Medieval Farm Animals: Pigs, Sheep and Goats

Pigs, sheep and goats were the medium-sized domesticated animals of medieval Europe and Asia. Most meat that landed on the table was pork or mutton, most cheese came from sheep and goats, and most farmland was primarily fertilized by their droppings. In towns, their droppings were swept up and sold back to the countryfolk for gardens. Pigs, sheep and goats also had in common that they lived in herds and wandered to find food.

Pigs in the Middle Ages were smaller than modern domesticated pigs, and many of them were half-wild. They had longer legs and looked more like boars, with tusks and long snouts and wiry hair. There’s no species difference between wild hogs and domesticated pigs, and many interbred.

Interbreeding was particularly easy because pigs were not kept indoors or fenced very carefully. Swineherds walked with whole herds of pigs out to wander and find things to eat, and many pigs just fended for themselves much of the time. Wandering pigs walked through villages and towns, and sometimes they walked into houses whose doors were open for daylight. Since they were often half-wild, they were known to harm children. Babies were occasionally killed in their cradles when the mother had gone out for a few minutes and a pig came in.

What made pigs the ideal farm staple was that they would eat anything. In towns, they ate garbage, probably including offal from butchering or tanning. Early medieval Europe was heavily forested; pigs could eat roots and nuts. In fact, during the technological revolution in iron production, vast acres of established oak forests were cut down and turned into charcoal, and this hurt the pig population. Late medieval farmers had to think harder about what to feed their pigs, and eventually pigs were kept in pens. Brewing ale created a sloppy mess of grain that had to be strained out, which was an ideal pig food.

Sheep, too, were smaller than modern ones. In cold Northern Europe, their wool was their most valuable attribute, but they were also kept for milk. Sheep were more likely to be milked than cows, in many parts of medieval Europe; there were far more of them in most places. Sheep could find food at high altitudes where grain couldn’t grow.

Selective breeding of sheep went on all through the medieval years. They could be bred for wool, meat, or milk. Additionally, in the Middle East and Central Asia, sheep were bred for fat tails; their stored fat in the tail became a major source of cooking oil. In Northern Europe, Cistercian monasteries worked on sheep breeding, just as they made scientific progress in iron smelting and winemaking.

In Spain, breeders created fine Merino wool with sheep who could live on a sparse diet and walk long distances. The back country of Spain was criss-crossed with migration trails, as shepherds moved the Merino sheep from water source to water source. Partly due to their isolated herds, long walks, and necessary cooperation to maintain the trails, breeders in Spain could do more controlled experiments. After Merino wool came on the market, post-medieval sheep were interbred with Merinos, so the old multi-purpose sheep breeds are basically extinct. As wool improved, the wool trade increased and so did the herds of sheep. There were far more sheep by the end of the Middle Ages.

Goats tended to be kept farther south, in the Mediterranean region, but also in higher elevations. Goats, like pigs, will eat almost anything, so they can sustain themselves on dry, scruffy plants. On the other hand, by eating everything, goats also contribute to turning land into desert. A small herd of goats can drastically change the landscape in a year or two; the only things that grow are the few plants they don’t eat. Goats, too, were bred for meat, milk, and wool. During the medieval period, breeders in the Anatolian Plateau (modern Turkiye) developed Angora goats that looked a lot like sheep, and whose wool rivaled even that of Merino sheep.

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Other Medieval Wild Animals

In the Middle Ages, the European bison, or wisent, was still wandering about in herds, but it was quickly becoming extinct like its relative, the aurochs. There seem to have been small herds still in the deepest forests in France in the 15th century. They were vanishing in Macedonia in the Late Classical period, but some survived until the late medieval in remote parts of Bulgaria. The Białowieża Forest on the border of Poland and Belorussia had the last surviving herd. In modern times, some of the handful of bison from zoos were released back to this forest, where there is again a viable herd. Polish bison conservationists have sent animals to many other countries since then, and recently some bison were even released in an English forest.

Hares were native to Northern Europe, while the smaller, fatter rabbits originated in the Atlas Mountains and Iberia. Hares are larger and thinner, with longer ears, but although they look like rabbits to us, genetically they are different: 48 chromosomes, where rabbits have 44. Hares are adapted to living in the wild without burrows: their young are born with eyes open, ready to fend for themselves very quickly.

