Egypt and Syria under Mamluk rule political, social and cultural aspects 2021024342, 2021024343, 9789004459519, 9789004459717, 9004459510

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Egypt and Syria under Mamluk Rule

Islamic History and Civilization studies and texts

Editorial Board Hinrich Biesterfeldt Sebastian Günther

Honorary Editor Wadad Kadi

volume 181

The titles published in this series are listed at brill.com/ihc

Egypt and Syria under Mamluk Rule Political, Social and Cultural Aspects

Edited by

Amalia Levanoni

leiden | boston

Cover illustration: A marble mosaic panel (fifteenth c.) (Sothebys, London, 19 October 2016, lot no. 233) Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Levanoni, Amalia, editor. Title: Egypt and Syria under Mamluk rule : political, social and cultural aspects / edited by Amalia Levanoni. Other titles: Islamic history and civilization ; v. 181. 0929-2403 Description: Leiden ; Boston : Brill, 2021. | Series: Islamic history and civilization, 0929-2403 ; volume 181 | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: lccn 2021024342 (print) | lccn 2021024343 (ebook) | isbn 9789004459519 (hardback) | isbn 9789004459717 (ebook) Subjects: lcsh: Mamelukes. | Egypt–History–1250-1517. | Syria–History–1260-1516. | Egypt–Economic conditions–640-1517. | Syria–Economic conditions. Classification: lcc dt96 .e48 2021 (print) | lcc dt96 (ebook) | ddc 962/.024–dc23 lc record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021024342 lc ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021024343

Typeface for the Latin, Greek, and Cyrillic scripts: “Brill”. See and download: brill.com/brill‑typeface. issn 0929-2403 isbn 978-90-04-45951-9 (hardback) isbn 978-90-04-45971-7 (e-book) Copyright 2022 by Amalia Levanoni. Published by Koninklijke Brill nv, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill nv incorporates the imprints Brill, Brill Nijhoff, Brill Hotei, Brill Schöningh, Brill Fink, Brill mentis, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, Böhlau Verlag and V&R Unipress. Koninklijke Brill nv reserves the right to protect this publication against unauthorized use. Requests for re-use and/or translations must be addressed to Koninklijke Brill nv via brill.com or copyright.com. This book is printed on acid-free paper and produced in a sustainable manner.

Contents Preface vii List of Figures viii Abbreviations x Notes on Contributors Introduction

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1

part 1 Public Space 1

Protest Songs from the Streets of Mamluk Cities Li Guo

17

2

Travails of Prohibition: Suppression of Alcohol Use in the Mamluk Sultanate 25 Carl F. Petry

3

Europeans and Ottomans in the Mamluk Sultanate: Notes on Terminology and Sources 38 Yaacov Lev

part 2 Political Culture 4

The Names of the Mamlūks: Ethnic Groups and Ethnic Solidarity in the Mamluk Sultanate (648–922/1250–1517) 59 Koby Yosef

5

Nomen Est Omen: David Ayalon, the Mamluk Sultanate, and the Reign of the Turks 119 Jo Van Steenbergen

6

A High Officer and His Reward: The Public Activity of a Commander of the Sultan’s Arms Depot in the Early Fourteenth Century 138 Joseph Drory

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contents

part 3 Archival Literature 7

Ikhwāniyyāt Letters in the Mamluk Period: A Document (Muṭālaʿa) Issued by al-Muʾayyad Shaykh’s Chancery and a Contribution to Mamluk Diplomatics 157 Frédéric Bauden

part 4 Economy of Infrastructures 8

Grain, Textiles, and Demand Elasticity in Late Mamluk Egypt: A Preliminary Sketch 203 Stuart Borsch

9

The Management of Water in Fourteenth-Century Damascus Yehoshua Frenkel

10

Urban Water Management in the Medieval Middle East: The Case of Mamluk Cairo 255 Amalia Levanoni

11

Waqf as a Means of Securing Financial Assets: The “Self-Benefiting Waqf ” in Mamluk Egypt and Syria 277 Daisuke Igarashi

235

part 5 Communication Systems 12

Handlist of Stations of the Ayyubid and Mamluk Communication Systems 295 Kurt Franz Index

371

Preface This volume brings together twelve works by scholars specializing in different areas related to the Mamluk history of Egypt, the center of the Mamluk Sultanate (1250–1517), and Syria. The publications presented here are the fruit of an international conference that took place at the University of Haifa in April 2011. I extend my gratitude to my colleagues for their perseverance and efforts to produce an up-to-date volume in the ever-growing and changing field of Mamluk studies, which is now attracting rising numbers of young, promising scholars. I would also like to thank Esther Singer for her impressive work on the language editing of this volume and extend my gratitude to Rebekah Zwanzig for her professional and meticulous edition of this volume’s manuscript. I am grateful to the anonymous reader of this volume’s manuscript for his important and helpful comments. I am thankful to the Division of Humanities and the Research Authority of Haifa University for providing the financial aid enabling the publication of this volume.

Figures 7.1 7.2 7.3 7.4

7.5 7.6 7.7 7.8 7.9 7.10 7.11 8.1 8.2 8.3 8.4

8.5 8.6 8.7 8.8 8.9 8.10

Archivio di Stato di Venezia (ASVe) Procuratori di San Marco, ommissarie miste, busta 180, fascicolo ix, no. 3 (recto) 161 Archivio di Stato di Venezia (ASVe) Procuratori di San Marco, Commissarie miste, busta 180, fascicolo ix, no. 13 (recto) 162 Archivio di Stato di Venezia (ASVe) Procuratori di San Marco, Archivio di Stato di Venezia (ASVe) Procuratori di San Marco, Commissarie 163 Archivio di Stato di Venezia (ASVe) Procuratori di San Marco, Commissarie miste, busta 180, fascicolo ix, no. 3 and 13 (recto), virtual reconstruction 164 Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin, Preussischer Kulturbesitz, Orientabteilung, ms Orientabteilung, ms Petermann i 299, fol. 16a 189 British Library, London, ms Or. 3625, fol. 123b 189 Archivio di Stato di Venezia (ASVe) Procuratori di San Marco, Commissarie miste, busta 180, fascicolo ix, no. 3 (verso), detail 189 Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin, Preussischer Kulturbesitz, Orientabteilung, ms Petermann i 299, fol. 16b 189 British Library, London, ms Or. 3625, fol. 124a 190 Archivio di Stato di Venezia (ASVe) Procuratori di San Marco, Commissarie miste, busta 180, fascicolo ix, no. 3 (recto), detail 190 Archivio di Stato di Venezia (ASVe) Procuratori di San Marco, Commissarie miste, busta 180, fascicolo ix, no. 3 (recto), detail 190 Embroidered linen fragment from fourteenth century Mamluk Egypt 203 Embroidered silk fragment from fifteenth-century Mamluk Egypt 203 The basin irrigation system in Upper Egypt from Julien Barois, Irrigation in Egypt, Planche ii 205 Sultanī System: Jacotin, Pierre, Tableau de la superficie d’Egypt in Description of Egypt our recueil des observations et des recherches qui ont ete faites en Egypte pendant l’expedition de l’armee francaise 206 The production function 207 Average total cost, the Sultanī system, and returns to scale 208 1st type of elasticity of demand and supply of grain: drop of grain supply and increase in price, early 1300s and 1400s 209 Elasticity of grain demand and supply: increase of supply and drop of price, early 1300s and 1400s 210 Elasticity of textiles demand: high decrease in demand and supply and very moderate price increase, early 1300s and 1400s 211 2nd type: the cross-price elasticity of demand 212

figures 8.11 8.12 8.13 8.14 8.15 8.16 8.17 8.18 10.1

ix

Cross-price elasticity of food-nonfood demand, Egypt early fourteenth century and fifteenth century 216 3rd type: the income elasticity of demand 219 Production possibilities frontier for Mamluk Egypt in the early fourteenth century 220 Production possibilities frontier for Mamluk Egypt in the fifteenth century (1) 220 Production possibilities frontier for Mamluk Egypt in the fifteenth century (2) 221 Line from the original 1513 letter from Sultan Qāytbāy to the Doge of Venice 222 Wikipedia file: Eurasia (orthographic projection).svq 224 The Production Possibilities Frontier for Egypt and Eurasia in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries 225 Cairo and its environs during the fifteenth century 261

Abbreviations aesc ahr ai ahr aja ajpa amh amj ask asp beo bsoas cssh ei2 gsa hjas ias ijmes ils ios ipmj ja jah jal jaos jbe jesho jfa jis jis jnes jras jsai jss mhr msr mw

Annales Économies, Sociétés, Civilisations American Historical Review Annales Islamoloques American Historical Review American Journal of Archaeology American Journal of Physical Anthropology Annales of Medical History Academy of Management Journal Annemarie Schimmel Kolleg American Studies in Papyrology Bulletin d’études orientales Bulletin of the School of African and Oriental Studies Comparative Studies in Society and History The Encyclopaedia of Islam, second edition, Leiden 1960–2002 Geological Society of America Abstracts with Programs Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies The Journal of Asian Studies International Journal of Middle Eastern Studies Islamic Law and Society Israel Oriental Studies International Public Management Journal Journal Asiatique The Journal of American History Journal of Arabic Literature The Journal of the American Oriental Society Journal of Business Ethics Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient Journal of Field Archaeology Journal of Intercultural Studies Journal of Islamic Studies Journal of Near Eastern Studies Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society Jerusalem Studies in Arabic and Islam Journal of Semitic Studies Mediterranean Historical Review Mamluk Studies Review The Muslim World

abbreviations ocp rei rgl sa si zdmg

Orientalia Christiana Periodica Revue des Études Islamiques Revue de géographie de Lyon Scientific American Studia Islamica Zeitschrift der Deutschen Morgenländischen Gesellschaft

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Notes on Contributors Frédéric Bauden PhD (1996), is Professor of Arabic Language and Islamic Studies at Liège Université. His research focuses on Mamlūk historiography, diplomatics, and codicology. His publications cover the working methods of historians and the study of documents issued by the chancery as well as the manuals redacted by the secretaries. Stuart J. Borsch earned his PhD (2002) at Columbia University in History and Medieval Islamic and Economic History. Since 2008, he has served as a professor in history at Assumption College in Worcester, Massachusetts. His research focus is on the Islamic economic history of Egypt and the second plague pandemic in Egypt. Borsch is the author of The Black Death in Egypt and England: A Comparative Study (2005) and has contributed to periodicals such as the Mamluk Studies Review and Comparative Studies in Society, Medieval Islamic Civilization: An Encyclopedia, and others. Joseph Drory PhD (1984), is Emeritus Professor of Medieval Islamic History at Bar-Ilan University (Israel). His main areas of interest and research are Arabic geographers, the medieval history of Jerusalem, and Ayyubid and Mamluk politics. He is the author of many articles on these topics and the editor of Jerusalem under the Mamluks, (2012, in Hebrew). Kurt Franz is a historian of the Islamic Middle East and serves as Professor of Islamic Studies at the University of Tübingen. His research focuses on the political and social history of the area to 1600, Arabic historical and geographical transmission, and the intertwining of spatial history and contemporaries’ spatial mindsets. He won his PhD at Hamburg with a thesis on compilation and intertextuality in Arabic chronicles. Having published widely on the relations between nomads and sedentary people, he among others authored a book on the history of the Syro-Mesopotamian Bedouin and coedited Nomad Military Power in Iran and Adjacent Areas. He more recently turned to exploring the use of historical geo-data, cartography, and Geographic Information Systems for the interdisciplinary study of the Middle East.

notes on contributors

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Yehoshua Frenkel earned his PhD at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. He is a professor emeritus at the University of Haifa. His research interests embrace popular culture, communal practices, social history, and legal discourse in medieval and early modern Egypt and Syria (1100–1700). He has published extensively on Mamluk society and history. His numerous publications include the annotated and English translation of the anthology Ḍawʾ al-sārī li-maʿrifat ḫabar Tamīm alDārī (2014), The Turkic Peoples in Medieval Arabic Writings (Routledge: London, 2015), and many articles in journal and edited books. Li Guo is Professor of Arabic at the University of Notre Dame in Indiana. He received his PhD in 1994 at Yale University. He has published monographs and articles on Mamluk historiography, Arabic documents, and Egyptian popular culture. He is the author of Early Mamlūk Syrian Historiography: Al-Yūnīnī’s Dhayl Mirʾāt alzamān (Brill, 1998), Commerce, Culture, and Community in a Red Sea Port in the Thirteenth Century: The Arabic Documents of Quseir (Brill, 2004), and The Performing Arts in Medieval Islam: Shadow Play and Popular Poetry in Ibn Dāniyāl’s Mamlūk Cairo (Brill, 2012). Li Guo is a coeditor of Brill’s book series Studies on Performing Arts and Literature in the Islamicate World and has published many articles in journals and edited books. Daisuke Igarashi earned his PhD in 2006 in History at Chuo University (Tokyo, Japan). He is a professor of Middle Eastern and Islamic Studies at Waseda University in Tokyo. He has published monographs and many articles on Mamluk political, social, and economic history, including Land Tenure, Fiscal Policy, and Imperial Power in Medieval Syro-Egypt (2015). Yaacov Lev PhD (1978), University of Manchester, is Professor Emeritus of Medieval Islamic History in the Department Of Middle Eastern Studies at Bar-Ilan University, Israel. His work covers early Muslim, Ayyubid, and Mamluk Egypt. He is the author of State and Society in Fatimid Egypt (1991) and Saladin in Egypt (1999) and editor of Charity, Endowments, and Charitable Institutions in Medieval Islam (2005). He is working on a book about the administration of justice in medieval Egypt (seventh–twelfth centuries). Amalia Levanoni (PhD, Hebrew University, 1990) is Professor Emerita of Medieval Islamic History at the Haifa University. She served as chair of the Department of Middle

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notes on contributors

Eastern History at the University of Haifa from 2004–2007 and as president of the Middle East and Islamic Studies Association of Israel from 2014–2016. Her monographs include The Mamluk Ascendancy to Power in Egypt, A Turning Point in Mamluk History, The Third Reign of al-Nāṣir Muḥammad Ibn Qalāwūn (1310–1341) (Leiden, 1995). She has coedited The Mamluks in Egyptian and Syrian Politics and Society (Leiden, 2004). She has published entries in encyclopedias and articles and chapters in edited books and journals such as Studia Islamica, International Journal of Middle East Studies, Der Islam, Mamluk Studies Review, and Arabica. Her main area of research is the political and social history of the Mamluks in Egypt and Syria, 1250–1517. Carl F. Petry is the Hamad ibn Khalifa Al Thani Professor of Middle East Studies, Department of History, Northwestern University. His research focuses on premodern Egypt, with emphasis on political economy. He has published: The Civilian Elite of Cairo in the Later Middle Ages (Princeton, 1982); Twilight of Majesty: The Reigns of the Mamluk Sultans al-Ashraf Qaytbay and Qansuh al-Ghawri in Egypt (U. Washington, 1993); Protectors or Praetorians? The Last Mamluk Sultans and Egypt’s Waning as a Great Power (suny, 1994); The Criminal Underworld in a Medieval Islamic Society: Narratives from Cairo under the Mamluks (Middle East Documentation Center, U. Chicago, 2012). He has edited and contributed to The Cambridge History of Egypt, vol. 1: Islamic Egypt, 640–1517 c.e. (Cambridge University Press, 1998). His teaching interests range from gender relations in the Islamic Middle Ages to Revolutionary Egypt under Nasser and Sadat. Jo Van Steenbergen (PhD, 2003) is research professor of Arabic and Islamic Studies at Ghent University (Belgium). He engages with the social and cultural history of the premodern Islamic world, with a particular focus on the Islamic middle period (ca. 1000–1500), on Egypt and Syria, on the practices, discourses, and structures of power elites in the sultanate of Cairo (ca. 1200–1517), and on the de/construction of grand narratives in Mamluk/Islamic history. He was a research fellow of the Netherlands-Flemish Institute in Cairo (nvic, 1997–1998, 2003), a research assistant at KULeuven (Belgium) and the Flemish Science Foundation (fwo) (1998–2003), a lecturer at the University of St Andrews (2004–2007), a senior research fellow at the Annemarie Schimmel Kolleg: History and Society during the Mamluk Era (1250–1517) (Bonn, 2014–2015), and a visiting lecturer/professor at the British Museum and at the School of Oriental and African Studies (London), at the Ecole Pratique des Hautes Etudes (Paris), and at the National University of Malaysia. Between 2009 and 2014 he was principal investigator

notes on contributors

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of the erc Starting Grant Project “The Mamlukisation of the Mamluk Sultanate. Political Traditions and State Formation in 15th-century Egypt and Syria.” Jo Van Steenbergen is general editor of al-Masāq: The Journal of the Medieval Mediterranean (Routledge), member of the programming committee of the imc (Leeds, UK), and editorial board member of Mamluk Studies (Bonn up), The Medieval Mediterranean (Brill), and Annales Islamologiques (ifao). Koby Yosef is a lecturer in the Department of Arabic at the Bar-Ilan University (Israel). He earned his PhD the University of Tel-Aviv (2011). His research focuses mainly on changing patterns of social ties and political practices among the mamlūk elite during the Mamluk Sultanate. He has numerous publications on ethnicity, perceptions of ethnic identity, and master-slave relationships within the mamlūk society during the Mamluk Sultanate.

