Download PDF | Christophe Picard, Nicholas Elliott - Sea of the Caliphs_ The Mediterranean in the Medieval Islamic World-Harvard University Press (2018).
411 Pages
INTRODUCTION
The End of the Moorish and Saracen Pirate? as zx By He who sent Muhammad with the truth, I will never let any Muslim venture out on it [the Mediterranean] . . . How could I allow my soldiers to sail on this disloyal and cruel sea? —‘Umar b. al-Khattab (634–644)
This statement, attributed to the man seen by Muslims in the Middle Ages as the greatest caliph of Islam and the initiator and organizer of the Arab conquests, has led to a lasting misunderstanding regarding the history of Muslims in the Mediterranean in Islam’s first centuries. Indeed, when Fernand Braudel opened his classic study of the Mediterranean by declaring, “I have loved the Mediterranean with passion,” he was not thinking of a Christian and Muslim sea but rather of that of the Latin merchants responsible for capitalism’s first stirrings.1
Braudel recognized Islam as one of the great Mediterranean civilizations but saw it as only a minor player in the maritime and economic development of the Middle Ages. In his wake, histories of the medieval Mediterranean have pushed Islam’s sailors into the background, generally relegating them to the status of pirates. Beginning with the scholarly works of Henri Pirenne, the Arab conquest (634–732) was held responsible for the crisis of the Roman Mare Nostrum triggered by the plague in the middle of the sixth century. According to Pirenne and those who followed, Muslim expansion resulted in a long economic, demographic, and cultural depression in the Mediterranean basin, sustained by the permanent war between Muslims and Christians.2
Only the great tenth century stood out as the moment when the Muslim world flourished in the Mediterranean: taking advantage of the effects of economic recovery, the two Mediterranean caliphates of the Umayyads (931–1031) and the Fatimids (909–1171) successfully adapted the power, splendor, and glory of the Abbasid caliphate of Baghdad (749–1258) to the Islamic West, in order to compete for control of maritime space with the Macedonian emperors of Byzantium (867–1059).
This ushered in the second period of the Mediterranean Middle Ages, beginning in the eleventh century, an era built on the foundations of Latin capitalism, which now allowed Italian, Provençal, and later Catalan sailors to take over the maritime routes and markets of Byzantium and Islam. The Muslim period in the Mediterranean appeared to be over, at least until the rise of Ottoman power.3 According to this view of history, conquering Islam’s encounter with the maritime space coincides with the period of crisis. As for the Latin period, it is closely tied to the phase of economic expansion.
The accepted version of the sea’s medieval history holds that before the tenth century, Muslim expansion on “the Sea of the Romans” (albahr al-Rumi), as it was referred to by the Arabs, was limited to piracy; that only the Fatimids and the caliphs of Córdoba took the initiative of developing economic and military activity on the sea; and that, with the exception of the Almohad caliphs of Marrakech (1147–1269), Muslim authorities then turned away from a sea now dominated by the great Latin ports.4 This version of history has generally been elaborated from a chronology imposed by the legacy of historical works on the Latin world, whose tools of evaluation were those of economic measurement, based on figures totally deficient before the eleventh century.
Above all else, the first medieval period was one that lacked documentary resources and has largely remained so: the economic situation was not bad, but it was initially impalpable, at least until the active, complex, and varied world that existed before the tenth century was revealed by archeologists ranging from Peter Brown to Chris Wickham, then historians of the medieval Latin world, and more recently those of Byzantium and Islam.5 This is how the Muslim pirate came into existence in the annals of Greek and Latin monks, for the victims were the only ones to bear witness to his assaults on Christian coasts. He is present in most histories of the Mediterranean, up to and including those of the present day.6
Yet, at the same time, a succession of leading works, starting in the period of the remarkable German school in the late nineteenth century and extending to significant texts such as Shlomo Goitein’s A Mediterranean Society (1967), reinforced new convictions that Islam held an undeniable place in the historical construction of a medieval Mediterranean Sea that was shared, multiple, and complex.7 The two half millennia after the fall of Rome and before the discovery of America and the Battle of Lepanto (1571) cannot be separated, for they were both medieval: the rupture that was originally perceived between the High Middle Ages and the time of Latin expansion has been replaced by an infinitely more complex cycle that dismisses any evaluation opposing the two medieval periods.
