to do battle in the field, or hamstring him economically or politically.”21 Charles of Guelders succeeded in all three of these objectives. Many of the diets of the States of Holland from 1506 to 1515 were devoted to the question of how the frontiers with Guelders were to be defended against incursions and attacks.22 At the local level, business meetings of the city and town councils (vroedschappen) were occupied to a large extent, and at times dominated entirely, by questions of defense. The burgomasters and burgesses of Holland expressed the hope in their local councils that defense would be the main effort of the government. At diets of the cities and States of Holland, most of which were held at The Hague, they insisted that money for the war should be spent on defense. Their viewpoints are presented at length in the local private and confidential reports of their discussions. The government at The Hague, on the other hand, propagated the aggressive attitude of Emperor Maximilian, and later of his grandson Charles (V), that the war had to be carried to the enemy. This resulted in a dichotomy of local defenses made up mainly of civilians who wished only to defend their towns and cities of Holland, and professional armies of mercenaries (landsknechts) who had to carry the fight to Charles of Guelders. As a consequence, the government and the city representatives were sharply divided on how the war was to be conducted, and especially on how it was to be paid for. Because of the one-sided nature of the sources used for this study it is impossible on the evidence to give a balanced account of the thoughts and ideas that lay behind the strategies of the parties in Holland, the large cities and the government. Even within those parties there were strains and fissures. The six cities were not one uniform block opposing the government in matters of taxation. Of the cities, Dordrecht and Gouda usually supported the government while Haarlem, Leiden, Delft and Amsterdam frequently opposed it. Nor was the 21

22

Clifford J. Rogers, Essays on Medieval Military History. Strategy, Military Revolutions and the Hundred Years War (Burlington, VT, 2010), VIII, p. 62. I refer here to this work as Rogers, Essays, in particular to the Introduction, pp. ix-xiv, and to the essays numbered III, “The Vegetian ‘Science of Warfare’ in the Middle Ages,” and VIII, “By Fire and Sword. Bellum Hostile and ‘Civilians’ in the Hundred Years War,” both first published in 2002. “To understand the role of ravaging in medieval strategy it is necessary to appreciate the scale and intensity of the damage that medieval soldiers could do …” Rogers, Essays, Introduction p. xii; and VIII, p. 56. On the role of fire in warfare and its effects: Rogers, Essays, VIII, p. 38. Rogers writes too of the explicit linkage between tax revenues and soldiers’ wages: Essays, III, p. 6. James P. Ward, “The Cities and States of Holland. A Participative System of Government under Strain” (doctoral dissertation, University of Leiden, 2001). The main sources for the period are the financial accounts of Haarlem, Leiden and Gouda, and the resolutions of the local councils (vroedschappen) now in their municipal archives (Gemeente Archief (GA)). Financial accounts of the government are in the National Archives (NA) at The Hague. Besides the costs of the Guelders war, two further areas of political strain and dissension in Holland were the losses caused by an unprecedented series of dyke failures and floods in those years, and long drawnout arguments about the method of taxing the individual major cities of Holland. They are not referred to further in this article.



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regent, Margaret of Austria, as belligerent as her father, Emperor Maximilian, for she strove, fruitlessly, for many years towards conciliation with Charles of Guelders. It is more difficult still to presume what thoughts and ideas motivated Charles of Guelders, apart from the obvious one, his overriding ambition to recover the duchy which his grandfather had gambled away.23 The sources used do not describe details of military strategy. Only the general lines, as indicated above, are clear. Defense predominated in the minds of Holland’s magistrates, attack in the minds of Emperor Maximilian and later of Charles V. Primary sources reveal how all-pervading were the effects of the Guelders war. The costs incurred and the disruptions to Holland’s international trade caused by the wars were discussed at 153 out of 211 diets of the cities and States of Holland in the years 1506–1515.24 At Leiden in 1512 members of the vroedschap were reminded that their deliberations had to be kept secret, even from the government, because it had become apparent “that their opinions and resolutions were known to the gentlemen at The Hague.”25 Nor could Leiden’s city fathers be sure of concord within their own city walls. When prolonged rioting broke out involving citizens and soldiers in May 1513 the magistrates empowered two of their members to hire and lead thirty-two armed stalwarts to help restore order, but on condition that all the men had to be burghers (poorters) or the sons of burghers.26 In this period even pro-active warfare, as required by the government, was largely a matter of siege warfare. Well defended towns and cities, especially in the Low Countries, with their moats, rivers and access over waterways, could hold out for long periods. An eyewitness has left a detailed account of a failed attack by Charles of Guelders on Oudewater, including remarks about questioning a prisoner and tracking the enemy’s withdrawal.27 The role of professional Burgundian-Habsburg armies was limited to besieging enemy strongholds near the borders, and to frustrating the enemy’s attempts to hold towns within Holland which they in turn had captured by stealth. Pitched battles were a rarity. The battle fought in December 1512 near Amsterdam between a Burgundian-Habsburg army of landsknechts, led by Count Jan van Wassenaar and marauding forces of Charles of Guelders (who were trying to escape from

23 24 25

26 27

Charles of Guelders, writing to his kinsman James IV of Scotland in 1509: “nec [nos] spe destituti quin ipsam [patriam] iusticia dictante recuperabimus.” Ward, “James IV,” p. 76, n. 27. Cf. “Among the miseries [of the 100 Years War in France] was the virtual destruction of longdistance trade,” Rogers, Essays, VIII, “Fire and Sword, p. 51. “Als dat men in den Haag onder den heeren weet te verclaeren die opinien ende tgheen dat bij den gerecht ende vroescip gesloten is”: GA Leiden, SA I inv. 383, f. 112v (2 March 1512); Bronnen, p. 288; the numbers given here for the diets are minimal: Ward, “Cities and States,” p. 135. GA Leiden, SA I inv. 383, f. 156v (28 May 1513). James P. Ward, “A Selection of Letters from the Guelders War,” Lias: Sources and Documents Relating to the Early Modern History of Ideas, 29 (2002), 125–151, pp. 144–45.

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Holland after a successful foray) ended in victory for Guelders and the defeat and capture of Wassenaar.28

City Fortifications City defense was in the hands of the magistrates and the citizens themselves, but they were frequently warned and advised by the government about measures they needed to take. One of the dilemmas facing early sixteenth-century architects and fortress builders was expressed by Albrecht Dürer as the need to build a fortress strong enough to be held but not so strong that if it fell into the hands of the enemy by subterfuge, treachery, or otherwise it could not be recovered.29 At the beginning of the sixteenth century, city fortifications in Holland were not even at a transitional stage between the thin, high curtain walls of medieval towns and castles and the angular low lying peripheries with wide trenches and redoubts which later came to be called the trace italienne. A map of Leiden made by Jacob van Deventer about the year 1560 still shows the continuous, more or less circular outline of the city walls and moats dating from earlier centuries. The map does not show the typical triangularly crenellated outline characteristic of the trace italienne which can still be seen in parts of Leiden today. Mid-sixteenth century maps of Haarlem, including one from 1550, are similar.30 Defensive building work in the cities of Holland at this time was limited to repair and maintenance of the existing medieval city walls, their towers and gates, and to the construction of blockhouses in the neighboring countryside. References to repair work in the minutes of the local councils and in their financial accounts are numerous and formulaic. Examples are: “that the walls of the city of Leiden will be repaired and strengthened”; “that the city should be made safe and strong … especially everywhere that it is necessary.” In the financial accounts of Haarlem and Leiden the dilapidated state of the city walls and fortifications is a recurrent theme. Some of the walls were reported so weak that they were in danger of collapse. At Leiden in April 1508, during the Guelders attack 28 29

30

“Vegetius pointed out that battle was an extremely chancy business …” Rogers, Essays, III, p. 2. Albrecht Dürer, Etliche Underricht zu befestigung der Stett, Schloss und flecken (Nuremberg, 1527; facsimile ed. 1969), in the dedication to Emperor Charles V, page unnumbered; Bernhard Robert Hubertus Roosens, “Habsburgse defensiepolitiek en vestingbouw in de Nederlanden (1520–1560)” (doctoral dissertation, University of Leiden, 2005) pp. 20–21; Hans L. Janssen, Tarquinius J. Hoekstra and Ben Olde Meierink, “Fortification of Castles in the Northern Netherlands during the Gelre-Habsburg Conflict (1492–1543),” Château Gaillard XIX, Études de castellologie médiévale, Actes du Colloque International, Graz, Austria, 22–29 August 1998 (Caen, 2000), 123–47. Joris Wiersinga, Lijnen in het landschap. De geschiedenis van het transport rond Leiden (Leiden, 1995). Cf. illustration no. 11, p. 45, with illustrations from after 1560, pp. 88–89. For historical maps of cities in Holland see http://www.historischeplattegrond.nl/



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on Weesp and Muiden, it was stated that “the city walls, towers and gates are very decrepit (zeer cranck) and in a poor state.” Measures were taken to repair and strengthen them then and later.31 The tower of the city hall in Leiden was an important lookout post, and in 1512 it too was in a poor state. After some discussion it was restored rather than being demolished. But the builder, Master Clement of Gouda, insisted on a guarantee of indemnity for any accident which might happen during the reconstruction. The tower of St. Peter’s church in Leiden was also used as an outlook post, and it indeed collapsed in early 1512.32 At Haarlem in September 1513, following the uncertain peace made with Charles of Guelders in July, new towers and walls were built on the Ship Makers Dyke,33 but there is no indication that they were novel in design. Earlier (1511) Haarlem had requested permission from the government to cut down trees with which to strengthen the city’s defenses. In 1513 the magistrates were allowed to take mature trees growing in the ducal domain; five hundred piles were made from them, again to strengthen the city walls.34 The construction of blockhouses and bulwarks outside the cities and towns took place in areas under threat of imminent attack. Their purpose was to signal and to block or hinder any advance the enemy might make. The blockhouses were made of earthen walls reinforced with timber, and they appear to have been built quickly. The financial accounts note blockhouses built at Slickkendam, Woerden, Gouda, Poelbroek and Poelbroekerdam, Haastrecht, Vlist and Oudewater. These communities close to the border with Utrecht were all under threat from Charles of Guelders and his sympathizers in Utrecht. In the case of the blockhouses built near Gouda the work was done in consultation between Jasper Beauvoir, a secretary of the Court of Holland, and the magistrates of Gouda together with inhabitants (landsaten) of the countryside.35 But restoring dilapidated walls and fallen towers, and keeping sharp lookouts did not, by themselves, guarantee safety. It was true that strongly walled towns and cities in the Low Countries at that time, if bravely defended, were practically invincible. Some places were attacked repeatedly. Venlo in 1511 withstood the siege (paid for by Holland) of a Burgundian-Habsburg army of landsknechts who were aided by an English force of archers sent by Henry VIII. It was observed during the siege how the defenders were so unimpressed by their 31

32 33 34 35

GA Leiden SA I, inv. 387, f. 10v. (29 April 1508); inv. 383, f. 97 (10 June 1511); f. 145v (11 April 1513). Cf. “the need to improve defences of towns all over the realm [of France] led not only to very onerous duties of watch and ward, as well as heavy construction and repair costs, but also …” Rogers, Essays, VIII, pp. 52 n. 88, 73. GA Leiden, SA I inv. 383, f. 88v. (29 Jan. 1511); GA Leiden, SA I 387, f.32v (2 March 1512). GA Haarlem, Tres.Rek. 1512–13, ff. 95–95v (10 March 1513); Vroedschapsres. 1501–1516, f. 123 (13 Sept. 1513). GA Haarlem, Tres.rek. 1510–1511, f. 32 (3 Oct. 1511); GA Haarlem, Tres.rek. 1512–1513, f. 95–95v (10 March 1513). GA Leiden SAI inv. 592, f. 68 (3 Jan. 1513); NA, Rek. Rek. 3412, f. 18 (1512–13, undated); Bronnen, pp. 49, 121, 133, 309; cf. Janssen et al., “Fortifications,” pp. 127–28.

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attackers that a wicket door in the walls, one of the few places where the enemy might force an entry by stealth, was left open the whole time. The siege was broken off at the approach of winter.36

Security Measures in Holland At Leiden, Haarlem, Dordrecht and Gouda (and by inference at other cities and towns in Holland) the magistrates spent large sums of money on military defense. They hired professional soldiers and guards in emergencies, they mustered and drilled and led their own burghers in local fighting, and they provided weapons and munitions for them at cost price.37 In addition the magistrates took care that city walls, towers, gates, water defenses and bridges were guarded day and night at the height of emergencies. Byelaws were enforced by fines if necessary, in order to increase public safety. In winter the magistrates, warned in advance by government letters, frequently issued public proclamations reminding the citizens that they were obliged to break the ice in front of their homes in order to hinder enemy access to the city. Other measures were in force for deepening the city water courses in dry summers, as in August 1519.38 The magistrates received many letters from the government at The Hague warning them of impending enemy attacks,39 but despite that and despite scouting expeditions which they themselves carried out, material losses caused by the enemy to homes and property were many and severe. An obvious step in countering the subversive actions of an enemy was to control and restrict the movements of strangers and foreigners. That was not an easy task in a maritime nation like Holland, but travel and transport on the waterways in Holland and the Low Countries were highly developed and regulated.40 Repeatedly at intervals, announcements were made that innkeepers and boarding-house owners had to register strangers who lodged with them, and to bring to a magistrate “in writing before 9 o’clock in the evening” lists of their

36

37

38

39 40

Edward Halle, The Union of the Two Noble Families of Lancaster and York; the Triumphant Reigne of Kyng Henry VIII (London, 1550; facsimile 1970), pp. 13–15; Ward, “Selection of Letters,” pp. 142–43. James P. Ward, “Prices of Weapons and Munitions in Early Sixteenth Century Holland During the Guelders War,” The Journal of European Economic History 33 (2004), 585–619; Ward, “Military Role,” pp. 104–9. E.g. NA, inv 343, f. 244 (Dec. 1509), letter from The Hague to Leiden ordering the citizens to break the ice so that the enemy might not stealthily (steelswijs) attack the city. In 1519 citizens were ordered to deepen the grachten (“canals”) in front of their houses because they contained too little water. The measure may also have had a sanitary purpose; GA Leiden, SA I inv. 387, f. 92v (6 Aug. 1519). For an example and translation, Ward, “Letters,” pp. 146–47. Smit, Vorst en Onderdaan, Ch. 5, pp. 437–76.



