I. THE EXPANSION OF THE ROMANO-GERMANIC AREA INTO THE PERIPHERY
Having, until now, faced towards the Mediterranean basin, the Romano-Germanic area underwent a fundamental upheaval, beginning in the eighth century. While the advent of the Muslims significantly restricted Christian kingdoms’ trading opportunities in the Mediterranean, the incursion of Northmen, Slavs and Magyars on the northern and eastern frontiers drew their attention to these areas from the ninth century onwards. A protracted, hard-fought war kept the kings and mainly the seigneurs, who were responsible for the protection of their lands during every emergency, in a state of constant vigilance with scant reassurance of relying on the organisation of vast collective military enterprises. The central powers proved impotent against the threats dispersed along the extensive frontiers, and only the tying of vassalage bonds allowed the seigneurs to enhance their military efficiency against the invaders. As a result, a tendency towards regionalisation developed and was at the same time corrected. And under the converging attacks launched from so many different directions, the Romano-Germanic area gradually lost its state of dependency on its Mediterranean focus, not to look exclusively towards the North Sea, but to be transformed into an inner nucleus radially oriented towards the whole periphery, from which the attacks originated and towards which it later directed an energetic counter-offensive.[1]
First in defence, then in attack, the Romano-Germanic area found the road to establishing contacts and relations with areas it had previously had little or no communication with or had stopped communicating with. The invasions initially provoked a major territorial retreat and a contraction across all activity, from the start of the eighth century in the Mediterranean area, from the mid-ninth on the shores of the Baltic and the North Sea and from the end of the same century in the area of the Elbe and the Danube. But the aggressors’ combativeness lessened from the mid-tenth century, while the offensive capability of the Christian kingdoms increased; as a result, the Romano-Germanic area grew considerably over the course of the eleventh century, and a new political sphere was delimited, with its original core at the centre but reaching much further out towards the periphery. Increasingly frequent and fairly intense communication was established through it, giving rise to influences of a reciprocal political, economic and cultural order. All subsequent development of European society and all the conflicts that erupted within it are directly or indirectly related to this expansion towards the periphery, which multiplied the opportunities for action and modified the tendency towards isolation and regionalisation.
The counter-offensive capability of the Christian kingdoms first became apparent along the Elbe and the Danube frontiers. Beyond the Elbe, various Slavic groups were active, some of which had already come under Carolingian pressure; others further afield remained unaffected by that influence; but, in the course of the ninth century, all of them exhibited a pronounced restlessness, especially the Moravians and Czechs and, somewhat later on, the Poles. Their unrest coincided with that of the Magyar groups, who tended to move westwards from the Tisza and Danube river basins, and this trend posed a growing threat to the kingdom of Germania during the reigns of Arnulf and Louis the Child. From then on, whenever the Germanic monarchy weakened, the threat grew increasingly violent. But while the Slavs showed little inclination to foray further, the Magyars penetrated deep into the western Roman area, not only sweeping through the Germanic kingdom but reaching France and the Lombard cities. ‘The body of Saint Remigius,’ recounts Flodoard, ‘and the relics of other saints were brought from their monasteries to Reims because of the fear spread by the Hungarians.’[2] Incursions followed one after another throughout the first half of the tenth century, sometimes encouraged by Christian seigneurs, who sought to use the Magyar hordes to harry their own enemies and divert them to suit their interests. But the havoc they caused and the insecurity they sowed prompted a reaction from the king of Germania, Otto I, after the terrible incursion of 954. He confronted the Hungarians at the Battle of Lechfeld the following year, where ‘he tore them apart and killed almost all of them.’[3] Soon after that, he headed north and defeated the Slavs at the Battle of Rechnitz.
The Moravians’ attempt at Slavic unification had by then failed; their designs were inherited by the Czechs, but Germanic sovereignty began to be recognised, primarily now through the influence of ecclesiastic penetration. Likewise, from 963 onwards, Germanic influence started to be felt in Poland. As a result, all the Slavic countries of the Elbe and Oder basins, as well as the land of Hungary, now locked between the Danube and the Tisza, came under Germanic influence. Although this influence waxed and waned during the period, it was always strong enough to allow the emigration of German groups and commercial exchange, as well as the spread of Christianity and the growing pull of the German Church.
Germanic influence acquired a distinct character during the time of Otto III, following its conspicuous fading in his father’s reign. Beleaguered by the threat of further aggression, Otto III did not, however, seek to assert Germanic authority but, in line with his idea of the universal Christian empire, promoted the independence of Hungary and declared his agreement regarding the independence of Poland and Bohemia, which was also expressed by granting the episcopal sees independence.[4] These two regions’ autonomy from the Empire became more accentuated at the start of the eleventh century but was successfully contained by Conrad II and Henry III; later, the turmoil that characterised the reigns of Henry IV and Henry V prevented the strengthening of Germanic authority. But above and beyond political relations, the incorporation of the entire Slavic and Hungarian area into the Western Christian world was being consolidated. As a result of this incorporation, economic and intellectual currents extended beyond their old eastern boundaries to establish a new sphere of influence.
Something similar happened along the Baltic and North Sea coasts. From the end of the eighth century and throughout the ninth, the Scandinavian populations on the shores of the Baltic moved, creating intense upheaval in the Western Roman area, driven by the need for new lands. William of Jumièges stated that the emigration was the result of an express policy of the Danish kings: ‘A large number of them [Danes] were forced to emigrate from their locations by laws published by their kings.’[5] This explanation was repeated by other chroniclers. Undoubtedly, the excess of population in relation to the economic organisation drove large groups – preferably of second-class citizens – to embark on the adventure across the seas. Armed with the superiority given them by their fleets and their maritime experience, they launched themselves at the coastal regions of the North Sea and the Atlantic, whose populations lacked these capacities. Control of the sea came under their sway, only having to retreat against Muslim navies on the Spanish coast and in the Mediterranean.
In the closing years of the eighth century, the Northmen appeared on the English coast of Northumberland. From then on, with short intervals, they ravaged the shores of Germania, the Netherlands, England and France, sometimes reaching as far as Spain and the Mediterranean coasts. But, although they had to retreat before the ships of Abd ar-Rahman II on these latter coasts, they were able to make profitable raids on the others because their safe retreat was always assured. In 845, they swept through Paris and, in 851, attacked Canterbury and London. ‘They were about the land plundering, robbing, killing and using the land as they pleased,’ writes the chronicler of the Annals of the monastery of Saint Bertin, whose pages reveal the obsession brought on by the repeated attacks.[6]
In 878, Alfred the Great won a victory over the Danes, who had undertaken the systematic conquest of the island twelve years earlier. An agreement sealed at Wedmore secured Alfred possession of the southeast of the island. ‘Then’, said the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, ‘the army gave him hostages, with many oaths that he would leave his kingdom; and they [the Danes] also told him that their king would receive baptism.’[7] The Northmen formed their vast domain on the other side of a line that followed the course of the Roman road from London to Chester: the Danelaw. This ushered in a brief period of peace on the island, which was, by contrast, a period of turmoil on the continent. The Northmen ranged up and down the coasts of Germania and Friesland, penetrated down the Scheldt and eventually embarked on a long siege of Paris. ‘The enemies were said to be more than thirty thousand, sturdy warriors almost to a man,’ says the chronicler of the Annals of Metz;[8] ‘mounted on seven hundred sailing ships and other smaller ones, so numerous they could not be counted,’ notes Abbo in his poem on the siege.[9] Paris resisted, but the army laid waste Burgundy and Champagne almost without interruption, except when the Northmen chose to turn their repeated attacks on England. Their withdrawal was always purchased at a high price, sometimes with money and sometimes by royal authorization to plunder certain regions. Neither the resistance of certain walled cities nor the occasional battlefield triumph, such as King Odo’s in 888, could hold them back.
In England, King Alfred had devoted his energies to strengthening his kingdom and building himself a fleet. His descendants, between 900 and 955, successfully took on the Danes, whom King Aethelstan defeated in 937 at the Battle of Brunanburh; twenty years later, all of central and northern England was in the hands of the Anglo-Saxons. But the Northmen had already established a permanent foothold in the continent. Defeated at Chartres, Rollo obtained from King Charles the Simple the cession of Upper Normandy by virtue of a political outlook akin to Alfred the Great’s. But this time, the occupation was permanent, and the new seigneurie became a gateway to the Nordic world: in the days of Duke Richard II, Olaf of Norway, later king and the mainspring behind the Christianisation of his kingdom, travelled there and converted to Christianity.
While the Anglo-Saxons were driving out the Danes from England, the king of Germania, Henry I, was attempting to bring Denmark under his power or influence. The Danes were defeated in 934,[10] subjected to tribute and some of their leaders converted to Christianity, after which an intense effort of evangelisation was undertaken from the archbishopric of Hamburg. But Denmark still had many reserves left to assert its own personality and not only began to shake off Germanic influence but, in 980, embarked upon a new phase of expansion towards England.
What genuinely started up in 986, with the reign of Sveinn Tjúguskegg, was a new policy of Denmark’s to establish a vast maritime empire, autonomous but connected to the Romano-Germanic area. At the centre of this connection sat England, and the sporadic attacks that began in 980 were redoubled after 986. Shortly after, in 991, the Anglo-Saxons were defeated at the Battle of Maldon, the melancholic memory of which was preserved in the old ballad,[11] and, in 994, King Sveinn of Denmark himself, accompanied by Olaf Tryggvason of Norway, landed in England. Their plans, however, were to be interrupted. Perhaps compelled by a Swedish invasion, Sveinn was forced to return to Denmark, while Olaf, having converted to Christianity, returned to Norway, where he was proclaimed king in 995. Sveinn then embarked on the conquest of Norway, which was completed in the year 1000, following the defeat and death of Olaf at Helsingborg. The Danish kingdom now dominated in the Baltic, and its king could return to his designs on England. The massacre of Danes ordered by King Aethelred of England in 1002 provided the occasion, and Sveinn set his sights on the English coast. ‘Before commencing operations, he abandoned his army,’ recounts William of Jumièges,[12] ‘and went to Rouen to solicit peace from Duke Richard [of Normandy]. The duke received him in the royal manner, kept him close by him for some days and, while the king and his knights rested from the hardships of the sea voyage, the two princes concluded a peace treaty on the condition that, in times to come, the peace between the Danish kings and the Norman dukes and their heirs should be upheld, and that, whatever the Danes seized from their enemies, they would bear to the Normans for them to purchase.’ Sveinn then returned to England and began the operations, which lasted more than ten years until, early in 1014, he took control of London.