It is equally impossible to partition the medieval Mediterranean into religions, dynasties, naval powers, and especially societies, as defined by Peregrine Horden and Nicholas Purcell, and this despite the political and religious divisions and the effects of a specific environment on the molding of the Mediterranean man dear to Braudel: due to the constant relations between the Byzantine, Latin, and Muslim worlds, the sea remains a central space, both separating and connecting the three imperial areas as of the seventh century.8
It is also impossible to interpret the medieval Mediterranean without taking into account three continents and two oceans. The Middle Ages saw the opening of the Mediterranean to a larger world—the Sahara, continental Asia, the Indian Ocean, and the areas of the North Sea and the Baltic Sea. Islam contributed significantly to this phenomenon. It was in Baghdad and Iran that the Mediterranean was first described in Arabic, far from the shores of the Sea of Rum, as the Byzantine Mediterranean was known.
The most difficult challenge for those interested in the Mediterranean as seen from the Islamic world is in accessing information on the sea from the initial centuries, ranging from the Hegira in 622 to the middle of the ninth century. Aside from two chronicles by the Andalusian Ibn Habib (d. 854) and the Egyptian Ibn ‘Abd al-Hakam (d. 871), both of which have little to say about maritime activity, the first Muslim and Mediterranean accounts of Islamic maritime pursuits come from the capitals of the Fatimid and Umayyad caliphates.
To make matters more complicated, like the Iraqi men of letters before them, the Mediterranean chroniclers rewrote the history of the Islamic times that preceded their own at the request of the tenth-century caliphs, specifically concentrating on the areas governed by the two sovereignties, using previous versions that were then eliminated.9 The chroniclers of both Mediterranean caliphates were very effective in shaping the timing of the Muslim occupation of the Mediterranean for posterity: according to them, the Muslim “pirate,” left to himself, prospered in the ninth century and disappeared under the two caliphates, to be replaced by sailors enlisted on the ships of the Commander of the Faithful.
After the twelfth century, the caliph’s sailor was once again said to disappear from the history of the Mediterranean, this time due to the Latins. Venice, Pisa, and Genoa gradually chased the “Moorish and Saracen pirates” out of Mediterranean waters and imposed their remarkable naval and commercial organization throughout the entire Mediterranean world. Joined by the Catalans, they developed the practice of international trade with the Byzantines and Muslims and by the thirteenth century had secured a monopoly on maritime trade, at the expense of Islamic and Greek sailors.
At this stage, Muslim and Christian piracy no longer appears in Mediterranean sources, as it were, outside of minor pieces of news. A different history of the Mediterranean is imposed, shaped by Latin endeavors and most often relegating Byzantium and Islam’s role on the sea to a passive one or that of a victim, particularly in questions of trade. Since the publication of the works of Braudel and his disciple Maurice Lombard, who returned the Muslim Mediterranean to a central place, the region’s history has enjoyed an intense historiographic decompartmentalization, which has modified approaches to a history of the Mediterranean now told in three voices: Latin, Greek, and Arabic.
Going beyond the monographs on Italian and Catalonian trading cities and the many scholarly works on their commercial networks, studies of the merchants of Muslim countries and Byzantium have allowed history to reveal an economic and, more specifically, commercial world that is far from limited to the major Italian networks.10 Over the last half a century, the study of the lands bordering the sea in the first centuries of the Middle Ages has opened the door to a far different approach to the Mediterranean context.11 Archeologists are now finding traces of human settlements from every period of the High Middle Ages on a significant proportion of the Mediterranean’s shores.
There are signs of uninterrupted human activity, including during the worst periods of plague and war. At the same time, the diversity of scenarios revealed by excavations invalidates the idea of the development of an economic situation measured on the scale of the Mediterranean, replacing it with regional, urban, and village contexts. In fact, there can no longer be any question of a lasting economic crisis said to have affected the entire Mediterranean from the sixth to the ninth centuries.12 While there are numerous references to crises and catastrophes, these have an uneven impact on cities and rural areas across the region and at different times.
The fragmented periods and spaces of crisis brought to light by numerous archeological digs dismiss the argument carefully elaborated by Pirenne. The focus on social changes connected to a state of lasting conflict or the crisis arising from the breakdown of power, particularly in Italy in the ninth to eleventh centuries, has shown that war was no longer the area’s sole agent of destruction and crisis. The change in the status of populations and the social reorganization driven by the new forces resulting from the collapse of earlier states, adapted to economic conditions and leading to the disappearance of slavery and serfdom in the countryside, are now considered the principal catalysts of a restructuring of rural societies and landscapes, as seen with the incastellamento in Latium.