Introduction Over the last three decades Mamluk studies in a wide range of areas have grown substantially thanks to the activity of three institutions. Since the 1990s, the Middle East Documentation Center at the University of Chicago (medoc) has published the journal Mamlūk Studies Review and maintained the Chicago Online Bibliography of Mamluk Studies. Since 2011, the Anne Marie Schimmel Kolleg “History and Society during the Mamluk Era (1250–1517)” at the University of Bonn has provided a research center for scholars, and its book series Mamluk Studies serves as a platform for the publication of the working papers and proceedings of conferences held at the Kolleg. The third institution is the School of Mamluk Studies established in 2014 by scholars from the Universities of Chicago (USA), Liege (Belgium), and Venice (Italy) with the aim of organizing annual conferences and publishing in either the Mamlūk Studies Review or in conference proceedings. The diversity of topics and opinions now found in conference proceedings and edited volumes mirrors the field’s rapidly advancing state of the art. In this volume as well, an attempt was made to position each contribution within current debates on issues in Mamluk scholarship. The twelve articles comprising this volume cover key topics in the politics, society, and culture of the Mamluk Sultanate in Egypt and Syria (648–923/1250– 1517). The book is divided into five thematic parts, the first of which, Public Spaces, consists of three studies. Li Guo examines the lively public chants and songs in “Protest Songs from the Streets of Mamluk Cities,” which in Mamluk sources are known as bullayq (or ballīq, sing. ballīqa, pl. balālīq). Li Gou shows how these mostly anonymous crude rhymes vented the commoners’ spontaneous but genuinely charged sentiments against political and social occurrences. They manifested their societal engagement as well as their political participation in the Mamluk realm. This study is a notable addition to Li Guo’s long-standing, extensive explorations of popular culture and poetry in Mamluk Egypt based on Ibn Dāniyāl’s three shadow plays, the only ones of their kind in premodern Arabic literature.1 For example, Li Guo’s The Performing Arts

1 L. Guo, The performing arts in medieval Islam: Shadow play and popular poetry in Ibn Daniyal’s Mamluk Cairo, Leiden-Boston 2012; Arabic shadow theatre 1300–1900: A handbook (Handbook of Oriental Studies: Section 1. The Near Middle East 143), Leiden-Boston 2020; The monk’s daughter and her suitor: An Egyptian shadow play about interfaith romance and insanity, in jaos 4 (2017), 785–803; Songs, poetry, and storytelling: Ibn Taghrī Birdī on the Yalbughā Affair, in Y. Ben Bassat (ed.), Developing perspectives in Mamluk history, Leiden 2017, 189–200; Crossgender “acting” and gender-bending rhetoric at a princely party: Performing shadow plays in

© Amalia Levanoni, 2022 | doi:10.1163/9789004459717_002

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in Medieval Islam is a full monograph on one of the three shadow plays by Ibn Dāniyāl (al-Khayāl or “The phantom”) and presents his biography and works. Guo produces a colorful picture of Ibn Dāniyāl, his era, and his place in Arabic literature and culture. In “Travails of Prohibition: Suppression of Alcohol Use in the Mamluk Sultanate,” Carl F. Petry examines cases of alcohol consumption, which are often cited by Mamluk chroniclers as an offence against religion and the most reprehensible of all crimes. He discusses the rulers’ actual dictates and policies relating to this breach of public order. The appeal of alcohol to individuals from all walks of life and its condemnation in the Sharīʿa as a crime often prompted Mamluk sultans to prohibit the sale of wine at the outset of their reigns to demonstrate their commitment to the enforcement of Islamic law. Practically, Petry argues, prosecution for alcohol consumption in public was more flexible and pragmatic and reflected the realities of power. While civil litigation under Sharīʿa law has been examined in research, Petry’s emphasis in this article, and more inclusively in his monograph The Criminal Underworld in Medieval Islamic Society: Narratives from Cairo and Damascus under the Mamluks,2 is on cases of crime, mainly in Cairo, as recorded in chronicles of the Mamluk period. The examination of actual crimes in terms of the Mamluk rulers’ pragmatic dictates provides new insights into the policies and methods of mitigating the gap between the law and daily life. Generally, Petry argues, the authorities’ pragmatic dealings with crime did not compromise the security of society throughout the Mamluk rule of Egypt. The monograph Délinquance et ordre social: L’État mamlouk syro-égyptien face au crime à la fin du ixe–xve siècle by Bernadette Martel-Thoumian provides a more panoramic description of the nature and extent of crime in fifteenth-century Egypt and Syria and the governments’ actions to uphold public security.3 Martel-Thoumian idenMamluk Cairo, in M.A. Pomerantz and E. Birge Vitz (eds.), The Presence of power: Courts and performance in the premodern Middle East: 700–1600 ce, New York 2017, 164–175; Ibn Dāniyāl’s “Diwan”: In light of ms Ayasofya 4880, in Quaderni di Studi Arabi 5–6 (2010–2011), 163–176; Mamluk historical rajaz poetry: Ibn Dāniyāl’s judge list and its later adaptations, in msr 14 (2010), 43–62; Self-mockery as a genre in Mamluk satiric poetry: Ibn Dāniyāl on his estranged wife and midlife crisis, jsai 32 (2006), 269–285; Reading adab in a historical light: Factuality and ambiguity in Ibn Daniyal’s “occasional verses” on Mamluk society and politics, in J. Pfeiffer, and Sh.A. Quinn (eds.), History and historiography of post-Mongol Central Asia and the Middle East, Wiesbaden 2006, 383–403; The Devil’s advocate: Ibn Daniyal’s art of parody in his qasidah no. 71, in msr 7/1 (2003), 177–209; Paradise lost: Ibn Dāniyāl’s response to Baybars’ campaign against vice in Cairo, in jaos 121/2 (2001), 219–235. 2 Petry, C.F., Criminal underworld in medieval Islamic society: Narratives from Cairo and Damascus under the Mamluks (Chicago Studies on the Middle East 9), Chicago 2012. 3 Martel Thoumian, B., Délinquance et ordre social: L’État mamlouk syro-égyptien face au crime à la fin du ixe–xve siècle, Bordeaux 2012.

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tifies signs of the decline of the Mamluk Sultanate in its judiciary response to crime. Offences have also been discussed extensively in research in relation to the position and duties of the muḥtasib, the inspector of markets and public spaces. Kristen Stilt’s monograph Islamic Law in Action: Authority, Discretion, and Everyday Experiences in Mamluk Egypt4 is an in-depth investigation of how the muḥtasib as a state agent pragmatically negotiated the boundaries between religious law and society in everyday life in late medieval Egypt. These distinctions with respect to the Mamluk authorities’ policies and methods of mitigating the gap between the law and daily life in the crime scene are valuable additions to research on the management of the public sphere. They go beyond the study of civil litigation under Sharīʿa law that has been the focus of most research to date. Yaacov Lev examines the terminology referring to Europeans in Mamluk historiography in his “Europeans and Ottomans in the Mamluk Sultanate: Notes on Terminology and Sources.” Lev shows how the terms Bilād al-Rūm and rūmī, rūm/awrām, and ifranj/ firanj took on new meanings as a function of political developments and geographic arenas. The terms Bilād al-Rūm and rūmī, rūm/arwām were associated in early Muslim sources with Byzantine Asia Minor. After the Seljukid invasion of the Byzantine Empire, the association of the term rūm with Byzantium became less explicit. In Mamluk biographical and historical writings, the term Bilād al-Rūm came to denote Asia Minor; namely, Seljukid Asia Minor and Ottoman Asia Minor. The terms ifranj/ firanj indicating collectively the European nations involved in the Crusades later came to indicate those nations that ceased being crusading powers to become the commercial partners of the Mamluks, and they also designated Europeans living in Mamluk cities. Lev argues that terminology can be both enduring and flexible and reflects on how identity was perceived. Part Two of this book, Political Culture, features four articles. Koby Yosef discusses the importance of blood ties and ethnicity in cementing relationships in Mamluk society in “The Names of the Mamlūks: Ethnic Groups and Ethnic Solidarity in the Mamluk Sultanate (1250–1517).” He argues that mamlūks were given names indicative of their ethnic origin. Mapping mamlūks’ names and name-giving practices are thus effective tools for detecting changes in the ethnic composition of the Sultanate and sociopolitical actions spurred by ethnic solidarity. Koby Yosef argued in earlier works that Mamluk society was divided along ethnic lines in that members of different ethnic groups were

4 Stilt, K., Islamic law in action: Authority, discretion, and everyday experience in Mamluk Egypt, Oxford 2011.

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distinguished by the names given them, their dress, and their appearance.5 The issue of the ethnic composition of the Mamluk elite and its effects on the Mamluk political sphere has engaged a number of scholars in the field.6 David Ayalon identified the presence of mamluks of Circassian origin in the army as early as the 1290s and traced the growth of their supremacy in Mamluk politics during the fourteenth century, which culminated in the foundation of the Circassian sultanate with the rise to power of Barqūq (784/1382).7 I have argued that although ethnicity played some role in achieving factional solidarity in fourteenth century struggles for power, in practice, pragmatic political considerations prevailed and led rulers and amirs to prefer the model of a multi-origin Mamluk household as their power base.8 Jo Van Steenbergen indicated that ethnicity was one of the strategies used during the fourteenth century for network-building and power-acquisition in the Mamluk political scene and shows how it affected the actual sociopolitical conduct that led to Barqūq’s ascent to power (784/1382).9 The naming patterns of the Mamluk Sultanate in Mamluk historiography has also been related to ethnicity in the Mamluk sociopolitical sphere. Jo Van Steenbergen’s article in this volume, “Nomen est omen: David Ayalon, the Mamluk Sultanate, and the Rule of the Turks” details the naming patterns used to signify the Turkish or Baḥrī and the Circassian reigns of the Mamluk Sultanate. He shows that the name Dawlat al-Atrāk did not simply refer to the ethnic origin of the Mamluks, as suggested by its literal translation, but rather represented the perceptions of the identity of the late medieval Syro-Egyptian political elites and the Mamluk regime’s dynamic history. David Ayalon was of the opinion that the distinction in the Mamluk sources between the Turkish and the Circassian periods in the Mamluk Sultanate’s history reflected the 5 Yosef, K., Ethnic groups, social relationships and dynasty in the Mamluk Sultanate (1250–1517), unpublished PhD diss. (Hebrew), Tel Aviv 2011. For an English summary, see Annemarie Schimmel Kolleg Working Paper, 6 (2012), available at https://www.mamluk.uni‑bonn.de/​ publications/working‑paper. 6 Yosef, Ethnic groups, social relationships and dynasty. 7 Ayalon, D., Mamluk military slavery in Egypt and Syria, in D. Ayalon, Islam and the abode of war: Military slaves and Islamic adversaries, (Variorum Collected Studies Series 456), Aldershot 1994, art. no. iii; The Circassians in the Mamluk kingdom, in jaos 69/3 (1949), 135–147. 8 Levanoni, A., Al-Maqrīzī’s account of the transition from the Turkish to the Circassian Mamluk sultanate: History in the service of faith, in H. Kennedy, (ed.), The Historiography of Islamic Egypt (c. 950–1800) (The Medieval Mediterranean peoples, economics and cultures 400–1453 31), Leiden-Boston- Köln 2001, 143–161. 9 Van Steenbergen, J., Order out of chaos: Patronage, conflict and Mamlūk socio-political culture, 1341–1382 (The Medieval Mediterranean peoples, economics and cultures 400–1453 51), Leiden-Boston 2006, 92–94.

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actual ruling elites’ ethnic origins.10 Koby Yosef argues that the naming patterns of the two periods of the Mamluk sultanate were determined by the ethniclinguistic nature of each of these reigns.11 In the last article in this section, “A High Officer and His Reward: The Public Activity of a Commander of the Sultan’s Arms Depot in the Early Fourteenth Century,” Joseph Drory takes another perspective on Mamluk political dynamics. Drory presents the political biography of a midranking officer in the service of the Sultan al-Nāṣir Muḥammad and uses this biographical frame to analyze the codes of ethics on which the Mamluk military society was based and its intersections with the realities of insecurity and uncertainty that characterized the Mamluk political scene. In Part Three of this volume, Archival Literature, Frédéric Bauden’s article “Ikhwāniyyāt Letters in the Mamluk Period: A Document (Muṭālaʿa) Issued by al-Muʾayyad Shaykh’s Chancery and a Contribution to Mamluk Diplomatics” presents an edition, translation, and analysis of a document preserved in the Venetian Archives. He dates this document to 816/1414 and identifies it as a formal letter addressed by the secretary of the privy funds in Cairo to the governor of Alexandria, imploring him to put an end to the mistreatments to which the prefect of the harbor subjected the Venetians. Bauden categorizes this document as an example of ikhwāniyyāt (i.e., letters issued by and addressed to a civil servant according to the rules of the Mamluk chancery). Research on Mamluk diplomatics was initially sparked in the nineteenth century by the rich inventory of diplomatic documents in European archives. Of special interest were treaties concluded between Mamluk rulers and the Crusader states and the European trading state-cities and official and private documents related to European trade in the Levant.12 Peter M. Holt researched Mamluk diplomacy based on treaties between the Mamluks and European and Crusader states during the second half of the thirteenth century.13 Holt provided translations of 10 11 12

13

Yosef, Ethnic groups; Ayalon, Baḥrī Mamluks, Burjī Mamlūks: Inadequate names for the two reigns of the Mamlūk sultanate, Tārīkh 1 (1990), 3–52. Yosef, Dawlat al-atrāk or dawlat al-mamālīk? Ethnic origin or slave origin as the defining characteristic of the ruling élite in the Mamlūk sultanate, jsai 39 (2012), 387–410. For an exhaustive review of Arabic and European documents in European archives, see F. Bauden, Mamluk era documentary studies: The state of the art, in msr 9/1 (2005), 15– 60. See for example: P.M., Holt, Early Mamluk diplomacy (1260–1290): Treaties of Baybars and Qalāwūn with Christian rulers (Islamic history and civilization: Studies and texts 12), Leiden-New York-Cologne 1995. The Mamluk Sultanate and Aragon: The treaties of 689/1290 and 692/1293, in Tārīkh 2 (1992), 105–118; Mamluk-Frankish diplomatic relations in the reign of Baybars (658–676/1260–1277), in Nottingham Medieval studies 32 (1988), 180–195; Mamluk-Frankish diplomatic relations in the reign of Qalāwūn (678–689/1279– 1290), in jras 121/2 (1989), 278–289; al-Nāṣir Muḥammad’s letter to a Spanish ruler in

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the treaties, examined them in light of other available sources and situated them in their appropriate historical context and the prevailing diplomatic narratives. In the last two decades Frédéric Bauden has contributed significantly to the study of Mamluk diplomatics by extending it beyond the thirteenth century and uncovering Arabic documents preserved in European archives. Bauden defines two categories of diplomatic documents, which he classifies as public and private.14 The public documents were exchanged between governments, the Mamluk authorities and the European trading city-states, whereas private documents normally concerned European merchants trading in the

14

699/1300, in Al-Masāq 3 (1990), 23–29; Qalāwūn’s treaty with Acre in 1283, in English historical review 91 (1976): 802–812; Qalāwūn’s treaty with Genoa in 1290, in Der Islam 57 (1980), 101–108; Qalāwūn’s treaty with the Latin Kingdom (682/1283): Negotiation and abrogation, in U. Vermeulen and D. de Smet (eds.), Egypt and Syria in the Fatimid, Ayyubid and Mamluk eras, proceedings of the 1st, 2nd and 3rd International Colloquium organized at the Katholieke Universiteit Leuven in May 1992, 1993 and 1994 (Orientalia Lovaniensia analecta no. 73), Leuven 1995, 324–334; The treaties of the early Mamluk sultans with the Frankish states, in bsoas 43 (1980), 67–76; Treaties between the Mamluk sultans and the Frankish authorities, in W. Voigt (ed.), xix. Deutscher Orientalistentag, (Zeitschrift der Deutschen Morgenlandischen Gesellschaft, Supplement iii), Wiesbaden 1977, 474–484. See, for example, F. Bauden, The Mamluk documents of the Venetian state archives: Handlist, in Quaderni di Studi Arabi 20–21 (2002), 147–156; L’Achat d’esclaves et la rédemption des captifs à Alexandrie d’ après deux documents arabes d’époque mamelouke conservés aux Archives de l’ État à Venise (ASVe), in A.-M. Eddé and E. Ganagé (eds.), Regards croisés sur le Moyen Âge arabe: Mélanges à la mémoire de Louis Pouzet s.j. (1928–2002), Beirut 2005, 269–325; The Recovery of Mamlūk chancery documents in an unsuspected place, in M. Winter and A. Levanoni (eds.), The Mamluks in Egyptian and Syrian politics and society, Leiden 2004, 59–76; D’ Alexandrie à Damas et retour. La poste privée à l’ époque mamlouke à la lumière d’ une commission accomplie pour le compte d’un Vénitien (821a.h./1418 è.c.), in U. Vermeulen and K. d’Hulster (eds.), Egypt and Syria in the Fatimid, Ayyubid and Mamluk eras, vi. Proceedings of the 14th and 15th international colloquium organized at the Katholieke Universiteit Leuven in May 2005 and May 2006, LeuvenParis-Walpole (MA) 2010, 157–189; Lam baqā yuʿāriḍkum: analyse linguistique de trois lettres rédigées par un marchand au Caire en 819/1416–820/1417, in J. Den Heijer et al (eds.), Autour de la langue arabe. Études présentées à Jacques Grand’Henry à l’occasion de son 70e anniversaire, Louvain-la-Neuve 2012, 1–37; Le Transport de marchandises et de personnes sur le Nil en 823 a.h./1420 è.c., in A.T. Schubert and P.M. Sijpersteijn (eds.), The Medieval Islamic Mediterranean in documentary sources, Leiden-Boston 2015, 100–132; Like father, like son, the chancery manual (Qalāʾid al-jumān) of al-Qalqashandī’s son and its value for the study of Mamluk diplomatic (ninth/fifteenth century) (Studia diplomatica islamica i), in Euroasian studies 11 (2013), 181–228; F. Bauden and M. Dekkiche (eds.), Mamluk Cairo, a crossroad for embassies: Studies on diplomacy and diplomatics (Islamic history and civilization: Studies and texts, no. 161), Leiden-Boston 2019; Diplomatic entanglements between Tabriz, Cairo, and Herat: A reconstructed Qara Quyunlu letter datable to 818/1415, in Bauden and Dekkiche (eds.), Mamluk Cairo 410–483.

