THE JIHAD AND ITS TIMES Dedicated to ANDREW STEFAN EHRENKREUTZ Edited by Hadia Dajani-Shakeel Ronald A. Messier Ann Arbor Center for Near Eastern and North African Studies The University of Michigan 1991 Copyright 1991 by Center for Near Eastern and North African Studies The University of Michigan All rights reserved The jihad and its times (Michigan series on the Middle East; no. 4) ISSN: 1045-6309 ISBN: 0-932098-24-X Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 91-72786 Printed in the United States of America Contents Foreword . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Andrew S. Ehrenkreutz Jere L. Bacharach. ............................ Legitimacy and Political Instability in Islam in the Age of the Crusades R. Stephen Humphreys ..................... 5 The Almoravids and Holy War Ronald A. Messier ........................ 15 To Wage Jihid or not: Fatimid Egypt During the Early Crusades William Hamblin ......... ................ 31 A Reassessment of Some Medieval and Modern Perceptions of the Counter-Crusade Hadia Dajani-Shakeel ...................... 41 The Fortifications of al-Qdhira(Cairo) under the Ayyubids Neil D. Mackenzie ........................ 71 Holy War, Unholy Peace? Relations between the Mamluk Sultanate and European States Prior to the Ottoman Conquest Carl F. Petry ............................... 95 Jihdd in Islam Mustansir Mir . ........ ................. 113 Bibliography of Works by Andrew S. Ehrenkreutz .. ................ 127  Foreword T HIS volume is dedicated to Andrew Stefan Ehrenkreutz, teacher, scholar, mentor and friend. Speaking for each of the contributors, Jere L. Bacharach expresses his admiration and deep felt appreciation to the man who has made a major impact on the study of Middle East his- tory during the period of the Crusades. Bacharach presents a biographical sketch of Andrew Ehrenkreutz, highlighting his unique contributions, new insights, and innovative techniques and approaches to the study of medieval Islamic history that have affected us all. Two of the essays in this collection stress the affirmation of the au- thority of the Caliph as the sole representative of the Muslims, whose sole prerogative it is to proclaim jihdd. A logical place to begin, then, is with the matter of legitimate authority in the Muslim World, with the office of the Caliph. R. Stephen Humphreys in his essay, "Legitimacy and Political Instability in Islam in the Age of the Crusades," discusses the means, both theoretical and practical, by which Muslim rulers asserted their author- ity. He focuses on monarchism, dynasticism, loyalty to benefactors and kinsmen, concluding that their real value is largely ex post facto. Yisuf Ibn Tashfin, amir of the Almoravids, saw the importance of recognizing the authority of the Abassid Caliph in the establishment of his own legitimacy. His jihdd in al-Andalus, the first front in the Crusades, was an important consideration in Yiisuf's quest for the Caliph's invest- ing him in the lands he conquered. Ronald A. Messier, in his essay, "The Almoravids and the War," looks at how the Almoravids interpreted the meaning of jihid; how their ideology and their history reflect their inter- pretation. In the case of the Almoravids, the very name of the dynasty, a derivative of the Arabic ribdt, is directly linked to the concept of jihdd. Messier concludes that the term jihdd evolved through a range of meanings for the Almoravids at various stages in their history over a period of four generations. A fundamental part of the expansion effort of the Fatimid dynasty was the use of the jihid propaganda. This worked well for the Fatimids until the later part of the eleventh century when it became counter productive. Foreword William Hamblin explains why the Fatimids shifted gears in his essay "To Wage Jihdd or Not: Fatimid Egypt during the Early Crusades." The assumption is common enough that the Muslims of the Middle East, although they were engaged in frequent warfare with the Christian Crusaders, had rather little understanding of the ideology behind their enemy's attack, nor had they developed much of an ideological response. Hadia Dajani-Shakeel, in her essay "A Reassessment of some Medieval and Modern Perceptions of the Counter-Crusade," challenges that view. Drawing from a wide array of contemporary Arabic sources, she presents an abundance of evidence of a clearly articulated concept of jihdd as a holy war coordinated by the ruler of the Muslim World against the Christian infidel. Dr. Dajani-Shakeel contends that consistent with the notion of jihdd, Saladin was concerned throughout his lifetime with protecting Egypt from Crusaders' attacks; thus, he embarked upon the fortification of the country. Neil Mackenzie, in the "The Fortifications of Cairo under the Ayyubids," describes in great detail the fortifications of the city of Cairo under the Ayyubid dynasty. Using extensive, contemporary descriptions of the forti- fications in Arabic sources and analyses of modern scholars (some of which he challenges), he explains both the process and the results of the Ayyu- bids' will to fortify. Some of those decisions were the result of perceived threats of Christian Crusading armies. Others were motivated by purely internal factors. In either case, the result was impressive construction of fortifications that reflected the priorities of the Ayyubid state. The annals of history are full of examples that defy the notion that commercial contact between Muslims and Christians was preempted by holy war. When the goals of the ideologues were at odds with the needs of merchants and their desire for profits, the latter quite often won out. But the dilemma of which to support was particularly acute for the policy mak- ers, the heads of state. Carl F. Petry, in his essay "Holy War, Unholy Peace: Relations between the Mamluk Sultanate and European States Prior to the Ottoman Conquest," demonstrates how the drama played out among the late Mamluk sultans in Egypt. He presents specific policies of the last two sultans that shaped relations between Egypt and the Christian states with which Egypt did business. He offers insightful commentary on whether the policies were creative or reactive, and whether relations that resulted were first and foremost a holy war, or an unholy peace. Mustansir Mir concludes this small volume on jihad with an overview of how that concept has been viewed in Islam through the ages. He ex- iii amines first the classical view of jihdd, and then the modern one which he divides into three categories: apologists, neo-classicists, and modernists. His comparison of the various approaches helps to clarify the concept as a whole. He sees in each of the approaches an attempt to establish a con- nection between dogma and practice. Mir concludes that in the past and in modern times, Muslims have used jihdd as a rallying cry in the fight against foreign powers on the one hand, and against religious and moral corruption on the other. The bibliography at the end of the volume is a complete list of the works of Andrew S. Ehrenkreutz. Note on Transcription The Library of Congress System has been used. The h at the end of words representing the ta marbuta has generally not been used in this volume. Several words which are considered Anglicized, e.g. wazir and sultan, do not have diacritical marks. Some proper names, e.g. Saladin and Mecca, are more easily recognized in an English text in an Anglicized form. Errata Page, line p. 5, 1. 17 p. 8,1.-20 p. 15, 1. 13 p. 16, 1. 22 p. 17, 1. 24 p. 23,J. 1 1. 16 p. 24,1. 19 p. 25, 1. 32 p. 42, 1. 23 p. 45, 1. 37 p. 48, 1. 21 p. 57, 1. 32 p. 60, 1. 3 p. 64,11. 7 p. 65,11. 1 p. 73, 1. 12 p. 79, 1. 24 p. 86,11. 14 p. 88,11. 9 p. 119, 1. 24 p. 125, 1.40 Error: no be Qald'uin Bani Haqq nisa' murdbiiin fuqaha mujdhidati Ij.ahadu addition Diwdna1- H afi-z AbiShama Fatimid "Black Muhy' 566 Qaldiin Amir Maghrib Q ur'dnallows al-'A mm Should Read: not be Qaldwilin Bani H~aqq l-murdbiiin fuqahoV mujdhadati jdhadii addition to Diwan al- Hdfiz Abii Shama Fatimids the "Black Muhyl 566/1170-71 Qaldwiin Amir Mughrib Q ur'dn allows al-'A mm Andrew S. Ehrenkreutz JERE L. BACHARACH University of Washington S ALADIN. More than any other historical figure or research topic, the scholarship of Andrew S. Ehrenkreutz is associated with this historic personage. At a conference honoring Andrew at the time of his retirement in 1987 and coming so close to the 700th anniversary of Saladin's victory at the Horns of Hattin, the focus of the gathering was on the impact of the counter crusade/jihad on the medieval Middle East. Teaching overseas at the time, I did not have the opportunity to participate but I use this short essay to acknowledge my admiration, respect, and affection for my teacher and mentor. The values and interests of Andrew are reflected in the acknowledg- ments to Saladin,' his most famous book. In a few short paragraphs, there are references to Poland, family, colleagues and students, and even, obliquely, to medieval economic activities. The overriding message is one of commitment and caring. To understand Andrew's contributions, only some of which will be touched upon, the themes found in that acknowledgment must be kept in mind. Born in Poland on December 19, 1921, he was the son of two distin- guished scholars, Professor Cezaria Baudouin de Courtenay Jedrzejewicz and Professor Stefan L. Ehrenkreutz. Whatever plans he envisioned for himself, World War II brought them to a crashing end. Fighting for a free, democratic Poland has been a constant in Andrew's life. After the col- lapse of Poland he escaped from Poland and joined the Free Polish forces in France. He was decorated with the Croix de Guerre during the 1940 campaign but, ultimately, was taken prisoner, enjoyed a brief spell of free- dom after his escape in 1941, and was finally liberated by American troops in April, 1945. Throughout his academic career he has never forgotten his commitment to Poland and during the last decades, in particular, he has been an active participant in Polish-American organizations, both aca- demic and those with a more visible political agenda. One can guarantee that in Australia, he will be just as active. After World War II, Andrew and Blanche, his wife who had nursed him back to health in a Polish POW camp, moved to London where he entered the University of London receiving his B.A. in 1950. Trained at the School of Oriental and African Studies under Bernard Lewis for whom he has great admiration and affection, Andrew completed his Ph.D. dissertation two years later. His early publications highlighted the career of Saladin and monetary history, two themes which would dominate much of his later research and writings. The interaction of the two topics are encapsulated in the opening to an article published in 1956. "If one judged Saladin's achievements solely by his monetary policy, that great Islamic hero would have been accused by history of dangerously jeopardizing the stability of the official Egyptian currency."2 Reacting to the romanticism of Saladin which he associated with the work of Sir H. A. R. Gibb and Stanley Lane-Poole, Andrew stressed the pragmatic and practical side of Saladin's actions often identifying them as short sighted or benefiting only the leader of the regime. He did not believe Saladin was motivated by an idealism but by self interest. Andrew's most significant contribution for me in the debate was his detailed reconstruction of Saladin's career before he established control over Egypt in 1168. Using a broad range of Arabic sources, but particularly al-Maqrizi's Iti'dz al- Hunafa, which was only available in a difficult manuscript version, Andrew stressed the military and administrative experiences the famous medieval ruler had had before he controlled Egypt. Since the publication of Saladin, every subsequent study of which there have been more than for any other medieval Muslim ruler, has acknowledged the importance of these early years. Andrew, in a series of articles as well as in the book, argued in several places, that Saladin's record was less than spectacular or idealistic. The topics included the means by which Saladin seized control of Egypt, his exploitation of Egyptians economic resources for his Syrian campaigns, his disastrous naval policies, particularly as they related to the siege of Acre. In the process of examining these and other historical problems, Andrew was himself stimulating scholarly discussion. He actively encouraged students and colleagues to exchange views, always sensitive that these discussions not turn into personal attacks. More than any other scholar, I credit Andrew with moving the study of Islamic monetary history from the world of curators and collectors into the main stream of medieval Muslim studies. Although he has great respect for Islamic numismatic studies, particularly the contributions of the late Jere L. Bacharach George C. Miles, Andrew himself was never a numismatist. For him coins and catalogues were ancillary tools for the exploration of larger issues. In fact, he went beyond what was available in the traditional numismatic sources as illustrated in his study of Ibn Ba'ra's medieval treatise dealing with problems of the Egyptian mint.3 In order to understand the text, Andrew realized that a knowledge of the purity of the coinage, particularly that of the gold dinars, was essential. Using the non-destructive technique of weighing gold in air and then in water and then calculating their specific gravity, a method associated with Archimedes, Andrew was able to identify specific times and places when coins were debased. The result was a series of extremely important articles which covered monetary developments in the central Middle East from the Umayyad pe- riod into the Mamluk era. In all cases data derived from specific gravity tests was combined with textual information from Arabic sources. Virtu- ally no era of the pre-Ottoman monetary history of Egypt can be written without references to publications by Ehrenkreutz. On the other hand, his work on the Pirenne thesis, the impact of the Fatimids on pre-Crusader Palestine, and the Genoese-Mamluk slave trade illustrate his approach to issues very different from specific gravity tests.4 By the mid-1960's, Andrew turned to another method for studying monetary history. Working with a group of students at the University of Michigan whose faculty he had joined in 1954, he attempted to identify the number of dies produced for specific issues which he then related to changes in coin production, monetary history, and even larger politico-economic issues. Typical of Andrew's attitude toward training future scholars, he submitted the article in the name of the four students as well as himself and would only permit it to be published that way.5 He used various means of persuasion to have his students present papers at academic meetings, always encouraging them with positive re- enforcement. At professional meetings his encouragement of younger schol- ars included calling upon them to comment on presentations when he knew that they had done advanced work on the topics being discussed. In his graduate seminars at Michigan, he exposed his students to a broad range of research tools for the study of medieval Islamic history including prac- tising how to use them. Within the lecture hall, Andrew was constantly encouraging students to ask questions, inviting the more advanced ones to give guest lectures, and always making available his extensive bibliography. What has preceded is not an unbiased account. In my approach to my students, colleagues, and the academic profession, I model myself on Andrew. His values of commitment and caring, his willingness to make himself and his resources available to others, his concern for issues far greater than academic politics, are attitudes I try to emulate. A large audience has benefited from his contributions to scholarship and to the communities in which he has participated. I have been fortunate, as have the other contributors in this volume, to have studied with him. I consider myself particularly lucky because I also consider him a friend. 1. Andrew S. Ehrenkreutz, Saladin (Albany: State University of New York Press), 1972. 2. Idem, "The Crisis of Dinar in the Egypt of Saladin," JAOS 76 (1956): 178. 3. Idem, "Extracts from the Technical Manual of the Ayyubid Mint in Cairo," BSOAS 15 (1953): 423-47. 4. Idem, "Another Orientalist's remarks concerning the Pirenne thesis," JESHO 15 (1972): 94-104. "The Fatimids in Palestine-the Unwitting Promoters of the Crusades," Egypt and the Palestine: A Millenium of Association (868-1948), Ammon Cohen and Gabriel Baer, eds. (N. Y.: St. Martin's Press), 1984: 66-72. "Strategic Implications of the Slave Trade between Genoa and Mamluk Egypt in the Second Half of the Thir- teenth Century," The Islamic Middle East, 700-1900: Studies in Economic and Social History. A.L. Udovitch, ed. (Princeton: The Darwin Press, Inc., 1981): 335-45. 5. "Early Islamic Mint Output," JESHO 9 (1966): 212-41. Legitimacy and Political Instability in Islam in the Age of the Crusades R. STEPHEN HUMPHREYS University of Wisconsin-Madison T HE rulers of the Islamic world in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries were threatened from every direction. They were overwhelmed by massive and unexpected invasion from outside, as with the Crusades, the Khwa-rizmshah Jalal al-Din Mingburnu, or the Mongols. They endured an unceasing struggle with neighboring dynasties for territory and regional paramountcy. Most of all, they faced a crisis of legitimacy within their own states, for they knew that no ruler could count on the obedience of his own household guards and senior officials. Nor was it mere factionalism and overweening ambition they feared from these men, but rather sudden and bloody coups d'etat. The sultans and padishas of this era were themselves men of the sword, and they understood perfectly well the true basis of polit- ical power in their world. Because formal institutions capable of controlling or diffusing conflicts within any given polity were few and weak, a ruler's only real defense against violence and conspiracy was a consensus among the political elite-that small body of men who constituted both the chief support and the gravest threat to his power-that his regime was legiti- mate, that his right to govern could no be questioned. Hence the unceasing quest by every Muslim court of this period to find some concept of political legitimacy that would be both intellectually compelling and pragmatically effective. That is, such a concept not only had to command assent from an ambitious and turbulent band of soldiers and bureaucrats; even more crucially, it had to be capable of checking and guiding the tortuous struggle for wealth, status, and influence among them. Legitimacy is an elusive concept, in part because different societies confer it upon their rulers for such disparate reasons and through such var- ied mechanisms. In the most general sense, however, all forms of legitimacy rest on the recognition by a society's politically relevant groups that one or a few men possess lawful authority to make fundamental decisions on Legitimacy and Instability in Islam their behalf-to determine the distribution of wealth and power, to adju- dicate conflicts, to use force to maintain order and stability. On a practical level, we might say that legitimacy is simply the right of a regime to make mistakes and still remain in power; a legitimate government can offend even its most powerful subjects and continue to command their voluntary submission. Overwhelmingly the kings and princes of the Islamic world in these two centuries did not enjoy that right. A few major errors in policy and they were dead or in exile. The problem was not that there were no theories of political legiti- macy; in fact they were plentiful. As we shall see, however, all such theories had crippling weaknesses. In particular, some were very widely accepted, but made no effective distinction between one claimant to power and an- other. For this reason, both established rulers and challengers could use them to suit their own ends. The most widely held and fully articulated of these theories stated that legitimacy was rooted in a delegation of authority by the Caliph.1 This the- ory of course presupposed the legitimacy of the Abbasid Caliphate, but by the sixth/twelfth century that issue was debated only in a few odd corners of the Islamic world. The syllogism was a simple one. The Community of Believers (Umma, Jamda) had been constituted by God himself. Both reason and revelation demanded that this Community have a single head (Khalifa, imam) to ensure its unity, integrity, and adherence to God's com- mandments. The Caliph, as head of the Community, was empowered to appoint officials to assist him and to delegate to them whatever powers they required in order to carry out their duties. In the framework of this theory, only a man who had been invested with plenipotentiary authority to act on the Caliph's behalf in a given region could claim unquestioned legitimacy. This theory was politically meaningful, however, only so long as the Caliph really possessed the power to choose his own lieutenants. In reality, however, caliphal investiture was almost always awarded post facto, after its recipient had already seized power for himself. As a practical matter, investiture hardly represented the Caliph's free will, but rather reflected his estimate of the political realities at a given moment. In the end, such hon- ors were given chiefly in order to ensure the good will of local dynasts and to assert the symbolic authority of the Caliph. In such a milieu, caliphal investiture did not and could not secure the throne of regional rulers. It simply confirmed and sanctioned a momentary status quo. As real power shifted from one prince or dynasty to another, the pattern of caliphal in- R. Stephen Humphreys vestitures would inevitably follow suit. In other words, the Caliph rewarded winners, he did not make them. A second theory all but ignored the Caliphate and looked instead to the traditions of ancient Iran; this we may call the neo-Sassanian or Perso- Islamic theory of kingship.2 Though it first appeared in the Islamic world in the mid-eighth century, with Ibn al-Muqaffa"s translations of the Khuddy- namd and Kalila wa-Dimna, it received its definitive treatment in early Saljuk times in the famous Siyasat-nameh of Nizam al-Mulk (d. 485/1092). The Perso-Islamic theory asserts that the ruler is freely chosen by God to act as His vice regent in earthly affairs. As God upholds the cosmic order which He has created, so the king, acting on God's behalf, establishes justice among men by defending the divinely ordained social hierarchy. Elected by God, the king is responsible only to Him, and in the nature of things he can be deposed only when God chooses to withdraw lls favor. This theory had an obvious appeal to many Muslim rulers, for it con- ferred dignity, indeed a sense of destiny, on a dubious lot of adventurers and strongmen. But its appeal could not disguise its logical or practical flaws: however a man became king and so long as he held that office, he was by definition God's elect; on the other hand, if he was overthrown, that was simply a sign that God had decreed the end of his regime. In effect, the only empirical test of legitimacy was the actual possession of power-precisely the opposite of what rulers needed in order to secure their thrones. Obviously, every ruler who could obtain a diploma of investiture from the Caliph for his dominions did so. Likewise, most claimed that their regimes were sanctioned by divine blessing. But all this represented no more than "a decent respect for the opinions of mankind." It was not an effective basis of legitimacy. In view of the inadequacies of these two theories, what could a ruler rely on to secure his throne save fear and violence? In order to answer this question, we must try to identify the key political values of the period. Such values might be violated in the contest for power and prestige, to be sure, but their validity would be universally recognized. They constituted the rules of the political game, so to speak; as such, they would impose some check on naked ambition, some sense of order, predictability, and lawfulness. Political values of this kind are unfortunately quite elusive, for they are never the subject of special treatises or mirrors for princes. On the other hand, they are constantly alluded to in poetry and historical texts. Identifying them is a matter of combing out scores or hundreds of offhand references, slogans, and bits of conversation among members of the 8 Legitimacy and Instability in Islam political elite. But when this task is attentively carried, a few constantly reiterated themes emerge. First of all, everyone recognized that the political system required an effective monarch in order to function at all. In order to prevent the con- stant struggle among the elite for wealth and power from degenerating into open civil war, there had to be a final arbiter, someone whose decision could not be appealed or contradicted.3 That role was exceedingly chal- lenging and dangerous. Fundamentally, it called for tremendous force of personality, the capacity to inspire terror and awe in powerful men. But kingship in itself, with its connotations of power over life and death, con- veyed a certain sense of fear. For this reason, an already enthroned ruler had a certain presumption in his favor. If he knew how to serve the interest and pride of key members of the political elite, he could count on enough support to subdue those whom his decisions would inevitably alienate. Second, there was a general recognition of the dynastic principle- i.e., a sense that political authority was most appropriately transmitted within the current ruling family. It should be noted that the preference for dynastic succession survived the Mamluk coup d'etat of 648/2150; the early Mamluk sultans were eager to assure the succession of their sons, and Qaladiin (678-689/1280-1290) actually succeeded in establishing a dynasty that endured for a century. However, dynasticism in the Muslim states of this period did not involve any fixed rule of succession, and this fact led to many protracted succession crises. A sitting ruler of course had the right to name his heir-apparent, and he would always try every possible means to bind his senior officers and bureaucrats to this choice-oaths of loyalty, splendid enthronement ceremonies, offices and titles. However, such ac- tions carried surprisingly little weight after the ruler's death; the political testaments even of such towering figures as Malikshdh, Saladin, and Bay- bars were violated almost as they were laid to rest. On the other hand, it must be admitted that even the most bitter internecine succession strug- gles almost never brought down a dynasty in themselves, though obviously they encouraged the endemic factionalism of political elites and heightened the capacity of these latter to manipulate the state apparatus for their own interests. The preference for dynastic succession was in part rooted in simple political pragmatism, in the vested interests which high officials had de- veloped in the existing regime. Normally, but not always, their interests were better served by its continuation than by the uncertainties of an open contest for power.4 R. Stephen Humphreys On a different level, dynasticism also reflected the belief that the de- scendants of a mighty ruler shared in his charisma, in the blessing which God had evidently bestowed on him in his rise to power. The notion of the heritability of charisma was extremely widespread in medieval Islamic culture, of course, and was certainly not restricted to the political arena; we find it in many places, most notably perhaps in Sufi confraternities. In political life, however, charisma was rapidly dissipated, and in any case it clung more to the ruling lineage as a whole than to any individual member of it. No dynasty could count on more than a few generations in power unless a second charismatic figure, someone who clearly bore a renewed gift of divine grace, emerged from within its ranks. A third principle was that of loyalty to one's benefactor. This was perhaps the most deeply ingrained and widely honored value governing political life in our period.' Recognizing this fact, every powerful figure tried to surround himself with proteges, men whose career he had nourished and on whom he had lavished honors and wealth. Many of these prot6ges would be his mamluks, but this class of slave-soldiers represents only a special (albeit very important) case of the phenomenon. In any given polity, the monarch himself was the chief benefactor; he was the main source of political influence, prestige, lucrative offices, and gifts. As such, it was incumbent upon him to award these things to those who were "worthy"- which is to say, those who were in a position to help or hurt him. A ruler who was stingy, who humiliated his servants, who hoped to supplant the established elite with his own unworthy favorites, could not expect a long reign. In short, politics was patronage, and a mastery of the art of benefaction stood equal to martial valor as the crucial political virtue. Finally, political cohesion was maintained through family loyalties. In view of the high normative value which both traditional Islamic societies and modern commentators have ascribed to kinship, one might imagine these to have been the real glue which held the system together. but in reality family loyalties often proved exceedingly tenuous. A ruling family would normally coalesce against an external threat, but even in this situa- tion an adroit opponent could exploit internecine tensions and rivalries to shatter the facade of clan solidarity. In fact, the family was more a focus of conflict than an element of stability in the politics of the age. The crucial problem lay in a concept of sovereignty which was widely prevalent in the Nile-to-Oxus region between the eleventh and thirteenth centuries, especially among the frontier people (Arab and Kurdish as well as Turkish) who created most of the states in that era. Within these groups, Legitimacy and Instability in Islam sovereignty was thought to belong to a ruling lineage as a whole, not to any one member of that lineage.6 This sense of collective sovereignty was interpreted to mean that every adult male within the ruling family had a right to claim some share in rulership for himself. That belief in itself posed difficulties if there were any sizeable number of princes, but these difficulties were very much increased by the fact that everyone also believed in autocratic government on the Perso-Islamic model. The complex stresses created by the need to distribute political power among many contenders, while simultaneously assuring submission to a single autocrat, were simply beyond the political engineering skills of that period. Down to the mid-thirteenth century, the most common way of resolv- ing these stresses was the family confederation. In this system, the most important princes of the ruling family were each assigned an autonomous appanage or principality to govern, usually with the expectation of hered- itary tenure among their own descendents. These appanages were linked together through common loyalty to the paramount prince or senior mem- ber of the clan. This figure held a hereditary appanage of his own, and in addition he exercised a kind of suzerainty, sometimes loose and sometimes very strict, over the other princes. But the family confederation was itself a bundle of contradictions and unresolved tensions. Who was the paramount prince and how was his status determined? What degree of control over his fellow princes did he have the right to assert? Which lines of descent within the clan had a real claim to an appanage? How were succession problems within a particular appanage to be worked out? There were no permanent, institutionalized solutions to these issues. Rather, they had to be solved anew in each generation, in accordance with a set of rules which were deeply felt but never explicitly spelled out. All efforts to devise solutions were complicated by two facts: (1) the rejection of primogeniture in Islamic law and culture, which meant that all sons had an equal right to share in their father's inheritance; (2) the prevalence of plural marriage and concubinage among the political elite, which almost ensured a large number of rival claimants to the patrimony of any given lineage. The Ayyubids were particularly prolific. The progenitor of the line, Najm al-Din Ayyiib (d. 568/1173) had six sons, all of them active and intensely ambitious, while Saladin and al-'Adil both far surpassed that number. Problems of family loyalty and political cohesion changed as a confed- eration developed. In its first phase, the paramount prince would of course be the man who had led the family to power. It was recognized that his R. Stephen Humphreys 11 courage, enterprise, and capacity to attract followers had won sovereignty for his kinsmen, and it followed that the distribution of appanages among them was largely in his gift. He would decide who had contributed most to the effort, who had been most loyal to him, and so on. A ruler's adult relatives-brothers, cousins, uncles-had an initial claim on his benefac- tions. Ideally, however, he would try to ensconce some of his own sons in the largest and most strategic appanages. Such a step would give him the special authority of a father vis-a-vis these princes, and thus go far towards securing his political control of the confederation. Even this simple initial calculus could become extremely complicated, however. First of all, succession to the rank of paramount ruler was always open to dispute. One would suppose that the sons of the first paramount prince would be the preferred heirs, and indeed that was often the case. But within many ruling families (especially but not exclusively those of Turkish origin), it was felt that the head of the confederation in each generation should be the oldest male prince-a brother or an uncle rather than a son. And in fact the transmission of leadership from brother to brother was at least as common as from father to son. Moreover, if a kingdom had been won by the joint efforts of two or three brothers, as was the case among the Buyids and Saljuks, the question of precedence among them was an extremely delicate matter. In this situation, not only the current division of lands and titles was open to dispute, but also the lineage through which paramountcy within the clan was to be transmitted. However matters were worked out in the first generation, a confedera- tion's second generation was hopelessly entangled in conflicting ambitions and expectations. The established appanage rulers owed nothing of their power or status to the new paramount prince. Likewise, the latter enjoyed little authority in terms of family structure, for he was likely to be at best the elder brother of the other princes, perhaps even a cousin or nephew of some. Great diplomatic skill, not to mention a considerable degree of coer- cion, was required in order for him to establish effective authority over his kinsmen. In the event, few second-generation rulers were able to combine force and astuteness in the requisite proportions. From this point until the dynasty's collapse, the struggle for paramountcy within the ruling lineage was almost unbroken. At certain times a momentary equilibrium might be attained, but it could not outlast the precise balance of forces which had brought it about. If one of the principals died or an outside actor intruded, the situation would rapidly degenerate into a new round of conflict. At this point it is necessary to return to the initial problem posed 12 Legitimacy and Instability in Islam in this paper. More than anything else, Muslim rulers of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries sought sure title to their thrones, an unquestioned right to rule. To what degree, and in what ways, could the political values which we have examined-monarchism, dynasticism, loyalty to benefactors and family solidarity-aid them in this quest? On the one hand, these values were of little use to a ruler at the very point when he was most vulnerable, during the succession crisis and the opening months of his reign. On the other, they could do much to undergird the position of an established ruler. The validity of this conclusion can be shown by a concise review of each point. As we have noted, the monarch was crucial to the political system, but each new ruler had to acquire for himself, step by step, the sense of dread and the material power which he needed in order to fulfill his role. Kingship, in short, conferred authority only on a man who had already won it. As to the preference for dynastic succession, that did indicate the ap- propriate channel along which rulership should be transmitted, but it did not really specify the individual who had the best claim to become ruler. In fact, dynasticism reinforced the position of the current ruling family as a whole, not of individual princes within that family. Even within the most prestigious dynasties, each ruler had to demonstrate his own worthiness to inherit the charisma of his ancestors; he had to show through his own deeds and wisdom that the divine blessing was still present. Family loyalty-a term which at times seems almost an oxymoron-operated in a similar manner. Only a man who held a dominant position in the per se structure could depend on the submission of his fellow princes. A paramount prince who was only the brother, cousin, or nephew of the other rulers within a confederation had very little political leverage. Finally, loyalty to benefac- tors was based on benefits already received, and these could be produced only as a man succeeded in establishing his power. In the end, therefore, legitimacy was not conferred by formal insti- tutions or the manner of succession to office, but by a ruler's deeds after he had mounted the throne. In a real sense, long tenure in office, through which a network of patronage and vested interests was established, was the only guarantee of a continuing right to rule. The political values discussed above undoubtedly favored some candidates for power over others, but they ensured nothing. Only by ruling did one win the right to rule. R. Stephen Humphreys 13 NOTES 1. This is the juridical theory propounded by the 'ulama. In spite of its sometimes tenuous links to reality, it has attracted a very extensive scholarly literature. H. A. R. Gibb's studies, some now a half a century old, remain very perceptive: see, e.g., "Con- stitutional Organization," in M. Khadduri and H. Liebesny, eds., Law in the Middle East, I; Origin and Development of Islamic Law (Washington: Middle East Institute, 1955), 3-27. The most recent comprehensive treatment is A. K. S. Lambton, State and Government in Medieval Islam (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1981). For other ref- erences, see R. S. Humphreys, Islamic History: a Framework for Inquiry (Minneapolis: Bibliotheca Islamica, 1988), 148-49. 2. On the neo-Sassanian theory in its developed form, see especially A. K. S. Lambton, Theory and Practice in Medieval Persian Government (London: Variorum Reprints, 1980). There are of course numerous other studies: see Humphreys, Islamic History, pp. 150-54. 3. The best statement of the absolutist tradition in medieval Islam is M. G. S. Hodgson, The Venture of Islam, 3 vols. (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1974), 1:280-84. See also R. P. Mottahedeh, Loyalty and Leadership in an Early Islamic Society (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1980), 175-90. 4. Hodgson, Venture, 2:12, calls this set of interests and expectations a "political idea"-i.e., the belief "that the state will endure as a power to be reckoned with despite any current given crisis." 