In the tenth century, a new hierarchization of elites benefited local aristocracies born of the former Carolingian and Lombardian structures. Thus the permanence of the Muslim threat to Christian shores no longer appears as the principal reason for regional developments, outside of isolated instances.13 In addition, accounts showing that commercial navigation was maintained all along Mediterranean shores throughout the High Middle Ages, and, particularly, during and after the Arab conquest from the seventh to the ninth centuries, suggest that activity on the sea was not limited to the misdeeds of Moorish and Saracen piracy. Yet no serious speculation is possible at this stage.
At the same time, the foundations for this regionalized history remain fragile insofar as sources are rare and nearly exclusively come from palace circles or the spheres of the military, merchant, judicial, or ecclesiastical aristocracy. Despite the fact that archeologists have allowed us to penetrate deeper and deeper into the private world of every kind of medieval home, Horden and Purcell argue that this narrow perspective deprives us of direct access to the history of the vast majority of Mediterranean societies, which were incontestably the prime actors of the Mediterranean’s development, at least before the tenth century.14
The two English historians, who seek to break down the barriers of Mediterranean history and get outside the restrictive context of leadership circles, are no different from Braudel in putting aside the part played by the people of the Islamic world in building and developing the medieval Mediterranean, despite the commentary provided by two leading sources on Islam, the letters of Jewish merchants discovered in Cairo and the Arabic geography text by al-Muqaddasi (d. ca. 1000), a native of Jerusalem.15
The collection of thousands of letters written by Jewish merchants discovered in the Geniza—the storeroom for writings containing the name of God—in the Ben Ezra Synagogue in Cairo shows that the Muslim world’s written sources do not exclusively come from chancelleries and judicial circles. Nonetheless, Goitein’s remarkable study emphasizes the exceptional nature of these documents in the context of the written production of medieval Islamic cultures, despite the fact that other stores of letters by merchants have been found on the shores of the Red Sea.16 Al-Muqaddasi’s passages devoted to the Beqaa valley in the mountains of Lebanon detail a land admirably put to use by the low mountainous region’s rural communities, though this is not the geographer’s aim, other than to associate the region’s prosperity with good government by the Fatimids.
The geographer traveled the world as a purported Ismailist missionary, but he kept his mind open to any display of Muslim superiority: “The depiction of the world is limited to Islam, even more strictly than with the predecessors.”17 This description fits into the unique framework of the Mamlakat al-Islam, the Islamic empire. Al-Muqaddasi described and hierarchized the different parts of the empire that he visited, particularly those east of the Mediterranean; like his fellow geographers, he provides a report on the state of the Muslim world, which includes the Muslim Mediterranean—in this case, that of the Fatimids. Its stated prosperity is the proof of good government, but it does not yield a picture of the agrarian society’s structure or of the connections between communities too conventional to be used by a historian seeking to make an economic and social assessment of the region.18
Before we ask Horden and Purcell’s question, “What is the Mediterranean?” we should perhaps first ask ourselves which Mediterranean and what history of the Mediterranean writers and geographers of the time wanted to leave to posterity, as well as for whom their descriptions of the territories of Islam were intended. Regarding Islam, the answer is provided by André Miquel: “Arab geography is the daughter of the caliphate of Baghdad,” and it “is primarily interested in the role and place, in the world, of the new man created by Islam,” specifically as it applies to the political and religious context and above all else to the demonstration of the legitimacy of the universal caliphate, in this case the Fatimid.19
The Arab scriptural environment had a major impact on the types of documents and content produced by Islam’s men of letters. Our perception of the maritime societies of the Islamic coastline is therefore affected by the knowledge that the fleets presented in Christian sources as belonging to pirates—a term justified on the part of the victims—were, in the minds of Muslims, squadrons under orders from the Muslim sovereign to conquer or weaken Christian infidels. These “pirates” lived off privateering, most often under the control of the state, but also from trade, which was active along Muslim shores and, more often than has been acknowledged, all the way to Christian coasts, where Muslim merchants were heartily welcomed by the Greeks and Latins during periods of truce.