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Levant. Bauden argues that the private documents yield more details on the operational practices of the Mamluk chancery. In her recent publications, Malika Dekkiche, one of Bauden’s disciples, has extended the scholarship on Mamluk diplomacy to the Anatolian buffer principalities of Dhū al-Qādir and Ramaḍān and the Āq Qoyunlū (White Sheep) Turkoman tribal confederation that ruled eastern Anatolia, Iran, and Iraq during the thirteenth to the fifteenth century.15 In addition to familiar sources from the Mamluk period, Dekkiche bases her research on an unpublished and hitherto unknown source, an Arabic manuscript located in the National Library of Paris (BnF.ms.ar. 4440). This manuscript, a collection of copies of 62 letters (munshaʾah pl. munshaʾāt) that was made by an anonymous secretary working at the chancery of Cairo during the second half of the fifteenth century, enabled Dekkiche to provide new details on events that were only hinted at in the Mamluk sources and therefore ignored in research. Mamluk literary sources and documents in libraries and archives are far from being exhausted, so future targeted studies of diplomacy (as well as other topics) might well go beyond the geographical areas studied thus far. Part Four, Economy of Infrastructures, contains five articles. Stuart Borsch’s article, “Grain, Textiles, and Demand Elasticity in Late Mamluk Egypt: A Preliminary Sketch,” studies the long-term deterioration of rural irrigation systems in the medieval Egyptian economy. The author uses three operational notions: the price elasticity of demand, the income elasticity of demand and function, and an analysis of average total costs to analyze changes in rural production and marketing and the urban consumption of rural products as indicators of the decline of irrigation systems. In “The Management of Water in FourteenthCentury Damascus,” Yehoshua Frenkel examines the regulations and operation of the water supply in Damascus according to reports and cases of conflict and competition over water rights. Frenkel’s study of the Damascene urban water system sheds light on the urban public space management, the administration’s modus operandi, and the power structure that emerged from them. My chapter, entitled “Urban Water Management in Medieval Middle East: The Case of Mamluk Cairo,” examines urban water provision through an analysis 15

M. Dekkiche, New source, new debate: Re-evaluation of the Mamluk-Timurid struggle for religious supremacy in the Hijaz (Paris, BnF ms ar. 4440), in msr 18 (2014–2015), 247–271; Crossing the line: Mamluk response to Qaramanid threat in the fifteenth century according to ms ar. 4440 (BnF, Paris), in bsoas 80/2 (2017), 253–281; The letter and its response: the exchanges between the Qara Qoyunlu and the Mamluk Sultan: ms Arabe 4440 (BnF, Paris), in Arabica, 63/6 (2016), 579–626; Correspondence between Mamluks and Timurids in the fifteenth century: Study of an unpublished source (BnF.ms.ar. 4440), in Eurasian studies 11 (2013), 131–160.

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of water projects built in Cairo during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, as reflected in narrative sources. I argue that the urban water supply in the Mamluk Sultanate, as was the case in other medieval Islamic regimes, was generally based on cooperation between the public and the private sectors rather than on an official bureaucratic system responsible for water management on a regular basis. This hybrid model of the institutional organization of public services reduced the government’s responsibility for water project construction and regulation, eventually leading to stagnation and the regression of hydraulic techniques that consequently led to severe water shortages in Cairo. In the last five decades, the irrigation system in Mamluk Egypt has been extensively studied in terms of the state perspective, the state administration of the rural districts, and the iqtāʿ system, or the military land-tenure system. The responsibility for the irrigation system was divided between the central authorities and the fief holders (i.e., the government took care of the regional supply and the fief holders were in charge of the local supply). Other studies have suggested that natural disasters were the prime reason for the collapse of the irrigation system and the Mamluk Sultanate’s economy.16 Recent interest in environmental history has boosted the study of rural and urban water supply, especially in terms of institutional organization and the management, and conflict management, of water in Egypt and Syria. I present a survey of the water supply in Cairo from its inception in 22/643 up to the Ottoman conquest of Egypt in 923/1517 and provide details on the methods and techniques used to bring Nile water to the city’s suburbs, its distribution to homes, and

16

H. Rabie, The financial system of Egypt, A. H. 567–741/A. D. 1169–1341, London 1972. Some technical aspects of agriculture in medieval Egypt can be found in Michael A. Cook (ed.), Studies in the economic history of the Middle East, London 1970, 115–128; Sato Tsugitaka, State and rural society in medieval Islam: Sultans, muqtaʾs and fallahun, Leiden 1997, 220–233; S.J. Borsch, Nile floods and the irrigation system in fifteenth-century Egypt, in msr 4 (2000), 132–145; W.K. Mujani, The Nile and irrigation system during the Mamluk period (1468–1517), in Australian journal of basic and applied sciences 5 (2011), 2264–2268; E. Ashtor, Levantine sugar industry in the later middle ages: An example of technological decline, in ios 7 (1977), 226–280; The economic decline of the Middle East during the later middle ages: An outline, in aas 15 (1981), 253–286; W.F. Tucker, Natural disasters and the peasantry in Mamluk Egypt, jesho 24 (1981), 215–224; Environmental hazards, natural disasters, economic loss, and mortality in Mamluk Syria, in msr 3 (1999), 109– 128; S.J. Borsch, The black death in Egypt and England: A comparative study, Austin, 2005; Medieval Egyptian economic growth: The maryūt, in S. Conermann (ed.), History and society during the Mamluk period (1250–1517): Studies of the Annemarie Schimmel Institute for Advanced Study ii, Göttingen 2016, 173–196; Environment and population: The collapse of large irrigation systems reconsidered, in Comparative studies in society and history 46/3 (2004), 451–468.

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its importance in the context of the city’s urban organization and social structure.17 Maaika van Berkel has recently examined the issue of the drinking water supply in Cairo from the perspective of urban social organization, as reflected in the waqfiyya or foundation deed of the sabīl of Sultan Faraj b. Barqūq from the early fifteenth century.18 Boaz Shoshan discusses the local institutional patterns of water management and the human dynamics that regulated water distribution in Damascus and its vicinity during the fifteenth century.19 Bethany Walker’s study of Tall Ḥisbān, based on archaeological excavations and narrative sources, sheds light on the local institutional patterns of water management in Transjordan rural settlements. Unlike the Egyptian riverine-based water system, water management in these areas was regulated through human dynamics and social interaction.20 The last article in this section is Daisuke Igarashi’s “Waqf as a Means of Securing Financial Assets: The ‘Self-Benefiting Waqf ’ in Mamluk Egypt and Syria,” which discusses the increasing utilization of the waqf (Islamic religious endowment) system by the Mamluks to secure private sources of revenue. The “self-benefiting waqf,” or the waqf earmarked for the endowers themselves as the main beneficiaries of the revenue earned from the waqf, is debatable under Islamic law. This practice became widespread under the Mamluks because it secured the endower direct benefits from his waqf in an insecure political and economic reality. The study of waqf is vast and long standing given its significant multidimensional functions in the religious, political, and economic life of Islamic urban and rural societies, and by extension the rich information found in the sources on this institution.21 Yaacov Lev’s broad study on charitable institutions in Middle Eastern Muslim societies from the Abbasids 17 18

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21

A. Levanoni, Water supply in medieval Middle Eastern cities: The case of Cairo, in AlMasaq 20/2 (2008), 179–205. M. van Berkel, M., Waqf documents on the provision of water in Mamluk Egypt, in M. van Berkel, L. Buskens and P.M. Sijpesteijn (eds.), Legal documents as sources for the history of Muslim societies: Studies in honour of Rudolph Peters (Studies in Islamic law and society 42), Leiden, 2017, 231–244. B. Shoshan, Mini-dramas by the water: On irrigation rights and disputes in fifteenth century Damascus, in R.E. Margariti (ed.), Histories of the Middle East: Studies in Middle Eastern society, economy and law in honor of A.L. Udovitch, Leiden 2011, 233–244. B.J. Walker, The struggle over water: Evaluating the “water culture” of Syrian peasants under Mamluk rule, in Y. Ben Bassat (ed.), Developing perspectives in Mamluk history: Essays in honor of Amalia Levanoni (ihc 143), Leiden-Boston 2017, 287–310; Mamluk investment in southern Bilād al-Shām in the fourteenth century: The case of Ḥisbān, jnes 62/3 (2003), 241–261; Mamluk investment in the Transjordan: A “boom and bust” economy, in msr 8/2 (2004), 119–147. For an inclusive bibliography of the study of waqf during the twentieth century, see

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to the early Ottoman period highlights the persistency and centrality of sacred charity or redemptive alms-giving in the religious thought and practices of monotheistic religions. Lev examines the waqf institution in terms of its three main dimensions: the motives of the waqf donors, the recipients of charity, and the nature of charitable institutions.22 Muḥammad Amīn’s catalogue of waqf deeds preserved in public archives in Cairo (including the Coptic Orthodox Patriarchy), from the Abbasids to the end of the autonomous Mamluk rule in Egypt, bears witness to the huge corpus of this genre of primary sources and the many possible directions for future research. Waqf deeds from the Mamluk period provide vast information on a variety of topics on Mamluk social history, such as the interplay between the religious and the political elites, public services, land tenure and property, material culture, architecture, women in the Mamluk household, etc. Some of these themes have been treated already and others still await study.23 In Part Five, Communication Systems, Kurt Franz provides a methodical “Handlist of Stations of the Ayyubid and Mamluk Communication Systems.” This article takes stock of the full extent of stations in the Ayyubid and Mamluk governmental communication systems. Based on medieval lists, archaeological and epigraphic records, and remote sensing data, he draws up a geo-referenced list of 257 localities that had one or more stations, amounting to 315 stations in total. These governmental communication systems present a model example of the ways in which central powers attempted to shape the geospatial organization of their realm and dominate it politically. Franz argues that the infrastructure and workings of these systems are key to understanding the interlocking of

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M. Hoxter, Waqf studies in the twentieth century: The state of the art, in jesho 41/4 (1998), 474–495. Y. Lev, Charity, endowments, and charitable institutions in medieval Islam, Gainesville 2005. See also, M. Frenkel and Y. Lev (eds.), Charity and giving in monotheistic religions (Studien zur Geschichte und Cultur des islamischen Orients 22), Berlin-New York 2009. See, for example, D. Igarashi, Land tenure and Mamluk waqfs (Ulrich Haarmann Memorial Lecture 7, ask) 2014, 1–57; The private property and awqaf of the Circassian Mamluk sultans: The case of Barqūq, Orient 43 (2008), 167–196; Y. Frenkel, Awqāf in Mamluk Bilād al-Shām, in msr 13/1 (2009), 149–155. C.F. Petry, Waqf as an instrument of investment in the Mamluk sultanate: Security vs. profit?, in T. Miura and J.E. Philips (eds.), Slave elites in the Middle East and Africa: A Comparative Study, London and New York 2000, 99–115; D. Behrens-Abouseif, Waqf as remuneration and the family affairs of al-Nasir Muhammad and Baktimur al-Saqi, in The Cairo heritage: Essays in honor of Laila Ali Ibrahim, (ed.) idem, Cairo and New York 2000, 55–67; Julien Loiseau, “Boy and girl on equal terms”: Women, waqf and wealth transmission in Mamluk Egypt, in Orient, the society for Near Eastern studies in Japan 2019, 23–39.

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political history with historical geography and calls for more system-wide and multi-source investigations of this type. Scholarship related to geography and the historical cartography of the Mamluk period, though underdeveloped despite the recent boom in Mamluk scholarship, go back to the 1880s and treat a diversity of topics, such as communication systems and routes related to trade and pilgrimage, state postal services (al-barīd) and espionage, spatial organization of religious sites, and administrative-military state centers of an urban or rural nature. These studies rely on textual sources, mainly geographic encyclopedias and administrative manuals and documentation, structures and roads, travelers’ inscriptions, and archaeological surveys.24 A unique and highly specific project in the field of historical cartography is the Tübinger Atlas des Vorderen Orients (tavo) or Tübingen Atlas of the Near and Middle East. It consists of an epochal bilingual (German/English) collection of geographic and historical maps and scholarly publications on the Middle East. The geographic area ranges from Turkey to Afghanistan in the north and from Egypt to Yemen in the south. Heinz Halm’s two volume book, volumes 38/1–2 in the Tübinger Atlas research project, deals with the Egyptian fief-registers according to Ibn al-Jayʿān’s (815–885/1412–1480) Kitāb il Tuḥfa il saniyya bi asmā il bilād al-Maṣriyya (The sublime treasure of Egypt’s city [settlement] names) that provides a list of the arable land holdings and principal towns and villages in Egypt in fifteenth-century registers.25 In addition to information about the sizes of villages and settlements, their value, and land types for taxation, Halm includes a series of historical maps showing their

24

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J. Sauvaget, La poste aux chevaux dans l’ empire des Mamelouks, Paris 1941; R. Dussaud, Topographie historique de la Syrie antique et médiévale (Bibliothèque archéologique et historique 4), Paris 1927; M. Gaudefroy-Demombynes, La Syrie à l’époque des Mamelouks d’ après les auteurs arabes: Description géographique, économique et administrative, précédée d’une introduction sur l’ organisation gouvernementale (Bibliothèque archéologique et historique 3), Paris 1923; R. Hartmann, Die geographischen Nachrichten über Palästina und Syrien in Ḫalīl aẓ-Ẓāhirīs zubdat kašf al-mamālik, Kirchhain/Niederlausitz 1907. For recent studies related to Mamluk historical topography see: A. Abu Mustafa, The trade routes in Palestine during the Mamluk period (1260–1516 a.d.): A historical, geographic and economic study, Birzeit 2006; Kh. ʿAthāminah, Filisṭīn fi al-ʿAhdayn al-Ayyūbī wa alMamlūkī (1187–1516), Beirut 2006; K. Cytryn-Silverman, The road inns (khans) in Bilad alSham, Oxford: British Archaeological Reports 2010; A. McQuitty, Khirbat Faris: Vernacular architecture on the Kerak plateau, Jordan, msr 11/1 (2007), 157–171; M. Milwright, Fortress of the raven: Karak in the middle Islamic period (1100–1650), Leiden 2008. H. Halm, Ägypten nach den mamlukischen Lehensregistern, vol. 1, Oberagypten und das Fayyum; vol. 2, Das Delta. Weisbaden 1979–1982. Ibn al-Jayʿān, Sharaf al-Dīn Yaḥyá b. Shākir, Kitâb il Tuḥfa il sanîya bi asmâ il bilâd il maṣrîya (Publications de la Bibliothèque khédiviale 10), ed. B. Moritz, Cairo 1898.

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location. Another unique contribution to scholarship on Mamluk geography and cartography is William Popper’s Egypt and Syria under the Circassian sultans 1382–1468a.d., the first of two introductory volumes of his English translation of Ibn Taghrī Birdī’s annals al-Nujūm al-zāhira fi mulūk Miṣr wa’l-Qāhira (The shining stars from among the rulers of Egypt and Cairo).26 Popper’s book is an explanatory appendix covering the places, customs, offices, administration, and institutions mentioned in Ibn Taghrī Birdī’s annals. The basis for the organization of this book is al-Qalqashandī’s administrative encyclopedic work Ṣubḥ al-aʿshá fī ṣināʿat al-inshāʾ (The dawn of the night-blind in the art of composition)27 and Khalīl b. Shāhīn al-Ẓāhirī’s Zubdat kashf al-mamālik wa-bayān al-ṭuruq wa’l-masālik (The essence of the study of kingdoms and information about the routes and roads).28 A special contribution to Mamluk scholarship on geography and cartography are the 21 sketch maps included in this volume that illustrate the administrative structure of the Mamluk realms in the fifteenth century, such as maps of the districts in northern and southern Egypt, with a Cairo city-map as their center, followed by maps of the Mamluk provinces and the city-maps of their capitals. Note as well the Description de l’ Égypte (Description of Egypt), the huge corpus of maps and scientific information compiled during the Napoleonic expedition in Egypt, which served as a supplementary source for the creation of the maps in Popper’s volume.29 Archaeological fieldwork has made recent contributions to the study of space in the Mamluk Sultanate. Bethany Walker’s contributions, based on her findings from the archaeological excavations of the Transjordan rural citadel of Tall Hisban, are significant for a better understanding of the historical and cultural geography of the Mamluk rural area. Walker provides insights into the rural landscape, physical structure, material culture, and economy of rural settlements. She depicts the actual functions of the provincial Mamluk administration on the ground, center-province political and administrative relations, and patterns of rural settlements and migrations.30 Kurt Frantz’s broad contri-

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27 28 29

30

W. Popper, Egypt and Syria under the Circassian sultans 1382–1468a.d.: Systematic notes to Ibn Taghrī Birdī’s chronicles of Egypt (University of California Publications in Semitic Philology 15–17), Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1955–1957. Al-Qalqashandī, Aḥmad b. ʿAlī, Ṣubḥ al-aʿshá fī ṣināʿat al-inshāʾ, 14 vols., Cairo, 1913–1920. ʿAbd al-Bāsiṭ Khalīl b. Shāhīn, La Zubda Kachf Al-Mamālik de Khalīl az-Zāhiri: Traduction inédite de Venture de Paradis, rev. J. Gaulmier, Damascus 1950. Description de l’ Égypte (Description of Egypt), The cartographic section, Carte de l’Égypte, has approximately 50 plates of maps. It was the first triangulation-based map of Egypt, Syria, and Palestine, and it was used as the basis for most maps of the region during the nineteenth century. B.J. Walker, Mamluk administration of Transjordan: Recent findings from Tall Hisban, in

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butions investigate the communication systems in the Mamluk realms and the relationships between the Mamluk central authorities and the Bedouin tribes in terms of competition over territorial dominance of the hinterland.31 These two topics still require mapping that would enhance Mamluk historical cartography in the future.