This was how the Danish Empire was built, on the kingdom of Denmark’s solid core, on anarchy or the weakness of the other regions it encompassed. Above all, it was built on a vast naval force that had no equal in the northern and western seas. Their naval prowess afforded the Danes ample freedom of initiative and movement, security to their rear and opportunities for wealth. It was connected to the old Romano-Germanic area through England and the Duchy of Normandy, and though it possessed no solid inner unity, the general circumstances of the northern and western maritime areas were favourable to it. While contributing to inner unity, ecclesiastical organisation strengthened its connections to the Romano-Germanic area, which trade would gradually consolidate. By the time the Danish Empire brought its short-lived political existence to an end, the unity of the Baltic’s economic area was well-established, as was its independence from the Romano-Germanic area.
Sveinn died soon after the occupation of England was complete, but, following a series of varying fortunes, the Danish Empire was rebuilt under Cnut, King of England in 1014, Denmark in 1018 and Norway – lost for some years – in 1030, after the defeat of Olaf the Holy. While the kingdoms it encompassed kept their traditional forms of organisation, Cnut pursued a common policy towards them all in order to bring them into the fold of the Romano-Germanic area: this was the design steering his active concern to develop Christianity in the Baltic states and their closer contact with the old world, symbolised by his pilgrimage to Rome in 1027, where he was present when Pope John XIX crowned Conrad II emperor. Cnut added an entire politico-economic dimension to the Romano-Germanic area, certainly not that compact when seen from within, but unitarian when viewed from the broader perspective and in the light of the harsh experiences of invasions. The court at Winchester, where he preferred to live, brought together people from all the Baltic countries, with the addition of Norman French court. The age of expeditions of plunder was, then, followed by a stage of closer contact and exchange; the sphere of the Northmen in the northwest had become a less threatening power but one that could not be ignored, so the former Romano-Germanic area accepted closer contact. Very soon after Cnut’s death, the Cluniac monk Raoul Glaber pointed out that Cnut had, at Duke Richard of Normandy’s urging, begun to take a more peaceful stance. ‘From that time on,’ he added, ‘the dukes of Rouen were seen calling many armies to their aid from the islands of the Ocean whenever they were in need of waging a war. Thanks to this alliance, the Northmen were able to enjoy a long, secure period of peace and to make their power feared by most foreign nations without fearing the power of others. And this should not surprise us, for, keeping at bay the discord that is an enemy to all things good out of fear of the Lord, they had earned the reward that Christ, always heralded by peace, should come to establish his divine power among them.’[13] The chronicler very shrewdly noted mid-way through the eleventh century that, on the western and northern seaboards, the age of pillaging had come to an end; in defence and counter-attack, the Romano-Germanic area had been extended towards the northern and western peripheries, bringing a vast, rich region under its sway.
Cnut’s empire dissolved upon his death, only to regroup later. After Norway and Denmark separated, they were reunited in 1042 under the authority of King Magnus I of Norway. Newly independent under the reign of Edward the Confessor, England was joined with the duchy of Normandy after its conquest by William the Bastard in 1066. Yet despite the political twists and turns, the northern maritime area strengthened its internal bonds; they would be bolstered by growing commercial activity, providing the economy of the Christian West with a new pole of attraction in opposition to the Mediterranean pole. Close connections between the two were very soon established.
With the Norman and Romano-Germanic areas by now integrated on the maritime coasts of the north and west in the first half of the eleventh century, the internal tendencies to emigration driven by the land regime had to be steered in another direction. Political relations between the countries of the two areas had gradually regularised themselves, and it was no longer permissible for the Northmen to consider the English or French coasts as no-man’s land. There was, however, still a tendency towards emigration, though to a far lesser extent. Guillaume de Jumièges, a contemporary of William the Bastard, documented this tradition around the origin of the Northmen’s emigration to Italy: ‘A young knight of his household, called Robert Bigot, addressed him [the Count of Mortain] one day, saying, “My Lord, I am beset by poverty and in this land [Normandy] I cannot earn what I need to live. I shall therefore depart for Apulia to live there more honourably.” William [of Mortain], in answer, asked, “Who has put this idea into your head?” “The poverty I suffer,” Robert replied.’[14] True or not, the anecdote which the Jumièges chronicler sets in his time corresponds to the state of mind that resulted in the emigration early in the century of the ‘brave, young Norman and Breton knights [who] at various times went to Italy.’[15] At the behest of the Lombard lords of Campania, the Normans arrived in small bands who put themselves at the service of the different forces operating in the region: Lombard princes, independent republics and Byzantines engaged in a struggle against the Muslims. In 1029, Duke Sergius IV of Naples gave the seigneurie of Aversa to the strongest of these band leaders, Rainulf. The new state became a magnet for increasingly Norman adventurers, whose growing numbers soon made them one of the principal factors of power in southern Italy.
Muslim power in the western Mediterranean had begun to waver by that time. The Caliphate of Cairo gradually began to feel the impacts of the internal conflicts that were eroding the Fatimid regime, and its weakness was becoming evident in the Maghreb, where two dynasties – the Zirids and the Hammadids – formalised their autonomy in 1017. Not long before, Pisans and Genoese had begun to undertake ambitious maritime enterprises and, in 1016, had managed to defeat the Mugahid fleet and occupy the island of Sardinia; they later dared to approach the African coast and, by the mid-eleventh century, were successfully taking on Muslim ships off the Sicilian coasts.
The Muslims were also beginning to lose ground in Sicily, from where they guarded the passage to the eastern Mediterranean. In 1038, George Maniakes’s Byzantine fleet launched a formal attack which brought him the conquest of Syracuse two years later; but metropolitan conflicts took him back to Byzantium, and the Byzantine Empire lost its last opportunity. By that time, the Normans, who were pouring relentlessly into Apulia and Calabria, became embroiled in the confused struggles that were rocking the region: sometimes with Byzantines against Muslims, but more often than not on the side of the Lombards against the Byzantines. ‘The Lombards,’ relates Guillaume de Jumièges,[16] ‘once they regained their safety, began to despise the Normans and attempted to withdraw the salary they were paying them. When the Normans grasped their intentions, they chose one of their number whom they recognised as chief and turned their arms on the Lombards. They seized control of the fortresses forthwith and vigorously subdued the country inhabitants.’ The conquest accelerated with the arrival of Robert Guiscard in 1048 and of his brother Roger later on. Campaign after campaign, all the south of the peninsula fell into the hands of the new seigneurs, whose authority rested solely on the effectiveness of their action. The difficult circumstances facing the papacy when Nicholas II rose to the pontificate allowed Robert Guiscard to legitimise his power, the two men having enemies in common. At the Concordat of Melfi in 1059, Robert swore loyalty to the Papacy, which, for its part, recognised his conquests and awarded him the title of Duke of Apolia, Calabria and Sicily, while awarding the county of Capua to Richard of Aversa.
The opportunities for action now open to the Normans were directed towards the Muslim states or the Byzantine Empire. They quickly seized Taranto, Brindisi and Reggio from Byzantium, but in order to undertake actions of even greater magnitude against it, the possession of Sicily was required, and Roger and Robert Guiscard began operations against it. In 1061, they took Messina, but Guiscard had to return to the peninsula to defend his authority; the operations on the island were continued by Roger, who fomented internal conflicts there to weaken the Muslims. A similar situation had occurred thirty years earlier on the Iberian peninsula, where civil strife had, in 1031, ended by overturning the caliphal authority of Córdoba, which had replaced the emirs of the various kingdoms called Taifas. The warring factions began to seek the help of the Christian kingdoms, just as the emir of Syracuse had called on Roger for aid. And while the Pisan and Genovese craft dared to challenge the Muslims off the coasts of the Maghreb or Sicily, the Christians of the Iberian peninsula and the south of the Italic peninsula began to apply more pressure on the wavering Muslims.
Around the time the Normans were taking Messina, the king of Castile, Ferdinand I, was beginning to harry his neighbouring kingdoms: Zaragoza, Toledo and Seville had to submit to him and pay him tribute while watching their borders shrink back towards the River Mondego. In the northeast, the great crusade convened by Pope Alexander II to aid the king of Aragon, Sancho Ramírez, succeeded in capturing Barbastro in 1064. In Sicily, however, the Normans were making slow progress as a result of the attention required by the latest operations against the Byzantines on the peninsula. But, after the taking of Bari in 1071, they concentrated their forces on the island and succeeded in taking Catania and shortly after, in 1072, Palermo. The operations were interrupted by conflicts that flared up among the Normans and with Gregory VII, but the situation eased around 1080, when Robert Guiscard signed the Treaty of Ceprano with the Pope, for which he was recognised – after being excommunicated – for the latest conquests he had made. However, Roger, the Count of Sicily, had to face the difficult situation with scant forces as a result of the attention Robert Guiscard paid in around 1080 to his conflicts with his vassals and the pope and, after 1080, to the war with the Byzantines. The Duke of Apulia’s death in 1085 would alter the overall situation.
‘In the year four hundred and seventy-eight [of the Hegira: 1085–86],’ wrote the Arab historian Ibn al-Athir a century later, ‘the domination of the Franks started to emerge (in the East) as they acquired power, raided Muslim countries and came to dominate some of them. The Franks occupied the city of Toledo and others in Spain which we have already mentioned. They then attacked the island of Sicily in the year four hundred and eighty-four [of the Hegira] and conquered it as we have also related. They then began to make their way into the fringes of Africa, where they took somewhere that was later recovered. Shortly after this, they seized other places, as we shall see. When the year four hundred and ninety [of the Hegira: 1096-97] came, they made for Syria’[17] After the fall of Toledo the Muslims realised the scale of the onslaught. The Almoravids of the Maghreb reacted promptly and defeated the conqueror of Toledo, Alfonso VI, at Zalaca in 1086. The line of the Tagus, however, was kept as a boundary between Christians and Muslims. The following year, in 1087, a new French crusade organised by Pope Urban II went to Aragon; its efforts proved futile, and another crusade was launched two years later, with the help of which the Aragonese took Monzón, Napal and Balaguer. The Almoravids, for their part, set about conquering the Taifa kingdoms and reunified almost the whole of Al-Andalus by incorporating it into the empire of the Maghreb; and although El Cid conquered Valencia in 1094 and King Pedro I of Aragon took Huesca, the Africans succeeded in taking the Spanish Levant and maintaining their dominion over Al-Andalus until the middle of the twelfth century.
