Bohemund in Glory and Shame, 1104-1111

Posted on May 7, 2017 by Ruth

Bohemund, son of the Norman who conquered Sicily, was described as a tiger by Anna Comnena, Alexios’s daughter. His ferocious assault on Albania in past years had advertised Norman strength, and when he set out as a leader in 1097, everyone expected him to be the star. His crafty mind had landed him the Princedom of the biggest city in the region, but ever since then, life had been rocky. He was still trying to get the mare’s-milk-whiskey smell out of his tunics when his expedition to Harran turned out so badly.

In Antioch, Bohemund explained to everyone that while he was in captivity, he frequently prayed to St. Leonard, and now that he was free, he was under oath to give a silver model of shackles to the Cathedral of the saint in France. He would recruit more Crusaders while in France and return in glory! Definitely, totally. To make sure he could travel and recruit in style, he emptied the treasuries of Antioch. He packed up the gold and silver in locked chests and just legally stole it. Tancred, the nephew who had been reluctant to welcome him back, was left with regency of both Edessa and Antioch, but without funds.

Bohemund was an enemy of the Byzantines by now; his un-neighborly actions had made it very clear to them that he ranked them with the Turks, or possibly lower. Unfortunately, he had to pass through a lot of Byzantine territory in order to get back to Italy and France. According to the Emperor’s daughter Anna, he sneaked through dangerous parts by lying in a coffin with a rotting dead chicken. No Byzantine guards wished to search that coffin! It was a clever ruse if he actually did this, but the fact that he had to sneak in such a shameful way was not his proudest resume point. (Also, now the laundress really could not salvage his tunic; Turk whiskey was bad enough, rotting chicken was just too much.)

In Italy, Bohemund was welcomed as a hero. Taranto and Apulia could bask in his conquering glory. Someone in his retinue wrote a history of the Crusading years, and Bohemund used some of the Antiochan gold to fund its copying and distribution. Naturally, it centered on each of Bohemund’s heroic acts as well as on the shameful, sneaking, lying actions of the Greeks, his new enemies.

Bohemund visited St. Leonard’s shrine as promised, and while in France, he also married a princess. You may recall that King Philip was having girl problems (bigamy) around this time and was under excommunication. As a result, he had two daughters to give away, an old one and a young one.

Bohemund’s bride was Constance, who was 28 and newly divorced. One perk of the feudal marriage system was that widows and divorcees who still brought dowries and estates did not lose market value. Constance had already given birth to a son who died, and she was still elegant and pretty. Her brother Louis would be king; it was a very good match.
Constance’s little half-sister Cecilia, on the other hand, was only about 8. Bohemund at 52 was clearly too old for Cecilia, but Tancred at 31 seemed appropriate. The point wasn’t that Cecilia was actually old enough to be married, but that her legal and financial affairs could be settled now. Tancred would be near 40 when she was actually old enough to have children, but they assumed he’d still be interested. She was probably sent to Antioch in a separate retinue, by ship. (Don’t worry, it will work out okay for Cecilia in the end.)

Bohemund and his wife raised a new army of foot soldiers and younger knights, and with Pope Paschal’s blessing, they set off eastward. Along the way, Bohemund II was born. Glory! But there’s a catch; Bohemund wasn’t going back to Antioch. His really burning grudge was against the Byzantines now, and he led his army straight across the Adriatic Sea to Christian Greece. Deus Vult!

His assault on Thessaly was such a disaster that the Emperor forced Bohemund into one of the most humiliating treaties of all time. It was signed at the fortress of Diabolis (now Devol) in Albania. (I love details like that: the Treaty of the Devil, right?) The Emperor kindly granted to Bohemund the right to remain Duke (not prince) of Antioch, but with the feudal ties all reorganized. He was now a vassal of Constantinople, and his city would have a Greek Orthodox patriarch, not Roman Catholic. On his death, Antioch would revert to the Empire, though his heirs could keep Edessa as vassals.

The only way to keep the treaty from being enforced was just not to return to Antioch. It was between him and Alexios, even if Alexios considered it binding on his heirs. Bohemund was now covered in shame. With Constance and their toddler, he drifted back to Apulia. His army’s survivors probably straggled home, too. In 1111, Bohemund died a natural death and was buried in Taranto. Constance stayed there, as regent of Taranto and Apulia, raising little Bohemund II.

The treaty was really a brilliant move for Alexios. Had it been enforceable, it would have achieved what he hoped originally: the return of rich Antioch to his tax base and the strengthening of Greek naval power along the north Mediterranean.