31

al-ʿUsur al-Wusta 13/2 (2001), 29–33; Mamluk investment in southern Bilād al-Shām in the fourteenth century: The case of Ḥisbān, in jnes 62/3 (2003), 241–261; Mamluk investment in the Transjordan: A “boom and bust” economy, in msr 8/2 (2004), 119–147; Sowing the seeds of rural decline? Agriculture as an economic barometer for late Mamluk Jordan, in Mamluk studies review 11/1 (2007), 173–199; Transjordan as the Mamluk frontier: Imperial conceptions of authority and space, in La Transgiordania Neu Secoli xii–xiii e le “frontiere” Del Mediterraneo Medievale: Trans-Jordan in the 12th and 13th centuries and the “frontiers” of the medieval Mediterranean, G. Vannini (ed.), Oxford 2011, 197–204; Exercising power on the Mamluk frontier: The phenomenon of the small rural citadel, case of Tall Hisban, in A. Gascoigne (ed.), Proceedings of the eighth international conference on the archaeology of the ancient Near East, Wiesbaden 2013; Mobility and migration in Mamluk Syria: The dynamism of villagers “On the move,” in S. Conermann (ed.), Everything is on the move: The Mamluk empire as a node in (trans-)regional networks, 325–348. K. Franz, The Ayyubid and Mamluk Revaluation of the Hinterland and Western Historical Cartography, msr 12/2 (2008), 133–158; Atlas der Beduinen unter dem Sultanat 564– 734/1169–1334; Beduinische Gruppen in mittelislamischer Zeit ii, Wiesbaden, (forthcoming). See also: Igal Schwartz, Die Beduinen in Ägypten in der Mamlukenzeit, published by K. Frantz, trans. L. Becker, and online resource, March 2011.

part 1 Public Space

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chapter 1

Protest Songs from the Streets of Mamluk Cities Li Guo

Mamluk historical narratives are littered with rhymed utterances. The majority of these are comprised of the canonical qaṣīda-odes and the noncanonical variety of muwashshaḥ, zajal, and mawāliyā verse types. Occasionally, random chants and ditties appear as well. Mostly anonymous and in crude language, these chants and ditties vent raw sentiments with inscrutable vigor. It is evident that chanting sociopolitical themed songs in public was not an unfamiliar act across the Mamluk realm. In 1412, for example, townspeople in Hama, Syria, where Sultan Faraj (r. 1399–1412), son of the legendary Sultan Barqūq (r. 784– 791/1382–1389; 792–801/1390–1399), was traveling, were made “to sing on behalf of (ghannū ʿan lisān)” the regime. The pro-regime propaganda targeted the usurping amir named Shaykh. The mob chanted, “I’m Sultan, / son of a sultan. // Hey, Shaykh (old man), / you’re nothing but an amir!”1 The song, with a pun on the usurper’s name, warned him that he was a nobody compared to the sultan, a princely somebody. Apparently, it did little to help. Faraj was eventually overthrown by the rebellious group led by the aforementioned amir, who went on to become sultan himself, with the title al-Muʾayyad (r. 1412–1421). While this incident of mob outcry was orchestrated by a desperate dynasty, motivations for the public showing of emotion varied. This essay aims at a sampling of public chants and songs culled from Mamluk chronicles. Mostly by anonymous everyman in quick response to remarkable events, these often politically charged songs and chants are refreshingly genuine and powerful. The callous, yet savvy, utterances open up a window to purview commoners’ use of words for societal engagement and political participation.

1

“Our Sultan is a Wimp”: Grassroots Partisanship

In Mamluk sources, some of these chants and ditties, especially those of Egyptian provenance, were labeled as bullayq (or ballīq, sing. ballīqa, pl. balālīq), a

1 Ibn Taghrībirdī, Nujūm xiii, 144.

© Li Guo, 2022 | doi:10.1163/9789004459717_003

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substream of the zajal genre, characterized as a ballad song type with a fast tempo and shortened syllables. An often cited bullayqa is the following:2 sulṭaan-naa rukeen wi-naa’ibuu du’een yiigiina l-maa minneen haatuu lina l-a‘rag yiigii l-maa yidaḥrag3 Our sultan is a wimp, his deputy, a sissy! Who brings us the water? Give us the Lame— Water is gonna sway. The ditty, in a rhyme scheme of aaa, bb, involves three key figures in a dynastic narrative: the “wimpy” is the usurping sultan, Baybars al-Jāshnakīr (r. 708– 709/1309–1310),4 whose title Rukn al-Dīn means “the pillar of the Faith.” The diminutive form rukeen (rukayn), “little stick,” implies less-than-flattering qualities for a man: plaint, twisted, sloppy, and impotent. The “sissy” deputy was the unpopular viceroy Amir Sallār. The word du’een (dhuqayn), literally “tiny beard,” hints at his supposedly smooth, beardless, thus effeminate, appearance. After disposing the boy-king al-Malik al-Nāṣir (r. 693–694/1293–1294; 698–708/1299– 1309; 709–741/1310–1340/41), the scion of the Qalāwūnid dynasty, the “wimp” and the “sissy” now tried hard to win over the populace by ordering the opening of the Nile dam in the hopes of speeding up the flood, which was dangerously lower than normal. But the water never rose as promised. The only hope, as the jingle goes, hangs on the restoration of al-Malik al-Nāṣir, nicknamed “Lame,” who was in forced exile in Syria. This song-related incident formed a perfectly colorful episode for the historian Ibn Iyās in his account of the public support of the Qalāwūnid dynasty, a theme that was widely featured in mainstream historiography. The fact that this vernacular ditty was preserved in Ibn Iyās’s version tells us something about the formulation of a certain way of viewing the past. In this regard, Ibn Iyās represents the zenith of a trend in making historical narrative entertaining through enhanced storytelling, incorporating vernacular material, among other popular devices. Departing from the classical hijāʾ, or “invective verse,” a vehicle 2 Ibn Iyās, Badāʾiʿ i/1, 424–425; Sallām, al-Adab i, 316; Shoshan, Popular culture 53 (with translation); Larkin, Popular poetry 223 (with translation). 3 I transcribe vernacular verses in Egyptian pronunciation, with the transliteration conventions used in Hinds and Badawi, Dictionary. 4 Not to be confused with Sultan al-Ẓāhir Baybars (r. 658–676/1260–1277).

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for personal (or personalized) vendetta, this bullayq-ditty speaks in a collective voice. But the insult could be just as personal: sexual innuendo and racial slurs (the amir was a Mongol, a non-Arab), among other things, were all part of the game. After a failed coup that challenged the reign of Sultan Jaqmaq (r. 842– 857/1438–1453), the conspirator, the atābek (young sultan’s mentor) Qarqmās, was captured and paraded in the streets of Cairo before being thrown into a dungeon in Alexandria. The “public jubilation” is described by Ibn Iyās as follows: “They cursed him, calling him names, and almost stoned him with pebbles. There was no love lost.” Some in the crowd “composed a song about him (ṣannafat … fīhi ghunwa)”:5 yaa qarqamaas uffuu ‘aleek ‘amilt ‘amla wi-gat ‘aleek Hi Qarqamās, shame on you! You did bad; it came back to get you. So far, we have seen two cases of a Mamluk political rally through commoners’ songs: one a seemingly spontaneous outburst on behalf of a popular dynasty and the other a somehow orchestrated show of support of a regime. They are remarkable as snapshots of everyman’s political views expressed in loose verse form and street language, which also caught the historian’s attention.

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“Shame on You, Amir”: Grievances on Corruption

A recurrent theme in Mamluk politics is the widespread corruption at the hands of the powerful oligarchy, such as al-ajlāb (sing. julbān), or a sultan’s Mamluk household. Ibn Taghrībirdī, in his recount of Sultan al-Ashraf Īnāl’s reign (r. 857–865/1453–1460), cites the final lines of a bullayqa attributed to a court observer regarding the sultan’s notorious ajlāb-gang:6 ḥaashaa li-llaahi dawaam hadhii n-nu’ma wi-naḥnu afḍal barriya min umma nabiinaa maa ḥadd mithluu 5 Ibn Iyās, Badāʾiʿ ii, 202. 6 Ibn Taghrībirdī, al-Nujūm xvi, 160–161. He is referred to as “one of the ẓurafāʾ (sing. ẓarīf ),” namely a court poet known for his wit and wise cracking.

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God spare us from this perpetual curse! We are the best kind on earth. Our Prophet is like no one else. He rid us of infidels’ deceit, when we were thrown into the evil’s hand. Everybody kept his tail intact. When will he rid us of this reign (al-dawla) where a tyrant (ṣawla) rules? So, people will enjoy justice. By God, for the glory of Lord ʿAdnān, do us a favor, grant us grace! You are the only one that can do this. The song targeted the sultan and his right-hand men. Pleading to the Prophet with an invocation to “Lord ʿAdnān,” the legendary Arab ancestor, the populace’s resentment of “foreign” Turko-Mamluk rulers speaks out loud. Among other protest songs sampled here, this is perhaps the most “crafty,” showing traces of a composition. Even so, colloquial elements lend it a casual din to the ear. The abuse of power gave rise to negligence. In the winter of 911/1505–1506, Cairo saw an alarming increase of fires caused by large amounts of dried straw (darīs) stored in many amirs’ households (buyūt al-atrāk) for heating. Commoners made up a “dance tune” (raqṣa) to act out their despair:7 ihrab yaa ta‘iis wi-illaa yiḥammiluuk id-dariis Run, you miserable, run; or they’ll force you to carry more straw! Aside from fasād, “corruption,” another word, ẓulm, “abuse of power,” frequents Mamluk chronicles. A bullayq-verse attributed to one unnamed pop poet (mawwāl) lashes out at Sunqur al-Zaradkāsh, the notorious amir under the abovementioned Sultan al-Ashraf Īnāl. Bemoaning the amir’s reckless acts

7 Ibn Iyās, Badāʾiʿ iv, 92.

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in preparing a new naval expedition, the song compares the looting and ransacking at the hands of soldiers to a war on Egyptian countrymen:8 abl il-ghazaa gaahad fī n-naas fa-ṣaara ẓ-ẓulm anwaa‘ wi-agnaas miin ṭalab haadha l-ghazaa wi-’ḥtaaga lawaas Before expedition, he waged a war on us. Oppression came in all forms and kinds: He who goes to war demands sweet bounties. Mamluk naval activities took casualties at home, too, as people’s livelihood and property were all ruined. The irony is not lost: every line contains a contrast— between the first and second part of each line—of military aggression overseas and the destructions back home. In this case, the bullayq, with some composed verbal fanfare, became a powerful rhetoric vehicle for public outcry.

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“Put Bed Sheets on Sale”: Complaints of Policies

Vernacular songs also vent anger and disapproval of failed policies and bad decisions that had devastating effects on people’s livelihood. While the abovementioned Sultan al-Muʾayyad Shaykh was in Syria to crack down on revolts, a crisis hit home: the place where he had built a barge (al-jisr) to channel the Nile flood turned into a sandy swamp when the water receded. The crowd gathered to see the sultan’s engineering marvels fail, and “some were hurt,” Ibn Iyās noted. What exactly happened he did not elaborate, only that the situation became dire because soldiers were away with the sultan and “some Egyptians made up a song (ṣannafū … ghanwa)” about the fiasco:9 yaa raa’iḥ is-shaam ghaadii ul li-gaysh il-mu’ayyadi

sallim wi-buus il-ayaadii aadi l-ḥariim fī l-kawaadii

Hi you, going to Syria in early hours, kiss goodbye on the hands.

8 Ibn Taghrībirdī, al-Nujūm xvi, 149. 9 Ibn Iyās, Badāʾiʿ ii, 21.

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Tell al-Muʾayyad’s troops: Rush back, rescue women in the muds! This angry song underlines the crowd control issue the Mamluk state was constantly facing. Soldiers were expected to act as police or highway troopers in such situations. The sultan was fighting his war afar, while folks at home were stuck in the mud of his making. Colloquial phrasings with dialect-based imperative verbs, ‘ul (qul) and buus (bus), fire up the confrontational tone. Similar sentiment is conveyed in another song, albeit in a self-deprecating way. In the year 1501, during the reign of Sultan Qānṣūh al-Ghawrī (r. 906– 922/1501–1516), people came from all over to watch the festive send-off of the annual maḥmil, the pilgrimage caravan to Mecca. A popular “dance tune” (raqṣa) was made for the occasion:10 bii‘ il-liḥaaf wi-’ṭ-ṭarraaḥa ḥattaa araa dhi ir-rammaaḥa bii‘ lii liḥaafī dhi il-maḥmil ḥattaa araa shakl il-maḥmil Put bed sheets and mattress on sale; those lancers I am gonna see! For the caravan, put my sheets on sale; this thing I am gonna see! The extravaganza, featuring a military parade of armored soldiers (“lancers”) and horseback archers, was a showcase for the Mamluk state’s legitimized authority as the guardian of the Holy Land and its economic might, exemplified by the opulent cover of the Kaʿba made in Egypt and thanks to its fine weavings and brocades. Public opinion on the lavish spending was seldom heard. Here this ditty sheds light on the sentiment. The excursion to watch the parade was so costly for countrymen that they had to sell daily items to afford the trip to Cairo. The hyperbole cuts both ways: it either satirizes the countrymen’s banal enthusiasm or, more likely, betrays their chagrin at the sacrifices they were forced to make.

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Ibn Iyās, Badāʾiʿ iv, 61.

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Afterthoughts: The Bullayq as a Popular Genre

Aside from a few exceptions, many protest songs and chants discussed above were identified in sources as bullayq. A few words on the genre and its frequent appearance in Mamluk sources conclude this essay. According to Ṣafī al-Dīn al-Ḥillī, bullayq is one of the four types of zajal, which covers “comical, licentious, and jocular topics” (al-hazl wa-l-khalāʿa wal-iḥmāḍ), whereas the zajal proper covers “love, nostalgia, wine, and flowers.”11 This content-based typology is useful but only to a point, insofar as the other types, namely qarqī and mukaffir, which supposedly deal with “satire and insult,” “moral extortion and wisdom,” respectively, seem to have phased out. The bullayq, in the meantime, appears to have gained currency to the extent that the lines between it and the zajal proper became blurred. This perhaps explains why in the 1001 Nights and other Mamluk texts the terms balālīq (pl.) and azjāl (pl.) were used interchangeably or inconsistently,12 causing further confusion.13 This perhaps also explains why many of the songs and chants discussed above were labeled so even though they exhibit a variety of verse forms and rhyming schemes. The zajal-bullayq poetry by the cultural elite has drawn attention recently as a sign of a vernacular turn in Mamluk mainstream poetry.14 The samples discussed above have further explored the other side, or “lower” end, of the creative spectrum—improvised songs made by people in the streets and on the whim of an impulse. The casual spontaneity involved in the process might be a key to understanding this collective enterprise. In this regard, Ibn Iyās’s account of the making and performing of the abovementioned “Our Sultan is a Wimp” is perhaps very telling. “Some folks (al-ʿawwām) made up a few verses (ṣanaʿū kalāman),” he reports, “set up a melody (laḥḥanū-hu), and sung it in parks and public places (amākin al-tafarrujāt).” The effect must have been gravely felt and feared: the regime’s crack down came swift, according to Ibn Iyās, when 300 men were arrested and tortured, while “a few tongues were cut 11 12

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Al-Ḥillī, al-ʿĀṭil al-ḥālī (Arabic text) 10. Mahdi, Nights i, 133. Ibn Dāniyāl’s shadow plays contain conflicting labeling of zajal and ballīq songs; see Ibn Dāniyāl, Shadow plays (Arabic text) 41, 76–77, 79–80, 81–82, 98, 112, 131 (apparatus). According to H. Özkan, all twelve zajals in Ibrāhīm al-Miʿmār’s Dīwān are actually bullayq pieces; see Özkan, Drug zajals. Some samples cited by al-Jammāl, al-Adab, and Sallām, al-Adab, are not ballīq at all. For example, one attributed to Ibn Asad al-Miṣrī (al-Jammāl, al-Adab 182–184) was identified by Iḥsān ʿAbbās as a kān wa-kān instead (al-Kutubī, Fawāt al-wafayāt ii, 100–102; v, 251). Al-Ḥillī, al-ʿĀṭil al-ḥālī. Recent publications on the subject include Özkan, Drug zajals 212– 248; Metrics 101–112; Guo, Songs 189–200.

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off.”15 If the penalized alone were numbered by the hundreds, one can only speculate the size of the crowd at these events—of massive “sing-ins,” Mamluk style.