Muslim power in the West was nevertheless in severe decline. Genovese and Pisan ships were successfully landing on the African coast, and in Sicily, Count Roger, who had taken Syracuse in 1085, took advantage of the discord breaking out amongst the emirs to occupy the last strongholds in 1092. ‘This year,’ wrote Ibn al-Athir, ‘the Franks – may God curse them – occupied the entire island of Sicily. May the will of God Supreme return it to Islam and the Muslims.’[18]
From this base of operations, the Normans were quick to establish active trade relations with the traditional markets of Sicily, and despite any religious differences and tensions created by war, an active flow of trade with the Maghreb was established. So important was this traffic that the Arab historian Ibn al-Athir believed he could justify Roger’s attitude towards the Normans when they planned the conquest of Africa. This he relates in a curious passage in his Al-Kamil fit-Tarikh: ‘When the year 490 [of the Hegira: 1096–97] came, they [the Franks] made for Syria because of their king, Bardwil [Bohemond], a kinsman of Roger the Frank who had conquered Sicily, having mustered a very great force of Franks, sent an embassy to Roger to this effect: “I have mustered great forces and am come to encounter you to cross from your land to Africa, which I shall conquer and so become your neighbour.” Roger then gathered his men to consult them about this decision, and they said, “As sure as the Gospel, it will be great good fortune for us and for them, and all these lands shall become Christian lands.”’ But Roger countered this with a more realistic reasoning: ‘Were they [these other Franks] to reach here, a thousand troubles would befall me; I should be forced to provide ships to convey them to Africa and also to send armies of my own. Now, supposing that they conquer the land and make themselves masters of it, the trade in victuals would pass from the Sicilians’ hands into theirs, and I should lose what is my yearly due on the price of grain to their benefit. If, on the other hand, they do not succeed in their attempt, they will return to my land, and I shall have conflict because of them, for Tamin [the Zirite prince of Africa] will say to me, “You have betrayed me, you have violated our pact,” and friendship and trade between us and Africa will cease. No, it is better for us to keep this advantage until we feel strong enough to take Africa [for ourselves]. Then, summoning Bardwil’s ambassador before him, he said: “Since you propose to wage holy war against the Muslims, the noblest enterprise is the conquest of Jerusalem, which you may liberate from the hands of the Muslims and obtain greater glory therefrom. Regarding Africa [I have] sworn faith and stipulated covenants with that people.” So the Franks made ready for the Syrian enterprise.’[19]
Whether or not the account is true, the fact remains that the establishment of relations of peace and trade with Africa followed hard on the heels of the conquest and a long survived, albeit with alternate spells of war and peace.
Such was the general climate in the Mediterranean. The power struggles had begun to reach a balance, and the mutual benefits of trade were evident. By the eleventh century, an unsteady rapprochement was under way on the Iberian Peninsula between the Christian kingdoms and the Taifas. This was because the Christian counter-offensive succeeded in balancing Muslim power and establishing an interim regime between war and peace that left open opportunities for commercial exchange. And when the Taifas were annexed to the Maghrebi Empire of the Almoravids, the rapprochement between the Christians and Muslims of Al-Andalus intensified.
A similar situation would develop in the eastern Mediterranean, particularly after the Norman conquest of Sicily, which was followed by the Christian onslaught against the Muslims of the Levant. During the second half of the eleventh century the situation of the traditional powers of the eastern Mediterranean was becoming increasingly difficult. During the rule of the Armenian-Macedonian dynasties and the Doukas, the Byzantine Empire found itself embroiled in long, violent civil conflicts. From these, they emerged weakened and diminished, particularly as a result of the Normans’ action in the south of Italy (after the departure of George Maniakes) and the Petchenegs and Seljuk Turks. The latter, having defeated Emperor Romanos IV at the Battle of Manzikert, gained control of Asia Minor. The progress of the Seljuks had rocked the Caliphate of Baghdad, whose former authority began to wane. And the Caliphate of Cairo, which had seen the whole of West Africa drift from its sway, was mired in the dangers it had been dragged into by the crisis in the Fatimid Dynasty. Within this area, the Venetians had, since the end of the tenth century, been securing significant footholds in Byzantium to develop trade and, by the start of the eleventh, had gained control of the Adriatic and more advantageous terms for trade with Aleppo, Alexandria, Cairo and certain western ports, such as Palermo and Kairouan. As trade from the Po Valley and Germany was increasingly flowing through Venice, there was considerable activity along these routes. But once the Normans began to predominate in the south of Italy and Sicily, the situation began to change.
The prospect of conquering the Byzantine Empire proved attractive to Robert Guiscard, whose plans for a marital alliance with Emperor Michael VII had failed in 1078, when Michael was ousted by Nicephorus and saw his daughter confined to a convent. With the consent of Pope Gregory VII, who was seeing an opportunity to recover the Church of Constantinople for the authority of Rome, separated from it in 1054, Robert Guiscard launched a campaign against the Byzantine Empire in 1081, landing at Avlon, which had recently been taken by his son Bohemond. It was a direct attack not only on Byzantium but on Venice, altering its maritime predominance in the Adriatic. The Venetian fleet consequently engaged the Normans and succeeded in defeating them. The Normans, however, seized Corfu and Durazzo, and Bohemond’s forces made substantial inroads, capturing many cities before being halted by Alexios I Komnenos at the Battle of Larissa in 1083. The following year, Robert Guiscard relaunched the campaign: ‘he was indomitable,’ wrote Anna Komnene, ‘and he imagined that everything was at his mercy from the outset.’[20] Despite the intervention of the Venetian fleet, he achieved some successes, but the campaign was halted by his death in 1085.
The crusade organised by Urban II in 1095 against the infidels was for the Normans an opportunity to revive their plans. The Pope’s call was answered not only by the people of Provence but also large contingents of knights from the north. With all these men, apparently united by the ideals of recovering the Holy Sepulchre, but separated by interests and ambitions, the most ambitious military operation hitherto undertaken by the lords of the Christian kingdoms was launched.
Contrary to the expectations of Emperor Alexis, the crusaders’ secret design was not to return to Byzantium the territories wrested from it by the Turks, but to create new autonomous seigneuries. This was, indeed, the political and economic consequence of the expedition, attained at the expense of both the Byzantine Empire and the Muslims. ‘It would be too long and beyond my feeble ability,’ wrote Jacques de Vitry a century later ‘to recount in detail the might and splendour, the elegance and valour displayed by the king [Baldwin] and the other knights of Christ, who, like new Maccabees, devoted their arms to the Lord and worked to increase His kingdom and push back the frontiers of the Christian countries, fighting enemies and seizing cities and other fortified outposts. All the Church of the Saints shall tell of their struggles and their triumphs until the end of days. Amidst this array of deeds, I shall say in few words and general, with the aid of God’s power, that they subjugated to the Church of Christ four fair principalities too long held by the perfidious race of the heathens.’[21] This was certainly the immediate, fundamental outcome of the Crusade. Edessa, Antioch, Tripoli and Jerusalem became other Christian seigneuries which, though short-lived, exerted a crucial influence not only over the life of the region in which they were enclaved but throughout the area of the Mediterranean, fostering heightened relations with the Romano-Germanic area within their ambit.
The politico-economic relations then established mobilised certain forces and created new ties that would last through the various vicissitudes of the conflict between Christians and Muslims. With the exception of Edessa, the other Christians seigneuries became maritime emporia that immediately drew in people from the western countries. With the aid of Pisans, Genoese, Normans, English, Venetians and others who came in order not to miss out on the new prospects opening up in the Levant, the crusaders, especially after the reign of King Baldwin I of Jerusalem, conquered the Syrian ports and opened up avenues of extremely promising trade: ‘When the city of Jaffa had been rebuilt and encircled with ramparts, Christian merchants flocked to its harbour from all realms and all islands,’ noted Albert of Aix.[22] They were mainly merchants and adventurers, ‘Pisans, Genoese, Venetians, Amalfitans and others too who go like bandits to attack and despoil all those who are on the sea,’[23] or Norwegians such as those led to Sidon by the king of Norway, ‘who had set out from his kingdom with great pomp and an army of ten thousand men-of-war aboard forty ships laden with arms, who had traversed the vast seas for two years.’[24] The arrival of the various expeditionary groups followed close on the crusaders, and their participation in military operations alternated with mercantile activity: ‘Before moving on to other matters,’ recounts Raymond of Aguiliers, the chaplain of Count Raymond of Toulouse, ‘I must not pass over those who, full of zeal for our most holy expedition, feared not to sail across the vast unknown spaces of the Mediterranean Sea and the Ocean. The English, informed of the enterprise to avenge our Lord Jesus Christ on those who had unworthily seized the native land of the Lord and his apostles, entered the sea of England, rounded Spain after having crossed the Ocean, and plying the Mediterranean Sea, arrived with great effort at the port of Antioch and the city of Laodicea before our army had reached it overland. The ships of these Englishmen and those of the Genoese proved then infinitely useful to us. Thanks to them, we had the means to conduct the siege operations and to trade with the island of Cyprus and the other islands.’[25] But from the very moment the coastal cities were subjected, mercantile activity was regularised on the commitments the new seigneurs had entered into with their maritime allies. In 1101, Baldwin I negotiated a treaty with the Genoese whereby ‘if, during the time that, for love of God, they [the Genoese] remained in the Holy Land, they succeeded, with the aid and will of the Most High, in taking any city from the Saracens in accord with the king, the Genoese navigators would have for themselves in common a third of the money taken from the enemy without being caused the least injustice in this respect; the first and second thirds would belong to the king; and, furthermore, they would possess, ad aeternum and as transferable inheritance, a borough of the city taken.’[26] And when the alliance for the conquest of Saint John of Acre was negotiated in 1104, the terms were repeated with certain additions: ‘The Genoese replied [to the negotiators sent by King Baldwin]: “that they were willing to engage in the siege of Ptolemais [Acre] with great zeal on condition they were granted a third of all revenues and duties collected at the entrance to the port in perpetuity; and that they should be given a church in the city, and a street in which they would exercise full and unlimited jurisdiction.’ These conditions, having been accepted by the king and his principal officers, and confirmed by faith of oaths, a written treaty was drawn up to ensure their memory in perpetuity.’[27] More conclusive was the compensation they received from Bertrand, the son of Raymond of Toulouse, after the taking of Tripoli in 1109, when he delivered the entire city of Gibelet, ancient Byblos, to the Genoese, which then became a Genoese colony.[28] From the year 1100, when Duke Godfrey struck a political and commercial peace with the emirs of the coastal cities, maritime trade had been strictly excluded from the pact: ‘But the duke barred all the gentiles from trading and from going to sea. To enforce this, he stationed and dispersed secret warders and watchmen over the sea so that the gentiles could bring nothing into his cities by that route, lest, being abundantly supplied with wealth and confident in their strength, they might in their pride begin to rebel and resist, notwithstanding the treaties they had signed with the duke. All those arriving by sea from Alexandria, Damietta or Africa were consequently taken prisoner or condemned to death by the duke’s knights, who also seized all their wealth. The Saracens, for their part, were not at peace with the Christians on the sea; the treaties they had negotiated between the two parties pertained solely to the land.’[29] The possibility of receiving foreign merchandise and of exporting to western markets lay completely in the hands of the Christian sailors, a situation that would steadily be consolidated over time.