5. The most fully developed and perceptive statement of this idea is in Mottahedeh, Loyalty and Leadership, esp. 72-93. On the intense loyalties binding the mamluk to his master, see numerous works of David Ayalon, in particular L'esclavage du Mamelouk (Oriental Notes and Studies, no. 1. Jerusalem, 1951). 6. On collective sovereignty and the family confederation, see R. S. Humphreys, From Saladin to the Mongols (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1977), 66- 73; and John E. Woods, The Aqquyunlu: Clan, Confederation, and Empire (Minneapolis and Chicago: Bibliotheca Islamic, 1976), 7-16.  The Almoravids and Holy War RONALD A. MESSIER Middle Tennesee State University W HAT is in a name? When we get to choose our own or one for a group or organization that we have just started, we try to find a name that is descriptive, one that captures or reflects the character, the goals, the ideology, the prevalent activity of the movement. The termi "Almoravids" is the Anglicized version of the Spanish "Almoravides" which is the Spanishization of the Arabic "al-Murdbitin." It is the term chosen to describe a movement that originated among a group of Sanhaja Berbers in the western Sahara desert, who emerged to conquer Morocco, part of Algeria, and the southern part of Spain in the second half of the eleventh century, and managed to form a dynasty that lasted some four generations until almost the middle of the twelfth century. The name was chosen initially by the founder of the movement, 'Abd Allah Ibn Yasin. The latter was an imam, a preacher brought to teach among the Bani Gudala, one of the tribes in the Sanhaja confederation. Initially the Gudala accepted Ibn Yasin, but then rejected him. At that point Ibn Yasin said: "That is better! Let us go and settle there in the name of God." They did so, with seven men of the Gudala. He built a ribita (the meaning of this word will be discussed later) and there stayed with his companions worshipping God. After three months, once word got out what they were doing to gain salva- tion and avoid damnation, crowds came to them and repented. 'Abd Allah Ibn Yasin began to teach them the Koran and to direct them to what is good, to instill them with a desire for sal- vation and warn them of damnation, until love for Him was in their hearts. Before many days were past about a thousand dis- ciples from among the nobility of Sanhaja had gathered round him. He called them Murdbitin for their attachment to the rdbita.1 16 The Almoravids and Holy War The meaning of the word "murdbitin" has already been the subject of much discussion by scholars.2 The root of that word is R_ B_ T, which means "to bind, tie up, make fast." In form three, rdbata means "to be lined up, posted, stationed (troops); to line up, take up positions; to move into fighting positions."'3 The derivative rdbita means "band; bond, tie; connection, link; confederation, union, league."'4 A published translation of Ibn Yasin's statement renders rdbita into French as ermitage (hermitage).5 In keeping with that translation, Moraes de Farias suggests that that same text uses the term to mean a building constructed by the Almoravids.6 Just as explicit, another author, Ibn 'Idhari, says that it is indeed Ibn Yasin who gave the name to the movement. It was right after he had left the Gudala tribe and settled among the Lamtuna. He says that there were tribes of Berbers who did not follow the religion of Islam even after Ibn Yasin beckoned them to the true faith. He ordered Yahya Ibn cUmar to conduct a raid against them. The word he uses here is ghazdt, not jihdd. The Lamtina divided the spoils according to Islamic custom, i.e. four fifths among the combatants and one fifth for the commander. The author points out that this was the first time the practice occurred among the Lamtina. The battle was a costly one; the Lamtuina lost more than half of their number, but Ibn Yasin urged them on to victory, "and 'Abd Allah called them Almoravids (al-murdbitin) and called their commander, Yahya Ibn cUmar, Commander of Truth (Amfr al-Haqq)."7 The same event, i.e. the formation of a group by Ibn Yasin, is de- scribed by al-Bakri, an author contemporary to the beginning of the move- ment. He wrote, "The one who began this among them and called them to the ribit and made them proclaim the truth was 'Abd Allah Ibn Yasin."8 The dictionary definition of ribdt includes a range of meanings from simply "string, or band" to "hospice, fortress, monastery."9 H. T. Norris gives an interesting definition in the glossary of his book: Ribdt is a fortified post, where horses were sometimes stabled, and the garrison of which combined military duties with agri- culture and pious and ascetic practices, geographically located on or near the frontier of Dar al-Islam. At times, however, this word had a metaphorical meaning and indicated a frame of mind, a spiritual resolve, or that which combined deep devotion to Islam, self sacrifice and the courage to face alone, or with a like group, those enemies which threatened the faith.10 But de Slane's classic translation of al-Bakri's text, renders ribdt as Ronald A. Messier 17 guerre sainte (holy war).11 This meaning is borne out in two more re- cent translations.12 Is this really the meaning that al-Bakri intended? Just a few sentences earlier in the same text, al-Bakri talks about the Lamtina, another tribe in the Sanhaja confederation. He says, "they are Sunnis, and they conduct holy war in the Sudan. Their leader is Muhammad, known as Tareshna, a man of virtue who made the pilgrimage and conducts holy war." 13The word that he uses here in Arabic is jihad, not ribdt. Is al-Bakri using both words, ribdi and jihdd synonymously as the translators imply? Are the translators misreading what al-Bakri is saying? It does not seem likely that several eminent scholars would make the same mistake unless the later ones are being persuaded by the classic interpretation of de Slane. There are several instances in the work of al-Bakri where the word ribit is used in a context completely different from what the translators render as "holy war." He says that in Tripoli there are "a large number of ribdtidi inhabited by righteous people (as-salihin). The most frequented and famous among them is the mosque of as-Sha'ab."14 Speaking of the town of Sfax, he says that there are many fortresses (hasiin) and ribatat, the most famous of which is mdhris Batliiya which has a tall minaret with sixty-six steps.15 He seems to use the words ribat and mndhris (guard post) virtually synonymously. Speaking of Monastir, he mentions a building inhabited by as-salihin and al-murabilin, adding that these people left parents and friends to enclose themselves and live far from the world. lie also mentions that women shared in this life of devotion and calls them an- nisac al-murdbiidt. The word that he uses to describe the establishment in this case is not ribei but mdhris.16 It seems that such establishments had a dual purpose, military and religious. De Slane, in a note in his translation of al-Bakri describes this dual nature of the ribdt. He describes it as a small fort along the frontier of Islamic territory, garrisoned by volunteers who sought the special graces afforded those who participate in the holy war. He says that in the early centuries of Islam, there was a string of such establishments stretching from the Atlantic Ocean to the Indus River. They were called ribits because they served to link or bind together those territories that were exposed to attack by the infidel.17 Three quarters of a century before al-Bakri, Ibn Hawqal describes this same kind of establishment. He says that on the Wadi Sale", which is at the edge of the territory inhabited by Muslims, there is a ribdt where "Muslims take up positions (yurdbitu)" against the Baraghwata, a Berber tribe that constantly conducted raids against Muslim territory. The number of "al- 18 The Almoravids and Holy War murdbitin" in this establishment was more or less one hundred thousand.18 There does seem to be a link, then, between the concept of ribdt and the concept of war or conflict against the enemies of Islam. Moraies de Farias suggests that the Qur'~n might be the hyphen between ribat and jihdd. The word ribdt appears only once in the Qur'an (VIII, 60): Against them make ready Your strength to the utmost of your power, including strings of horses (ribdi'l-khalfli) .... 19 Form three of the verb appears in the Qur'an (III, 200): O ye who believe! Persevere in patience And constancy; vie In such perseverance; Strengthen each other (rdbiiu); And fear God; That ye may prosper.20 Form one of the verb appears three times in the Qur'an (VIII, 11; XVIII, 14; XXVIII, 10) and is translated each time as "strengthen the heart." The question is, do these occurrences convey the same meaning as jihadd? The root J_ H -D has the dictionary meaning of "to endeavor, strive, labor, take pains." The form jihdd has the dictionary translation of "fight, battle; holy war," and appears four times in the Qur'an (IX, 24; XXII, 78; XXV, 52; LX, 1). It is translated in each case as "to strive in the way or cause of God.""22 Verse XXV, 52 is perhaps the most explicit: Therefore listen not To the Unbelievers, but strive Against them with the utmost Strenuousness, with the (Qur-an) [wa jahiduhum bihi jihaddan kabfran] If the Qurdn is indeed a hyphen between ribda and jihadd, then, to use a computer term, it is a "soft" hyphen, one which appears only when needed depending on the circumstances to link two parts of a word at the end of a line and the beginning of the next, as opposed to a "hard" hyphen which is inserted by the author quite intentionally and is visible all of the time. Ronald A. Messier 19 In addition to looking at literal meanings and translations of words, then, we should look also at the circumstances in which these terms might apply specifically to the Almoravids. The attitudes and goals of the movement as reflected by their actions are also indications of how those terms might apply. If, indeed, the Qur'an is a hyphen between the terms, between the concepts themselves, then Ibn Yasin's contact with the famous Malikite jurist Wajaj Ibn Zalwi al-Lamti provided the vehicle through which that hyphen became operative for the Almoravids. Of the latter, al-Tadili writes: "He was a man from the people of Sis al-Aqsa. He moved to Qayrawan and so acquired knowledge from Abil 'Imran al-Fasi; then he went back to the Sis and built a House, which he named Dar al-murabitin, for students of science and reciters of the Qur'in."23 We know nothing specific of the ideology of the school. But we do know that Ibn Yasin studied there and maintained contact with the school throughout his rise to power among the Almoravids. And we know of Ibn Yasin's reputation for his exceedingly strict enforcement of Malikite Islam. Ibn Yasin settled first among the Sanhaja tribe of the Bani Gudala, the tribe of Ibn Ibrahim and Jawhar. They were on the whole rather lax in their practice of Islam. Right from the start, Ibn Yasin enforced the prohibition against marrying more than four wives. Even though in his own life, "he was addicted to constant marriages, marrying many women in one month, and then divorcing them. Whenever he heard of a beautiful woman, he asked for her hand in marriage, but he never paid more than four mithqals (dinars) as a bride price."24 He led the life of an ascetic. lHe did not eat the meat or drink the milk of the Gudala because he deemed it impure. He lived only from hunting in the desert.25 He forbade the taking of booty among the faithful. If he allowed it on occasion it is because Ibn Yasin considered the victims to be infidels. Ibn Yasin was so strict in his enforcement of the religious law that even when a man joined the cause and repented for his past misdeeds, Ibn Yasin said to him: "You have committed in your mouth many sins, so it is neces- sary that you be subjected to the punishment stipulated by the law, and so purified from your transgressions." The stipulated punishment for an adulterer was one hundred lashes, for a slan- derer eighty lashes; for a drunkard likewise, and sometimes the number of lashes was augmented. . . . Yet if they know that he has killed someone they kill him, regardless of whether he came 20 The Almoravids and Holy War to him voluntarily, repenting, or was compelled to do so while openly recalcitrant. His repentance did not profit him. Those who failed to attend the Friday prayer received twenty lashes, and those who omitted one genuflection (rak'a) were given five lashes. He compelled everybody to pray a noon prayer with four rak'a as before the public celebration of the noon prayer on Friday. Indeed, this rule was applied to all the other prayers, for he said to a new convert: "In your past life you have omitted prayers many times, so you must make up for it." The majority of the common people among them pray without having per- formed the ritual ablutions because they are in a hurry for fear of a beating. If anyone raised his voice in the mosque he was given the number of lashes thought suitable by whomever was administering the beating.26 Al-Bakri says that these laws were enforced on everyone whom the Almoravids defeated and induced into the ribdt. De Slane translates the term in this case as "sect." Levtzion and Hopkins translate it as "holy war." In spite of, or maybe even because of such strictness, Ibn Yasin was considered a holy man by the common man. In fact, some of the stories that are told about him are reminiscent of stories told about the prophet Muhammad himself. For example, there is the tale that on one of his travels he and his companions were assailed with thirst. The companions asked that he provide water. He said, "Let us hope that God may deliver us from our plight." Then after they had travelled for some time he said: "Dig in front of me." They dug, and found water after very little digging. They drank, watered their animals, and quenched their own thirst with water as sweet as they had ever tasted.27 The Gudala remained loyal to Ibn Yasin's teaching up until the death of Yahya Ibn Ibrahim, chief of the Guddla and great chief of the Sanhaja confederation. The position of great chief of the confederation traditionally alternated between the Gudala and the Lamtina. Supremacy among the tribes was a jealously guarded prize. The endorsement of a religious leader like Ibn Yasin would greately add to the claim of leadership of a tribal chief. 'Abd Allah Ibn Yasin endorsed Yahya Ibn 'Umar as the new great chief of the confederation. He was of the Lamtiina tribe and that conformed to the practice of leadership alternating between the tribes. Ibn 'Umar was also the son of Ibn Ibrahim's sister. So his coming to power was in keeping with Ronald A. Messier 21 the Tuareg tradition of matrilineal succession. But the Gudala refused to accept the new leader. This succession of power and Ibn Yasin's endorsement of the Lamtina candidate could very well have been why the Gudala rejected him. It is more likely because of his politics than any theological errors that he might have made that the Bani Gudiala, or at least some of their leaders, eventually rejected his teachings.28 The Gudala nobility deposed him from his position of judgment and counsel, cut off their wealth from him, looted and demolished his house, and took what was in it. Ibn Yasin fled the community in fear of his life! It is at this point that, according to Ibn Abi Zar, Ibn Yasin retreated with seven faithful companions to an isolated spot which they called rabita.29 It is not certain where he really went, but he did seek the solace and advice of his teacher, Shaikh Wajaj Ibn Zalwi. Some say that he went in person to see the shaikh. Others say that he wrote to his former master.30 The shaikh, of course, was indignant at the news of Ibn Yasin's treatment at the hands of the Gudala. He rebuked the Gudala severely. He wrote to the chiefs of the desert tribes telling them that whosoever was in dispute with Ibn Yasin was in dispute with the whole community and would be excluded from the body of true believers.3' Ibn Yasin's response, as we have seen, was to call his followers to holy war. Ibn Abi Zar explicitly uses the term jihdd: He taught them the Qur'an, the Sunna, the ritual ablutions, prayer, almsgiving and the other duties imposed by God. When they had learned these things, he began to preach to them, exhorting them to do good deeds, to seek paradise and shun the fire of hell and the wrath of God. He steered them from evil and talked of God's rewards; then called them to jihd against those tribes of the Sanhaja who refused to follow the true faith. He said to them: "Almoravids, you are many, you are the chiefs of your tribes and the heads of your clans! The Almighty has reformed you and guided you on the straight path. You must thank Him for His blessings by exhorting men to be good and to shun evil and by striving in the cause of God (iujdhidina fT sabfili-l-ldh)."32 That was the first of a series of holy wars that the Almoravids were to wage against the "infidel." The next was against the town of Sijilmdsa, the commercial port on the northern edge of the Sahara, south of the High 22 The Almoravids and Holy War Atlas mountains and the city of Fez. The preachers of Sijilmasa and of the Dra'a gathered and wrote to Ibn Yasin and to the shaikhs of the Almoravids to come and purify their country of its vices, especially the violence and injustice of their amir, MasCfid Ibn Wanudin. The Maghrawa rulers of Sijilmasa had in fact been rather harsh to- ward the local population who appealed to the Almoravids to come to their aid. When the Dra'a was directly under the control of the Sijilmasa, the Sanhaja Berbers wandered freely with their herds in the whole region. The tribes who lived south of Sijilmasa were permitted to use the land as pasturage and were authorized access of the cultivated lands and water- ing places for camels and beasts. The Fatimid reconnaissance agent Ibn Hawqal made note of the delicate balance maintained between the urban rulers of Sijilmasa and the nomads of the surrounding plains,33 a balance which was evidently upset by the Maghrawa rulers. Here, the text of Ibn Khaldfin provides an interesting insight. He says that it was Wajaj Ibn Zalwi himself who wrote to Ibn Yasin complaining of the miserable state to which the Muslims of his country (Sijilma-sa) had been reduced under the tyranny of Ibn Wanudin.34 When the letter from Sijilmasa reached Ibn Yasin, he gathered the Almoravid leaders, read the letter to them, and asked their counsel. They said: "0 learned shaikh, this is an obligation on you and on us, so let us be off with God's blessing!" So he ordered them to wage holy war (fa amarahum bil-jihaid).35 Likewise, Ibn Yasin's campaign against the Baraghwa-ta was a cam- paign against heretical Muslims who refused to reform. Their heresies are described in detail by Ibn Abi Zar. They recognized Salaih Ibn Thryf as their prophet; they fasted in the month of Rajab rather than Ramadan; they prayed ten times a day rather than five; each one was to offer sacri- fice on the 21 of Muharram; when prayed they moved their head without prostrating; they were permitted to marry as many wives as they wanted, except for their cousins; they could repudiate and take back their wives a thousand times a day if they wished, women not being protected; they killed thieves rather than cut their hands; they could not eat the heads of animals or birds; they could not kill nor eat cocks because they announced the morning prayer; if they did, they had to free a slave. They had their own Qur'an which had eighty chapters named after the prophets: Adam, Job, Noa, Moses, Aaron, Asbat, etc.. They maintained that this book contained the final truth. Ibn Abi Zar goes on to say that when Ibn Yasin learned of these false teachings among the Baraghwata, he declared holy war (jihdid) against them and began a campaign with an army of Almoravids (fa sara Ronald A. Messier 23 ila ghazihim ft juyidshi-murabit.in).36 For the Almoravids, the term jihdd encompassed waging holy war against the Christian infidels when Yiisuf Ibn Tashfin crossed over from Ceuta to Spain in 479/1085 to fight the forces of Alfonso VI, king of Castile, who was gaining momentum in the Christian reconquista of Andalusia. It was the fall of Toledo to Alfonso that showed the Party Kings that the momentum of the reconquista had unquestionably turned from their favor. Some Party Kings, especially those along the frontier, became concerned as much as a decade earlier. They began to contact Yfisuf Ibn Tashfin to feel out his preparedness, if not his eagerness, to cross the straits in the name of holy war.37 YiIsuf kept putting them off saying that first he had to secure his conquest of Ceuta.38 But at the same time he had warned the governor of Ceuta that he planned to conduct holy war in Andalusia.39 Yiisuf was in Fez when he received word of the Almoravid victory in Ceuta. He was already investigating the concept of jihdd.40 He undertook few enterprises without consulting the theologians (fuqaha), and he sought their opinion in this case.41 When al-Mu'tamid, king of Seville, contacted Yisuf in Fez, the latter convinced the Andalusian that he, Yiisuf, was first and foremost called to defend the faith, and that he could not entrust that responsibility to anyone other than himself.42 In the chronicles that report Yfisuf's campaign in Andalusia, several episodes are described rather melodramatically to the point of exposing the authors' convictions of their own self righteousness, and the inherent evil and wickedness of the enemy. For example, when Yiisuf crossed with his troops from Ceuta to Algeciras, on board ship, according to one report, Yiisuf lifted his hands toward heaven and prayed, "God, if you know that this crossing will be useful to the Muslims, facilitate our crossing the sea. On the other hand, if the contrary be true, make the passage so difficult that I will have to return." The crossing did take place with ease. Yisuf disembarked and said his morning prayers.43 Yiisuf sent a message to his opponent in which he gave him three choices: to convert to Islam, to pay tribute, or to stand and fight. These are the same three choices traditionally afforded to Christians and Jews since the first century of Islam. The pact of CUmar which established these options was shaping Yiisuf's evolving concept of holy war.44 Prognostic dreams reveal this same conflict between virtue on one side and evil on the other. More than one chronicler describes Alfonso's dream about an elephant. The Christian king was riding on the elephant, which was all the time beating a drum with his trunk. His priests and 24 The Almoravids and Holy War monks could not interpret the dream, so he bribed a Jew to go over to the Muslims to find some interpretation. The interpreter said that Alfonso and his army would have a great calamity befall them. The dream may be explained in those words of the Qur'an, "Seest thou not how thy Lord has dealt with the people of the elephant?" The Jew did not tell Alfonso this interpretation, but one that he preferred to hear.45 In the thick of battle at Zallaqa, Yuisuf rode among the ranks of his army, urging them to fight for the glory of God. He shouted: "Muslims, be strong and patient in this holy war against the infidel enemy of god (li jihddi a'dd'i-1-1dh); those of you who die today will go to paradise as martyrs, and those who do not die will be rewarded in booty." And his warriors fought on that day as soldiers aspiring to martyrdom and not fearing death.46 According to CAbd Allah Ibn Badis, king of Granada, who fought along side the Almoravids at Zallaqa, Yfisuf stated quite clearly his purpose in Andalusia, to devote himself to the ribdi and abolish illegal taxes.47 Al- Marrakushi confirms this and clearly links this devotion to ribdt to waging holy war. He says that Yuisuf asked al-Mu'tamid to allow his Almoravids, men of virtue, to join the ribdt of Andalusia and to wage war against the enemy (wa-muajhidati-l-'caduwi), and to spend the rest of their days in the strongholds bordering Christian territory.48 Yfisuf's sense of duty to wage war against the Christians might have extended even to the war against Christian crusaders in the Muslim East. Ibn 'Idhari alone makes one very brief mention of Yuisuf dispatching a fleet of seventy ships from the Atlantic, perhaps the port of Sale, to Palestine.49 That was in the year 499/1105-06, shortly after Muslim teachers and writ- ers began to call for jihdd, or counter crusade in Damascus and Baghdad.50 The faqihs who advised Yfisuf urged him to legitimize his authority by having it recognized by the Caliph of Baghdad, al-Mustansir Billah, the supreme sovereign over the whole of the Muslim world. Yuisuf sent two men from Seville, 'Abd Allah Ibn Muhammad Ibn al-Arabi and his son Abii Bakr to call upon the Caliph on his behalf. The embassy was armed with a host of splendid gifts and a letter asking for his official investiture.51 They described Yiisuf as a true defender of the faith who had cham- pioned the cause of the Abassid Caliph for the past forty years, success- fully waging war against all who opposed that cause. They said that the Caliph's name was invoked in the pulpits of some two thousand five hun- dred mosques within Almoravid territory which stretched from the Chris- tian frontier north of al-Andalus to the borders of Ghana, the land of gold, a distance of five months march from one end to the other. They emphasized Ronald A. Messier 25 his efforts of waging holy war against the infidel and recapturing territory that was rightfully within the Muslim realm. They told the Caliph that YiIsuf disposed to the service of Islam an army of sixty thousand horsemen. The two men from Seville extolled Yusuf's virtues as a just ruler who imposed none but Qur'anic taxes. They assured the Caliph that routes were safe throughout the Almoravid state, and that the currency was sound and bore the stamp of the Abassid Caliph.52 The Caliph acknowledged Yiisuf's virtues, underlining that they con- formed with the edicts in the Holy Qur'an. His secretary issued a letter which the ambassadors were to carry back to Yilsuf investing him with the titles "Commander of the Muslims, Defender of the Faith, Champion of the Cause of the Amir of the Faithful." The terms ribdi and al-murdbitin, then, do seem related to the concept of jihad. These terms do have a full range of meanings from full scale war against the infidel; to a physical struggle against the unjust and those who distort the truth in some way, especially as it is revealed in the Qur'an, i.e. heretical or impious Muslims; or to a steadfast struggle to seek and uphold the truth, i.e. to learn the will of God and uphold it in the community as well as in one's own life. One commentator of the Qur'an adds a note to the term jihad as it appears in IX, 20: Here is a good description of Jihad. It may require fighting in God's cause, as a form of self-sacrifice. But its essence consists in (1) a true and sincere Faith, which so fixes its gaze on God, that all selfish or worldly motives seem paltry and fade away, and (2) an earnest and ceaseless activity, involving the sacrifice (if need be) of life, person, or property, in the service of God. Mere brutal fighting is opposed to the whole spirit of Jihid, while the sincere scholar's pen or preacher's voice or wealthy man's contributions may be the most valuable forms of Jihdd.53 In fact, some verses in the Qur'an specifically refer to the use of one's property as well as oneself in this struggle. For example, verse VIII, 20 says "struggle with their property and their persons (jahadu bi-amwdlihim wa anfisihim)." This same idea is re-enforced in the traditions of the prophet. Imran Ibn Husain said, The Messenger of God (may the praise of God be upon him) said: "A party of my community shall not cease fighting for the Truth (yuqailina 'ala-l-haqq); they shall be triumphant over their opponents."54 26 The Almoravids and Holy War The following explanation of this hadith is given in the 'Awn al-Ma'bid, a commentary of Abi Dawid, on the authority of al-Nawavi: This party consists of different classes of the faithful, of them being the brave fighters, the fugaha (jurists), the muhaddithfn (collectors of hadith), the zahids (those who devote themselves to the worship of God), those who command the doing of good and prohibit evil, and a variety of other people who do other good deeds. Fighting in the way of Allah thus includes the service of Islam in any form. The Almoravids certainly progressed or evolved through the full range of meanings of jihdd and ribdt along the continuum of struggling to learn and live righteously, to countering bad Muslims, to waging war against the infidel. But that progression was not irreversible or exclusionary, i.e. they could and did go back to an earlier stage from a later stage of development. 'Abd Allah, king of Granada, albeit he might have been flattering the Almoravids, described them as virtuous men who upheld justice and sought the reward of Paradise. He then proposed that the Andalusians contribute "their persons and their goods to striving along side the Almoravid amir (fa-nu'milu anfusana ft-l-jihddi ma'ahu)."'55 The meaning of jihdd could go either way in this context. We do know, however, that there were ribaldt in Spain where Muslims went to pray and meditate, to live peaceful, contemplative lives in their faith. The faqih of Granada who colluded with the Almoravids against his king said that he would go to such a place. "I will retire," he said, "to the rawdbit (plural of rdbilah) where, God willing, I will live a peaceful life."56 After Yiisuf's victory against the Christians at Zalldqa, it became clear to the Almoravid leader that the Party Kings in Andalusia would not be able to defend themselves without the continued help of the Almoravids. During the Muslim siege of Aledo, and even more so after the failure of that siege, the lack of cooperation, of trust among the Party Kings became even more apparent to Yfisuf. As usual, Yiisuf consulted the theologians. They issued a fatwa, a legal opinion, that declared that the Andalusian kings were impious profligates; that by their bad example they had corrupted the people and made them indifferent to sacred things-witness their slackness in attendance at divine service; that they had levied illegal taxes, and had maintained them in spite of Yiisuf's prohibition. Finally they had allied themselves with Alfonso. For these reasons they were no longer capable of ruling over Muslims. The fatwa said that Yiisuf was no longer bound Ronald A. Messier 27 by any pledges he had made to them, and that it was not only his right but his duty to dethrone them without delay. In conclusion, the fuqaha said: "We take it upon ourselves to answer before God for this decision. If we err, we consent to pay the penalty in another world, and we declare that you, commander of the Muslims, are not responsible therefore; but we firmly believe that the Andalusian kings, if you leave them in peace, will deliver our land to the infidels, and in that case you must account to God for your inaction."57 In a war of sieges, Yiisuf gained control of one Andalusian kingdom after another. The author al-Marrakushi sums up the Spanish campaign very well. "When Yisuf had conquered the peninsula, and his obedience was uncontested, he was listed among the kings and he deserved the title sultan. He and his followers were called al-Murabituin." A few pages fur- ther, the same author writes, "He (Yfisuf) had as his successor his son 'Ali Ibn Yfisuf Ibn Tashfin, who took, like his father, the title conmmander of the faithful, and called his followers al-Murdbithi n."58 NOTES 1. Ibn Abi Zar, Kitdb al-anfs al-mutrib bi-rawd al-qirtds fA akhbdr mulihk al- maghrib wa-Tarikh mad-nat Fds, ed. C. J. Tornberg (Upsala: Litteris Academnicis, 1843), 89. 2. Paulo Fernando de Moraes Farias, "The Almoravids: some Questions concerning the Character of the Movement during its Periods of Closest Contact with the Western Sudan," Bulletin de l'I.F.A.N. XXIX, ser. B, nos. 3-4 (1967): 801-808 offers a detailed discussion. See also A. H. Miranda, "La salide de los Almoravides del Desierto y el Reinado de Yusuf b. Tashfin," Hesperis 3e-4e trim.: 155-182 and H. T. Norris, The Arab Conquest of the Western Sahara (Harmon: Longman, 1986), 244. 3. Hans Wehr, A Dictionary of Modern Written Arabic (Ithaca, New York: Cor- nell University Press, 1966), 321-22. 4. Ibid., 322. 5. A. Beaumier, Roud el-Kartas. Histoire des souverains du Maghreb et annales de la ville de Fes (Paris: l'Imprimerie Imperiale), 172-73. 6. Moraes de Farias, 803. 7. Ibn 'Idhari, Kitib al-bayin al-mughrib if akhbar al-Andalus wal-Maghrib (Beirut: Dar al-Thaqafa, 1967), 12. 8. Al-Bakri, Kitab al-masdlik wa-'l-mamalik, ed. Baron MacGuckin de Slane with Arabic text and French translation (Paris, 1965), test 164. 9. Hans Wehr, 322. 10. H. T. Norris, 258. 11. Al-Bakri, de Slane, translation 311, n. 1. 28 The Almoravids and Holy War 12. Vincent Monteil, "AI-Bakri (Cordoue 1068), routier de l'Afrique blanche et noire du Nord-Ouest," Bulletin de l'I.F.A.N. XXX, ser. B, n. 1 (1968): 59 and N. Levtzion and J.F.P. Hopkins, Corpus of Early Arabic Sources for West African History (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press), 70. 13. Al-Bakri, de Slane, text 164. 14. Ibid., 7. 15. Ibid., 20. 16. Ibid., 36. 17. Ibid., 21. 18. Ibn Hawqal Kitdb sirat al-ard (Beirut: Dar al-Maktabat al-Hayat), 82. 19. The Holy Qur'In, text, translation, and commentary by A. Yiisuf 'Ali, VIII, 60 (Brentwood, Md: Amana Corporation, 1983), 430. 20. Ibid., 176. 21. Hans Wehr, 142. 22. A. Yisuf 'All, 445, 872, 938-39, 1531. 23. AI-Tadili, Kitib at- Tashawwuf ila Rijdl at- Tasawwuf, ed. Ahmed Toufiq (Ra- bat: Publication de la Faculte des Lettres, 1984), 89. 24. Al-Bakri, de Slane, text 169; and Levtzion and Hopkins, translation 74-75. 25. Al-Bakri, De Slane, text 165; Levtzion and Hopkins, translation 71. 26. Ibid. 27. Ibid. 28. Moroccan author Mukhtar al-'Ibadi in "Dirasat hawla kitab al-hulal al- mawshiya ft dhikr al-akhbar al-Marrakesh wa abmiyatihi ft Tarikh al-murabitin wal- Muwwahidin," Tatwin, 5 (1960): 139-158 suggests that this is the reason that 'Abd Allah bin Yasin was exiled from his abode in Arat-n-anna. 29. Ibn Abi Zar, 79. 30. Ibn 'Idhari, 1967, 9. 31. Al-Bakri, de Slane, text 166, translation 314. 32. Ibn Abi Zar, 70. 33. Ibn Hawqal, 96-97. 34. Ibn Khaldfin, Histoire des Berberes, II (Paris, 1925), 69. 35. Ibn AbT Zar, 81. 36. Ibn Abi ZAr, 83-84. 37. Al-hulal al-Mawshiyya, ed. by Sahil Zakar and 'Abd al-Kadir Zamama (Casablanca: Dar al-Rashad al-Akithala, 1979), 33; translated by Ambrosio Huici Mi- randa, Coleccion de Chronicas Arabes de la Reconquista, Vol. I (Tetuan: Editora Mar- roqui, 1952), 47. This source says that the first to write to Yisuf asking for his support was al-Mutawakkil bin al-Aftas, king of Badajoz, who wrote to Yiisuf in 474/1081-82. 38. Ibn Abi Z.r, 92. 39. E. Levi-Provencal, La peninsule Ibdrique au moyen age d'apres le Kitab a- rawd al-mi'tar d'Ibn al-Mun'im al-Himydri- (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1938), Arabic text p. 86; translation p. 107. 40. Ibn Abi Zar, 93. 41. E. Levi-Provencal, La peninsule Iberique, text 86, translation 107. 42. Al-Marrakushi, 191. 43. Ibid., 93. 44. Al-Maqqari, 282; Al-hulal, Casablanca edition, 53; Miranda translation, 70. 45. Al-Maqqari, 282; Al-hulal, Casablanca edition, 54-55; Miranda translation, 67-68. Qur'an, CV, 1. Ronald A. Messier 29 46. Ibn Abi ZAr, Tornberg edition, 95-96. 47. E. Livi-Provencale, "Les memoires de 'Abd AllAh, dernier roi Ziride de Grenade," Al-Andalus 3 (1936): text 274, translation 281. 48. Al-MarrAkushi, 199. 49. Ibn 'Idhari, 45. 50. P. M. Holt, The Age of the Crusades (London and New York: Longman, 1986), 27. 51. E. Levi-Provencal, "Le titre souverain des Almoravides et sa lgitimation par le califat 'Abbaside," Arabica 2 (1955): 265-280 preserves the text of the petition along with the reply of the Caliph, and a description of the letter written by al-Mustansir's secretary Muhammad Ibn Muhammad Ibn Ghahir. Lhvi-Provencal points out that the two ambassadors arrived in Baghdad as late as four years after their departure from Seville, and that they remained in Baghdad for two years from 489/1096 to 491/1098 before they returned to Yiisuf with the letter of investiture. The text of the Sevillian ambassador mentions that during their stay in Baghdad, a qadi from the Maghrib also came to Baghdad after making the pilgrimmage and informed them (the Sevillians) of the political situation of the Almoravid amirate. It is Ibn al-Athir, Annales du Maghreb & de l'Espagne, tr. E. Fagnan, (Algiers: Typographie Adolphe Jourdan, 1898), 213- 214, who tells us that Yiisuf sent these ambassadors upon the suggestion of the faqihs. Ibn Khaldin, 82, confirms the identity of the ambassadors. 52. Most of the coins struck by the Almoravids bear the inscription "al-imam, 'Abd allah, amir al-mu'minin." A few coins of unknown date add "al-'Abbassi.'" See Harry W. Hazard, The Numismatic History of Late Medieval North Africa, (New York: The American Numismatic Society, 1952). 53. A. Yiisuf 'All 444, n. 1270. 54. Abu Da'ud, Mishkat, 18. 55. Memoires de 'Abd Alldh, text 106, translation 158. 56. Mdmoires de 'Abd Allah, text 171, translation 184. 57. Reinhart Dozy, Spanish Islam: a History of the Moslems in Spain (London: Frank Cass, 1972), 711-12. 58. Al-Marrakushl, 227 and 235.  