Bibliography Guo, L., Songs, poetry, and storytelling: Ibn Taghrībirdī on the Yalbughā affair, in Y. BenBasset (ed.), Developing perspectives in Mamluk history: Essays on honor of Amalia Levanoni, Leiden 2017, 189–200. Hinds, M. and El-Said Badawi (eds.), A dictionary of Egyptian Arabic, Beirut 1986. al-Ḥillī, Ṣ.D., Die vulgärarabische poetik: al-Kitāb al-ʿĀṭil al-ḥālī wal-muraḫḫaṣ al-ġālī des Ṣafīyaddīn Ḥillī, ed. Wilhelm Hoenerbach, Wiesbaden 1956. Ibn Dāniyāl, M., Three shadow plays by Muḥammad Ibn Dāniyāl, ed. P. Kahle, Cambridge 1992. Ibn Iyās, Badāʾiʿ al-zuhūr fī waqāʾiʿ al-duhūr, ed. Mohamed Mostafa, 5 vols., Wiesbaden 1975. Ibn Taghrībirdī, al-Nujūm al-zāhira fī mulūk Miṣr wa-l-Qāhira, 16 vols., Cairo 1963–1972. al-Jammāl, A.Ṣ., al-Adab al-ʿāmmī fī Miṣr fī al-ʿaṣr al-Mamlūkī, Cairo 1966. al-Kutubī, M.b.Sh., Fawāt al-wafayāt wa-l-dhayl ʿalayhā, ed. Iḥsān ʿAbbās, 5 vols., Beirut 1973. Larkin, M., Popular poetry in the post-classical period, 1150–1850, in R. Allen and D.S. Richards (eds.), Arabic literature in the post-classical period, Cambridge 2006, 199–244. Mahdi, M. (ed.), The thousand and one nights, Leiden 1985. Özkan, H., The Drug zajals in Ibrāhīm al-Miʿmār’s Dīwān, in msr 19 (2013), 212–248. Özkan, H., Why stress does matter: New material on metrics in zajal poetry, in msr 19 (2016), 101–112. Sallām, M.Z., al-Adab fī al-ʿaṣr al-Mamlūkī, 2 vols., Cairo 1971. Shoshan, B., Popular culture in medieval Cairo, Cambridge 1993. 15

Ibn Iyās, Badāʾiʿ i/1, 424–425; also ii, 202 (a similar case).

chapter 2

Travails of Prohibition: Suppression of Alcohol Use in the Mamluk Sultanate Carl F. Petry

Behavior targeted by custodians of law and religion as criminally corrupting or deviant was luridly described by Mamluk-period chroniclers. While the overall frequency of incidents did not parallel rates emerging for offense categories such as disruption, fraud, theft, or homicide, the historians’ elaborate depiction of circumstances pertaining to specific cases reinforces an impression of morals and vice crimes perceived as an abiding threat to the community of believers at large. Nonetheless, notoriety of discreet incidents was clearly a prime motive for inclusion by the chroniclers. Their probable neglect of less sensational cases raises a significant question over the statistical relevance of the data that did appear as a reliable indicator of actual conditions on site. The cases were more likely illustrative of pervasive attitudes than rates of occurrence. Several of these offenses ranked formally as crimes of the first degree in Shariʿa. As such, they theoretically warranted maximum penalties without mitigating circumstances. In practice, the stringency of penalties varied according to perceptions of malicious intent on the part of accused offenders. Whether their actions were driven by momentary impulse or lengthy premeditation figured large in both the authorities’ severity or lenience and the chroniclers’ intensity of condemnation. Nor were the authorities insensitive to ancillary factors such as the perpetrators’ social station. Yet prominence and rank could work against their willingness to show mercy, the very eminence of offenders prompting the authorities to pose themselves as stalwart defenders of public morality and enemies of vice. This tension between lenience in the face of mitigating circumstances and severity evinced as proof of integrity and rigor emerged as an abiding characteristic of morals litigation.

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Intoxication and Illicit Alcohol Sale

Reported most often among vice crimes in the chroniclers’ narratives, imbibing emerged as the vice whose appeal to elite and commoners alike sporadically

© Carl F. Petry, 2022 | doi:10.1163/9789004459717_004

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aroused the authorities to attempt its suppression. Since the authorities aimed at inhibiting a pervasive proclivity, their efforts were often motivated by personal aversion, repugnance, or opportunistic exploitation of notorious incidents to root out transgressions linked to the offenders but otherwise unrelated to drunkenness. The chroniclers’ depictions pointedly implied the impossibility of eliminating alcohol use from society. Its lawfulness for the Christian and Jewish communities alone assured access to alcohol among those Muslims most susceptible to its addiction. The status of alcohol use (specifically wine drinking) as a crime defined in Shariʿa obligated those charged with its prohibition to make vivid gestures when abuse was seen to have gotten out of hand. Senior officials of the regime, and on occasion the sovereign himself, settled covert factional disputes among themselves by apprehending purveyors of alcohol in their rivals’ services. Because members of the ruling caste were seen as particularly susceptible to this vice, their involvement as both perpetrators and victims loomed large in the historians’ discourses. While drunkenness might rank as an offense against religion, the extent of its lure rendered its profitability irresistible. All of these factors converged in the chroniclers’ descriptions. Restriction of wine fermentation and sale inspired their most detailed discussions. Sultans often found prohibition of wine selling a signal gesture of their commitment to the enforcement of Shariʿa at the outset of their reigns. The historian al-Maqrīzī commented at length on al-Nāṣir Muḥammad b. Qalāwūn’s edict against wine sale soon after his third and final enthronement.1 Upon receiving missives (presumably from Damascus) reporting the closure of wine taverns, al-Nāṣir Muḥammad resolved to impose a uniform policy “throughout Egypt” (in practice, Cairo and Fusṭāṭ). He charged a senior officer, one Sayf al-Dīn al-Shaykhī, “to oversee his comrades, nor to ignore houses of the most eminent persons resident in Cairo or Miṣr …. If he found wine in their possession, he was to raid them, and destroy their contents.” When the Amir al-Shaykhī encountered widespread obfuscation and concealment, he rounded up numerous suspects and flogged them until they revealed who was pressing grapes and fermenting wine. The amir’s investigators uncovered a host of prominent officers, bureaucrats, soldiers, and merchants engaged in unlawful wine processing. Now convinced that the crime was ubiquitous, al-Shaykhī enjoined carpenters, stone masons, and builders to search storerooms hidden beneath structures suspected of hoarding wine. As the amir’s agenda of confiscation and demolition spread, al-Maqrīzī asserted

1 Al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk ii 53, line 8, Muḥarram 709/June–July 1311.

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that the undeserved suffering afflicted many not implicated in the offense. The police and soldiers empowered to search suspected premises exploited their charge to steal goods wantonly. Guilty parties accused innocent persons known to own costly assets in order to escape arrest. Long-standing rivals exploited alShaykhī’s sweep to settle old scores with their enemies. Dwellings of Christians and Jews were sacked and their wine stores poured out even if business was confined to their own communities. Al-Maqrīzī stated that when al-Shaykhī’s raid verged on a vendetta, a coterie of amirs met with al-Nāṣir Muḥammad and demanded its cessation—to which the sultan acquiesced. Al-Nāṣir Muḥammad’s own zeal lapsed, it would seem, as his reign progressed and awareness of his soldiers’ restiveness became more acute. AlMaqrīzī and Ibn Taghrī Birdī described an exceptional case of illicit wine selling sanctioned by the sultan that a muckraking viceroy chose as propitious for cracking down on a long list of abuses. The instigator was the amir and ḥājj, Āl Malik, viceroy and effective ruler of Egypt under al-Nāṣir Muḥammad’s son and ephemeral sultan, al-Ṣāliḥ Ismāʿīl.2 Upon his assumption of office, Āl Malik ordered the police chief (wālī) of Cairo to investigate untoward activities rumored at the Storehouse of Banners (Khizānat al-Bunūd), a sprawling emporium in the city center dating from the Fatimid period.3 The viceroy had picked up on gossip alleging widespread wine drinking and prostitution at the structure presided over by Armenian Christians, who were formerly imprisoned by al-Nāṣir Muḥammad early in his reign. At that time, the Khizāna had served as a jail for court-marshaled soldiers and regime officials who had fallen out of favor. Al-Nāṣir Muḥammad terminated that function and settled the Armenians there, where “they procreated, and pressed wine to the extent that in a single year they produced 32,000 bottles for public sale. They suspended swine carcasses from butcher blocks, and surreptitiously trafficked in other prohibited commodities.” Al-Maqrīzī went on to elaborate how the Khizāna, divided into myriad corridors with hundreds of secret chambers, had evolved into a den of iniquity frequented by drunkards and fornicators. Particularly galling to pious members of the military elite was the Khizāna’s popularity as a recreational haven for mamluk troops garrisoned in Cairo. The Amir Āl Malik had remonstrated with al-Nāṣir Muḥammad on several occasions about the Khizāna’s disrepute. To which criticism the sultan had responded with a brusque rejoinder to mind his own business. Al-Maqrīzī hinted that al-Nāṣir Muḥammad had profited from the Khizāna’s activities, stating 2 Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Nujūm x, 88, line 5, 25 Ṣafar 743/30 July 1342; al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk ii, 640, line 12, Muḥarram 744/May–June 1343; ibid., 646, line 15, 4 Rabīʿ i 744/27 July 1343. 3 Al-Maqrīzī, Kitāb al-Mawāʾiẓ i, 423.

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with regard to similar Armenians housed in the Citadel barracks that he had “relied on them in the matter of his (manifold) constructions” (p. 642, line 3). Al-Nāṣir Muḥammad likely sanctioned their dealings which, however reprehensible, were lucrative. By siphoning a hefty share of the proceeds, the sultan could tap a reliable source of income to help defray the costs of his massive building program and his troops’ stipend demands. While al-Nāṣir Muḥammad ruled, his adjutant Āl Malik had no recourse but to suppress his indignation. He yielded to the sultan’s admonition and removed himself to the Ḥusayniyya district north of Bāb al-Naṣr, where he erected a complex with town house, mosque, baths, and shops. But when Āl Malik rose to the viceroyship during the brief reigns of al-Nāṣir Muḥammad’s elder sons, “the rancor smoldering within him overflowed so that he extended his hand against them (the Armenians) in his capacity as nāʾib al-sulṭān.” The viceroy dispatched the prefect, grand chamberlain, and other senior officers, who presided over the Khizāna’s demolition. Following the Armenians’ dispersal and the taverns’ closure, another of Āl Malik’s colleagues, one Amīr Qumārī, formally purchased the site with funds from the public treasury (Bayt al-Māl). It was then divided into lots that were sold off for “houses, mills, and other structures” (no mention of restitution to the Bayt al-Māl, although this was possible in light of the official’s stance of probity). Al-Maqrīzī then related how the viceroy cleared the Citadel of former prisoners, Muslim and Christian, who were similarly engaged. Lauding the demolition as a triumph over sin equal in magnitude to the political victory symbolized by the earlier conquest of Tripoli and Akko from the Crusaders, the historian then turned to Āl Malik’s subsequent agenda. The viceroy’s dispersion of the Armenian wine dealers and pimps offered him a signal muckraking opportunity. Following the Khizāna’s demolition, the ḥājj ordered the wālī to resettle al-Nāṣir Muḥammad’s wine processors ensconced in the Citadel at a waste area between the Ṭūlūn Mosque and the Coptic quarter in Old Cairo. Once their “corruption of mamluks and harems in the Citadel” was terminated, Āl Malik launched a multifarious campaign to suppress graft and vice throughout the city. The populace were forbidden to set up tents at trade fair sites on Jazīra Island, since these allegedly served to promote commingling of the sexes “for reprehensible activities.” Issuance of court briefs by notaries without initial hearings from plaintiffs before a stateappointed qāḍī was prohibited. Defendants in litigation previously had the notaries decide in their favor in exchange for fees—from which, al-Maqrīzī noted, the regime netted a profit via the percentage it charged for sanctioning the procedure. The viceroy abolished illegal ram and cock fighting, fortune telling, wrestling, swordplay, fisticuffs, gambling, and abusive animal (monkeys and bears) shows, fining the former sultan’s agent who had charged the gamesters

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special tariffs in lieu of permits.4 The ḥājj likewise dismissed another of the former monarch’s agents who had collected fees from runaway chattel slaves. These he had kept for himself (and his royal patron), compelling the bereft slave owners to bargain for partial recovery of their losses. Clandestine bartering of rent futures accruing from land allotments (iqṭāʿs) by mamluk soldiers for cash advances was reined in. A trooper engaged in yield bartering was compelled to turn over his cash to the Bayt al-Māl. Finally, the viceroy repealed a host of edicts issued during the previous reign by high officials in Syria that bore the forged signatures of al-Nāṣir Muḥammad’s sons. Āl Malik regarded these as an open license to extort the civil populace. In their sum, the preceding artifices had been implemented by al-Nāṣir Muḥammad and his staff as part of his web of schemes to raise revenue. To what extent Āl Malik’s zealous revocation of them reflected a genuine commitment to reform on his part, or his pent up desire to settle a personal score with an onerous superior, is unclear. Both motives may have applied. Whatever the viceroy’s intentions, subsequent historians observed that many of these abuses resurfaced after Āl Malik’s career. Their profitability outweighed their iniquity. Dramatic displays of tavern closures and wine pouring continued sporadically throughout the Mamluk period, prompted often by shows of regime piety in the aftermath of plague epidemics.5 Sultan Barsbāy, unsettled by these ravages, proved himself ardent in this regard. The chroniclers commented on Christians 4 The term for this agent: al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk ii, 642, line 13: Kamḥānī; Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Nujūm x, 88: Kamjī. 5 Ibn Ḥajar, Inbāʾ ii, 142, lines 5, 24 Muḥarram 803/14 September 1400: senior officer breaks up wine hoard in Shubra; Ibn al-Ṣayrafī, Nuzhat al-nufūs ii, 95 line 14, Rabīʿ ii 803/November– December 1400: same event, alternate date; claim that 50,000 jars were smashed; al-Maqrizi, Sulūk iv, 768, line 4, 23 Ṣafar 831/13 December 1427: European wine dealers in Cairo forbidden to import wine; Ibn Ḥajar, Inbāʾ iii, 400, line 7: same event, date given as Rabīʿ i 831/December 1427–January 1428; Ibn Ḥajar, Inbāʾ iii, 399, line 11, Rabīʿ i 831/as above: Sultan Barsbāy prohibits wine and hashish use; author notes that both soon reappear “by schemes of unjust persons”; ibid., 405, line 15, Rabīʿ ii 831/February–March 1428: Barsbāy again intensifies prohibition of wine drinking by Muslims; flogs two khāṣṣakīs who castigate fuqahāʾ for pouring out wine in Dumyāṭ; one of the khāṣṣakīs is the sultan’s brother; Ibn al-Ṣayrafī, Nuzhat alnufūs iii, 144, line 16, Muḥarram 832/October–November 1428: chamberlain destroys taverns and hashish dens; Ibn Ḥajar, Inbāʾ iii, 552, line 18, 24 Dhū al-Qaʿda 838/21 June 1435: campaign of wine keg smashing in Būlāq, some alleged to exceed a qinṭār (= 100 raṭls at 44.93kg. in Egypt) in weight; Ibn Ṭūlūn, Mufākahat al-khillān i, 7, line 10, 14 Muḥarram 885/26 March 1480: būza brewers arrested in Damascus, their activity discovered by Sufis ( fuqarāʾ); ibid., 21, line 5, 23 Jumādā ii 885/30 August 1480: crowd gathers to condemn wine merchants in Damascus; ibid., 84, line 9, 26 Dhū al-Ḥijja 892/13 December 1487: Sufis of Damascus protest wine selling sanctioned by senior officials; ibid., 158, line 8, 4 Dhū al-Qaʿda 899/6 August 1494: mob breaks into jail to release wine provisioner; Ibn al-Ḥimṣī, Ḥawādith al-zamān fol. 146-b,

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and Jews engaged in wine dealing when they were accused of selling to Muslims or unjustly penalized when trafficking within their own communities.6 The prominence of mamluk soldiers as targets of the amir Āl Malik’s crusade against drunkenness in Cairo was hardly unique to that event. The chroniclers lamented their inebriation as endemic and linked it to their criminality as rioters and thieves. Al-ʿAynī and Ibn Taghrī Birdī described an incident typical of this opprobrium. “On … Saturday (the 15th of Dhū al-Qaʿda 849/12 February 1446), a band exceeding twenty mamluks, criminals of the worst sort, departed (to raid) houses of Christians dwelling in the Āq Sunqur district, intending to rob them of their wine stocks. Twenty more joined them. The Christians assembled to repel them and a violent brawl erupted, leaving killed three mamluks—whose fate was Hell.”7 While such comments proliferated in the narratives, they disclosed little of the mindset underlying the soldiers’ susceptibility to alcohol, or their officers’ complicity in abetting their addiction. The chronicler Ibn al-Ḥimṣī elaborated on an incident he witnessed personally in Damascus during its turbulent final decades under Mamluk rule.8 Noteworthy for its inference of attitudes motivating both perpetrators and their restrainers, Ibn al-Ḥimṣī’s remarks reveal the conflicting perspectives confronting the city’s law enforcers. The incident took place late on Friday 2 Ramaḍān 899/6 June 1494. A local zealot, prominent among the Sufis of Damascus and known for his violent opposition to public consumption of alcohol, seized upon the holy month’s onset to forcibly shut down taverns that remained open at prohibited hours (the incident presum-

lines 2, 20 Dhū al-Ḥijja 899/21 September 1494: author observes wine and hashish dealing in Baʿlabakk. 6 Ibn Ḥajar, Inbāʾ i, 370, line 12, 30 Jumādā ii 791/26 June 1389: wine jars of Christians accused of trading with Muslims smashed in the Rumayla Square; Ibn Ḥajar, Inbāʾ iii, 94, line 18, Rabīʿ ii 819/May–June 1416: wālī prefect confiscates wine stocks held by Christians and Jews selling during the Mahmal caravan departure in Rajab; wine stock found in a monk’s hermitage poured out; Ibn al-Ṣayrafī, Nuzhat al-nufūs iii, 406, line 15, Ramaḍān 841/February–March 1438: sultanic decree permitting inspection of Jewish and Christian residences for extent of wine stores; author notes irony of inspectors responsible for selling honey and molasses for fermentation to these communities; Ibn Ṭūlūn, Mufākahat al-khillān i, 363, line 17, 15 Shawwāl 917/5 January 1512: massive raid against illicit wine selling in Christian village by ḥājib of Damascus; Ibn Iyās, Badāʾiʿ v, 475, line 19, Shawwāl 928/August–September 1522: during Ottoman occupation, intoxicated Christians in Maqs district arrested by viceroy after allegedly insulting a local shaykh; the only one captured converts to Islam to avoid being burned alive. 7 Al-ʿAynī, ʿIqd al-jumān 644, line 1; Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Ḥawādith viii, 19, line 7, 15 Dhū al-Qaʿda 849/12 February 1446. 8 Ibn al-Ḥimṣī, Ḥawādith al-zamān (1999) i, 357, line 14, 2 Ramaḍān 899/6 June 1494; see also Ibn Ṭūlūn, Mufākahat al-khillān i, 158, line 4.