This measure concerning maritime trade complemented another relating to land trade. No sooner had the authority of the crusaders been consolidated in Jerusalem and, particularly, in the newly built Jaffa, than Duke Godfrey laid the foundations for an economic policy to supply the expeditionaries and open up internal trade for merchants arriving on the coasts of Syria who could concentrate the products meant for distribution in Western markets. ‘In these circumstances,’ said Albert of Aix, ‘the gentiles could devise no better course than to speed a deputation from the cities of Ashkelon, Caesarea and Ptolemais to Duke Godfrey to offer greetings from those cities’ emirs. This deputation promptly set off to deliver a message to the duke and his chief followers in Jerusalem. It was couched in the following terms: “The emir of Ashkelon, the emir of Caesarea and the emir of Ptolemais to Duke Godfrey and to all, greetings. We humbly beseech you, most glorious and magnificent duke, that through your grace and permission, our citizens may leave to go about their business in peace and safety. We bring you ten fine horses and three fair mules; and each month, we shall, by way of tribute, furnish you with five thousand bezants.” By this treaty, peace was concluded and solidly established, and new bonds of friendship were formed daily, chiefly between the duke and the emir of the city of Ashkelon; the duke received a great number of gifts of wheat, wine, barley and oil, more than could be told or remembered. Caesarea and Acre also sent him gifts of gold and silver, and they too had peace and security. All lands and countries of the gentiles bowed before the fear inspired by that most Christian duke. As his glorious renown reached the princes of Arabia, they too negotiated with him to agree terms of peace and safety on condition that their merchants should enter Jerusalem and Jaffa unmolested bearing all the necessaries of life to exchange with Christians without hindrance. So it was done, indeed, and oxen, rams, horses, garments and sundries were soon seen pouring into Jaffa and Jerusalem; the gentiles exchanged all their wares with the Christians at fair prices, the people experienced great joy.’[30] This exchange went beyond the bounds of internal trade and fuelled the activity of the merchants arriving in Syrian ports from the West. On their return, they began to circulate eastern goods throughout the Romano-Germanic area and actively breathe life into internal mercantile traffic.
The Romano-Germanic area’s process of expansion towards the periphery thus became more noticeable in the eleventh century. Little more than a century of onslaughts and counter-attacks sufficed to contain the peoples converging on it and to dominate and incorporate them into its network. Political, economic and cultural ties linked the new peripheral regions to the Romano-Germanic area. From then on, communication became increasingly intense and frequent, whatever the vicissitudes of reciprocal relations, which alternated between peace and war. But the Romano-Germanic area, which now became the inner core of a vaster ambit, operated as an irradiating hub from which the flows of trade with the peripheral areas flowed outward and to which they returned. This movement dramatically expanded its horizons, and the scale of the exchange grew fast and forcefully. Its boundaries shifted outwards, creating new borderlands in which new phenomena of expansion and détente could develop, and its prospects and possibilities for development multiplied, invigorated by a powerful centrifugal force.
Unlike what had happened before this, the Romano-Germanic area now possessed not just one aspect but two, and this bipolarity, consolidated after the process of expansion towards the periphery, was to alter the internal equilibrium of the new ambit that was integrating. Only through protracted conflicts would a principle of politico-economic ordering be established in the two areas where the new Europe’s activity would play out from the eleventh century onwards: the Atlantic area and its dependent seas, and the Mediterranean area.
II. THE POLITICO-ECONOMIC ORDERING OF THE ATLANTIC AREA
No power in the feudal-bourgeois period emerged strong enough to achieve hegemony in the Atlantic area. The Scandinavians’ incomparable naval superiority allowed them to exert temporary economic and political dominance over certain regions; but they had neither the organisation nor the military capability to extend and perpetuate it over the vast area which they had done so much to integrate and which was ordered by reciprocal exchange and communication. The Atlantic area gradually became more economically unified and would later achieve a sturdy ordering through the merchants and cities of the Germanic Hanse. But, while these ties were strengthening, all that was capable of forming were regional power or economic units that were shifting and unstable. As well as local traffic, the Baltic region formed a hub for traffic flowing through the east to the Russian coasts and from there to the Black Sea, and through the southwest to England, the German and Flemish cities and Normandy. But, the hegemony of the Baltic Sea itself was bitterly disputed, while political ties with England and French Normandy were weakened. All that survived was an economic connection. But the political circumstances helped to forge other local economic ties in the North Sea, which became increasingly important without, however, threatening to disrupt the vast network that the Scandinavians had woven along the extensive Atlantic seaboard. By the start of the twelfth century, the network stretched all the way from the Norwegian coasts and the Baltic Sea to the strait of Gibraltar.
The daring and skill of the Scandinavians opened up new pathways or linked regional routes to draw a map of nautical and economic possibilities. In 1108, King Sigurd sailed from Norway to Palestine with a fleet of sixty ships, charting a course via England, Normandy, Galicia and Portugal before crossing the Strait of Gibraltar;[31] and in 1150, Erling Skakke and Jarl Ragnvald repeated the journey,[32] all the while keeping tight control on trade with England despite the dissolution of the political ties that had bound it to Denmark. The Norman Dynasty meanwhile jealously guarded the merchants’ safety.[33]
The Norman Dynasty also developed economic relations between England and France, which further intensified during the Angevin Dynasty period. Thanks to these relations, Rouen, according to Ordrico Vital midway through the twelfth century, emerged as a city ‘most populous and rich in trade of many different kinds; it is most pleasant for the influx of vessels gathering at the port […]; a great abundance of fruits, fish and all manner of produce further increases its opulence.’[34] The Flemish cities and, most notably, Cologne, developed intense traffic with England, promoted particularly by Henry II.[35] And this activity, which would deepen with the regularisation of English wool exports to Flanders, would demarcate a local economic area of growing importance.
This traffic adversely affected Scandinavian trade. And it was not the only factor to weaken it. Slavic groups – the Wends and, most notably, the Pomeranians – turned with no little success to piracy in the Baltic Sea, posing a serious threat to their traffic and cities[36] before being subjected by Cnut VI in 1182. By then, the Swedes’ commercial activity in the Crimea had been interrupted with the decline of Kiev, the opulent capital of a powerful principality – whose forty churches and eight markets had amazed Thietmar at the start of the eleventh century[37] – later harassed by the Polovtsians and cut off from the Baltic. Novgorod had inherited Kiev’s economic hegemony, but its development coincided with the rise of the German cities, especially after the crisis at the end of the eleventh century during which the Bohemians, Hungarians and Slavs attempted to cast off the authority that the emperors had, not long before, gone to such lengths to establish. This rise of the German cities undermined the Danish commercial hegemony and eventually overturned it altogether.
The intensification of the German expansion eastwards occurred at the start of the twelfth century in the time of Emperor Henry V. It owed less, however, to the emperor’s own power than to the endeavours of the Duke of Saxony, Lothair of Supplinburg, who held that domain from 1106 and attained to the dignity of emperor in 1125: Lothair’s efforts received steadfast support from the Church. From Magdeburg, which would become the centre of this eastwards expansion, there then began a major push against the regions beyond the Elbe occupied by the Slavs. This was motivated by various causes: the inherent expansive tendencies of frontier regions; the need to secure the border of the Elbe; the opportunity to enhance the seigneurs’ power in the frontier regions; and, above all, the attraction that wealthy lands containing sparsely populated, poorly developed towns held for the Germanic populations, which were experiencing sharp demographic growth in the late eleventh century. To these causes may be added the Church’s mission to evangelise the non-Christian Slavs.
In 1110, Lothair, Duke of Saxony, granted Adolph of Schauenberg the county of Holstein and, in 1134, conferred the Northern March on Albert Ballenstadt, also called Albert the Bear. From these two hubs of action – with twists and turns dictated by internal conflicts – an intense campaign was waged in the regions under Danish or Slavic influence. In 1136, Albert the Bear succeeded in recapturing the city of Havelberg and, in 1150, the city of Brandenburg, restoring the boundaries established by Otto I. In 1142, Henry the Lion, Duke of Saxony, supported Adolph II of Holstein, who had succeeded his father in 1131, and the vigorous Germanic thrust led to the foundation of Lübeck in 1143. This considerably extended the frontier and offered German settlers new opportunities for expansion. ‘Have you not subdued the land of the Slavs?’ said the emissaries of Adolph Holstein to the peasants of Friesland, Utrecht and Westphalia, ‘Have you not paid for it with the deaths of your fathers and brothers? Why should you be the last to take possession? Be the first and set forth for a land so desirable, settle there and enjoy its delights.’[38] Albert the Bear echoed this call to the settlers after driving out or destroying the Slavic populations, ‘and many courageous peoples arrived from the shores of the Ocean,’ relates the chronicler Helmold, ‘occupied the land of the Slavs, built cities and churches and increased their wealth beyond all expectation.’[39]
With the accession of Frederick I to power, the policy of eastward expansion became even more resolute. For all his concerns about the problems of Italy, Barbarossa saw the importance for the Empire of occupying the lands between the Elbe and the Oder and dealt with the problem decisively. He installed Wichmann as Archbishop of Magdeburg[40] and encouraged the efforts of the Duke of Saxony, Henry the Lion. To Henry, he made repairs in 1153 by granting him the Duchy of Bavaria, which had been taken from his family, and in 1154 the right to invest the Bishops of Mecklenburg, Ratzeburg and Oldenburg, as well as the new bishops created across the Elbe.[41]
Bold by temperament and possessed of authority, Henry the Lion used every resource to Germanise the region between the Elbe and the Oder. In 1158, he persuaded his vassal Adolph II of Holstein to cede the city of Lübeck to him and turned it not only into a centre for new ventures of settlement but also a hub of international trade that would very soon attain pre-eminence over all others. Both the trade from Novgorod and the Baltic flowed into Lübeck, whose merchants also began to control commercial activity in the Atlantic, especially after Henry the Lion’s marriage to Henry II of England’s daughter, in 1162, which strengthened the ties between the two regions. Meanwhile, Henry the Lion waged military campaigns on the Slav peoples – Obotrites and Wagrians – whose resistance forced an uninterrupted struggle. But in 1167, Henry the Lion shifted tactics and reached an agreement with Pribislav, prince of the Wagrians, to whom he granted Mecklenburg in fief. Already a Christian, Pribislav founded monasteries and towns – including Rostock – and disseminated Germanic settlement from them: not long after this, Stettin, at the mouth of the Oder, had become a distinctly Germanic town.