These sailors, seen by Muslim authorities as defenders and conquerors for Islam and remunerated for their booty, were recognized as pious and worthy men for having pillaged infidel monasteries and shores that had to be depopulated to stock the palaces with slaves. In the same spirit, the Mediterranean described by al-Muqaddasi appears either as a Roman sea, and consequently as a space to be conquered, or as an Islamic sea, generous and open. The geographer was himself indebted to the way the caliphal chancelleries had imposed a view of the Mediterranean developed “under orders from the Caliph,” beginning in the earliest times of the Abbasids.20 Whatever scenarios one adheres to regarding the formation and development of a politically divided medieval Mediterranean in a permanent state of war, the populations that appear in the documentation left by the three empires are not ones that were allegedly ruined by the plague and raids of the High Middles Ages until the maritime and merchant Latin powers took over the now-prosperous area.
Looked at as a whole, these sources offer another version of the Mediterranean’s development: for all the regions, the men of letters more often describe societies increasingly well adapted to mutations, beginning with the crisis of the sixth century and related to permanent confrontation on the vast land and sea frontier. This socioeconomic context, often idealized by administrators and religious men, does not provide an overview of Christian or Muslim society, let alone a comprehensive picture, but it does occasionally allow one to understand how these hardworking populations adapted to constantly changing worlds. The texts written by the first generation of Muslim men of letters were the fruit of a civilization that was not seeking to turn the Mediterranean Sea into a new Mare Nostrum but rather intended to cross it to impose Islam on the European continent.
These writings focused on the description of the state supervision of a coastal and maritime space that was constructed for defense but also to develop profitable activities. War is constantly present but appears as an essential instrument for the organization of border regions, under the control of the Latin, Byzantine, and Muslim states, thus underlining the role played by those in power. As seen in the texts, the sea remained an affair of state throughout the Middle Ages.21 Perhaps the real medieval rupture, having started with the Italian city-states in the twelfth century, began when the refer-ences to a military and imperial environment were replaced by those to the bankers and merchants who were able to impose their “capitalist” ways on the church.22
While Arabs produced a tremendous quantity of writing, particularly beginning in the tenth century, across the entire vast Islamic area, very few of these texts concern actual maritime or trading activity on the Mediterranean. As for the archives assembled by the great Italian port cities of Pisa, Genoa, and Venice or kept by the Crown of Aragon, they do not contain the notarized agreements, wills, contracts, or other written documents that would allow us to delve into the closed circle of trade networks, notaries’ offices, and dockyards, let alone into the crews—pirates or sailors of the caliph—on ships’ decks.
Nearly all of the Arabic documents resulting from Muslim naval activities on the Mediterranean are by writers in princely entourages, all perfectly familiar with the ins and outs of Muslim palaces, but rarely with maritime techniques, in which they had no interest. In most cases, only the legal and fiscal perspective or military framework was of interest. With the exception of Sinbad the Sailor on the Indian Ocean and a few heroes who built their reputations by leading Muslim fleets to victory over Greek or Latin ships, Muslim seamen were rarely popular subjects, for the record of the construction of Mediterranean Islam was devoted to men of the caliph, emir, or sultan or to the circles of jurists and Sufi saints, countless figureheads who fill the many biographical volumes written by scholars.
As for the Sea of the Romans, often referred to as such in Arabic sources, it remained a boundary first and foremost and thus a space over which was exercised the sovereignty of the Prophet’s successors. Unlike the literature of the Indian Ocean, none of the available literature on the Mediterranean Sea originates from the world of sailors, with the exception of indirect references via jurists or employees of the sultans’ administrations. Documents on the sea, the navy, and sailors were indeed written or drawn by and for seafarers, at least since the tenth century on the Mediterranean, but all that survives is the production of Arab geographers and encyclopedists who took this prose and removed technical details considered useless to produce a literary work for a general audience, intended to be read in the lounges of the capital and leading cities of Islam.
The sorting of copied texts led these same men of letters to remove from shelves and offices works considered obsolete or unrelated to the definition of the standards of Islam. Muslims archived documents, but then they threw out parchments or used them to make palimpsests, washing the paper and erasing outdated text to use the paper for new text. More generally, a palace’s archival documents disappeared as soon as they were no longer useful or when the palace was destroyed or vacated by successors or usurpers who had a new residence built and amassed new archives, which were equally perishable if they did not serve to prove or demonstrate the ruler’s legitimacy. Only those documents containing the name of God, like the letters in the Geniza, had to be preserved.