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guests’ names, and where they came from. In Holland, as elsewhere at that time, many names were toponyms.41 Boatsmen were warned not to bring into the city over the waterways travelers whose identity they did not know, without first informing the guards at the gates. Guests and clerics staying overnight at religious houses and institutions were perhaps at times exempted from the regulations.42 Concern for public health was an equally pressing reason for regulating the movements of strangers, because the pestilence could be carried by travelers arriving from infected towns and areas.43 Regulations were enforced by fines. In 1511 Floris van Ysselstein, acting stadholder in Holland for his uncle Jan van Egmond, engaged in a personal war against the city of Utrecht.44 Floris, in his own justification, stated that he had attacked Utrecht because it was reported to him that large numbers of unemployed mercenary soldiers were congregating there in anticipation of an attack on Holland by Charles of Guelders.45 Charles of Guelders did indeed give military assistance to the burghers of Utrecht in 1511 by besieging Ysselstein, the residence of Floris, and by attacking the castle of Oudewater near Dordrecht in May 1512. At Leiden during these emergencies in January 1511 two magistrates took turns to be on watch at night in the town hall when danger threatened. The night watch at Leiden already numbered forty men, but it was decided to double their number, and to post two watchmen on the tower of St. Peter’s church. In addition, further afield two scouts (acouters) were stationed every day in the neighborhood of Oudewater or Woerden.46 The watch was increased again in 1511 during negotiations with Charles of Guelders for yet anothor peace treaty which included for him an offer of marriage to the regent’s niece Elizabeth. The magistrates decided that every night, in addition to a member of the court (gerecht) and of the council (vroedschap), another twenty-five men would stand guard.47 At Leiden the city gates were guarded by armed men who were authorized to receive the keys from the burgomasters each morning, and required to return them each evening. But the magistrates complained about indiscipline and laxity among the guards, in particular about their poor time keeping, late arrivals, and early departures. In 1508 during the Guelders occupation of Weesp and Muiden the magistrates at Leiden recognized “that poor discipline is observed in the 41 42

43

44 45 46 47

Ward, “Military Role,” p. 111. GA Leiden SAI, inv. 387, f. 14 (27 May 1508); f. 32v (2 March 1512); at f. 38 (anno 1513) an entry on a gummed slip of paper includes religious houses but has been crossed out; f. 63 (23 May 1517), etc. J.C. Overvoorde, “Maatregelen ter bestrijding van het pest gevaar te Leiden in de 16de en de eerste helft der 17de eeuw,” Jaarboekje voor Geschiedenis en Oudheidkunde van Leiden en Rijnland 19 (1923–1924), 68–82. C.A. van Kalveen, Het Bestuur van bisschop en Staten in het Nedersticht, Oversticht en Drenthe, 1483–1520 (Groningen, 1974), pp. 168–71. GA Haarlem, Vroedschapsres. 1501–1516, ff. 66v-67 (7 Jan. 1511); Bronnen, pp. 212–14. GA Leiden SAI, inv. 383, f. 88v (29 Jan. 1511). GA Leiden, inv. 383, f. 94 (10 May 1511).

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watch every night” and that measures would have to be taken.48 In June 1513, at a time of heightened tension and uncertainty just before the signing of a peace treaty with Charles of Guelders in July (which became merely another shortlived cease-fire), Leiden’s delegates attending the court of the regent Margaret of Austria at Mechelen sent a warning letter to their colleagues in the vroedschap at home. The minutes of the vroedschap continue: “For reasons contained in the letter the keys [to the city] were to be handed over to the burgomasters who will keep them at night. And the burgomasters will give the keys every day to the armed men (scutten) on watch at the gates or they can appoint two or three other good men who will go with the scutten to open and shut the city gates.” This warning was issued by the regent herself. By implication, she was concerned that earlier warnings were not being enforced sufficiently. Later that month the magistrates took an essential step; they made financial arrangements to pay for the extra watchmen.49

Espionage and Counter-espionage Warnings which were sent by the government to the cities of Holland and by the cities to the government were based on military information provided to them by their anonymous agents and by “secret friends” (regarding whom, see below). In the sources described here, military intelligence was of two kinds. It was mostly tactical intelligence by which commanders, including the city magistrates, might hope to discover the locations and strengths of the enemy’s forces in order to gain an advantage in the battlefield. Only few indications were found of strategic intelligence derived from within the enemy’s higher circles of government or military command. From antiquity to the present day the underlying methods, means, successes, failures and consequences of spying in the military and political spheres, apart from the electronic gadgetry now available, have changed but little.50 Extracts from early sixteenth-century primary sources in Holland during the Guelders war demonstrate that. For reconnaissance work Caesar used exploratores and speculators, translated variously as “patrols,” “scouts” and “spies,”51 to gather information of a military kind. Other sources of information which he used included prisoners and deserters (transfugae) from the other side, and passing merchants. Caesar remarked that Germans, having few personal needs for their own comfort, sometimes sought access to merchants in order to sell them their 48 49 50

51

GA Leiden SAI, inv. 383, f. 66 (10 Nov. 1508). GA Leiden SAI, inv. 383, f. 157v (2 June 1513); f. 163v (30 June 1513). Amiram Ezov, “‘The Missing Dimension’ of C. Julius Caesar,” Historia, Zeitschrift für Alte Geschichte, 45 (1996), 64–94; J.R. Alban and C.T. Allmand, “Spies and Spying in the Fourteenth Century,” in War, Literature and Politics in the Later Middle Ages, ed. Christopher T. Allmand (Liverpool, 1976), pp. 73–101. But see Ezov, “Missing Dimension,” p. 72, n. 16.



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plunder.52 Caesar also received logistical information from ambassadors who were seeking mutual help against their neighbors who were also enemies of the Romans. Nowadays, other such “friends” include traitors; fellow travelers; technical experts who have been suborned or who, disguised with false identities, have been insinuated into the enemy’s councils; secretaries; eavesdroppers; a host of loose talkers and other incautious informants; finally and more recently, electronic devices and satellites, the so-called “spies in the skies.” Although Phillipe de Mézières (c. 1327–1405) might still allude critically to the legitimacy and morality of spying,53 from earliest times rulers and military commanders had no compunction about using it. By the time of the Middle Ages “the Venetians had long understood the importance of spying, which they used for commercial reasons. But the need to have information of an enemy’s military intentions was seen as equally pressing.”54 Despite an aura of virtual sanctity and immunity which once surrounded heralds and still surrounds ambassadors and their diplomatic staff, their reputation, legalized spies according to Philippe de Commynes (1447–1511 ), was doubted then as now; and “ambassadors came to be regarded as being potentially among the best spies.”55 In 1510 the Venetian ambassador to London, Andrea Badour, communicated with Andrew Forman, a bishop, courtier and agent abroad of King James IV of Scotland, who was a close kinsman and political adviser of Charles of Guelders. Their discussions (which were fruitless) dealt with James IV’s wish to command the Venetian armed forces, ostensibly in a crusade against the Turks. That was politically and militarily a sensitive proposal in view of the strained relationship between the English and the Scottish kings, both of whom were trying to increase their military and naval strengths. Badour even proposed in a coded letter to the Signoria that he might make a journey to near the Scottish border for a secret meeting.56

Postal Communications Ambassadors are clearly recognizable as such, and they are protected when abroad by international rules of diplomacy. But rulers and governments have 52 53 54 55 56

Caesar, Bellum Gallicum II. 4 (ambassadors); IV. 2 (merchants). Alban and Allmand mention spies among Lombard merchants and strangers; “Spies,” p. 93. Alban and Allmand “Spies,” p. 76. Alban and Allmand, “Spies,” p. 73. Alban and Allmand, “Spies,” pp. 77–78; William J. Bouwsma, “The Politics of Commynes,” The Journal of Modern History 23 (1951), 315–28, p. 328. Ward, “King James IV,” pp. 76–81. In the early sixteenth century substitution codes and ciphers of the kind used by Julius Caesar were still commonly used in confidential or secret letters, but the sources in Holland described here contain no references to them. Two letters in French from Charles of Guelders to his ambassador in Paris in 1528 written using a substitution code, one in facsimile and both decoded, are published in: Gideon Busken Huet and J.S. van Veen, eds., Verslag van Onderzoekingen naar Archivalia te Parijs, etc. (The Hague, 1899), pp. 132–33 and Appendix there.

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other informants of lower status. Couriers and messengers who carried the mails are a group identifiable as such.57 The mails which the couriers carried covered every aspect of national and municipal government, including military security. The couriers’ duties can be traced in primary sources of the government and of the cities of Holland, the most common of which are financial accounts recording costs and monies paid to them. The financial accounts sometimes record monies paid to other persons, men mostly, whose identities and whose functions largely remain undisclosed. Examples of this vagueness, this reticence about certain people and their service in early sixteenth-century Holland are described below. Diplomatic relations were maintained during the fighting. From time to time parleys were arranged between the parties, cease-fires took effect for short periods, and prisoners were exchanged or ransomed. Following Jan van Wassenaar’s defeat and capture by Guelders in December 1512 a letter from an anonymous officer to The Hague announced that an unnamed “great personage” of Guelders had been captured, and it was hoped to exchange him for Wassenaar.58 Some time later Wassenaar was indeed ransomed for 2,000 pounds. Charles of Guelders took part in peace negotiations with the regent Margaret of Austria and her Privy Councilors, much of the detail of which is contained in secret and confidential correspondence between the parties.59 Some of this becomes apparent in sources describing certain letters carried by couriers. From the beginning the aims of the parties were clear. Charles of Guelders wished to assert his claim to the duchy of Guelders, and Emperor Maximilian as heir to Mary of Burgundy wished to maintain the claims of her father, Charles the Bold. Charles of Guelders’ means were war fought with guile. In Holland the government’s preferred means were by negotiations. Overall, neither side trusted the other. There is ample evidence that Charles of Guelders used the negotiations and the truces to win breathing spaces for himself. Glimpses of this mistrust can be seen in the records in the city archives of Holland. The regent, Margaret of Austria, when reminded on one occasion that it was her duty to maintain peace, responded by saying “that she had always worked to that end, despite the duke of Guelders failing to observe any agreements or peace treaties.”60 Nationally and internationally couriers carried mails between correspondents, and the costs of the postal services were recorded. Many of the entries are formulaic, and contain little or no information about what the letters themselves contained. But there are exceptions. In July 1507 a courier brought a

57 58 59

60

Harm von Seggern, Herrschaftsmedien im Spätmittelalter. Studien zur Informationsübermittlung im Burgundischen Staat unter Karl dem Kühnen (Ostfildern, 2003), pp. 146–53. NA, inv. 2195, f. 36v (after Dec. 1512, undated). E.A.J. Le Glay, ed., Correspondance de l’Empereur Maximilien Ier et de Marguerite d’Autriche, de 1507 à 1519, 2 vols. (Paris, 1839); idem, ed., Negociations diplomatiques entre la France et l’Autriche durant les trente premières années du XVIe siècle, 2 vols. (Paris, 1845). “Niet jegenstaende die heere van Gelre gheen voirwairde, pays noch tractaet en onderhoudt”: GA Leiden, SA I inv. 383, f. 99 (29 July 1511); Bronnen, p. 250.