To Wage Jihid or not: Fatimid Egypt During the Early Crusades WILLIAM HAMBLIN University of Southern Mississippi U NTIL the last quarter of the eleventh century, the most important form of ideological motivation for the Fatimid dynasty was undoubtedly re- ligion. A primary goal of the Caliphs was to spread the Fatimid version of Islam by all possible means, including individual conversion, covert sub- version of opposing dynasties, and open conquest.1 A fundamental part of this expansion effort was the use of jihdd propaganda.2 However, beginning with the rise to power of Badr al-Jama-li in 478-68/1074, the importance of religion as a major factor in Fatimid foreign policy decisions was essen- tially eliminated.3 There were three major factors which contributed to the decline of Fatimid jihdd propaganda during this period. The first element is the collapse of the real political power of the Fa- timid Caliph. From about 452/1060 Egypt was plunged into an extremely serious political and economic crisis, including bouts of famine, plague, ex- tensive brigandage, political coups and assassinations, the Saljuk conquest of Syria and Palestine, civil wars, and the collapse of central authority in many regions of Egypt. In a last attempt to salvage the dynasty, in 466/1073 the Caliph al-Mustansir summoned his general Badr al-Jama-li to come to Egypt from his post in Syria and restore order.4 After a brutal, but highly successful coup in 467/1074, nearly all political and military power in Egypt was in the hands of Badr al-Jamali with the Caliph relegated to the position of nominal head of state. The wazirs of the subsequent period formed part of what could be called the "Jamali" dynasty, con- sisting of Badr al-Jamali (wazir 467-487/1074-1094) and his son al-Afdal (wazir 487-515/1094-1121). One of the fundamental political policies of the Jamali wazirs was to limit as much as possible the political influence of the Fatimid Caliph. During the Badr al-Jama.li's rule this took the form of the progressive expansion of the power of the wazir in both civilian and military branches of the government at the expense of the Caliph's 32 To Wage Jihdd authority.5 AI-Afdal, Badr al-Jamil's son who served as wazir during the early Crusades, took this policy a step further by manipulating the succes- sion to the Caliphate to insure that a young child was placed on the throne as his puppet.6 Although it is impossible to determine al-Afdal's personal religious feelings and motivations, Ibn al-Qalanisi claims that al-Afdal was a Sunni rather than a Shi'ite.' If true, this would illuminate his lack of con- cern for Fatimid religious expansion. The only evidence of active support of Shi'ite missionary activities is in Yemen and the Hejaz which were closely linked to the vital Fatimid economic interests in the trade route to India.' Al-Afdal's son Kutayfat brought the policy to its logical conclusion by his abortive attempt in 525-527/1130-31 to eliminate the Fatimid Caliphate altogether.9 Given this situation, the Jama-li wazirs were faced with a dilemma concerning the possible use of jihdd propaganda. On the one hand, such propaganda could have conceivably furthered their aims against their two major enemies of the period, the Sunni Saljuk Turks and the Christian Crusaders. However, under both Sunni and Shi'ite religious theory, the summoning of the Islamic umma to jihdd was the prerogative of the Caliph. Had the Jamali wazirs used jihdd propaganda in the name of the Fatimid Caliphs they would thereby have served to increase the prestige and influ- ence of the Fatimid Caliphs, thus necessarily decreasing their own relative power. And for the Jamali wazirs, the threat of a revived Caliphate was as much to be feared as the threat of outside invaders.10 Thus, after two attempts at reconquering Damascus in 470/1077 and 471/1078, Badr al- Jamali's policies became increasing Egyptocentric. As H. A. R. Gibb put it, "So far from (attempting to spread Fatimid Shi'ism) were Badr and al- Afdal that they would almost seem to have deliberately undermined the whole Fatimid mission organization, except in Yemen." " A second factor which limited the use of jihaid propaganda by the Jamali wazir was based on the sources of recruitment and form of organiza- tion of the Fatimid army. Soldiers for the Fatimid army were recruited from several different geographical zones and ethnic groups, including Africans, Berbers, Europeans, Armenians, Turks, and Arabs. These troops were usually organized into regiments based on their ethnic origins.12 Politico- military factions which arose at different periods in Fatimid history tended to be based on, or at least greatly influenced by, the ethnic and regimental divisions of the army.13 One of the most important ethnic groups in the military during the Jamali period were the Armenians. The importance of Armenians in the William Hamblin political and military history of the later Fatimid dynasty has long been recognized.14 However, the precise nature and full extent of their military activities has never been fully described. Although some Armenians found their way to Egypt in the ninth and tenth centuries, their major migration to Egypt formed a part of a general diaspora from Anatolia beginning in the eleventh century.15 The period of significant Armenian political influence in Egypt began in 467/1074 when Badr al-Jamali, himself an Armenian, was installed as wazir and usurped authority from the Caliph al-Mustansir. By 480/1087 there were at least 10,000 Armenian families, numbering around 30,000 people, resident in Egypt. Many, if not most, of the family heads served in the army."6 Armenian soldiers are first seen wielding significant political power in 489-90/1095 when they demanded that Badr al-Jamali's son al-Afdal succeed his father as wazir and commander of the army.17 Perhaps the most important characteristic that has not been fully rec- ognized is that most of the Armenians who served in the Fatimid army re- mained Christian. In 480/1087 Gregory, Patriarch of the Armenians, made a state visit to Egypt and was received with honor by the wazir Badr al- Jamali.' While there, Gregory consecrated his nephew as Catholicos over the Armenian Christians of Egypt.19 In 483/1090 Badr al-Jamali granted the Armenian soldiers (al-arman al-'askariya) the suburb of al-hasaniya to the northwest of Cairo as residence for their families, giving them an unused Jacobite church for worship. Other churches were also endowed or built for the Armenians by Badr al-Jamli.20 These incidents point to the presence of a large Armenian Christian el- ement among the soldiers, which is supported by other details.21 According to Ibn al-Muqaffa', the majority of Badr al-Jamali's soldiers ('askar) were Armenians.22 This statement was confirmed by al-Maqrizi, who wrote that Badr al-Jamali "established for himself a jund and 'askar of Armenians. From that time most of the jaysh became Armenians and the (number of) Kutama (Berbers) declined."23 The implications of these two statements requires some attention. As I have discussed elsewhere, the size of the regular Fatimid army stationed at Cairo probably amounted to between ten and fifteen thousand men.24 What portion of this force was Armenian? We have three basically independent sources on the size of the Armenian force in Cairo. The anonymous Life of St. Nerses claims there were 10,000 Armenian families in Cairo. Michael of Edessa says there were 30,000 Ar- menians in Egypt. Al-Maqrizi tells us that "The largest of the suburbs (of Cairo) was the hasaniya ... the Armenian cavalry and infantry lived there, numbering 7000 or more."25 These three sources provide a consis- 34 To Wage Jihdd tent picture: ten thousand families numbering around 30,000 people, of whom 7000 were soldiers, the rest being women, children, or men engaged in non-military occupations. A force of 7000 Armenian soldiers garrisoned at Cairo, would indeed represent the majority of the 10,000-15,000 regular troops stationed there. The political history of the later Fatimid dynasty contains several additional examples of the political and military power of Christian Arme- nian soldiers. In 504/1110 Shams al-Khilafa attempted an abortive coup at Ascalon in which he was supported by 300 Armenians, who were appar- ently Christian mercenaries.2 Bahram, an Armenian Christian governor and general, became wazir of Egypt in 1134 and was supported by a strong Armenian Christian army. Armenians also served in garrisons for the de- fense of maritime Palestine against the Crusaders,27 and also occasionally appear as mamluks.2' Large numbers of Christian Armenians apparently continued serving the Fatimids until the end of the dynasty. In 567/1171, after Saladin defeated the rebellious Armenian regiment of the Fatimid army, the Armenian patriarch fled Egypt, implying that he somehow felt threatened by the elimination of the Armenian soldiers of the army. The Patriarch's flight from Saladin would have been unnecessary had the Ar- menian rebels not been mainly Christians.29 Why would the Muslims Badr al-Jamali and al-Afdal have extensively utilized Christians in their army? One reason was that Badr al-Jamali and al-Afdal were themselves Armenians, though at least nominal converts to Islam. The fundamental reason behind the use of Armenians, however, was probably based on the power struggles and factional organization of the Fatimid army. When Badr al-Jamali was summoned by al-Mustansir to return to Egypt in 1073, he brought with him a large army composed of a number of different elements, including a significant number of Armenians. In Badr al-Jamali's subsequent reorganization of the Egyptian army the Armenians played an increasingly important role. Due to the disruptions in Anatolia caused by Turkish invasions, large numbers of Armenians, who were considered excellent soldiers,30 were willing to immigrate and take military service in Egypt. From Badr al-Jamali's point of view, a regiment of Armenian Christian soldiers, far from their homeland and co-religionists, would provide a loyal power base for his personal authority in Egypt. The allegiance of Turks, Berbers and Sudanis could (and did) shift to different leaders or power groups. But throughout the later Fatimid period, Armeni- ans were bound to the Armenian Jamali dynasty upon whose success their own power and privileges depended. William Hamblin 35 It seems that the numerical dominance of Armenians in the army did not last long after the death of al-Afdal, and had perhaps begun to erode even before. In 529/1134 when Bahrim was summoned by al-hafiz to restore order in Cairo, he mobilized his Armenian soldiers from the countryside in the western Delta where he was governor.31 Although by this time most of Bahram's Armenians were apparently garrisoned in the Delta, it appears that there were still some Armenians in Cairo, for in the subsequent fighting Ibn al-Walkhashi burned the Armenian quarter, sacked their Churches and killed the Armenian Catholicos.32 Thus the use of jihdd propaganda as a mechanism to motivate Armenian troops would not only have been useless, since many Armenians were not Muslims, but could have been counter-productive by creating the possibility of an anti- Armenian Christian backlash among Muslim soldiers, adding fuel to the fires of inter-regimental rivalry. The third factor in limiting the use of jihad propaganda is that al- Afdal did not initially see the Crusaders as Egypt's natural enemy. Until the coming of the Franks the major antagonists of the Fatimids had been the Turkish Saljuk princes of Syria and Iraq. Al-Afdal initially saw the Crusaders, however mistakenly, as a potential buffer between Syria and Egypt which could reduce the military threat from Saljuk Damascus. As Ibn Zafir described it, "al-Afdal ... desired (the Frankish) conquest of the coast (of southern Palestine) so they would serve as a barrier preventing the invasion of the Turks into Egypt."33 Thus, during the first years of the Crusades, any use of jihdd propaganda by the Fatimid against the Crusaders would have made it impossible for al-Afdal to justify his policy of using them as potential allies against the Saljuks. A broad view of all of al-Afdal's initial reaction to the Crusaders clearly indicates that his foreign policy towards them was essentially con- ciliatory. Al-Afdal opened negotiations with the Franks as their army was besieging Antioch in 491-92/1097, and continued exchanging emissaries with them even after the fall of Jerusalem in July 493-94/1099." al-Afdal was apparently convinced that the Franks had no intention of invading Egypt, and believed that if some sort of arrangement could be made he would have a potential ally against the Saljuks. Al-Afdal obviously felt that the results of his initial negotiations with the Crusaders were positive, for agreements were made to provide supplies to the Frankish army during its advance to Jerusalem.35 It is hardly cred- ible that al-Afdal would have given supplies to the Crusaders if he had thought they were invading to conquer the Fatimid portion of Palestine. 36 To Wage Jihad The best explanation for these developments is that he was under the delu- sion, probably fostered by lies from the Frankish ambassadors, that the Franks only intended to visit Jerusalem as pilgrims (which is what the earliest Crusaders called themselves), thereafter returning to central and northern Syria to serve as allies with the Fatimids against the Saljuks. Be that as it may, even after Jerusalem fell, al-Afdal was still willing to try to come to terms with the Franks and formulate some kind of negotiated division of Palestine. In late July 492/1099 al-Afdal arrived at Ascalon with an army of nearly 20,000 men. Despite the fact that this was the only occasion al-Afdal ever personally led an army against the Franks, and that it was one of the largest Fatimid armies ever mobilized against them, his first move was not to attack the Crusaders, but to again attempt to negotiate a peace settlement.36 The Franks sent a false favorable response to these overtures, while marshalling their army and rushing to battle, resulting in their surprise victory at Ascalon.37 Even after this defeat, and perhaps in part because of it, al-Afdal con- tinued his attempts to formulate a negotiated peace with the Crusaders. In the spring of 1100 a treaty was concluded granting a tribute of 60,000 dinars a year to the Franks if they agreed not to attack Fatimid cities.38 It was only after the summer of 1100, when the Franks had broken this treaty that al-Afdal finally abandoned his policy of conciliation and a negotiated division of Palestine with the Crusaders. As Ibn Zafir described the situ- ation, "when the Franks-may God forsake them-conquered Jerusalem, al-Afdal regretted it only after there was no use in regretting."39 Thus dur- ing the first few years of the Crusades, the use of jihad propaganda against the Crusaders would have been inconsistent with al-Afdal's attempts to utilize them as potential allies against the Saljuks. Ibn Taghribardi's dis- cussion supports this general conclusion. In summarizing al-Afdal's reign, he stated that the Caliph al-Musta'li was satisfied with al-Afdal as wazir, "except for the fact that he refrained from jihdd (against the Franks)."40 Indeed, the major example of the use of jihdd propaganda by Fatimid soldiers during the first decades of the Crusades occurred not against Chris- tian Crusaders, but against Fatimid Armenian Christian soldiers during a civil war in Egypt. In 532/1137 the Armenian Christian wazir Bahram was overthrown by a rebellion by a Muslim general Ridwan ibn Walkhashi. Ridwan declared his rebellion to be a jihad against the Armenian Chris- tians, using as his war cry "Ya mujdhidin = 0 fighters of jihdd," in an attempt to rally Muslim soldiers against Bahrdm's Armenians.41 William Hamblin 37 In summary, the use of jihid propaganda was not the automatic and universal response of Muslim princes and soldiers to Crusader intervention in Palestine. The ideology of jihdd was never exploited by the Jamali wazirs. They felt that jihdd propaganda would strengthen the hand of the Fatimid Caliphs against their own dominance in Egypt and that it would be ineffective in mobilizing the sentiment of the Christian Armenian regiments of their army. The use of jihdd propaganda was incompatible with al-Afdal's conciliatory policy of attempting to use the Crusaders as a buffer against the Saljuks. It was only a number of decades after the original Frankish invasions that the propaganda of jihdd in Egypt would begin to play a significant role among a new breed of Muslim leaders and soldiers, bearing the ultimate fruit of Hattin.42 NOTES 1. An excellent brief introduction can be found by Bernard Lewis, The Assassins: A Radical Sect in Islam (Oxford, 1987, reprint of 1967 edition), with a survey of the relevant bibliography to 1967 on pp. 144-5. 2. One of the major political and religious thinkers of the Fatimid movement, al- QR&I al-Nu'mTan, devoted a large section of his book, Da'i'im al-Islam, ed. A. A. A. Fyzee, 2 vols. (Cairo, 1969 (reprint)), to both theoretical and practical questions of jihid. 3. This transformation of the basis of Fatimid ideology and power was, of course, based on many other factors. An enlightening and succinct discussion can be found in Marshall G. S. Hodgson, The Venture of Islam: Conscience and History in a World Civilization, vol. 2, The Expansion of Islam in the Middle Periods (Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1974), pp. 21-8. This transformation left the more extremist elements of Shi'ism, such as the Assassins, to continue militant efforts for the triumph of Shi'ite Islam, on which see Lewis, The Assassins, and Marshall G. S. Hodgson, The Order of Assassins: The Struggle of the Early Nizirf IsmiClis against the Islamic World (Mouton: The Hague, 1955). 4. For a recent brief summary of the events of this period, with references to earlier studies and original sources, see Mark R. Cohen, Jewish Self- Government in Medieval Egypt (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1980), 54-60. 5. For an excellent discussion of the Badr al-Jamali's policy of complete central- ization of authority in his own hands see Cohen, Jewish Self- Government, 61-78. 6. This policy culminated in a civil war with the rightful heir al-Nizar, and the es- tablishment of al-Afdal as virtual dictator in Egypt. Ta-j al-Din Muhammad, Ibn Muyas- sar, Akhbdr Misr, ed. Ayman Fu'ad Sayyid (Cairo: Institut Frangais d'Archeologie Orientale, n.d.), (hereafter = IMuy.), 68-9. Ibn al-Qalanisi, Dhayl Tcrikh Dimishq, ed. H. F. Amedroz (Leyden: Brill, 1908), (hereafter = IQal.), 127ff. Taqi al-Din Ahmad al-Maqrizi, Itti'iz al-Hunafa bi-Akhbdr al-A'imma al-Fatimiyin al-Khulafd, ed. Mulammad Ahmad, 3 vols., (Cairo, 1973), (hereafter = Maq.), vol. 3:12-5. Ibn 38 To Wage Jihdd al-Athir, AI-Kimil fi al- Tarfkh, ed. K. Tornberg, 12 vols. (Beirut: Dir Sder, Dar Bey- routh, 1966), (hereafter = IAth) vol. 10, 237-8. Jamal al-Din 'All Ibn Z.afir, Akhbdr al-Duwal al-Munqati'a, ed. Andre Ferre (Cairo: Institut Frangais d'archeologie orien- tale, 1972), (hereafter=Izaf.), 83-5. See Cohen, Jewish Self-Government, 214 n. 5, for additional sources and modern studies. 7. IQal. 204 = Gibb tr. p. 164, "i'tiqad fi madhhab al-sunna..." 8. On the importance of Yemen in Egyptian economic considerations see Bernard Lewis, "The Fatimids and the route to India," Revue de la Faculid des sciences dconomique, Universitd d'Istanbul 11 (1949-50):50-4. See Cohen, Jewish Self-Govern- ment, 64-5 for additional discussion and references. 9. Maq., 3:138-44; S. M. Stern, "al-Afdal Kutayfat," Encyclopedia of Islam, New ed., H. A. R. Gibb, et. al. eds. (Leyden: Brill, 1960 in progress, hereafter - EI2) 1:216. 10. Al-Af~lal was willing to risk civil war in Egypt in 1094-5 rather than allow the strong and independent Nizar to ascend the throne. See note 6 above. 11. H. A. R. Gibb, "The Caliphate and the Arab States," in A History of the Crusades, Kenneth M. Setton and Marshall W. Baldwin, eds. (Madison, Wisconsin: The University of Wisconsin Press, 1969) 2nd ed., 95. 12. For a description of the various factions and regiments see William J. Hamblin, "The Fatimid Army during the Early Crusades," (Ph.D. dissertation, The University of Michigan, 1985), 13ff. 13. See Hamblin, "The Fatimid Army", 201-7, and passim., and Jere L. Bacharach, "African Military Slaves in the Medieval Middle East: the Cases of Iraq (869-955) and Egypt (868-1171)," International Journal of Middle East Studies 13 (1981):471-495. 14. See M. Canard, "Notes sur les Armeniens en tgypte a l'hpoque fatimite," Annales de l'institut des Etudes Orientales 13 (1955):142-57, and his "Un vizier chritien a l'epoque fatimite: l'Armenien Bahram," Annales de l'institut des Etudes Orientales 12 (1954):84-113. 15. See Canard, "Armeniens," 143ff. 16. Anonymous, Life of St. Nerses, tr. Canard in "Armeniens," 148, for the 10,000 families; Matthew of Edessa, quoted by Canard, 149, for the 30,000 total. This matter will be further discussed below. 17. Maq., 3:62. 18. Sawirus Ibn al-Muqqafa', History of the Patriarchs of the Egyptian Church vol. 3, pt. 1, ed. and tr. by Antoine Khiter and O. H. E. Khs-Burmester (Cairo: La societh d'archeologie Copte, 1968), (hereafter = IMuq.), 4:145. 19. Anonymous, Life of St. Nerses, tr. Canard, "Armeniens," p. 148. 20. Abi SdAih., The Churches and Monasteries of Egypt, ed. and tr. B. T. A. Evetts (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1895), fols. 47b-48a. IMuq. 1.2:356-7. 21. IMuq., 2.3:225 = tr. 355-6. 22. IMuq., 2.3:219 = tr. 344-5. 23. Al-Maqrizl, Al-Maw'iz wa al-ltibir bi-Dhikr al-Khitat wa al-Athdr, 2 vols. (Beirut: D8r Sader (n.d.), reprint of Billiq edition), (hereafter = MaqKh.), 2:12b. 24. See Hamblin, "The Fatimid Army", 65ff. 25. Anon., Life of St. Nerses, quoted by Canard, "Armeniens," p. 148; Michael, ibid., p. 149; MaqKh., 2:21d, quoting Ibn 'Abd al-Zahir. 26. For a full discussion of this incident see Hamblin, "The Fatimid Army", 204- 7. That Shams al-Khilafa used Armenian Christian mercenaries can be deduced from the following evidence. Muslim sources all agree that Shams al-Khilifa used Armenians as his supporters (IQal 172=110; IAth 10:480-1; Maq 3:47). On the other hand, Albert William Hamblin 39 of Aix claims that Baldwin sent 300 "knightly and warlike men" to support Shams al- Khilafa. See Albert of Aix, Historia Hierosolymitana, in Recueil des Historiens des Croisades: Historiens Occidentaux, 5 vols. (Paris: Imprimerie Royale, 1844-1895), bk. 11 ch. 35. The simplest reconciliation of these sources is that the Armenians men- tioned by the Muslim historians were the same 300 men "sent" by Baldwin-Armenian Christian mercenaries in Crusader service, who were hired by Shams al-Khil&fa. 27. Ibn Khaldun, Tirfkh al-'Allima (Kitdb al-'Ibar), 7 vols. (Beirut: Maktabat al-Madrasa, 1959-61), (hereafter = IKhal.), 4:145, says that Tyre was defended by an Armenian 'askar under 'Izz al-Mulk al-A'azz. Shams al-Khilafa also enlisted Armenians in the defense of Ascalon, Maq., 3:47; IKhal., 4:145. 28. Us8m Ibn Munqidh, Kitlb al-'tibar, ed. Philip K. Hitti (Princeton: Prince- ton University Press, 1931), (hereafter = Us8m&), p. 21=147. 29. Abu Salilh, fol. 2b, p. 5. 30. R. C. Smail, Crusading Warfare: 1097-1093 (Cambridge: Cambridge Univer- sity Press, 1956), 47, presents some evidence for this. 31. Maq., 3:155. 32. IMuq., 3.1:32=50. 33I. Zaf., 82. 34. The following are the major exchanges of ambassadors: Antioch 1098: Steven Runciman, A History of the Crusades, 3 vols. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1951-4), 1:229-30; on 'Arqa 1099 see Runciman 1:273, and sources quoted therein. On the discussions at Jerusalem in 1099 and Ascalon in 1099, see below. 35. Caffaro mentions that an embassy was sent to Egypt by John the Camararius guaranteeing "safe conduct and supplies from the maritime cities and villages on the route to Jerusalem for the Frankish knights." Caffaro, Annali Genovesi di Caffaro e dd soui continuatori, 5 vols., ed. L. T. Belgrano (Rome: Fonti per la storia d'Italia, 1890-1929): 1:109, indicates that the provision of supplies to the Crusaders was not undertaken solely on the initiative of the governors of the maritime cities but on direct orders from al-Afdal. 36. Ibn Muyassir states that al-Afdal "sent (messengers) to rebuke the Franks because of what they had done, and they (the Franks) responded favorably. The (Egyp- tian) messenger had barely returned (to Ascalon) when they (the Franks) came in great numbers and attacked al-Afdal (at Ascalon)." IMuy,. 66, followed by Maq., 3:24, who gives an abbreviated version. Rebuking an army with whom you are at war makes little sense. This incident can best be understood if it is assumed that al-Afd1al was rebuking the Franks for having broken previous treaty. 37. On the battle of Ascalon see Smail, Crusading Warfare, 85-7, which should be modified with information from the Fatimid perspective in Hamblin, 236-49. 38. Albert of Aix, bk. 7, chs. 12-3 gives the tribute as 5000 dinars a month, or 60,000 a year. 39. IZaf., 82. 40. Abii al-Mahasin Ibn Taghribardi, Al-Nujpim al-Zdhira fi Mulbik Misr wa al- Qdhira, ed. A. Z. al-'Adawl, 16 vols (Cairo: Dar al-Kutub al Misriya, 1929-56), (here- after = ITagh.) 5:153. 41. IMuq., 3.1:30 = trans., 48-9. 42. E. Sivan, L'Islam et la Croisade, 53-6, discusses the rise of anti-Frankish jihid propaganda beginning in the years following al-Afdal's rule.  A Reassessment of Some Medieval and Modern Perceptions of the Counter-Crusade HADIA DAJANI-SHAKEEL University of Toronto Introduction N an article entitled "The Use by Muslim Historians of Non-Muslim Sources," Bernard Lewis remarked: "For two centuries the Muslims of the Middle East were in intimate if hostile contact with groups of the Franks established among them-yet, at no time do they seem to have developed the least interest in them."' In support of his remarks, Lewis referred to similar conclusions by Fransesco Gabrieli about Muslims' un- derstanding of the nature of the First Crusade in which he (Gabrieli) says: "Muslims never reached the point, one would say, of regarding the Chris- tian attack in the West as anything fundamentally different from the other wars against the infidels, whether they were the Franks or Byzantines: in Syria itself in the course of the tenth century and before, in al-Andalus throughout the Spanish reconquista, and in Sicily against the Normans. Even the well written passage of the Ibn al-Athir, where he compares the First Crusade with the Christian offensives in Spain and Sicily, although it shows the breadth of the Mesopotamian historian's vision, proves to us that he did not perceive what distinguished the Crusades from the other wars between Christians and Islam in the Middle Ages, nor realize the special characteristics of the Latin settlement in the Levant.'2 Following the example of both Lewis and Gabrieli, J. J. Saunders elaborated fur- ther on the Muslims' ignorance of their neighbors (the Franks in the East), pointing out that "the Crusaders were, however, a nuisance rather than a serious menace to the Islamic World, and the Muslim chroniclers devote much less attention to them than might be expected. The Frankish states were strung out in a thin line along the Syrian coast, and never included any of the great Muslim cities, not even Damascus.... The task of driving 42 Perceptions of the Counter-Crusade out the Western intruders would have to be undertaken, not from divided Syria or decadent Egypt, but from northern Iraq, where there were ample reserves of man power."3 Such generalizations by outstanding historians, which tend to under- mine the degree of Muslim awareness of the nature of the Crusades and Counter-Crusade, have, unfortunately, been echoed by others.4 One may only ask, if Muslim awareness of the Crusades, and the Crusaders, was so minimal how could they have developed an ideological campaign-the Counter-Crusade-unprecedented in Islamic history, which reinforced the military activity that persisted for almost two centuries, and ultimately resulted in the final uprooting of Crusaders' settlements in Muslim lands. Contrary to Saunders' allegations, some Muslim chroniclers gave a very prominent place to the Muslim-Latin Christian confrontation in their chronicles, while others, as 'Imad al-Din al-Isfahani did in al-Barq al-Shami and al-Fath al-Qussi, dedicated their chronicles almost exclusively to the conflict. Ibn Shaddid gave us a detailed first hand account of the Third Crusade in his biography of Saladin entitled al-Nawaidir al-Sultadniyya wa-1- Mahdsin al-Yisufiyya; while al-Maqrizi, in his IttiaCz al-Hunafad bi-Akhibar al-A'immah al-Fatimiyyin al-Khulaf', provides us with insight into the role of Egypt in the Counter-Crusader, which was as vital as the role of Northern Iraq to the success of the Counter-Crusade, especially in the second half of the twelfth century and throughout the thirteenth century. In addition the chronicles, biographies, and dynastic, regional and city histories, which focussed on the Counter-Crusade, other sources, such as religious literature, sermons, personal and official correspondence and poetry, which have been often overlooked by contemporary historians of the Crusades, provide us with a clear picture of the Islamic interpretation and response to the Crusades in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. In this paper we will attempt to redefine the Muslim perception of the Crusades and their ideological response to them between 493/1099 and 588/1192, focussing on three phases: 1. Early Muslim perceptions of and intellectual response to the First Crusade. (Jihid is defined as a purely defensive war within the boundaries of the Muslim state.) 2. The ideological response between 539/1144 and 583/1187 A. D. This is the period of Muslim military success against the Crusaders. (Jihdd is defined as defensive, though offensive and religious in nature.) Hadia Dajani-Shakeel 43 3. The Islamic response to the Third Crusade: 585-588/1189-1192 A. D. (Jihad is defined as defensive, yet confined to Muslim recovered land. These years were characterized by diplomacy and peace negotiations.) We will investigate the views of some early twelfth-century jurists, as well as those of the leaders of the jihdd, especially Nir al-Din Mah- mud Zangi (d. 570/1174) and Saladin (d. 591/1193). Both grew up in the ideological milieu of Damascus, and were the recipients of several works on the jihdd written by jurists of their time. We will also examine the views of three scholars who were associated especially with Saladin and contributed ideologically to the jihd, namely, al-Qadi al-Fadil, 'limd al- Din al-Isfaha-ni and Baha-' al-Din Ibn Shaddad. We will refer to the views of others wherever possible. Early Muslim Perceptions of and Intellectual Response to the First Crusade After concluding the treaty that marked the end of the Third Crusade on 22nd Sha'ban, 588/September 2, 1192, Saladin, according to Ibn Shaddad, "ordered a Proclamation to be announced in all military camps as well as in the markets stating that unrestricted movement was permitted be- tween their territory (the Latin held territory) and ours (Muslim held territory).... It was a memorable day, one on which the two sides ex- pressed unimaginable joy and happiness." Saladin, who was rather appre- hensive about concluding the treaty, told Ibn Shaddad: "I am afraid of making peace, because I do not know what might happen to me (in the near future). The enemy, who still holds some Muslim territory, might gain strength from my death, try to attack the Muslim forces and recap- ture some of the liberated territories."' However, despite his fears, Saladin felt that the concluding of a peace treaty was imperative because his forces, some of which had been in the battlefield for almost two years, were ex- hausted, while others were hostile to the continuation of military activity. With the peace treaty, the first ninety-four years of confrontation between Muslim and Latin Christian forces in the East came to an end. The conclusion of the Third Crusade with a lengthy treaty, charac- terized by negotiations and concessions on the part of both the Latins and the Muslims, was a great departure from the First Crusade, which was characterized by bloodshed and expansion on the part of the invaders, and indifference on the part of the Muslim rulers. It also reflected the Islamic 44 Perceptions of the Counter-Crusade interpretation of war and peace in the twelfth century. War is referred to in Arabic as jihdd, Qitdl, Harb, and in a more limited sense, as Ghazdit, or Ghazi (incursions). Peace is generally known as Sulh, and in a more comprehensive sense as Salam. The roots of legislation regarding war and peace in Islam are in the Qur'an, which, although it envisaged peace as the ultimate objective of Islam, did not deny the need for war under certain circumstances, provided that it was terminated with a peace agreement, and was carried out in accordance with Islamic law. Other sources, such as the Prophet's (Muhammad) tradition (Sunnah), and the consensus of the Prophet's companions on new legislation, as well as the legal opinion of the classical jurists, formed the core of the Islamic theory of war. Since the doctrine of jihid was formalized during a period of strength for the Muslim Caliphate, the jurists who formulated it prescribed an ag- gressive jihdd, one which advocated constant fighting against polytheists until they embraced Islam. Accordingly, some of these jurists divided the world, although artificially, into two zones: Ddr al-Islam (the Abode of Islam) and Dir al-Harb (the Abode of War). They defined the former as any territory whose inhabitants observed Islamic law and where Muslim authority prevailed, and the latter as any territory outside Islamic juris- diction where non-Islamic law was applied and also as any land hostile to Islam.6 Other jurists rejected this rigid division on the basis that the Qur'an states: "There is no compulsion in religion," as well as because of the im- practicality of conversion, especially after the Islamic state had reached the limits of its expansion.7 A contemporary scholar, al-Ghunaimi, describes this division, under the Abbasids, as corresponding to "the factual relations between the Islamic and non-Muslim states." "Classical writers," he says, "only intended to give a legal justification to that situation."' The notions Dar al-Islam and Dir al-Harb have led to some misunder- standing of the doctrine of jihdd, which has been often defined as Islam's instrument to transform the DTir al-Harb into Ddr al-Islam."' Opponents of this perception of the jihad argue that the two terms (Dar al-Islam and Dr al-Harb) are not mentioned in the Qur'dn or the Tradition, that they are an innovation of the Abbasid legists. "As their idea on the division of the world is dependant on the notion of constant or aggressive jihad, and since this notion is not warranted, inevitably the alleged division should collapse too," says al-Ghunaimi.10 Some legists, like al-Shafici (d. 205/820), introduced a third division, namely, Dar al-Sulh or Dar al-'Ahd, the Abode of Covenant or Covenanted Communities. This additional division, according to al-Ghunaimi, did not IHadia Dajani-Shakeel 45 bridge the gap, "because it does not cover all the non-Muslim states which are not in actual war with the Islamic state."11 The Abbasid legists may not have envisioned a situation in the Muslim East like that which resulted from the Crusades or the Mongol invasion; hence, they did not provide enough instructions for a defensive war. This was left to the jurists and scholars in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, who interpreted the doctrine of jihdd within the framework of their own political and military circumstances. Thus, their interpretation of the jihdd departed to some extent from the classical doctrine, which was adapted to the nature of their adversaries as well as the type of war they were fighting. Contrary to some contemporary misconceptions regarding the Mus- lims' ignorance of the true identity or background of their enemies, one finds in the earliest available treatise on the jihdd, preached and dictated by the Damascene jurist and linguist, 'All Ibn Tahir al-Sulami (d. 501/1106), at a time when the early Crusaders were advancing into Syria, informa- tion indicating that the Muslim intellectuals, at least, were aware of the nature and motives of their enemies. Al-Sulami defined them as religious [Christian] groups, "who wanted to quench their thirst for revenge from the Muslims. Hence, a certain group of them invaded Sicily, at a time when dis- unity and internal conflicts prevailed; likewise, they usurped different areas from al-Andalus."12 Soon after, al-Sulami continues, obtaining information about disunity among the Muslims in the East, they marched against them, hoping, among other things, to conquer Jerusalem, "the ultimate of their desires." 13 Al-Sulami, who expressed his views while the Norman forces, led by Bohemond, were besieging Antioch, seems to have known that the Normans and the Franks, who were involved in the Crusades against al-Andalus and Sicily, were also involved in the Crusade against the Muslim East, although he does not specifically refer to the two groups. The knowledge of al-Sulami and his contemporaries about the nature of the enemies is not surprising, for, according to al-'Azirmi(d. 557/1160), the Byzantine emperor, Alexius Comnenus, had informed the Muslim rulers about the approaching invasion in 589/1095. However, according to al-'Azimi, the Muslim rulers failed to take any precautionary measures.14 Furthermore, the Muslims in the East were not unaware of what was happening to the Muslims in the West, for, besides the information reaching the ministries of correspondence and in- telligence (Diwanal-Insha') in Baghdad, Damascus and Cairo from those areas, there was a continuous flow of scholars from al-Andalus and Sicily to the East. Some of these scholars, who often sojourned in Eastern Muslim 46 Perceptions of the Counter-Crusade capitals on their way to or from performing the pilgrimage at Mecca, used to stop at Jerusalem, to complete their pilgrimage and teach in its mosque, al-Aqsa.'5 When the Crusaders attacked Jerusalem in August 489/1096, some of these scholars may have been killed defending it. Western Muslim scholars, and refugees to the East, would have certainly had some knowl- edge about an enemy, against whom they had fought in their own lands, and would have informed their brethren in the East about that enemy. While al-Sulami alluded to the Franks and Normans as the culprits in the First Crusade, the chronicler Ibn al-Athir (d. 631/1233) implicated both groups explicitly. Thus, while discussing the seizure of Antioch by the Crusaders, Ibn al-Athir portrays the Crusade as a systematic Latin- Christian invasion of Muslim lands, which started in al-Andalus, Sicily, and North Africa and then moved to the East. He says: The power of the Franks first became apparent when in the year 478/1085-86 they invaded the territories of Islam and took Toledo and parts of Andalusia, as was mentioned earlier. Then in 484/1091 they attacked and conquered the island of Sicily and turned their attention to the African coast. Certain of their conquests there were won back again but they had other successes, as you will see. In 490/1097 the Franks attacked Syria. This is how it all began: Baldwin, their King, a kinsman of Roger the Frank who had conquered Sicily, assembled a great army and sent word to Roger saying: 'I have assembled a great army and now I am on my way to you, to use your bases for my conquest of the African coast. Thus you and I shall become neighbors.' Roger called together his companions and consulted them about these proposals. 'This will be a fine thing both for them and for us!' they declared, 'for by this means these lands will be converted to the Faith!' At this Roger raised one leg and farted loudly, and swore that it was of more use than their advice. 'Why?' 