There’s no record of hares ever being domesticated, but they have always been eaten. This detail is gross, but traditionally, hares were cooked with their blood. In fact, hares were “jugged,” which I used to think meant something like canned. No. It means that they are hung up dead so that the blood will collect inside, instead of draining out. Hares are not kosher for Jews and neither is blood, so that’s definitely one dish that medieval German Jews were not consuming.

Modernization has not been kind to wild cats, although domestic ones have been fat and happy. Smaller wild cats persisted throughout Europe, and there is still a subspecies native to Scotland. But in the medieval mountains, there were lynx, and even Asiatic lions still lived in remote parts of Syria, Turkey and Greece. In Islamic culture and in the Ottoman Empire, lions were much used as symbols of courage, though they were rarely seen. Medieval Europeans often had no idea what a lion looked like, although certainly they had heard of them. One report said that lions gave birth to dead kittens who then came to life, and it was generally believed.

All of the small animals that live in and near water were populous in medieval Europe: otters, beavers, muskrats. Also populous, as today, were the small field animals: foxes, hedgehogs, badgers, and all kinds of weasels, including the northern ones prized for fur. In the mountains, there were many wild goats such as ibex and chamois. Naturally, we can fill in the squirrels, mice, shrews, voles, moles and rats as well. These are found all over the world, then and now. Later to be famous for spreading disease, marmots (ground squirrels) were also all over Europe and Asia — and along the Silk Road.

Northern Europe does not seem to have been home to venomous snakes, in general; mostly they had rat snakes and whip snakes, both predators of little creatures but harmless to humans. The Mediterranean region of course is another matter: vipers and adders galore. Some vipers lived as far north as Austria. While snakes were part of the legends and lore of Greece and all over Africa and Asia, they didn’t tend to feature so much in Northern European stories.

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Medieval Deer

The Anglo-Saxon word “deer” meant all wild animals in general, but it came to mean, in modern English, the one large wild animal that survived best in shrinking forest: the cud-chewing, horn-growing hoofed one.

The red deer is the one we see most in European cave drawings. It ranged from the Atlas Mountains in Africa to the Caucasus Mountains and Scandinavia. In medieval English, the stag of the red deer was known as a hart; with the boar, it was the most prestigious hunting quarry. At the shoulder, the average red deer is over four feet tall.

Roe deer (Cervus capreola) used to be called simply “roe” (Anglo-Saxon and Norse, ra). (The buck, of course, is the “roebuck” of catalog sales fame.) They don’t have white spots and adults may, at the shoulder, be as small as two feet high. Bucks grow small antlers with usually no more than three points. Roes ranged all over Europe and Asia.

The European fallow deer (Dama dama) is native to Turkey and the Mediterranean region, while the Persian fallow deer (Dama mesopotamia) was in Iran and the Middle East. Fallow deer bucks are only about three feet tall at the shoulder, but their antlers look more like elk or moose. Most of them have a brown coat with white spots, like North American deer fawns.

When European nobles went hunting, they chased the hart and the roe. The great thing about hunting these large animals is that they didn’t aggressively attack humans. Hunting parties could include ladies and take place on beautiful summer days, unlike boar hunts. We still use the word venison for deer meat, but they additionally called the process of hunting venery. (Confusingly, venery also means the pursuit of sexual pleasure.) Packs of dogs were trained to flush animals out of hiding and corner them for the humans to kill.

As forests shrank, nobles maintained special parklands for hunting deer. Parklands had ditches around to serve as fences; a deep and wide enough ditch discouraged deer from migrating out. A parker lived in a cabin in the forest and kept track of the herd. Trees could be coppiced, that is consistently cut and pruned so that they created many shoots instead of one trunk. (Peasants liked to coppice trees anyway, since that way they had more pliable branches for weaving into wattle fences and walls.) If the herd was growing too large for the natural greenery on the parkland, parkers might just spread hay.

Norman lords in England refused local residents permission to come onto their parklands, even if they were just in search of firewood or trapping hares. The Forest Laws were a great source of grievance and gave rise to the Robin Hood legends; Sherwood Forest was certainly one of the large set-aside hunting grounds. Deer had too much valuable meat for people to give up, but poachers needed fast ways to get the animals and get out. They might drive deer into nets or pits.