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letter from Jan van Nyevelt, a member of Utrecht’s civil governing council, to Leiden containing the announcement “that duke [heer] Charles of Guelders had demanded the right to pass through Utrecht, just as the count of Buuren had done.”61 Jan van Nyevelt was a member of a political party (the “Hoeks”) which was sympathetic to Charles of Guelders and inimical to the BurgundianHabsburg rulers, and which formed the majority in Utrecht’s city government. The count of Buuren was the father of Floris van Ysselstein who was acting stadholder in Holland. Both father and son were personal and political enemies of Charles of Guelders, and of the ruling civil council in Utrecht. Shortly afterwards, Charles of Guelders passed through Utrecht unmolested, and the government at The Hague received complaints to that effect in September 1507.62 Mediation between the two sides sometimes took place, which involved city representatives. A burgomaster, Dirck Dircxzoon, was sent by Gouda to Utrecht in 1513 to commissioners convened there “to hear about the complaints and excesses which the Guelders and the Burgundian forces on both sides had committed against each other.” Dircxzoon was gone for ten days.63 Charles of Guelders himself communicated by letter not only with his friends and allies abroad but also with the government in Holland and with the cities and towns. His letters to the Hollanders were of several kinds, but mainly they contained threats, or justification for his own deeds and critical remarks about the deeds of others. In a document dated 15 January 1509, which he signed personally, Charles of Guelders informed the magistrates in his coastal town of Elburg on the Zuyderzee that he accepted the peace treaty of Cambrai, and that hostilities against Holland were to cease.64 But the peace or rather cease-fire had lasted only a few months when Charles of Guelders in a letter to the government at The Hague revoked it and announced to the cities and towns of Holland that he would not observe the peace treaty.65 In August 1509 he complained in a letter to Leiden that Floris van Ysselstein had attacked Nieuwkerck and Barneveld. His letter and Leiden’s undisclosed reply were read out in the local council (vroedschap). To the members the inference was obvious; “and because we should take care, it was resolved that if any one notices anything suspicious (enighe onraet) that each one will inform the others.”66 In letters sent in 1509 to the magistrates of Goyland and in 1512 to Alphen on the Rhine, both of which are well inside the borders of Holland, Charles of Guelders blackmailed them for the so-called brandschatting.67 This “fire 61 62 63

64 65 66 67

GA Leiden, SA I inv. 587, f. 52v (7 July 1507). NA Rek.Rek. inv. 3404, f. 116v ( Sept. 1507, undated). “Om te hoeren de beclachten ende overgrepen die de Geldersche ende de Boergoensche an beyden zijden malcander gedaen hadden”: GA Gouda Oud-archief no. 1172, f. 13 (1513–1514, undated). GA Elburg, Old Archive inv. 91. The original letter is reproduced in http://www.inghist.nl NA, Rek.Rek., inv. 343, f. 209 (March 1509); Ward, “Military role,” pp. 97–98. GA Leiden SA I, inv. 383, f. 75 (13 Aug. 1509). NA Rek.Rek. inv. 343, f. 235 (1509, undated); cf. Ward, “Military Role,” p. 100.

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premium” was protection money, a regular source of his income, and the demand implied a threat to burn the town down if the magistrates did not pay it.68 In July 1513 yet another solemn peace agreement was signed at Brussels, but it was again only a brief cease-fire in effect.

Couriers as Scouts Most of the work of tactical intelligence gathering which the cities of Holland commissioned in their own or neighboring quarters was carried out by couriers (boden) who normally carried the post. While engaged in their usual work of delivering letters and verbal messages, the couriers were instructed as a matter of course to gather military information when it presented itself. On other occasions when the Guelders forces invaded Holland couriers were sent on scouting missions and with warnings to neighboring towns and communities. In 1506, when Bodegraven was burnt down by the enemy, Haarlem sent a courier on horseback at night to Leiden to make enquiries. At the same time they stationed six men in boats on the nearby lakes “in order to listen if there were any noises.”69 Entries in the city accounts are numerous, and the wording is formulaic. In May 1507 “Cornelis Ghijbrechtsz, courier, was sent on horseback outside Leiden to gather news of the Guelders forces; paid 6 stuivers.”70 Haarlem, which is close to Amsterdam, thought it appropriate on one occasion to thank the magistrates of Amsterdam for “a letter of warning which they had sent in the night, reporting that the Guelders forces were on the march.” The courier, Frans de Witte, who carried the thanks to Amsterdam was also instructed to find out where the enemy was.71 This was perhaps the main purpose of his ride. In 1512 Luyt Henricxzoon, a Haarlem courier in the rank of one entrusted with the dispatch box (busdrager72), was out on patrol for four days, gathering information about “the troops who were stationed near Utrecht, and what their intentions were.”73 Not surprisingly, work of this kind was not only varied but it could be dangerous. In 1509 on one occasion it was reported that a courier had been robbed. In 1510 Hendrik Faes carried letters to Brielle, and shortly afterwards other letters to Brussels. Not long after that his widow was paid three pounds for the last ten days in which he was employed as courier. What befell her husband is unknown. In January 1513, in addition to a sealed letter a courier conveyed to Delft a barrel of gunpowder; uneventfully it appears. But in May 1513 Leiden’s 68 69 70 71 72 73

On brandschatting, cf. Rogers, Essays, VIII, p. 60: “… appatis or truages – in which the local people agreed to supply cash or goods in kind in exchange for being spared by the soldiers.” GA Haarlem Tres.rek. 1506–1507, ff. 46v–47 (undated). GA Leiden SAI, inv. 585, f. 35 (16 May 1507). GA Haarlem, Tres.rek. 1510–1511, ff. 31v–32 (15 Dec. 1510). See for busdrager Von Seggern, Herrschaftsmedien, pp. 101–3. GA Haarlem, Tres.rek. 1511–1512, f. 78v (1 June 1512).



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pensionary while attending a diet at The Hague reported that a Leiden courier had been killed by soldiers at Alphen on the Rhine, near the border with Utrecht.74 In each of these cases the circumstances are unknown.

Spies Given the geography of the Low Countries, with the density and relative uniformity of the population in language and customs, and with ease of travel overland or by boat, it is not surprising that the authorities on both sides of the military divide were concerned about spies and espionage. Besides sending their couriers out on patrol, the magistrates of Holland themselves went into action during emergencies when attacks by Guelders forces were imminent or in progress, or when strangers were signaled. At Leiden in 1507 concern for the safety of the city with its gates and wicket doors (cf. Venlo; above) led to the following incident. On 14 July [1507] the burgomaster Heynrick Florijsz went with two wagons full of people in pursuit of two cavalry soldiers (ruiterknechten) who, it was said, had examined the city gates, the wicket doors, fortifications and walls from outside and inside, and it was believed they had come to spy. The cavalrymen were followed to Alphen [on the Rhine] and they were taken prisoner there and brought back to Leiden, where they have now been two days in prison.75

This incident indicates that the guards at Leiden’s gates were alert to strangers at least during the daytime. The fate of the two men is unknown, but it is possible that they were indeed spying or reconnoitering at Leiden. Alphen on the Rhine where they were arrested is not far from the border with Utrecht, which may have been their destination, and the secular government there was sympathetic to Charles of Guelders. In 1513 another suspected spy was arrested: Willem Jacobszoon, a merchant from Utrecht. Despite strained relations between Utrecht and Holland, in April 1508 the regent Margaret of Austria had relaxed restrictions on merchants from Utrecht trading and traveling into Holland.76 Two Leiden burgomasters

74

75

76

The robbery in: NA, RekRek., inv. 3404, ff. 86–86v (1507–1508, undated); Faes in: NA, Rek. Rek. inv. 343, ff. 195, 198v, 208 (1510, all undated); gunpowder transport in: GA Leiden, SA I, inv. 592, f. 44v (31 Jan. 1513); ff. 39v–40 (31 May 1513); Bronnen, p. 416. “Item upten XIIII/en dach in julio [1507] reysde Heynrick Florijsz, burgermeester, mit twie wagenen mit volck om te vervolgen twie ruyterknechten, die men seyde dat der stede poirten, clinquetten, vesten ende muyren van buyten ende van binnen deursien hadden, ende men meynde dat zij gecomen waeren omme te verspijen, welcke knechten hij vervolchde tot Alphen ende aldair gevangen heeft ende gebrocht tot Leyden, ende hebben gevangen gelegen II/e dagen”: GA Leiden, SA I nr 586, f. 28v. NA, Rek.Rek., inv. 342, f. 172 (3 April 1508). A trade blockade was imposed by the Council of Holland in 1506 as a reprisal for Utrecht’s trading with Guelders; Van Kalveen, Bestuur, p. 122.

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who were attending a diet of the cities and States of Holland at The Hague in February 1513 wrote to the vroedschap at Leiden that “the patrol of Captain Jan van Delft [a Burgundian-Habsburg officer] had arrested a merchant called Willem Jacobszoon from Utrecht who, they were convinced, was a spy, and they would prove that.”77 The two deputies were clearly alarmed by this. They raised the matter officially (staetsgewys) at the diet, and requested help to get the merchant released. From their obvious concern it seems possible that they knew Willem Jacobszoon personally. A detail in their letter was that Jan van Delft’s men who arrested the merchant had not been paid for six weeks, “and they were threatening to leave.” Was that innuendo? Were the troopers threatening to take the merchant with them as a hostage to be ransomed? The city magistrates were not above using spies of their own to observe and inform on the Guelders forces. One such agent was a little old woman (vroukin) who, it might have been thought, would arouse little or no suspicion. The accounts at Gouda contain the item: “Given to a vroukin who was sent to Gelderland to gather news of the cavalry men there, and who was out for eight days.” She may have been a country woman who was sent to Gelderland by the magistrates at Gouda specifically to spy for them there. For the eight days she was gone they paid her the equivalent of twenty-five stuivers or one Philips guilder, about the sum a soldier would have earned in the same time.78 In early 1511, as the crisis was building up between Holland and Utrecht, the magistrates of Haarlem sent five men on a sledge over the ice of the frozen Lake Haarlem to Uithorn on the border with Utrecht “to watch for soldiers near there, and to warn if they were coming in this direction.” A little later a Haarlem courier took twenty-one stuivers in payment to a “secret friend,” described only as living near the border with Utrecht, for “certain secret warnings” which he had provided.79

Secret Friends and Highly Placed Personages There were also persons of much higher social standing inside Gelderland and Utrecht who spied on behalf of Holland. They too are described as “secret 77

78

79

“Dat denselven Willem de cramer aldair gecomen is, ende hebben hem die van de schaerwaeck van Jan van Delff gevangen voir een verspyer, ende meent wel te bewysen dat hij voir sulcx bevonden sal worden”: GA Leiden, SA I inv. 383, letter dated 19 Feb. 1513, inserted at f. 144; Bronnen, p. 377. “Gegeven een vroukin die gesonden was in Gelderlant om tiedinghe te vernemen van de ruyters ende was uwt acht dagen, f[acit] 4 s 2 d,” GA Gouda, Old Archive inv. 1169, f. 13v (1507– 1508, undated). Women in Holland (if fit and able) were required to assist as fire-fighters during attacks. The sources also reveal that some women were engaged in the weapons and munitions trade; cf. Ward, “Prices of weapons,” p. 600. GA Haarlem, Tres.Rek. 1510–1511, f. 63v–64 (early winter 1511, undated); f. 48 (after 4 Feb. 1511, undated).



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friends,” and some were “highly placed.” At a meeting of the vroedschap at Leiden on 9 September 1512 it was announced by our deputies to the diet at The Hague, Cornelis Mast and Heynrick Florisz, that the governor and Council there had revealed to them that the regions of Arkel and South Holland in view of the capture of Tiel [by Charles of Guelders] lay completely open … and that they [the Council] furthermore had been warned reliably by trustworthy letters and friends that a meeting had taken place in the city of Utrecht between the lord of Montfoort, the cathedral dean Apeltern, Evert van Zoudenbalch and two deputies of the duke of Guelders, together with some others, to discuss how they could best carry out an attack on Holland. Some of them advised that they should attack Naarden, because a long stretch of the wall there was in a very bad condition, and there they could fire into the town and then take it by assault. Others said that there would be more profit with Weesp, because that lies further inland. Their conclusion was that they should attack Weesp because there were few inhabitants (boeren) there, and the soldiers had the keys, and it was known that they had not been paid, and so they hoped that it was feasible to gain the town.80

This was information provided to the city magistrates by the highest government officials at The Hague, who in turn had obtained it from “trustworthy friends.” The three men named in the report were prominent, active supporters of the political faction called the Hoeks, opponents of Burgundian-Habsburg influence in Utrecht and Holland. Jan III of Montfoort (c. 1448–1522) had a ministerial function in Utrecht. Jacob van Apeltern was a cathedral canon. Evert van Zoudenbalch was also a canon of Utrecht cathedral, a very rich and influential man, and founder of St Elizabeth’s Hospital there. The entry in the minutes concludes with an appeal from the government at The Hague for money and men to defend Holland. Details about the weak walls at Naarden and the unpaid soldiers at Weesp show that the conspirators at Utrecht too were well informed. About the same time (12 September) mercenary soldiers in the service of Holland, called the Four Banners, who were stationed at Delfshaven, mutinied and marched on The Hague because they had not been paid for eight months.81 These entries in the government’s financial accounts are veiled and discreet. That is in the nature of espionage and secret military intelligence. The main plotters at Utrecht in September 1512 were named by the officials at The Hague. But of course the trustworthy friends who provided the information were not. In the government’s financial accounts the identity of another secret friend, “a personage of Guelders,” was also not revealed, but payments to him are remarkable. An entry in the accounts at The Hague, under the heading of debts left over from the war, shows that he received sixteen gold guilders per month for his services over seven months “since the last payment which was made to the same personage.” By implication, his work and the payments had continued for some time. This one sum alone (112 gold guilders) was equivalent to nearly

80 81

GA Leiden, SA I no. 383, f. 127–127v (9 Sept. 1512); Bronnen, 324. Ward, forthcoming.