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ably occurred at iftār). The Dawādār Arikmās, second-in-command to the nāʾib governor Qānṣawh al-Yahyāwī, and responsible for maintaining order between the civilian masses and his unruly troops, ordered the zealot, Shaykh Mubārak al-Qābūnī, arrested and flogged along with one of his Sufi followers. Ibn alḤimṣī observed that this shaykh had a history of vehement prohibition, which the dawādār considered incendiary to his own soldiers. Ibn al-Ḥimṣī noted that “the nāʾib and Turks obsessed over him in their hearts because of that.” After they were whipped, Shaykh Mubārak and his Sufi adjutant were locked in irons and jailed. It was their humiliating punishment that ignited tensions smoldering between the mamluks and their civilian subjects. Following public outcry over their sentences, several eminent jurists, led by the city’s chief Shāfiʿī qāḍī Shihāb al-Dīn b. Furfūr, accosted the dawādār and nāʾib with demands for their release. Ibn Furfūr angrily addressed the governor: “A worthy man who proscribes heinousness is unjustly lashed in this holy month without cause.” The nāʾib al-Yahyāwī bowed to his demand and freed Shaykh Mubārak. But his adjutant remained imprisoned. Ibn al-Ḥimṣī stated that the shaykh’s release provoked wild rejoicing. Mubārak departed the governor’s residence accompanied by some 2,000 supporters raucously voicing their jubilation. The shaykh’s Sufi entourage remained irate over his indignity and their colleague’s continued confinement. One of them, identified only by his nisba alTaḥtānī (after a village close to al-Qābūn), had arrived from the shaykh’s home town intent on further incitement. He rallied his fellow Sufis, who proceeded to the jail to demand their comrade’s release. When the prison guards refused, a mob gathered to break down its gate and free all its inmates—who quickly dispersed into the city. Enraged by this mob action, the nāʾib governor now ordered his mamluk troops and their auxiliaries to crush the riot and capture the escapees. The latter fled to the courtyard of the Umayyad Mosque along with the mob and their Sufi instigators. Undeterred by the mosque’s sanctuary, the pursuing mamluks found one of the gates unbolted and forced their way in. An orgy of assault ensued with the soldiers killing or maiming the people huddled within. Those who survived fled to two surrounding markets with the troops close behind. Other commercial districts and emporia immediately closed to avoid a similar fate. The soldiers beheaded anyone they suspected of ties to the Sufi rabble rousers, identifying them by their miʾzar headgear.9

9 This garment, wrapped around a turban and covering the shoulders, was apparently worn by the Qābūnī Sufis to distinguish themselves; see Dozy, Supplément i, 20.

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After the mamluks reported back to the governor, he ordered them to plunder the town of Qābūn and its surrounding villages. They razed Shaykh Mubārak’s zāwiya hospice and executed anyone they found wearing the miʾzar. This outburst of carnage clearly signaled the mutual antipathy that had been simmering long before. The fervor exhibited by Shaykh Mubārak and his entourage likely stemmed from anger over a range of behavior by the mamluk soldiery much broader than their habitual drunkenness and disregard of Ramaḍān proscriptions. The latter years of Mamluk rule in major Syrian towns was fraught with tensions resulting from lapsing discipline on the troops’ part, matched by mounting impulses for independence on the civilians’ side that dated back to their moment of autonomy following the Timurid occupation early in the ninth/fifteenth century. Given the disparity of stances exhibited by Sufi orders throughout the late medieval period, the prohibition championed by a local zealot in this instance cannot be interpreted as a uniform indication of opposition to alcohol use by Sufis generally. Shaykh Mubārak’s community exploited the snubbing of alcohol interdiction during Ramaḍān to vent their ire over deeper, undisclosed resentments of dereliction by their Mamluk overlords. On the mamluks’ side, their position as guardians of order and upholders of the regime in Syria had eroded since Tīmūr’s invasion. The incapacity of the central regime in Cairo to maintain their stipends on a regular basis had thrown the Mamluk garrison on its own resources to finance an elite lifestyle that was increasingly precarious, and increasingly seen by the civilian locals as predatory and extortionist. When Ibn al-Ḥimṣī observed that the senior mamluk officials and their troops “obsessed” over Shaykh Mubārak’s prohibition, he was hinting at their antipathy toward an obstreperous Sufi’s clamor over a long-standing vice the masses had perforce endured in return for security in precarious times. To what extent the mamluks’ savage reprisal was incited by anxieties deriving from their own interfactional feuds that alcohol could temporarily assuage can only be guessed at. But of their brutality there was no doubt, as Ibn al-Ḥimṣī lamented when he concluded: “Behold, my brother, this unprecedented disaster. There is no effort nor power save in God.”10 The chroniclers reserved an acute revulsion for chronic intoxication flaunted by persons at the top of the Mamluk hierarchy. One individual stood out: the erratic heir to his famous father, Sultan al-Nāṣir Faraj b. Barqūq. While the historians acknowledged the destabilizing effects of Faraj’s contested accession, they refused to exonerate his cruelty during drunken rampages. Al-Maqrīzī

10

Al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk iv, 188, line 6, 1 Shaʿbān 814/18 November 1411, et seq.

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denounced Faraj’s wanton execution of senior officers on several occasions in his final year.11 Although recognizing that Faraj’s cruelty derived in part from his obsessive fear of conspiracy and deposition, al-Maqrīzī castigated him for summoning the courage to eliminate potential supplanters only under the influence. Substance dependence signaled weakness; if perceived enemies were to be removed, at least the decision to do so should be taken with a clear head. Faraj’s drunken image presented a role model that tarnished the monarchy’s effectiveness far more than cruelty meted out as a calculated policy planned by a mind unclouded by alcohol. When the historian Ibn al-Ṣayrafī wrote Faraj’s obituary as an entry for the following year, he attributed the sultan’s violent end to alcohol addiction.12 Ibn al-Ṣayrafī allowed for the influence of unsavory companions: Attending him (Faraj) were a band of officers and soldiers whose intimacy, collegiality and obedience were untoward. They likely exposed him to diverse obscenities, depravities, and paths to wickedness. It was they who induced him to seizure of the Muslims’ assets and property. Our shaykh, Qāḍī al-Quḍāʾ Badr al-Dīn al-ʿAynī, related … There was no variant of evil or obscenity he did not pursue. He hoarded monies, gold and precious stones his father before him had disdained. Yet in the end, these brought him no happiness and overwhelmed his rule. He died; may God have mercy on him and the Muslims.

11

12

Other examples of complicity in alcohol abuse by senior officers: al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk ii, 649, line 3, Rabīʿ ii 744/August–September 1343: denunciation of Damascus governor Tuquzdamur al-Ḥamawī for allowing open consumption of wine by his soldiers; Ibn Ḥajar, Inbāʾ i, 154, line 5, 4 Rajab 779/6 November 1377: senior officer who participated in insurrection falls to his death from window while intoxicated; al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk iii, 561, line 6, 4 Rabīʿ i 789/25 March 1387: Sultan Barqūq punishes two senior officials with flogging and fines for openly drinking; ibid., 581, line 11, 15 Shaʿbān 790/19 August 1488: Sultan Barqūq exiles senior eunuch officer (muqaddam al-mamālīk) to Ṣafad for absence without leave while drunk; Ibn Ḥajar, Inbāʾ ii, 15, line 9, 12 Dhū al-Qaʿda 800/27 July 1398: disapproval over widespread drunkenness and hashish smoking during state banquet, ignored by sultan; Ibn Ḥajar, Inbāʾ iii, 373, line 8, Dhū al-Qaʿda 829/September–October 1426: governor of Ṣafad dismissed over dereliction of duty due to drunkenness; Ibn al-Ṣayrafi, Nuzhat al-nufūs iii, 118, line 18, 6 Shawwāl 830/29 July 1427: amir arrested for hosting drunks in his house; one mamluk of the Naṣiriyya found dead; Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Ḥawādith viii, 497, line 1, 9 Shaʿbān 869/6 April 1465: Sultan Khushqadam flogs mamluk for allowing his ghulām to assault civilians while drunk; ghulām is bisected; Ibn Ṭūlūn, Mufākahat al-khillān i, 32, line 4, 24 Dhū al-Ḥijja 885/25 February 1481: wine shop owned by officer in Damascus closed; officer forced to apologize. Ibn al-Ṣayrafī, Nuzhat al-nufūs ii, 322, line 6, 815/1412–1413.

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The message these assessments conveyed was clear: vulnerability to alcohol was a vice ubiquitous among the military caste, but failure to prevent indulgence from progressing to addiction led to disaster. References to drunkenness or alcohol trafficking on the part of Muslim civilians were more indicative of their promoting the military elite’s vice than for the extent of their own indulgence. While instances of civilian inebriation emerged, their rate of occurrence was too sporadic to depict more than the fact of alcohol use itself.13 The chroniclers reserved their most detailed narratives for court cases that elucidated litigation between defendants, their sponsors, and accusers. Incidents included processors of alcohol, hashish, or opium defending their craft as a licit business sanctioned by influential clients, law enforcers demanding dismissal of excessive force charges, siblings contesting estate claims on the grounds of alleged unsuitability by reason of substance abuse, and defendants acquitted following intercession by military allies.14 A case interesting for its litigable intricacies was described by the Damascene Ibn Ṭūlūn.15 The unnamed defendant was caught selling a confection

13

14

15

Ibn Ḥajar, Inbāʾ ii, 459, line 7, 21 Muḥarram 813/26 May 1410: bodies of two drunk men discovered seemingly charred from burning with no evidence of fire; probability of a chemical reaction; ibid., iii, 69, line 1, 3 Ramaḍān 818/6 November 1416: intoxicated man seized by mob and burned alive; Ibn Iyās, Badāʾiʿ iii, 231, line 16, Ramaḍān 891/September 1486: individual arrested and jailed for intoxication; Ibn Ṭūlūn, Mufākahat al-khillān i, 109, line 18, 16 Dhū al-Qaʿda 894/11 October 1489: drunken criminals die from falling off their horses during flight; Ibn al-Ḥimṣī, Ḥawādith al-zamān ii, 48, line 3, 29 Dhū alQaʿda 903/19 July 1498: Sultan al-Nāṣir Muḥammad mutilates notables for intoxication; Ibn al-Ḥimṣī, Ḥawādith al-zamān ii, 53, line 10; Ibn Iyās, Badāʾiʿ iii, 397, line 13, Muḥarram 904/August–September 1498: Sultan al-Nāṣir Muḥammad bisects man accused of intoxication; Ibn Iyās, Badāʾiʿ iv, 26, line 8, 17 Ramaḍān 909/4 March 1504: arrest, flogging, and imprisonment of men caught drinking in orchard; Ibn Ṭūlūn, Mufākahat al-khillān i, 292, line 7, 1 Rabīʿ ii 911/2 August 1505: intoxicated youth hanged for concealing knife. Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Ḥawādith viii, 39, line 16, 11 Dhū al-Ḥijja 852/5 February 1449: individual jailed for possessing hashish released after Sultan Jaqmaq determines that charges of trafficking were unsubstantiated; Ibn Ḥajar, Inbāʾ iii, 540, line 14, Rabīʿ i 838/October– November 1434: Mālikī qāḍī accuses police chief of unjustly beating to death a person accused of lodging an appeal while drunk; Sultan Barsbāy exonerates the wālī; Ibn Ṭūlūn, Mufākahat al-khillān i, 162, line 18, 16 Jumādā i 900/12 February 1495: notable merchant lodges abuse complaint against the grand chamberlain who arrested him for refusing appointment to a market shaykhship on grounds of his intoxication; ibid., 248, line 23, 3 Rabīʿ ii 907/16 October 1501: civil notable disputes sibling’s inheritance on grounds of the latter’s intoxication; Ibn Iyās, Badāʾiʿ v, 313, line 10, 19 Ramaḍān 925/14 September 1519: stationer merchant in Cairo bisected by viceroy after being accused of drug trafficking, despite intercession by his Janissary customers. Ibn Ṭūlūn, Mufākahat al-khillān i, 8, line 5, 20 Muḥarram 885/1 April 1480: See Wehr, A dictionary 594 on the confection maʿjūn.

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the names of the mamlūks table 4.4

Names given to Mongols/Tatars (mostly related to the Burjiyya) in Qalāwūn’s days (cont.)

Name (year of death) iv. Bahādur: 1. Raʾs Nawba (693/1293) 2. Al-Manṣūrī al-ʿAjamī (696/1297) 3. Āṣ al-Manṣūrī (730/1329) 4. Al-Sanjarī (733/1333) v. Balabān:145 1. Al-Bunduqdārī (693/1293) 2. Al-Manṣūrī al-Ṭabbākhī (700/1300) 3. Al-Jūkandār al-Manṣūrī (706/1307) 4. Al-Tatarī al-Manṣūrī (725/1325)

Master, age

Ethnic origin

Al-Manṣūr Qalāwūn Al-Manṣūr Qalāwūn?, shābb Al-Manṣūr Qalāwūn Al-Manṣūr Qalāwūn?

Al-Turkī141 Al-ʿAjamī142

Al-Manṣūr Qalāwūn? Al-Manṣūr Qalāwūn, 40+ Al-Manṣūr Qalāwūn Al-Manṣūr Qalāwūn

Alan143 Burjiyya144

Burjiyya?/Al-Turkī146 Silāḥdār147 Jūkandār/“Turk”148 Al-Tatarī149

The names of Qalāwūn’s mamlūks who occupied posts of the Burjiyya are entirely different from the names of those who occupied the posts of Qipchaqs: a comparison of the names in these two groups shows that there is not even a single name common to both. This corroborates the assumption that during his days mamlūks were given names according to their ethnic origin and that at least at times Mongols/Tatars and Qipchaqs were given different names.

141 142 143 144 145

146 147 148 149

Ibn al-Furāt, Taʾrīkh viii, 188 (al-Turkī); al-Maqrīzī, Muqaffá ii, 500; idem, Khiṭaṭ ii, 67. Al-Jazarī, Taʾrīkh i, 348; al-Ṣafadī, Aʿyān al-ʿaṣr ii, 59. His nisba suggests that he originated from the Ilkhanate. Ibn Ḥajar, Durar i, 293; al-Ṣafadī, Aʿyān al-ʿaṣr ii, 56–59; Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Manhal iii, 428– 430. Al-Ṣafadī, Aʿyān al-ʿaṣr ii, 61–62; al-Birzālī, Taʾrīkh iii, 163 (Burjī). The table includes only mamlūks of Qalāwūn who have entries in the biographical dictionaries. Except for them the sources mention a mamlūk of Qalāwūn by the name of Balabān al-Rūsī, see Mazor, The rise and fall 39. Ibn al-Furāt, Taʾrīkh viii, 190 (al-Turkī); Graf, Die Epitome 91 (perhaps a Burjī). Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Manhal iii, 422; al-Ṣafadī, Aʿyān al-ʿaṣr ii, 42–43; al-ʿAynī, ʿIqd al-jumān iv, 156. Al-Birzālī, Taʾrīkh iii, 345 (min khiyār al-Turk); al-Ṣafadī, Aʿyān al-ʿaṣr ii, 43–44; al-Maqrīzī, Muqaffá ii, 490. Al-Ṣafadī, Aʿyān al-ʿaṣr ii, 47–48 (al-Tatarī).