'Because if this army comes here it will need quantities of provisions and fleets of ships to transport it to Africa, as well as reinforcements from my own troops. Then, if the Franks succeed in conquering this territory they will take it over and will need provisioning from Sicily. This will cost me my annual profit from the harvest. If they fail they will return here and be an embarrassment to me here in my own domain. As well as this Tamim will say that I have broken faith with him and Hadia Dajani-Shakeel 47 violated our treaty, and friendly relations and communications between us will be disrupted. As far as we are concerned, Africa is always there. When we are strong enough we will take it.' He summoned Baldwin's messenger and said to him: 'If you have decided to make war on the Muslims your best course will be to free Jerusalem from their rule and thereby win great hon- our. I am bound by certain promises and treaties of allegiance with the rulers of Africa.' So the Franks made ready and set out to attack Syria.'16 Such remarks by Ibn al-Athir reveal more knowledge and insight than Gabrieli has hinted at. The chronicler may have missed the role of the papacy in the First Crusade, even though the relationship between the papacy and some of the later Crusades was known to the Muslims of his time, but he was certainly not unaware of the nature of the enemies and their settlements, for he grew up in the jihdd milieu which focussed specif- ically on uprooting those settlements and succeeded in doing so during Ibn al-Athir's lifetime. Although Ibn al-AthTr caricatures Roger of Sicily, he portrays him as a shrewd and diplomatic ruler who did covet Muslim land. Such an image of the Norman rulers of Sicily seems to have been perpetuated throughout the twelfth century among the Muslims of the East, who considered them among their most dangerous enemies. This is perhaps best exemplified in a popular story, which circulated in Syria, following the fall of Edessa, Jumad II, 539/Dec. 23, 1144, to 'Imad al-Din Zangi. According to the story, the ruler of Sicily (Roger II, d. 1154) had sent a naval expedition (around the time of the capture of Edessa) against the North African coast, which carried successful incursions into the coastal territories, looting and capturing a large number of civilians and military personnel. When the news of the success of the raid reached this ruler, he was elated as he announced it in a meeting which included a Muslim advisor of his. The Muslim advisor, according to the story, was in a trance-like state when the ruler made the announcement. So, the ruler called him saying: O Jurist! Our forces have defeated the Muslim forces! Where was Muhammad (reference to the Prophet Muhammad) at the time of the Muslims' defeat? Why could not he support them! (the Muslims). The jurist looked at the ruler saying: At that particular time, Muhammad was supervising the recovery of Edessa! The audience laughed, but the ruler warned them that this jurist could not be joking. It was soon after that that the jurist's prophecy was proven true, and the news about the Muslims' recovery of 48 Perceptions of the Counter-Crusade Edessa reached the Norman court in Sicily.l7 Thus, according to Muslim chroniclers, the grief over the loss of Edessa surpassed the euphoria over the victories in North Africa. The Muslims' knowledge of the Normans of Sicily, as well as of their military activities in North Africa, and their increasing intervention in Mus- lim affairs during the first half of the twelfth century, is clearly expressed in some correspondence between the Fatimid Caliph al-Hafiz (d. 544/1149), and Roger II of Sicily. In a letter revealing Fatimid policy towards the Nor- mans addressed to Roger of Sicily in 537/1142, the Caliph congratulates him, though with some reservations, about his (Roger's) conquest of Jerba Island, referring to the defeat of the Muslim authorities there as God's pun- ishment for their deviance from the right path. The Caliph also refers to the releasing of some Sicilian captives, in accordance with a request from Roger II, and alludes, rather vaguely, to an attempt by Roger II to intervene in an Egyptian internal political crisis, involving the Armenian Christian wazir Bahram. Bahram, according to the letter, had strengthened his political base by importing large numbers of Armenians and enrolling them in the army, at the expense of other Muslim Egyptian forces. Such a situation caused turmoil in Egypt, resulting in the overthrow of the wazir from his powerful position. However, in a gesture of good will towards Roger, al- Hafiz points out that Bahram was given safe conduct to live in Egypt, and hence was honored by the authorities there.8 While al-Sulami and Ibn al-Athir linked the invasion of the Muslim East with that of the Muslim West, the chronicler al-'Azimi added another dimension to the Muslims' interpretation of the First Crusade, by linking it to the pilgrimage. He stated that, in the year 486/1093 "the author- ities in the coastal cities (of Palestine) prevented some Frankish (Ifranj) and Byzantine (Rim) pilgrims from passing through their territories on their way to Jerusalem. Accordingly, pilgrims who returned safely to their countries spread the news about the obstruction of their pilgrimage. This led the Franks and the Byzantines to prepare for the invasion [of Mus- lim land]. News of their preparation reached the coasts as well as all the Muslim countries."19 Al-'Azimi implicated the Byzantines as partners of the Franks in the First Crusade. His remarks further dispel some contemporary notions that the Muslims identified the Crusaders only as Byzantines. He added fur- ther, in his narration of the events of 490/1096 that the fleets of the Franks appeared in the port of Constantinople with 300,000 men. Their leaders were six, and they had agreed with the emperor of Byzantium to surrender Hadia Dajani-Shakeel 49 to him the first stronghold that they would conquer, but they breached the agreement.20 Al-'Azimi's information about the role of Byzantium is elab- orated by another contemporary of his, the chronicler and administrator, Ibn al-Qaldnisi (d. 555/1160), who indicates that news about the appear- ance of the forces of the Franks via the route of the Sea of Constantinople (Bahr al-Qustantniyya) in innumerable numbers, started to reach Muslim territories. "When this news continued to arrive, people were worried and disturbed especially when it was confirmed."21 He also reports about an agreement between the Byzantines and the Franks, stating that the Franks would surrender the first stronghold they would conquer to the Byzan- tines and adding that, when the Franks conquered Nicaea, they refused to surrender it to the Byzantines in accordance with a previous agreement.22 A later chronicler, Ibn al-'Adim, referred to the First Crusade in more specific terms, pointing out that the Franks were led by nine leading counts (Qawdmis): Kundfri (Godfrey) and his brother the Count (referring to Count Baldwin), Bemund (Bohemond), and his nephew Tancrid (Tancred), Sanjil (St. Gilles, Raymend) and others.23 These were the foremost leaders of the First Crusade. Although Muslim chroniclers used the generic term Ifranj when iden- tifying the early Crusaders, later on, in the course of the twelfth and thri- teenth centuries, they began identifying them by their ethnic backgrounds. Thus, they reported about the Germans (Almdn) of the Second Crusade, the English (Inkitar) of the Third Crusade, and the French (Faransfs) in the later Crusades, as well as about the Pisans (Baydshina), Venetians (Banidiqa) and Genoese (Genawiyyfn). The term Rim which is often applied in Muslim chronicles to the Byzantines, is sometimes used to iden- tify the Latins of Rome, which is referred to as greater Rimiyd (Rome) (Rimiyd al-Kubra), in contrast to Byzantium. The use of the term Rim by some Muslim chroniclers may have led some contemporary historians to believe that these chroniclers mistook the Crusaders for Byzantines. So far, we have mentioned that Medieval Muslims were aware of the alliance between the Normans, Franks and Byzantines in the First Cru- sade. However, this awareness was not confined to these groups alone. Some intellectuals envisioned the Crusade as an all-Christian war against Islam, one which included, in addition to the above-mentioned groups, cer- tain native Christian groups, among them the Armenians played the most prominent role. Ibn al-'Adim writes in 491/1097 that the Armenians, en- couraged by the success of the Franks, arrived in large numbers in Tal Qabbisin (in the vicinity of Aleppo), and began massacring the Muslim 50 Perceptions of the Counter-Crusade natives. As a result, the Muslims and some Turks pursued them and killed many of them.24 He also refers to the role of the Armenians in the fall of Antioch to the forces of Bohemond in 492/1098. This role, which is also reported by Ibn al-Qalanisi, is confirmed by William of Tyre who stated that: "The Syrians (Native Christians), Armenians and the true believers of other nations rejoiced exceedingly over what had happened (the con- quest of Antioch)...they joined forces with the army. Being acquainted with the city, they were able to act as guides for the others through the intricate ways of the city."25 Ibn al-'Adim further implicates the Armeni- ans and Native Christian villagers in the conquest of al-Ma'arra in Syria (492/1098), which resulted in the massacre of the Muslim population.26 In addition to references by Muslim chroniclers to the involvement of the Armenians and some Native Christians in the First Crusade, William of Tyre refers to a specific group of Syrian Christians, identified in the thirteenth century by Jacques De Vitry as the Maronites, who supported the early Crusaders, paying them tribute and supplying them with guides on their way to Jerusalem.27 Although some of the Native Christian groups were seen by Muslim chroniclers as collaborators, they were not viewed with the same hostil- ity as the Franks, or the Armenians, who were singled out as the most dangerous of them. In fact, some chroniclers did refer to their grievances under some local rulers, especially Yaghi-Siyan of Antioch, which may have pushed some of them to side with the Franks.28 Some Native Christians, like Byzantium, their protector, shifted alliances during the course of the twelfth century. In addition to the Christian groups involved in the First Crusade, Ibn al-Athir attributes a role, in the initiation of the First Crusade, to the chief administrator of the Fatimid State, the wazir, al-Malik al-Afdal (d. 515/1121), who happened to be an Armenian convert to Islam. Ibn al-Athir explains the Franco-Egyptian rapprochement on the basis that: "the Fatimids of Egypt were afraid of the Saljuk expansion into Syria and Palestine. They therefore sent to invite the Franks to invade Syria and so protect Egypt from the Muslim (Sunnis). But God knows best!"29 Although Ibn al-Athir expressed some reservations about the collabo- ration between the Fatimid authorities and the Crusaders, William of Tyre confirmed it. He states that the Caliph of Egypt, al-Mustacli (d. 495/1101), sent envoys to the leaders of the Franks, who were besieging Antioch, of- fering to provide them with military support and resources, and expressing an interest in concluding a treaty of friendship with the Franks. These Hadia Dajani-Shakeel 51 envoys "were received with fitting hospitality and honor by the chiefs of our army and were admitted to frequent conferences with them, that they might have opportunity to deliver their message."3 It also seems that the Franks had sent envoys to Egypt, at the request of the Egyptian delegates who met the early Crusaders during the siege of Antioch, but the Frankish delegation was detained for almost a year there, before they were released and escorted to Antioch by the Egyptian authorities with some messages for the leaders of the First Crusade, which expressed a different attitude than that shown during the siege of Antioch. "At this time (during the siege of Antioch)," says William of Tyre, "they had tried most earnestly to gain the good will and assistance of our lead- ers against the overwhelming arrogance of the Turks and Persians. Now, however, their attitude was entirely changed. They seemed to imply that they were conferring a great favor on the Christians by allowing unarmed pilgrims to go to Jerusalem in groups of two or three and return in safety after completing their prayers.""' Apparently, the Frankish leaders rejected the message, regarding it as an insult. Instead, they answered saying that "the army would not consent to go thither in small detachments, according to the conditions proposed. On the contrary, it would march on Jerusalem as one united host and threaten the kingdom of their [the envoys'] master (al-Afdal)."32 The Latin chronicler attributes the change in the attitude of the Egyptians to the fact that, since the Saljuk Turks in Syria had been weakened by the Franks, the Egyptians felt that they were more secure.33 William of Tyre also reports that, when the Crusaders reached Tripoli and set up camp before it, its governor, Ibn 'Ammar, who was subject to Fatimid authority, sent a delegation for peace negotiations." He offered 15,000 pieces of gold beside gifts of horses and mules, silks and precious vases, and also promised to restore all Christian captives whom he was holding in his power."34 Furthermore, William of Tyre adds, the governor of Tripoli sent persons from his household along with the Crusaders, as guides on their way to Jerusalem.35 Ibn Taghribardi (d. 874/1469) only refers to the fact that Ibn 'Ammar sought peace with the early Crusaders; however, he blames the Egyptian authorities for failing to defend Tripoli in493/1109, and accuses the Egyp- tian authorities of delaying the dispatching of their forces and fleet to de- fend Tripoli. Thus, their arrival after the fall of the town was ineffective. He further accuses the authorities of sending untrained military personnel with the Egyptian fleet, and asks: "Why did not the wazir of Egypt al- Afdal lead the Egyptian forces? For after all, they (the Egyptians) had 52 Perceptions of the Counter-Crusade enough forces, resources and military equipment."36 We mentioned earlier that the twelfth-century interpretation of the doctrine of jihad departed, to some extent, from the classical interpretation of the doctrine, due to circumstantial differences as well as to the nature of the enemy. This is best exemplified in the treatise of al-Sulami, which, as we indicated earlier, was preached during a period of extreme urgency (crisis), as well as in other writings and sayings of some of the jurists. In his treatise on the jihad, al-Sulami perceived the First Crusade within a providential framework, defining it as one of the greatest disasters that had befallen Islam, and as a warning from God to the Muslims, to test their dedication to Him, and their willingness to refrain from their dis- obedience by following the original teachings of Islam which included the jihad. Once the Muslims were ready to abide by God's commands, accord- ing to al-Sulami, God would aid them against their enemy. Addressing his contemporaries, he notes that: "In the past, god punished their ancestors (mankind) through different signs (i.e. natural disasters and invasions), however, no matter how severe these early punishments were, they could hardly be compared in severity to the present one (the First Crusade). Thus, if they wanted to persist in their disobedience, then God would re- linquish them to an enemy (the Crusaders), keen on severe revenge, and ready to exterminate them."37 On the human level, al-Sulami attributed the successes of the early Crusaders to disunity among the Muslims, saying: "When they (the Cru- saders) entered al-Sham (modern Syria, Palestine, Lebanon), they realized that they were in territories that were disunited; among rulers, in disagree- ment, with hearts filled with hatred. Such observations encouraged them to expand their conquest, beyond their original plans, attacking the Mus- lims incessantly while they (the Muslims) were disinclined to resist them. They conquered more land than they had dreamt of and committed more crimes against the population than thy had initially planned."38 "Until now (the time of preaching the treatise)," al-Sulami says, "they are pursuing their goals, encouraged by the restraint of the Muslim authorities.... As a result, they have become convinced that all the Muslim countries will succumb to them and all their inhabitants will be their captives."39 How were they to confront this ruthless enemy? Al-Sulami notes that, according to the legist al-Shafici (d. 206/820), the Imam (leader of the Muslim com- munity, or the Caliph) was responsible for undertaking an incursion into enemy territory, at least once a year, to be led either by him personally or carried out through his raiding detachments. In so doing, he will be Hadia Dajani-Shakeel 53 complying with the doctrine of jihdd, which demands such an undertak- ing (the aim of such annual incursions is to defend Muslim territory and gather intelligence information about military movements of the enemy).40 AI-Sulami also quotes some of the views of the prominent theologian al- Ghazzali (d. 505/1111) on the jihdd. Al-Ghazzahli's teachings contributed to the Sunni Renaissance, which was a force in the Counter-Crusade. Al- Ghazzdli defended jihdd in general as a duty, incumbent upon every free, able Muslim, the aim of which was to make the word of God triumphant and uproot the polytheists and hence achieve the reward which God and His messenger promised those who fight in His path (martyrdom).41 In the case of the Muslim response to the First Crusade, however, he defined it as defensive, saying: "If a Muslim community bordering on or facing the enemy is strong enough to repel the enemy, then jihdd is a collective obliga- tion incumbent upon all members of that community (with the exceptions stated in legal texts). However, if that particular community is too weak to repel the evil of the enemy, then it is incumbent upon the neighboring Muslim communities to help the beleaguered one."42 Taking as an example al-Shim, he says: "If the enemy attacks a Muslim city, whose garrison is incapable of repelling the aggression, then it is incumbent upon men from the neighboring territories, affiliated with it to support it. However, if this kind of help is still insufficient, then, it is the duty of all the territories close to al-Sham to take part in the jihdd, until there are enough fighters to face the enemy. If an enemy surrounds a city, the the jihdd is mandatory upon all its inhabitants, irrespective of whether they are citizens or transients."43 Al-Ghazzali, who happened to be in Jerusalem and Damascus, when the Crusaders were on the march, did not refer explicitly to the obligation of the Caliph and all Muslim states in the jihdd, or, if he did, his instructions have yet to reach us. The notion of a defensive war involving all Muslims became clearer in the second half of the twelfth century. As we shall see later, it became the most prominent aspect of Saladin's policy. Al-Sulami, distressed by the advance of the early Crusaders into Syria, was more emotional than al-Ghazzali in defining the jihdd, because he was trying to arouse enthusiasm and feelings of patriotism in the Damascenes, whom he was addressing and whose city was in danger of falling to the enemy, and move them to action. Thus, he pointed out that the (early) jurists' instructions on the jihdd, as well as on its rules and regulations aimed at "carrying it (jihdd) into enemy territory, whether it be near or far. However, if the enemy enters Muslim lands and attacks, like these (the Crusaders), then marching against them in those territories that they had 54 Perceptions of the Counter-Crusade usurped from the Muslims, is a war of resistance, aimed only at defending lives, children, and property, and at safeguarding lands that are still under Muslim control."" In a clear departure from the classical theory of jihad, al- Sulami adds: "Had it not been for the purpose of uprooting them (the Cru- saders), and recovering the territories, then, marching against them, in such a situation, could neither be labelled as jihad nor as Ghazi (incursion).""45 Accordingly, he calls upon every able-bodied Muslim, who is not hampered by blindness, chronic disease, or old age, to participate in the jihad. He also calls upon the rulers of the Muslims (the Caliph and the Sultan in Baghdad) to act immediately "for the defense of the faith (Islam); for the guidance of the Muslims, and for defending themselves and their forces." He added: "If the Muslim authorities do not heed such a duty, then they should remember the Prophet's (Muhammad) saying: 'He who is in charge of a community, but fails to guard it through good advice (Nasiha), will be denied Paradise (by God)'." Explaining the term advice (Nasiha), he says that it implies "the safeguarding of the community, and defending it against any aggression."46 Al-Sulami warns his contemporaries that, if they act quickly, they can defeat the enemy, "for the enemy was still smaller in number (than all the Muslim forces combined), their horses and military equipment were limited; while their bases of supply were remote."47 Had this early jurist mistaken the new enemy for the Byzantines, and knowing that the Byzantines were close at hand, he would not have referred to the remoteness of their bases. As a prerequisite to the jihad, which is a religious duty, al-Sulami points out that Muslims should resist the evils of the soul and follow the moral code of Islam. This is the spiritual jihad, considered by some Muslims as the real jihdd. He calls for unity among Muslim groups, irrespective of their ideological differences. Thus, according to him, the Caliph or the Sultan (the real power), should put aside all his differences with other Muslim rulers, in al-Sham, al-Jazirah and Egypt (even though Fatimid Egypt was an enemy of the Abbasids). For, as al-Sulami points out, it was a precedent among the early Arab antagonists to unite in times of crisis. However, once the crisis ended, they used to either split again or remain as allies. In a critical situation like this (the Crusades), says al-Sulami, the Muslims should follow the example of their predecessors and remain in good relations with each other.48 He calls upon all Muslims-soldiers, citizens (urban dwellers) and peasants-to contribute as much as they could financially to the defense of their territory and to "fight more than their ancestors did in the Muslim Hadia Dajani-Shakeel 55 West while waging raids against their territories (Frankish territories in Europe), or against Byzantine territory."49 This reference indicates clearly al-Sulami's knowledge of the enemy as he differentiates between them and the Byzantines, hinting that Frankish-held territory is like Dir al-Harb. When al-Sulami preached on the jihdd, there was a leadership vacuum in the Muslim world, or, rather, there were leaders who lacked both the moral qualities and the will to fight against the invaders. This vacuum was filled later by three leaders of the jihdd: 'Imad al-Din Zangi (d. 541/1146), his son Niir al-Din Mahmilid (d. 570/1174) and Saladin (Salah al-Din, d. 589/1193). They each completed the task begun by his predecessor, until the major part of the Muslim territories was liberated. The Ideological Response Between 1144 and 1187 A. D. Commenting on the Condition of the Muslims in Syria before 'Imad al-Din Zangi came to power (521-541/1146), the medieval chronicler Ibn al-Athir stated the following: When the lord, the martyr (cImid al-Din) assumed power (in Mosil and Northern Syria), the lands of the Franks had become widely extended, their forces had multiplied and their power was on the increase.., while the Muslims were incapable of stop- ping their aggressions. The raids of the Franks had become incessant, their evil was spreading all over the area.... Their banners were hoisted throughout the lands of Islam, and their victories over the faithful (Ahl-al-imdn) only followed other vic- tories. The Kingdom of the Franks extended from the environs of Mardin in Syria to the 'Arish in Egypt, with only a few inter- vening Muslim cities like Aleppo, Homs, Hamah and Damascus. Their raiding parties operated freely reaching from Diyar Bakr to Amid, sparing neither believer nor non-believer, confiscating land and property.... Those Muslims living under Frankish rule often wished that they were from among the dwellers of the graves.... Frankish threat had become so great, that they imposed land taxes and customs on neighboring Muslim com- munities. They even sent emissaries to Damascus to review all the slaves that had been taken from the lands of Christian- ity, and gave them the choice of staying with their owners or returning to their homeland. 56 Perceptions of the Counter-Crusade What an affront to Islam and what a shame to the Muslims!50 But, according to Ibn al-Athir, it was in this state of extreme humil- iation of Islam that God willed to support the Muslims in their struggle, so he selected 'Imad al-Din Zangi as their leader. The organized Islamic military response to the Crusades, started under 'Imad al-Din with the fall of the principality of Edessa in 1144, continued under both Nuir al-Din and Saladin, resulting in the downfall of the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem. "The Counter-Crusade," says Aziz Atiya, "is revealed as a perfect counter- foil and an equal peer to the Crusade, with only one major difference-that the latter left its permanent impression on the course of history, whereas the former culminated in irrevocable bankruptcy."51 The Islamic military response to the Crusades may not have been successful without the well organized ideological campaign carried out by the jurists in Damascus, which had become the capital of jihdid under Nfir al-Din and Saladin in the second half of the twelfth century, as well as in Alexandria, the center of Sunni revival under the Fatimid, and in Cairo, the main supplier of Saladin's forces between 568-589/1172-1192. Muslim jurists and scholars flocked to these centers of the jihdd from different parts of the Muslim world, including al-Andalus, to teach and preach in their numerous educational and religious institutions. These scholars shaped the course of the jihdd throughout the century. As Sunni Muslims, in their writings they emphasized the unity of Islam, and the reaffirmation of the authority of the Abbasid Caliph as the sole representative of the Muslims. Though this was symbolic, it was essential for the jihdd. Several works on the jihid were written and used for teaching in this period, some in response to requests by the leaders of the jihdd, Nir al-Din and Saladin, who, according to their biographers, memorized much of the content of these works.52 Several works were also written about the virtues of Muslims cities, some of which were, like Jerusalem, occupied by the Crusaders, while oth- ers, like Damascus, Cairo and Alexandria, were threatened with occupa- tion. The aim of writings on the virtues of these cities, and the merits of defending or recovering them, was not only to create an awareness of the place of these cities in Islamic piety, but also to instruct the citizens, as well as the military forces, especially the new settlers. The first major result of the ideological campaign was the fall of Edessa (539/1144). After this the jurists started emphasizing the need for the recovery of Jerusalem and the Syro-Palestinian coast. In Egypt, one of Hadia Dajani-Shakeel 57 the wazirs, Ibn Ruzzik (d. 556/1160), approached Nr al-Din, who had become the undisputed leader of the jihdd in Damascus, offering to co- ordinate with him attacks against the Latin Kingdom from both Egypt and Syria. Ibn Ruzzik's dedication to the jihad and to the recovery of Jerusalem was demonstrated by the fact that he sent several military ex- peditions into Palestine in 552-553/1157-1158.5 At the same time, Nijr al-Din harassed the Franks of Syria incessantly, often recovering territory (some villages), destroying crops and taking captives, some of whom were used for bargaining and obtaining revenue. The ransom money was used for the jihdd. Under Nur al-Din, the jihdd focussed on the unification and mobilization of the Islamic forces for the recovery of Muslim territory, espe- cially Jerusalem. His dedication to the recovery of Jerusalem was, perhaps, best demonstrated when he ordered a special pulpit to be constructed in Aleppo by woodworking specialists, which was to be installed in the Aqsa Mosque, after the liberation of Jerusalem.54 That same pulpit was installed by Saladin, Nir al-Din's successor, in the Aqsa Mosque in 583/1187, where it remained until 1968. However, as a Mujahid, Nur al-Din earned his rep- utation as the liberator of Muslim territory in Syria and for the restoration of Islam there. cImad al-Din al-Isfahani describes Nfir al-Din's role in the jihdd as: "the one who reinstalled Islam and the Shariea in al-Sham (areas of Syria recovered from the Crusaders), after Kufr (unbelief) had replaced it. He fortified the borders with the Franks, built schools (religious schools), es- tablished Khanqdhs (a religious building dedicated to Sufis) for the Sufis, restored the walls of the cities.... After all, Nfir al-Din was the leader who returned Egypt to Islam (Sunni Islam) and established a new administra- tion there!"55 As a result of the jihdd, Nfir al-Din earned, among others, the religious titles of the Mujdhid, the Murabit against the enemies of the faith, the killer of the infidels and polytheists, the protector of the borders of Islam, and the saviour of the Muslim community. These and other titles reflect the Muslim view of the jihdd in the twelfth century. AbuShama points out that once, in the presence of some jurists, Nir al-Din remarked saying: "How many times was I close to martyrdom, but it eluded me!" One of the jurists responded to him saying: "By God! Do not venture with your life and with that of the Muslims, for you are their main foundation. If you are killed, may God forbid, in the battlefield, no Muslim will escape the sword of the enemy and the liberated territories will be retaken by the enemy." To this Nir al-Din responded: "Who is Mahmid (Nir al-Din), to be told 58 Perceptions of the Counter-Crusade this? Before me there was a leader who protected the land and the faith (Islam), that is God, the One and Only God."56 A poet described Niir al- Din as "the leader involved in the two jihds, the jihdd against the enemy of Islam and the jihdd against the temptations of the soul. Accordingly, his life is one of continuous strife."57 One of Nir al-Din's major political achievements was the overthrow of the Fatimid Caliphate in Egypt (567/1171), and the restoration of Sun- nism there. This move, which was accomplished militarily by Asad al-Din Shirkih and his nephew Saladin, added, to the jihdd front, a major geo- graphical entity which was essential for the recovery of the Holy Land later on. Saladin, the first non-Fatimid independent ruler in Egypt in almost two centuries, continued the policy of Niir al-Din of unifying the Islamic front in preparation for the jihdd. However, he envisioned the jihad as the collective responsibility of all Muslims whether they were in Iraq, North Africa, al-Andalus or al-Yaman. This reflected the unity of all Muslims and their dedication to a major religious cause. Saladin's vision of the jihdd is best expressed in a document (tadhkira), drafted in 571/1175 by al-Qadi al-Fadil (d. 597/1200), the chief administrator (wazir) of Saladin, on behalf of the latter, seeking official recognition for Saladin's efforts in the jihdd against the Franks (the Crusaders) and requesting a formal in- vestiture with all the territories that he had conquered-Egypt, Yaman, parts of North Africa and Syria-and in territories that he might recover from the Crusaders in the future. The letter, which reflects Saladin's per- ception of the jihd, deserves some analysis, as it also sheds light on the general notion of jihdd in the second half of the twelfth century. The pivotal theme of the document is the jihdd against the Franks, the aim of which was to recover all Muslim lands, especially Jerusalem (Bayi al-Maqdis). And with God's help, we will be able to release, from captivity, the mosque [the Aqsl] from which God has lifted His Messenger to the Heavens.58 The document stresses Saladin's recognition of the Abbasid Caliph as the highest spiritual authority, and as the only symbol of Islamic unity. This was a crucial issue in the jihdad theory, for war had to be declared in the name of one supreme authority. Recognition of the Abbasid authority was one of the ideals repeatedly mentioned in Saladin's correspondence with the Caliph, even during the Caliphate of al-N.sir (d. 622/1225), who Hadia Dajani-Shakeel 59 viewed Saladin's successes with apprehension. Commenting on this aspect of Saladin's policy, Gibb says: He saw clearly that the weakness of the Muslim body politic, which had permitted the establishment and continued to permit the survival of the Crusading states, was the result of political demoralization. It was against this that he revolted. There was only one way to end it: to restore and revive the political fabric of Islam as a single and united empire, not under his own rule, but by restoring the rule of the revealed law, under the direction of the Abbasid Caliphate.59 In order to conduct a successful jihdd against the Crusaders, for the liberation of the Holy Land and its sacred shrines (the Aqsa Mosque and the Dome of the Rock), Saladin advocated the application of several military as well as political measures, on both the internal and external fronts. These measures included the overthrow of the Fatimids in Egypt in 567/1171; the unification of the Syrian front, which had split after Niir al-Din's death in 570/1174; the opening of the route between Egypt and Syria, by clear- ing it of Crusaders' strongholds; and insuring the security of Mecca and Medina, the holy cities of Islam, by protecting them from Crusader's at- tacks. The document deals with these issues in detail. It justifies Saladin's overthrow of the Fatimids on the basis that Islam, under them (the Fa- timid), "was weakened and the laws of Sharia (which included the jihdd) were not implemented."60 Furthermore, it states that the Egyptian mili- tary forces, though innumerable with vast economic resources, "were more capable of fighting against Islam than against Kufr (reference to Latin Christianity).""' This was due to the fact that the loyalties of the two largest factions of the army, the Nubians and the Armenians, were not directed towards Islam. The Nubians, who, according to the document, numbered over 100,000, were only loyal to the Fatimid Caliph: "They rec- ognized no god except the dweller of the palace (the Caliph), and no Qibla (reference to the Ka'ba in Mecca, the direction of the Muslim prayer) to turn their faces to, except his base."62 As for the Armenians, they, ac- cording to the document, served in the forces, "even though they were Christians'63 (this is contrary to the doctrine of jihad which prohibits non-Muslims fighting in Muslim armies). They were also favored by being exempted from the payment of jizya (the poll tax), and had a great in- fluence in state affairs.64 In addition, there were agreements between the Fatimids and the Crusaders against the forces of Islam (reference to the 60 Perceptions of the Counter-Crusade forces of Saladin). However, with God's support, Islam, through Saladin and his forces, achieved a victory over the Fatimids.65 With the fall of the Fatimid, Egypt was added to the jihid front, which, together with Syria, encircled the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem on its northern and southern borders and, hence, made it easier to carry on a systematic jihdid. It also contributed to protecting Egypt against frequent attacks by the Crusaders, in the second half of the twelfth century. The Crusaders, according to the document, "had conquered vast areas of the country; established their own administrations (in conquered areas); raised their crosses; and erected their idols (a sign of religious domination)."66 The Crusaders' expansion was enhanced by the weakness of the Egyptian regime, which, instead of confronting them in battle, tried to purchase their withdrawal with large sums of money which could have been used in the jihdd against them.67 Protecting Egypt from Crusaders' attacks was one of Saladin's major concerns throughout his lifetime. This explains why, as soon as he as- sumed power in Egypt (in 565/1169), he embarked upon the fortification of the country, the reorganization of the army, and the rebuilding of the fleet. This also indicates that, despite Saladin's interest in having a dynas- tic power base in Egypt, as Ehrenkreutz contends, he was also dedicated to the jihid, the aim of which was the liberation of the Holy Land, and other Frankish-held territory. Saladin, like Nfir al-Din before him, was aware of the fact that a total victory against the Crusaders was difficult to achieve without Egypt, which, in addition to its geographic position, as we mentioned earlier, was to provide the jihdd forces with financial resources and manpower. The role of Egypt was crucial for the victories of Saladin against the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem between 583/1187 and 585/1189, as well as in the struggle between the Muslim forces and the Latin forces during the Third Crusade (585-588/1189-1192). Saladin's fears that the Crusaders intended to capture Egypt in an effort to weaken the jihdd front were confirmed during his lifetime and in the thirteenth century, when most of the Crusades were focussed on Egypt. To confirm his dedication to the jihdd, Saladin pointed out in the document that, as soon as he established his authority in Egypt, and acting in accordance with the Islamic law, he started harassing the enemy: "We focussed on raiding the territories of the infidels (al-Kuffdr). Thus, not one year passed without our conducting a raid (against the Crusaders), by land or sea... until we have afflicted them with killing, capture and enslavement. We recovered some strongholds, which the people of Islam Hadia Dajani-Shakeel 61 (the Muslims) have hardly frequented, ever since they were usurped from them.... Among these is a fortress in Aiyla, which the enemy had built in the Sea of India (reference to the Gulf of Aqaba at the Red Sea), and which leads to the two holy Muslim shrines (in Mecca and Medina), as well as to al-Yaman... .."68 The recovery of Aiyla, which was one of the strategic operations aimed at clearing the route between Egypt and Syria of Crusaders' strongholds, and controlling navigation in the Gulf of Aqaba, was also given a religious significance, for, according to the document, the enemies (the Crusaders) "had raided the coast of the Hij-z, and almost succeeded in capturing the center of the Muslims' Qibla (Mecca and the Ka'ba), thus threatening the pilgrimage shrines with transformation... and the Prophet's (Muhammad) burial place (Medina), with the settling of people who do not believe in the tenets of Islam."69 As for the problem of Syria, the document states that, following Nfir al-Din's death, it fell into a state of disunity, with many commanders seek- ing independence for their estates. The Syrian Franks immediately stepped into Muslim Syrian politics, recovering some territories and releasing many of their own prisoners. Hence, Saladin stepped in, as he indicates in the document, to prevent Syria from falling to the Franks. Damascus, as he mentions, was much closer than Cairo to the Franks, and therefore a better capital for the jihid. It remained the center of the jihdd until his death. In concluding the document, Saladin states that all these achievements were only means for the recovery of al-Quds, Jerusalem.70 Whatever Saladin's motives were at this stage of his career, one thing is clear, that is that his vision of the jihdd had extended beyond the Latin Kingdom and Syria. As his later career shows, he counted on his conquered territories for financial and military aid for the jihdd against the Crusaders of the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem. Egypt played a crucial role in this jihdd. In concluding this section, one can say that, based on this docu- ment and others, Saladin's strategy was to unify Egypt, Syria, the Jazira (Mesopotamia), the Yaman and North Africa, under his leadership in the name of the Abbasid Caliph. In so doing, he hoped to increase his man- power in preparation for the recovery of the Holy Land, to use Egyptian ports for his fleet, to clear the Red Sea and the areas around it of the influ- ence of the Crusaders, especially in 574/1178 when Renauld of Chatillon planned to attack the cities of Mecca and Medina and terrorize the pilgrims. From his bases in North Africa, Saladin hoped to intercept European ships 62 Perceptions of the Counter-Crusade carrying war material to the Crusaders in the East. He explains his ultimate motives in the following statement: "If the means for the recovery of Jerusalem are obstructed, and if the will of the Muslims for uprooting the Kufr is not sheathed, then the roots of Kufr will expand; its (the Kufr) menace to the Muslims will increase, and we (the Muslims and their leaders) will be held responsible before God (for failing to check its expansion), and those who fail (to carry on the jihdd) are sinful."71 At the peak of his military career in 1187, Saladin described his achievements in the jihdd in the following words: We moved to the region of Jerusalem and 'Asqalan; recovered all its fortresses and citadels as well as all its cities. These are: Haifa, Caesarea, Arsiif, Jaffa, al-Ramla, Lydd... and al- Khalil (Hebron). We also invested cAsqalan, the city famous for its fortifications, for fourteen days, and recovered it through surrender. The banners of monotheism have been raised on top of its towers and walls. It has been settled with Muslims after being evacuated from the infidels and polytheists. The Mu'adhdhins are (now) calling for the prayer in all the region. Nothing is left for recovery in the coastal area from Jubayl (Byblos) to the borders of Egypt, except Jerusalem. May God make its recovery easy. If God wills (that we recover Jerusalem), we will turn to Tyre.72 Saladin envisioned a vast Islamic front stretching from the Indian Ocean to Muslim Spain facing Western Christianity in the East and Europe; first uprooting the Crusaders completely from the East with its combined forces (this is the defensive jihdd), then following this with the jihad against the enemy in Constantinople and Europe (offensive jihdd). Ibn Shadddd, Saladin's advisor and biographer, reflecting on Saladin's dream and love for the jihdd, reports the following dialogue with him. Saladin told him once: My desire is that, once I have conquered the rest of the coast (Frankish-Syrian coast and Tyre), I'll divide the territories (among his heirs), take leave and then set sail to the islands of this sea (the Mediterranean), where I will follow the infidels and fight them until I die, or until no infidel is left on the face of this earth. Hadia Dajani-Shakeel 63 Ibn Shaddad then responded saying: No one on this earth is more courageous than the lord (Saladin), and no one is more dedicated in supporting the religion of God (Islam). However, it is more advisable to send the forces by the sea (for jihad) and not venture with his own life (to safeguard Islam). Then Saladin asked him: "What is the noblest death?" Ibn Shaddad then answered: "Death in the cause of God (defence of the Faith and martyr- dom)." "Then! That is what I wish to achieve," answered Saladin.73 This episode reflects clearly on the notion of the jihdd towards the end of the twelfth century, which is not only expressed in Saladin's heroism and idealistic vision, but in the advice of the jurist, Ibn Shaddad, who, having seen Islam strengthened and the Muslim territory liberated, was more concerned about the preservation of both. Some Popular Twelfth-Century Perceptions of the jihad Since the jihid in the twelfth century involved the recovery of religious places, poets, chroniclers, jurists and preachers used religious imagery, such as allusions to Islamic battles, messengers and heroes, in an effort to evoke a sense of religious patriotism. At the same time, the doctrine of jihad was polemical in nature. The enemy (the Franks) was often referred to, not only as the infidel (Kafir), as we have seen in Saladin's correspondence, but as polytheist (Mushrik). This equates the Latin Christians with the polytheists of pre- Islamic Arabia, whose conversion only followed their military defeat (this is more of a rhetoric). In fact, when Saladin swept the Latin Kingdom, he gave the Franks two choices: either stay and pay the jizya, like other Dhimmis, or move to another Crusader-held Frankish territory. Latin Christianity was referred to as polytheism (Shirk). The war against the Latins was described as the war of monotheism (Tawh id) against Trinitarianism (Tathlith). The 64 Perceptions of the Counter-Crusade Muslims were referred to as the "Dwellers of Paradise" fighting against the Latins, the "Dwellers of Hell."74 The Latins were referred to as the worshippers of the great Cross, which represented Satan. The march of Saladin's forces to Hattin in July 1187 reminded the Muslims of the Day of Resurrection. The image of the "Resurrection" symbolized the resurrection of Islam for having recovered its holy places and thus, "united the Dome of the Rock" with "Black Stone"75 of the Ka'ba. It also symbolized the march of the Muslim forces towards martyrdom and eternal bliss. While the Crusaders' armies were marching towards Tiberias in 583/1187, they looked like "moving mountains, like raging seas...," ac- cording to 'Imad al-Din al-Isfahani. However, "while moving on earth, the different levels of Hell were getting ready, to receive their souls, while those of Paradise were being prepared to receive the martyrs... Malik, the angel of death, awaited the Latins, while Ridwan, the Angel of Paradise, rejoiced (for being entrusted with Muslim souls).""76 The night before Hattin was compared to the night of power, which marked the triumph of Islam. The Crusaders' plight at the mount of Hattin, which was the key to the fall of the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem, was compared to that of the community of Noah; for, like the latter, they had sought protection from the deluge (in the case of the Crusaders the deluge was the onslaught of Saladin's forces) but God destroyed them. Like the people of Noah, they were the victims of their disbelief. Al-Qadi al-Fadil wrote to Saladin, commenting on his victory at Hattin, that: Whenever the servant (al-Qadi al-Fadil) realizes that the churches have been converted into mosques (many of which were originally mosques), and that the place in which God was men- tioned as the third of three (Trinity), is now mentioned as the Only One, he (the author) cannot but praise God, and pray for the safety of the hero.77 The early twelfth-century jurists interpreted the defeat of the Mus- lim forces and the loss of Jerusalem as divine punishment: an expression of God's displeasure with the Muslim community for having abandoned its religious duties and obligations. This early interpretation persisted throughout the century and was central to the ideological preparation for the jihdd (Counter-Crusade). Satisfying God, the ultimate goal, could only be achieved through a sincere jihdd leading to the recovery of the Muslim Hadia Dajani-Shakeel 65 holy places. Thus, when Jerusalem was recovered, Muhy' al-Din ibn al- Zaki, a jurist, assured the Muslims that they had finally earned God's aid and blessings: O men, rejoice at the good news! God is pleased with your conduct; and that is the utmost term, the highest point, of man's desires; inasmuch as he rendered it easy for your hands to recover this strayed camel (Jerusalem) from the possession of a misguided people and to bring it back to the fold of Islam after it had been abused by the polytheists for nearly one hundred years.78 'Imad al-Din al-Isfahani defined the recovery of Jerusalem as the sec- ond hijra (immigration) of Islam to the "Holy House," achieved through Saladin. This implies the rebirth of Islam in the Holy Land. The notion of hijra is linked to the whole concept of the jihdd in Islam, and the two are often used synonymously in the Qur'an, as in the following: Those who fled and were driven from their homes and suffered damage for My cause and fought and were slain, verily I shall remit their evil deeds from them and verily I shall bring them into gardens and underneath which rivers flow: A reward from God; and with God is the fairest reward.79 The eviction of the Muslims from Jerusalem was considered a great humiliation which necessitated a jihdd, the only means to restore the faith to its land and the only test of the religious dedication of the Muslims of the time. The hijra of Islam to Jerusalem was considered by 'Imad al-Din and others to be as crucial to the faith as was the hijra of the Prophet (Muhammad) to Medina in 1/622 and that to Mecca in 10/632. It was, after all, through the migration of the Prophet to Medina that Islam was established, preserved, and spread. The second hijra, that to Mecca in 10/632 when the Prophet triumphantly entered his birthplace, announced the final victory of Islam and the completion of the Prophet's mission: This day I have perfected your religion for you, completed my favor unto you, and chosen for you al-Islam as a religion.80 The Islamic Response to the Third Crusade: 585-588/1189-1192 The period of the Third Crusade has often been described as one of "religion and chivalry." Although this is true to a great extent, one can add that 66 Perceptions of the Counter-Crusade the struggle between the western Christian forces of the Third Crusade and the Muslim forces is also characterized by diplomacy, negotiations and flexibility. The forces of the Third Crusade fought to check the expansion of Muslim forces into yet unrecovered territory and to try to regain some of the territories that their eastern compatriots had lost; while the Muslim forces fought to preserve what they had recovered, especially Jerusalem. Between the two antagonists, there were some of the Franks in the East, as well as Byzantium and the eastern Christians who were reluctant to fight for the 'Faith,' as they did in the First Crusade. There were some Muslim forces, who were also reluctant to fight for the defense of the 'Faith', as they did during the Battle of Hattin (583/1187) and the liberation of Jerusalem. Hence, despite the continuous flow of fighters and pilgrims from the West, the Third Crusade remained confined, militarily and geographically. At some point, it even brought the antagonists in the East, the Muslims and the Christians, closer together against the western invaders. Such alliances, and the resistance of the Muslims, kept the western forces in check for two years, after which both sides had to give some concessions in return for peace. These concessions included the abandonment of the reconquest of Jerusalem by the Crusaders. Thus, according to the Muslims, despite some loss of territory, the three bases of Islam-Mecca, Medina, and al-Quds (Jerusalem)-remained united, symbolizing the unity of Islam. One feature of the relationship between the Muslim and western forces of the Third Crusade is the social relations established at the highest level between the two antagonists, which resulted in the exchange of physicians, food, gifts and services, as well as the exchange of visits among the comman- ders. King Richard I, considered a staunch enemy of Islam, used to refer to Saladin's brother, al-Malik al-'Adil, as, "my brother and my friend." He (Richard I) even negotiated with Saladin on the question of marriage with his sister Joana of Sicily, widow of William II, to al-Malik al-'Adil, Saladin's brother. When the marriage plans failed, the king offered his niece as a bride. This did not materialize either.8' Despite what has been said about the Muslims' indifference and ig- norance of their counterparts, as we mentioned in the introduction to this paper, Arabic writings, especially Baha' al-Din ibn Shaddad's biography of Saladin dedicated to the Third Crusade, indicates that the Muslims had ample information about their enemies. One aspect which deserves discussion in concluding this section, as well as the paper, is the vision of Saladin and his contemporaries of the jihdd, during the period of the Third Crusade. Religion was a moving force Hadia Dajani-Shakeel 67 behind the resistance of Saladin and those who stayed with him on the battlefield, but it was not the same with other Muslim leaders, like Caliph al-N&sir in Baghdad and some feudal lords who were reluctant to involve their military forces in the strife. Saladin's dedication to the jihdd, in defense of Islam, is best described by him, while he was under siege in Acre during the Third Crusade, in the following remarks: Trinity has prevailed, while monotheism has laid down its weapon (in weakness). Our enemy is not one enemy. It is (coming) from every land beyond the sea.... Every city in Europe, every town, island and village large and small has pre- pared its ships, exhorted its fighters, supplied its forces sending them against us, led by their bishops and patriarchs.... The land and the sea routes have been crowded with these multi- tudes, who have come for the support of the Cross, in order to revenge the recapture of Jerusalem (by the Muslims).... They have been informed that if they go to fight against Islam, their sins would be remitted.... If they cannot go to war, then they should send their representatives or send money. Thus, they have returned to us wearing iron clads instead of garments of mourning.82 In a letter, addressed to the ruler of al-Andalus, Abi Yiisuf Ya'qiib al- Mansiir (d. 1199), seeking military support against the forces of the Third Crusade, Saladin states: How could he see the lands of Kufr aiding Kufr in the Holy Land, while the lands of Islam, failing to support Islam... let him (al-Mansfir) fill the sea with sailing ships, carrying for the Muslims (in the East) war supplies, men, or any form of helps.... Let him help the people of the faith against the peo- ple of misfortune (the ill-fated, the Franks).83 Saladin did not receive any official aid from western Muslim territories, nor sufficient support from the East. Thus, he seized the opportunity of signing a peace treaty with King Richard I, according to which he had to surrender some of the territories he had liberated. This reflects on his apprehension about what might befall the areas which he had liberated, as expressed in the introductory quotation of section I of this paper. 68 Perceptions of the Counter-Crusade The chroniclers and scholars created an image of the leaders of the jihdd in the twelfth century which can be summed up in the following titles: Qahir al-Mutamarridin-vanquisher of the rebellious Qami' al-Mulhidin-uprooter of the atheists Qatil al-Kafara wal-Mushrikin-slayer of the infidels and polytheists IHafiz al-Thughir-defender of the frontiers Al-Muhami 'an al-Din-defender of the faith Jami' Kalimat al-Iman-the unifier of the faith Qami' 'Abadat al-Sulban-uprooter of the worshippers of the crosses Mujir al-Umma-refuge of the community Ghiyath al-Jumhir-succor of the people AI-Murabit Li A'da' Din Allah-the one in the frontiers, in a permanent state of military activity against the enemies of the Faith (Islam) Al-Dhabb 'an Hurum Allah-the defender of God's sanctuaries Al-Shahid-the martyr Al-Malik al-'Adil al-'Arif al-Zahid-the just king, the spiritual knower, the ascetic Rukn al-Islam Wal-Muslimin-the pillar of Islam and the Muslims Muhyi al-'Adl fil-cAlamin-resurrector of justice in the world Al-Malik al-Zahid al-Mujahid-the ascetic and Mujdhid king (fighter in the defence of Islam and Muslim territory) These titles which were shared between the three leaders of the jihad: c'Imad al-Din Zangi, Nir al-Din and Saladin, embodied the military and heroic, as well as moral, qualities of the jihdd with special emphasis on the jihid in the twelfth century. NOTES 1. Bernard Lewis, "The Use by Muslim Historians of Non-Muslim Sources," in Historians of the Middle East, Bernard Lewis and P. M. Holt, eds. (Oxford, 1962), 181. 2. Fransesco Gabrieli, "The Arabic Historiography of the Crusades," in Historians of the Middle East, Bernard Lewis and P. M. Holt, eds. (Oxford, 1962), 98. 3. J. J. Saunders, A History of Medieval Islam (London, 1965), 161-62. 4. See Claude Cahen, "Crusades," in Encyclopedia of Islam, new edition (El2), 65. 5. See Fransesco Gabrieli, ed., Arab Historians of the Crusades, trans. E. J. Costello (Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1978), 233-234. 6. Majid Khaddfiri, War and Peace in the Law of Islam (Baltimore, 1979), 141. Hadia Dajani-Shakeel 69 7. Najib Armanzi, al-Shar' al-Duwalffil-Islam (Damascus, 1930), 74-75. 8. Muhammad T. al-Ghunaimi, The Muslim Conception of International Law and the Western Approach (The Hague, 1968), 184. 9. Khaddiri, 141. 10. Al-Ghunaimi, 184. 11. Ibid., 184. 12. 'Ali-Ibn Thir al-Sularril, Kitdb al-Jihid in Emmanuel Sivan, "La genes de la contre croisade: un traits Damasquin du d6but XIIe sihcle." Journal Asiatique XXLIV (1966): 207. 13. Ibid., 207. 14. Claude Cahen, "La chronique abrigee d'al-'AzImi, Journal Asiatique CCXXX (1938): 371. 15. 'Izz al-Din Ibn al-Athir, Al-Kdmil fil-Tirkh, 12 vols. (Beirut, 1966), 10:414. 16. 'Izz al-Din Ibn al-Athir, Al-Tirkh al-Bdhir fil-Dawlah al-Atibikiyya (Cairo, 1963), p 32. 17. Ibid., 69-70. 18. Ahmad Ibn 'AlI al-Qalqashandi, Subh al-A'shi ftf Sini'at al-Inshi (Cairo, 1916), VI:458-463. 19. Cahen, La Chronique, 369. 20. Ibid., 371-372. 21. Abai Ya'la Hamza Ibn al-Qalanisi, Dhayl Ta'rikh Dimashq (Beirut, 1908), 134. 22. Ibid., 135. 23. Kamal al-Din 'Umar Ibn al-'Adim, Zubdat al-Halab min Thrikh Halab, 3 vols., ed. Sami Dahhan (Damascus, 1951-1954), 2:134. 24. Ibid., 2:132. 25. William of Tyre, A History of Deeds Done Beyond the Sea, trans. Emily A. Babcock and A. C. Krey, 2 vols. (New York, 1943), 1:258. 26. Ibn al-'Adim, 1:141-142. 27. William of Tyre, 1:330. 28. Ibn al-'Adim, 2:131. 29. Ibn al-Athir, al-Kdmil, 10:273. 30. William of Tyre, 1:223. 31. Ibid., 1:326. 32. Ibid., 1:326. 33. Ibid., 1:326. 34. Ibid., 1:330. 35. Ibid., 1:330. 36. Jam8l al-Din Ibn Taghribardi, Al-Nujim al-Zdhira ft Mulhik Mis.r wal-Qdhira (Cairo, 1939), 5:179-180. 37. Al-Sulamni, 211-212. 38. Ibid., 207. 39. Ibid., 207. 40. Ibid., 207-8. 41. Ibid., 208. 42. Ibid., 208. 43. Ibid., 208. 44. Ibid., 212. 45. Ibid., 212. 46. Ibid., 213. 70 70 Perceptions of the Counter-Crusade 47. Ibid., 214. 48. Ibid., 213. 49. Ibid., 214. 50. Ibn al-Athir, al-B ihir, 32. 51. Aziz S. Atiya, Crusade, Commerce and Culture (Bloomington: Indiana Uni- versity Press, 1962), 130. 52. lbn Shadd~d, 21. See also Alimad Badawi, Al-Iafaft al-Adabiyya if CAsr. al- Ifurtifb al-Salibiyyla (Cairo, n.d.), 536-537. 53. Abil Sha.ma, 1:288-289. 54. 'Imad al-Din al-Isfah5.ni, Al-Fath al-Qussr fil-Fath al-Qudsi, ed.Muhammad $ubh (Cairo, 1965), 137. See also Ibn al-Atbir, Al-Kdmil, 11:551. 55. 'Abd al-Ralnngn Ibn Isma'ii Abii Shama, Kitib al-Raw4 atan iA Akhbdr al- Dawlatayn al-NursV3,a wal-Salerhiyiya, 2 vols. (Cairo, 1962), 1:25-26. 56. Ibid., 1:19. 57. Ibid., 1:45. 58. Ibid., 1:623. 59. Hamilton A. R. Gibb, Studies in the Civilization of Islam, ed. Stanford Shaw and William R. Polk (Boston, 1962), 100. 60. Abii Shama, 1:617. 61. Ibid., 1:618. 62. Ibid., 1:618. 63. Ibid., 1:618. 64. Ibid., 1:618. 65. Ibid., 1:619. 66. Ibid., 1:618. 67. Ibid., 1:617. 68. Ibid., 1:619. 69. Ibid., 1:619-620. 70. Ibid., 1:623. 71. Ibid., 1:622. 72. Abi! Shama, Recueil, 4:314-315. 73. Ibn Shaddad, 22-23. 74. Cfr1ad al-Din al-Isfahani, Al-Fath al-Qussi fil-Fath al-Qudsi- (Cairo, 1965), 78, 80. See also Abi! Shzvma, Recue ii, 4:266. 75. See CUmar Ba~sh&, AI-A da bift Bilid alI-Shcdm (Damascus, 1972), 488, 490, 498. 76. 'Abd al-Rabman Ibn Ism.il AbU Shama, Kit ff al-Rawdatay& i Akhbffr al- Dawlatayjn al-Niriyya wal-Salihiyya (Recueil des Historiens des Croisades, Historiens Orientaux) (Paris, 1898), 4:226. 77. Ibid., 5:289-290. 78. Ahmad Ibn Khallika.n, Wafaydt al-Acyfn tua-Anbd' Am if' al-Zamffn (Ibn Khallikan's Biographical Dictionary), trans. Macguckin de Slane, 4 vols. (New York, 1871), 2:636. 79. Qur)&n, 3:195. 80. Ibid., 5:3. 81. Ibn Shaddad, Al-Nawidir al-Suqadniyya ua-l-Mahasin al- Yfisufiyya (Cairo, 1964),1195. 82. Abii Shama, Recucil 4:432-433. 83. Muhammad llamada, al- Wathdfiq al-Siydsiyya wal-Idffriya (Beirut, 1987), 4:353. The Fortifications of al-Qihira(Cairo) under the Ayyubids NEIL D. MACKENZIE The Fatimid Background The Fatimid city of al-Qahira, founded in 358/969 and completed in 361/972, was the fourth Islamic capital of Egypt. It had been preceded by Fustat, al-'Askar, and al-Qat'i'. By the time of the Fatimid conquest, these three cities, or their remains, had become amalgamated under the common name of al-Fustat. Pushing successively from the area between the river bank and the Muqattam hills to the north (al-cAskar) and the north- east (al-Qat'i'), this amalgamation had reached a point slightly north of the mosque of Ibn Tiilfin. The Fatimids also established the walled city of al-Qahira to the north, in a sparsely populated area occupied by a convent, a small palace, the garden of the Ishshidid Kafir, and, on the bank of the Nile, by the village Um Dunayn (later known as al-Maqs).' The west- ern enceinte of al-Qahira overlooked the Khalij, a seasonal Nile-fed canal emanating from Fustat and preceeding to the north and northeast. The original enceinte of al-Qahira was built of mud brick, and a trench (khandaq) was dug on its norther side as further protection against Car- mathian incursions. Within these walls, exclusive of the royal/administra- tive complex in the central area, the city was divided into quarters (hdrdt) assigned to specific divisions of the Fatimid army. Military hdrdt were established to the north and south of the city as well. According to the Persian traveler Nasir-i Khusraw the original walls were effectively eclipsed by 438/1046-47, as a result of extensive building both within and without.2 To the west, at al-Maqs, a naval shipyard and arsenal was established early in the Fatimid period. During the reign of al-Mustansir, a period of internal revolt and re- current famine (ca. 450-466/1058-1073) resulted in the appointment of the Armenian Badr al-Jamali as wazir in 466/1073-74. Part of his re- construction included the rebuilding and extension of the walls and gates 72 The Fortifications of al-Qahira(Cairo) of al-Qahira itself. While the relative positioning of the gates remained effectively unchanged, the walls themselves were extended. On the west- ern side, the wall was extended toward the edge of the Khalij, enough to enclose a new north-south street, then and now known as Shari' Bayn al- Stirayn. The new eastern wall enclosed slightly more territory, particularly in the area of Harat al-Bataliya. The northern wall-much of which is still extant-now encompassed Harat al-Rihaniya and the mosque of al-Hakim, while the southern enceinte now reached the present Bab Zuwayla. The amount of new territory enclosed is not significant. This is, perhaps, due to the amount of devastation within and the necessity for the restoration of the original area.3 Ayyubid Fortifications: The General Plan The Ayyubid rulers of Cairo attemped to enclose the cities of al-Qahira and al-Fustat within one massive wall based on Qal'at al-Jabal (the "citadel"). The citadel, begun by Saladin and first occupied by his nephew al-Malik al-Kamil, was constructed on a small spur of the Muqattam. This spur was formerly the site of an Abbasid pavilion, Qubbat al-Hawa'. During the Fatimid period the spur was the site of several mosques and tombs, all of which were removed for the citadel's construction.4 The enceinte of this new "greater Cairo" was undertaken by Saladin's deputy Baha' al- Din Qaraqfish, who also supervised the construction of the citadel and other defense works. This wall was roughly triangular in shape; on the north following the same line as that of Badr al-Jamali but extending to al-Maqs; on the east, south from Burj al-Zafir to Bab al-Wazir (just north of the citadel); and from the citadel southeast to Bab al-Qantarah at al- Fustat, just south of Qasr al-Sham'. While a western wall from Bab al- Qantdra to Bab al-Hadid at Maqs was planned, specific construction at various intervals was never completed.5 While following an established pattern of successive Islamic dynas- ties in establishing new centers of administration and defense (viz. the citadel), Saladin also chose to surround the four earlier capitals-al-Fusta-t, al-'Askar, al-Qata'i', and al-Qahira-with a wall. This wall, while exclud- ing some areas which were (and still remain) totally ruinous, would both protect this expanded city from further invasions and serve as a guideline for restoration within. The walled enclosure set the basic plan for the development of Cairo until well after the French occupation. Neil D. Mackenzie 73 The construction of the Ayyubid fortifications of Cairo can be divided into five stages: the restoration of the wall of Badr al-Jamali by Saladin in 566/1170-71; the construction of the enceinte encircling al-Qahira and al- Fustat, and concomittant with that of the citadel and the qanitir of Giza, all begun by Saladin in 572/1176-77; the excavation of trenches on the northern and eastern perimeters of al-Qahira in 588/1192; successive at- tempts to complete the western al-Qahira-al-Fustat enceinte from 596/1199 onwards; and the construction of the citadel of al-Malik al-Salihb on Rhodah (al Rawda), ca. 638-641/1240-44. For clarification, the citadel of Saladin will henceforth be referred to as the "citadel," and that of al-Malik al-Salih as the "citadel of Rhodah." SALADIN'S RESTORATION OF 566 Recurrent Crusader attacks, in addition to the ever-present threat of inter- nal revolt, prompted the restoration of the decaying enciente of Badr al- Jamali in 566/1170-71. Saladin, then wazir to the Fatimid Caliph al-'Adid, apparently limited the repair work to the lines of Badr's walls, although the burnt brick enceinte of Badr al-Jamali (with the exception of stone gates and minor adjacent areas) was replaced by cut stone.6 This construction was supervised by Saladin's major domo, Baha' al-Din Qaraqiish. Three gates, Bab al-Nasr and B&b al-Futuih in the north wall, and Bab Zuwayla in the southern, together with some associated wall sections, were included from the former wall of Badr. Other gates, again probably on the same sites as those of Badr, were as follows: in the western wall (overlooking the Khalij) north to south, Bab al-Qantara, Bdb al-Khawkha, and Blab al- Sa'ada; in the southern wall, Bab al-Faraj (to the west of Bab Zuwayla); and on the eastern wall, north to south, Bab al-Jadid and Bab al-Barqiya.7 SALADIN'S PLAN OF 572/1176-77, THE AL-QAHIRA-FUSTAT ENCEINTE AND THE CITADEL Al-Maqrizi states, in describing the third wall of al-Qahira: The third wall. The construction was begun by the Sultan Salah al-Din Yiisuf Ibn Ayyiib in 566/1170-71, when he was vizir to al-'Adid li-Din Allah. In 569/1173-74, when he assumed [com- plete] power over the kingdom, he entrusted the building of the wall to the eunuch Baha' al-Din Qaraqilish al-Asadi, who built it in stone, as it is now. He intended to surround al-Qahira, al- 74 The Fortifications of al-Qahira(Cairo) Fustat, and the citadel with one wall. He lengthened the wall of al-Qahira from Bab al-Qantara to Bab al-Shacriya, and from Bab al-Sha'riya to Bib al-Bahr. He built the citadel of al-Maqs, a great tower, which he placed on the Nile near Jami' al-Maqs. The wall stopped there. He had intended to extend the wall from al-Maqs until it rejoined the wall of Misr. He increased the wall of al-Qahira [by adding] the section adjoining Bab al- Nasr, and which extended to Bdb al-Barqiya, Darb Batiit, and to the outside of Bib al-Wazir, [so that] it would join the wall of Qal'at al-Jabal (the citadel). But the construction of the wall stopped at a point near the ramp [al-sawwa] which is be- neath the citadel, because of the death of Salah al-Din. Until now the remains of the walls are visible to the observer in the area between the end of the [standing] wall and the area of the citadel. Therefore, the joining of the wall of Fustat with that of the citadel did not occur. The perimeter of the wall which surrounds al-Qahira today is 29,302 cubits, as they are usually known, i.e. Hashimi cubits, viz.: between the citadel of al-Maqs on the edge of the Nile and the tower of Kawm al-Ahmar on the shore of Misr, 10,500 cubits; between the citadel of al-Maqs and the enceinte of Qal'at al-Jabal near the masjid of Sa'd al-Dawla 8,392 cubits; from there to the tower at Kawm al-Ahmar 7200 cubits; finally, behind the citadel, to the front of the mosque of Sa'd al-Dawlah [i.e. the circumference of the citadel wall], 3,212 cubits. This is the length of its curve, including its towers, from Nile to Nile.8 Although Saladin did indeed "assume complete power over the king- dom" in 569/1173-74 (the year of Niir al-Din's death), this date for the extension of the walls is almost certainly fallacious. Abi Shama, citing Imid al-Din al-Isfahani, gives an almost identical account, but in his an- nals for 572/1176-77, Ibn Wisil corroborates this evidence. Paul Casanova is no doubt correct in his assertion that al-Maqrizi has confused the relative texts especially in view of al-Maqrizi's own statement in the Sulik for the year 572/1176-77 that Saladin had ordered the building of the citadel and the associated walls enclosing al-Qdhira and al-Fustat.9 Neil D. Mackenzie 75 THE AL-QXHIRA-AL-FUSTAT ENCEINTE; LATER DEVELOPMENTS While the western wall and the section between Bab al-Wazir and the citadel were never completed, work continued on the al-Qdhira-al-Fustt enceinte until the death of Saladin in 589/1193, and, albeit sporadically, thereafter. al-Maqr7zi states that "around the wall of al-Qahira was a ditch. The digging of this ditch was commenced from Bab al-Futtih to al-Maqs in Muharram 588/1192, and, likewise, on the eastern side, from Bab al-Nasr to Bab al-Barq7ya and beyond." 10 This suggests that those sections of the enceinte from al-Maqs to Bab al-Mahrfiq were completed by this date.11 Al-Maqrizi's Sulbik for the year 596/1199-1200 states that al-Afdal, as regent for al-Malik al-Mansiir in Egypt, ordered defensive precau- tions against al-'Adil's impending attack from Syria. Al-Afdal instructed Qaraqiish: ... to put the citadel in a state of defense and to dig the foun- dations for the rest of the wall surrounding Misr and al-Qahira. He ordered him to dig until he reached bedrock, and to carry the debris to the interior of the city on the edge of the ditch, in order to create bastions, and to use cattle in this work. [He ordered him] to execute these works in the part between the river and the citadel of al-Maqs in such a way that one could no longer enter the city except by its gates.12 These reinforcements, while possibly including unfinished sections of the al-Qahira-al-Fustat eastern enceinte, must have included extensive works on the combined city's undefended west flank paralleling the Nile. Although the western wall of al-Qahira (first constructed by Badr al-Jamiil and rebuilt by Saladin in 566/1170-71, v.s.) should have offered some pro- tection to al-Qahira only some thirty years after its reconstruction, it is not mentioned again. Several entries in the History of the Patriarchs of Alexandria note further attempts to complete the western enceinte of al-Qahira-al-Fustat. Against the impending Fifth Crusade, in 614/1217-18 al-Malik al-'Adil or- dered a wall constructed at Misr along the river shore, beginning at Dar al-Mulk (near Bab al-Qantarah, the southeastern point of al-Fustt) and extending along the length of the Khalij to al-Qahira. Under the direction of his son, al-Kamil Muhammad, foundations were dug and building com- menced. The inhabitants of al-Fust t and al-Qahira were levied to split stones nightly, although the residents of al-Fustat appear to have been re- lieved of these duties earlier than those inhabitants of al-Qahira. Later, 76 The Fortifications of al-Qahira(Cairo) during the same crusade (615-618/1218-21), al-Malik al-Kamil and his brother al-Malik al-Mu'azzam ordered the building of a wall from Misr to al-Qdhira to join the two cities. While partially a repeat of the above, we find a change here both in the laborers employed and the modus operandi. Al-Kamil and al-Mu'azzam initially planned (and, no doubt, partially built) walls having stone foundations with upper works of earth. These were the labors of Berber workmen (Maghariba). Al-Ka-mil and al-Mu'azzam then reversed their decision, demolished the Berber construction, and rebuilt the wall with sun-dried bricks. "Then the order came to remove the bricks of the people in al-Qahira and Misr." In 634/1236-37 al-Malik al-Kamil ordered the foundations of the al-Qahira-al-Fustt enceinte dug along the river bank, a month's work involving forced labor for all regardless of re- ligion or class. During the reign of al-'Adil II similar works were carried out.13 The western enceinte initiated by al-Malik al-'Adil "extending along the length of the Khalij to al-Qahira" could narrowly be interpreted as leaving the Nile shoreline and following the Khalij, itself to join the previ- ously constructed western wall of al-Qahira. It is more likely, however, that the wall was constructed parallel to the Khalj, but closer to the Nile, es- pecially considering the preexisting towers/gates at Bab al-Qantarah, Bab Misr, and al-Maqs. The salient point is that although the construction of the western enceinte was attempted at several points during the later Ayyubid regime-in times of political crisis, whether Crusader threats or civil wars-the wall was never completed, and the idea of its consummation lapsed into oblivion as soon as the crises passed. THE CITADEL THE FOUNDATION AND CONSTRUCTION OF THE CITADEL According to al-Maqrizi: Here is the reason for its building. When the sultan Sala1h al-Din Yisuf Ibn Ayyiib had ended the Fatimid dynasty in Egypt and had assumed [complete] power, he resided at Dar al-Wizarah in al-Qdhira. He remained, however, troubled by partisans of the Fatimid Caliphs in Egypt and al-Malik al-'Adil Niir al-Din Mahmiid Ibn Zangi, sultan of Syria. Initially he pro- tected himself from Niir al-Din by sending his brother al-Malik al-Mu'azzam Shams al-Dawlah Tiiran Shah to the Yemen in Neil D. Mackenzie 77 569/1173-74, thus securing that kingdom for him and denying it to Niir al-Din. Shams al-Dawla conquered the Yemen, and God spared Salah al-Din the fear of Niir al-Din, as he [Niir al-Din] died in the same year. With his flank secure, [Saladin] wished to build himself a stronghold in Egypt. He had [already] divided the two Fatimid palaces among his amirs and quartered them there. It is said that the reason for his choice of the site of the citadel is that he hung meat in al-Qahira, and it went bad after a day and a night, while he hung the meat of another animal at the site of the citadel and it did not change until after two days and two nights. Therefore he ordered the foundation of the citadel there. He entrusted its construction to Qaraqiish. He [Qaraqiish] began its construction, as well as the extension to the wall of al-Qahira in 572/1176-77. He destroyed the mosques and tombs on the citadel site. He destroyed the small pyramids at Giza facing Misr-there were many in number-and he used the stone in the construction of the wall, the citadel, and the qandtiir of Giza. He began the building of the wall surround- ing al-Qahira, the citadel, and Misr, but the sultan died before the wall and the citadel were completed. These works were ne- glected until the reign of al-Malik al-'Ad.il who placed his son al-Malik al-Kamil in the citadel, appointed him his deputy in Egypt, and named him his successor. He [al-Kamil] completed the citadel, and he built within it the palace of the sultan [al- Adar al-Sultniya]; that was in 604/1207-08. Al-Kdmil lived in it until his death, and it remained the seat of government for Egypt until our times. The sultan Salah al-Din Yiisuf Ibn Ayyiib stayed at the citadel occasionally, as did his son al-Malik al-'Aziz during his father's lifetime; then he moved from there to Dar al-Wizarah.14 CHOICE OF THE SITE The spur of the Muqattam on which the citadel rests was the natural pivot point for the al-Qahira-al-Fustat enceinte. Almost equidistant from the northern wall of al-Qahira and Bab al-Qantra at Misr, this promontory provided a vantage point from which to ward off attacks from the northeast, as well as a zone of security against insurrections from within the city itself. Although considerably higher, the main bulk of the Muqattam to the east 78 The Fortifications of al-Qahira(Cairo) and southeast presented no significant threat, as no catapults of Saladin's day were capable of spanning the gap between the two hills.15 CONSTRUCTION DURING SALADIN'S REIGN The citadel was divided into two distinct sections, eastern and western. The eastern section was a massive military/defensive complex while the western section, considerably less fortified, provided a residential and ad- ministrative complex for the sultanate. In time of crisis, the eastern section served as an immediate refuge for the sultan and his entourage. The work of Saladin was largely, if not strictly, limited to the eastern enceinte. A possible exception was the well of Joseph, within the western enclosure and excavated or enlarged by Qaraqfish. The foundation inscription of the citadel, above Bab al-Mudarraj, is dated 579/1183-84. This is probably the terminal date for work accomplished during Saladin's reign, especially since he permanently left Egypt in the previous year. Based on Paul Casanova's historical research and K. A. C. Creswell's architectural survey, Saladin's work on the eastern enclosure consists of the following: the enceinte with the half-round towers, two postern gates, and the two major gates which remained in al-Maqrizi's time, Babal-Mudarraj and Bab al-Qarafa. In ad- dition, two major trenches were excavated, still largely extant, against the northern and eastern walls of the enceinte. Bab al-Mudarraj, on the north- western side, was the main entrance from the city, while Bab al-Qarafa, the inner part of which is thought to have been constructed by Saladin, faced the cemetery areas to the south and southeast and was considerably less frequented."16 Bi'r Yiisuf (Joseph's well) within the western enclosure and immedi- ately to the south of the mosque of al-Nasir Muhammad Ibn Qalawiin, was, according to Ibn 'Abd al-Zahir ... among the wonders of construction. At the top of the well cattle [baqar] move in a circle to raise the water from a reservoir located at its midpoint [in depth], where other cattle raise the water from the lowest depths of the well. It has a path to the water by which the cattle descend to its spring. All of this is cut into the rock; there is no building in it. It is said that [it is dug] to the same level as Birkat al-Fil, and that its water is sweet. I have heard from some older men, that when the well was dug, its water was very sweet. Qaraqiish and his assistants, wishing to augment the water supply, widened the excavation into bedrock, Neil D. Mackenzie 79 and encountered a saline spring which contaminated the earlier source. The qadi Ndsir al-Din Shafi'i Ibn cAli, in Kitab 'Aja'ib al-Bunyan, mentioned that he descended into this well by a staircase of about three hundred steps.17 Joseph's well, then, was constructed in two shafts, not directly above each other, which were separated at midpoint.'" Casanova makes several further observations. First, the well is located within the western enclosure outside of Saladin's enceinte. Although this might suggest that the well was excavated as part of the later residential complex, this is negated by three factors. First, Qubbat al-Hawa' and the Fatimid mosques and tombs which previously occupied the citadel site would have needed water, probably from local wells. Secondly, according to Ibn 'Abd al-Zahir, the well was enlarged by Qariqiish. Finally, in the same passage, Ibn CAbd al-.ahir relates from hearsay that the well was formerly descended by a series of steps, suggesting that the present ramp existed in his time, and may well have been part of the renovations of QaraqiIsh.19 Casanova further points out that the name Yiisuf, as applied to this well, should probably be attributed to the patriarch Joseph rather than to Saladin. His argument is based on the following points: that it would be unusual to name the well YiIsuf rather than al-Salahi or al-Nasiri; that Ibn Khallikan states that Saladin made numerous foundations, none of which was known under his name; that the story of the Patriarch Joseph was associated with many places in the area of the citadel; and, finally that the name Yiisuf was attached to several buildings at the citadel which were constructed after the Ayyubids, such as Diwan Yiisuf built by Nasir Muhammad Ibn Qalaiin. His argument, on the whole, is tenable.20 Less certain, however, is Casanova's suggestion that Joseph's well was dug after Saladin's campaign of 583/1187 during the Third Crusade. A statement of Ibn 'Abd al-Z ahir (620-692/1223-93), cited by Ibn Taghrib- ardi, maintains that Saladin employed thousands of Frankish prisoners on the building of the wall of al-Qahira and the digging of the well at the citadel.2' A second statement of the same author, cited by al-Maqrizi, sug- gests that Qaraqiish used fifty thousand prisoners of war on the building of the citadel. Casanova believes that such a large number of prisoners would have been unavailable before the Third Crusade; this however, is belied by Ibn Jubayr's statement in 578/1182-83: We also looked upon the building of the citadel, an impreg- nable fortress adjoining Cairo which the sultan thinks to take as 80 