The Great Sea: A Human History of the Mediterranean

by David Abulafia

  Even in 1184 Acre was a great port, and it would become greater still following a shower of new privileges for Italian and other European merchants from 1190 onwards. These privileges were offered as a reward for sending naval help during the great emergency that followed the capture of Jerusalem and of most of the crusader kingdom by Saladin in 1187. The Pisans were able to move their business from Jaffa, which was too far to the south to bring them the full benefits of the Levant trade, northwards to Acre, with its easy links to Damascus and the interior. It was not that Acre possessed a particularly good harbour. Ships anchored at the entrance to the harbour, which (as in most Mediterranean ports) could be closed off by a chain, and goods had to be ferried across from the shore: it ‘cannot take the large ships, which must anchor outside, small ships only being able to enter’. When the weather was bad ships would need to be beached. Good harbours were not a prerequisite when medieval merchants chose their trading station – witness also Barcelona, Pisa and Messina. Yet ibn Jubayr took the view that ‘in its greatness it resembles Constantinople’, referring not to the size of Acre but to the way in which Muslim and Christian merchants converged there, arriving by ship and caravan, so that ‘its roads and streets are choked by the press of men, and it is hard to put foot to ground’. As ever, ibn Jubayr was quick to mask his admiration for what he saw with imprecations: ‘unbelief and unpiousness there burn fiercely, and pigs and crosses abound’, the pigs being impure Christians as well as unclean animals. ‘It stinks and is filthy, being full of refuse and excrement.’27 Naturally, he deplored the conversion of mosques into churches by the crusaders, but he did note that within the former Friday Mosque there was a corner Muslims were permitted to use. For the relationship between the Frankish settlers and the local population was less tense than either the Almohad ibn Jubayr or newly arrived crusaders may have wished. These new crusaders were perplexed by the easy attitudes they found. The elderly sheikh of Shayzar in northern Syria, Usamah ibn Munqidh (1095–1188), left a memoir of his times that reveals friendly relationships across the Christian–Muslim divide. He came to know well a Frankish knight of whom he wrote, ‘he was of my intimate fellowship and kept such constant company with me that he began to call me “my brother” ’.28 The Franks of the kingdom of Jerusalem borrowed little from Muslim culture, by comparison with the extensive cultural contacts taking place at this time in Spain and Sicily, and yet a practical convivencia was achieved. Ibn Jubayr was very uneasy at the presence of Muslims in this Christian kingdom. ‘There can,’ he wrote, ‘be no excuse in the eyes of God for a Muslim to stay in any infidel country save when passing through it, while the way lies clear in Muslim lands.’29

  Still, Christian shipping was regarded as safest and most reliable, and for his return to the west ibn Jubayr chose a ship under the command of a Genoese sailor ‘who was perspicacious in his art and skilled in the duties of a sea-captain’. The aim was to catch the east wind that blew for about a fortnight in October, because for the rest of the year, apart from mid-April to late May, the prevailing winds came from the west. On 6 October 1184 ibn Jubayr and other Muslims embarked alongside 2,000 Christian pilgrims who had arrived from Jerusalem, though his estimate of numbers sounds impossibly high for one ship. Christians and Muslims shared the space on board, but they kept out of one another’s way: ‘the Muslims secured places apart from the Franks’, and ibn Jubayr expressed the hope that God would soon relieve the Muslims of their company. He and the other Muslims stowed their goods, and, while the ship awaited a favourable wind, they went every night on land, to sleep in greater comfort. The decision to do this almost resulted in disaster. On 18 October the weather did not seem fair enough for the vessel to depart, and ibn Jubayr was still in his bed when the ship set sail. Desperate to catch up with it, he and his friends hired a large boat with four oars and set off in pursuit of the ship, which, after all, contained their belongings, and on which they had paid for their passage. It was a dangerous journey through choppy waters, but by the evening they had caught up with the Genoese ship. They had five days of suitable winds, making good progress until a west wind began to blow; the captain tacked back and forth to avoid its worst effects, but the full force of the wind fell on the ship on 27 October, and a spar with sails attached broke off and collapsed into the sea, though the sailors managed to make a new one.30 When the wind dropped, the sea was like ‘a palace made smooth with glass’, words ibn Jubayr quoted from the Koran.31 At nightfall on 1 November the Christians celebrated the Feast of All Saints; all of them, old and young, male and female, carried a lighted candle, and listened to prayers and sermons: ‘the whole ship, from top to bottom, was luminous with kindled lamps.’32 Once again, ibn Jubayr was clearly impressed, but as usual did not want to admit this.