 

 

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Hostages and ransoms, 1103-1108

Posted on May 7, 2017 by Ruth

Keeping up with the Roupenians: “Baby Blues” [Morphia’s baby is due, but her husband is in Mosul. Her father just got killed, and now Arda has a divorce shocker! How will the family cope?]

By 1103, Count Baldwin II of Edessa, his lieutenant Joscelin of Tel Bashir, and other Crusaders had finally raised the sum of gold to buy Bohemund’s freedom. A tenth of the gold was levied from a local Muslim who wanted an alliance, so that’s interesting. Equally interesting, his own nephew Tancred didn’t contribute. Tancred clearly wanted to continue being regent of Antioch and resented it when his uncle Bohemund came home smelling like a yurt.

Bohemund probably learned a lot about life with the Danishmend Turks, but we’ll never know what it was. His first major action was to collect Count Baldwin II and Sir Joscelin and start getting revenge on the Turks. It worked out very badly: on the plains near Harran (another Abrahamic place name), they met a combined Turkish force and the Edessans become isolated and surrounded. Many Edessan knights and soldiers died, and both Count Baldwin II and Sir Joscelin were captured! Hostages, again!

What I find the most interesting about this hostage-taking is that Count Baldwin II spent the next four years in Mosul. He’s an interesting guy, all around. He was a knight who came with the Boulogne brothers; I presume got his knight training in a little “school” with Eustace, Godfrey, and Baldwin, since that was a common way to form friendships and feudal bonds even among children. He was a little younger, about 25 when he joined the Crusade. We know little about Baldwin’s past, but much about his adult lifetime.

Baldwin II married Morphia of Melitene, probably at the same time that he assumed the status of Count. Unlike most of the other Crusaders, he really turned into a family man. Morphia was pregnant when he was captured, and gave birth to a daughter, named Melisende. There’s a big gap between Melisende and the next baby, of course, but eventually they had four daughters. Four daughters is significant in many ways: it means they liked each other enough to have lots of sex, and it means that when no boys were born, Baldwin II didn’t try to have the marriage annulled and start over.

By contrast, in 1105 the older Baldwin I King of Jerusalem (former Count of Edessa) was tired of his Armenian wife Arda. She had no children, and perhaps he felt time was running out. He put her in a convent; I don’t think he had any valid excuses to annul or divorce. He married the widowed Countess of Sicily who brought gold and a thousand archers as her dowry. Later, he set her aside, too. It’s hard not to view his marital adventures with cynicism, so his cousin is a refreshing change.

The younger Baldwin II came from a monolingual French culture, unlike his age-peer Tancred who grew up in Arabic-fluent southern Italy. I like to think that Baldwin began learning basic Armenian in Edessa, to help with governing and then to talk to Morphia. There’s no doubt little Melisende spoke nothing but Armenian when her father came home from Mosul. Did he learn some Arabic or Turkish in Mosul? Four years is a long time to pass with nothing to do, and Baldwin seems to have been a very active man. He would have sought opportunities to observe the economy of Mosul, and perhaps he got some Arabic or Turkish martial arts training as well.

The older Crusaders never really adjusted to the Levant; they were intruders, always. Baldwin II, I think, really went native in a way they didn’t. He had no interest in his hometown of Bourg (sometimes spelled Bourcq), apart from bringing his sister out to marry one of the younger lords. He and Morphia eventually established the royal family of Jerusalem that we read about for the rest of the Crusades. He wasn’t royalty in Europe; but when he put down roots in Palestine, he became it. Baldwin II is my favorite First Crusader.

 

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Mt. Pilgrim and the Legacy of Raymond, 1101-5

Posted on May 6, 2017 by Ruth

Raymond of Toulouse had taken a vow not to return home. He had missed out on the prizes of Antioch and Jerusalem, but his army had taken some towns and forts in the vicinity of Tripoli. Among these early captures was the castle that later become known as the Krak des Chevaliers, one of the most famous Crusader fortresses. But in the early years, the governor of Tripoli placated him with assistance, staving off a direct assault.

Since the Fatimids had shown that they might be able to wipe out the Crusader Kingdom, Tripoli’s governor lost interest in pacifying the Crusaders. In 1101, Raymond had besieged and taken a nearby port, Tortosa, while Tripoli tried to defend it. Detente was over; they were now parties in a state of war.