Like all the information that would allow us to piece together the organization of Muslim navies, orders regarding dockyards, crews, the requisition of supplies, and the recruiting of oarsmen—discovered “by chance” on Egyptian papyri dating from the beginning of the eighth century—were kept only as long as they were useful.23 Does this indicate that Muslim sailors and merchants sailed and traded less than Latin sailors? Not at all. Muslim sailors certainly roamed wider than the Muslim documents suggest. This is clearly demonstrated by the fact that Muslim “pirates” are known to have existed merely because Christian victims spoke of them, while the Muslim authorities did not deem it useful to record every one of the raids actually carried out by crews under orders from the caliph or the emir, which left the sailors and their actions to vanish into oblivion.
Did the Muslims engage in less sea trade? Anyone who takes the time to read the Arab geographic and legal sources will see this is far from the case, and the discovery of the Geniza letters has shown that the Muslim world’s trade networks could be as structured as those of the great Latin ports. Most information on the sea is nearly entirely drawn from a chancellery literature devoted to supporting the sovereigns. Even critical, independent minds such as al-Muqaddasi could not avoid thinking and writing like men trained in the circles of scholars and administrators. However, this Arab geographer’s description of the Mediterranean reveals how well he knew that world and navigation.
While most of his information on the sea, fleets, sailors, and commerce was intended to advance the naval and trading policy of whatever sovereign was in power, it also included references to many aspects of maritime life and revealed the extent of the Muslim occupation and exploitation of the sea and its riches, for sustenance and other uses. It even reveals the sea’s Islamic universality and humanity, as praised by the Almohad caliph ‘Abd al-Mu’min in a speech to his officers in Marrakech.24 This brings us back to the question raised by Horden and Purcell and many other historians before them: What is the medieval Mediterranean? If we take into account the Arabic records of the time, it is not the sea of the Muslim pirate but rather the domain of the sailor, whether military or commercial, in the service of his own fortune and the caliph.
The sailor competed for control of the Mediterranean with the Greek and Latin peoples and was honored for it, though not on the same level as the other heroes of Islam. We must give credit where credit is due: this period in history belongs first and foremost to the caliphs, buttressed by scholars and particularly jurists. According to the precept that it is the time of writing, rather than the time described in the writing, that marks the first historical time period, we must follow the pace set by the texts written for the caliphs. The first period to yield an Arabic description of the Mediterranean was that of the Abbasid caliphate, beginning in the middle of the ninth century.
Recorded accounts come from oral and written traditions that reached the capitals and other cities of the Dar al-Islam, or territory of Islam, through a series of transmitters and were passed down from the conquerors and those who succeeded them: nothing is invented or supposed, subject to discredit, but the texts are shaped by the period during which they were rewritten. The use of these selected versions orients the narrative according to a logic that most often leads back to the Iraqi caliphs’ Mediterranean strategies. Beginning in the tenth century, the written production of the Mediterranean caliphal capitals in Córdoba, Kairouan, and Cairo rivaled that of Baghdad, at a time when the caliphs were losing both actual power and prestige.
The texts produced by the Andalusian (756–929) and Aghlabid (800–909) emirates were later adopted by writers working for caliphs in al-Andalus and Ifriqiya, for the same reasons that the writings concerning the sovereigns of Iraq were adopted. This caliphal production suffered the effects of time; only a very limited part of this literature has reached us. Most of the Mediterranean production on the first centuries of Islam is found in the histories that proliferated in the major capitals from the eleventh century onward. We can therefore assert that it was the Eastern men of letters, from Iran to Egypt, who imposed the forms of so-called classical Arabic literature. To a great extent, the outlines of the Mediterranean as depicted by Eastern men of letters are found in the geographic and historical descriptions of the scholars of the two Western caliphates in the tenth century, as well as in the Arabic descriptions and chronicles of the last centuries of the Middle Ages.
However, both the Fatimids and the Umayyads imposed new outlines of their sea’s history and geography, geared to the new context and the sea’s importance in establishing their own legitimacy. The men of letters in the circles of the Almohad caliphs, the last sovereigns of the Middle Ages to conceive of the sea as a fullfledged Muslim imperial space, produced an even more voluminous literature on the sea. At the same time, the features of this caliphal literature of the Mediterranean had a profound impact on descriptions of the Sea of Rum, particularly in the Maghreb and Cairo, until the end of the Middle Ages. Though the Ottomans did not deny this past, it fell to them to impose their own view of the sea, as seen from the palace terraces of Istanbul after 1453.