The Fortifications of al-Qahira(Cairo) his residence, extending its walls until it enfolds the two cities of Misr and Cairo. The forced laborers on this construction, and those executing all the skilled services and vast prepara- tions such as sawing the marble, cutting the huge stones, and digging the fosse that girdles the walls of the fortress noted above-a fosse hollowed out with pickaxes from the rock to be a wonder among wonders of which trace may remain-were the foreign [Rami] prisoners whose numbers were beyond compu- tation. There was no cause for any but them to labor on this construction. The sultan has constructions in progress in other places and on these too the foreigners are engaged so that those of the Muslims who might have been used in this public work are relieved of it all, no work of that nature falling on any of them.22 Thus Frankish prisoners were employed en masse on Saladin's construction projects at least five years prior to the Third Crusade and certainly could have been used on the excavation and/or enlargement of Joseph's well. The History of the Patriarchs states that among the construction works of Qaraqfish were a well and cistern at the citadel of Cairo. [Qaraqiish] dug a well in it, using iron tools, from the top of the jabal to its base, reaching water at a depth estimated as two hundred cubits. In addition, he constructed [camala] there a cistern [sihrij] to be filled from tanks [which] he had constructed outside the citadel.23 Despite such contradictory evidence, the well probably existed in Fa- timid times and, since it was not included within Saladin's eastern enceinte, it was enlarged, at some point during his reign, with the intention of serving the western or residential complex. BUILDING MATERIALS AND CONSTRUCTION PROCESSES Al-Maqrizli, in his description of the pyramids, relates: There were formerly at Giza, opposite Madinat Misr, a great number of pyramids, all of them small. They were destroyed in the time of the sultan Salah al-Din Yiisuf Ibn Ayyiib, under the auspices of Qaraqiish. With these materials he built the citadel [Qal'at al-Jabal], the wall surrounding al-Qdhira and Misr, and the qand ir of Giza.24 Neil D. Mackenzie 81 'Abd al-Latif al-Baghdi.di, writing ca. 597-599/1200-02, states: One saw formerly at Giza a large number of Pyramids, small, to be truthful, which were destroyed in the time of Salah al-Din Yfisuf Ibn Ayyuib. Their destruction was the work of Qar.qiish, a Greek [Rtmi] eunuch, who was one of the amirs of the army of this prince, and a man of genius. He supervised the building projects of the capital, and it was he who erected the wall of stone which surrounds al-Fustat, al-Qahira, the land between the two cities, and the citadel built on Jabal Muqattam. It was also he who constructed this citadel and the two wells that one sees there today. [Yiisuf's well and the accompany- ing cistern?].... Qaraqiush [also] used the stones from the small pyramids, which he destroyed, for the construction of the arches one presently sees at Giza .... One can still see today the re- mains of the pyramids destroyed by Qaraqtish; I mean to say the materials, the cores, and the interiors of these edifices. As these were only the building debris and small stones which were of no use to the construction of the aforementioned arches, they were left in place.25 It is unacceptable to this writer that the building stone for the three projects of the citadel, the al-Qdhira-al-Fustdt enceinte, and the qandtir of Giza (v.i.) was supplied solely by the destruction of the minor pyramids of Giza. Given the size of the smaller pyramids still remaining at Giza, the number of structures requisite to supply the materials for a construction project of this size would be legion and the task of transporting the stones ten to fifteen miles from Giza to the Muqattam a Herculean, although not impossible, task. We unfortunately lack pre-Ayyubid Arabic texts as to the number of small pyramids extant at Giza, and current archaeological evidence renders us no traces of the specific pyramids destroyed as noted by CAbd al-Latif. While the qand ir of Giza were probably built from destroyed pyramids in the immediate area, it is also likely that most of the stone for the citadel was quarried in its vicinity. Ibn Jubayr, while noting the transportation of stone from dismantled structures near Abii Sir, stresses the Frankish prisoners excavating the huge trench girdling the northern and eastern sides of the citadel, cutting and sawing the huge stones thereat.26 The occasional block inscribed with hieroglyphics is observed in the north wall and its extension east to Burj al-Zafir,27 but reused blocks are common throughout antiquity and these are not necessarily remnants 82 The Fortifications of al-Qdhira(Cairo) of the smaller pyramids. (Indeed, most of the remaining pyramids are without inscriptions.) Then, as Creswell points out, the citadel was built on a small spur of the Muqattam which was "separated from the main mass by Saladin who purposely quarried stone here."2 Although he supplies no historical reference for this statement, the size of the trenches dug (cf. Ibn Jubayr), which may have included at least part of the quarried gap between the citadel and the Muqattam, and the far more practical approach of using local stone rather than hauling it from Giza, render Creswell's view highly plausible. Thus, given the testaments of 'Abd al-Latif and al-Maqrizi, while some of the stone for the building of the citadel and the al-Qahira-al-Fustat enceinte may indeed have come from the small pyramids of Giza, it is far more reasonable to assume that the lion's share of building materials was quarried in the immediate area of the Muqattam. OCCUPATION OF THE CITADEL Casanova, based on a series of citations from al-Maqrizi's Khitat, and from al-Bakri al-Siddiq, draws the following conclusions: that although Saladin had intended to complete the residential portion of the citadel, this section was incomplete (or perhaps not even begun) at the time of his death, largely due to his absence from Egypt; that Saladin and his successors (al-'Aziz, al-Mansfir Muhammad and al-'Adil) lived at Dar al-Wizarah in al-Qahira until the reign of al-Malik al-'Adil, although they occasionally sojourned at the construction site of the citadel; that the first to build residences in the palaces complex was al-Malik al-Kamil as deputy (na'ib) to al-'Adil in Egypt; and that "al-Malik al-Kamil was the first Ayyubid ruler who, after completing the plan of his uncle, Saladin, definitively established the royal residence at the citadel in 604/1207-08.,'29 al-Maqrizi further notes, in the Sulik, that the remaining members of the Fatimid family were transferred to the citadel at this time (from Dar al-Muzaffar in al-Qahira), where they were lodged "in a house which had the appearance of a prison."30 The Ayyubid and Mamluk sultans, with the exception of brief period under al-Malik al-S ilih (v.i.), resided at the citadel thereafter. THE CITADEL-LATER AYYUBID CONSTRUCTION As Creswell points out, Saladin's enclosure was "as complete and as strong as the time at his disposal to make it."3' The major square and round towers of al-Kdmil, discussed in detail by Creswell, were constructed in an architectural style similar to that of the Ayyubid citadels of Damascus Neil D. Mackenzie 83 and Basra, and spaced at such intervals as to break the uniform spacing of the half-round towers of Saladin. Al-Kamil's work on the eastern enclo- sure amounted to a strengthening, but not an enlargement, of the enceinte completed some forty years earlier by Qaraqish. In Casanova's opinion, al-Kamil's work on or near the western en- closure consisted of the following: an iwan; two gates, Bab al-Sirr and Bab al-Qullah; the royal stables; a library (Khizanat al-Kutub); a vizir's residence (Qa'at al-Sahib), and a mosque. For the remainder of the Ayyubid dynasty, the only known additional structure on the citadel is that of Qacat al-Salihiya, an audience hall con- structed by al-Malik al-Salih. The move of al-Malik al-Salih to the island of Rhodah fostered, no doubt, a period of relative neglect for the citadel- until the assumption of the first Mamluk sultan, al-Mucizz Najm al-Din Aybak.32 Thenceforth, with the exception of the French occupation, the citadel remained the focal point of Egyptian administation through the reign of Muhammad 'All in the nineteenth century. THE Qandtir OF GIZA Ibn Jubayr (578/1182-83) states: Another of the Sultan's [Saladin] benefactions, and a monument of enduring usefulness to Muslims, are the bridges [qandtir] he has begun to construct seven miles west of Misr at the end of a causeway that begins at high-Nile beside Misr [i.e. opposite, on the Giza shore]. This causeway is like a mountain stretched along the ground, over which it runs for a distance of six miles until it reaches the aforesaid bridges. These have about forty arches of the biggest type used in bridges, and reach the desert which extends from them to Alexandria. It is one of the most excellent measures taken by a prudent king in readiness against any sudden onslaught by an enemy coming through the breach of Alexandria at the time of the Nile's overflow, when the coun- tryside is in flood and the passage of soldiers thereby prevented. He prepared this as a passageway for any time it may be needed .... To the Egyptians, the construction of these bridges is a warning of a coming event, for they see in it an augury that the Almohades will conquer it and the eastern regions .... Near to these bridges are the ancient pyramids ....33 Abd al-Latif al-Baghdadi, writing in 597/1201-02, notes, 84 The Fortifications of al-Qahira(Cairo) Karakoush employa les pierres qui provinrent de la demolition des petites pyramides qui'il fit detruire, a la construction des arches que l'on voit prdsentement ' Djizeh; on doit compter ces arches elles-memes parmi les edifices dignes de la plus grande admiration, et elles meritent d'etre assimilees aux ouvrages des geans. Il y avait plus de quarante arches pareilles; mais, en la presente annie 597 de hegire, l'intendance de ces arches se trou- vant confiee a un home ignorant et temeraire, il s'avisa de les boucher. Il se flattait que par ce moyen les eaux, retenues dans leur cours comme par une digue, se repandraient sur le territoire de Djizeh, qui participerait ainsi au benefice de l'inondation. Il est arrive tout le contraire: l'effort des eaux contre ce arches en ebranle trois qui se sont fondues et entrouvertes, sans que pour cela les terres que cet homme avait esperee faire jouir de l'inondation en aient retire cet avantage.34 Ibn al-Wardi, cited by de Sacy, states: "... at Giza are the bridges; nothing similar to this work has ever been built. There are forty arches in a single line." It is de Sacy's further belief that the causeway built by Qaraqiish, and which extended to the arches, "... furnished, at all times, a commodious route for the transport of materials destined for the construction of the wall of Cairo and the citadel of the mountain."35 Al-Maqrizi, in his Khitat, renders us the following description. The author of The Book of Marvels of Construction [kitdb 'ajd'ib al-bunyan] said that the bridges [qandtir] existing to- day at Giza are among the marvels of building and [like] the works of giants. There are more than forty arches. The amir Qaraqiish, the eunuch, built them. He supervised the build- ing operations in the days of the sultan Salah al-Din Yiisuf Ibn Ayyiib, using the rubble from the pyramids which he had de- stroyed at Giza. With the stone from these pyramids, he built these bridges. He also built the wall of al-Qahira and Misr and the area between them, and the citadel of the mountain .... In the year 599 a man took charge of these bridges who did not understand them properly, and he dammed them as a block to defer the water. The pressure of the water increased to such an extent that three of the arches collapsed and split apart. The anticipated water flow did not occur. In 708 al- Malik al-Muzaffar Baybars al-J5shankir undertook their repair. Neil D. Mackenzie 85 He rebuilt what was ruined and restored what was unsound in it. This [undertaking] brought major improvement. When Qaraqiish built these bridges, he [also] built a causeway [rasff] of stone. He built it from the edge of the Nile opposite madinat Misr. It resembled a mountain stretching along the ground, for a distance of six miles until it reached the bridges.36 The suggested primary roles for the qandtir of Giza are the transport of troops and building materials, both of which may have been valid. A secondary and later role, irrigation, failed. The suggestion of Ibn Jubayr, that the causeway and arches were constructed for troop transport is the most valid. That the causeway and arches were largely constructed of rubble from the smaller pyramids is acceptable, largely due to proximity. That the arches were originally designed for irrigation purposes is effec- tively negated by 'Abd-al-Latif and al-Maqrizi, in their almost identical descriptions of the disastrous attempt to dam the area ca. 597/1200-01. NAVAL FACILITIES While the Fustat area was replete with commercial dockyards and, despite massive alluviation, some trading facilities still existed at al-Maqs, informa- tion on the exact locations of naval shipyards under the Ayyubids remains somewhat vague. Naval arsenals existed at both Rhodah and al-Fustat dur- ing the reign of the Fatimid Caliph al-Amir, with that of al-Fustiat (near Fam al-Khalij) lasting until ca. 700/1300-01. The History of the Patri- archs mentions Ayyubid naval dockyards in three instances. In 614/1217- 18, during the reign of al-Malik al-'Adil, a boat bridge was constructed from Rhodah to Giza, beginning "in front of the new dockyard" (al-sind'a al- mustajidda), suggesting a dockyard either at the southern tip of Rhodah or on the opposite bank at al-Fustat. In 637/1239-40, as part of a campaign to the Yemen, al-Malik al-Salih had forty ships constructed in dockyards (masdni') at al-Fustat, thence transported to the Red Sea (in sections) by camelback. Finally, in 640/1242-43, al-Malik al-Salih ordered the transfer of the dockyards for both Nile ships and warships from al-Fustat to Giza, as part of an attempt to isolate himself at his new citadel on Rhodah. There is no evidence that such a transfer actually took place.37 It is reasonably safe to assume that naval dockyards existed at several points along the shore of al-Fustat and at the southern end of Rhodah either simultane- ously or at different times under the Ayyubids, with commercial dockyards sequestered during military emergencies as well. 86 The Fortifications of al-Qahira(Cairo) THE CITADEL OF RHODAH The Qal'a (citadel) of Rhodah, which encompassed the southern half of the island, was constructed by Sultan al-Malik al-Salih ca. 637-41/1239-44. This vast enclosure served two functions: first, as a palace/administrative complex temporarily supplanting Saladin's citadel (Qal'at al-Jabal) and, secondly, as the barracks of al-Salih's Bahri (riverine) Mamluks, the nucleus of the ensuing dynasty. While certain activity must have continued at QalVat al-Jabal (Q&'at al-Slihliyah was founded during this reign, v.s.), the focal point of administrative and military activity was definitely transferred to the river for almost a decade. The island of Rhodah, although the site of military installations from the Umayyad through the Fatimid dynasties, was primarily a center for gardens, recreation, and pavilions, including the "hawdaj", a pavilion con- structed by the Fatimid Caliph al-Amir on the northern end of the island. According to Ibn al-Mutawwij, the island was purchased by al-Malik al-Muzaffar Taqi al-Din 'Umar Ibn Shahanshah Ibn Ayyiib (nephew of Saladin) in 566/1170-71. When appointed to the governorate of Hama in 574/1178-79, Taqi al-Din endowed the entire island upon his madrasa (al- Taqawiya) at al-Fustdt (v.i.). Al-Malik al-Salih on his assumption of the sultanate, rented the island from qadi Fakhr al-Din al-Shukri, shaykh of the mentioned madrasa: ... for a period of sixty years in two payments, each payment for a part of the island. The first section [qi'a] was from Jami' Ghayn [a congregational mosque built during the reign of al- Hakim] north to the pavilions, and in width from shore to shore. He [also] rented the second part-the remaining land of the island-which included date palms, sycamores, and plants. When al-Malik al-Salih built the pavilions of Qal'at al-Jazira the date palms were removed and their site was included in the area of the buildings.38 Al-Maqrizi continues: Know that the royal pavilions [i.e. the hawdaj] and other res- idences, as previously mentioned, remained at Rhodah until the reign of al-Malik al-Salih .... He established the citadel of Rhodah. It was known as Qal'at al-Miqyas, Qal'at al-Rhodah, Qal'at al-Jazirah, and Qal'cat al-Salihiyah. He began digging the foundations on Wednesday the fifth of Sha'bcan and began the Neil D. Mackenzie 87 construction ... on Friday the sixteenth. On the tenth of Dhii al-Qa'da began [waqaca] the destruction of the houses, palaces and mosques on the island of Rhodah. The people left their houses. He destroyed the Jacobite church near the Nilometer, and included its place within the citadel. He spent much on its building. Within the citadel he constructed houses and palaces. He built [on the citadel wall] sixty towers. He built a mosque in it. Within the citadel he planted every [kind] of tree. He removed to it granite columns from temples, as well as mar- ble columns, and sent to it arms, tools of war, and necessities in grains, supplies and foods, fearing an attack of the Franks. They were at the time headed for Egypt. He spent such ef- fort and expense towards its completion that it was said that he raised each stone as a dinar and brick as a dirham. The citadel became a wonder in the amount of its ornament, and the observer was bewildered by the excellence of its decorated ceilings and that of its marble. It is said that he removed a thou- sand palm trees from the site of the citadel ... He destroyed the hawdaj and Bustan al-Mukhtar. He also destroyed thirty-three mosques built by the Caliph and nobility of Egypt.39 That the wholesale destruction of mosques did not meet with univer- sal approval is attested by the narrative of one al-Jawad Jamal al-Din, an amir of al-Malik al-Salih. When al-Jawad asked to be excluded from the supervision of the destruction of a certain mosque, al-Salih deputized an- other in his place who removed the mosque and erected an audience hall [qa'a] in its stead. Al-Malik al-Salih never entered this qda'a alive but, fol- lowing his death at the battle of Mansfira, he was interred therein pending the completion of the tomb at his madrasa in Bayn al-Qasrayn. While the cause and effect relationship may be somewhat questionable, the antipathy towards the destruction of Islamic religious structures is certainly evident, and the point made.40 Further on al-Maqrizi states: When al-Malik al-Slih ordered the building of the qar a, the Nile was [only] on the western side between Rhodah and Giza. It did not surround Rhodah except during the flood season. [Al- Malik al-Silih)] continuously sank ships on the western bank [of the Nile]. He dredged the sands between Rhodah and Misr until water returned to the shore of Misr and remained there. 88 The Fortifications of al-Qahira(Cairo) He built a great bridge from Misr to Rhodah-its width was three qasabit [about 37.5 feet]. When amirs rode to attend the sultan at Qalcat Rhodah, they dismounted and walked the length of this bridge to the qarah. Only the sultan could cross this bridge on horseback. Upon [the citadel's] completion, [al- Malik al-Salih] moved to it with his family and his harem, and he used it as the Dr al-Mulk. With him were quartered his Bahri Mamluks; they numbered about one thousand.41 The learned 'All Ibn Sa'id said in Kitdb al-Maghrib that Rhodah faces al-al-Fustat, and is situated between it and the pavilions of Giza. The nilometer is there. It had been a prom- enade for the people of Misr. Al-Salih Ibn al-Kamil chose it as the seat of the sultanate. He built there a citadel surrounded by a wall [which is] luminous in color, sturdy in construction, and high in elevation; I have seen nothing more impressive than it. On this island was the hawdaj which the Caliph al-Amir built for his Bedouin wife ..., and al-Mukhtar, [which was] the garden of al-Ikhshid, and his palace [qasr]. In extended hyperbole, Ibn Sa'id continues: I walked several nights along the Fustat shore, and the laughter of the full moon shone upon me from the Nile band before the wall of this island, glittering in color. I did not leave Egypt un- til the wall of this citadel had been completed. Inside were the palaces [dtir] of the sultan, nothing was of greater importance to him than their construction. [Al-Malik al-Silih] was one of the greatest builders among the sultans. I saw on this island a throne room-I had never seen its like before, and I cannot as- sess its cost. In it are gilt surfaces and marble-ebony, camphor, and veined-which boggle the mind, paralyze the eyesight, and even confer benefit on the blind. The enceinte encompassed a large tract of land. Part of this area was enclosed by a fence, which preserved the sultan's wild game, and beyond this were meadows leading to the Nile .... At high Nile the island was separated from al-Fustat similar to a kidney. In the days of low Nile its bank became attached to that of al-Fustat south from the area of Khalij al-Qahira, and boats remained in the place of the bridge [i.e. the components of the boat bridge at the Neil D. Mackenzie 89 southern end of the island between it and al-Fustt, remained high and dry].42 Al-Maqrizi goes on ... This citadel [Qal'at al-Rhodah] remained in use until the end of the Ayyubid dynasty. When the sultan al-Malik Mu'izz al-Din Aybak al-Turkmani, first of the Turkish rulers, assumed the rule of Egypt, he ordered its destruction. From its re- mains he built his madrasa, al-Mui'zziyya, at Rahbat al-Huna, in Madinat Misr .... A group of people ['amaa] took from the qaF a a number of ceilings, many windows, and other things, and magnificent woods and marbles were sold from it. When the sultan al-Malik al-Zahir Rukn al-Din Baybars al-Bunduqdari assumed the rule of Eygpt, he concerned himself with the build- ing of the citadel of Rhodah; he entrusted the amir Jamil al-Din Misa Ibn Yagmiir with its restoration. [Jamal al-Din] restored some of its destroyed areas, assigned them to the Jandariyah, and restored it to its former esteem. He was entrusted with its towers; they were assigned to the amirs .... He planned that there would be [at the citadel of Rhodah] houses and stables for all the amirs and handed over the keys to them. When al-Malik al-Mansfir Qalawiin became sultan and be- gan construction of his maristan, dome, and madrasa [al- Mansiriya], he removed from Qal'at al-Rhodah granite and marble columns, which had alreadly been reused from Pharaonic remains. He also took much marble and many fine lintels which were, again, reused from Pharaonic times. Then the sultan al-Malik al-Nasir Muhammad Ibn Qalawiin removed granite columns for the construction of the iwin known as Dir al-'Adil on the citadel [Qal'at al-Jabal] and Jdmi' al-Jadid al-Nasiri out- side of Madinat Misr. He removed other materials until there was practically nothing left. There remained from the qalfa a fine vault, popularly known as al-Qiis; it stood on the west- ern side of the citadel. We remember its standing until about the year 820/1417-18. There also remained a number of tow- ers; many of them were overturned, and the people built their houses above their remains, paralleling the Nile.43 Ibn Duqmaq adds that the construction materials of the qafah were gypsum, baked brick, mud and lime. This suggests that the actual materials 90 The Fortifications of al-Qahira(Cairo) were limestone and baked brick, cemented by mud and/or lime mortar. His statement, however, that the citadel of Rhodah was constructed in 646/1248-49 and destroyed three years later by the order of al-Malik al- Mu'izz Aybak, is unacceptable, given the testimony of Ibn Wasil and al- Maqrizi.44 In the Sulik for the year 638/1240-41, al-Maqrizi states that a son was born to al-Malik al-Salih by one of his concubines. As a fitting remembrance, al-Salih ordered the construction of the citadel of Rhodah.45 Ibn Wasil notes, in his annals for the same year, that al-Malik al-Salih built the citadel as a center (markaz) for his mamluks and amirs, and that it was three years in construction.46 Given the general reliability of Ibn Duqmiq's narrative, the 646/1248-49 date is most likely an error in copy. THE CITADEL OF RHODAH-ANALYSIS The citadel of Rhodah was constructed as a fortress/palace/administrative complex which temporarily-indeed little longer than the reign of al-Malik al-Salih-served as the administrative seat of Egypt. Having lived at Qal'at al-Jabal for three years prior to the new citadel's completion, al-Malik al- Salih removed his court, family, harem, and his personal contingent of mamluks to the new citadel on the Nile. The site of numerous fortresses, arsenals, and shipyards in pre-Fatimid and Fatimid times, the island of Rhodah had served-at least periodically-as a base for military offense and defense for over five centuries prior to the Ayyubid regime. It must be remembered, however, that when Rhodah served as a fortress-specifically during the Byzantine and Ummayad eras-this fortress was established primarily for the defense of Babylon and al-Fustat. During the two hundred seventy years prior to the establishment of Qal'at Rhodah, the nucleus of defense had shifted; first, under the Fatimids, to the walled city of al- Qahira; and, secondly, under Saladin, to the citadel (Qal'at al-Jabal), the focal point of the al-Qahira-al-FustAt enceinte. Qal'at al-Jabal remained the seat of government until the reign of al-Malik al-Salih, and again almost immediately thereafter. As a bastion of defense it was, simply by nature of its situation, far superior to any fortress which could have been erected on the island of Rhodah. Despite fifty towers the Rhodah citadel, with its low-lying position, separated from the mainland only by a narrow channel (when it was flooded), could hardly be compared to the great bastions some two miles to the northeast on the Muqattam spur. Why, then, the shift? That the citadel of Rhodah was built merely as a remembrance to al-Malik al-S alih's newborn son, as al-Maqrizi sug- Neil D. Mackenzie 91 gests, is hardly tenable. The narratives of Ibn Sacid, Ibn Duqmaq, and al-Maqrizi, describe-other than a cursory mention of the fortifications-a palace of vast sumptuousness, extravagant in construction and embellish- ment, in conjunction with parks and game preserves running to the water's edge. Nothing of similar elegance is recorded at Qal'at al-Jabal during the Ayyubid dynasty; during al-Malik al-Salih's three years of residency, his only structure of note at Qalcat al-Jabal was Qa'at al-Slihiya, pre- sumably a throne room. Worthy of note, however, are al-Malik al-Salih's other building projects to the west: the revitalization of the Qaramidan beneath the citadel; the pavilions, polo grounds, etc. at Bab al-Luq; the pavilions of Qal'at al-Kabsh overlooking Birkat al-Fil; and, finally, the citadel of Rhodah. All four of these establishments suggest his attraction to parks, open spaces, and especially, to water, be it that of the saqiyd of Qar-midan, Birkat al-Fil (and, adjacently, Birkat Qariin), or the Nile itself which, at that time, washed the confines of both Midan al-Liiq and the citadel of Rhodah. The citadel of Rhodah may well have been the culmination of two desires on the part of al-Malik al-Salih: first, to estab- lish a fortress/palace/administration complex in a suburban setting and, second, a wish to continue the precess followed by the successive rulers of al-Fustat and al-Qahira-to establish a new center of administration sepa- rate from the previous sites, viz: al-Fustat, al-'Askar, al-Qat'i', al-Qahira, and Qal'at al-Jabal. While admittedly the citadel of Rhodah was probably of extremely limited value as a fortress, there is no evidence to suggest that the infinitely more secure Qal'at al-Jabal ceased to function as an entity and could not be relied upon to serve as an ultimate refuge against attack. Al-Malik al-Salih's Nilotic castle was ultimately a one-man show, relegated to destruction by the dynasty he spawned. Although the relocation fos- tered a temporary respite to the economic and social life of al-Fustat due to the proximity of the sultan, it was only a brief halt on al-Fustat's decline to a relatively insignificant suburb. THE AYYUBID FORTIFICATIONS-SUMMARY The defensive measures of the Ayyubids at Cairo served three basic func- tions: the general protection of the al-Qahira-al-Fustt municipal area; the specific protection of the sultan, his troops, and entourage, concommitant with administrative facilities, within a given area (usually a citadel); and facilities for troop movement. In terms of basic protection, the restora- tion of walls of Badr al-Jamdli served as a temporary measure pending the 92 The Fortifications of al-Qahira(Cairo) construction of the citadel and the al-Qahira-al-Fustat enceinte, while the al-Qahira-al-Fustt enceinte, supplemented by trenches, was intended to render protection to Saladin's new metropolitan entity, effectively includ- ing the four previous Islamic capitals of Egypt. Specific facilities included the citadel (Qal'at al-Jabal), the citadel of Rhodah, and, perhaps, the tower at al-Maqs, sometimes referred to as QalFa. The qanatir of Giza apparently served primarily as a means of rapid deployment of troops, especially in times of high Nile, against any threatened invasion. The projects of the citadel and the al-Qahira-al-Fustat enceinte, both undertaken by Saladin, were not finished during his lifetime; the enceinte, indeed, was never completed. While work continued on these projects and, later, the citadel of Rhodah, throughout the Ayyubid regime, the construction was sporadic, and followed certain patterns worthy of note here. The citadel (Qal'at al-Jabal) and the al-Qahira-al-Fustat enceinte were begun by Saladin from a position of strength, and largely discontinued following his final departure to Syria. The fortress/palace complex of the citadel, as envisaged by Saladin, was completed under al-Kdmil, deputized as ruler of Egypt under his father, al-Malik al-'"Adil, and the citadel of Rhodah was constructed by al-Malik al-Salih. In the case of the al-Qdhira- al-Fustt enceinte, however, later work took place only during times of civil war or of external threat. Beyond the initial construction of the al- Qahira-al-Fustat enceinte, then, major work on the citadels would appear to have been undertaken in times of relative security, while that on the enceinte occurred during times of crisis, principally as stopgap measures on the undefended western flank of the al-Qahira-al-Fustat combined area. That the enceinte on this western flank was never completed can probably be explained by two factors; first, that as the Nile itself rendered a certain amount of protection, Qaraqiish left the construction of the western wall until last and, second, that the death of Saladin and/or Qaraquish ended the impetus for its completion. The construction of the citadels of Saladin and al-Malik al-Salih fos- tered a certain amount of social and economic growth in their respective areas in terms of (a) population growth, the natural clustering of nobility, bureaucrats, and military personnel within the immediate proximity of the sultans and (b) the support personnel and facilities to render goods and services to those groups. While this was a very temporary situation in the case of the citadel of Rhodah, which, as mentioned above, brought about a short respite in the ongoing decline of al-Fustat, Qal'at al-Jabal, as the major center of Egyptian administration for some 650 years, engendered Neil D. Mackenzie 93 the development of a new and relatively prosperous district of Cairo, Darb al-Ahmar. Finally, it should be remembered that despite the religious zeal which both Saladin and al-Malik al-Salih professed, their respective citadels were built at the cost of the wholesale destruction of the mosques and tombs which previously occupied the sites. The sanctity of religious property had, out of practical necessity, taken second place to the dictates of secular power and perceived needs for defense. NOTES 1. P. Raivaisse, "Essai sur la topographie du Caire d'apres Makrizi," Memoires de la Mission Archdologique Frangais au Caire (Paris, 1889), 1:415-417. 2. Nasir-i Khusraw, Sefer Nameh, Schefer transl., (Paris, 1881), 131. 3. K. A. C. Creswell, The Muslim Architecture of Egypt (Oxford, 1952), vol. 1, map opposite p. 19. Ravaisse, plate 2. 4. Paul Casanova, "Histoire et description de la citadelle du Caire," Mimoires de la Mission Archdologique Frangaise au Caire, vol. 6, Fasc. 4-5 (1894-97), 554-562. 5. Ibid., 535-551. 6. Paul Casanova. "Histoire et Description de la Citadelle du Caire," Mdmoires de la Mission Archdologique Frangais au Caire, vol. 6, Fasc. 4-5 (1894-97), 554-562. 7. K. A. C. Creswell. The Muslim Architecture of Egypt, vol. 1, (Oxford, 1959), map opposite p. 30. 8. Ahmad Ibn'Ali al-Maqrizl. Al-Mawd'-iz wa-al-i'tibcr, vol. 1, (Cairo, 1853),379- 380. 9. Casanova, "Citadelle," 535-538; al-Maqrizti. "Sulik" (Blochet), R. O. L., vol. 8 (1900-1901), 525. 10. Al-Maqrizi. Al-Mawad-iz, 1:380. 11. Creswell. M. A. E., 2:58-59. 12. Akhmad Ibn 'Ali al-Maqrizi. Kitab al-Sulik, Ziyadah ed. (Cairo, 1934-1942), part I, 150; Blochet transl., (Histoire d'Egypte de Makrizi), Revue de L'Orient Latin, (1902), 9:108. 13. History of the Patriarchs of the Egyptian Church, (Cairo, 1970-74), vol. 4, part 1, pp. 41, 56-57; vol. 4, part 2, pp. 153, 166, 174. 14. Al-Maqrizi, al-Mawd'iz, 2:203. 15. Creswell, M. A. E., 2:5-6. 16. Ibid., 38; Casanova, "Citadelle," 569-584. 17. Al-MaqrizT, al-MawA'iz, 2:204. 18. Casanova, "Citadelle," 586. 19. Ibid., 588-589. 20. Ibid., 574-575. 21. Ibid., 585, 588. 22. AI-Maqrizl, al-Mawfig, 2:204; Ibn Jubayr. The Travels of Ibn Jubayr, Broad- hurst transl. (London, 1952), 43; Ibn Jubayr. Rih lah, (Beirut, 1964), 25. 94 94 The Fortifications of a-Qiihira(Cairo) 23. H. P. E. C., vol. 3, part 2, 150. 24. Al-Maqr~zT, AI-Mawd'iz, 1:111. 25. 'Abd al-Latif al-Baghdadi-, Relation de l'Egyvpte, DeSacy transi., (Paris, 1810), 171-172. 26. Ibn Jubayr (Broadhurst), 43; Ibn Jubayr. Voyages, Gaudefroy-Demombynes transi. (Paris, 1949), 1:63. 27. Casanova, "Citadelle", 541-542. 28. Creswell, M. A. E., 2:5. 29. Casanova, "Citadeile", 571-573. 30. Al-Maqrizl, "Suhik" (Blochet), R. 0. L., 9:141. 31. Ibn Jubayr (Broadhurst), 45. 32. Casanova, "Citadelle", 602. 33. Ibn Jubuyr (Broadhurst), 45. 34. 'Abd al-Lat-if al-Baghdad!, 172. 35. Ibid., 213, footnote 6. 36. Al-Maqrii, Al-Mawa'iz, 2:151-152. 37. H. P. E. C., vol. 4, part 1, 38; vol. 4, part 2, 219, 279-280. 38. Al-MaqriazT Al-Maw&'iz, 2:184-185. 39. Ibid., 183. 40. Ibid. 41. Ibid. 42. Ibid., 183-184. 43. Ibid.,v 184. 44. Ibn Duqmaq, Al-Intisdr, (Cairo, 1893), 4:110. 45. Al-Maqrizl, Stdik (Ziyadah), vol. 1, part 2, 301. 