When Henry the Lion was defeated by Frederick I in 1181, the Duke of Saxony’s work was threatened; yet, while these regions’ dependency on the Empire was weakened, settlement – which had altered the ethnic physiognomy – and catechesis – which had been imposed Christianity and had secured the influence of the clergy – forced the incorporation of the area between the Elbe and Oder into the Romano-Germanic area. Strictly speaking, the incorporation of these counties had not been the work of the Empire itself but of the seigneurs and the Church – and more the former than the latter – due to the Slavic peoples’ bellicose nature. The need to guard the borders had given rise to a defensive policy, but the German seigneurs gradually went on the offensive, spurred by the incentive of power and wealth. ‘In the expeditions he [Henry the Lion] made to Slavia from his young days,’ remarks the chronicler Helmold, ‘there was never the intention to Christianise; it was always a matter of money.’[42] To consolidate their conquests the seigneurs thought they needed to exterminate the Slavic population, and Helmold notes that ‘little by little the Slavs disappeared from the land’;[43] then, says the same chronicler, ‘the Germans flocked there from their own country to inhabit a spacious land, rich in wheat and abundant in pasture, fish, meat and other goods.’[44] There was, then, a profound socio-economic transformation in the region, and its annexation to the Romano-Germanic area was ensured by bonds deeper than could be created by conquest and political dependency.
Nonetheless, the Empire’s authority was strong enough during the twelfth century to ensure the permanence of the ties established by the marginal regions with the Romano-Germanic core. Hungary, Bohemia and Poland began actively to intervene in the general problems of the western world, not only through the Empire but through the ecclesiastical network. In effect, two kinds of politics – the Empire’s and the Papacy’s –clashed in the struggle for influence over the marginal regions. Political and economic circumstances also helped to strengthen the ties between the Byzantine and the Holy Empire, both united especially against their common enemies, the Papacy and Sicily, the latter established as a kingdom by Anacletus II in 1150.
The two empires were also connected by the natural outlet that southern German trade found over the Alpine passes through Venice. Northern trade, on the other hand, began to be controlled increasingly by the German cities, especially the large ports on the estuaries of the great rivers. Cologne was a hub not only for traffic along the Rhine – highly significant in its own right – but also for the major routes linking up with the west, through Maastricht to Valenciennes and Bruges, and the east, as far as Hamburg. Cologne was the hub of a thriving trade with England, especially London. Bremen and Hamburg, the destinations of internal traffic along the Wesser and the Elbe, also traded with England.
Stettin and especially Lübeck, which would become a vital hub of Atlantic trade, later joined in this traffic. Extremely important for its relations with England, Lübeck was foremost in this because it picked up the threads of Baltic trade to become the intermediary linking the Baltic and the North Sea areas. As early as the first half of the twelfth century, William of Malmesbury noted that the docks of London were ‘teeming with goods of merchants from all lands, especially Germany’.[45] This exchange intensified in the second half of the century with the flourishing of Lübeck. On this city converged the traffic of Novgorod (a hub of Russian trade after the Kiev crisis), of Gotland, Denmark, Sweden and Norway, and, as well as England, it began to control traffic westwards with the Flemish cities. These cities a major textile manufacturing industry which, in the second half of the twelfth century, saw high levels of growth and whose products were transported to the Baltic region by Flemish ships. Lübeck, however, appropriated this traffic and gradually transformed Bruges into one of its major ports of call.
The vast maritime network organised by Lübeck – and which gradually evolved into the Hansa – delivered a body blow to the economic hegemony of the Scandinavian countries, especially Denmark, where the impact of the German cities’ policy was most pronounced. The creator of a maritime empire in the eleventh century, Denmark had begun to decline and was, in the twelfth century, forced to admit the Germanic Empire’s supremacy. Emperor Lothair received tribute from the kingdom in 1135, and Frederick I intervened in the internal conflicts with such widely acknowledged right that Waldemar I sent an embassy to him ‘requiring he deign to send him the investiture of his kingdom and ratify the choice that had fallen to him.’[46] As a result, Frederick I took the credit for ‘having restored Denmark to the Roman world’.[47]
Denmark was, however, already closely bound to that world, and when the fall of Henry the Lion in 1181 relaxed the Empire’s authority in the Baltic area, Denmark was able to complete the process of recovery that had begun during the reign of Waldemar I. He had achieved the conquest of Rügen in 1168, and his son Cnut VI challenged the Empire on his accession to the throne in 1182 by bringing Pomerania under his sway after defeating the pirates who lived there and held back Danish trade. As the crisis of the Empire deepened, Denmark asserted its authority. The country was already aligned with the Western mentality, so much so that the chronicler Arnold of Lübeck could write the following words about the reign of Cnut VI: ‘The Danes have made so much progress in the study of letters because the nobles of the land send their children to Paris, not only to egg them towards the priesthood but to provide them with secular instruction. Hence they excel in their knowledge of the language of that land, not only in the arts but also in theology.’[48] This contact was symbolised in Philip Augustus of France’s marriage alliance with Cnut VI’s sister Ingeburge. But the influence of German customs and tastes also grew, spread by emigré settlers and accepted by the Danes as belong to a world which they wished to be part of. All this went hand in hand with Denmark’s greater political maturity.
When, in 1198, the German crisis became more acute with the quarrel between Philip of Swabia and Otto of Brunswick, Denmark intervened in the conflict seeking to advance its own interests. It supported Otto IV and sought its own field of operations in Holstein, where it defeated Count Adolph III in 1201. Two years later, Waldemar II entered Lübeck, recognised as king of the Danes and Slavs and succeeded in upholding his authority until the seigneurs of Holstein and Mecklenburg, led by Henry of Schwerin, reacted twenty years later. In 1223, Waldemar was captured, and the Danes were twice defeated: once at Lauenburg in 1225 and again at Bornhoved in 1227. Once more, the quarrel between Germans and Danes swung in favour of the former, in spite of the Empire’s progressive decline, through the efforts of the seigneurs of the borderlands and the Hanseatic cities.
Not long before, some of these seigneurs had founded the Order of the Sword under the leadership of the Bishop of Riga to combat the Prussians; but the endeavour made no progress until, in 1226, the Teutonic Order was entrusted with the mission to conquer Prussia. Two years later, the Order’s knights crossed the Vistula, founded Toruń and set about exterminating the Prussians and repopulating the region. East Prussia was gradually brought to heel over fifty years of hard struggle, while the Margraves of Brandenburg pursued a similar course in the region between the Elbe and the Oder; in 1231 they subdued the Spree Valley and, in 1253, reached the banks of the Oder, where they founded the city of Frankfurt, then continuing on their eastward march. The frontiers of the Romano-Germanic area thus advanced, threatened at the time not only by the populations long settled along their boundaries but by the Mongols, who had reached Hungary by 1226 and then advanced towards Poland and Silesia. The victory they won in 1241 at Liegnitz over the Silesian knights under the command of Duke Henry the Pious seemed to imperil the Christian world, but the Mongols withdrew, and the German seigneurs succeeded in securing their eastern border.
The political crisis following the death of Frederick II did not, then, compromise the eastward expansion of the Romano-Germanic area. It was continued and intensified by certain social forces that disengaged themselves from the internal power struggles; some of these forces – such as the seigneurial groups who conquered and settled Prussia – possessed a clearly defined position in traditional society. But it was also resolutely adopted by other social groups with less clearly defined physiognomies developing especially within a lively exchange economy and vibrant urban life. Indeed, the German bourgeoisie found itself facing de facto conditions during the crisis of the inter-regnum that stimulated and favoured the development of its social and economic power, and quickly seized the opportunity to extend its activities and take control first of economic activity and later, circumstances permitting, of urban policy. Availing itself of these new opportunities, the bourgeoisie promptly organised an economic network that extended its influence far beyond the Empire’s political boundaries to unite virtually the entire Atlantic area.
As early as 1230, Lübeck and Hamburg formalised their relationship in order to protect navigation and unify their economic efforts. Slowly but surely, they were joined by many cities of the Baltic, North Sea and Atlantic Ocean in a partnership that would come to form the Germanic Hansa. The northern German cities thus secured a decisive role in the Baltic and Scandinavian cities’ trade relations with the Romano-Germanic cities.
As the organisation grew stronger, they were joined by the cities that had come together in the League of the Rhine in 1254 in response to the Empire’s internal conflicts.
By the close of the thirteenth century, then, an order of a kind was beginning to take shape in the Atlantic area. It was not an order based on any of the kingdoms’ political supremacy, as none had the means to impose it; instead, it was founded on the coordinated efforts of the local bourgeoisies. In some cases, such as Flanders, the bourgeoisie had to deal with the seigneurs and had to go about its activities amidst the difficulties posed by the diversity of interests around it, capable of stirring up conflicts as serious as those between the Capetians and the Plantagenets. In other cases, such as England, France or the Scandinavian kingdoms, the bourgeoisie saw alternating support and hostility towards the Crown or the seigneurs. And in other cases, such as the Empire, the bourgeoisie grew painfully slowly until it found in a crisis of central power a situation that favoured the free development of its potential. Yet, despite the political conflicts, the economic order of the Atlantic area ensured close connections between remote regions and accelerated the development of new social and cultural situations.
III. THE POLITICO-ECONOMIC ORDERING OF THE MEDITERRANEAN AREA
It was also the bourgeoisie in the cities that attempted to impose an order on the economic development of the Mediterranean area, but its efforts, though tenacious and costly, met with only partial success. The maritime cities undoubtedly had a precise idea of the opportunities offered by Mediterranean trade and of the political and military implications of attempting to exploit them. Yet their forces were tightly limited, sometimes as independent urban republics possessing limited resources, sometimes because they belonged to territorial states whose general policy could not be established by urban minorities acting alone but needed the approval of the aristocratic and landed classes. Moreover, each city’s or state’s expansionist programme clashed with that of any rival power aspiring – with almost equal naval potential – to the same markets and the same area of influence. The result was a constant struggle between all the maritime powers and a succession of shifting alliances aimed at achieving a balance of powers. This balance was inherently unstable, and war – occasional or permanent – was the necessary option. Muslims and Christians of both Churches crossed paths in the alternatives of alliances and confrontations in pursuit of a hegemony that none of the maritime powers was able to achieve.