  Ibn Jubayr’s diary provides an unrivalled account of shipboard life at this period. He describes how Muslims and Christians who died at sea were buried in the time-honoured fashion of being dropped overboard. Under Genoese maritime law the captain acquired the goods of those who had died at sea: ‘there is no way for the true heir of the dead to gain his inheritance, and at this we were much astonished’.33 The ship made no stops for revictualling, and many of the pilgrims of both faiths found themselves short of supplies after several days. Yet, he insists, there was plenty of fresh food available to buy on board, and ‘in this ship they were as if in a city filled with all commodities’. There was bread, water, fruit (including watermelons, figs, quinces and pomegranates), nuts, chickpeas, beans, cheese, fish, and much else besides; well-practised Genoese sailors evidently knew that they had a captive market for any extra supplies they could load. Blown towards an island under Byzantine control, the passengers obtained meat and bread from the inhabitants. More storms accompanied the ship on its way past Crete, and the passengers began to fear that they would have to winter on one of the Greek islands or somewhere on the African coast, providing they even survived; in fact they were simply blown back towards Crete. Ibn Jubayr was moved to cite some verses from an Arab poet beginning: ‘the sea is bitter of taste, intractable’.34 Having noted that there was a period in the autumn when safe passage was possible from east to west, ibn Jubayr now opined that:

  all modes of travel have their proper season, and travel by sea should be at the propitious time and the recognised period. There should not be a reckless venturing forth in the months of winter as we did. First and last the matter is in the hands of God.35

  His pessimism was unwarranted. Before long, five more ships coming from Alexandria hove into view; this little flotilla entered the harbour of one of the Ionian isles and took on meat, oil and overbaked black bread made of wheat and barley, yet ‘people rushed for it, despite its dearness – and indeed there was nothing cheap for sale – and thanked God for what he had granted’.36

  When the boats left harbour, November was drawing to a close; travelling became still more difficult as winter set in. Off southern Italy ‘the swollen waves beat incessantly upon us, their shocks making the heart leap’. But they made landfall in Calabria, where many of the Christians decided that they had had enough, for in addition to the storms they were all now smitten by hunger. Ibn Jubayr and his friends were living off little more than a pound of moistened ship’s biscuit each day. Those who landed sold any food they still possessed to those who remained on board, and the Muslims were prepared to pay a single silver dirham for a mere biscuit.37 Whatever relief they felt at arriving close to Sicily soon dissipated. The Straits of Messina were like boiling water, as the sea was forced between the mainland and Sicily. Strong winds propelled the ship towards the shore close to Messina, and one of the sails was stuck, so that it could not be lowered; the ship careered forward towards shallow water with the wind behind it, and its keel struck the seabed and became stuck. A rudder broke; the anchors were useless; all those on board, Muslim and Christian, submitted themselves to the will of God. Some passengers of high status were taken off on a longboat, but this was smashed as it tried to return fro
m the shore. Small boats came out to aid the stranded passengers, though not with the best motives: their owners demanded a high price for the privilege of being rescued. News of the shipwreck reached the king of Sicily, who had recently arrived in Messina to supervise the building of his war fleet, and he came to watch. Displeased at the behaviour of the boatmen, he ordered that 100 tarí (small gold coins) should be dispensed to them so that they would bring to shore a number of Muslims who were too poor to pay what they were demanding. Ibn Jubayr marvelled at God’s prescience in bringing the king to Messina, ‘which proved a saving mercy to us’.38 King William had truly saved those who were still on board, because the day after the ship was grounded it broke up.