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Medieval Wild Pigs

Wild pigs also roamed Europe in large herds. Boars had large, sharp tusks, but even without tusks, sows could be just as deadly. As omnivores, pigs could live anywhere. In the forest, they lived on acorns, while near towns, they lived on garbage. They were probably a match for wolves in an even fight, so they had no real major predators. None of this is news to people in the southern United States, where wild pigs have been making themselves at home, spreading, multiplying, and even growing to larger sizes.

Wild pigs were deadly and hunting them was often fatal, but — a key difference from wolves — they were also delicious. The best time to hunt them was in winter, when a boar could be driven into a snowdrift that might slow down his charges. On the other hand, snowdrifts were hazards for humans, too, and the boar was probably less troubled by frostbite. A boar-hunting party was large and well-armed, chiefly with very long spears that could reach the boar’s skin before the boar reached the hunter. Stopping a charging boar took a lot of strength and skill. It was best done with the end of the spear braced against the ground, but that technique also put the hunter right in harm’s way. By late medieval times, there were special spear-heads shaped for hunting boars.

Roast boar was the ultimate feast centerpiece for all the right reasons. But boars were also important symbols; the Germanic gods Freyr (Frey) and Tiw (Tue) were both associated with the boar. Frey’s association may have been with the boar as it was lord of the forest, while Tiw’s may have been through the spear that hunted it. Boars were good symbols for shields and helmet-crests; the boar’s very tough skull may have suggested a particular link to helmets. We have several silver, bronze, or gold examples from Celtic, Anglo-Saxon, and Scandinavian digs. The helmet found at Benty Grange in England disintegrated, except for its framework and perfectly intact boar.

Boars also showed up in names. In Anglo-Saxon, boar was eofor, while in continental German, it was ebur. In the poem Beowulf, Eofor is one of his companions. We see these elements in the names — now only used as surnames — Eberhard and Everly. Wilbur means “wild boar” in Middle English.

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Medieval Bears

The Eurasian brown bear, Ursus arctos, ranged over every part of Europe in the early Middle Ages. Its diet was mainly mean, since small animals were also plentiful. Two different bear populations met in Europe, one coming from the Pyrenees Mountains, and the other coming out of Siberia’s Ural Mountains.

Wild bears probably became extinct in the British Isles first, well before the medieval period. Archeologists have found a limited bear population in Yorkshire that died out around 500 AD, but these bears may themselves have been imported by Romans for games. By contrast, in Scandinavia, they withdrew to mountains as the human population grew, but wild bears are still found in Sweden and Norway. Of course, it would be the same story everywhere in Europe: pulling back with the forest, retreating into the mountains. They still live in mountainous areas of Romania, Bulgaria, Turkey, Albania, Ukraine, and even Greece.

Bears have mythological significance to Northern Europe. The fact that we descendants of German tribes don’t call them either Ursus or Arctos (“bear” in Latin and Greek) seems to come from a taboo against speaking their name. “Bear” and “bruin” seem to be versions of “brown,” so that the bear was the Brown One. The bear might also be called the Honey-Eater, as in the Slavic languages it is Medved. “Beowulf” might have indicated a bear, the Bee-Wolf, that is, the hunter of honey. “Arctos,” the Greek name for the bear, came into modern use to mean the North, the land of the bear.

Unlike wolves, bears can be tamed. A really tame bear can learn to walk and dance, and a semi-tame bear can be handled for animal fights. Rome’s favorite public sport involved animals and men dying in combat, and the bear was a favorite competitor. Those bears in Yorkshire may have arrived in cages on Roman ships for use in amphitheaters. Following Rome’s example, medieval Europe continued to make sport not of all animals, but specifically of the bear. Bear-baiting was a gambling sport in which dogs attacked a chained bear; they placed bets on how many dogs would be killed before the bear died. (picture) The bear-baiting took place in a large pit, so that the spectators were safe. That’s where we get the name for pitbulls.

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Medieval Wolves

The “medieval” period stretches from the rise of Islam, about 650 AD, to the full establishment of the Ottoman Empire in about 1500. In the Late Classical Period of 400-500 AD, just before the Early Medieval, Europe was heavily forested and generally wild and dangerous. The Gauls, Britons, and recently-arriving Germans (Saxons, Goths, Franks) created small settlements along the rivers and generally avoided the deep, vast forests. The European climate had been relatively warm during the Roman period, but during the Late Classical/Early Medieval, it was relatively cooler (until about 950). It was a great time to be a wolf in Europe.