Raymond could use Tortosa as a port and power base. He chose to dedicate the rest of his life to forcing Tripoli into submission. To that end, he built a castle on a nearby hill. It must have taken a full year to build this castle, 1102-1103, with blocks of stone being rolled up the hill in full view. Surely, the rulers of Tripoli could have attacked and stopped him, but apparently not. Without additional forces from Damascus or Aleppo, they could not overcome Raymond’s Provencal army that stood guard.

Raymond called the hill Mons Peregrinus, the Pilgrim Mountain. The new fort was named for him, using his personal surname of St-Gilles. It’s not clear if he lived in the fortress, or if he had a camp or house in a nearby town. Castles in Europe were primarily residential, while these Crusader fortresses were primarily defensive. It seems likely that Raymond and most of his men would prefer, though, to close a gate at night and feel secure. The fort is still in existence, but it has been ruined and rebuilt several times.

In 1105, Raymond of Toulouse died of battle wounds, leaving a complex legacy. Of first importance to our age, one of his clerks wrote an account of his role in the Crusade, a written record that we prize more than any citadel. Of first importance to his age, he left one heir who was directly on hand to take control of the fortress. This was his nephew William-Jordan, who was already a Crusader; but he also had two sons. Raymond had been married three times, with legitimacy issues in each case. His official heir was a child, Alfonso Jordan, but his oldest son Bertrand had been governing Toulouse. Bertrand set out immediately when he heard the news, and eventually he pushed out William-Jordan. When Tripoli fell in 1109, Bertrand became its first Count.

Bertrand oversaw the official burning of Tripoli’s library, too. Yes, somehow “our guys” did that too sometimes. They just had no excuse, as the nomads at least did.

Raymond left some lasting alliances and victories to his credit. In his personal rivalry with Bohemund, Raymond had chosen to side with the Byzantine Emperor. He was the only Crusader who remained on good terms with Alexios. King Baldwin could largely ignore the Emperor and focus on his border challenges, but Bohemund’s Antioch was really part of Cilicia, so he and the Emperor were always in each other’s faces. The Armenians kept flipping allegiance from Byzantium to Antioch and back, as Tancred or Bohemund created less or more threat. (At one point, Tancred led a full invasion into the towns he had first helped to liberate.) Greek ships helped Raymond capture Tortosa, near their port of Latakia, and Raymond helped smooth the way of the 1101 Faint-hearted Crusaders.

On the debit side, Raymond’s legacy included the loss of Ascalon and a few other port towns. He had been so eager for a truly important title that he got into stalemate struggles with Godfrey of Jerusalem. Godfrey wanted all nearby cities to be attached to Jerusalem in the feudal structure, so he refused to agree that Raymond could be Duke or Prince of Ascalon. It’s another of those points that might have altered history: had Raymond, a powerful and wealthy lord with a large contingent of surviving men, occupied Ascalon, he could have really secured the southern border. Without the title, he refused to lift a finger, and so Ascalon remained a Fatimid port, keeping the war frontier dangerously close to Jaffa and Jerusalem.

 

 

 

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The Crusade of the Faint-Hearted, 1101-1102

Posted on May 6, 2017 by Ruth

The entry before this one is dated May, 20, 2014, titled “Good cops and bad ones: Caesarea in 1101.” link

In 1101, the new Pope Paschal called for another wave of pilgrim fighters to go east. Some of them were fresh faces, including the Archbishop of Milan leading another disorganized crowd of poor men, but some were First Crusaders who had broken their vows. For this reason, it wasn’t called the Second Crusade by historians, rather the Crusade of the Faint-Hearted. The Second Crusade was still 45 years away.

Hugh of Vermandois, the French King’s brother, was one of the oath-breakers who now returned. Stephen of Blois, the deserter who had told the Emperor not to bother trying to rescue the Crusaders in Antioch, was another. His wife was the daughter of William the Conqueror; her brothers were now kings of England, and she couldn’t bear being married to a shamed oath-breaker.

William the Duke of Aquitaine came on this Crusade 1.2. He had skipped Crusade 1.0 because he did not yet have an heir; his son William was born the year Jerusalem was captured. His wife was Raymond of Toulouse’s niece and actually the rightful ruler, so while Raymond was gone, they captured Toulouse. Now, though, the Duke needed to raise money for Crusading, so he just mortgaged it back to Raymond’s son.

He was an incorrigible philanderer who, when he returned from the Holy Land, moved his mistress named Dangerosa (seriously) into the ducal palace, further humiliating the mother of his children (who had just seen her hometown/dowry tossed away for ready cash). He was also the first great troubadour whose work still survives. None of this matters for the Crusade, but he’s such a colorful character that he seems worth pointing out. In Crusade histories, we often run across people who are main characters in other stories.