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In addition, from the days of Qalāwūn until the Circassian period we hardly ever come across a non-Turk who filled a post given to Qipchaqs in the days of Qalāwūn.150 This corroborates the assumption that mamlūks were sent to the

150

I discuss this in detail in Yosef, Ethnic groups (2011), i, 36–41, 56–60, 80–83. The descendants of al-Nāṣir Muḥammad gave at times the posts of sāqī and jamdār to eunuchs, some of them Rūmīs, see for example Ibn al-Furāt, Taʾrīkh ix, 176 (Mithqāl al-Jamālī al-Ṭawāshī al-Sāqī); Ibn Ḥajar, Durar iii, 118 (ʿAnbar al-Sāqī al-ʿAzīzī al-Ṭawāshī); Ibn Qāḍī Shuhba, Taʾrīkh i, 498 (Muqbil al-Rūmī who was a jamdār). However, non-Turks who were not eunuchs almost never filled these posts until the Circassian period. As far as I know, from the days of Qalāwūn until the Circassian period there is not even a single case of a sāqī who is known to have been a non-Turk or had a name normally given to non-Turks. In that period, there is also no jamdār who is known to have been a non-Turk, and there is only one case of a jamdār that had a name that was normally given to non-Turks: Baybars al-Muẓaffarī al-Jamdār (d. 740/1339–1340) the mamlūk of sultan al-Muẓaffar Baybars, see al-Maqrīzī, Muqaffá ii, 527–528. We may speculate that the Circassian sultan al-Muẓaffar Baybars perhaps gave the post of jamdār on some occasions also to non-Turks. When we have information on the posts filled by non-Turks (Circassians, Rūmīs, or Armenians) after the days of Qalāwūn and until the Circassian period, these are always posts that were filled by Burjiyya members during the days of Qalāwūn (for example the Circassian or Armenian Ghurulū al-Sayfī filled the post of aūjāqī, see footnote 108 above; the Rūmī Bahādur Ḥalāwa al-Nāṣirī filled the post of aūjāqī, see no. 1 in table 4.5 below; the Circassian or Armenian Iyāz al-Nāṣirī filled the post of silāḥdār, see no. 1 in table 4.8 below; the Circassian Ināl al-Yūsufī filled the post of jūkandār, see Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Nujūm xi, 45. Interestingly, al-Saḥmāwī [d. 868/1464] perhaps implies that traditionally the aūjāqiyya tended to be blonds, see al-Saḥmāwī, al-Thaghr al-bāsim i, 381). The little information we have on Alans and Russians suggests that also after the days of Qalāwūn and until the Circassian period they continued to fill posts that were filled by Burjiyya members during the days of Qalāwūn, see footnotes 126 and 129 above (the posts of jāshankīr and silāḥdār are attested). It should be added that among the mamlūks of Qalāwūn we hardly find suqāt and jamdāriyya, which suggests that Qipchaqs were less significant in his days than Mongols/Tatars and non-Turks. In fact, we observed a significant increase in the number of suqāt and jamdāriyya starting from the third reign of al-Nāṣir Muḥammad (see also Rabbat, The citadel 138), alongside a decrease in the number of mamlūks filling posts that were filled by Burjiyya members during the days of Qalāwūn. This may be related to the fact that al-Nāṣir Muḥammad turned against the elite of the Manṣūriyya and promoted a new Turco-Mongol elite (see section 4 below). All the names of suqāt and jamdāriyya who were not eunuchs from that time and until the Circassian period are names that were given to Turco-Mongols. In fact, the sources explicitly mention that al-Nāṣir Muḥammad chose his companions from among the jamdāriyya, see al-Ṣafadī, Aʿyān al-ʿaṣr v, 446. On the other hand, when al-Ẓāhir Barqūq ascended the throne he arrested the leaders of the jamdāriyya who planned to kill him and took their property, in what was most certainly a part of his struggle against the Turco-Mongols, see Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Nujūm xi, 212; xii, 3. During the Circassian period these posts were no longer divided along ethnic lines.

the names of the mamlūks

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barracks according to their ethnic origin and trained to fill different posts even after the days of Qalāwūn.151 Scholars who referred to the role of ethnic solidarity in Mamluk politics during the early Turkish period tend to focus on “the Manṣūriyya period” (689– 709/1290–1310), when political activity based on ethnic affinities is indeed most discernible. The most recent and detailed studies on this period by Amitai and Mazor, however, single out the “episode” of Kitbughā and the Mongol/Oirat wāfidiyya (693–699/1293–1299) as a unique case152 and conclude that ethnicity had a very restricted role in the political struggles of that period.153 Amitai, whose examination of ethnic solidarity during the period was restricted to its “Mongol variety,” concluded that we should not attribute “too much importance to ethnic solidarity in the Sultanate’s politics, at least among senior Mamluks of Mongol origin.”154 As an evidence for that “there is nowhere else anything similar to the story of Kitbughā and the Oirats,” Amitai mentioned that there is no evidence of ethnic solidarity on the part of the Oirat Salār alManṣūrī (d. 710/1310), neither vis-à-vis Kitbughā nor the wāfidiyya, and that “[o]ther considerations besides ethnic solidarity … played a role in Salār’s political calculations.”155 Mazor referred to the fact that the Mongol wāfidiyya did

151

152

153

154 155

Another indication for the continuing connection between ethnic origin and posts is alʿUmarī’s note that the “axe-bearers” (ṭabardāriyya) surrounding al-Nāṣir Muḥammad were Kurds (wa-amāmahu al-ṭabardāriyya wa-hum ṭāʾifa min al-Akrād), see al-ʿUmarī, Masālik iii, 434; and see also al-Maqrīzī, Khiṭaṭ ii, 201. In fact, until the (early) Circassian period the ṭabardāriyya mentioned in the sources, on whose ethnic origin there is information, were Kurds: i. Bahāʾ al-Dīn Bād al-Kurdī mentioned in 781/1380, see al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk iii, 371. ii. Muḥammad ibn Yūsuf ibn ʿAlī al-Ḥarrāwī al-Kurdī (d. 781/1379, born in 697/1298), see alMaqrīzī, Durar al-ʿuqūd iii, 192; idem, Sulūk iii, 376; Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Nujūm xi, 200. iii. Aḥmad ibn Asad al-Hadhabānī al-Kurdī mentioned in 802/1400, see al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk iii, 980. iv. Nāṣir al-Dīn Muḥammad ibn Aḥmad al-Hadhabānī al-Kurdī (d. 824/1420–1421), see Ibn Ḥajar, Inbāʾ al-ghumr vii, 446; al-Sakhāwī, Ḍawʾ vii, 128. In the (late) Circassian period, however, some ṭabardāriyya were sons of mamlūks, who according to their names were Circassians or Turco-Mongols, see for example al-Malaṭī, Majmaʿ 304, 374; Ibn Iyās, Badāʾiʿ al-zuhūr ii, 1034; and see also al-Saḥmāwī, al-Thaghr al-bāsim i, 382; Ibn Iyās, Badāʾiʿ al-zuhūr i, 474. Amitai, Mamluks of Mongol origin 129–131; Mazor, The rise and fall 168 (“[t]he rise and fall of Kitbughā, indeed, has some relation to solidarity among the mamluks and wāfidiyya of Mongol origin. Nevertheless, it is a single case that should not be overestimated”). See Mazor, The rise and fall 36 (“ethnicity did not play a prominent role in most of the political struggles during the Manṣūrīyya period”), 169 (“[i]t seems that the Muslim historians overestimated the role of ethnicity in mamluk political solidarity”). Amitai, Mamluks of Mongol origin 131. Ibid., 131–132.

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not support Salār al-Manṣūrī and the Mongol Quṭlūbak al-Kabīr al-Manṣūrī (d. 716/1316), and even turned against them.156 More generally, he mentioned the “many more cases of enmity between Manṣūrī amirs who belonged to the same ethnic group” and the “cases of very close relations between amirs of different ethnic origins.”157 While the case of Kitbughā and the wāfidiyya is indeed unique in its intensity and duration, it is far from being the only case of political activity related to ethnicity during “the Manṣūriyya period.” In fact, such political activity is attested starting from the arrival of Mongol wāfidiyya and Mongol mamlūks (many of them war captives) in the Mamluk Sultanate during the reign of al-Ẓāhir Baybars (658–676/1260–1277) and until al-Nāṣir Muḥammad’s third reign. Until the 1310s, the Mongol wāfidiyya and war captives were seen in a negative light and were accused of being a treacherous, disloyal, and untrustworthy element in Mamluk society, of conspiring against Qipchaq sultans, of collaborating with the Mongol Ilkhans, or of trying to escape to the Ilkhan’s territories.158 Contemporary sources mention quite a few instances of Mongol political action related to ethnicity. Thus, for example, already in the days of al-Ẓāhir Baybars it was reported that a group of Mongol wāfidiyya was suspected of collaboration with the Ilkhans. During the reign of al-Manṣūr Qalāwūn, the Mongol amir Kuvendik al-Sāqī (d. 680/1281) revolted with the support of Mongol wāfidiyya and later on collaborated with the Mongol Sunqur al-Ashqar (d. 692/1292) who was accused of collaboration with the Ilkhans.159 During “the Manṣūriyya period” the collaboration of Kitbughā with the Mongol/Oirat wāfidiyya has received much attention so there is no need to discuss it here; however, it should be emphasized that Kitbughā’s Mongol supporters included also mamlūks: Kurjī al-Ashrafī (d. 698/1299), Ṭurjī/Ṭughjī al-Ashrafī (d. 698/1299), and Qibjaq al-Manṣūrī (d. 710/1310). They are said to have supported Kitbughā because “ethnic solidarity is a cause for collaboration” (al-jinsiyya ʿillat alḍamm).160 After the deposal of al-ʿĀdil Kitbughā in 696/1296, the Mongol amirs

156 157 158 159 160

Mazor, The rise and fall 168–169. Ibid., 169–170. Yosef, Cross-boundary hatred 161–171; and see also Rabbat, The changing concept 92. Yosef, Cross-boundary hatred, 161. Al-ʿAynī, ʿIqd al-jumān iii, 242. Amitai did not refer to Mongol mamlūks who supported Kitbughā and specifically doubted if Qibjaq al-Manṣūrī ever showed signs of ethnic solidarity with Kitbughā, see Amitai, Mamluks of Mongol origin 132. Mazor mentioned briefly “mamluks and wāfidiyya of Mongol origin” but did not elaborate on the mamlūks, see Mazor, The rise and fall 168. Mazor, however, referred to a possible cooperation between Qibjaq al-Manṣūrī and Salār al-Manṣūrī, see ibid.

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Quṭlūbars al-ʿĀdilī (d. 699/1299–1300) and Karatāy (d. 698/1299) wanted to enthrone al-ʿĀdil Kitbughā’s son. Lājīn al-Manṣūrī (d. 698/1299) turned to the Mongol amir Tuqṣubā al-Ẓāhirī (d. 745/1344–1345) and asked him to talk with Kitbughā’s son because “people of the same ethnic group tend to collaborate with each other” ( fa-inna al-jins yamīlu ilá al-jins).161 In 699/1299 during al-Nāṣir Muḥammad’s second reign (698–708/1299–1309) when the Circassian amir Baybars al-Jāshankīr (d. 709/1310) and the Oirat amir and war captive Salār al-Manṣūrī ran the affairs of the state, Oirat wāfidiyya are reported to have cooperated with the mamlūks of al-Nāṣir Muḥammad in an attempt to get rid of Baybars and put their kinsman Kitbughā back on the throne, because they were fed up with the Burjiyya domination. More importantly, while some of the sources report they also intended to kill Salār al-Manṣūrī, it is also reported that Baybars al-Jāshankīr’s supporters from the Burjiyya believed Salār al-Manṣūrī was actually collaborating with the faction of the rebels.162 At about the same time Salār al-Manṣūrī was the muwākhī of the Mongol Quṭlūbak al-Kabīr alManṣūrī who is said to have gathered around him Oirats and wāfidiyya and showered on them benefits. His connection to Salār and the wāfidiyya seriously bothered the Burjiyya amirs.163 When Salār went to the Battle of Shaqḥab with the Mongol Ilkhans in 702/1303, he is reported to have said the people suspect him because “they think that I am affiliated with the Mongols, because I am one of their kind.”164 After the Circassian amir Baybars al-Jāshankīr of the Burjiyya became sultan in 708/1309, it is reported that other Circassian amirs were very happy. On the other hand, the Mongols Quṭlūbak al-Kabīr and al-Ḥājj Bahādur al-Manṣūrī (d. 710/1310) organized a coalition against the Circassians in fear that “these Circassians will eliminate us if they will have the opportunity.”165 At about the same time, Salār conspired (khāmara) with Nūghāy al-Qibjāqī, probably a Mongol from the Golden Horde, against Baybars and the Burjiyya.166

161 162 163

164 165 166

Al-Maqrīzī, Muqaffá iv, 30–31. Al-ʿAynī, ʿIqd al-jumān iii, 468–469; al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk i, 883, 885. Al-Ṣafadī, Aʿyān al-ʿaṣr iv, 122; Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Manhal ix, 86–87. According to Mazor, the Mongol wāfidiyya acted against Quṭlūbak and made him leave his office, but in fact the sources actually say that the Burjiyya made him leave his office because of his connection with the wāfidiyya, see Mazor, The rise and fall 168–169. Yosef, Cross-boundary hatred 163. See, for example, al-Maqrīzī, Muqaffá ii, 505; and see also Mazor, The rise and fall 168; Ayalon, The Circassians 138. See Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Nujūm viii, 248; al-Ṣafadī, Aʿyān al-ʿaṣr ii, 490. Nūghāy is a Mongol name.

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From all this we learn that Mongol political action related to ethnicity was far from being restricted to the case of Kitbughā and the wāfidiyya. Other Mongol mamlūks cooperated with the wāfidiyya167 and with each other and were perceived by their contemporaries as inclined to show solidarity with other Mongols. More specifically, we learn that Salār did cooperate with Mongol wāfidiyya and Mongol amirs, and his Mongol ethnic origin was seen by his contemporaries as an important element of his identity.168 As for non-Turks, it has been noted that during the “the Manṣūriyya period” Circassian-Burjī solidarity is discernible. The Circassian sultan al-Manṣūr Lājīn was supported by a Burjī faction that included a very strong Circassian element,169 and the Circassian Baybars al-Jāshankīr depended on “the Circassian element which constituted the majority among the Burjiyya.”170 As mentioned, Circassians and Mongols seem to have formed opposing factions during the second reign of al-Nāṣir Muḥammad. It seems that Circassian-Burjī political action can still be observed even in the first few years of al-Nāṣir Muḥammad’s third reign. In 712/1312 several Burjī amirs who have names that were given to non-Turks were arrested for supporting the Circassian amirs Qarā Sunqur al-Manṣūrī and Aqūsh al-Afram.171 In 713/1314, two amirs of the Burjiyya— the Circassian Baybars al-Aḥmadī (d. 746/1345) and Aybak al-Rūmī (died after 713/1314), were arrested by al-Nāṣir Muḥammad, who suspected that they want to depose him.172

167 168

169 170 171 172

Elsewhere I have mentioned that Kurjī al-Ashrafī cooperated with the wāfidiyya; however, this is a mistake, see Yosef, Dawlat al-Atrāk 396–397. Robert Irwin mentioned that Salār was supported by “Mongols who favored Salar because he was a Mongol” without giving reference, so it was unclear to Amitai to which Mongols he was referring (wāfidiyya or “Mongol-Mamluks”). Amitai concluded that he is not sure at all if this Mongol support really existed, see Amitai, Mamluks of Mongol origin 132 (footnote 60); Irwin, The Middle East 92. Holt mentioned that Salār was leading the “Turkish” faction opposed to the Circassian-Burjī faction headed by Baybars al-Jāshnakīr, without giving reference. Amitai mentioned that “[t]his may well be the case, although further research is needed to establish the ethnic component of this rivalry and the larger political struggles of the second reign of al-Nāṣir Muḥammad,” see Amitai, Mamluks of Mongol origin 132. As seen above, Salār was indeed cooperating with Mongol amirs and wāfidiyya against the Circassian-Burjī faction. Irwin, The Middle East 92. Rabbat, The changing concept 96. See footnotes 74, 84–85 above. See al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk ii, 128; and see idem, Muqaffá ii, 324; table 4.3.ii (no. 10). On the identity of non-Turks and negative attitudes toward them, see Yosef, Cross-boundary hatred 191–203.

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As Amitai mentioned, “[i]ndividual and group identities and their impact on political action can be fluid and multifarious, and the possibility of multiple identities existing concurrently cannot be discounted,”173 and as Amitai and Mazor have shown, senior Mamluk amirs’ political actions were many times dictated by interests and not by ethnic solidarity. Notwithstanding this, political action based on ethnicity was more common during the early Turkish period than so far recognized. Moreover, the information presented in this article allows us to look at the issue of ethnic solidarity from a different angle. As we have seen, mamlūk society was divided along ethnic lines. Mamlūks were given names according to their ethnic origins (Qipchaqs, Mongols/Tatars, and non-Turks) a fact that must have contributed to broadening the rift between members of different ethnic groups.174 At least at times, they were educated in different barracks where they grew up with their own kinsmen and trained to fill specific posts. This must have instilled in them a strong sense of belonging to an ethnic group. Thus, the ethnic origin of a mamlūk was an extremely important component of his identity. While senior amirs’ political actions were many times dictated by interests, their ethnic identity was always lurking in the background, and they could easily use feelings of ethnic solidarity to mobilize supporters from their ethnic group. This was the situation until alNāṣir Muḥammad’s third reign, during which a new Turco-Mongol identity was constructed, which ended the separation between Mongols/Tatars and Turks within the Sultanate (see section 4 below). In that period non-Turks lost their political significance, thus there are no longer reports of political activity based on ethnic solidarity until the late Turkish period, when changes in the ethnic composition of the Sultanate made animosity between Turco-Mongols and non-Turks resurface (see sections 5–6 below).

173 174

Amitai, Mamluks of Mongol origin 136. The Mongol wāfidiyya kept their original names that were normally different from slavenames; however, names of Mongol wāfidiyya were apparently also given to Mongol/Tatar mamlūks. For a detailed discussion, see Yosef, Ethnic groups (2011), i, 19–43; and see also idem, Cross-boundary hatred 161; Rabbat, The changing concept 97.