Medieval man would have been astonished at Yellowstone Park’s choice to reintroduce wolves. In people’s minds at that time, wolves were entirely wicked. Wolves came out of the forest to take domesticated — and expensive — animals like cattle and sheep. They were so large that ordinary farm dogs couldn’t mount a real defense, and a pack of them could do real damage to an armed human, too. Needless to say, deep in the forest, a pack of wolves could annihilate unarmed humans. Not only that, but wolves carried rabies, so medieval people believed that a wolf’s bite was venomous. There are mammals with venom, but wolves are not among them. Still, nobody was going to get close enough to find out.

Wolves had thick fur, but they also had a distinctive smell. Very few people would wear wolf’s skin as a coat or have it anywhere near their houses. A man who wore a wolf’s fur collar was sending a message; if you meet such a man in a book of fantasy or historical fiction, rest assured that he is a Bad Guy. He probably lives in a remote castle and robs travelers.

Nobody hunted wolves for sport. They were only killed to get rid of their predation, so poison was favored. Two flowering plants in Europe were called wolf’s bane: Aconitum, which was also called “wolf’s bane” in Greek, and Arnica montana, which also acted as a painkiller in small amounts and used topically.

Because wolves were considered evil and uncanny, their bones or fur could also be used for magic. This would apply especially in cases of healing wolf-bite, where the thing that caused harm was presumed to have power to cure it. Similarly, if a leaf or flower looked like a wolf’s head, it would be tried for curing an infected wolf bite.

Their magical power may be why, hated as wolves were, “wolf” was a very common name element. We see it in Germanic names, some of which have lasted into modern times, like Rudolf, Rolf (Ralph), and Adolf, and many more that stayed in the medieval period: Fridolf, Ethelwulf, Eadwulf, and Wulfgar. But we don’t realize that we’re seeing “wolf” also in Irish names that have “con,” for wolf or dog, like Connor, Conan, and Connery, and maybe also as “chan” in Channing. (List of wolf-related names, not very carefully curated, here.)

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Medieval Animals

Animals haven’t changed a lot in the last thousand years, but human use of them has shifted, and thus they too have changed somewhat. We can divide animals into six useful categories: wild animals, farm animals, horses, pets, exotic (zoo) animals, and imaginary animals. I think I’ll pass over ocean animals for now.

Of course, animals are also categorized by geography, so by talking about “medieval” animals, we’re really focusing first on Europe, second on the Islamic lands of North Africa, the Middle East, and Central Asia, and third on the far East of China, India, and the islands. The Americas and Australia obviously existed and had animals. I won’t include them, though, because to say “medieval” means essentially, “what can be gleaned from medieval books that were available in the cities within a few hundred miles of the Mediterranean.” There was a large trade zone between London and Beijing, connected by the Silk Road and ocean, with Constantinople roughly in the center. Outside of that zone, “there be dragons”—-or perhaps anything from two-headed dogs to talking lizards.

To go back to medieval Europe, Asia and Africa would be to find a paradise of wild animals, compared to our tamer, less diverse world now. Because Africa remained wild until 100 years ago, we have a pretty good sense of its animals. The Nile was full of crocodiles (gone now) and both Sahel and Savanna were the domain of lions, gazelles, jackals, and our favorite big game animals: elephants, giraffes, and zebras. Some parts of Asia are not much altered, for example, Siberia with its tigers and wolves or the Chinese highlands with pandas. But Europe and the Middle East have altered a lot.

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The Map of Piri Reis, 1513 and 1929

In 1929, the Ottoman Empire was dissolved and the new nation of Turkey was going through painful rapid social changes under the leadership of Mustafa Kemal Atatürk. Most importantly, they were changing their writing system from Arabic script to Latin. They were also removing Muslim clergy from positions of power and forcing men to shave beards and women to take off veils. And in the middle of all this, the Topkapı Palace was preparing to become a public museum.