The situation grew increasingly strained the greater the Christian bourgeoisie’s opportunities for expansion became. This was what happened after the crusaders’ first triumphs in the Levant at the start of the twelfth century and at the outbreak of the Almoravid crisis in the Maghreb shortly after.
The insurrection of the Almohads convulsed the empire of ‘the two lands’ – the Maghreb and Spain – triggering a long civil war, which started in 1122. With the Almoravids’ situation in Africa weakened, the Taifa kingdoms regained their independence, and with it their weakness. Alfonso VII of Castile was able to enter Cordoba in 1146 and conquer the stronghold of Almeria the following year with the aid of Genovese, Pisan and Catalan ships, while King Alfonso of Portugal seized Lisbon and Ramón Berenguer IV, Count of Barcelona, took Tortosa. Meanwhile, Roger II of Sicily tried to gain a foothold in Africa to extend his maritime influence in the western Mediterranean. ‘Between Roger, prince of Sicily, and Emir Ali, prince of Africa,’ claimed Ibn al-Athir, ‘an apparent friendship had been maintained until Roger aided Râfi. The two princes then broke it off.’[49] After this (1118), Roger probed his way along the African coast and, when the time was ripe (from 1134 on), occupied several cities, among them Mahdia, Tripoli, Cabes and Bona. With this, Roger’s maritime power grew so much that his boundless ambitions, directed towards conquering the Latin seigneuries of the Levant and perhaps the Byzantine Empire itself, seemed justified. The Sicilians turned against this empire in 1147, seizing the city of Thebes and hounding the emperor, who was vying with the crusaders at the time. ‘There they obtained a great booty and, as an insult to the emperor and in homage to their own prince, they took captive the workers who were wont to weave silken fabrics. Establishing them in Palermo, the metropolis of Sicily, Roger forced them to teach his craftsmen the art of weaving silk. From then on, this art, which had previously been practised only among the Christian nations by the Greeks, became accessible to the genius of Rome.’[50] So serious seemed the threat posed by Sicily that Conrad of Germany and Manuel Komnenos allied themselves against Roger, ‘the enemy of both empires’.
But Sicily was not alone in the Mediterranean. The ventures of the Amalfitans, Pisans, Genoese, Provençals and Catalans in both areas of the sea were increasingly successful. Pisans and Catalans had achieved the short-lived conquest of Mallorca in 1115, bent on eliminating the focal points of Muslim piracy; the same design brought together the efforts of Pisans, Genoese and Catalans in the Siege of Almería in 1147; and the more the Christian ships filled the Mediterranean, the safer the traffic became; the cities prospered accordingly, and the rivalries between them intensified, with Pisa securing a certain hegemony after its victory over Amalfi in 1130. The source of its prosperity lay in the supply stations which the Latin seigneuries had granted merchants on the Levantine coast, where Pisans and Genoese amassed the goods which they then distributed to the western ports. Of these stations, the one the Genoese had established in Saint John of Acre was the most important. The Venetians, however, began in 1123 to compete there fiercely, first of all by taking on the Byzantine Empire. A Venetian fleet of more than three hundred ships appeared in the Levant and defeated the Egyptian squadron off Ashkelon, securing Latin control over the sea. The upshot of the victory was a commercial treaty signed in 1124 between Doge Domenico Michiel and the Kingdom of Jerusalem, which granted the Venetian mercenaries significant advantages.[51] Shortly afterwards, they laid siege to Tyre, and upon its capture, ‘the city was divided into three parts, two of which were allotted to the King of Jerusalem and the third to the Venetians, according to previous conventions.[52]
The Christians’ situation in the Levant then improved, but the competition among the different maritime powers began to intensify. The kingdom of Sicily and the Italian maritime cities looked askance at the Byzantine Empire because both John Komnenos and his successor Manuel were eager to tighten their grip on the Latin seigneuries and to intervene in commercial competition. Considerable tension existed between the various Christian states operating in the Levant at the time of Zengi’s unification of the Muslim states in 1128.
Zengi’s offensive culminated in 1144 with the fall of Edessa, the repercussions of which prompted a unfruitful crusade in the West by Louis VII of France and Conrad III of Germany. Faced with this threat, the Franks of Antioch had obtained the support of Emperor John Komnenos, and when this alliance became untenable, King Fulk of Jerusalem did not hesitate to ally himself with the Muslims of Damascus. The failure of the second crusade forced Baldwin III in 1158 to resume his alliance policy with the Byzantines, a policy rendered essential by the dangers involved in the menacing stance of Zengi’s successor Nur ad-Din. All the Christians’ key positions on the Mediterranean routes were threatened because at the same time, between 1158 and 1160, Norman domination of the African coast was waning: ‘All this region,’ wrote Al-Marrakushi, ‘was conquered, and the Franks expelled and sent to their lands, as has been told. By the hand of Abd al-Mu’min God cleansed Africa itself of infidels and dispelled its enemies desire to bring it to heel. There He awakened religion, once obscured, and made the star of faith, then hidden and eclipsed, shine bright. Abd al-Mu’min thus completed the conquest of Africa itself, which he added to the kingdom of the Maghreb, and reigned for the rest of his life from Tripoli in Barbary to Sus al-Aqsa in the lands of the Masmuda and over the greater part of the Spanish Peninsula. From the fall of the Umayyad Dynasty in Spain to the time of Abd al-Mu’min, no one, to my knowledge, had assembled so vast an empire.’[53]
The escalating threats in the Levant led King Amaury of Jerusalem to a policy of rapprochement with the Muslims of Egypt in 1163, seeking new footholds for the weak position of the Latin seigneuries; however, he squandered the chance offered to him just as a new threat was beginning to loom, in the shape of Saladin, by whom Egypt was quickly swept up in 1169. A few years later, William of Tyre accused Amaury over his clumsiness and lamented the profound change of circumstances: ‘From what a state of sweetness and tranquillity were we thrown into a state of agitation and anxiety by this unbridled thirst for riches! All Egypt’s produce and immense treasures were at our beck; our kingdom was absolutely secure on that side, and from the south, we had no enemy to fear. Those wishing to entrust themselves to the sea found the routes secured: our Christians could reach the territory of Egypt in all safety for their commercial affairs and conduct them on advantageous terms. Meanwhile, the Egyptians brought us foreign riches and all kinds of merchandise unknown in our land, and when they came, their voyages were both useful and honourable to us. Moreover, the considerable sums they would spend among us every year benefited the royal exchequer, not to mention private fortunes, and contributed to their growth. Yet now everything has changed; matters have taken a turn for the worst, and our harp brings forth only mournful sounds. Wheresoever I look, I see nothing but fear and distrust. The sea spurns us peaceful navigation; all the lands around us obey our enemies, and every neighbouring realm is armed for our ruin.’[54]
In response to the new circumstances, the Kingdom of Jerusalem again sought alliance with the Byzantine Empire in 1171 while keeping a watchful eye on the restless situation in Egypt; and when the Fatimid and Shi’ite conspiracy against Saladin was orchestrated in 1174, the Christians sought the means to support it. Where King Amaury proceeded with caution, William II of Sicily openly took the risk of sending a powerful fleet against Alexandria. His efforts against Saladin were in vain, for, by the time of his arrival, the internal conspiracy which he was relying on had been quashed. Nevertheless, the Sicilians continued to dominate the sea lanes regardless of whether vessels were Muslim or Christians; ever hostile to the Byzantine Empire, they struck an alliance with the Genoese and the Venetians in 1174 in order to present a redoubtable front against the Greeks. Genoa, which had, since 1162, shared the trading privileges granted by Emperor Frederick I with Pisa, nevertheless competed with it in several markets and ended up confronting it in a protracted conflict of fluctuating fortunes. And behind each of the three maritime republics vying to impose hegemony, the various Italian cities aligned themselves, being by then engaged in intense commercial and manufacturing activity and an unrelenting struggle to wrest the freedoms they needed to expand their economic action from the Empire.
The Italian cities were confronted in open competition by the Catalan and Provençal cities, the latter within the county that had been under the control of the Catalan counts since the beginning of the twelfth century. Marseille, in particular, competed with Genoa and Venice in the various markets of the Levant. The close ties between the Catalan and Provençal cities grew even stronger after 1166, when the county of Provence fell into the hands of Alfonso II, King of Aragon and Count of Barcelona. A decisive policy in the southern France set Alfonso II on the path to achieving a clear-cut Mediterranean supremacy. With this, he blocked access to the Mediterranean for the kingdom of France, which had, since 1154, exercised authority over the neighbouring county of Toulouse. Bolder still, the Anglo-Aquitanian alliance also turned its gaze to the Mediterranean to secure certain opportunities through a policy of marriage alliances.
During this time, the threat looming over the Latin seigneuries was growing increasingly serious due to Saladin’s sustained energies. Even holding the shipping lanes, the Latins lacked the strength in numbers to contend with the new unified Muslim state and were further weakened by infighting. The Christian states of Europe did not answer the call, and a strong anti-Latin feeling predominated in the Byzantine Empire from 1182 on, making any hope of support futile. The Muslim offensive eventually culminated in 1187 with the capture of Jerusalem. ‘Immediately after his victory,’ wrote Jacques de Vitry, ‘Saladin made for Saint John of Acre, which the inhabitants surrendered to him obtaining a guarantee for their lives. From there, he went to Berite [Beirut], and the citizens, reduced to despair, also surrendered that stronghold without the least resistance. He also seized Byblos without difficulty; and from Saint John of Acre to Ashkelon no maritime city dared mount even the least defence.’[55] Western trade thus lost most of its footholds and faced the threat of losing all of its opportunities. Nonetheless, says William of Nangis, ‘William, king of Sicily, ensured that the way to the sea was kept free and protected from pirates by the commander of his fleet and most generously helped the Christians overseas both with relief for their ships and by a great abundance of various things.’[56] With this support, the kings of France and England were able to attempt the crusade of 1190, which led to the recovery of the port-of-call of Cyprus and then the port of Saint John of Acre, where Pisans and Genoese fought side by side while also indulging in mutual antagonism to the point that confrontation between them seemed inevitable.[57] The Christians’ position significantly improved with the conquest of the Palestinian seaboard – from Saint John of Acre to Ashkelon – by Richard the Lionheart with victory at the Battle of Arsuf and the rebuilding of Jaffa and Ashkelon. There followed a negotiated peace between Christians and Muslims in 1192, which allowed commercial activity to be revived in the area between Tyre and Jaffa, and the situation stabilised somewhat, particularly after Saladin’s death in 1193.