46. Ibn Wi.sil, Mtufarrij al-Kuriib (Cairo, 1977), 5:278. Holy War, Unholy Peace? Relations between the Mamluk Sultanate and European States Prior to the Ottoman Conquest CARL F. PETRY Northwestern University The half-century preceding the conquest of Egypt and Syria by the armies of Selim I in 922/1516-17 witnessed far more than the eclipse of an independent regime governing these regions. The imposition of Ot- toman domination brought to a close an era which had seen the evolution of a peculiar kind of symbiosis between a militarist ruling elite and civil- ian bureaucrats, scholastics, merchants and artisans that began with the accession of the Ayyubid Sultan Saladin in 567/1171. Although the Ot- tomans inherited many of the institutions that grew from this symbiosis, following the conquest, they stamped them with their own characteristics. By adapting these institutions to an imperial system that was more rigidly bureaucratized they rendered them more stratified and less malleable than they had been under the Mamluks. Foreign relations and the shaping of international policy were to embody the Ottoman principles of relegat- ing contacts with foreigners to cadres specially trained for such purposes. Formal embassies were established in important states, while training in relevant languages and the study of foreign cultures would devolve upon individuals selected from the Devshirme class or prominent members of re- ligious minorities with ties to a specific country or community abroad. In the Mamluk Empire, relations with European states developed more prag- matically, often comprising ad hoc responses to conditions or crises as they arose. Moreover, this era extending between the reign of Saladin and the death of Sultan al-Ghawri on the battlefield of Marj Dibiq north of Aleppo in 1516 saw the transformation of Western Europe from a medieval society to a highly aggressive assemblage of commercial powers restructuring not only their own economies but those of their trading partners as well. This article will focus on relations between the trading nations of Eu- rope and the Mamluk Sultanate during the reigns of Sultans al-Ashraf 96 Holy War, Unholy Peace? Q.ytbay (872-901/1468-96) and Qansih al-Ghawri (906-922/1501-16), the last significant rulers of this long epoch of militarist government cen- tered in Cairo. It will survey earlier trends that shaped the parameters of foreign policy during their administrations, and will consider changes in the international arena that compelled these two autocrats, and their associates, to alter long-standing patterns of responses to the actions of European powers. It will assess their strategies according to their ingenu- ity, inquiring whether they were primarily reactive or creative. Was the Mamluk Sultanate, as a status-quo oriented regime, capable of devising foreign policy initiatives that could cope with the rising assertiveness of the Western Europeans? Or were these rulers confined to a limited range of options in their dealings with them? Because the Mamluk Sultanate held sway over the Nile Valley, the Levant (Syria-Palestine) and the Red Sea during the thirteenth, fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, its strategic location assured its prominence in the commercial system of the later Middle Ages. The trans-Atlantic discoveries that were to recast this system so radically occurred at the very end of this period. But before alternative routes to South and East Asia were known to Europeans, they could not bypass the Egyptian Sultanate. Also, the Mamluk State generated a great variety of commodities and raw materials sought by European markets. The commercial ties between the states of Europe and the Sultanate were therefore sustained throughout this era, but they were not uniformly harmonious. Rather, they were marked by abiding tension between mutual interdependence and intermittent conflict. Practical arrangements allowing for profitable interchange were juxtaposed against acts of piracy, ideological antagonism and outbreaks of war erupting periodically during the later Middle Ages. And this tension itself must be set in the context of a declining productive capacity of the Mamluk Sultanate, inducing it to rely on Europe for manufactured goods. Because the issue of dependency is hardly moot at the present time, this matter continues to stimulate controversy among historians. The most eminent analyst of the Levantine economy throughout this epoch is Eliyahu Ashtor.' Ashtor's varied publications touch on a wide range of subjects, including pricing, monetary systems, supply and demand of commodities, wages and salaries, etc. But they uniformly presuppose a diminishing in- dustrial output in Egypt and Syria during this era, a process which intensi- fies noticeably in the fifteenth century. Although Ashtor does not observe any disengagement between Europe and the Levant as a consequence of this decline, he does argue a change of relationship. The Mamluk Sultanate Carl F. Petry 97 degenerated into underdevelopment while Europe commenced its extraor- dinary transmutation from a traditional society to an industrial colossus. Ashtor lists several reasons for the waning of the Levantine economy: rising labor costs due to plague mortality (a phenomenon that affected Europe as well, but without the same consequences, apparently); relentless price in- flation without parallel increments of precious metals to maintain stocks of specie at high intrinsic values; importation of expensive raw materials from abroad rather than reliance on local supplies; progressive impoverishment of the urban bourgeoisie in the Levant due to unremitting exploitation by the military elite; unceasing civil strife between rival Mamluk factions, es- pecially during the fifteenth century; and the failure of Levantine producers to innovate technologically, due in part to lack of profit incentives in an in- creasingly bureaucratized economy.2 Ashtor's claims have not gone unchal- lenged, and this writer intends to question several of them in a later study. But the fact of relative inequity by the end of the Ayyubid-Mamluk Age cannot be ignored. The Mamluk Regime had already become an economic dependency of Europe when it fell to the Ottomans, and was incorporated into a new commercial network. Ashtor is quite correct, however, when he notes that this gradual recession of the Levantine economy did not reduce its contacts with the mercantile powers of Europe. These contacts had become quite regularized by the later Middle Ages, and were maintained despite endemic hostility and occasional clashes. Neither side could do without the other, and both had become addicted to the lucrative revenues generated by their interdependence. The principal actors in the administration of trade from the thirteenth century onward varied according to the cycles of commercial growth and decline in Europe. But the republics of Genoa and Venice figured promi- nently throughout the later Middle Ages. Genoa dominated European trade with Egypt and Syria to ca. 1400. The Genoese focused most of their attention on the Aegean and Black Sea regions, and when the II- Khanids temporarily closed the Silk Road and other land routes to East Asia, their influence lapsed. The Venetians had always regarded the Levant as their sphere of influence, and after 1400 they gained the ascendancy in ties with the Mamluk Sultanate. They were to maintain their supremacy over the Levant trade to the Ottoman conquest and beyond .3Venetians exercised an effective monopoly over the transfer of spices from South Asia to Europe, and they handled most of the cotton exported from the Nile Valley, while simultaneously supplying much of the cloth arriving from Italy, France and Germany. Yet several other states maintained represen- 98 Holy War, Unholy Peace? tatives in Alexandria and Cairo throughout this period, indicating that Venetian domination was never absolute. References to commercial em- bassies from Byzantium (only a vestige of its former greatness), Hungary, Naples, France, Aragon, and Catalonia appear periodically in the Arabic sources.4 These embassies were sent to arrange for mercantile activity by agents from the home country. They were always cordially received by the imperial court in Cairo, implying that the Sultanate, although willing to permit the Venetian ascendancy for the sake of mutual profit, rarely closed its borders to merchants from competing states. No Atlantic power played a role remotely comparable to that of the Mediterranean states until the final decade of the fifteenth century. But with the rounding of the Cape of Good Hope by Vasco da Gama, the Por- tuguese appeared in the Indian Ocean, and posed an immediate threat to Mamluk suzerainty over the Red Sea. The rapidity of their expansion into a new and totally alien region bespeaks their adaptability and pug- nacity, both of which proved highly disconcerting to the Sultanate. The Portuguese menace in the Red Sea was to create a new source of anxiety for Cairo throughout al-Ghawri's reign. The Mamluk regime was compelled to devote scarce resources to military operations on a new front at a time of rising tensions with the Ottomans to the North. The resultant strain on the Sultanate's finances were to promote an alarming intensification of fiscal extraction from the populace that had been steadily increasing during the preceding decades. As an unforeseen agent on the international scene, the Portuguese therefore constituted a severe destabilizing factor, disrupting the balance of power upheld by the Sultanate for more than two hundred years in the Eastern Mediterranean and Southwest Asia. European merchants were allowed to make contact with either their Levantine counterparts in the private sector or deputies of the Mamluk gov- ernment, according to provisos stipulated in commercial treaties. The texts of several of these have been preserved in the archives of European states or in manuals of diplomatic practice compiled by officials of the Foreign Ministry (Diwan al-Inshd') in Cairo. The earliest date from the reign of al- Mansiir Qalawiin (678-689/1279-90), and provide for the importation of certain highly-prized luxury items such as furs5 or for the regularized ship- ment of young recruits for the Mamluk army from the Black Sea Steppes via Byzantium.6 From this time on, all the European governments main- taining permanent representatives in Alexandria or Cairo concluded formal agreements with the Sultanate, specifying which types of merchant could trade there, what they could buy and sell, with whom, and under what Carl F. Petry 99 circumstances. Their legal rights and restrictions, and their zones of habi- tation were laid out in varying degrees of detail.7 These arrangements were periodically revoked or suspended because of hostilities or disputes, but most were reinstated, again because of mutual advantages recognized by all parties. Indeed, there is no extended period throughout the centuries between the accession of Saladin and the death of al-Ghawri in which Eu- ropean merchants were not prominently active in the Egyptian Sultanate. The prevailing concept of the Crusades as an era of unremitting confronta- tion between Christendom and the Islamic world that effectively impeded commercial relations is thus highly misleading. The needs of marketeers and their desire for profits invariably won out over ideological antagonism on both sides. The major crises that complicated commercial ties between Europe and the Levant were (a) a Papal ban against Christians trafficking with Muslims, imposed in 723/1323 by the Holy See and theoretically enforced by fines of half the value of any merchandise proved to have been imported from Egypt or Syria,8 and (b) warfare between the King of Cyprus and the Sultan in 766/1365.9 With regard to the former issue, the effectiveness of any penalties for violation remains problematic because the Venetians and Genoese devised elaborate schemes of subterfuge, relying on middlemen and carriers rendezvousing in neutral ports or entrep6ts that refused to acknowledge Papal authority. And in 1344, submitting to mounting pres- sures from the Venetian Senate, the Holy See lifted the ban entirely.10 The Cypriot War posed more serious difficulties because of the damage inflicted on Alexandria, the primary port of call for European vessels in Egypt. The Cypriot King, Peter I, attacked Alexandria in 766/1365, inducing the Sul- tanate to arrest Christian merchants dwelling there on charges of espionage and collaboration."11 Several maritime engagements occurred over the next several years, until the Genoese and Venetians were able to initiate ne- gotiations to terminate hostilities. A formal peace treaty was signed by representatives of these two republics plus Cyprus, Egypt and Catalonia in 771-72/1370.12 Peter I emerges from the sources documenting this war as something of an enigma, an anachronistic throwback to the ideals of an archaic chivalry and religious zeal that were relevant neither to European nor Levantine commercial interests. The eagerness of the Genoese and Venetians to re- duce tensions, with no opposition voiced from Rome, once again under- scores how outdated the Crusader ideal had become in the world of interna- tional commerce by the later Middle Ages. Nonetheless, the Cypriot affair 100 Holy War, Unholy Peace? was hardly a closed case from the Egyptian perspective. Convinced that the treaty would provide no effective guarantee against piracy originating from Cypriot coastal towns, the Sultanate resolved to deal more directly with this menace in the future. Some fifty years later, Sultan Barsbdy (826- 40/1423-37) was to launch a naval expedition that resulted in the outright conquest and occupation of Cyprus.13 The question of Cypriot sovereignty continued to mar European-Levantine relations throughout the remainder of the fifteenth century. Sultan Barsb~y won wide respect in the Islamic world for his Cypriot campaign, but he occupies an important place in the history of the Mam- luk State for his economic policies. Barsbdy imposed a series of monopolies over the most lucrative commodities of the trade between South Asia and the Mediterranean. Pepper imports from India were taken over by the Sultan's agents, thus effectively eliminating the wealthy and highly cos- mopolitan Kirimi (spice) merchants as an independent force in Egyptian commerce.14 Europeans were now compelled to purchase this and other spices from the government at prices set according to the regime's fis- cal needs. The Sultanate sought to insure its control over the transfer of South Asian spices by occupying the ports of the Hijdz (Western Ara- bia) and the Red Sea. A military governor was appointed from among the Sultan's senior military officers and based at Jidda with a Mamluk garrison. His duties included monitoring the Bedouin tribes of the Hij-z who were quite prepared to trade in contraband spices shipped overland to the Mediterranean from the Persian Gulf to avoid the Sultan's customs collectors. Mamluk authority over the Red Sea endured to the Ottoman conquest, although it was challenged by the Portuguese, as noted above. The Ottomans assumed the Mamluk legacy and extended their authority into the Yemen in order to close off the Red Sea to any foreign power that challenged their dominion. Both governments justified their occupation as protectors of the Holy Cities (Mecca and Medina), but their real motives were commercial and strategic. A word on the commodities imported and exported. Ashtor and Labib both claim that, by the fifteenth century, the Mamluk Sultanate had ceased to export manufactured goods to Europe.'5 Admittedly, the Arabic nar- rative sources offer few details on the nature of Egyptian exports during this period (exports for earlier periods were treated with more specificity). In any case, Ashtor relied on an exhaustive search through the Genoese and Venetian archives to conclude that Egypt exported raw materials in high demand by European manufacturers. This writer believes, nonethe- Carl F. Petry 101 less, that the issue of Egyptian and Syrian manufactures is by no means settled, as Ashtor would have us believe. Studies of the Egyptian econ- omy addressing the Ottoman period16 certainly depict a vigorous industrial base producing a wide variety of textiles, chemicals, glassware, ceramics, leatherwork, paper, metal utensils and soap-much of what was exported. If these industries flourished in the Ottoman period, they presumably were thriving earlier. Whether Egyptian or Syrian manufacturers found a ready market in Western Europe remains a matter of debate, particularly since Europeans were producing all of these commodities at home. But other potential markets in Eastern Europe, Southwest Asia and Sudanic Africa may have absorbed them. Archival documentation on exports and imports to and from these regions is less replete, and certainly less studied, leaving the question of Levantine manufactures and their destinations unresolved. The goods that do appear in the Italian archives are quite consistent with the profiles of commodity production in Western Europe throughout the Fourteenth and Fifteenth Centuries. Spices originating in South Asia continued to rank as the most lucrative item transferred via the Mamluk Sultanate.'17 But in terms of sheer bulk, cotton outweighed all other mate- rial shipments, and constituted a critical source of revenue for the Mam- luk government.18 Flax and sugar also figured prominently as home-grown Egyptian staples that found a ready market in the West. From Europe, the Sultanate imported a great variety of textiles, especially woolens from England, the Low Countries and Germany, mechanical implements and weaponry, furs, timber and iron ingots.19 The fur trade was exceedingly valuable for the Europeans since Mamluk protocol and the tradition of annual pious donations necessitated distribution of vast numbers of robes lined with lynx, sable or squirrel pelts during court ceremonial and reli- gious festivals. These items do not encompass the full range of imports or exports, but they clearly represented the majority of goods inventoried in surviving archival sources. Merchants from both Europe and the Levant spent most of their time engaged in their processing, pricing and transfer. The Reigns of al-Ashraf Q~ytbay and Qansfih al-Ghawri The Mamluk Sultanate in the eighth decade of the ninth century confronted a turbulent international environment. Indeed, the fifty years preceding the Ottoman conquest witnessed fundamental changes in the world order. The Mamluk State attempted to deal with these changes by implementing poli- cies of coexistence, diplomacy and limited military offensives refined over 102 Holy War, Unholy Peace? more than two centuries by a regime that sought above all to maintain the status-quo. In the long run, such tactics failed to contain the new forces that were so radically redefining the balance of power between Western Europe and Asia. Nevertheless, the individual destined to hold the Sul- tanate in the final third of the ninth century was fully capable of shoring up the facade of Egypt's grandeur as a great power in his lifetime. Al- Ashraf Qaytbay was a seasoned military officer well into his fifties when he was selected by his colleagues for the throne in Rajab, 872/January, 1468. Throughout his reign, Qiytbay took steps to counter the mounting tide of European piracy that threatened the security of his coastal ports: Alexan- dria (al-Iksandariya) and Damietta (Dumyat). Finding himself pressured to address repeated acts of aggression on the part of the Ottomans, in theory his allies against the Christians, the Sultan suspected their collu- sion with European regimes. Yet Qaytbay fully recognized the centrality of international trade to Egypt's financial welfare, and he presided over a "golden age" of European commerce in Egypt and Syria.20 Always commit- ted to bargaining before resorting to coercion or military action, Qaytbay managed to preserve the uneasy equilibrium he inherited from his prede- cessors, and gained renown as a shrewd reconciler. The Sultan found the Venetian monopoly over access to Egyptian and Syrian ports profitable, since the Venetians were prepared to meet his fiscal demands. Although popular feelings against Europeans often ran high in Cairo and Alexandria due to repeated acts of brigandage and espionage, Qaytbay's government permitted no popular reprisals against the Venetians or other foreigners granted formal residential status in his realm.21 Both the Venetians and the Sultanate sought to maintain normalized relations in order to facilitate the unimpeded transfer of lucrative commodities, and there was not a single instance of interrupted trade throughout Qaytbay's administration-a remarkable achievement in light of unsettled conditions prevailing at the time. Qaytbay was prepared to acknowledge Venetian commercial supremacy, but he never closed his realm to their competi- tors. The Arabic chronicles describe embassies to Catalonia,22 Naples,23 and Hungary.24 Foreign emissaries were received with the same honor and respect accorded the Venetians, even when they had to resolve serious grievances.25 References to ships arriving directly from the Maghrib, after suffering European harassment,26 or from Byzantium27 provide tangible evidence that Mamluk ports were open to carriers other than those under Venetian authority. But the mutual interest of both Venice and the Sultanate in keeping Carl F. Petry 103 the peace failed to prevent periodic incursions of European corsairs against Egypt's harbors or ships on the high seas. Qaytbay responded to these raids by despatching expeditions with orders to capture the pirates who were held for interrogation and forced conversion if they could pay no ransom.28 One incident illustrates how alarming European treachery had become to the Sultan's government. In Ramadan of 880/December, 1475-January, 1476, a courier arrived in Cairo with news that "Frankish" (nationality undisclosed) merchants had seized several agents of the royal mercantile bureau and departed with them for Europe.29 The Sultan, angered over this breach of treaty, ordered the governor of Alexandria to arrest and imprison all European merchants in the city. They were ordered to demand the release of the Sultan's factors from their own rulers. Ibn Iy5s noted that the Sultan displayed unusual agitation over this affair, since he was committed to upholding international agreements, and was outraged over such a blatant infringement. Yet, apparently, his tactic produced mixed results. Qaytbay's agents were allowed to return after a year,a but only when they had ransomed themselves from their own funds. The fate of the European merchants held hostage in Alexandria was not mentioned. Qaytbay ultimately decided that apprehension of European pirates would not assure the safety of his coastal ports necessary to their reli- able processing of commodities. Looting valuable stocks of luxury items posed a threat not only to Egypt's finances but her reputation as a guar- antor of commerce in the eastern Mediterranean. Accordingly, Qaytbay commissioned several projects aimed at fortifying his harbors. In Dhi'l- Hijja of 876/May-June 1472, he had a watch tower constructed at Rosetta (Rashid).a31 The next year, Qaytbay personally inspected all the Delta ports to ascertain their defensive capability.32 In Muharram of 884/March-April, 1479, the Sultan sent his major-domo to Damietta to install a chain across the harbor mouth.3 But Qaytbay's most grandiose project was planned for the harbor of Alexandria. In Rabic I of 882/June-July, 1477, the Sul- tan, after a lengthy progression through the Delta, visited Alexandria. He was received tumultuously, and the Europeans prudently hailed him as a defender of commerce, casting gold pieces before his horse. The Sultan arranged for the erection of a fortress on the site of the ancient Ptolemaic lighthouse (Pharos).34 The structure was large enough to house a size- able Mamluk garrison capable of taking action against corsairs who might invade the city. Its construction lasted two years, and Qaytbay made a second trip to check on the work in Jumada I of 884/July-August, 1479.35 Ibn lyas described the fortress as a marvel of the age, appropriate praise 104 Holy War, Unholy Peace? since the Sultan lavished 100,000 dinars on it. Neither Ibn Iyas nor his contemporaries were at all precise in describ- ing the origins of these corsairs whose raids so vexed the Sultan. They were referred to simply as "Firanj" or Franks. But presumably, they were outlaws who recognized no authority from the European powers legally es- tablished in the Sultanate. Whether they were truly stateless is impossible to determine from such oblique references, but one is left with the impres- sion that some worked clandestinely for Venice's rivals. In other words, they sought to disrupt the Venetian monopoly over trade with the Levant during the late fifteenth century. There is no indication that the Venetians encouraged their activities, but we are not informed as to whether they took steps to curb their movements at sea, where the Sultanate's influence did not reach. Qaytbay imposed no special taxes on the Venetians, how- ever, to defray the costs of his expensive fortifications, which suggests that he did not hold them responsible for the corsairs' incursions. Qaytbay's relations with the Ottomans were proper throughout the first half of his reign, and yet he harbored suspicions about their collab- oration with both rival Muslim powers and Christian Europeans against him. In Dhifl-Hijja of 876/May-June, 1472, the Christian messenger who brought the jizya tax from Cyprus was rumored to have first offered it to the Ottoman Sultan, if the latter would extend his protection over the island and expel the Mamluks.36 The Ottomans were suspected of hiring Euro- peans to pilot their ships in raids of Egyptian ports. But Qaytbay never voiced his concerns publicly until the Ottomans themselves broke the peace. A detailed discussion of Mamluk-Ottoman relations during Qaytbay's reign lies beyond the scope of this article. They were marked by several fascinat- ing incidents such as the unwelcome presence of Bayazid II's brother, Jum (Qem), in the Mamluk court during 886/1481-1482 as a refugee plotting to supplant his fraternal rival."7 Qaytbay received him as a royal guest but not as a legitimate monarch (he refused to stand when the latter entered), and debated at great length with his colleagues after Jum requested his support for an expedition against Bayazid II. Qaytbay had no wish to in- cur the Ottoman ruler's wrath. Jum was ultimately defeated and sought sanctuary in Europe, ending his days as a ward of the Vatican. When Qaytbay could no longer ignore Ottoman expansion into East- ern Anatolia, over which Cairo claimed suzerainty, he organized three expe- ditions, the last two under his Atabak, Azbak, to check them.38 Given the Ottomans' formidable reputation, Qaytbay was fully aware of the risks he was taking. But he spared no expense on outfitting the troops designated Carl F. Petry 105 to participate, and they performed redoubtably, scoring major victories against their foe and blocking his advance for the remainder of the century. Fully in keeping with his commitment to preservation of the status-quo, Qaytbay sent several emissaries to Istanbul urging the Ottoman ruler to resolve his differences at the conference table rather than by force of arms. After his third defeat, Bayazid concurred and in Jumada II, 896/April- May, 1491, his own ambassador arrived in Cairo prepared to return the keys of the fortresses captured form the Mamluks in return for a truce.39 The final agreement required four years to conclude, and it only brought time for the Egyptian Sultanate to muster its defenses during the reign of al-Ghawri. In contrast with his illustrious predecessor, Qansiuh al-Ghawri was uniformly vilified as a tyrant of insatiable greed, even by the standards of his own caste.40 In fact, the individual who emerges from the list of confiscations, seizures and expropriations in the chronicles, sobering for its length, reveals a peculiar kind of vulnerability more intriguing than the serene self-assuredness of Qaytbay. Yet al-Ghawri was fated to preside over a period of exceptional disorder both at home and abroad. Even his critics did not accuse him of cowardice in the face of such sustained adversity, and his fiscal extractions from the Egyptian masses can be explained, if not justified, on the grounds of desperation. Al-Ghawri was plagued by the sporadic attacks of European pirates on Egyptian harbors and ships that had so irritated Qaytbay. In Dhfi'l-Qa'da of 911/March-April, 1506, the Sultan despatched his official translator (turjumdn), Ibn TaghribardT, to the courts of Europe with letters from the Patriarch in Cairo, protesting their alleged sponsorship of such raiding.41 Subsequently, al-Ghawri pre- pared several expeditions to capture the corsairs. These failed to halt their depredations but did net some prisoners.4 However, when the Sultan's own relative, Muhammad Bak, was attacked and killed at sea while leading an expedition to collect timber from Syria,43 al-Ghawri reacted violently. He ordered all European merchants in Alexandria and Damietta placed un- der arrest, and put the Church of the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem under sequestration, following his predecessor's example. Its clerics and monks were summoned to Cairo, and upon their presentation to the Sultan, they were forced to draft missives to the "European Kings" (Muitk al-Firanj), demanding the return of all captured ships, their weaponry and an indem- nity for the life of Amir Muhammad. All ecclesiastic assets in Jerusalem were to remain impounded until these demands were met.44 Ibn Iy5s does not elaborate on the consequence of such extreme measures, except to men- 106 Holy War, Unholy Peace? tion that the Venetians sent an embassy in Safar of 918/April-May, 1512, requesting the re-opening of the Holy Sepulcher, two years after its doors were bolted.45 The Venetian ambassador sweetened his plea with sumptu- ous gifts carried by some two hundred bearers. Al-Ghawri received him with honor, and apparently found his terms satisfactory. It is significant to note once again that the Venetians arranged a settlement over an act of piracy for which they were not responsible. If they collected any com- pensation from the European monarchs whom the Sultan blamed for the disaster, Ibn Iy&s makes no mentions of it. Annoying as these acts of brigandage were to the Sultanate, they posed no serious threat to its strategic advantage or its role in world trade. Far more disturbing was the penetration of the Red Sea by the Portuguese from the Indian Ocean. The first reference Ibn Iy&s provides describes an expedition setting out from Yanbu' in Safar of 912/June-July 1506, for India (al-Hind), in reaction to European colonization there. Whether the Egyptian government intended this expedition to "show the flag" or to close Indian ports to the Portuguese is not clear, for it seems to have concentrated its energies on forcing the Hijaz Bedouin into submission and constructing guard towers along the Red Sea coast. The spice entrepot at Sawakin was seized (from whom is unspecified), and its stores looted.46 These measures failed to secure the Red Sea, for later that year the Sul- tan received reports that the Portuguese had begun boarding Indian ships proceeding to Egyptian-controlled ports.47 From this date, communications proliferated about European incur- sions. In Jumada I/August-September, 1510, three spies disguised as "Anatolians" (Arwdm) were apprehended in the holy precinct at Mecca. The amir, al-Sharif Barakat, had them stripped, and, upon finding them uncircumsized, sent them to Cairo for interrogation.48 Three years later, far more alarming news reached the Sultan. The Portuguese had captured the Malabar coastal fortress of Kamaran, and laid siege to Suwakin on the Red Sea.49 Al-Ghawri was physically indisposed, suffering from an eye in- fection, but decided to attend a special khutba to be preached on Friday, the fourth of Rabi' II, 919/9 June 1513, in which God's aid was invoked to remove the Portuguese menace. The populace of Cairo was alarmed since the Portuguese were already entrenched in the Yemen (Aden). Al-Ghawri called an emergency review of his new Fifth Regiment, composed of troops recruited from individuals outside the Mamluk corps and including a special contingent of Musketeers.50 The regiment was sent to safeguard the constructions of ships designated to patrol the Red Sea. Carl F. Petry 107 Secret agents accompanied an artillery unit to Jidda to gather intelligence on Portuguese operations,s51 and the Sultan called up three hundred Sayfi Mamluks to transport the recently-forged cannons he had been testing to Suez. When the troopers refused to march without a special bonus, claim- ing that they faced almost certain death from thirst and exposure in the desert, the Sultan threw a tantrum, but was compelled to delay their de- parture until Rajab/September-October due to lack of funds.52 Al-Ghawri then threatened to shame his soldiers by accompanying the artillery him- self. These Mamluk veterans seem to have believed that their sovereign was too avaricious to pay them any additional stipend. Al-Ghawri continued to vacillate over his personal involvement in the Suez expedition for several months, but finally departed at the end of Muharram, 920/March, 1514, accompanied by senior officials from both the military and civil branches of government.53 Obsessed with the threat of revolt by his own officers and troops during his absence, the Sultan took with him the symbolic trappings of office and confined all military personnel to their homes or barracks pending his return. Once he arrived in Suez, the Sultan consulted with an Ottoman Ad- miral, al-Ra'is Salman al-"Uthmani, over construction of the Red Sea fleet, financed jointly by the two Muslim empires, to halt the Christian advance. The Mamluks and Ottomans were mutually wary, and al-Ghawri ordered his troops to march into Suez wearing full battle gear despite the unsea- sonably intense heat. The Ottomans had sent 2000 men to Suez, and their presence must certainly have disquieted al-Ghawri's staff. Nonetheless, both sides remained outwardly cordial during the Sultan's visit, and the Ottoman Admiral hosted his royal guest to a banquet. But tensions be- tween the two powers were rising, and their mutual interest in restricting a dangerous Christian adversary could not alleviate them. In retrospect, Sultan al-Ghawri and his advisors clearly recognized the Portuguese threat in the Red Sea. Unlike pirates in the Mediterranean, the Portuguese could adversely affect the balance of trade from which the Mamluk Sultanate had profited so handsomely for so long. Al-Ghawri was prepared to spend vast sums on new and experimental weaponry he was hesitant to try out in Cairo due to resistance from his conservative troops. Yet, for all these measures, the Cairo regime remained essentially reactive. No sweeping changes in policy or strategy were envisioned to deal with a fundamentally new scenario. And al-Ghawri relegated troop contingents to the Red Sea and Suez expeditions who were regarded with contempt by the elite Mamluk soldiery based in the capital. Al-Ghawri feared the endemic 108 Holy War, Unholy Peace? specter of revolt at home far more than he did the penetration of the Red Sea, his crucial trade artery, by a European rival dedicated to encroaching upon his monopoly over the spice trade. Such myopia was characteristic of the Mamluk regime during its final decades. The expansionism of al- Ghawri's erstwhile Muslim allies, the Ottomans, did little to discourage these short-sighted survival strategies. The rapid deterioration of relations between Cairo and Istanbul fol- lowing the accession of Selim I in 918/512 is widely known. The official reason behind the ultimate confrontation between the two great states of the central Muslim world was Selim's campaign against the charismatic Safavid Shah, Ismacil. In Rabi' I of 920/April-May, 1514, Selim sent an emissary to Cairo asking for al-Ghawri's support, which the latter refused to grant, proclaiming his neutrality.54 From this time on, Selim seems to have regarded al-Ghawri as an enemy. Following his stunning defeat of Ismacil at Chaldiran near Tabriz, the Ottoman Sultan despatched an arro- gant proclamation of victory to Cairo, describing himself with terms that aggrandized his own status over that of al-Ghawri.55 The following year, Selim supplanted the Dhiil-Qadirid prince 'Ali Dawlat in eastern Anato- lia with a son of the former ruler, Shah Suwar, a sworn enemy of Sultan Qaytba-y.56 'All Dawlat was a loyal vassal of al-Ghawri, and his removal constituted an open act of hostility that Cairo could not ignore. With the collapse of the Dhi'l-Qadirid Beylik as a buffer, the Egyptian Sultanate now shared a border with the most aggressive regime in the Dar al-Islam. Events progressed rapidly toward an inevitable clash, which resulted in al-Ghawri's own death and Ottoman absorption of the Mamluk Empire. The Arabic sources do not discuss the European states or their role in these dramatic events. One may presume that Venice saw no advantage in the defeat of her commercial ally in the Levant, especially since her relations with Istanbul were often delicate. But Venice, along with the other trading nations of the West, reacted pragmatically to the new reality of a single imperial power dominating the eastern Mediterranean after 1517. Indeed, the Ottomans modified the commercial system they inherited from the Mamluks, but they never dismantled it. Their conquest therefore ensured a certain measure of continuity in trading relations with Europe. Two questions were raised at the beginning of this essay. Was the Mamluk Sultanate capable of devising foreign policy initiatives that could cope with the growing expansionism of European powers? Or were the last Mamluk autocrats confined to a limited range of options in their dealings with them? These queries are interrelated, because of internal dynamics Carl F. Petry 109 natural to Mamluk elite and its unique Weltanschauung. The Mamluk military caste existed to perpetuate itself. Once it had gained control over the empire founded by Saladin and his descendants, it never sought to expand, as did the Ottomans. The Mamluks remained staunch support- ers of religious orthodoxy, but they were inspired by no positive ideology that envisioned universal submission to Islam. In short, after the reforms of Baybars I (658-76/1260-77), the Mamluk Sultanate sought to preserve what it already held. It restricted itself to a limited range of tactics in its relations with foreign governments. Its policies invariably aimed at neu- tralizing potential rivals rather than eliminating them outright or coopt- ing their clienteles. The Mamluks were resigned to accepting conditions as they found them, and were prepared to coexist with any regime that respected their own frontiers and strategic advantage. Whether such at- titudes contributed to economic and intellectual stagnation of the central Muslim lands during the later Middle Ages exceeds to the scope of this es- say. But in light of its conservative stance, the Mamluk regime was reflexive rather than initiative. Fully aware of the momentous changes occurring in their time, Qaytbay and al-Ghawri took steps to contain obvious threats, to halt their opponents' advances, and to restore the status-quo. Yet their thinking does not seem to have transcended such measures. Quite possi- bly, the social milieu in which they grew to maturity caused them to look backward, rather than to see the world in ways that lay outside the nar- row conventions they understood. That they clung to such conventions in an era of sweeping realignment boded ill for the capacity of their region to adapt in the future. And yet no European power or collection thereof man- aged to undo the system they strove to preserve. A rival Muslim regime, imbued with an imperial ambition unparalleled since the age of the Arab conquests, decisively redefined the balance of power in the Islamic world Europeans would confront over the next three centuries. NOTES 1. Most recently, Levant Trade in the Later Middle Ages (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1983). See also: "Le cout de la vie dans l'Igypte medievale," Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient 3 (1963): 150-189; "L'volution des prix dans le proche-orient h la basse epoque," JESHO 4 (1961): 15-47; "Etudes sur le systeme monetaire des Mamlouks circassiens," Israel Oriental Studies 6 (1976): 264-87; 110 Holy War, Unholy Peace? "The Karim! Merchants," Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society (1956): 45-56; "Ma- teriaux pour l'histoire des prix dans l'lgypte medievale," JESHO 6 (1963): 158-169; Les mdtaux precieux et la balance des payements du proche-orient 4 la basse 6poque, Ecole pratique des hautes 6tudes (Paris: SEVPEN, 1971); "Prix et salaires a l'epoque mamlouk, une etude sur l'6tat economique de l'Itgypte et de la Syrie h la fin du moyen age," Revue des Etudes Islamiques 15 (1949): 49-94; A Social and Economic History of the Near East in the Middle Ages (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1976). The other productive historian of commerce during the Mamluk period is Sub.d Labib: Handelsgeschichte Agyptens .im Sp4itmittelalter, 1171-1517 (Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner, 1965); "Das Mittelalterliche Agypten und die Mittelmeerliinder," Geschichte und Gegen- wert: Festschri fir K. D. Erdmann, (Neumunster: Wachholtz, 1980): 95-130; "Text zur Geschichte Agyptens im Mittelalter," Der Islam 35 (1960): 116-125. 2. Ashtor, Levant Trade, 200-210. Ashtor notes comments on this decline by prominent Arabic chroniclers, in particular al-Maqrizi, Kitdb al-Sulik li-Ma'rifat Duwal al-Mulilk, M. Ziyada, A. 'Ashir, eds. (Cairo: Lajnat al-Ta'lif wa'l-Tarjama wa'l-Nashr, DAr al-Kutub, 1956-73), 4 vols. (3 parts each). 3. Ashtor, Levant Trade, 131, 245. 4. During the reign of QsytbAy and Qansfih al-Ghawrl, Ibn Iyas: Badvi' al-Zuhir f WaqI'i' al-Dukhir, M. Mustaff, P. Kahle, eds. (Cairo & Wiesbaden, 1963-74) makes periodic references to emissaries from these states. See notes 21-23 and vol. 4, 255, 1. 6; 257, 1. 15; 268, 1. 13. 5. Ashtor, Levant Trade, 8. 6. Ibid., 11; M. Canard, "Le trait6 de 1281 entre Michel Paleologue et le Sultan Qali'in," Byzantion 10 (1935): 669-680, translated from al Qalqashandi's manual of diplomatic Subh al-A'shA f Sind'at al-Inshe (Cairo: 1914-1928), 14:72; M. Canard, "Un trait6 entre Byzance et l'tgypte au XIIIe siecle et les relations diplomatiques de Michel VIII Paleologue avec les sultans mamluks Baibars et Qala'un," Mdlanges Gaudefroy- Demombynes (1934-45), 197-224; F. Dolger, Der Vertrag des Sultans Qaltin von Agypten mit dem Kaiser Michael Palaiologos, Serta Monacensia (Leiden, 1952), 60; J. Wansbrough, "A Mamluk Commercial Treaty concluded with the Republic of Flo- rence," Documents from Islamic Chanceries, S. Stern, ed. (Oxford, 1965), 39-79; J. Wansbrough, "Venice and Florence in the Mamluk Commercial Privileges," Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies 28 (1965): 483-523. 7. Ashtor, Levant Trade, 20, 68, 248-251. 8. Ibid., 44-45. 9. Ibid., 88-91. 10. Ibid., 65-66. 11. Ibid., 92. 12. Ibid., 101-102. 13. A. Darrag, L',gypte sous le regne de Barsbay (Damascus: Institut frangais, 1962), 239-268; L. de Mas Latrie, Histoire de l'ile de Chypre sous le regne des princes de la maison de Lusignan (Paris, 1852-1882), 2:516. 14. Ashtor, Levant Trade, 270-285, "Le monopole de Barsbay d'apres des sources venitiennes." Annuario des Estudios Mddievales (1974-1979), 551-572; Darr~g, L'Egypte, 111-158, 195-237; Labib, Handelsgeschichte, 112-121, 351-363, 402-408. 15. Ashtor, Levant Trade, 4-6, 24, 200; Darrig, L'Egypte, 68-73; Labib, Handels- geschichte, 420-423. 16. A. Raymond, Artisans et commercants au Caire au XVIIIe siicle (Damascus: Institut frangais, 1974), in particular, ch. 4: le commerce oriental et africain; ch. 5: le Carl F. Petry 111 domain mditerranian; ch. 6: la production et le commerce l'artisanat; ch. 8: ghographie des activiths conomiques au Caire XVIIIe siecle; A. Raymond & G. Wiet, Les marches du Caire, traduction annote du texte de Maqrizi (Cairo: Institut francais d'archhologie orientale, 1979); N. Hanna, An Urban History of Biilq in the Mamluk and Ottoman Periods (Cairo: Institut frangais d'archeologie orientale, 1983). 