In a corner of its library, they found some rolls of parchment and crumbling old books. One of the rolls of parchment turned out to be a sensation: it was a map signed by Piri Reis, a famous Muslim navigator. The map was dated 1513 and Piri’s notes claimed that he had consulted many even older maps. It had been given to Sultan Selim in 1517, probably not long after the mapmaker’s uncle Kemal Reis had defeated Venice in major sea battles.

The map’s parchment leather was the skin of a gazelle, suggesting it had been made in one of the ports of North Africa. In 1517, it may have been 90 cm by 65 cm, at its largest (modern) estimate. By 1929, only about one-third of the map remained, but this included the legend and notes by Piri Reis himself.

He used colored ink to make compass roses and the “windrose lines” that fan out from the compass in a classic portolan map. This map was developed for ship navigation; it showed coastal shapes very accurately, but sometimes its proportions or other measurements were off by modern standards. Still, the portolan map was the first really accurate, useful kind of map, from which our modern projections developed.

The map shows the west coast of Africa and the east coast of South America, with the Atlantic and Caribbean Islands. It’s really beautifully done, too, with little paintings of tall-masted ships and sketches of native animals on the land. The parts that are filled in with accuracy and confidence look quite a lot like a modern map, for example, the coast of Brazil is pretty good. At the margins of knowledge, of course, the coast line goes wonky, which has led some people to speculate that aliens helped the ancients map Antarctica and Piri Reis got to see the last remaining copy. It’s more likely that nobody was sure what the remotest coast of South America was actually like; it was easy then to mistake a cape for a peninsula, if you didn’t go beyond it.

What drew the most attention when the map was identified in 1929 was that Reis’s notes claim that he used at least 20 earlier, older maps. He bought maps from the Portuguese showing the Indian Ocean and South America, and of course he used Arabic and Greek maps dating back to the Hellenic period. His most sensational claim was that he used a map from Qulunbu, that is, Columbus. It’s the kind of detail that we might consider a forgery if there weren’t so many other reasons to consider the map authentic.

The discovery set off a search in the Palace and other buildings to see if a map by Christopher Columbus had made its way to Turkey. So far, nothing has been found. It’s more likely that Piri consulted the map in North Africa, used it for some details, but never had it in his possession for long.

In some ways, the map sums up the whole panorama of history that I’ve been writing about: from Mohammed’s successors who set out to conquer the known world, to a Turkish or Moorish sea captain who could consult maps in four or five languages and create a map that’s almost good enough to use today, through its preservation in a Muslim palace in the former Christian capital to its discovery by a German philologist after the Allies had defeated both Germany and the Ottomans in one big final showdown, ending the Muslim empire. And at the end of it all, there’s this fabulous gazelle skin with graceful ships skimming across its leather, heading to the New World with Arabic notes.

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Gunpowder Empires, 1501-1524

We’ve traced the messy patchwork of changing power alliances in the sweep of Asian land between Turkey and China. In 1500, the patchwork was as shifting as ever, although the Ottoman piece grew larger and larger. On its eastern border, the “White Sheep” (Ak Koyunlu) Turcoman alliance ruled a large swathe (including Baghdad), to the Persian border. They were a network of clan chiefs and war leaders, rather than a supreme leader. In Persia, there were regional dynasties like the Shirvanshah in Baku, and a mix of Sunni and Shi’ite tribes with shifting confederations. All this was about to change.

Ismail, the son of Sheikh Haydar, hereditary Grand Master of the Safaviya Sufi Order, was descended also from every ruling family in the region. His mother was the daughter of the White Sheep confederation leader, while her mother was descended from the Byzantine and Georgian royals. Orphaned at age 7, Ismail was raised by scholars in a rural county by the Caspian Sea, speaking Azeri Turkish and Persian.

The region of eastern Turkey, northern Persia, and Azerbaijan had a religious and military movement called the Kizilbash; the name meant “red head” and referred to a 12-gored red turban they wore—-12, to honor the Imams of the Twelver Shi’ite system. It seems to have included both Azeri Turkish and Persian tribes who were united by their Safaviya blend of Sufi mysticism and loyalty to Ali and Hussein, the first Imams driven out by the Sunni Caliphs. The Kizilbash were rejected by other Twelvers as too extreme, since they believed their ruler—the Murshid—was divine, and they initiated jihads against local Christians.