The first tranche of new Crusaders fought their way across Turkey with the help of the Byzantine Emperor. They were trying to rescue Bohemund Prince of Antioch from a Danishmend-Turk yurt, but they didn’t succeed. The Turks united this time and won a grueling three-day battle, and the French prince Hugh died. Apparently, the entire Aquitainian army was killed,  leaving only the Duke and a few companions to continue to Jerusalem.

Raymond of Toulouse joined them, and more new crusading nobles arrived. They were able to do a little good, capturing another much-needed port. But once they had arrived in Jerusalem for Easter, it looked like the fighting was over. Relieved to have their vows checked off, their honor rescued, and still alive, they set sail for Europe. But the winds turned, and some of their ships came back to Jaffa (the lucky Duke of Aquitaine got home).

In Jaffa, the stranded nobles got bad news: their swords were definitely needed again. A large Fatimid army under al-Afdal’s son was on the march from Ascalon, and King Baldwin was panicking. So Stephen of Blois, Hugh of Lusignan (Raymond of Toulouse’s half-brother), the Count of Burgundy, and Conrad Constable of Germany took their knights and turned back into the desert, with King Baldwin’s small contingent of knights.

The last time Baldwin faced this scenario, he had ridden against a Fatimid army that outnumbered him about 5 to 1, but carrying the True Cross relic, he had narrowly survived and at last prevailed. Assuming that the Fatimid army this time was merely a raiding party, he set out to attack again, instead of waiting for reinforcements from Raymond or Tancred. But this time, King Baldwin had made a tragic mistake. His 200 knights were engulfed by a full-scale field army, and there were almost no survivors.

After the first onslaught and as darkness fell, those still living made it into a small desert fort, but it was impossible to survive when morning came. During the night, King Baldwin and five knights escaped out a back gate. All of the men left behind were killed in battle, with one exception. Conrad, Duke/Constable of Germany, fought so ferociously outside the little fort that no Fatimids could come near him and survive. At last they offered him generous surrender terms, awed by his courage and skill. He was taken to Egypt and released.

Meanwhile, King Baldwin had a harrowing experience: alone, he tried to escape. A few miles away, he hid in a thicket of reeds, but the Fatimids set it on fire. His horse Gazelle was very fast and by dint of several days’ hiding and riding, they evaded Fatimid patrols. Baldwin tried to get back to Jerusalem, but there were too many enemies. Turning north, he made it to the port city of Arsuf, where he (and Gazelle, surely) collapsed.

In Arsuf, Baldwin was met by his Crusader Count of Tiberias with a small contingent of knights. He heard that the Fatimids were now besieging Jaffa but had not assaulted Jerusalem. Instant, unexpected action might be decisive. English legend has it that Baldwin was given a lift to Jaffa by an English pirate called Godric, who stayed in the Holy Land long enough to reform into St. Godric.

Queen Arda had been left in Jaffa for safekeeping with a tiny reserve force. This was the second time she found herself in this position; the previous year, in the First Battle of Ramla, she had been told that the king was dead. She had been reluctant to surrender, and it paid off: the king turned up the next morning with a small force, reporting that somehow they had won. But it was too much to ask for a second miracle of the same kind. The Fatimid commander found a dead Crusader who looked like Baldwin and began parading the mutilated remains around, calling out that the king was dead. Queen Arda could see no option but to surrender.

Just in time, St. Godric’s boat came into Jaffa harbor from the unexpected north, bearing the king himself. Legend gives him a shining banner that could be seen from afar, and the reinforcements from Tiberias came with him, of course. Small as their forces were, they fought Jaffa free of besiegers and saved the queen.

Somehow, the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem still hung on. As long as the king survived and no cities were actually taken, the Fatimid expedition had been a loss. Baldwin’s escape was not honorable, but his sheer tenacity at surviving alone, with his eventual rescue of Jaffa, restored his honor.

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War gear of the First Crusade

Posted on April 26, 2017 by Ruth

When the organized Princes’ Crusade armies set out, they had the best standard weaponry of the time. So what did the average soldier carry?

The most important weapon of the era was the spear, whether it was a throwing lance (or even dart) or a pole-ax that included a spear point with other hooks and barbs. Spears are the primary weapon of the Bayeux Tapestry. Their shafts were eight or nine feet long, probably made of ash wood. Spear heads were made of iron, and the quality of the iron (therefore how sharp its edge stayed) varied with the owner’s wealth.