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two years’ wages for a master tradesman. The payments were for warnings of impending attacks by Charles of Guelders, which the informant had passed on to the stadholder. The money was handed over by an intermediary, Roelof van der Haltert, “so he said and affirmed,” who was a personal servant (kamerknecht) of the stadholder in Holland, Jan van Egmond. Van der Haltert was obviously a trusted man. Where the hand-over took place is unknown, but the prominent family of Van der Haltert or Hautert possessed land and property near Nijmegen in Gelderland.82 Another secret friend lived at Amersfoort, between Utrecht and the border with Gelderland. In July 1509 Charles of Guilders and his troops were reportedly preparing to attack Holland. A courier, at the behest of the regent herself, took letters from the Court of Holland at The Hague to “a secret friend” in Amersfoort containing news, and warning him that Charles of Guelders was on the march again. The entry in the accounts ends with the formulaic phrase: “together with other matters which it is not necessary to explain here more fully.”83 This phrase is found at intervals throughout the government’s account books, as is also a sentence indicating that certain messengers themselves were sometimes entrusted to transmit verbal messages to the recipients of letters.84

Conclusion In the Low Countries during the late fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries, two weak opponents faced each other in a territorial dispute, egged on and supported by two stronger powers, Habsburg and Valois, in a kind of guerrilla war. The militarily weak and openly pacific citizens of Holland85 were exposed time and again to hit-and-run attacks from a military adept, Charles of Guelders, who failed repeatedly to respect the treaties he made with them. Standing in the wings, the two greater protagonists, Habsburg and Valois, each aimed to check the power and influence of the other.

82

83

84 85

“Teyckende up voir zekere wairschuwinge die hij gedaen heeft geduerende de oirloge mijnen voirs. Heere van Egmondt … voir zeven gehele maenden gevallen sedert de leste betalinge gedaen denzelven personaige …”: NA. Rek. Rek. inv. 3414, f. 36 v (1514, undated). In 1532 one Roelof van Hatert owned Castle Hatert in Gelderland; www.kasteleninnederland.nl “Binnen der stede van Amersfoirt aen eenen heymlicken vrunt mit zekere brieven van den voirs. Hove uuyt beveel van mijner genadige vrouwe, inhoudende van den heere van Gelre ende zijne knechten die upte been waeren om eenige aenslach te maicken , mit van anderen dat van geenen noode en is hier breeder te verclairen”: NA, Rek.Rek. inv. 343, f. 220 (6 July 1509). Ward, “Letters,” pp. 140–43. In December 1511 the magistrates of Leiden proposed petitioning the regent, Margaret of Austria, “if she were unable to get peace for the country …,” to allow Holland and Zeeland to negotiate a separate peace treaty with Charles of Guelders, but nothing more is known of the proposal; Bronnen, p. 274.



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In war the security and survival of a weak defender depends not only on whatever weapons and fortifications he can provide for himself, but also on material, logistic and diplomatic support from a stronger friend or friends. The aim of Holland’s magistrates was first and foremost to defend their cities and towns against attacks by Charles of Guelders with the men and the means at their disposal. By custom and by law, all citizens of military age who were fit and able were required to serve. But for effective security there were other requirements too: economic resources; military, diplomatic and political support inherent in the power of friends; and, thirdly, military intelligence. How these powers were used is described above in examples which are documented in contemporary sources in Holland. The first and most obvious step required of the magistrates was to use their considerable economic power to provide conventional defenses against Charles of Guelders. Despite the occupation and destruction of some smaller towns at that time (notably Bodegraven in 1506) by the forces of Guelders, the magistrates of Holland’s main cities, Haarlem, Leiden, Delft, Dordrecht and Gouda, achieved a large degree of security by subsidizing the sale of arms to their citizens, by providing artillery and munitions, by maintaining and repairing the walls, moats and towers of their towns and cities, by posting guards on them day and night, and by organizing scouting expeditions against the enemy, some of which were officered by individual magistrates themselves. All of this required large sums of money, but it was organized and paid for locally, using the manpower and resources of the magistrates and the citizens themselves. Internal security was also a concern of the magistrates of Holland. Theirs was a nation that lived by international trade,86 and as a consequence travelers, traders, Florentine merchant bankers, and other foreigners including ambassadors were active throughout the country, but especially in the seaports and the cities. This meant that the magistrates had to know the identities of foreigners, and their business, and to register and impose some restrictions on their movements. Travelers and merchants especially were subject to control and some harassment on the ground that they were potential spies. The second line of defense lay in diplomacy. The cities of Holland, for reasons of diplomacy and trade, maintained relations and corresponded directly with foreign powers like Denmark and the Baltic states, but the magistrates recognized, for their own safety and wellbeing, that diplomatic power in military and naval matters lay largely in the hands of the emperor and his Privy Council. Equally, they recognized that the government’s diplomatic power could work to their economic advantage. Diplomacy was an important factor in Holland’s overseas trade ventures with its close neighbors, England, France,

86

Bronnen; see e.g. under alum, beer, grain, herring, salt, textiles, etc. in the index (“van Zaken”) following p. 569.

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Denmark and the Baltic city states.87 What the magistrates of Holland objected to was the government’s tax demands in order to hire mercenary soldiers to carry the war to Guelders. The government’s pretext for this was the defense of Holland, while the popular perception was that it was entirely a dynastic affair of the ruling house. The overall result of this difference of views was that the magistrates’ efforts to defend the large cities of Holland at this time were essentially successful, but the professional armies were ineffectual in suppressing Charles of Guelders. Only his death from natural causes in 1538 brought about political changes which ultimately led to the end of the war. In 1543 Guelders was incorporated finally into the Habsburg dominions by the treaty of Venlo. Close to home the immediate enemy, Charles of Guelders, also corresponded directly with the cities of Holland, but his real enemy was Emperor Maximilian I and his successors, Philip I and Charles V of Habsburg. The cities of Holland did not act independently of the government in their relationship with Charles of Guelders, but rather they reported to and forwarded to The Hague the letters which they received from him. The third facility that Holland required for its security was that of military intelligence. At the local level the ways and means for this were simple. Official couriers whose job in quieter times was to carry letters and dispatches from the cities to the government at The Hague or Brussels were recruited in times of war to reconnoiter the enemy’s movements. Some of the couriers’ names are known from the account books. Occasional remarks there show that their task was dangerous. It must have been equally dangerous for other travelers in Holland, like the merchant Willem Jacobszoon from Utrecht who was suspected of spying. Conversely, the safety and defense of Holland were aided by sympathizers and “secret friends” in Utrecht and Guelders, spies in other words, to whom payments were made in some cases by the city administrations, and in others by the government. The existence of these people is barely revealed in the city archives and in the government’s accounts at The Hague. But a distinction can be made between people living along the borders of Holland, who were paid small sums of money for their information, and at least one, “a personage of Guelders,” who was paid a large sum of money over a longer period for the information he provided. In conclusion, the evidence here shows that in the early sixteenth century during the Guelders war the magistrates of Holland accepted that in order to be secure from attack by Charles of Guelders their economic strength was best used by being allied to the political advice, diplomatic help and military intel87

Besides a number of diets in Holland and Zeeland attended by delegates from the Baltic and Wendic cities (cf. Bronnen, p. 565) there were at least two other international meetings, one at Copenhagen in July 1513 and one at Bremen in October 1514, convened to discuss political and trade relationships between the nations; Bronnen, pp. 417–19 (Copenhagen) and 464–487 (Bremen). Emperor Maximilian appointed members of his Privy Council together with the Advocate of Holland to represent Holland and Antwerp at the well documented diet held at Bremen.



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ligence provided by the government. That required a high level of taxation on their cities in the form of extraordinary aides to pay for the war, but it was a sacrifice which they felt they had to make. Two expressions which the magistrates of Leiden used (at different moments) in the context of paying for the war expressed their feelings graphically.The “least evil” was to bite into that “sour apple.”88

88

“Ende dat men van veele quaden tminste quaet behoirt te kiesen” (20 Sept. 1512), Bronnen, p. 329; “dat de stede van Leyden in eenen zueren appel bijten moet ende consenteren” (20 April 1513), Bronnen, p. 392.

8 Document: Edward I’s Wars in the Chronicle of Hagnaby Priory Michael Prestwich

Edward I’s wars have yielded a splendid range of documentary evidence. Accounts enable the composition of armies to be studied in remarkable detail. Cavalry retinues can be reconstructed, and infantry numbers and desertion rates calculated. Heraldic lists recorded those present on campaigns, and they can be compared with pay accounts, to demonstrate the scale of unpaid service. The quantities of food supplies are listed in detail; even the calorific value of the daily rations provided for soldiers on garrison duty can be worked out. In contrast, the chronicles describing the king’s wars against the Welsh, the French and the Scots are thin, certainly in comparison to those for the Hundred Years War. Walter of Guisborough provides the fullest account, but there is a suspiciously inventive quality to some of his work, notably with the dialogue that he uses to elaborate his narrative. It is therefore surprising that more use has not been made of the chronicle written at Hagnaby in Lincolnshire, now preserved in the British Library as Cotton Manuscript Vespasian B.xi. For Edward’s reign it is independent of other chronicles, and uniquely for this period, it contains newsletters providing valuable detail. Though some extracts have been published, it has never been edited in full, no doubt at least partly because of the garbled quality of some of the Latin, and because much of it is of relatively little value.1 It is, however, very useful for providing insights into Edward I’s wars, particularly in Wales and France. The Premonstratensian house of Hagnaby was small, and probably never had more than thirteen canons. It was founded in 1175, and in the valuation of 1291 its temporalities were put at £20 2s. 5d.2 This was not the sort of establishment that would be expected to have a tradition of historical writing, and

1

2

R.F. Walker, “The Hagnaby Chronicle and the Battle of Maes Moydog,” Welsh History Review 8 (1976–7), p. 125, explained the problem with understandable exaggeration. “One has to deal with a scribe whose hand is often almost illegible, who made sad havoc with personal and place names, and who, it must be strongly suspected, did not really understand what he was writing into the chronicle.” David Knowles and R. Neville Hadcock, Medieval Religious Houses (London, 1953), p. 166; William Page, A History of the County of Lincoln, Victoria County History (London, 1906), 2:205–6.

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it is hardly surprising that much of its chronicle is highly derivative. Its narrative starts in 1066, and it finishes in 1307. Stubbs noted that down to 1253 its chronicle is virtually identical with that written at Barlings, another Premonstratensian house in Lincolnshire. He pointed out that much of the Barlings chronicle is “a compilation drawn from Henry of Huntingdon, the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, Florence of Worcester, and William of Malmesbury, with occasional extracts from Robert de Monte.” He observed that from the death of Richard I until 1252 it is very close in wording to the Waverley annals. From 1253 until 1282 he considered that “there is only a general resemblance” between the Barlings and Hagnaby accounts, with the latter being independent from 1282.3 The links among the chronicles, however, were closer than Stubbs indicated. The connection with Waverley is in fact evident earlier than 1199. The entry in the Hagnaby chronicle for 1177, for example, records the death of the earl of Arundel at Waverley, and the start of building of the stone bridge at London just as the Waverley annals do. For 1179, both chronicles record flooding in the Lincolnshire district of Holland in identical terms.4 There are also close similarities after 1253. The Barlings and Hagnaby chronicles record an implausible story of Edward’s invasion of Scotland in the late 1260s in virtually identical terms. For the first year of Edward I’s reign there is effectively no difference between Barlings and Hagnaby, though the latter account garbles the name of the king’s son Alphonso, giving it as Amphur. Both chronicles record, in similar wording, the tale that at his coronation Edward promised never to wear his crown again until he had recovered all the lands granted away by his father. The first Welsh war, that of 1277, is dealt with in the two accounts in summary and uninformative fashion. “Edward collected an army to attack Wales, which he took, though not without a long siege.”5 The Hagnaby chronicle is, therefore, of relatively little value prior to 1282. From then until its conclusion in 1307 it is independent of other accounts. It is of far more mixed quality than most chronicles, but is exceptional in the way in which its author copied a considerable number of documents, notably newsletters. Its treatment of war is very varied; while it has valuable information on the Welsh wars of 1282–3 and 1294–5, on the war in Gascony in the 1290s, and on the Scottish campaign of 1296, material on Edward I’s later Scottish campaigns is scant in the extreme. The accounts of the Welsh war of 1294–5 and of the 1296 Scottish campaign have been published, as has the entry for 1297.6 This 3 4 5 6

Chronicles of the Reigns of Edward I and Edward II, ed. William Stubbs, 2 vols. (London, 1882–3), 2:xl–xli. Annales monastici, ed. Henry Richards Luard, 4 vols. (London, 1864–9), 2:240–1; London, British Library, MS Vesp. B.xi, fol. 8v. Chronicles of the Reigns of Edward I and Edward II, 2:cxvi–cxvii; BL Vesp. B.xi, fols. 26–37. Michael Prestwich, “A New Account of the Welsh Campaign of 1294–5,” Welsh History Review 6 (1973–4), 89–94; E.L.G. Stones, “English Chroniclers and the Affairs of Scotland, 1286– 1296,” R.H.C. Davis and J.M. Wallace-Hadrill (eds), The Writing of History in the Middle Ages (Oxford, 1981), pp. 345–48; Documents Illustrating the Crisis of 1297–8 in England, ed. Michael Prestwich (Camden 4th ser. 24, 1980), pp. 199–201. The part of the text dealing