But the Muslim states were once again united under a single seigneur in 1200, when Malik al-Adil consolidated his authority over Egypt, Palestine and Damascus. Once again the situation flared, and Innocent III ordered advocating a new crusade; once the invitation had been accepted by the French, Flemish and Piedmontese barons, they turned to Venice to provide the fleet for their transport. A convoluted negotiation then began about the purpose of the expedition. For political and military reasons, the barons favoured directly attacking Egypt over engaging in a unpromising and gruelling campaign in Syria; Venice’s trade relations with Egypt were, however, far too valuable to risk their benefits in an uncertain war. It was in these circumstances that Boniface of Monferrat arrived in Germany at the encampment in Zara and relayed Emperor Philip of Swabia’s proposition – possibly approved by Innocent III – to attempt the conquest of Constantinople on the pretext of restoring Isaac Angelos to the throne. The envoys of his son Alexis, then in Germany, made advantageous offers. ‘If you will succour this prince,’ they said, according to Villehardouin, ‘he will make you the most advantageous treaty ever accorded to anyone, and I promise you most considerable succour for the conquest of the Holy Land. Firstly, if God permits you to restore him to his estates and his inheritance, he will bring all of the East back under the obedience of the Church of Rome, from which it has long been separated. Secondly, as he knows that you have expended much of your own in this enterprise and that you are poor, he promises to give you two hundred thousand silver marks and provisions for all those in your camp, both great and small. He will himself accompany you in person and go with you to Egypt; or if you think it more useful, he will send thither ten thousand men at his own expense and keep them for the space of a year; and while he lives, there shall be five hundred horsemen to guard the land beyond the sea, which he will likewise keep at his own expense.’[58] The proposition divided the barons, but the group who accepted it gained the support of the Venetians, who saw the recovery of their influence in Constantinople – eroded under Alexios III – as a major concern.
The Franco-Venetian alliance seemed, then, to have the potential to create a powerful hub in the western Mediterranean to ensure political and economic control of the area to the advantage of Venice and the Byzantine Empire. From there, as the pretender had proposed, a decisive campaign could be launched against the Muslim states, and the plan seemed the most sensible of all those envisaged for operating in Syria because of the proximity and resources of the bases of operations. But the plan was a failure. The Latin Empire created in 1204 languished amidst terrible internal difficulties, unable even to attempt to adopt a policy that would lead to hegemony. Only the Venetians found fresh opportunities for commercial development, albeit facing renewed opposition from the Genoese, who would eventually gain a new base of operations in the Empire of Nicaea.
The frustration of the barons’ powerful alliance with the Venetians and Byzantines left the way open for others to seek to create an organisation of power in the Mediterranean. It was Frederick II of Sicily who set about realising this, relying on the Sicilians’ sea-faring experience and a more centralised state than the rest of the West, but also speculating on a bolder diplomatic and political approach than had hitherto served as a starting point for tackling the situation. Frederick II, in fact, agreed to intervene in the Muslim world’s internal quarrels and responded to the embassies of Sultan Malik al-Kamil of Egypt by sending his own ambassadors to Cairo in 1227. ‘This year,’ states Al-Maqrizi, ‘an ambassador arrived from the king of the Franks with sumptuous presents and rarest gifts for Malik al-Kamil. There were among them several horses and, among these, the steed the king was in the habit of riding; and there were stirrups of gold encrusted with gems. Al-Kamil long provided for the costs of the ambassadors from Alexandria to Cairo; not far from the capital, he went out to meet them and paid them very great honours; he lodged them in the home of the vizier Ibn Sakir and, for his part, sent the king of the Franks splendid presents, among which were objects to be admired from India, Yemen, Iraq, Syria, Egypt and Persia; and they were worth twice as much as those the emperor had sent to him.’[59] The result of the embassies was the crusade of 1228, which had been urged by the Pope and for delay of which he had excommunicated Frederick II.
The emperor’s difficult situation, however, prevented him from taking full advantage of his opportunities. ‘After lengthy talks,’ recounts Abulfeda, ‘seeing no way to extricate himself from the treaty, Malik al-Kamil granted that the emperor confer Jerusalem upon him on condition that its walls would be left in ruins and that the Franks would not restore them; that they would lay no claim to the Dome of the Rock nor the Mosque of Omar; that the villages would be governed by the wali of the Muslims and that the Franks would hold no other villages save those along the road from Saint John of Acre to Jerusalem. The agreement having been concluded in these terms, the two princes swore on it, and Jerusalem was conferred upon the emperor in this year [1229].’[60] The situation established in this way allowed for some commercial development, which preferentially benefited the Pisans, who were loyal to the emperor, while the other maritime republics sided with his enemies.
The Papacy did, in fact, succeed in bringing the Genoese and the Venetians together – bitterly at odds as they were – in a policy of hostility aimed at Frederick II. But Pisa was by then strong enough to support the emperor at sea, and in 1241, its ships defeated the Genovese galleys carrying the prelates summoned by Gregory IX to a council in Rome: many Genoese ships were captured near Giglio. ‘For that capture,’ Villani points out, ‘the Pisans were excommunicated and denied all the benefits of Holy Mother Church, and the first war between Genoese and Pisans broke out, in which God, in His judgment, then wrought just and stern vengeance on the Pisans by the might of the Genoese.’[61]
Meanwhile, Aragon had emerged as a maritime power to be reckoned with. Separated from the French Midi by the defeat of Pedro II at the Battle of Muret in 1213, this left the county of Provence free to set its own policy, which was influenced by the interests of the maritime cities and the kingdom of France’s designs for the Mediterranean. For its part, Aragon found its way on the seas and, from 1229 on, with Jaime I, pursued an active maritime policy. Barcelona guided Jaime I’s policy. ‘After a year and a half of leading the business of the county of Urgell to a successful conclusion,’ says the chronicle attributed to him, ‘We were in Tarragona; and it was God’s will that, despite having convened no courts, most of the nobles of Catalonia were in attendance… Among them was also Don Pedro Martel, a citizen of Barcelona and most experienced seafarer, who one day invited us and all the nobles who were with us to dine with him. After our meal, when they had all got into conversation, they asked Don Pedro Martel, who had been a coxswain of galleys, what land Majorca was and how large that kingdom might be. “Some idea I can give you,” he replied, “for I have been there once or twice and estimate that the island is some three hundred miles around. Towards the East, facing Sardinia, there is also another island called Minorca, and towards the west another called Ibiza. Majorca is principal amongst them, and all obey the lord who resides there. There is also a further island called Formentera, inhabited by Saracens, which is situated close by Ibiza, separated from it by a channel but a mile across.” After the banquet, they came before us and said: “Sir, speaking with Don Pedro Martel we have asked him for news – and we believe you will not be displeased to hear it – of an island called Majorca, where there is a king who also has other islands called Minorca and Ibiza in his dominion. The will of God cannot be bent; and therefore it is our wish that it might please you to go there and conquer that island for two reasons: firstly, because of how much both we and you stand to gain there; and secondly, because of the admiration the world would feel were you to put out to sea and conquer a kingdom.” What they proposed pleased us greatly then.’[62]
The taking of the Balearics brought the kingdom of Aragon great economic opportunities and formidable political prestige, which Jaime I increased with the conquest of the kingdom of Valencia in 1258 and the southernmost cities of the Levantine coast. The loss of Aragonese influence in Provence was a serious setback to his Mediterranean programme and was accentuated by Count Ramón Berenguer V’s tendency to lean towards France. A policy of marriage alliances ultimately decided the fate of Provence, and Jaime responded by arranging the marriage of his son Pedro to Constance of Swabia, the daughter of Manfred, King of Sicily. This set the stage for a deep rivalry between the kingdoms of Aragon and France, the latter represented by Charles of Anjou, Count of Provence by marriage from 1246 and later King of the Two Sicilies from 1266.
The stage for this rivalry would be the western Mediterranean. In the east, things were getting worse for the Christians. As anarchy gripped the Latin states, Sultan Ayyub seized Jerusalem outright in 1244 and annihilated the last Christian forces at the Battle of Gaza. Venice, on the other hand, maintained active commercial relations with Egypt, and the Sultan retained such close political ties with Frederick II of Sicily that he received intelligence from him about the crusading plans of Louis IX of France. This diversity of interests – which was rooted in economic antagonisms and the inability to resolve the struggle for hegemony – also prevented the French king from doing anything in Egypt beyond involving the French forces in an operation lacking any strategic bases and doomed to failure.
Meanwhile, by 1256, the rivalry between Venice and Genoa reached boiling point as a result of their conflicting commercial interests in the Levant linked to the two factions – Latins and Greeks – vying for the Empire of Constantinople. The conflict began in Acre: ‘in that battle,’ says Villani, ‘the Venetians were overcome by the Genoese, but two years later, in 1258 that is, while the Genoese fleet of fifty galleys and four ships lay at Acre, they were defeated by the Venetian fleet.’[63] Shortly after this, Constantinople was taken by the forces of Michael Palaiologos, and, with the Franks, the Venetians fell from their position of privilege and were replaced by the Genoese, old allies of the Nicene Empire. This once again raised the problem of the relationship between the emperor of Constantinople and the Latin seigneuries, now aggravated by the Mongols, whose presence intensified the traditional rivalries. And in the maritime bases of Tyre and Acre, Pisans, Genoese and Venetians inflamed their disputes by seeking to damage each other’s resources without the slightest heed for the necessities of common defence.
This bitter and protracted struggle for hegemony dragged on without offering anyone the prospects of decisive success, but in the Levant, where the dangers were so great and immediate, the struggle between the rival Christian factions made it easier for the Muslims to act.
In 1268, Sultan Baybars seized first Jaffa and then Antioch. Slowly, the remnants of the old Latin seigneuries, which had served as the bases for the western cities’ maritime activities, were crumbling. Perhaps drawn by Charles of Anjou’s Mediterranean policy, King Louis IX of France attempted the conquest of Tunisia in 1270. It failed in military terms but led to a treaty recognising Tunisia as a tributary of the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies. Faced with the loss of territorial bases, the Christian cities tended increasingly to trade directly with the Muslim states in the Levant.