Imagine being a foot soldier who had to walk across Germany, Hungary, Bulgaria, and then Anatolia (Turkey). Do you want to carry that spear the whole way? While it might make an okay hiking staff occasionally, you don’t want to wear out the ash pole by constantly slamming it on the ground. You will bring a pack horse (or donkey or mule) along to carry your gear, with the spear tied into the bundle.

The pack horse will also carry your mail shirt, the most expensive gear you own. It’s made of iron wire that was wrapped around a stick while hot, so that it cooled into a non-springy spiral. The wire was cut into rings, and the ends of the rings flattened, with holes bored into each side. When the rings were hooked together like the Olympic symbol, tiny rivets slipped into the holes, securing the rings shut.

Tens of thousands of iron rings are fitted into your shirt. It may only cover your torso, protecting at least your vital organs. If you can afford more rings, your shirt hangs down as a curtain around your upper legs, too. It’s split in front to let you ride a horse or walk easily, but it forms a swinging barrier for any blade aiming to cut your leg off. If you can afford even more rings, it has arm protection too.

The mail shirt is very heavy and uncomfortable, and it must be stored wrapped in oiled cloth to protect it from rusting. When you wear it, you need a quilted tunic against your skin so that the rings won’t pinch and cut you. So that’s another key part of your gear, a linen quilt-shirt that’s stuffed with wool or other padding (when cotton starts being imported, that will be its first use).

The Bayeux Tapestry, which shows the fathers of the current Crusaders, also shows mail shirts being carried with a pole through the arms, between two men. This suggests the weight as well as the need to let gravity keep the rings straight. I don’t think the Crusaders managed them this way, but it does suggest how heavy and inconvenient they were.

You have a linen hood to go under your helm, and probably a padded cap as well. The helm is made of plate iron, probably with some chain mail attached to the bottom edge as neck protection.

You also need a light-color linen tunic to go over the mail, to reflect the sun. First Crusaders may have learned this part the hard way. A mail shirt gets very, very hot in the Middle Eastern sun. This concern was probably also why the Princes’ Crusade set off in August, 1096: so that the hottest months were already past. When fighting pilgrims (they still just called themselves pilgrims at this time) wore a fabric cross as the Pope had suggested, they put it on the outer reflective tunic.

If you’re a knight or in training to be one, you have at least one sword, but if you are a foot soldier from the manors and towns around the province, you don’t. Sword technology going into the First Crusade was similar to what’s found in Viking graves. The blade had been specially treated to increase the carbon content; some of its metal might qualify as steel. The pommel had a guard on each side of the hand, while the iron shaft at the handle’s core was covered by wooden grips carved to fit the hand. Some swords were made so large and heavy that they required two hands, but I think they came later than 1100.

Shields were made of wood: plywood layers with the grains crossed to make it stronger. Shields couldn’t stop a hurtling spear or a direct blow from a sword. They could block arrows or turn less direct blows. It was worth having a shield, more than not, but it wasn’t a big iron plate you could hide behind. That would have been way too expensive and heavy. The shield was covered with linen to stop splintering, and then shellacked with paint. It carried the lord’s insignia.

The rest of your gear, piled on the pack horse, consists of food and water storage containers, small tools, and extra cloth items like a blanket. You always carry a knife at your belt, the way modern people routinely put on wristwatches. Your boots are made of leather, but they have soft soles like moccasins. You probably have some extra soles along, with a needle and awl; you may even have an extra whole pair of boots in the pack, knowing that you’ll be walking. Somewhere in Bulgaria or Anatolia, your pack horse will die, and you’ll have to decide what you can heft on your back.

The Princes, of course, had even more gear: tents, chests of money, more extras of everything, and servants who needed gear just to tend the gear.

 

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1095: Meanwhile in Egypt…

Posted on April 10, 2017 by Ruth

The year before Pope Urban II called for the first Crusade in Clermont, Egypt experienced two important deaths that led to another split in the Shi’ite world.

Caliph al-Mustansir ruled for sixty years in Cairo, starting when he was only an infant. His reign was the longest among Muslim rulers, but he controlled only Egypt, rather than an empire. And during his years, Egypt fell on very hard times. Between 1065 and 1072, the Nile had seven years of low water, creating poverty and famine. Berber nomad raids made things worse. Country towns were abandoned as survivors of famine, plague and raid moved closer to each other.