17. Ashtor, Levant Trade, 73-75, 166-167, 181, 249, 289, 299-300; Labib, Handels- geschichte, 332-333; Qalqashandl, Subh, 6:32; W. Fischel, "The Spice Trade in Mamllk Egypt," JESHO 1 (1958): 157-174; G. Wiet, "Les marchands d'6pices sous les sultans mamlouks," Cahiers d'Histoire ,gyptienne 7 (1955): 81-147. 18. Ashtor, Levant Trade, 24, 81, 140, 146, 173, 255-256. 19. Ibid., 8-10, 18-23, 27, 152, 163. 20. Ibid., 450. 21. Ibid., 460-461. 22. Ibn lyis, Bad&Y', 3, 150, 1. 10. 23. Ibid., 3, p. 244, 1. 18. 24. Ibid., 3, p. 254, 1. 1. 25. For example, the embassy mentioned in note 23 was motivated by the arrival of a messenger from the Muslim prince of Granada who pleaded for aid from the Sultan of Egypt to repel the Christian invaders from the North. QiytbAy forced the clergy (qusis) of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem to write to the King of Naples, who was to urge the Monarch of Castile to cease oppressing al-Andalus. If he were to refuse, the Sultan would close the Church to foreigners and confiscate its assets. Its demolition might be necessary. Ibn ly&s noted, somewhat wryly, that nothing resulted from this ploy. The Mamluk regime possessed no effective means of influencing policy in Spain, and certainly was not prepared to risk sending an expedition to relieve the prince of Granada. And the Church remained intact, to become embroiled in foreign politics once again under al-Ghawri. 26. Al-Jawhari al-Sayrafi, Inbd' al-Hasr bi-Abnd' al-'Asr, H. Habashi, ed. (Cairo: D8r al-Fikr al-'Arabi, 1970), 481, 1. 8. 27. Ibid., p. 428, 1. 4. 28. Ibid., p. 444, 1. 6; Ibn lyas, Bad'i'I, 3, p. 75, 1. 17; p. 79, 1. 12; 89, 1. 13. 29. Ibn Iyas, Badi'i', 3, p. 114, 1. 1. 30. Ibid., 3, p. 119, 1. 10. 31. Ibid., 3, p. 71, 1. 13. 32. Ibid., 3, p. 75, 1. 13. 33. Ibid., 3, p. 150. 19. 34. Ibid., 3, p. 132, 1. 12. 35. Ibid., 3, p. 155, 1. 21. 36. Al-Sayrafi, Inbd', p. 441, 1. 12. 37. Ibn lyas, Bad'e, 3, p. 183, 1. 6; p. 185, 1. 5; p. 189, 1. 19; p. 192, 1. 5; p. 195, 1. 16; p. 196, 1. 3; al-Sakhaw, AI-Dhayl al Ttmm 'ali Duwal al-Islim (Pil-Dhahabi), Ms. (Tunis: Dar al-Kutub al-Wataniya, no. 6856) f. 259, 1. 28ff. 38. Ibn Iyas, Badidi', 3, p. 205, 1. 21; p. 250, 1. 8; p. 252, 1. 9; p. 256, 1. 10; p. 270, 1. 12; p. 281, 1. 1. 39. Ibid., 3, p. 281, 1. 21; p. 315, 1. 22. 40. Ibn Iyas, at the outset of his obituary for the Sultan, claims that "every day of his reign weighed down on the populace as for 1000 years." Ibn lyas acknowledges his personal courage, military ability, and political sagacity, but finds these admirable traits overshadowed by his avarice. See vol. 4, p. 87, 1. 19 to p. 96, 1. 15. His closing 112 Holy War, Unholy Peace? statement: "All power belongs to God, who does what he wills and is accountable to no one." 41. Ibid., p. 91, 1. 12; p. 120, 1. 5. This Taghribardi (possibly of Greek origin) remained in Europe for more than a year, departing in Dhi'l-Qa'da of 911/March-April, 1506, and returning to Cairo in Jumada I of 913/September-October, 1507. Apparently, he became all too familiar with his Christian hosts (none specified), because four years later, al-Ghawrl arrested him for treason. Taghribardi allegedly wrote several letters to European rulers, claiming that the Sultan was in no position to send an expedition to defend either the Syrian or the Red Sea coasts. When these missives were intercepted and shown to al-Ghawri, he flew into a rage and confronted his translator with them. When Taghribardldenied any knowledge of them, al-Ghawrl accused him of perfidy and insisted that he recognized his script. Taghrl-bardl was committed to solitary confinement, and all his estates confiscated. See vol. 4, p. 209, 1. 23. 42. Ibid., p. 129, 1. 9; p. 130, 1. 11; p. 146, 1. 3; p. 163, 1. 19; p. 164. 1. 16; p. 220, 1. 14. 43. Ibid., p. 183, 1. 21; p. 191, 1. 21. 44. Ibid., p. 192, 1. 15; p. 195, 1. 8; p. 196, 1. 2; p. 199, 1. 3. 45. Ibid., p. 259, 1. 4. 46. Ibid., p. 96, 1. 16. 47. Ibid., p. 109, 1. 2. 48. Ibid., p. 191, 1. 1. 49. Ibid., p. 307, 1. 14. 50. Ibid., p. 308, 1. 3. 51. Ibid., p. 308, 1. 9. 52. Ibid., p. 310, 1. 16; p. 331, 1. 7. 53. Ibid., p. 362, 1. 2; p. 363, 1. 9; p. 364, 1. 7; p. 365, 1. 6, 1. 13. 54. Ibid., p. 372, 1. 21; p. 373, 1. 11; p. 376, 1. 9. 55. Ibid., p. 402, 1. 6; p. 435, 1. 19. Selim referred to himself as "Our Royal Majesty" (Maqdmund al-Sharff ), while dismissing al-Ghawrl, rather contemptuously, as "Your High Majesty" (Maqemukum al-'Alf). The contrast in rank may seem trifling, but was keenly felt by al-Ghawri-a virtual slap in his face. 56. Ibid., p. 435, 1. 11; p. 436, 1. 4; p. 438, 1. 8; p. 446, 1. 12; p. 459, 1. 3; p. 462, 1.15. Jihad in Islam MUSTANSIR MIR The University of Michigan T HE image of the Muslim armies converting as they advanced has sunk so deeply into the Western mind that no amount of repetition of the truth is likely to dislodge it."' A statement like this would render unneces- sary all writing on jihdd: if the said image cannot be improved, or for that matter further tarnished, there is no need to talk about the subject. But images, false or true, become established as a result of persistent effort to establish them, and this leaves room for hope. Further, modern Muslim perceptions of jihid differ from the traditional in important ways. It is, therefore, not simply a matter of reproducing stock charges and stock re- sponses, but one of assessing a significant development in Muslim thought, a development all the more crucial because, as we shall note, in at least one respect it is symptomatic of a broad change that is taking place in the Muslim understanding of Islamic tradition and sources. In this paper, after a few introductory remarks, we shall first look at the classical doctrine of jihdd and then consider modern views on the subject. The treatment will be based on the writings of Sunni scholars, but Shi'i-and Siff-views will be briefly stated. In the end some general conclusions will be presented. Meaning of the Term Jihad and a Comparative Note The word jihad means "determined effort." As a religious term in Islam it has a general and a special meaning. In its general sense jihd stands for any endeavor made in order to promote the religion of Islam. But the word carries the connotation that the endeavor is made in a situation of struggle or confrontation, the goal being to surmount a hurdle or overcome a diffi- culty. According to Rdghib, one engages in jihdd against an outside enemy (mujahadat al-caduww az-zahir), against Satan (mujdhadat ash-shay dn), or against one's own baser self (mujahadat an-nafs).2 In all three types, 114 Jihdd in Islam it can be seen, the goal is to defeat a hostile force or subdue an oppo- nent. In its special sense, jihdd is equivalent to the first of the three types of confrontation and may be translated "armed action," another term for which is qitdl. This, the most familiar meaning of jihdd, is the one we are mainly concerned with here. When the Qur'an and the Hadith promise great reward for jiktd, they are referring primarily to jihdid in the sense of qitdl. Jihad in Islam is, properly speaking, jihdd fi sabil Allah, i.e. jihdd "in the way of, or for the sake of, God." This qualifier, frequent in the Qur'an, seeks to mark Islamic war off from the wars of pre-Islamic Arabia. Arabic had many names for war, but jihdd was not one of them-it simply meant "to strive, exert oneself, or make an effort." By using this word to denote war, by further limiting it by means of ft sabil Alldh, and by laying down an elaborate set of rules for the conduct of war in all its stages, Islam presents a new understanding of war. According to certain ahdith, only that war is jihdd which is fought not for the sake of booty, glory, or any other personal or selfish ends, but with the intention of serving God and the religion and winning reward in the next world rather than in this.3 Moreover, the purpose of jihaid in Islam is "to establish the Islamic socio- moral order."4 All this gives to jihdd an ideological-cum-ethical dimension that is obviously missing from the pre-Islamic practice of war. To say, therefore, that jihdd was the Arabian raid or razzia Islamized5 through no more than a "subtle change, "'6 that "there was no specifically religious objective, "',7 and that the concept was of significance primarily to the individual in that it pictured for him the great reward awaiting a martyr in heaven8-to say this is to trivialize the notion of jihdd, not to say that such a view can hardly explain the gains made-and consolidated-by early Islam. Classical Doctrine The classical doctrine of jihdd is usually described in the following terms.9 Islam envisages a universal political order in which the whole humanity lives under Islam, either having embraced Islam or as its subjects. As long as this goal is not achieved, a war is waged against the world. This being the case, jihdd is an instrument for the establishment of global Islamic hegemony, and engaging in jihad becomes an obligation of Muslims.10 In the Meccan period Muhammad and his followers could only patiently bear the persecution by Quraysh. But when in Medina, they were able to repel Mustansir Mir 115 force by force, and Muhammad's battles with the Meccans, leading to the conquest of Mecca, and his writings to neighboring rulers asking them to accept Islam-as also Muslim conduct in the period immediately after Muhammad-leave no doubt that, if not initially then eventually, Islam came to view itself as a universal order. This being the perspective of Islam, the world is divided into two zones, the House of Islam (ddr al- Islidm) and the House of War (ddr al-Harb), with the former ever on the attack against the latter. Some jurists posit a third category, the House of Peace (dir as-sulh), States with which the Islamic State has entered into pacts, but this is at best a provisional arrangement, for such pacts are to be kept only as long as it is convenient for the Muslims to do so, that is, long enough to make war a winnable proposition. The people to be fought against are of two types: scriptuaries, i.e. Jews and Christians, and non-scriptuaries, especially the idolators. The non-scriptuaries may choose between Islam and death only, whereas the scriptuaries may be tolerated within the Islamic body-politic on condition that they will pay the jizyah- tax, in which case they become dhimmis ("protected citizens"). Thus, the idolators aside, non-Muslims may be offered three options-Islam, jizyah, and war, in that order. In a word, Islam preaches the doctrine of perpetual war. The classical doctrine of jihad is to be understood in its historical con- text: it has a "situational" character and is the product of an "atomistic" approach. On the subject of jihdd, the Qur'anic pronouncements seemed to be in conflict with one another. There were, on the one hand, Meccan verses enjoining passive endurance of persecution (13:22; 41:34-35), and, on the other, Medinan verses permitting retaliation. Among the Medinan verses were some which permitted war in order to repel aggression only (2:190; 4:75; 22:39), but others permitted aggression. The last category was in turn composed of two types of verses: those which permitted the taking of the initiative in any but the four sacred months (2:217; 9:5)," and those which seemed to give this permission unconditionally (2:191-193, 216; 9:29). Now the Qur'an, being God's word, must be free from contradiction. Traditional exegetical theory, which was predicated on the assumption that the Qur'anic verses were so many discrete units, and which accordingly took a verse-by-verse or atomistic approach to the scripture, had in its repertoire only one principle that could be invoked to solve the problem. This was the principle of abrogation, and it was used, with the result that the verses giving unqualified permission to wage war, verses latest in order 116 Jihdd in Islam of revelation, were taken to have abrogated all the previous ones. The doctrine was situational in that it took the then existing relation- ship between the Muslim and non-Muslim States-a hostile relationship- as the norm. Abi Zahrah, after stating that the non-Islamic forces in the early decades of Islam were anxious to nip the new religion in the bud, writes: Wars flared up between Muslims and non-Muslims; swords shone instead of the truths of religion. The age of the Rishidin caliphs passed, and the age of the Umayyad kings came, then the age of the cAbbAsid kings, and the wars blazed on. It was at this time, when the flames of war were burning, that juristic ijtihdd took place, and the question arose as to the basis of relations between Muslims and non-Muslims-is it war or is it peace? Jurists reflected on the issue. Some of them said: The basis of the relations is war. These jurists, however, based their view on the situation as it actually existed, not on the fundamental textual sources [Qur'an and Sunnah]; nor is it they who are in the majority. Others derived their ruling not from the situation that actually obtained but from the texts of the Qur'dn, the Prophetic Hadith, and Muhammad's wars, and held that the relations shall be peaceful until there is call for war. The jurists are almost agreed that the land of the opponents is to be called the House of War, for, in the period of juristic ijtihid, it was virtually a House of War on account of the re- peated acts of aggression committed by the enemies and the constant defense in which the Muslims were engaged.12 In a sense, then, the jurists were justified: "It was not for the jurists to name things by names other than the ones proper to them, for the flames of war were actually alive then." 13 Abfi Zahrah's explanation seems to be essentially correct. But his suggestion that the perpetual-war doctrine was not the one held by most jurists is questionable. In fact his statement is not entirely clear. Does he mean that, of the jurists who have written on the subject, only a few have supported that doctrine whereas most are known to have opposed it? If so, this is not correct. Or does he mean that even those jurists who upheld the doctrine theoretically, agreed that in practice peace was to be the basis of Mustansir Mir 117 international relations? If so, there is not sufficient evidence for this, and Abti Zahrah certainly does not provide any.14 Modern Views Modern writers on the subject of jihdd can be divided into three categories: apologists, neo-classicists, and modernists.1is APOLOGISTS The most important spokesmen of this group appeared in British India in the second half of the nineteenth century. Together, they held that, first, Islam does not at all stand for offensive war, defensive war being the only kind allowed, and, second, that in India, even defensive war may not be fought against the British. After the British had suppressed the 1857 revolt of the Indian Muslims, Sir Sayyid Ahmad Khan was convinced that the British were there to stay, and so he put forward the thesis that since the British did not interfere with the religious life of Muslims, it was not valid to wage jihdd against them.16 Essential to his thesis, of course, was a dichotomy between Islam as a private religion and Islam as a code for public life. Moulavi Cheragh Ali, an admirer of Sir Sayyid, wrote a book in which he sought to prove that all of Muhammad's wars were defensive. He says: All the defensive wars [of Muhammad], and the verses of the Koran relating to the same, were strictly temporary and tran- sitory in their nature. They cannot be made an example of, or be construed into a tenet or injunction for aggressive wars, nor were they intended so to be [sic].17 But he goes on to say-and in saying this he epitomizes the apologetic stance: Even they [Qur'anic verses and Muhammad's defensive wars] cannot be an example or instruction for a defensive war to be waged by the Mohammadan community or commonwealth, be- cause all the circumstances under which Mohammad waged his defensive wars were local and temporary.18 In reading Cherdgh Ali's book one gets the feeling that the writer is at pains to prove that Islam and pacifism are synonyms. Cherdgh Ali's 118 Jihdd in Islam contention that jihad came to mean warfare in post-Qur'anic times does not have much to commend itself, while his all-too-obvious attempt to convince a European audience of Islam's peaceful intentions persuaded many that he was an agent of British colonialism. It was Muslim apologetic writings on jihid that made the poet Muhammad Iqbdl remark pungently: Europe has put on a full-length coat-of-mail in order to defend the honor and glory of Falsehood. We ask this question of the church-pampering shaykh: If war is an evil in the East, it is an evil in the West, too; so, if truth and fairness are in question, is it appropriate to call Islam to account but spare Europe?19 NEO-CLASSICISTS Largely as a reaction to such apologetics Muslim writers of India produced works in which the classical concept of jihad was presented with renewed vigor. Of these perhaps the most important was Al-Jihdd fi l-Isldm by a young scholar of twenty-three years, Abui -A'l Mawduidi. In this book of over six hundred pages, 20 Mawdfidi sought to provide the classical doctrine with a philosophical basis.21 Distinguishing between religious conversion and political rule, he declared that while Islam does not wish to convert non-Muslims forcibly, it regards as unjust and oppressive all non-Islamic governments and intends to replace them with the just and equitable Is- lamic rule, so that people can enjoy true freedom, including the freedom to choose their religion. The function of jihad, according to Mawdfidi, is to end the enslavement of man by man and to make people the subjects of God. He sums up his argument as follows: So, just as it is incorrect to say that Islam uses the sword to convert people, it is equally wrong to say that the sword has played no part in propagating Islam. The truth lies in between the two, namely, that the call to Islam (iabligh) and the sword have both contributed to the propagation of Islam, just as is the case with any other civilization. The function of tabligh is to sow the seed, the function of the sword is to turn up the soil. First, the sword softens up the ground so that it develops the capability to grow the seed; then tablgh sows the seed and supplies the water so that produce, the real objective of this cultivation, is obtained. In the whole history of the world we do not find any signs of a civilization that did not owe its existence to the workings of these two factors.22 Mustansir Mir 119 Mawdiidi's argument has since been used by other writers, among them Hasan al-Banna, Sayyid Qutb, and Hamidullah.23 By drawing a distinction between military conquest and religious con- version, the neo-classical view furnishes the classical doctrine with a plausi- ble theoretical foundation. That is the strength of that view. But that is its weakness also. For the view is based, among other things, on the assump- tion that a distinction can easily be made between government and people in a society, and that the people of a non-Islamic land would, after the defeat of their army, hail Muslims as liberators. The assumption is rather simplistic, and shows scant appreciation of the nature of modern society and government. Moreover, even if the only objective is to establish Islamic rule and not to convert forcibly, is it not true that physical occupation of a land builds certain pressures-social, if no other-that might indirectly lead to conversion? And, finally, why is conquest necessary to provide the opportunity to make a "free" religious choice? Did not Muhammad make his best converts in Mecca rather than in Medina? MODERNISTS Like the apologists, the modernists believe that Islam advocates only defen- sive war, and that the Qur'anic injunctions and the Prophetic practice give no evidence that Islam condones aggression. But, as we shall see, the two groups differ from each other in important ways. Two eminent Egyptian scholars, Mahmiid Shaltfit and Abfi Zahrah, cogently argue the modernist case.24 Shaltit studies the relevant Qur'anic verses and concludes that the Qur'anallows fighting only to ward off aggression, protect the Mission of Islam, and defend religious freedom.2s The conduct of the Prophet and the caliphs Abfi Bakr and 'Umar proves the same.26 The Qur'dn desires peace, is averse to bloodshed,27 and wants people to embrace Islam through study and reflection with no attendant coercion.28 According to Islam, therefore, the basis of international relations is peace (Q. 60:9).29 Abfi Zahrah arrives at similar conclusions.30 It is typical of the modernists that they do not view the subject of jihad in isolation, but put on it a general Islamic religious perspective, in fact attach decisive importance to that perspective. For example, Abi Zahrah, before coming to the subject of war and peace, writes a long chapter31 in which he presents the views of Islam on such matters as the dignity of man, unity of mankind, human cooperation, human freedom, justice and equity, and reciprocity, making these concepts the basis of his discussion 120 Jihad in Islam of that subject. The modernists also insist on interpreting the Qur'anic verses in their proper context. For example, Shaltilt says in reference to Q. 9:29 ("Fight those from among the People of the Book who do not believe in God and the Hereafter and do not follow the Religion of Truth-until they should pay the jizya out of their own hands, having been reduced to submission.") that the verse ought to be understood in the light of other Qur'anic verses (such as 9:7-16, 30), which changes the interpretation of the verse radically.32 No less than the classical jurists, the modernists are concerned with establishing that the Qur'an is free from inconsistency. But, unlike the classical writers, who use the principle of abrogation to that end,33 the modernists invoke the principle of contextualized interpretation of the Qur'an. In doing so, they represent an important general trend in current Muslim Qur'an studies. In various parts of the Muslim world in the Indo-Pakistan subcontinent, in Egypt, and in Syria (and at least in one case in Turkey), Muslim scholars have come to accept the view that the structure of the Qur'an is hermeneutically significant, and that one can arrive at a satisfactory interpretation of a Qur'anic text only after placing it in the larger context-passage or stira-in which it appears. Considering the traditional style of exegesis, this is a major development in Qur'an studies. Suffice it to say that our modernist writers' treatment of jihad provides a significant illustration of this development. The apologist, too, appeals to the context of the Qur'an in interpreting a Qur'anic text. But there are important differences between the modernist and the apologist. The apologist wishes to present a non-threatening pic- ture of jihdd to a European audience; he seems to be anxious to convince the European colonialist that the idea of jihdd as warfare has nothing to do with the Qur'dn and is the concoction of later jurists, and that the West should accordingly rest assured that Islam is the most pacifistic re- ligion imaginable. The modernist does not think of jihdd as a skeleton in the Islamic closet. He is writing in an age when the Islamic world is making a conscious attempt to free itself from the hold of Western thought patterns, and his primary audience is Muslims. Also, he is much more respectful of the historic Islamic tradition, and even when he differs from it, takes it as his basic frame of reference, trying to explain rather than explain away.34 Since the modernist works within the tradition instead of stepping out of it,35 his judgments and conclusions have about them an authenticity-though not sacrosanctity-that is lacking in the work of the apologist. Again, unlike the apologist, the modernist may be called an activist- Mustansir Mir 121 if an armchair activist. When he talks about the Islamic law of war and peace, he has in mind one or more independent Islamic States that might well exist today. Accordingly, he does not confine himself to a discussion of whether jihad ought to be offensive or defensive, but goes on to deal with other, related issues that might arise in actual conduct of State, offering his views on these issues. A brief review of modernist opinions on two or three such issues may not be out of place. HOUSE OF PEACE The modernists hold that Islamic law posits a House of Peace in addition to the House of Islam and the House of War. They regard Q. 8:61-62 ("If they [enemy] incline to peace, you, too must incline to peace.") as mandatory, saying that Muslims must accept, though not uncircumspectly, the enemy's offer to make peace. Furthermore, they construe the verse to have general applicability, so that peace must be striven for not only in a time of war but at all times, which implies that peace and not war is the basis of relations between a Muslim State and a non-Muslim State. This being the case, Muslims may enter into pacts with other nations with a view to establishing permanent peace, for there is, the modernists say, no proof that the Qur'an allows the making of peace agreements only for defined periods of time, and no evidence that the Prophet's agreement with the Meccans at Hudaybiyyah was meant to set a mandatory time-limit.36 NEUTRALITY The classical works on law do not leave much room for neutrality, but Q. 4:90 quite explicitly allows it. Both the context and the wording of the verse indicate the situation the Qur'an has in mind: a war has broken out between the Muslim State and a non-Muslim power, and there is a third group or people that wishes to align itself neither with the Muslims nor with their opponents. Against such a group or people, the verse says, the Muslims may not take any action, which is to say that the right of a State to remain neutral must be respected.37 PRISONERS OF WAR The Qur'an enjoins (47:5) that prisoners of war be freed either unconditionally, as a favor to them, or in return for ransom (fa immd mannan ba'du wa imma fidd'an). The ransom, of course, could take the form of exchange of prisoners. Enslavement of prisoners is not an option given in the Qur'an, but neither does the Qur'an prohibit it. Although, on the whole, the Qur'an seems to be disinclined to allow enslavement, the very fact that it did not categorically prohibit it left the matter to be decided situationally: if the enemy enslaves Muslim prisoners, Muslims might enslave enemy prisoners; otherwise not.38 On the modernist interpretation, the Islamic prescriptions concering 122 Jihad in Islam war and peace would seem to have not a few points of contact, or even agreement, with modern international law.39 ShT'f and Siff Views The Twelver Shri view of jihdd is quite similar to the Sunni, with the important difference that the declaring of jihdd is considered the prerog- ative of the Imam.40 It follows that jihad is suspended during the period of the Imam's occultation. Political realities, however, led to the making of a distinction between offensive jihdd, still the Imdm's prerogative, and defensive jihdd, which might be proclaimed by Shici scholars.41 In Sfifism, jihdd is interpreted as self-mortification, the taming of the unruly self being considered, on the basis of a certain Hadith, greater jihdd.42 Orthodox writers, apprehensive that this "struggle against the self" might be used as a pretext to shun what they regard as the real fihad, point out that jihdd against one's self, or self-discipline, is only preparatory to jihdd in the sense of qitdl, for, they say, one cannot hope to defeat the en- emy without first subduing one's self.43 They add that several well-known pious Muslims, including Stiffs, used to exhort people to take part in qitdl, and some fought in battles themselves."4 Concluding Observations (1) While one might speak of a single classical doctrine of fihdd, there are several modern approaches to the subject. Collectively, these approaches differ from the classical in that they carry the burden of history: in one way or another, modern writers seek to justify and explain whereas the classical jurists simply codified the law as it evolved, the whole matter viewed from the perspective of a culture that did not think it owed any explanations to anyone. Between themselves, the three modern approaches seem to describe a logical development: the apologists were reacting to the blood- and-sword images of Islam painted-ironically-by the colonial powers; the neo-classicists appear to be reacting to the apologists; and the modernists are situated somewhere in the middle: some of their views they hold in common with the apologists, but in respect of the spirit and orientation of their work, they are much closer to the classicists-and hence to the neo- classicists. It cannot be said, however, that they deliberately tried to find a "middle path"; rather they reached it on independent grounds. Be that Mustansir Mir 123 as it may, the modernist position today seems to be firmly established and has gained more adherents than the others. (2) All the four approaches that we have examined-classical, neo- classical, apologetic, modernist-have one thing in common: they seek to establish a connection between dogma and practice, trying to substantiate a certain understanding of Islamic dogma with a certain understanding of early Islamic history. But the connection between belief and practice is not always a simple one. One might ask whether early Muslim jihdd- practice resulted exclusively from Islamic dogma? And might one suggest that, from a sociological standpoint, a self-assured, vigorous, and dynamic culture is by definition expansive, and that it is naturally perceived as a threat by other, possibly equally ambitious and expansive cultures, so that a situation of hostility is created that leads to inevitable conflict? If so, then the real question might not be whether jihdd represents aggressive or defensive war, but whether it makes for a difference in the quality and character of an outward Islamic movement that was to be. (3) After all the dogmatic and theological arguments have been stated and examined, certain pragmatic questions remain. And it is here that the classical and neo-classical views leave some important questions unan- swered. No doubt it is difficult to conceive of a world without war. But war is one thing, philosophy of war another. The main question is: To what extent is war, waged by secular or religious forces, feasible in today's world? Clearly, Islam alone cannot be made to stand in the dock and forced to give an answer; the two World Wars of this century were not caused by Islam, or by religion for that matter. On the other hand, Islam cannot evade the question. As Fazlur Rahman says, "Every virile and expansive ideology has, at a stage, to ask itself the question as to what are its terms of co- existence, if any, with other systems, and how far it may employ methods of direct expansion."45 Also, large Muslim populations today reside in non- Muslim countries. Are they to remain there as a potentially hostile force? If so, how can they expect to be tolerated there? If not, on what basis would an Islamic State organize its relations with those countries? Finally, there is the question of participation in such world bodies as the United Nations. A classical or neo-classical approach would, in theory, rule out such participation, though, as one can see, this would not be a problem on the modernist view. (4) The concept of jihdd has the potential of being used as an instru- ment of politics. As in the past, so in modern times it has been used in Mus- lim lands as a rallying cry in the fight against foreign powers46 on the one 124 Jihdd in Islam hand and against religious and moral corruption on the other. Today one also hears of the need to make jihdd against social injustice and economic disparity.47 The idiom of some writings on the subject has a distinctly "modern" ring. For example: "When Islam proclaimed tawhid [monothe- ism] as an inner psychological truth ... it simultaneously proclaimed tawhid as a social truth, to be realized by means of jihdd and struggle against so- cial inequalities."" The call to jihdd, made by rulers and leaders who enjoy the trust of the people, can be very effective. As such, it has been used, and will be used, by Muslim governments and leaders to combat major threats to society. NOTES 1. G.H. Jansen, Militant Islam (New York: Harper & Row, 1979), 29. 2. Abii l-Qrsim Abi I -Husayn ibn Muhammad, known as ar-Rsghib al-Isfahani, Al-Mufradit ft Gharb al-Qur'in, ed. MuhammadSayyid Kilan! (Egypt: Mustafa al- Babr al-Halabi, 1381/1961 impression), 101. 3. Abii D&wild, Sunan, "Kitab al-JihAd: bab man yaghzii [wa] yaltamisu d-dunyA, and bsb man qitala li takiina kalimatu llahi hiya 1-'uly&." 4. Fazlur Rahman, Islam, 2nd ed. (Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 1979), 37. 5. W. Montgomery Watt, Islamic Political Thought (Edinburgh: Edinburgh Uni- versity Press, 1968), 14-19. 6. Idem, The Majesty that was Islam (London: Sidgwick & Jackson, 1974), 32. 7. Ibid., 33. 8. Ibid., 34; idem, Islamic Political Thought, 18. 9. See Majid Khadduri, War and Peace in the Law of Islam (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Press, 1955). Rudolph Peters, Islam and Colonialism: The Doctrine of Jihad in Modern History (The Hague: Mouton, 1979), ch. 2 ("The Classical Doctrine of Jihad"). For brief expositions see "DjihAd," in Encyclopaedia of Islam, new ed. (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1954, continuing), 2:538-540; and "Jihad, " in Encyclopedia of Religion, 16 vols. (New York: MacMillan, 1987), 8:88-91. 10. A "collective obligation" (fard kifiyah), as opposed to an "individual obliga- tion" (fard 'ayn). 11. Rajab (seventh in the Arabian lunar calendar, traditionally the month for performing the 'umrah or "lesser pilgrimage"), and Dhii l-Qa'dah, Dhfi l-liijjah, and Mularram (eleventh, twelfth, and first, the months of the Hajj pilgrimage). 12. Abii Zahrah, Al-'Aliqt ad-Dawliyyah fA l-Islm (Cairo: Ad-Dr al-Qawmiyyah li t-Tiba'ah wa n-Nashr, 1384/1964), 51. 13. Ibid., 52. 14. See IHasan al-Banna's article on jihid, in Hasan al-BannA, Sayyid Qutb, and Abi l-A'l& Mawdidi (henceforth: BannA-Qutb- Mawdfidl], Al-Jih&d f- Sabil Allah (Cairo: Dar al-Jihad and Dar al-Itisam, 1977), 80-83, where the writer quotes from the works of the major schools of law to the effect that the basis of these relations is war. Mustansir Mir 125 Moreover, even if the jurists were recording the actual situation, they should have pro- vided clear indications that the fundamental sources of Islam do state the peace-thesis if in fact they thought that to be the case. 15. For want of a better expression, I have used the word "modernists" to designate the last of the three groups, "modernists" thus being a more specific category than "moderns." As will become clear soon, the three groups are quite distinct and may not be lumped together as "moderns." 16. Peters, 160-161. 17. Moulavi Cheragh Ali, A Critical Exposition of the Popular Jihad (Lahore: Karimsons, 1976 repr.; 1st publ. 1885), 115. Incidentally, Cheragh Ali dedicated his book to Sir Sayyid Ahmad Khan. 18. Ibid. In a long appendix, Cheragh Ali tries to prove that the word jihad in the Qur'an has non-belligerent meanings: "The words Jahada and Jihada signify that a person strove, laboured, or toiled; exerted himself or his power, or efforts, or endeavours, or ability; employed himself vigorously, diligently, studiously...." (p. 164); the "Muslim usage of Jihd, as signifying the waging of war, is a post-Koranic usage" (pp. 164-165). 19. Muhammad Iqbal, Darb-i Kalfm, in Kulliyyit-i Iqbil [Urdu Volume] (Lahore: Sh. Ghulam Ali and Sons, 1973), 490-491. 20. The book was written in Urdu (rev. ed. 1947; Lahore: Islamic Publications Ltd.; 1st ed. 1927) and is still untranslated. A small pamphlet on the subject by Mawdildi has, however, been rendered into Arabic, and published together with essays by Hasan al-Banna and Sayyid Qutb (see Banna-Qutb-Mawdfidi, above). 21. The essential argument of MawdfidT is found in chapters 3 and 4 of his book. 22. Bann-Qutb-Mawdfidi. Muhammad Hamidullah, The Muslim Conduct of State, rev. 5th ed. (Lahore: Sh. Muhammad Ashraf, 1968). In the pre-Modern period Shah Wall Allah of India had already declared that "the finest and most perfect of all religious and legal codes is the one that contains the commandment of jihdd. Shah Wall Allah ad-Dihlawi, Hujjat Allih al-B lighah, 2 vols. in 1 (Cairo, n.d.), 2:170. 23. Mawdfidi, 174-175. Cf. Fazlurrahman: "What was spread by the sword was not the religion of Islam, but the political domain of Islam, so that Islam could work to produce the order on the earth that the Qur'an seeks." Major Themes, p. 63. 24. Mahmild Shaltilt, "The Koran and Fighting, " tr. Rudolph Peters (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1977 [Arabic: Al-Islam wa 1-Qital (Cairo, 1367/1948)]. 25. Ibid., 51, 55. 26. Ibid., 75-78. 27. Ibid., 27. 28. Ibid., 31, 34-35, 37. 29. Ibid., 51. 30. Abii Zahrah, 44-88. See also 'All 'All Mansir, Ash-Shariah al-Islamiyyah wa i-Qdnin ad-Dawlf al-'Amm (Cairo: Dar al-Qalam, [Foreword 1382/1962]), and Mo- hammad Talaat al Ghunaimi, The Muslim Conception of International Law and the Western Approach (The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 1968). 31. Entitled "The Bases of Human Relations" (Da'a'im al-'Alaqat al-Insaniyyah), 19-46. 32. Shaltit, 47-48. About jizya Shaltfit remarks that it symbolizes submission on the part of non-Muslims and reflects their willingness to participate in the administration of the State. Ibid., p. 48, n. 33. See Shaltilt's criticism of the use of the principle in this connection, ibid., 52- 54. 126 Jihad in Islam 34. For example, unlike the apologist, he is not too eager to reject problematic ahidith, and works his way through them rather than around them. Cf., as an illustration of this difference, the treatment of the Hadith, "I have been commanded to fight people until they should declare, 'There is no god but God,'" in Cheragh Ali (p. 134) and in Shaltiit, (p. 50, n.). 35. In criticizing certain aspects of the tradition, the modernist often draws sup- port from the tradition itself, using ideas and opinions that have been pushed into the background by mainstream thought. Abi Zahrah provides several instances of this. 36. Abli Zahrah (p. 111) explains why the jurists insisted on the ten-year limit. 37. Ibid., 83-84. See ibid., 84-87 for a discussion of the several possible situations in which a State--Muslim or non-Muslim-might choose to remain neutral. 38. Ibid., 115-116. 39. Ibid., 57. Cf. Louis Gardet, who says about the Islamic laws concering war: "Les regles ... sont le plus souvent un reflet de ce qu'htaient h leur hpoque les lois ordi- naires de la guerre; ces rigles ne sont point, de soi immuables. Rien ne semble s'opposer a ce qu'elles se conforment aux lois internationales modernes." L'Islam: Religion et Communaute (Paris: Desclke De Brouwer, 1967), 133. 40. Moojan Momen, An Introduction to Shif Islam: The History and Doctrines of Twelver Shi ism (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1985), 180, 189. The Zaydis, it should be noted, do not make this stipulation, their views on the whole being identical to the Sunni views. 41. Ibid., 190. 42. 'All B. 'Uthm&n al-Jullbi al-Hujwirl, The Kashf al-MahbYfb, tr. Reynold A. Nicholson, new ed. (London: Luzac, 1936; 1976 repr.), 200-201. Titus Burckhardt, An Introduction to Sufi Doctrine, tr. D. M. Matheson (Wellinborough, Northampton- shire: The Aquarian Press, 1976), 101, 120. 43. Qutb, in Bann&-Qutb-Mawdidi, 120. 44. Banna, in Banna-Qutb-Mawdfidi, 84. 45. Rahman, Islam, 37. 46. Rahman writes: "The feature of combining religious training with jihdd ... is not an uncommon phenomenon in the pre-Modernist reform movements." 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"Baha' al-Din ibn Shaddad" "Ibn cAsakir" "Ibn Bibi" "Ibn al-Qalanisi" "'Imad al-Din al-Isfahani" "Kamal al-Din" "al-Makin" "al-Maqrizi" "al-Quda'i" "Sibt ibn al-Jawzi" "Usamah ibn Munqidh" RSITY w aw I %OF