All the other Islamic powers that shared the shores of the Mediterranean, particularly the sultanates of Egypt, left traces of their own literary commitment. The sea holds a significant place throughout the extant texts and appears in every kind of Arabic written expression, as long as it is in the service of “imperial”—and consequently restrictive—promotion.25 It is through this construction of a Muslim and Arab world on the Mediterranean, mobilizing every form of expression of the prolific Arabic literature, that one can understand a profile of the Sea of the Romans as written by Arab writers, more rarely by Persian writers, beginning in the ninth century and continuing throughout the medieval period.
The chronological framework we find here is primarily the one imposed by successive caliphates. Their representations of the Mediterranean must therefore serve as a fundamental basis for the history of the Muslim Mediterranean: The Arab conquest of the sea and its shores from 634 to 749, led with an iron hand by the Rashidun caliphs of Medina (632–661), followed by the Umayyads, is only known to us through the Abbasid versions of the maritime region’s history and subsequent texts. Al-Tabari’s history, completed around 915, was considered by his peers to be the greatest Arabic chronicle of all time.26 References to the expansion onto the sea and its shores beginning in 750 are limited in the sources produced in Baghdad and Samarra, but they are sufficient to observe the Iraqi caliphs’ constant interest in the Syrian coast and, additionally, in the maritime space of the Mediterranean as a whole.
Rather than focusing on actual strategy, most references to the Mediterranean area in caliphal and legal literature deal with the caliphs’ involvement on the Byzantine frontier in Anatolia from 754 to 945, to a lesser extent with military policy along the coasts of the Near East, and especially with the updating of jihad made necessary by the lasting stabilization of the fronts. Beginning in the ninth century, several dissident powers in the Muslim West took over from the Abbasids, drawing direct inspiration from the model of the caliphs. The Iraqi sovereigns thus imposed the practices of jihad, which were adapted to every Mediterranean frontier until the end of the Middle Ages. The Mediterranean caliphates of the Fatimids and the Umayyads picked up where their predecessors left off. Their scribes took great care to describe involvement in the war against the Christians, particularly on the sea, in the context of a demonstration of their universal legitimacy on the path to seizing Baghdad. Ibn Khaldun (d. 1406) declared that this period was marked by Islam’s near total domination on the sea.
However, the impact of the rivalry between the two Mediterranean caliphates on both caliphates’ maritime strategies extended far beyond the aspiration to conquer Iraq until al-Mu‘izz (953–975) moved his dynasty to Egypt in 971. Once al-Mu‘izz settled in Cairo, his policy evolved with the establishment of good relations—primarily commercial—with the Byzantines, then the Latins. Following the crisis that starved the Nile valley from 1065 to 1072 and during the time sailors from Pisa, Venice, and Genoa were coming to trade in the Egyptian capital and Alexandria, the development of maritime and commercial activities on the Red Sea and the Indian Ocean allowed the Shiite sovereigns to reinforce their control over traffic between these two maritime regions.
Beginning in the eleventh century, Latin offensives forced regional powers, and, in particular, the Almoravids of Marrakech (1072–1147), then the Almohad caliphate in the West and the Egyptian caliphs (971–1171) in the East (until the loss of Ashkelon to the Crusaders in 1154) to maintain their military presence on the Mediterranean to deter attacks from the sea. The Berber caliphate was to be the last Muslim maritime power able to compete with the Latins. After the defeat at Las Navas de Tolosa in 1212, the crises faced by the Almohad state beginning in 1215— and the maritime and commercial ventures of Latin ports—turned the Mediterranean into a Latin sea once and for all. In Egypt and Syria, neither the Ayyubids (1171–1250) nor the Mamluks (1250–1517) presented the navy as an emblem of their power, though they were able to fit out galleys when they needed to.27 Saladin (1171–1193) acknowledged that only the caliphs of the Maghreb could rival the Latin enemy on the water.28
The Marinids (1258–1465) in Fez and the Hafsids (1229–1574) in Tunis paid sufficient attention to their fleets to mostly resist Christian pressure and maintain control of the Strait of Gibraltar, at least until the fourteenth century. Was this the end of the Muslim Mediterranean? Muslim sailors were now only found in a few zones along the African coast and, beginning with the Turkish settlement of Anatolia in the eleventh century, the Asian coasts of the Sea of Marmara and soon the Dardanelles.
Until the sixteenth-century exploits of Hayreddin Barbarossa (d. 1546), admiral of the Sublime Porte, and especially the Ottoman domination of the Mediterranean, as of the thirteenth century neither the caliph’s sailor nor the Moorish or Saracen pirate could claim to compete for the sea with the Latin world’s maritime forces, outside of carrying out a few raids that announced the return of the Muslim pirate.
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