The Caliph’s treasury was drained to pay Turkish mercenaries, who finally rebelled and looted the palace and libraries in 1069. The Caliph went into hiding and sent a message to the only man he thought could save him: an Armenian general named Badr al-Jamali, who was on the Fatimid front lines in Syria, trying to hold back the Turks. Badr led Armenian troops into Cairo, retaking the city in 1074. He became the Vizier, ruler in all but title. For twenty years, Egypt became stable.

In 1094, both Badr and al-Mustansir died. Badr died first, and provided for his son al-Afdal to succeed him as Vizier. When the Caliph died just months later, al-Afdal seized the moment. The Caliph’s younger son was his brother-in-law, under his personal sway. He placed the young man on the throne, proclaiming him Caliph al-Musta’li. He got all of the nobles to swear allegiance.

Nizar, the older son, had been the designated heir. He fled to Alexandria, where some anti-Badr factions lived. Alexandria proclaimed him Caliph and Imam in 1095. (Archeologists have found a single gold dinar minted for the occasion, with his name on it.) The usual story: a few battles later, Nizar was captured then executed in Cairo.

But this proved to be one of those defining moments in history, when millions of believers throughout Egypt, Syria and Persia refused to countenance what had been done through military strength. Hasan Sabah, chief Ismaili da’i in Persia, immediately announced their support of Nizar’s rights as true Imam. Sabah cut diplomatic ties with Cairo and founded a small Nizari Ismaili state based in mountain strongholds.

All of this was still happening when Pope Urban II was calling for a European invasion of Turkish strongholds in Damascus, Aleppo, Antioch and Jerusalem. It isn’t likely that Europeans were paying any attention to the palace coup in Cairo, if they had a reliable source of news at all.

The Muslim Empire was now divided into at least five distinct sects/kingdoms: the Puritanical al-Moravids of North Africa and Spain; the Vizier-ruled Fatimid rump state in Egypt; the Turkish-Arab Sunni chaos between Jerusalem and Baghdad; the strange mountain Druze sect of Lebanon; and last, the Nizari mountain sect led by Hasan Sabah in Alamut, the Eagle’s Nest, in Persia.

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The Druze

Posted on March 10, 2017 by Ruth

In the later years of Caliph al-Hakim (see original entry here), two separate forces fused to create the Druze, the secretive cult/tribe based in Lebanon. This is another of those stories that’s hard to make out clearly because there are too many disagreements among versions. It goes something like this.

A talented Persian preacher, Hamza, came to Egypt and rose to the top of the Da’wa (missions) department. He was very evangelical about Ismailism and probably influenced Caliph al-Hakim’s increasing suppression of Sunnis. His immediate junior was ad-Darazi, also a Persian. Under Hamza’s influence, ad-Darazi also became very evangelical and ambitious. Since the Caliph was also the Imam, the two motives could not be separated.

Ad-Darazi was asked to lead a military expedition against a rebellious group in Lebanon. (Because, according to Shi’ite doctrine, who better to lead an army than an esoteric preacher?) The rebellion in Lebanon was probably a reaction against the strictness of Ismailism; it was called “Unity” and it stressed uniting the monotheistic religions in one faith. The Unity followers were part of a large extended clan who considered themselves ancient Midianites descended from Moses’s father in law Jethro.

Ad-Darazi lost the battle and was captured. In captivity, he converted to the beliefs of the Unity movement, now also called the Movement that Defeated Ad-Darazi. He brought the same evangelical zeal to the Unity beliefs, then brought its gospel home to Cairo.

Darazi competed with Hamza for leadership of the Dawa. Perhaps in order to gain favor with the mad caliph, he declared that al-Hakim was the new Incarnation of God, a status handed down from Jesus and Ali. For one intense year, the original Unity beliefs and the new fanatical faith in al-Hakim were taken back and forth from Cairo to Lebanon until they began to blend. When ad-Darazi preached his theology in public, there were riots in Cairo. In 1018, he was executed by Caliph al-Hakim.

Darazi left his name to the new theology, Darazites (perhaps short for the Movement that Defeated Darazi), eventually shortened to “Druze,” but he won no friends. The Druze consider Hamza their founder, not Darazi. Reports differ on Caliph Hakim’s view of all this. Some claim firmly that Hakim wanted no part of divine claims, while others believe the claims fit right in with Hakim’s insanity. The Druze believe that in 1017, he had appointed Hamza to be Imam of the Unity movement. In 1021, when the Caliph disappeared, Hamza appointed a new Dawa chief and retreated into Lebanon. He apparently wrote the Druze scriptures.