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article, therefore, concentrates on Edward’s second Welsh war, that of 1282–3, and on the conflict in Gascony. It is not clear what the source for the Hagnaby account of the Welsh war of 1282–3 was; in contrast to the author’s treatment of the 1296 Scottish campaign, it is not obvious from the style that it derives from a newsletter.7 In explaining the origins of the war, the author explains the hostility that was directed at Reginald de Grey, justice of Chester, and his desire to introduce English law to Welsh lands. Both Llywelyn ab Gruffudd and his brother Dafydd, with all the Welsh magnates, were opposed to Grey’s policies, but it was agreed that a day should be set for negotiations. Dafydd plotted to capture both Grey and Roger Clifford, but they were warned about this. Clifford went to Hawarden castle; the war began with Dafydd’s attack on the castle, and his seizure of Clifford. The son of an unnamed English magnate was killed. No other account suggests that there was any warning of what the Welsh planned, or that there were any negotiations in the way that the chronicle suggests. Nor was the death of an English magnate’s son mentioned by other chroniclers. The account of the campaign against the Welsh that followed has some curious features. It describes the army in three divisions, one headed by the earl of Gloucester, another by the earl of Lincoln, and the third by Otto de Grandson. No indication is given of the fact that Gloucester was operating in South Wales. The Welsh are said to have fled when horns were blown in his army, but there is no hint of the defeat that Gloucester’s men suffered, as a result of which he was removed from command.8 The chronicle correctly mentions an embassy to Aragon headed by Anthony Bek and John de Vescy, but in stating that the Spanish king provided a force of over 7,000 Basque soldiers, who were almost all killed, the writer was probably alluding to the forces that the English recruited in Gascony. These totalled 210 cavalry and 1313 infantry, most of whom were crossbowmen, who did suffer considerable casualties, with some contingents losing up to half their number.9 The English suffered a rare defeat on 6 November 1282, when forces under Luke de Tany crossed the bridge of boats that Edward’s engineers had built across the Menai strait, only to be ambushed by the Welsh.10 The Hagnaby version of this is different from the fullest account, that by Walter of Guisborough.11 While Guisborough’s reliability has been questioned, the Hagnaby account is even less trustworthy, for de Tany is not mentioned, and the engagement is misdated. Roger Clifford (son of the man taken at Hawarden), William de Brus and William de Vescy are listed as the

7 8 9 10 11

with 1282 was published (and translated) in a work difficult to obtain: 1282 – Casgliad o Ddogfennau / A Collection of Documents, ed. Rhidian Griffiths (Aberystwyth, 1986), pp. 16–17. Stones, “English Chroniclers and the Affairs of Scotland,” pp. 341–42. J. Beverley Smith, Llywelyn ap Gruffudd, Prince of Wales (Cardiff, 1998), p. 521. John E. Morris, The Welsh Wars of Edward I (Oxford, 1901), pp. 188–89. The fullest account of this engagement is in Smith, Llywelyn, pp. 536 ff. The Chronicle of Walter of Guisborough, ed. H. Rothwell (Camden series, 89, 1957), pp. 219–20.

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English commanders. William de Brus, however, cannot be identified, and does not appear in the longest list of English casualties.12 William de Vescy, whom the Hagnaby chronicler says did not cross the bridge, was not mentioned in other accounts. However, the chronicler’s suggestion that Clifford led the way, eager to revenge his father’s capture, has some plausibility; Clifford was one of those drowned at the bridge. Guisborough described the bridge as capable of taking sixty men abreast; the Hagnaby author’s figure of fifteen men is far more plausible.13 The most important part of the account of the second Welsh war in the Hagnaby chronicle is that which deals with Llywelyn ab Gruffudd’s death. The chronicle states that Roger Mortimer asked the prince to come to accept his homage and that of his men. Mortimer and other English lords planned to take Llywelyn by trickery, and to kill him. Accordingly, the prince came virtually unarmed to a place agreed with Mortimer. He was attacked, and fought back strongly. His men must have joined him, for the chronicler goes on to say that there was a long battle, in which many on both sides were killed. Eventually, the Welsh were defeated, and Llywelyn was left with just one squire. They were pursued by two of the English into a wood. There Llywelyn put up a stout resistance, eventually falling to the ground, calling out his name. On recognizing him, his opponents decapitated him, and presented the head to the king, who ordered that it be taken to London. This Hagnaby account differs considerably from the well known tale provided by Walter of Guisborough. In the latter, a bridge and a ford featured notably; neither appears in the Hagnaby version of events. Admittedly, the latter is very brief, and if fullness is a test of accuracy, it fails. However, the resemblances, noted by Beverley Smith, between Guisborough’s accounts of Irfon Bridge and Stirling Bridge cast some doubt on the Yorkshire chronicler’s reliability.14 In its brevity, the Hagnaby version is possibly closer to the truth. The account is, however, probably incorrect in specifying Roger Mortimer; other sources, such as the annals of Oseney and Dunstable, name his brother Edmund.15 The account of the close of the second Welsh war contains some surprising errors and confusion, but at the same time the author appears to have got hold of an accurate statement of the sentence pronounced on Prince Dafydd. He was to be drawn to the gallows for his treachery, hanged for robbery, his heart and entrails burned for arson, and he was to be executed for homicide. There is no

12

13

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Annales Cestrienses, ed. R.C. Christie (Lancs. & Cheshire Record Soc., 1887), pp. 110–12. Ruth M. Blakely, The Brus Family in England and Scotland 1100–1295 (Woodbridge, 2005), p. 162, mentions a William de Brus. He might be the man drowned in 1282. Morris, Welsh Wars, p. 180, pointed out errors in Guisborough’s account. Guisborough, p. 219. R. Allen Brown, H.M. Colvin, and A.J. Taylor, The History of the King’s Works, vol. 1 (London, 1963), p. 355, suggests that the figure “lx” in Guisborough might be a scribal error for “ix.” Smith, Llywelyn, p. 563. Ibid., p. 551.



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mention of any betrayal by his own men, though it seems likely that this is what happened.16 Another Welshman, called Caduc Madodam, underwent a similarly horrific death, because he had killed a French knight. The Hagnaby chronicler’s version of events is close to that given by Bartholomew Cotton in his chronicle; both mention that a son of the prince was taken, and that judgement was declared by John de Vaux. Cotton has it that a steward of Dafydd’s was also executed, without giving his name. This could have been Caduc Madodam, but Cotton has no mention of the killing of any French knight.17 This section of the Hagnaby chronicle ends bizarrely with the death of Dafydd’s younger son, called Reginald, the godson of Reginald de Grey. There is no other record of any such son, and it seems most unlikely that Dafydd would have been on friendly terms with Reginald. The Hagnaby chronicle becomes much fuller from the 1290s. This was not because the author refined his technique; indeed, the reverse is the case. What he began to do was to copy out a range of documents that came his way. Some were straightforward, such as instructions for the tax of a twelfth granted in 1296, though the chronicler misdates it by a couple of years.18 A letter of defiance from Philip IV to Edward I is followed by the main body of the papal bull Clericis laicos.19 Far more interesting is the inclusion in the chronicle of a number of newsletters. In some cases these are quoted directly, as with an account of the battle of Maes Moydog in 1295, which I published many years ago.20 In other instances, it seems clear that the author incorporated a newsletter more or less verbatim into his text. This is the case with his account of Edward I’s Scottish campaign of 1296, where the use of “we” provides an indication of the type of source being used.21 Other letters in the chronicle include one from 1284 starting “This is the definite news of the Tatars”, which is followed by a letter reporting preaching in Arles in Provence: a friar, Gigard, had announced that Antichrist had been born in 1269, and that in 1288 a king called Charles would take Jerusalem.22 Two letters of 1300 deal with affairs in the east. One from a friar, James of Ferrara, to another friar, Gilbert de Mainardus, tells of the capture of Jerusalem by the Mongols, while a letter from a Hospitaller knight in France announced the same event, and stated his intention of going to the east. These

16 17 18 19

20 21 22

Ibid., p. 576. Bartholomaei de Cotton, Historia Anglicana, ed. Henry Richards Luard (London, 1859), p. 164. BL Vesp. B.xi, fol. 35. Ibid., fol. 39v. The full Latin text of this bull is conveniently given at http://homepages.wmich. edu/~johnsorh/MedievalLatin/Texts/BonifaciusVIIIClericisLaicos.htm, viewed 31 August 2010. Prestwich, “A New Account of the Welsh Campaign of 1294–5,” pp. 89–94. See also Walker, “The Hagnaby Chronicle and the Battle of Maes Moydog,” pp. 125–38. Stones, “English Chroniclers and the Affairs of Scotland,” pp. 341–42. BL Vesp. B.xi, fol. 30.

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letters are similar to many sources which reflected widespread and undeserved excitement about the apparent liberation of the Holy Land.23 A letter giving an account of the naval battle which took place in 1293 adds valuable evidence to what is known of a somewhat obscure event.24 It is from the commander of the ships from Hastings, though the somewhat overblown style suggests that in practice it was written by Alexander the clerk, who, it says at the end, took it to the king. It tells how an English fleet put in to SaintMathieu in Brittany on 21 April, but after three days was driven to four other ports by a storm. When some of the ships returned to Saint-Mathieu, they were attacked by a fleet of two hundred French ships, fully equipped with castles for war. The English, with a hundred ships, attacked, and routed the enemy, leaving them with just four ships. Meanwhile, their allies from Bayonne, unable to join the sea battle because of contrary winds, attacked Saint-Mathieu by land. The address used in the letter is interesting, in attributing to the king the title of Governor of the Sea. This was not a formal part of the royal style, but the concept was used at this period. A memorandum of 1286 spoke of the sovereignty which the kings of England used to have over the English sea, and English diplomats in the 1290s claimed that Edward I had “sovereign lordship of the English sea and the islands therein.”25 This letter is not the only account of the battle to come from the Cinque Ports, for a petition from the barons of the Ports tells how a Norman fleet gathered in the Charente, to load wine. It then sailed to Brittany. Numbering two hundred, the ships were equipped with castles on bow, stern and masthead. They flew banners, called bausans, known in English as streamers, which were a sign of all-out war. On Friday 15 May they attacked an English fleet which had sailed from Portsmouth to SaintMathieu; in the fight, the English were victorious. The petition gave no further details of the fighting, but plainly this refers to the same event.26 In his chronicle, Bartholomew Cotton provided another account which tells a similar story to the letter in the Hagnaby chronicle, and the petition from the Cinque Ports. He stated that English sailors gathered to fight their Norman rivals, to defend their trading rights. A storm drove many to seek refuge in various unnamed ports, but seventy-four ships remained at sea. Then the Normans, with 180 ships, approached the combined English and Bayonnais fleet. The wind changed, driving the ships from England and Bayonne into the 23

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Sylvia Schein, “Gesta Dei per Mongolos 1300. The Genesis of a Non-event,” English Historical Review 94 (1979), p. 816. These letters are on fols. 47v.-48v. See also Sylvia Schein, Fideles Crucis: the Papacy, the West, and the Recovery of the Holy Land, 1274–1314 (Oxford, 1991), pp. 166–75. The fullest account of these events is provided by Charles de la Roncière, Histoire de la marine française, vol. 1 (Paris, 1934), pp. 324–29. N.A.M. Rodger, The Safeguard of the Sea (London, 1997), p. 78. Documents Relating to the Law and Custom of the Sea, ed. R.G. Marsden, 2 vols. (London, 1915–16), 1:50–56. The document was misdated by Marsden to 1299. It is also printed in Bréquigny, Lettres de rois, reines, et autres personages des cours de France et Angleterre, ed. M. Champollion-Figeac, vol. 1 (Paris, 1839), pp. 396–97.



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French force. Some of the French vessels were burned, others sunk. Those of the French who managed to make it to land were killed by the English and the men from Bayonne. One difficulty with Cotton’s account is that he puts the date of the battle as 13 June, but this can be explained as a confusion of the Ides of June with the Ides of May.27 The St Albans chronicle has little detail, but what it does have tallies with the petition from the Cinque Ports. The French fleet had been assembled for an invasion of England, but sailed instead for Gascony. Returning laden with wine, it was intercepted by a fleet of sixty English ships at Saint-Mathieu on 15 May. French losses totalled 15,000 men.28 The London annals are relatively uninformative, but give the date that the Cinque Ports fleet sailed as 10 April.29 Walter of Guisborough provides a very different account. He depicted the origins of the conflict lying in a dispute between English and Norman sailors over a spring of fresh water. Six English ships were subsequently attacked, and two destroyed. The French are said to have hanged English sailors alongside dogs from their yardarms. An English raid into the Seine estuary followed. The culmination of the account was an arranged battle, which took place on 14 April. By arrangement, an empty ship was moored to mark where the battle should take place; in the fighting the English triumphed, and 240 French ships were taken. The struggle was not just against the French; snow, hail and strong winds beset the sailors. There is no mention in Guisborough’s account of any involvement of the men of Bayonne; the English allies are said to have been Irish and Dutch.30 It is tempting to dismiss this account outright as the invention of an imaginative chronicler, but a statement of grievances against the Normans has as its first item an incident at “la funtayne de Kymenois”, so justifying Guisborough’s account of the start of the conflict taking place at a spring. There, the Normans slew some of of Edward’s subjects, and went on to attack a ship from Bayonne. This, however, is said to have taken place at Lent in 1292.31 There is no mention of an English naval victory in this account, but this is no surprise as the purpose of the document was to detail English and Gascon losses. Guisborough may therefore have conflated an event which took place in 1292 with those of the following year, but in the absence of supporting evidence it is hard to give credence to his account of a pre-arranged battle, dramatic as it is. The date he gave for this, 14 April, lacks plausibility; the naval battle clearly took place in mid-May. The Hagnaby chronicle continues with an account of the war in Gascony. This conflict was not well reported, and though this version is different from those in other chronicles, it is not much fuller. It starts with a newsletter. This was not, however, written in Gascony; it refers to information from people 27 28 29 30 31

Cotton, pp. 227–28. Willelmi Rishanger, chronica et annales, ed. Henry Thomas Riley (London, 1865), p. 137. “Annales Londonienses,” in Chronicles of Edward I and Edward II, 1:101. Guisborough, pp. 240–41. Lettres de rois, reines et autres personages, 1:392.