In the western Mediterranean ambit, the alliance between Provence and the Kingdom of Two Sicilies – both in the hands of Charles of Anjou – sparked a confrontation with the kingdom of Aragon, whose navy was a rising force to be reckoned with. With this naval force, Pedro III established a protectorate over the kingdom of Tunis, throwing down the gauntlet to Charles of Anjou. This challenge came to a head at the time of the Sicilian insurrection – perhaps with Aragonese intervention – against King Charles in March 1282. Acting on behalf of part of the Sicilian nobility, John of Procida negotiated the preliminary agreements to pave the way for the king of Aragon’s conquest of Sicily, ‘and this he shall do,’ said John of Procida to the Pope, according to Anonymous of Messina, ‘with the force of Palaiologos, should you allow it, and with the force of the Sicilians.’[64] From this point on, a clear line was drawn between the antagonists disputing hegemony in the Mediterranean. Conflict became widespread at sea and acquired dramatic proportions. ‘In those days,’ relates Villani, ‘Pisa was a great and noble city of great and powerful citizens, amongst the greatest in Italy […]; their power made them lords of Sardinia, Corsica and Elba, from which they derived great profits both for themselves and for the commune; and they almost dominated the sea with their ships and merchandise, and in the city of Acre overseas, there were many great Pisans and many related to the great burghers of Acre. Wherefore they had long since been in conflict with their Genoese neighbours over dominion of Sardinia; on the sea, the Pisans regarded the Genoese as women and surpassed them in every respect; in Acre, they used greatly to affront them, and with the might of their burgher kinsmen from Acre, they destroyed the [ruga] of the Genoese of Acre in battle and by fire and drove them from the land. Whereupon the Genoese, seeing themselves overwhelmed and being by nature very proud, assembled a fleet of seventy galleys to wreak revenge on the Pisans and, in the month of August in the year of our Lord 1282, came within two miles of the port of Pisa.’[65]
The war between the maritime republics, waged simultaneously in both Mediterranean theatres, unfolded alongside the struggle of Aragon and its new Sicilian dependencies with Naples and Provence under Charles of Anjou and supported by France. In 1284, Genoa decimated the Pisan fleet at the Battle of Meloria, and in the same and subsequent years, the Aragonese on several occasions defeated Charles of Anjou and his French allies. Aragon seemed to cherish the dream of total maritime domination in the Mediterranean, and Admiral Roger of Lauría is reported – in the account by Bernat Desclot – to have uttered these proud words to the Count of Foix after his naval victory of 1285: ‘Not only do I think that neither galley nor sailed craft whatsoever shall dare traverse the seas unless it have a letter of safe-passage from the king of Aragon; and not only galley or barque, but I do not believe that any fish dare to rise above the sea unless it bears a shield with the insignia of the king of Aragon on its tail as proof of safe-conduct from that king of Aragon.’[66]
Only Genoa – together with Aragon – retained and increased its maritime power. In 1290, it closed off the mouths of the Arno in order to disable the port of Pisa and completed its victory in 1299, forcing its opponent to accept a treaty that drastically restricted its commercial prospects. The Genoese met with similar success in their war against the Venetians; defeated at the Battle of Curzola in 1298, the Venetians signed a peace treaty with the Genoese, pledging not to allow armed galleries to sail in the vicinity of Constantinople and Syria for a period of thirteen years: ‘the Genoese,’ remarks Villani, ‘garnered great honour thereby, maintained great power and happy circumstance and were more feared at sea than any other commune or any other seigneur in the world.’[67]
By the close of the thirteenth century, then, the foundations for a certain politico-economic order in the Mediterranean area were also being laid. Here too, this was achieved primarily by the efforts of the urban bourgeoisie, sometimes in conflict with the seigneurs, but even more so with one another, to the point of failing to reach a formula to understand each other despite being forced by economic expansion to confront a common enemy. Yet neither religious agglutination nor the obvious advantages of a policy built on solidarity were enough to assuage the rivalries arising out of the desire to monopolise markets and trade routes. As in the Atlantic area, the bourgeoisie assumed responsibility for economic activities, but would not or could not reconcile them with certain fundamental closely-related political objectives. Certainly, the bourgeoisie had but limited means of steering the course of political affairs, and from this circumstance, no doubt, stemmed the variance between the new economic activities and traditional ways of exercising power. Without their coincidence, it was difficult or impossible to adjust the political order.
Notes
^ 1. Henri Pirenne, Mahomet et Charlemagne, in Histoire économique de l’Occident Médiéval; Robert Sabatino Lopez, Mohammed and Charlemagne: A Revision, in Speculum, 1943; Maurice Lombard, Mahomet et Charlemagne : Le Problème économique, in Annales, 1948.
^ 2. Flodoardus, Annales, yr. 926; Liutprandus, Antapodosis, II, v, viii and xiv–xv.
^ 3. Flodoardus, Annales, yr. 955; Widukind, RerumgestarumSaxonicarum, III, 44 and 45.
^ 4. Thietmar, Chronicon, 232; Adhémar de Chabannes, Chronicon, III, 2; cf. Anthony Francis Czajkowski, ‘The Congress of Gniezno in the Year 1000’, in Speculum, XXIV, 3, 1949.
^ 5. Guillaume de Jumièges, GestaNormannorumDucum, I, iv.
^ 6. Annales Bertiniani, yr. 844.
^ 7. Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, yr. 878.
^ 8. Annales Mettenses, yr. 886.
^ 9. Abbo,BellaParisiacaeurbis, I.
^ 10. Widukind, RerumgestarumSaxonicarum, I, 40; Liutprandus, Antapodosis, III. 21.
^ 11. The Battle of Maldon, Walter John Sedgefield (Ed.), 1904; cf. Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, yr. 991.
^ 12. Guillaume de Jumièges, GestaNormannorumDucum, V,viii.
^ 13. Raoul Glaber, Histoires, II, ii.
^ 14. Guillaume de Jumièges, GestaNormannorumDucum, VII, xix.
^ 15. Guillaume de Jumièges, GestaNormannorumDucum, VII, xxx.
^ 16. Guillaume de Jumièges, GestaNormannorumDucum, VII, xxx.
^ 17. Ibn Alatir, Kâmil at tawarih, yr. 941, in Michele Amari (Ed.), Biblioteca arabo-sicula, I, 450 ff.
^ 18. Ibn Alatir, Kâmil at tawarih, yr. 484, in M. Amari (Ed.), Biblioteca arabo-sicula, I. 442.
^ 19. Ibn Alatir, Kâmil at tawarih, yr. 491, in M. Amari (Ed.), Biblioteca arabo-sicula, I, 451.
^ 20. Anna Komnene, The Alexiad, VI, v. i.
^ 21. Jacques de Vitry, Historia Orientalis, I.
^ 22. Albert d’Aix, Historia Hierosolymitana, VII.
^ 23. Albert d’Aix, Historia Hierosolymitana, X; Anna Komnene, The Alexiad, XI, X and XI.
^ 24. Albert d’Aix, Historia Hierosolymitana, XI; Snorri Sturluson, Heimskringla, ‘Saga of the Sons of Magnús’, III, x–xi.
^ 25. Raymond d’Agiles, Historia Francorum qui ceperuntHierusalem, 356.
^ 26. Foucher de Chartres, Gesta FrancorumHierusalemperegrinantium, XXV.
^ 27. Guillaume de Tyr, Historia rerum in partibus transmarinisgestarum, X, yr. 1104.
^ 28. Guillaume de Tyr, Historia rerum in partibus transmarinisgestarum, XI, yr. 1109.
^ 29. Albert d’Aix, Historia Hierosolymitana, VII.
^ 30. Albert d’Aix, Historia Hierosolymitana, VII.
^ 31. SnorriSturluson, Heimskringla, ‘Saga ofthe Sons ofMagnús’, III ff.
^ 32. Snorri Sturluson, Heimskringla, ‘Saga of the Sons of Magnús’, XVII.
^ 33. Ordericus Vitalis, Historia Ecclesiastica, VIII.
^ 34. Ordericus Vitalis, Historia Ecclesiastica, V.
^ 35. Recueil des actes of Henri II roid’Angleterre et Duc de Normandie, Léopold Delisle and Élie Berger (Eds.), II, DXLI.
^ 36. Otto von Freising, Gesta Friderici Imperatoris, III, i; Snorri Sturluson, Heimskringla, ‘Saga of Magnús the Blind’, X–XI.
^ 37. Thietmar, Chronicon, VIII, 32.
^ 38. Helmold, Chronica Slavorum, I, 57.
^ 39. Helmold, Chronica Slavorum, I, 89.
^ 40. Otto von Freising, Gesta Friderici Imperatoris, II, vi.
^ 41. Helmold, Chronica Slavorum, II, 97.
^ 42. Helmold, Chronica Slavorum, II, 68.
^ 43. Helmold, Chronica Slavorum, II, 84.
^ 44. Helmold, Chronica Slavorum, II, 88.
^ 45. William of Malmesbury, De gestispontificum Anglorum.
^ 46. Otto von Freising, Gesta Friderici Imperatoris, III, xxv.
^ 47. Otto von Freising, Gesta Friderici Imperatoris, II, xxx.
^ 48. Arnold of Lübeck, continuator of Helmold’s Chronica Slavorum, III, 5.
^ 49. Ibn al-Athir,Kâmil at tawarih, yr. 511, in M. Amari (Ed.), Biblioteca arabo-sicula, I, 455.
^ 50. Otto von Freising, Gesta Friderici Imperatoris, I, xxxiv.
^ 51. Guillaume de Tyr, Historia rerum in partibus transmarinisgestarum, XII, yr. 1124.
^ 52. Guillaume de Tyr, Historia rerum in partibus transmarinisgestarum, XII, yr. 1124.
^ 53. Al Marrâkisi, Kitâb al Mugib, in M. Amari (Ed.), Biblioteca arabo-sicula, I, 513.
^ 54. Guillaume de Tyr, Historia rerum in partibus transmarinisgestarum, XX, yr. 1169.
^ 55. Jacques de Vitry, Historia Orientalis, I.
^ 56. Guillaume de Nangis, Chronicon, yr. 1188.
^ 57. Ambroise, L’Estoire de la guerre sainte, l. 8178 ff.
^ 58. Geoffroi de Villehardouin, De la conqueste de Constantinople, 46.
^ 59. Al Maqrîzî, Kitâb al-sulûk, yr. 624, in M. Amari (Ed.), Biblioteca arabo-sicula, II, 261.
^ 60. Abulfeda, Kitâb al-Muhtasir, yr. 626, in M. Amari (Ed.), Biblioteca arabo-sicula, 105.
^ 61. Giovanni Villani, Nuovacronica, VI, xix.
^ 62. Jaime I, Crónica, XLV.
^ 63. Giovanni Villani, Nuovacronica, VI, lx.
^ 64. Anonymousof Messina, Lu rebellamentudiSichilia, X.
^ 65. Giovanni Villani, Nuovacronica, VII, lxxxiv.
^ 66. Bernat Desclot, Crònica, CLXVI.
^ 67. Giovanni Villani, Nuovacronica, VIII, xxvii.