The Druze call themselves Unitarians, al Muwahhidun; “Druze” is a derogatory nickname, the way “Christian” was at the start too. It’s hard to know just what they believe. They may believe that either or both Hakim and Hamza were “occulted” or “sublimated” instead of dying, and will come again. They did not accept the next Caliphs as Imams. Hamza’s successor at the Dawa stayed in touch and also continued to develop the theology of the “Divine Call.” Eventually he too went into hiding, and in 1043 the theology was declared heretical. The Druze leader (maybe still Hamza’s successor) declared the faith closed.

Just like that, one of the most evangelical movements suddenly became the least evangelical. You cannot convert to the Druze faith; you can only be born into it. The first duty of a Druze is to survive long enough to pass on his faith, so they developed a code of secrecy and lying to outsiders. Pretty much all of the Muslim rulers after this persecuted them if they possibly could. The Druze withdrew to a mountain in Lebanon and created a fortress culture, eventually impressing the Crusaders by their fanatical devotion. (Their ruler, called by Europeans “The Old Man of the Mountain,” could gesture at a guard to jump off the cliff, and with a cry of “Allah hu Akbar!” the guard would jump without delay.)

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The Battle of Karbala, 680

Posted on December 18, 2016 by Ruth
Karbala, an event not often included in European/American histories, is one of the defining moments for Islamic history. 
 
The year was 680. The newly-conquered Muslim lands had gone through four Caliphs in rapid succession, following Mohammed’s death in 632. These Caliphs had all been Mohammed’s close friends or relatives, and the 4th was his cousin, Ali.
 
Ali became Caliph over the objections of Muawiyah, a member of Mohammed’s tribe, the Quraysh. Muawiyah was governor of Syria under Caliph Uthman, who had been assassinated. Muawiyah pushed to have the assassins brought to trial, while Ali wanted to let the matter rest. Ali also moved the governing capital from Damascus to Kufa, in Iraq.
 
Here we see the tribal stress lines: “hereditary royalty” relative, Ali vs. Quraysh tribe; conquered Persians who preferred Kufa vs. original Arabs who had settled into Damascus. The bone of contention was whether or not to hang the assassins, but the real conflict was about tribal and regional power-sharing.
 
Ali and Muawiyah came to open battle along the Euphrates River, but after a week of fighting, they moved to arbitration of the dispute. It’s at this time that the Kharijites walked away. Ali remained Caliph, but Muawiyah was more powerful in Syria, so it was clear that the showdown was not over. A Kharijite assassinated Ali while he was at prayer, in 661.
 
Ali’s son Hassan became Caliph, but he made a treaty with Muawiyah to stop the nascent civil war. He ceded the Caliphate to Muawiyah on condition of a line of succession: Hassan himself, then his brother Hussein. If neither of them was still alive, then the Muslims would have an election. That way, there would be no dynasty unless it was Ali’s.
 
But when Muawiyah died in 680, he appointed his son Yazid as Caliph. Hassan had died in 670, but Hussein was still very much alive. He refused to swear allegiance to Yazid, because of the treaty.
 
Twice, the Muslims had halted civil war for arbitration, but this time, they went to full battle. Hussein left Mecca to seek Persian reinforcement at Kufa. Along the way, Yazid’s army caught his small army at a town called Karbala.
 
The Battle of Karbala was hopeless for Hussein. He is a classic case of the rightful-heir as underdog, swept away by much larger, more pragmatic, force. During the battle, he was not only killed but beheaded. His family members were either killed (including a baby) or captured.
 
One legend about the battle emphasizes Hussein’s status as righteous underdog. In the few days before they opened pitched battle, the army from Damascus prevented Hussein’s men from accessing river water. Suffering from thirst, the men were offered a chance to desert without punishment, but they all stayed to face death with Hussein.
 
By our calendar, the battle took place on about October 10, 680. Within Islam, the date is commemorated as Ashura. Every detail of the battle is remembered and often there is a ritual re-enactment. Here is one re-enactment of the death of Hussein.
 
The Kharijites were more like rebellious dissidents than like a separate sect. The Partisans of Hussein (Shia = partisans) eventually became a sect, but at this time, they too were more a scattered, resentful rebellion. For a few years, there were scattered rebellions in Syria, Arabia and Egypt. The power of the Majority (Sunni = majority) was sufficient to put down these rebellions. Muawiyah’s family became known as the Umayyad dynasty.
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Cosmetic, elective and women’s surgery

Posted on December 15, 2016 by Ruth

Elective surgery was only a concept in the Greek tradition that Northern Europe didn’t learn until the late medieval, when textbook education about surgery spread north from Bologna. I’m still not sure if the Greek world had been using opium as a surgical pain treatment, but the existence of elective surgery at all seems to imply it.