In the summer of 1500, Ismail was 12, and it was time to put him forward as the new Murshid in Erzincan, eastern Turkey. The Kizilbash tribes came to support him. The first military target was the Shirvanshah, who ruled in Baku. That army was defeated, although they allowed him to rule as a vassal. Ismail’s new realm was large enough to be a challenge to the White Sheep of eastern Turkey and western Iran, so next the White Sheep army crossed the Aras River to put down the 13 year old king. In a pitched battle, the Kizilbash forces won—of course! since the Murshid was invincible. Ismail soon added some minor kingdoms in Georgia to his territory. In 1501, he was proclaimed the Shah of Azerbaijan.

As Shah of Azerbaijan, Ismail proclaimed the Safavid Sufi Twelver faith as the official and mandatory religion of his realm. He dissolved Sunni organizations and ordered anyone unwilling to convert to Safavid Shi’ism to be executed. In 1502, he defeated the main army of the White Sheep and took over their territory, proclaiming himself Shah of Iran. Over the next eight years, he took city after city, until he had united all of Iran. In every new territory, he enforced Savavid Twelver Shi’ism with executions.

In 1507, 19 year old Ismail started replacing Kizilbash ministers with Iranian (Persian, not Turkish) ones. He felt the Kizilbash who had installed him were too powerful. Now that Iran was entirely Safavid Shi’ite, the Kizilbash were not special. Their religious identity became that of the whole nation. Ismail made no exceptions: when he conquered the territory of always-Sunni Baghdad, he smashed the tombs of the Abbasid Caliphs and some Sunni Imams. By 1510, he ruled Armenia, Iraq, Iran, eastern Turkey, parts of Georgia, Kurdistan, and the Uzbek area of Samarkand. He must have permitted historical Christians to retain their religion as dhimmis paying extra tax, while he enforced Safavid Twelver Shi’ism on Muslims.

In 1510, Shah Ismail formed a partnership with Babar, the ruler of Kabul and Herat. Babar had been born a prince in the Fergana Valley, farther north. He was a descendant of Timur (Tamerlane). He succeeded his father at age 11, but he went through a period of instability in which he would try to conquer Samarkand, while back at home in the Valley, his nobles revolted. After he regained his home and lost it again, he ended up succeeding his uncle as ruler of Kabul, which he kept. From Kabul, he added Herat, but he wasn’t content. If he couldn’t rule Samarkand, he would rule North India.

The young Shah of Iran’s partnership with Shah Babar of Kabul allowed them both to focus on modernizing their armies. Gunpowder was the nuclear warhead of the 15th century; those who could afford to buy and train artillery squads tended to win wars. The Ottoman Empire could afford it, and they were leading the arms race at that time. The Janissaries had now been gun handlers for many generations, with an array of gun sizes, from the huge bombards used against Constantinople to the most up-to-date sidearms. They are known today as the first Gunpowder Empire. But Shah Ismail and his new friend Babar could aspire to become the second and third Gunpowder Empires.

Before they could get very far in the modernizing project, the Ottomans challenged the Shah. In 1511, a pro-Safavid uprising among Ottoman subjects in eastern Turkey led the Ottoman Sultan Selim, son of Bayezid II, to move against Ismail. In 1514, the Ottoman and Safavid forces fought the first battle of what became a 40-year power struggle over eastern Turkey and Mesopotamia.

In the Battle of Çaldiran, the Shah’s forces lost badly to the gun-firing Ottomans. The Persian horses were not trained to hear gunshots, so they panicked badly, contributing to the loss. Ismail was wounded, and his wives were captured. The Safavid Shi’ites were shocked to see their Murshid actually lose a battle, and probably Ismail himself was shocked and demoralized, having been raised to see his victory as inevitable.

Sultan Selim entered Tabriz, Ismail’s capital, in triumph. He could have smashed and ended the Safavid project, but he received word of an uprising in Ottoman lands, so he retreated as quickly as possible. As we know from Egypt’s history, Selim conquered Mamluk Egypt instead of Iran. The ten remaining years of Shah Ismail’s reign were spent investing in gunpowder. Ismail built up a trained musket corps that may have numbered as much as 20,000. Ismail’s son, Tahmasp, took over an increasingly strong empire. In 1555, the Ottoman and Iranian Empires signed a treaty defining their border, ending a long-running war.