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in London who had come from Paris, which suggests that it was probably produced in London. It begins with the siege of Saint-Sever in Gascony, which took place in 1295. The letter states that Charles of Valois was defeated there by a relieving force under Amanieu d’Albret (misnamed as Amaury) and Hugh de Vere, with forces also provided by the vicomtesse of Béarn. Three counts, Armagnac, Roches and La Marche, were taken prisoner, and many of the French killed. Other English accounts have no mention of such a battle. The Worcester chronicle suggests that Charles lost 600 knights and 1,500 infantry to disease, but that the English were forced to surrender due to lack of food supplies, and the failure of a relieving force to appear.32 Guisborough has a similar account, with the French suffering from disease and the heat, but the garrison nevertheless surrendering.33 French accounts suggest that the siege lasted thirteen weeks, and ended in success for Charles of Valois: a deal had been struck that the town would surrender if it was not relieved within two weeks. However, Charles departed, and the English were able to regain the town.34 There is no clear evidence to support the newsletter’s account of a battle at Saint-Sever, or of the capture of any French counts. The early fifteenth-century Chronographia Regum Francorum, however, does have an account of a French defeat. This was not placed at Saint-Sever, but at Blaye, where a relieving force under John de Arbreto (presumably Brittany is intended), John de St John, and the earl of “Helfort” attacked the besiegers under Charles of Valois, to such good effect that Charles was forced to retreat to Bordeaux.35 It may well be that this account, garbled as it is, refers to the same setback to the French that the Hagnaby chronicle details. The newsletter continues with the case of the traitor, Thomas Turberville, who it says was captured by the French at Saint-Sever. Other accounts, notably Cotton and Guisborough, place his capture at Rions.36 The story of Turberville’s treason is well known, in considerable measure thanks to Cotton, who included in his chronicle a letter sent by Thomas to the provost of Paris. Brilliant detective work enabled J.G. Edwards to work out the probable identity of the man who informed the government about Turberville’s treasonous correspondence with France. He was Robert Crouland, who was taken into royal service as a messenger.37 The letter in the Hagnaby chronicle contains no new information about an affair that was clearly well publicized at the time. It concludes with mention of a French naval attack on an English port, the name of which is left blank. This must have been one of the assaults on the Cinque Ports detailed by

32 33 34 35 36 37

Annales monastici, 4:525. Guisborough, p. 247. Joseph Petit, Charles de Valois (1270–1325) (Paris, 1900), p. 30. Chronographia regum Francorum, ed. H. Moranvillé, vol. 1 (Paris, 1891), pp. 48–49. John de “Arbreto” is also named ibid., p. 43. Cotton, p. 304; Guisborough, pp. 247, 252. John Goronwy Edwards, “The Treason of Thomas Turberville, 1295,” Studies in Medieval History Presented to Frederick Maurice Powicke (Oxford, 1948), pp. 298, 304–06.



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Cotton in his chronicle; Dover, Winchelsey and Hythe were all attacked. At the latter, a fine French galley was taken, which fits with the account in the Hagnaby newsletter. The chronicle continues by detailing diplomatic moves, with an embassy consisting of the bishops of Winchester and Ely, among others, created to go to France to negotiate peace in the presence of two cardinals. This was unsuccessful. The chronicler did not specify when this took place, but it must refer to 1296, when the bishop of Winchester and many others were appointed to negotiate peace with the cardinals.38 The bishop of Ely, however, was not involved in any of the diplomatic initiatives. There follows an account of the English expedition to Gascony in 1296, which differs substantially from those elsewhere. The force was led by the king’s brother Edmund of Lancaster, the earl of Lincoln and William de Vescy. At Easter, the earl of Lincoln was dejected when eating dinner, he was convinced that they would all be poisoned or attacked by the enemy. Three French spies were discovered. Two who said nothing were immediately executed, the third revealed that Charles of Valois and the count of Artois were nearby with their forces, concealed in a wood. While the English prepared for battle, 10,000 Welsh infantry were slain, but when the fully armed English troops attacked, victory came their way. A further encounter with the count of Artois followed in late June, with the English successful thanks to the power of prayer. Fuller accounts about Lancaster and Lincoln’s expedition, which set out until early in 1296, are provided by Guisborough and the St Albans chronicle.39 They provide no confirmation of the story of the discovery of the three French spies in the army, circumstantial as this appears to be. Nor do they mention the battle which followed. The Hagnaby chronicle has a notice of the English defeat at Bellegarde in January 1297. This provides little more than a list of those captured, which was clearly derived from a similar source to that used by Bartholomew Cotton.40 The Hagnaby account of the Gascon war concludes with a somewhat garbled account of an engagement off Cap Saint-Mathieu between an English fleet taking supplies to Gascony and French naval forces. This finds some confirmation in the Flores Historiarum, which records the loss of the Philippe, most famous and largest of French and English cogs, in 1296.41 Unfortunately there are no surviving royal wardrobe accounts for 1296 to provide details of the English

38 39 40 41

M.C. Salt, “List of English Embassies to France, 1272–1307,” English Historical Review 44 (1929), p. 271. Guisborough, pp. 260–64; pp. Rishanger, pp. 154–55. For a brief modern account, see Prestwich, Edward I, p. 384–85. Documents Illustrating the Crisis of 1297–8, p. 199, where the relevant section of the Hagnaby chronicle is printed. Flores historiarum, ed. Henry Richards Luard, vol. 3 (London, 1900), pp. 99, 289–90.

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fleet, though the accounts for 1297 reveal the payments made to some forty ships making the voyage to Gascony with victuals and horses early in the year.42 The final extract given here is the account of the 1298 campaign in Scotland. It is brief and uninformative, but interestingly the chronicler gives the name of his informant, an otherwise unknown knight called John de Pothenovere. The account is mistaken in putting the journey to St. Andrews and Perth before the battle of Falkirk – Guisborough correctly places it after the victory.43 The chronicle has a brief notice of the siege of Stirling, and a note of the execution of William Wallace, but the Scottish war is otherwise neglected.44 This suggests that there may have been less public interest and even enthusiasm for the enterprise than was the case with the earlier Welsh wars. There could, however, be a simpler explanation: the chronicler’s informant may have taken part in no further campaigns after 1298. The chronicler filled his pages with material about the outrage at Anagni, while his copying of documents extended to astrological predictions.45 The author of the Hagnaby chronicle was not a man of notable ability. His Latin was poor, and he showed no skill in recounting events. Yet his work does not deserve to be neglected, for all that it is of varied quality. He did not draw on the same sources as other chroniclers for the period from 1282 to the end of Edward I’s reign, when he concluded his work. His inclusion of newsletters verbatim provides interesting evidence of the information available to chroniclers. In a number of cases his evidence provides an important check on the work of Walter of Guisborough in particular, demonstrating Walter’s unreliability. In broader terms it demonstrates the difficulties that chroniclers faced in recording military events. The gap between the quality of the evidence provided by the chroniclers and that provided by the multiplicity of official documents remains as wide as ever. British Library, Cotton Manuscript Vespasian B. xi: Excerpted Texts46 fol. 28v Guerra in Wallia [marginal note] Hoc anno orta est dissensio inter Angliam et Walliam unde subsecuta est guerra, et combustio edificorum et interfectio multorum utriusque partis. Et hoc modo incepit. Dominus Eadwardus rex Anglie constituit dominum Reginaldum de Gray iusticiarium in Walliam. Qui volens ibi leges anglicanas constituere, et viam regiam per totam Walliam nemora cuiuscunque fuerint evellendo et ericando stabilire. Dominus uero Leulinus et Davidus frater eius et totius Wallie magnates unanimi consensu contradixerunt. Tandem ex consensu utriusque partis data est dies ad pacem reformandam. Sed dominus Davidus ut dicunt parauit insidias 42 43 44 45 46

BL Add. MS 7965, ff. 96–8. Guisborough, p. 328. BL Vesp. B.xi, fols. 56, 57v. Ibid., f. 54 ff. I am grateful to Professor Richard Gameson for his assistance in producing this transcription.



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ad capiendum dominum Reginaldum de Gray ac dominum Rogerum de Clifford cum suis sed res innotuit eis unde fugam inierunt, et illo die nichil de pace actum est. Dominus Rogerus de Clifford diuertit se ad castrum quodam Roberti de Monta Alto47 et ibi moratus est usque ad diem Palmarum.48 Ipsa vero die Palmarum quod fuit xi kalendas Aprilis scilicet in crastino sancti Benedicti supervenit Davidus cum magno exercitu et cepit Rogerum de Clifford et abduxit et incarceravit, et quemdam magnatis filium de Anglia qui erat in custodia regis interfecit. Et statim circumvenit Davidus cum exercitu magno comburendo et destruendo primo terras suas quas rex Anglie ei dederat, deinde aliorum comitis et baronum terras in le march. Quo audito, rex mandavit comitibus baronis et omnibus de se libere tenentibus ut omnes parati essent cum armis apud Cestriam in octavis sancti Johannis Baptiste.49 Dominus Willelmus de Wilweby cepit iter versus terram sanctam statim post festum sancti Johannis Baptiste. Post festum sancti Trinitatis scilicet nono kalendas Juniis50 profectus est rex et regina cum suis versus Cestriam, et ibi moratur est usque ad festum sancti Johannis Baptiste.51 Et statim post festum Johannis Baptiste coadunatis ibidem comitibus et baronibus totius Anglie cum universo exercitu suo diverterunt versus Walliam et dicunt qui affuerunt quod non est visus in Anglia talis exercitus pugnatorum nec melius dispositus et ordinatus. Rex vero et regina morabantur in castello de Royelan.52 Comes de Clare Gilbertus53 ac dominus Henricus de Laci comes Lincolniensis et dominus Otes de Grancon et dominus Rogerus de Mortimer et dominus Rogerus de Leyburne cum multitudine magna equitum ac peditum exitum fecerunt in Walliam et diviserunt exercitum et ordinaverunt in tribus locis ab invicem tribus leugis distantibus. In una scala fuit dominus Gilbertus de Clara, in alia comes Lincolniensis, in tertia Otes de Grancon qui concluserunt inter se Wallenses nunc [fol. 29] fere quinque milia, quos dira mors abinvicem separaret nisi exercitus domini Gilberti de Clare cornibus ventilarent, unde perterriti Wallenses fugerunt; sed hoc per suis fecerunt. Postea vero adquisivit rex extra Snoudon terras multas ac castella quas dedit benigne ac largiter comitibus qui cum ipso erant. Circa festum sancti Mathei Evangeliste54 fecit congregati apud Northampton ante clericum Johannem de Kyrkeby omnes abates, priores comitatus Lincolnie et communitatus Northamptonie ac omnes alios abates et priores praeter North47 48 49

50 51 52 53 54

Hawarden Castle, held by Robert of Mold. 22 March 1282. In fact, the initial summons was for paid troops to muster at Worcester on 17 May. This was superseded by a feudal summons, with the muster at Rhuddlan on 2 August. The octave of St John the Baptist cited by the Hagnaby chronicler was the week starting on 24 June. 22 May. 14 June. In fact Edward did not leave Chester until 6 July; see H. Gough, Itinerary of King Edward the First, vol. 1 (Paisley, 1900), p. 133. Rhuddlan. Gilbert de Clare, earl of Gloucester. 21 September. John Kirkby had been appointed in June to approach local communities for financial assistance. See Prestwich, Edward I, p. 238.