Paul of Aegina described surgery for nose polyps and ankyloglossia, the “tongue-tied” condition restricting the tongue’s motion. Removing tonsils was a bit more involved than those, but still fairly easy since no incision was needed. His method only needed a few special curved knives, and two strong assistants to hold the mouth open and the tongue down. An eyelid that got flipped in the wrong direction could also be corrected; there were several other corrective eye surgeries.

One of the surprising elective surgeries he describes is breast reduction for boys. It’s clearly the same technique that’s still used today, but of course, the young man had to really want the reduction in order to steel himself for such a procedure without real pain control.

There’s no suggestion that anyone did breast reduction for women, although the same book describes enough obstetrical and gynecological procedures that, when it was translated into Arabic, it was taken for the definitive book on gynecology. The author became known in Arabic as “al-Qawabilly” or “The Gynecologist.” If Paul of Aegina didn’t talk about it, it didn’t exist (to the distress of some women in labor who had feet-first babies that Paul just forgot to mention).

I was surprised to find that this older, more sophisticated medical tradition also included two instruments not known to Europe’s Middle Ages: the catheter and the speculum. The catheter was apparently a metal tube, so that the doctor had to work carefully following the curves of inner anatomy. The speculum was essentially no different from the one used today: two bronze leaf-shaped blades with a screw that forced them to move apart once inside. We use flexible plastic and stainless steel as materials now, instead of silver and bronze, but not much else has changed.

The barbarian invasions that began in the 200s and continued, in waves, into the 12th century, seem to explain why this sophisticated knowledge was not available to medieval Europe. It was preserved and improved in Greek-speaking Constantinople, then transferred to the schools and courts of Damascus, Baghdad and Cordoba. We don’t see surgery textbooks showing up in Paris until the late medieval period.

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Paul of Aegina: basic Greek surgery

Posted on December 15, 2016 by Ruth

We think of a surgical patient as passive, lying down, unconscious. In medieval surgery, the patient was a participant in that he was certainly conscious, and therefore he could help out by putting his (or her) body in various useful positions. The surgeon also needed assistants, who helped by holding the patient in that position, probably by holding him down so he couldn’t struggle, and by massaging or moving body parts.

In Paul of Aegina’s 7th century medical book, that’s the picture we get. When Paul treated a man for dangerous varicose veins, it was a cooperative procedure. The doctor tied a string around the leg at one or another places, and the man walked back and forth as directed, while the doctor outlined the problem spot in ink. When he drained excess fluid collecting in the abdomen, he asked the patient to stand while assistants pushed and massaged the fluid as low in the body as possible. When kidney stones needed to move into the bladder or urinary tract, the doctor’s assistants shook the patient until the stones moved.

When Dr. Paul drained fluid from the abdomen, he cut a small hole through the peritoneum, the layer just below the skin, and inserted a little copper tube. (I was wondering what they used for draining a healing wound, and that must be the answer: copper or silver tubes.) Greek medicine was cautious about suddenly draining everything, because a careless doctor might drain away the life force. It was better to ask the standing patient to lie down, and use the inserted drain to improve the situation bit by bit over several days.

Paul’s descriptions don’t take into account the patient’s pain, first because it was obvious; it went with the territory. It seems likely that opium had made its way to the Greek world by the 600s, so they may have been dealing with a groggy patient. However, it doesn’t say.

The most painful procedures seem to go with the greatest immediate danger. For an infected liver, Paul used a small cauterizing tool to actually burn, not cut, through the skin at the lower back, until there was a hole through which to drain it. That must have been unbearable, but it was a deathbed operation already. Similarly, his operation to fix a fistula (an improper hole/passage between the anus and some other place) involved a pretty severe experience for the patient, as the doctor grappled with access to the interior. On the other hand, I think those are typically fatal as well. So….hard choices in ancient times.

We don’t know how much of this was practiced in Northern Europe, but probably not much. Paul of Aegina’s book came to Europe via Arabic, so it probably showed up first in Cordoba’s library circa 850. It may have been translated into Latin in the following centuries, but it didn’t have wide circulation until the 14th century, with the expansion of medical schools.

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