In parallel, during the same period, Shah Babar of Kabul hired an Ottoman general to teach his army how to use guns. They trained in using matchlock guns in the field, not just artillery in sieges. The common enemy of the two Shahs was the more primitive tribe of Uzbeks. Their new firepower pushed the Uzbeks right back. But Babar wanted to spread out in a direction that would not bring him into more conflict with Uzbeks, so he moved south.

In 1519, he crossed into what’s now Pakistan. As the third Gunpowder Empire, he had a clear advantage over every army he met. He defeated the Sultan of Delhi (a fellow Muslim) in 1526, which is considered the official founding of the Mughal Empire. At the Battle of Khanwa in 1527, Babar’s army of 10,000 faced a unified army of 100,000 from all of the kingdoms of the Rajput Confederacy. Outnumbered 10 to 1, Babar’s musket-firing soldiers still won. The next year, at the Battle of Chanderi, the Hindus chose mass suicide inside the fortress over another defeat. And so when Babar died in 1530, he ruled Afghanistan and North India.

The Gunpowder Empires transition our narrative to the modern world, decisively ending the Middle Ages.

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The End of Mamluk Rule in Egypt, 1492-1517

1492 was a very bad year in Egypt. It was a particularly bad plague visitation year, in a place with a large aging elite class. The only thing worse than thousands of geezers who still control everything and have all the money piled up is having most of them die within a few months, causing chaos. 200,000 people died in Cairo, and the survivors heard rumors of evil Jinns and visions of the Prophet, both portending disaster and destruction. There were food riots and the Mamluk king, who was about 80, was badly injured in a fall from a horse.

The Mamluk system had been falling apart in the last few decades, which is why they were so dependent on veterans for leadership and even active military duty. Economic hardship had made it more difficult for them to defend their northern territories. They barely held onto Aleppo and Damascus against the Ottomans, but the effort left the treasury drained. The Ottomans now held the lands farther north where Mamluk slaves had been purchased, so in addition to running short on money, they also ran short on slave supply (no doubt driving up the prices). The descendants of Mamluks had always been barred from becoming Mamluks themselves, but they lived in Cairo off their grandparents’ trust funds. There was probably more wealth among individuals than in the treasury. The Mamluks ran so short on soldier recruits that they actually did form some units of Mamluk descendants, but just as they’d predicted, it wasn’t the same.

The gunpowder arms race was another huge issue for them. Mamluk training had traditionally emphasized archery, which took years to learn. At this point in small arms development, bows were actually more effective than arquebuses and early muskets. They didn’t create clouds of smoke, they could be fired more rapidly (and farther), and they probably had much better aim. But it was the large artillery that traditional weapons couldn’t compete with, as we saw in the fall of Constantinople. Field guns light enough to be portable, but heavy enough to be lethal, were impossible to fight back with arrows and swords. A few of them wouldn’t be enough, since they had to be cooled down between shots, but they were very expensive.

There were two ways to obtain large artillery: make it or buy it. Making it meant getting enough bronze or iron, in addition to all the components of gunpowder. Some of these things could not be obtained within Egypt or its remaining territories, so they had to buy even the materials from rivals and enemies. It’s possible, too, that Muslim countries were at first disadvantaged in casting cannon because they had never learned to cast bells, as Christians had done. Early Mamluk do-it-yourself experiments exploded in all the wrongs ways, so for a while they just had to buy imported guns—probably from sellers who didn’t want them to get the best stuff (just as it is today).

The Ottomans had begun to learn these things about two generations earlier, since it was the only way to keep up with the European armies that were pioneering such inventions. Also, the Ottomans were in the stage of vigorous expansion, as the Mamluks had been once. They could afford anything, as they kept conquering more territory. They had a solid tax base and an expanding supply of replacement soldiers. So their armies typically numbered close to 100,000 with large units of field artillery, and even after a crushing defeat, they could quickly replace 10,000 or 20,000 soldiers. By contrast, the Mamluks near the end were doing really well to come up with a few thousand.