  Despite his terrifying experience, ibn Jubayr was struck by how accessible the port of Messina was. Ships could approach right up to the shore, and there was no need for lighters to transport passengers and goods to shore – all that was needed was a plank. The ships were ‘ranged along the quay like horses lined at their pickets or in their stables’.39 In order to reach Andalucía, however, he had to travel across the island to Trapani, where he looked for a Genoese ship bound for Spain. Normally this would have been no problem, but the king had imposed an embargo on all sailings: ‘it seems that he is preparing a fleet, and no ships may sail until his fleet has left. May God frustrate his designs, and may he not achieve his ends!’ He began to realize that the destination of this fleet was the Byzantine Empire, for everyone in Sicily was talking about the young man whom King William kept at his court and whom he intended to set on the Byzantine throne, in a reprise of Robert Guiscard’s plans a century earlier.40 The embargo was a nuisance, but it was always possible to influence the king’s officials, using time-honoured ways. Ibn Jubayr managed to find a place on one of three vessels that were travelling together to the west, and the Genoese owners bribed the royal officer, who turned a blind eye to their departure. The ships departed on 14 March 1185. Passing through the Egadian isles to the west of Sicily, they stopped in the little port of Favignana, where they crossed the path of the ship of Marco the Genoese bringing North African pilgrims from Alexandria, people ibn Jubayr had met months ago in Mecca itself. Old friends were reunited and they all feasted together. Four ships now set out for Spain, but the wind seemed to be playing games with them, as they were blown to Sardinia, then southwards, and eventually made headway back past Sardinia to Ibiza, Denia and Cartagena, where ibn Jubayr set foot on Spanish soil once again, finally reaching his home in Granada on 25 April 1185. He concluded his narrative with the weary words of an Arab poet, ‘she threw away her staff and there she stayed, as does the traveller at his journey’s end’.41

  Ibn Jubayr was deeply unfortunate with the weather, and the shipwreck off Messina was not a daily calamity. He no doubt exaggerated the dangers he had faced and the numbers and travails of those on board. Yet in many respects his voyage was probably quite typical of the times, notably the use of Genoese ships by both Muslim and Christian pilgrims. He writes about Genoese captains who ‘ruled’ their ships, but these large ships would not usually be owned by their captain. Genoese investors bought shares, often as little as one sixty-fourth part, so that ownership of trading vessels was spread widely. An active investor would spread the risk and buy shares in several vessels. The word used for these shares was loca, ‘places’, and they could be traded and inherited rather like modern equities.42 There was no fixed price, since each ship was different, as was the number of shares into which it was divided; shares could often be bought for around £30 of Genoese money, which was the sort of sum a middle-class Genoese might receive in an inheritance and decide to invest for profit. Shareholders included a small number of women; very many shareholders were involved in the government of Genoa, including members of the greatest families of that city such as the della Volta and the Embriachi. Holding these shares would generate revenue from the fees paid by passengers and from the rental of storage space by merchants. The total value of the shares might be as high as £2,480, an example from 1192, or as low as £90, which no doubt represented a ship nearing the end of its life or in need of extensive repair.43