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umberland quorum ibi fuit dominus Antonius Bek ut sciret in quantum quisque sponte regi subveniret, unde quisque singillatim interogatus dedit responsum ac summam pecunie nominavit quam regi dare vellet, sed hoc nichil profuit, quorum dominus Johannes de Kirkeby ad voluntatem suam omnes taxavit, unde Hagneby dedit xl solidos. Post Pasca misit rex Anglie ad regem Hispanie dominum Johannem de Vesci et dominum Antonium Bek deprecans ipsum ut prestaret sibi contra Wallenses auxilium. Qui misit ei circa festum Omnium Sanctorum55 plusquam septem milia de baskulis, qui fere omnes in bello aut morte propria extincti sunt. Circa festum sancti Martini dimisit rex exercitum suum ac in tribus locis constituit ad capiendum Snoudon, videlicet ipsemet cum suis ad introitum de Snoudon, dominus Gilbertus de Clare et comes Lincolnia et dominus Otes de Grauncon in Suth Wales.56 In Angliseie nunc misit dominum Rogerum de Clifford et Willelmum de Brus et dominum Willelmum de Vescy et alios tres magnates, qui fecerunt pontem ultra aquam quam currit inter Anglisseye et Snoudon ex lateribus navium ut quindecim ad minus in fronte possent precedere. Hoc proviso constituerent diem ut transirent. Adveniente die transierunt omnes et nullus remansit nisi dominus Willelmus de Vesci cum suis et alii pauci. Transierunt vero pontem super aquam iacentem dominus Rogerus de Clifford in primus ut suspicorum pro patre suo qui erat incarceratus in Snoudon. Dominus Willelmus de Brus et alii tres signiferii qui omnes occisi vel in mare mersi sunt numero quincque c, xv kalendas Decembris, scilicet die sancti Hugoni episcopi Lincolniensis feria sexta.57 Obiit W. de N. die sancti Michaelis. Anno regis Eadwardi xi. Post Epiphaniam mandavit Rogerus de Mortimer Leulino principi ut veniret et acciperet homagium de se et hominibus suis et assignavit locum. Providerat enim dominus Rogerus et alii magnates Anglie quod dominum Leulinum dolo caperent et occiderunt. Veniens itaque dominus Leulinus die statuto cum suis et ipse ut fertur fere inermis. Surrexerunt ex adverso adversarii eius adversum eum viriliter agente. Ingruente bello et per longum durante ceciderunt ex utraque parte quam plurimi. Tandem confusi sunt Wallici et fere omnes exstructi, ita ut nullus remaneret nisi dominus Leulinus et armiger eius. Cum vero reversi essent de prelio indentes duos ex adverso latitantes persecuti sunt eos ad silvam. Tandem inventi et ab hostibus congressi per longum dimicaverunt, set ad extremum princeps Wallie qui se in omnibus strenue agebat cecidit, clamans et confitens nomen suum. Cognoscentes eum adversarii eius decollaverunt eum offerentes capud eius [fol. 29v] domino regi quod iussit Londoni deferri. Rex tamen mallet ipsum vivum habuisse ut fatebatur, sed credo magis propter pecuniam quam animam vel vitam eius servandam. Post mortem Leulinus congregavit Davidus exercitum fortem nimis et 55 56

57

1 November. The feast of St Martin falls on 11 November. There is no record of orders such as these suggested by the chronicler, but instructions were issued on 12 November for troops to go to Carmarthen, under the command of William de Valence. See “Calendar of Welsh Rolls,” in Calendar of Various Chancery Rolls, 1277–1326 (London, 1912), p. 258. 17 November. In fact, the battle had taken place on 6 November; see Smith, Llywelyn, p. 537.



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reversi sunt ad eum Wallici qui fidelitatem qui iurauerunt dominio regi Anglie ferme septem milia. Davit vero destinavit nuncios ad regem Anglie Rogerum videlicet de Clifford quem dudum ceperat, et uxorem suam, exorans ut ei pacem concedent in terram suam et quorum in ullo ei adversari noluit nisi coactus. Rex vero responsum sinistre suspicionis dedit uxori Davidis qui erat soror domini Roberti de Ferr’. Ipsa vero vacua reversa, et dominus Rogerus detentus est. [next section is omitted] [fol. 30] Item Rayss Bawan58 captus est et incarceratus in turrim Londoniensis. Item Davidus et filius eius senior capti sunt cum suis ferme xxxa qui omnes capti sunt vel ibidem occisi excepti x qui capto Davido fugerunt die lune proxima ante festum sancti Iohannis Baptiste, scilicet xi kalendas Iulii.59 Davit vero graviter vulneratus ductus est ad regem Anglie Eadwardum eadem nocte cum filio suo ibidem capto. Filius vero eius senior captus fuit in die apostolorum Petri et Pauli60 et ad regem ductus et diligenter custoditus. Item post festum sancti Michaelis die Sabbati qua fuit dies sancti Leodegarii martyris scilicet vi nonas Octobris, apud Syorwisbyria iudicatus et Davidus. Dominus Johannes de Vallibus pronunciavit sentenciam contra [f. 30v] Davidum qui quadripharie puniebatur sic. Quia dominum tuum regem seduxisti, eris tractatus per civitatem usque ad furcas. Quia latrocinium exercuisti, eris suspensus. Quia domos et villas combussisti, cor et interiora tua comburentur. Et quia homicidium fecisti, capitalem sentenciam subibis. Alius quidam Walensis quorum quemdam militem Francie interfecit, nomine Payn de Gamas, similiter cum eo ad furcas coactus est et suspensus, nomine Caduc Madodam. Filius vero Davidi iunior nomine Reginaldus filiolus domini Reginaldi de Grai cum eo moratur.61 [next section omitted] fol. 33v. Excellentissimo domino et principi preceteris mortalibus victoriosissimo domino Eadwardo dei gratia illustri regi Anglie, domino Ybernye, duci Aquitanie et maris gubernatori metuendo suus humilis A. magister flote portus sui de Hasting constitutus ac ceteri socii sui promptam famulandi voluntatem (fol. 34) et felices ad omnia vota sua successus. Benedicta regis Anglorum providencia qui famuli sui regis Anglorum singula disponat consiliorum initia ut eorum sine feliciori concludat novissima. Hinc est domine serenissime quod non decet nova de novo emergencia toti regno Anglie summo cordis iubilo excolenda qui continentibus oculis preterire quam regiam magestatem vestram super his reddamus certiorem. Excussio navium Anglie et Normannie. 58 59

60 61

Unidentified. 21 June. Guisborough, p. 221, mistakenly puts Dafydd’s capture at 21 September, but Bartholomew Cotton has the same date as Hagnaby; Cotton, p. 164. Edward announced Dafydd’s capture on 28 June; “Calendar of Welsh Rolls,” pp. 281–82. 29 June. Sic (moratur) in MS. Perhaps the scribe intended moratus est.

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Michael Prestwich

Contigit plerumque domine excellentissime ut cum congregatis navibus navigii vestri Anglie et Baonye ad tradam ad Sanctam Matheum in Britanya applicuissemus die Martis proxima ante festum beate Georgii martyris anno regni regis Eadwardi vicesimo primo,62 et ibidem navigium emulorum nostrorum in magno discrimine triduo expectantes, tandem finali qui necessitate compulsi ruptis ancoris nostris et apparata navium nostrarum per varia in undacionis tormenta pene devastata dispersa fuerant loca nostra per quatuor loca diversa, videlicet quidam apud Hereng’, alia apud Crowedon’, alia apud Conketam, alia vero apud Bergannam secundam quod melius ac securius nos ac naves nostras salvare credebantur.63 Sedata vero tempestate apud tradam iterato veneantes cum quadem parte navigii nostri ibidem expectemimus usque ad diem Veneris proximam ante Pentecostem.64 Quo quidem die tempore exinopinato irruerunt super nos prefati emuli nostri cum ducentis navibus sublime erigentes castella sua pomposa ut nos omnes traherent in mortis ruinam. Set divina bonitas que semper eruit a morte animas sperancium in se; et superbiam quam detestatur anima dei deiecit de solio excelsa usque ad abyssi novissima. Nos enim absque pauci respectu aliorum cum centum navibus tamen irruimus super congregationem illam, illos debellantes in manu forti, omnes vero nobis resistentes transierunt per gladium. Filii autem diffidencie qui cum civibus suis naves suas tanquam confuse relinquentes profuge remedium salvari sperabant defraudati sunt desiderio suo. Quoniam socii nostri de Baionia65 qui cum navibus suis contrarietate venti dicto insultui nobiscum interesse non potuerunt, occurrerunt armati per terram apud Sanctam Matheum portantes vexillum nostrum. Sentientes inpredictos Normannos fugientes ad portum salutis applicare credentes traxerunt in mortis ruinam, et sic omnes indissipulam lapsi sunt. Hec merito patientes qui sanguinem nostrum summo opera exhaurire desiderabant. Regiam excellenciam vestram certificantes quod de ducentis navibus normannicorum non remanaserunt nisi quatuor naves tamen que de navibus nostris evaserunt in crapusculo noctis. Nos enim in navi nostra in insulto predicto fuimus primi et insequentes (fol. 34v) dictos emulos nostros ab hora tercia usque ad noctem obscura novissimii. Hec nova sunt verum et certissima, et super hoc excellenciam vestram reddamus certiorem fidelem et dilectum socium magistrum Alexandrum clericum presencium exhibitorem cum litteram nostram presenti magestate vestre transmisimus qui ea per brevitate temporis et festinacione pretermisimus excellence vestre orecenus66 manifestabit ipse enim hiis omnibus interfuit et vidit omnia que facto gesta sunt a principio usque ad finem. Magestate vestram rex regum per prospera dirigat, excellenciam vestram augeat vestreque serenitate emulos vestros subiciat.

62 63 64 65 66

21 April 1293. These place names are too corrupted to be identifiable. 15 May 1293. Bayonne. Sic in MS.



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[next section omitted] fol. 38. Est asaver ke la veile del Ascension vint a Sensever67 en Gasconye Charles68 e son host si asega la vile. E la vint sire Amori de la Bret69 et le poer la dame de Byerne70 et sire Hue de Ver, e vindrent Sire Charles e son host tut dreit an laube du iour, a la fu Sire Charles desconfist e perdi totes ses pavilions, e il memes navere a la mort. E pris sont treis countes, cest asaver le count de Armenach71 e le counte de Rochs72 e nous entendoms le counte de la March,73 e autre grant seignurs e de genz morz de lur partie xxx m. E ceste novele creez car il i ad gent en Londres qui sont venuz de Paris e dient kil virent plusurs des cors ester menez en la vile de Paris, e unques si grant doil ne fu demene en la vile e par tote France. E a ceste asaut furent pris qinze engleis entre les ques esteit un chivaler marchis terre Thomas Turbervile par noun, ki promist al rei de Fraunce Engletere pur sa deliveraunce. Cist malveis fist tant tost commencer guere encontre le roi d’Engletere parunt qe le rei saparila74 vers Escors tant cum il puist. Entre ces aferes survint cist treitres e conta a roi les novels de Fraunce, mes il esparni la verite. Si tost com il saveit le iur qe li rois deveit movir envers Escorz li treitres fist escrivere al roi de Fraunce qe le genz fussent prest al iur aseigne. Li rois de France parvist dis e seit cent neifs pleines de bone gent ben armis e une galeie si riche e si garni qe merveile est a dire. Entre ceo le clerc li treitres (fol. 37v.) monstra al roi tote la treison parvint qe le roi li dona garison, e li malveis se aparceust qe la treason feust descovert e mist a la fuite, mes tost fu remene, treit e pendu, e conust a son moriant si par li furent commence la guere de Guales treis fier e de Escorz doit fier. Puis qe il fu pendu survindrent les neifs de Fraunce dis e seit cenz od une galeie mult riche qe fu lur dutre ariverent a --------.75 Nos gent sei retrescrent a cinc lues de la vile od qantqe il aveint, e les Franceis issirent de lur galeie e ne trouverent nul hom mistrent feu e flambe, e puis quiderent entrer la tere en peis. Survindrent nos gent dune part e occistrent quanqe il troverent, e le galeie pristrent od quanqe leviz fust. Les autres nefs sen fuirent nous ne savom quel part. [next section omitted] fol. 40. Post epiphaniam profectus est rex versus Portismue ut ordinaret nuncios solempnes ad transfretandos pro eo in Franciam ad reformacionem pacis inter ipsum et regam Francie coram cardinalibus a domino papa missis. Et isti sunt nomina eii: episcopus Wintonensis, episcopus Eliensis thesaurarius regis et 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75

Saint-Sever. Charles of Valois. Amanieu d’Albret. Marguerite de Béarn. Armagnac. Unidentified. Hugh XIII de Lusignan, count of La Marche. Sic in MS. Blank in MS.