The old Sultan was dying, and the jousting to replace him had begun, when Vasco da Gama invaded the Indian Ocean. If it was any empire’s responsibility to fight him away from the ports of East Africa, it was Egypt’s. When the “new Sultan roulette” had finally stopped at an aging mediocrity named al-Ghawri, the Portuguese were harder to dislodge. The Mamluks fortified Jedda and began fighting to regain their ports south of the Horn of Africa. Interestingly, the Ottoman Sultan helped; he sent men and materials for the Jihad. Hindsight makes this much less surprising; whoever “helps” also has men on the ground when the tide turns, and makes the takeover power transition much easier.

Last week we were talking about whether the Portuguese end-run around Africa really made a difference to the vast Muslim empires. Here’s a few lines out of The Knights of Islam: Wars of the Mamluks by James Waterson. He’s quoting Ibn Ayas, a chronicler of the time:

“The prefect of Jeddah collected from the Indian merchants a tenth of their income, an act discouraging them from entering the port at all—which thus fell idle. Their goods became scarce in Egypt, and the town was deserted. Similarly, the ports of Alexandria and Damietta were abandoned because Frankish merchants ceased entering them. European merchandise also disappeared.”

In addition to the Portuguese sea route, Venice had settled a truce with the Ottomans and returned to trading through Constantinople, so merchants could take a northern Silk Road route. Egypt suffered most as the Red Sea passage became irrelevant.

Meanwhile, just as the Ottomans and Mamluks had settled a truce in the region of Syria, where the Mamluks still held onto a few cities, new pressures came from the boy Shah of Iran. In the years before the Ottomans beat him so badly at Chaldiran, the newly energized Shi’ite Turkish tribesmen were raiding those cities. Then the Mamluk Sultan learned that the boy Shah was sending messages to the kings of Europe, seeking alliances against the Ottomans—and the Mamluks. The Shi’ite Shah wiped out the last Khan of the Crimean Tatars and, Waterson says, he even sent the Khan’s skull as a drinking vessel to Egypt for a “what about an alliance?” gift. The new Iranian kingdom was pretty flexible at that point, ready to ally with anyone who could contribute to its growth or fight anyone who couldn’t.

Egypt’s last Mamluk years, 1511 through 1516, were continually more miserable. The shrinking fighting corps was hardly paid and hardly fed. Any money went into the gunpowder arms race, and the other Mamluks resented that. They kept having near-uprisings and riots. Nobody knew if the army would follow the Sultan into battle—the aging Mamluks had found it harder and harder to leave Cairo, for decades now—-and when the final showdown came, fewer than a thousand Royal Mamluks (the really elite ones) could be mustered.

After the boy Shah was wounded and the Shi’ites’ confidence in his and their invincibility was shaken, apparently the Mamluk Sultan had the poor judgment to send messengers to seek a defensive alliance against the Ottomans—with whom Egypt had a truce. He also rode to his Syrian territories to muster an army (perhaps the smallest force the Mamluks had fielded). If the Ottomans had gone back to Tabriz to finish off the Shi’ite Shah, Egypt might have  been okay. But with the Mamluk forces massed on the border, looking ready to break the truce, Sultan Selim turned aside.

In the decisive battle just north of Aleppo, summer 1516, the Mamluks at first did surprisingly well. Even as veterans and retirees, they still had great discipline and skill. But when the battle began to turn against them, the Sultan had a stroke and fell from his horse. Then it all disintegrated. Aleppo and Damascus both surrendered to the Ottomans.

The Mamluks crowned one last king, but he presided in Cairo only long enough for the Ottoman army to invade. In January 1517, the last Mamluk Sultan placed all the field artillery they had managed to obtain in the front lines to stop the advancing Turks. But he didn’t have sufficient number of guns to keep a steady fire, since they had to be cooled between shots. The Ottoman Sultan entered Cairo in triumph. There was one last battle among the pyramids at Giza, when the Turks mopped up and captured the last Mamluk king. He was carried back to Cairo, where he expected negotiated surrender. Instead, he was publicly hanged, with other Mamluk emirs.

Some Mamluks remained at large and continued to harry the Ottoman conquerors, while some were re-appointed to administrative roles. During their waning years, they started to become legends in their own time. Ottoman students started reading about Mamluks as heros, now that the legacy of Egypt had been adopted. Mamluks were Islam’s answer to Europe’s knights and heros. But while its former glories were bruited abroad, Egypt remained under Ottoman centralized authority, turning into just a province, until Napoleon disrupted the quiet flow of time in the desert.

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