  There were two main categories of vessel. Light galleys were used in warfare and for sending ambassadors to foreign courts, but, as in antiquity, they were ill-adapted to choppy waters and had generally to sail in sight of land, using their oars as ancillary power when winds were light or when they manoeuvred into port. The galleys had a mast with a single lateen sail, and a beak or spur rather than a ram at the prow. They were manned by between twenty and eighty oarsmen, who were free citizens. Rather than sharing one massive oar, as was common from the sixteenth century onwards, the oarsmen sat two to a bench, each manipulating an oar of a different length, a system that became known in Venice as rowing alla sensile.44 Their virtue was their speed, for they easily overtook the round ships. Many galleys were privately owned, but were requisitioned by the Commune in time of war, presumably with ample compensation.45 The Genoese documents mention tubby sailing ships, simply known by the Latin word for ship, navis, far more often than they mention galleys, and they do not say much about smaller boats called by names such as barca, because these boats went on short journeys along the coast or across to Corsica and Sardinia on which few goods were carried and in which little money was invested.46 Large naves could reach 24 metres in length and 7.5 metres in width. By the early thirteenth century they might carry two or even three masts, lateen rigged, though ibn Jubayr makes it plain that they would adjust to square rigging when the winds called for this. After 1200 these ships began to be built higher, with two or even three decks, but the lower decks were very cramped, and the aim was to increase storage space rather than to improve conditions for passengers.47 Sternpost rudders were not yet in use in the Mediterranean, where the traditional steering oar favoured by Greeks and Etruscans still held sway. How long the ships lasted is doubtful. Sturdy Roman galleys had enjoyed a long life as grain transports, but medieval vessels were more lightly constructed, and plenty of attention was needed to their careening and repair.

  Most ships did arrive safely at their destination, so they were not bad investments, if spread around several ventures. This meant that towns that were only sending small numbers of ships across the sea, such as Amalfi and Savona (not far from Genoa) stood at a disadvantage: their merchants could not spread their investments widely. So some of them, like Solomon of Salerno, went to Genoa, Pisa or Venice and realized that they would do better business there. This had a multiplier effect. The trade of these three cities boomed and potential rivals proved unable to compete. The triumph of the Genoese and Pisans in their part of the Mediterranean was capped by their insistence in the late twelfth century that ships from Provençal ports that sailed to the Levant should be allowed to carry only pilgrims and other passengers, not cargoes.48

  Everything and everyone on board was tightly packed together, and travellers slept under the stars, using their possessions as pillow and mattress. By the thirteenth century goods might be kept below deck and cabins were built up at each end of the ship, so there was space for those willing to pay for a more comfortable journey in medieval club class.49 In the dire conditions of sea travel, what carried many of the sea voyagers across the Mediterranean was faith: the faith of the pilgrims, for whom adversity at sea was a test of their devotion that would earn them God’s approval; and the faith of the merchants in their ability to take calculated risks and to emerge with profit from expeditions to the sometimes dangerous lands of the southern and eastern Mediterranean. The merchants too were aware that any profit they made was made thanks to a merciful God – it was proficuum quod Deus dederit, ‘the profit that God will have given’.

  6

  The Fall and Rise of Empires,

  1130–1260

  I

  The fleets of Pisa, Genoa and Venice were not the only navies that plied Italian waters. The conquest of Sicily by Roger I, the ‘Great Count’, was complete by 1091. Under Norman rule, the
island flourished: Messina attracted Latin merchants, acting as a staging-post on the trade routes linking Genoa and Pisa to Acre and Alexandria; ibn Jubayr called it ‘the mart of the merchant infidels, the focus of ships from the world over’, and noted that it was a great arsenal, where the Sicilian fleet was constructed.1 The ruler reserved to his own use much of the pitch, iron and steel produced in his lands, for it was vital to control the raw materials required for ship construction.2 Roger I’s ruthless and talented son Roger II gained control of large tracts of southern Italy ruled by his cousins; no less importantly, he obtained the newly created crown of Sicily from the pope in 1130. He was a man of Mediterranean ambitions, seeing himself as the successor to the Greek tyrants and arguing that he was not a usurper but the reviver of an ancient kingdom.3 He appeared in public in Byzantine imperial costume or in the robes of an Arab emir. He decorated his palace chapel with the finest Greek mosaics and a superb wooden roof, the work of Arab craftsmen. He commissioned from Idrisi, a refugee prince from Ceuta, a geography of the world that enabled him (with its accompanying map) to contemplate the Mediterranean and the world beyond in extraordinary detail.