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multi alii, set de pace nichil actum est, tunc unius cardinalis rediit in Angliam cum comite de Sauvey ad regem referens quod actum est. Item eodem tempore ordinavit alios in Gasconia, scilicet fratrem suum Eadmundum comite --------76 et comitem Lincolnie, dominum Willelmum de Vesci et multos alios de Anglia et decem milia de Wallia. Et notandum quod in ebdoma Pasce cum comes Lincolniensis pranderet cum domino Eadmundo fratre regis Anglie, comes Lincolniensis adeo tristis devenit quod commedere non potuit. Requisita causa, respondit quod menti sue accidit quod omnes cito au[t] veneno aut hostium incursione interirent. Factam diligenti inquisitionem in exercitum inventi sunt tres Gallici exploratores. Adducti sunt duo ante comites et interrogati quo de causa illuc venissent omnino veritatem celaverunt qui statim decollate sunt. Tercius vero adductus, fatebatur domini Karolum et comitem de Artoys cum exercitu Gallie paratos in silva propinqua, et nisi citius providerentur ab hostibus premerentur. Dum vero nostri armis intenderent premiserunt pedites maxime Wallenses numero x mille, quo omnes occisi sunt. Deinde accesserent nostri audaces et hii bene armati et docti ad plurum et dirum commissum est bellum inter duo regna et gratia Salvatoris salvati sunt nostri, cum perdicionem inimicorum non paucorum. Circa idem tempus moritur dominus Eadmundus frater regis Anglie et dominus Willelmus de Valencia. Item circa festum Sancti Johannis Baptiste comes de Arteys congregavit exercitum copiosum et direxit gressus suos versus Gasconia ut nostros fraudulenter debellaret. Et innocuit sermo nostris. Videntes autem nostri emulos suos sustinere non posse sine gratia Dei, orantes direxerunt aciem verus emulos ad longitudinem trium leucarum. Videntes adversarii audaciam Anglorum tergaverterunt temptantes quis eorum citius asael77 fugam iniret. Non cum ita fugientes qui multi eorum prostrati adhuc dormiunt. Deo gratias salvati sunt nostri virtute altissimi. Hoc itaque tempore transierunt naves Anglie in Gasconia ad nostros cum victualibus et Cog Eadward cum illis qui custos earum. Cum vero nostri cum navibus venirent contra Sanctum Mathiu, obviaverunt navigium Francie, et terga verterunt emuli fugientes, sed cum triginta due naves nobis remanserunt. E quibus quascum secum in Gasconia duxerunt vino et melle et lapidibus molaribus oneratas, et quasdam in Anglia remiserunt. Inter quas erant due naves scilicet Cog Philip facta per invidiam et occcasionem Cog Eadward. Et alia de Hispania bene oneratas vino et melle; et expectant apud Winchelse adventum regis Anglie et voluntatem. [next section omitted] fol. 47. Post hec vero dominus Rex cum exercitu suo tendebit versus civitatem Sancti Anonem78 nichil ibidem malifaciens ob reverenciam sancti Andree, sicut didiscimus ex relatione domini Johannis de Pothenovere militis qui interfuit. Deinde profectus est ad civitatem Sancti Johannis79 quam combusserunt et 76 77 78 79

Blank in MS. Edmund was earl of Lancaster. Sic in MS. St. Andrews must be intended. Perth.



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destruxerunt et omnes inhibitantes ociderunt, quia cum aversariis suis consilium habuerunt contra ipsum. Et sic tendebat ad montes et ibi fixit tentoria sua. Occurentes ei ibid nuncius quidam qui predixit adventum adversariorum suorum infra trium diem ui eum cum suis latentis invaderent. Rex vero premonitus et premunitus cum exercitu suo procedit contra hostes suos die Sancti Marie Magdalensis.80 Et in illo conflictu occisu sunt ex parte adversariorum suorum octoginta milia, sed equites partis illis fere omnes evaserunt. Rex vero cum suis revertit. Et in civitate Ar81 obit dominus Robertus de Tateharshale. Deinde rex reversus est in Anglia et apud Brustwich82 manerium suum prope Beverlacum yemabat.

80 81 82

22 July 1298. Ayr. Burstwick, in Holderness.

Journal of Medieval Military History 1477–545X

Volume I 1 The Vegetian “Science of Warfare” in the Middle Ages – Clifford J. Rogers 2 Battle Seeking: The Contexts and Limits of Vegetian Strategy – Stephen F. Morillo 3 Italia – Bavaria – Avaria: The Grand Strategy behind Charlemagne’s Renovatio Imperii in the West – Charles R. Bowlus 4 The Composition and Raising of the Armies of Charlemagne – John France 5 Some Observations on the Role of the Byzantine Navy in the Success of the First Crusade – Bernard S. Bachrach 6 Besieging Bedford: Military Logistics in 1224 – Emilie M. Amt 7 “To Aid the Custodian and Council”: Edmund of Langley and the Defense of the Realm, June–July 1399 – Douglas Biggs 8 Flemish Urban Militias against the French Cavalry Armies in the Fourteenth and Fifteenth Centuries – J. F. Verbruggen (translated by Kelly DeVries)

Volume II 1 The Use of Chronicles in Recreating Medieval Military History – Kelly DeVries 2 Military Service in the County of Flanders – J. F. Verbruggen (translated by Kelly DeVries) 3 Prince into Mercenary: Count Armengol VI of Urgel, 1102–1154 – Bernard F. Reilly 4 Henry II’s Military Campaigns in Wales, 1157–1165 – John Hosler 5 Origins of the Crossbow Industry in England – David S. Bachrach 6 The Bergerac Campaign (1345) and the Generalship of Henry of Lancaster – Clifford J. Rogers 7 A Shattered Circle: Eastern Spanish Fortifications and their Repair during the “Calamitous Fourteenth Century” – Donald Kagay 8 The Militia of Malta – Theresa M. Vann 9 “Up with Orthodoxy!” In Defense of Vegetian Warfare – John B. Gillingham 10 100,000 Crossbow Bolts for the Crusading King of Aragon – Robert Burns

Volume III 1 A Lying Legacy? A Preliminary Discussion of Images of Antiquity and Altered Reality in Medieval Military History – Richard Abels and Stephen F. Morillo

2 War and Sanctity: Saints’ Lives as Sources for Early Medieval Warfare – John France 3 The 791 Equine Epidemic and its Impact on Charlemagne’s Army – Carroll Gillmor 4 The Role of the Cavalry in Medieval Warfare – J. F. Verbruggen 5 Sichelgaita of Salerno: Amazon or Trophy Wife? – Valerie Eads 6 Castilian Military Reform under the Reign of Alfonso XI (1312–50) – Nicolas Agrait 7 Sir Thomas Dagworth in Brittany, 1346–7: Restellou and La Roche Derrien – Clifford J. Rogers 8 Ferrante d’Este’s Letters as a Source for Military History – Sergio Mantovani 9 Provisions for the Ostend Militia on the Defense, August 1436 – Kelly DeVries

Volume IV 1 The Sword of Justice: War and State Formation in Comparative Perspective – Stephen F. Morillo 2 Archery versus Mail: Experimental Archaeology and the Value of Historical Context – Russ Mitchell 3 “Cowardice” and Duty in Anglo-Saxon England – Richard Abels 4 Cowardice and Fear Management: The 1173–74 Conflict as a Case Study – Steven Isaac 5 Expecting Cowardice: Medieval Battle Tactics Reconsidered – Stephen F. Morillo 6 Naval Tactics at the Battle of Zierikzee (1304) in the Light of Mediterranean Praxis – William Sayers 7 The Military Role of the Magistrates in Holland during the Guelders War – James P. Ward 8 Women in Medieval Armies – J. F. Verbruggen 9 Verbruggen’s “Cavalry” and the Lyon-Thesis – Bernard S. Bachrach 10 Dogs of War in Thirteenth-Century Valencian Garrisons – Robert I. Burns

Volume V 1 Literature as Essential Evidence for Understanding Chivalry – Richard W. Kaeuper 2 The Battle of Hattin: A Chronicle of a Defeat Foretold? – Michael Ehrlich 3 Hybrid or Counterpoise? A Study of Transitional Trebuchets – Michael Basista 4 The Struggle between the Nicaean Empire and the Bulgarian State (1254–1256): Towards a Revival of Byzantine Military Tactics under Theodore II Laskaris – Nicholas S. Kanellopoulos and Joanne K. Lekea 5 A “Clock-and-Bow” Story: Late Medieval Technology from Monastic Evidence – Mark Dupuy 6 The Strength of Lancastrian Loyalism during the Readeption: Gentry Participation at the Battle of Tewkesbury – Malcolm Mercer 7 Soldiers and Gentlemen: The Rise of the Duel in Renaissance Italy – Stephen Hughes

8 “A Lying Legacy” Revisited: The Abels-Morillo Defense of Discontinuity – Bernard S. Bachrach

Volume VI

1 Cultural Representation and the Practice of War in the Middle Ages – Richard Abels 2 The Brevium Exempla as a Source for Carolingian Warhorses – Carroll Gillmor 3 Infantry and Cavalry in Lombardy (11th–12th Centuries) – Aldo Settia 4 Unintended Consumption: The Interruption of the Fourth Crusade at Venice and its Consequences – Greg Bell 5 Light Cavalry, Heavy Cavalry, Horse Archers, Oh My! What Abstract Definitions Don’t Tell Us about 1205 Adrianople – Russ Mitchell 6 War Financing in the Late-Medieval Crown of Aragon – Donald Kagay 7 National Reconciliation in France at the end of the Hundred Years War – Christopher Allmand

Volume VII 1 The Military Role of the Order of the Garter – Richard W. Barber 2 The Itineraries of the Black Prince’s Chevauchées of 1355 and 1356: Observations and Interpretations – Peter Hoskins 3 The Chevauchée of John Chandos and Robert Knolles: Early March to Early June, 1369 – Nicolas Savy 4 “A Voyage, or Rather an Expedition, to Portugal”: Edmund of Langley’s Journey to Iberia, June/July 1381 – Douglas Biggs 5 The Battle of Aljubarrota (1385): A Reassessment – João Gouveia Monteiro 6 “Military” Knighthood in the Lancastrian Era: The Case of Sir John Montgomery – Gilbert Bogner 7 Medieval Romances and Military History: Marching Orders in Jean de Bueil’s Le Jouvencel introduit aux armes – Matthieu Chan Tsin 8 Arms and the Art of War: The Ghentenaar and Brugeois Militia in 1477–79 – J. F. Verbruggen 9 Accounting for Service at War: The Case of Sir James Audley of Heighley – Nicholas Gribit 10 The Black Prince in Gascony and France (1355–6), according to MS 78 of Corpus Christi College, Oxford – Clifford J. Rogers

Volume VIII 1 People against Mercenaries: The Capuchins in Southern Gaul – John France 2 The Last Italian Expedition of Henry IV: Re–reading the Vita Mathildis of Donizone of Canossa – Valerie Eads 3 Jaime I of Aragon: Child and Master of the Spanish Reconquest – Donald Kagay 4 Numbers in Mongol Warfare – Carl Sverdrup 5 Battlefield Medicine in Wolfram’s Parzival – Jolyon T. Hughes

6 Battle-Seeking, Battle-Avoiding or Perhaps Just Battle-Willing? Applying the Gillingham Paradigm to Enrique II of Castile – Andrew Villalon 7 Outrance and Plaisance – Will McLean 8 Guns and Goddams: Was there a Military Revolution in Lancastrian Normandy 1415–50? – Anne Curry 9 The Name of the Siege Engine Trebuchet: Etymology and History in Medieval France and Britain – William Sayers

Volume IX 1 The French Offensives of 1404–1407 Against Anglo-Gascon Aquitaine – Guilhem Pépin 2 The King’s Welshmen: Welsh Involvement in the Expeditionary Army of 1415 – Adam Chapman 3 Gunners, Aides and Archers: The Personnel of the English Ordnance Companies in Normandy in the Fifteenth Century – Andy King 4 Defense, Honor and Community: the Military and Social Bonds of the Dukes of Burgundy and the Flemish Shooting Guilds – Laura Crombie 5 The Battle of Edgecote or Banbury (1469) Through the Eyes of Contemporary Welsh Poets – Barry Lewis 6 Descriptions of Battles in Fifteenth-Century Urban Chronicles: A Comparison of the Siege of London in May 1471 and the Battle of Grandson, 2 March 1476 – Andreas Remy 7 Urban Espionage and Counterespionage during the Burgundian Wars (1468–77) – Bastian Walter 8 Urban Militias, Nobles and Mercenaries: The Organization of the Antwerp Army in the Flemish–Brabantine Revolt of the 1480s – Frederik Buylaert, Jan Van Camp and Bert Verwerft 9 Military Equipment in the Town of Southampton During the Fourteenth and Fifteenth Centuries – Randall Moffett

spine 20mm F MW 16 Apr 12

The Journal’s hallmark is broad chronological, geographic and thematic coverage of the subject, bearing witness to ‘the range and richness of scholarship on medieval warfare, military institutions, and cultures of conflict that characterises the field’.  HISTORY

CONTENTS David Alan Parnell Bernard S. Bachrach and David Bachrach Francisco García Fitz Nicolás Agrait

The Careers of Justinian’s Generals Early Saxon Frontier Warfare: Henry I, Otto I, and Carolingian Military Institutions War in The Lay of the Cid The Battle of Salado (1340) Revisited

Steven Muhlberger

Chivalry and Military Biography in the Later Middle Ages: The Chronicle of the Good Duke Louis of Bourbon

John J. Jefferson

The Ottoman-Hungarian Campaigns of 1442

James P. Ward Michael Prestwich

Security and Insecurity, Spies and Informers in Holland during the Guelders War (1506-1515) Edward I’s Wars in the Chronicle of Hagnaby Priory

An imprint of Boydell & Brewer Ltd PO Box 9, Woodbridge IP12 3DF (GB) and 668 Mt Hope Ave, Rochester NY 14620-2731 (US) www.boydellandbrewer.com

ROGERS, DEVRIES, FRANCE (editors)

Cover: Coll. Bibliothèques municipales de Chambéry, MS13, fo. 105r (circa 1170-1190). The Italian artist who illuminated this copy of Gratian’s Decretum beautifully captured the deadly seriousness of medieval warfare -for townsmen as well as knights. Image used by generous permission of the Bibliothèques municipales de Chambéry.

JOURNAL OF MEDIEVAL MILITARY HISTORY VIII JOURNAL OF MEDIEVAL MILITARY HISTORY

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J ournal of

MEDIEVAL MILITARY HISTORY

·  X  · Edited by CLIFFORD J. ROGERS, KELLY DEVRIES and JOHN FRANCE