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Names of Mamlūks in al-Nāṣir Muḥammad’s Third Reign (709–741/1310–1341)

After al-Nāṣir Muḥammad regained power in 709/1310, there is evidence of massive purges and arrests of Mongols and Burjiyya members.175 Al-Nāṣir Muḥammad also carried out what can be called “symbolic purges.” He stopped using most of the names for mamlūks employed by his father.176 The best example of one such symbolic purge is the cessation of the attribution of the name Baybars.177 Baybars was not only a name given to non-Turks in the days of Qalāwūn but also the name of a Circassian-Burjī mamlūk and a bitter enemy of al-Nāṣir Muḥammad who even dethroned him—al-Muẓaffar Baybars alJāshankīr (d. 709/1310). Al-Nāṣir Muḥammad also turned a few of the names that were assigned in the days of Qalāwūn to Mongol/Tatar members of the Burjiyya into names for non-Turks. The best example is Bahādur. Whereas during the days of Qalāwūn it was apparently given only to Mongols/Tatars (see table 4.4.iv above), it is clear that starting from the 1320s it was given only to non-Turks, mainly Europeans/Anatolians as well as Armenians, and probably also one Circassian (see table 4.5 below).178 This symbolic act conveyed a message that the Mongols from Qalāwūn’s days, who sometimes served with non-Turks in the same unit and were occasionally suspected of allying themselves with the Sultanate’s enemies, were not actually Turks. As mentioned, starting from the 1320s we can no longer speak of Mongols and Turks but only of Turco-Mongols. In the days of al-Nāṣir Muḥammad new names appeared that were given to members of the Turco-Mongol ethnic group. The name Yalbughā is the best example of one such name (see table 4.6 below).179

175

176 177

178 179

See, for example, al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk ii, 87, 524; and see footnotes 74, 84–85 above; and see also Amitai, The remaking 145–146. For a detailed discussion, see Mazor, The rise and fall 195–207, 254–257. Mazor notes, however, that few Burjī amirs escaped the purges and gained positions of honor during al-Nāṣir Muḥammad’s third reign, see ibid., 207, 256– 257. For a detailed discussion, see Yosef, Ethnic groups (2011) i, 69–72. The name Baybars was not used starting from al-Nāṣir Muḥammad’s third reign until it reappeared again in the Circassian period (see the gap between items 10 and 11 in table 4.3.ii above). On the name Baybars during the Circassian period, see below at footnote 246. Another example of such a name is Balabān, see table 4.4.v above; Yosef, Mamlūks of Jewish origin (table B and footnote 73). Other examples of such names are Qarābughā and possibly also Asanbughā, see footnote 126 above and footnote 262 below.

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the names of the mamlūks table 4.5

Names given to Mongols/Tatars in Qalāwūn’s days that in the 1320s turned into names given to non-Turks: the name Bahādur starting from the 1320s180

Name (year of death)

Master, age

Ethnic origin

1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8.

Al-Nāṣir Muḥammad Al-Nāṣir Muḥammad

Rūmī/Aūjāqī 181 Brother of Sunqur182 Son of Sunqur183 Rūmī/Frank/Armenian184 Non-Turk?185 Rūmī eunuch186 Al-Armanī187 Rūmī188

Ḥalāwa al-Aūjāqī al-Nāṣirī (744/1343) Al-Jamālī (786/1385) Ibn Sunqur al-Bashtakī (779/1377) Al-Manjakī (790/1388) Al-Sayfī al-Aʿsar (798/1396) Al-Shihābī al-Yalbughāwī (802/1400) Al-Armanī al-Dimashqī (810/1408) Min Yashbak al-Ẓāhirī (891/1486)

180

181

182 183 184 185 186 187 188

Manjak al-Yūsufī Yalbughā al-ʿUmarī, old Ibn Sanad Al-Ẓāhir Jaqmaq

Starting from al-Nāṣir Muḥammad’s third reign, the sources give information on the ethnic origin of some persons named Bahādur who do not have a biographical entry in the sources: i. A Christian envoy or merchant from Constantinople arrived in Egypt in 727/1327 and converted to Islam together with his brother. He became a soldier and received the name Bahādur (his brother received the name Aq Sunqur), see al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk ii, 282– 283. Aq Sunqur is defined in the sources as a Rūmī or a Frank, see al-Nuwayrī, Nihāyat al-arab xxxiii, 173 (al-Rūmī); al-ʿUmarī, Masālik iii, 400, 404 (al-Rūmī); al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk ii, 716 (tājir Faranjī; al-Rūmī). On the name Aq Sunqur, see Yosef, Mamlūks of Jewish origin (footnote 39). ii. Bahādur who was a brother of Sunqur that was supported by the Circassians, see al-Ṣafadī, Aʿyān al-ʿaṣr ii, 477. The name Sunqur was given in that period to non-Turks, see table 4.3.iv above. iii. Bahādur al-Jarkasī who was a mamlūk of Jarkas alMuṣāriʿ the brother of al-Ẓāhir Jaqmaq and hence his nisba al-Jarkasī. His son Ibrāhīm is said to have been of Rūmī origin (Rūmī al-aṣl), see al-Malaṭī, Majmaʿ 44. iv. The sources also mention Bahādur al-Turkī al-Mujāhidī (d. 808/1405–1406); however, he was a mamlūk of the Rasūlids, so his name was not given to him according to the Mamluk name-giving system, see al-Sakhāwī, Ḍawʾ iii, 19; al-Khazrajī, al-ʿUqūd al-luʾluʾiyya ii, 94, 137. Al-Ṣafadī, Aʿyān al-ʿaṣr ii, 65 (footnote 5: Rūmī); idem, Wāfī x, 303 (footnote 3); and see also Ibn Ḥajar, Durar i, 293; Ibn Qāḍī Shuhba, Taʾrīkh ii, 380; Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Manhal iii, 434–435. Ibn Qāḍī Shuhba, Taʾrīkh i, 138, 141; iv, 198. The name Sunqur was given in that period to non-Turks, see table 4.3.iv above. Ibn Qāḍī Shuhba, Taʾrīkh iii, 558–559; and see also Ibn Ḥajar, Durar i, 292. The name Sunqur was given in that period to non-Turks, see table 4.3.iv above. Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Manhal iii, 435 (aṣluhu Rūmī wa-qīla Faranjī); Ibn Ḥajar, Inbāʾ ii, 299 (alRūmī); Ibn Buḥtur, Taʾrīkh Bayrūt 215 (Armanī al-jins). Ibn al-Furāt, Taʾrīkh ix, 446 (Ibn al-Furāt does not use the ethnic nisba “al-Turkī” in his biographical entry, implying that he was not a “Turk,” see footnote 67 above). Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Manhal iii, 436 (al-Ṭawāshī al-Rūmī); Ibn Qāḍī Shuhba, Taʾrīkh iv, 121; and see also al-Sakhāwī, Ḍawʾ iii, 19; al-Maqrīzī, Muqaffá ii, 502. Al-Sakhāwī, Ḍawʾ iii, 19 (al-Armanī thumma al-Dimashqī). Al-Malaṭī, Nayl al-amal vii, 182; idem, Majmaʿ 711, 275 (his son Aḥmad is said to have been of Rūmī origin [Rūmī al-aṣl]).

94 table 4.6

yosef Names given to Turco-Mongols starting from the 1320s: the name Yalbughā189

Name (year of death)

Master, age

Ethnic origin

1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.

Al-Nāṣir Muḥammad, 20+ Al-Nāṣir Ḥasan Al-Nāṣir Ḥasan, old Al-Ẓāhir Barqūq, 30+ Al-Ẓāhir Barqūq, 60–70 Jarkas al-Muṣāriʿ, 70+

Turk190 Turk191 Turk192 Turk/Samarkandī/Muslim193 Turk194 Turk195

Al-Yaḥyāwī al-Nāṣirī (748/1347) Al-ʿUmarī al-Nāṣirī (768/1366) Al-Muḥammadī (790/1388) Al-Sālimī al-Ẓāhirī (811/1409) Al-Bahāʾī al-Ẓāhirī (843/1439) Al-Jarkasī (858/1454)

5

Names of Mamlūks in the Transition Period (circa 750–784/1350–1382)

Mapping the mamlūks’ names and their “ethnic destination” helps detect changes in the ethnic composition of the Sultanate and date these changes in a more precise manner. Starting from the 1350s, names normally given exclusively to “Rūmīs” (Europeans/Anatolians) and others given exclusively to Circassians appear for the first time in the history of the Sultanate. This most certainly reflects the considerable increase in the number of European/Anatolian and Circassian mamlūks present in the Sultanate. Taghrī Birdī/Taghrī Birmish is one example of a name normally given only to “Rūmīs” (Europeans/Anatolians) that first appears in the transition period.196 Among the persons who 189

190 191 192 193 194 195 196

The sources give information on the ethnic origin of some mamlūks named Yalbughā who do not have a biographical entry in the sources: i. Yalbughā Āṣ al-Manṣūrī mentioned in 769/1367, see al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk iii, 153. As mentioned, from the 1320s until the Circassian period Alans seem to have received names given to Turco-Mongols (see footnote 126 above). ii. Yalbughā al-Turkmānī mentioned in 791/1389, see ibid., 654. As mentioned, starting from al-Nāṣir Muḥammad’s third reign until the Circassian period non-Anatolian Turkmens normally received names given to Turco-Mongols (see footnote 38 above). Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Nujūm x, 185 (Turkī al-jins). Ibid., xiv, 236 (Turkī al-jins); idem, Manhal xii, 157–162. Ibn al-Furāt, Taʾrīkh ix, 47–48 (Turkī al-aṣl); Ibn Ḥajar, Inbāʾ al-ghumr ii, 310. Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Manhal xii, 174 (min Atrāk ahl Samarqand), 177–178; al-Sakhāwī, Ḍawʾ x, 289 (Samarqandī); Ibn Ḥajar, Dhayl al-Durar 139 (ḥurr al-aṣl min ahl Samarqand). Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Nujūm xv, 477 (Turkī al-jins); al-Sakhāwī, Ḍawʾ x, 288. Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Nujūm xvi, 170 (Turkī al-jins); idem, Ḥawādith al-duhūr ii, 507 (Turkī aljins); al-Sakhāwī, Ḍawʾ x, 289 (al-Turkī). On the name Taghrī Birdī, see also Ayalon, Names 197–198 (footnote 26). Other examples

the names of the mamlūks

95

received this name we find seven “Rūmīs” (nos. 2, 3, 5, 7, 8, 17, and 20 in table 4.7 below) [among them two were Greeks (nos. 2–3), and two were perhaps Turkmens (nos. 7–8)], three Cypriots (nos. 10–12), three Turkmens (nos. 6, 9, and 15) (two of them Anatolian), one Armenian or Frank (no. 13),197 one Russian/Slav (no. 21),198 and one person that was perhaps a Kurd (no. 16).199 Just to remind us that due to different reasons mamlūks could be given on rare occasions names that were normally not given to mamlūks of their origin, we also find two Circassians (nos. 14 and 19) and one Turco-Mongol (no. 18) that received the name Taghrī Birdī. The best examples of names given exclusively to Circassians that first appear in the transition period are Sūdūn and Jānibak.200

197

198

199

200

of names given exclusively to “Rūmīs” that first appear in the transition period are Fāris and Muqbil, see footnotes 282–283 below. According to his nisba, Taghrī Birdī al-Armanī al-Manṣūrī was an Armenian, but he is said to have been a Florentine Frank, so perhaps he was a Frank who settled in Armenia. The Armenians mentioned during the Turkish period either arrived in the Sultanate before the days of Qalāwūn (no. 6 in table 4.3.iv above) or received names given to non-Turks in general (no. 9 in table 4.3.iii; nos. 4 and 7 in table 4.5; no. 1 in table 4.8; and see also footnote 108 above). Thus, it is not entirely clear if Armenians were considered to be Caucasians or “Rūmīs,” see footnote 29 above. Taghrī Birdī al-Armanī al-Manṣūrī is the only Armenian mentioned during the Circassian period; however, since he was also a Frank we do not know if he received his name because he was considered to be Armenian or Frank. Therefore, the status of Armenians remains unclear also during the Circassian period. He is the only Russian/Slav mentioned during the Circassian period. As mentioned, during the Turkish period Russians received names given to Mongols/Tatars and then names given to Turco-Mongols, see footnote 129 above. Still, it is reasonable that during the Circassian period they received names normally given to “Rūmīs,” perhaps because they started to be perceived as related to Slavs from the historical territories of the Byzantine Empire. There is not much information on Kurdish mamlūks in the sources. The little information we have on Kurds during the Turkish period suggests that from the days of Qalāwūn and until the 1320s they received names normally given to Mongols/Tatars, see Yosef, Ethnic groups (2011) i, 133–134. Taghrī Birdī Ṣadaqa al-Ẓāhirī (no. 16 in table 4.7) is one of two mamlūks during the Circassian period that some historians mention that they were perhaps Kurds. The other is Bulāṭ al-Yashbakī (d. 878/1473–1474, 70+), see al-Malaṭī, Majmaʿ 706 ( yuqālu innahu kāna min al-Akrād wa-laʿallahu ka-dhālika). The “ethnic destination” of the name Bulāṭ during the Circassian period is not entirely clear. Therefore, the status of Kurds during the Circassian period is not clear at all. See section 2 above at footnotes 54–55. Circassian names (i.e., not Turkish) also appear for the first time in the transition period. We may assume these names were given exclusively to Circassians (there is no positive evidence that members of other ethnic groups received these names). Ayalon mentioned the names Quṭuj, Māzī, Ḥazmān, and Bāyazīr (distorted sometimes to Baybars or Abū Yazīd), and perhaps also Ujtarak (distorted to Mushtarak/Mujtarak), and Barqūq, see Ayalon, Names 201–202. Among the names men-

96 table 4.7

yosef Names given exclusively to Europeans/Anatolians that first appear in the transition period: the name Taghrī Birdī/Taghrī Birmish

Name (year of death) 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7.

Master, age

Al-Qurdumī (798/1395–1396) Min Bashbughā al-Ẓāhirī (815/1412) Al-Ẓāhir Barqūq Sīdī al-Ṣaghīr (816/1413) Less than 30 Ibn Yūsuf al-Jundī (823/1420) Young during al-Ẓāhir Barqūq’s reign Al-Maḥmūdī al-Nāṣirī (836/1433) Al-Nāṣir Faraj Nāʾib Ḥalab (842/1439) About 50 Al-Baklamishī al-Muʾdhī (846/1442) Baklamish al-ʿAlāʾī, 70– 80

201

202

203 204 205 206

207

Ethnic origin Non-Turk?201 Rūmī/Greek202 Rūmī/Greek203 Anatolian Turkmen204 Rūmī205 Anatolian Turkmen206 Rūmī/Muslim?207

tioned by Ayalon, only the name Barqūq first appears in the transition period (the Circassian sultan al-Ẓāhir Barqūq was the first who received this name) and the rest appear in the Circassian period. To the names mentioned by Ayalon we may add Ḥaṭaṭ, Ḥubuk, Nānaq, and Abruk, see Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Manhal v, 56, 176; al-Malaṭī, al-Rawḍ al-bāsim ii, 261; idem, Nayl al-amal vi, 324 (footnote 5). Among these names only Ḥaṭaṭ first appears in the transition period, and the rest appear in the Circassian period. As mentioned, the name Sūdūn was possibly a Caucasian name, see footnote 54 above. Ibn al-Furāt, Taʾrīkh ix, 446 (Ibn al-Furāt does not use the ethnic nisba “al-Turkī” in the biographical entry of the amir Taghrī Birdī al-Qurdumī, implying that he was not a “Turk,” see footnote 67 above). Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Manhal iv, 34 (Rūmī al-jins); al-Sakhāwī, Ḍawʾ iii, 29 (al-Rūmī); and see Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Manhal v, 323–324 (he was a relative of Damurdāsh al-Muḥammadī al-Ẓāhirī [d. 818/1415, about 50], and according to Bertrando de Mignanelli, Damurdāsh was originally a Christian Greek from Salonica, see Fischel, Ascensus 172; idem, A new Latin source 210). During the Circassian period (and possibly starting from the transition period) the name Damurdāsh/Tamurtāsh was normally given to Europeans/Anatolians, see Yosef, Ethnic groups (2011) i, 98; ii, 131. Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Manhal iv, 46 (a relative of the Greek amir Damurdāsh al-Muḥammadī [see footnote 202 above]), 50; and see also al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk iii, 1174. Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Manhal iv, 56–57 (al-Turkmānī; aṣluhu min Bilād al-Rūm); al-Sakhāwī, Ḍawʾ iii, 31 (al-Turkmānī). Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Manhal iv, 54 ( jins al-Rūm); idem, Nujūm 179–180; al-Sakhāwī, Ḍawʾ iii, 29. Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Nujūm xv, 471–473 (awbāsh al-Turkmān; from the city of Bahasnā); alMalaṭī, Nayl al-amal v, 88 (min al-Turkmān min ahl Bahasnā; not a slave); and see also al-Sakhāwī, Ḍawʾ iii, 35; Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Manhal iv, 58–65. Al-Sakhāwī, Ḍawʾ iii, 27 (al-Rūmī); idem, al-Dhayl al-tāmm iii, 639 (al-Rūmī); al-Malaṭī, Nayl al-amal v, 163 (claimed that he was of Muslim origin); idem, Majmaʿ 737 (Rūmī aljins but claimed that he was Turkī); Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Nujūm xv, 496–497 (Rūmī al-jins but

97

the names of the mamlūks table 4.7

Names given exclusively to Europeans/Anatolians that appear in the transition period (cont.)

Name (year of death)

Master, age

Ethnic origin

8.

Al-Jalālī al-Muʾayyadī (852/1448)

Al-Nāṣir Faraj, 50+

9.

Al-Turkmānī (861/1457)

Rūmī/Anatolian Turkmen?208 Turkmen from Mount Casius209 Cypriot or Rūmī210

10. Al-Ashrafī al-Zaradkāsh (867/1462–1463) 11. Al-Qubrusī al-Ashrafī Nāʾib al-Karak (after 867/1462–1463) 12. Al-Sayfī Qarāqujā (870/1466)

An Ottoman amir— Al-Ashraf Ināl Al-Ashraf Ināl

Qarāqujā al-Ḥasanī, ~60 13. Al-Armanī al-Manṣūrī (873/1469) Al-Manṣūr ʿUthmān ibn al-Ẓāhir Jaqmaq 14. Al-ʿAlāʾī al-Ashrafī (876/1471–1472) Al-Ashraf Barsbāy, 70+ 15. Al-Turkmānī (884/1479) 60+

208

209 210

211 212 213

214 215

Cypriot211 Cypriot212 Florentine Frank/AlArmanī213 Circassian (exception)214 Turkmen from the Vicinity of Aleppo/Muslim215

claimed that he was Turkī al-jins); idem, Ḥawādith i, 87 (Rūmī al-jins but thought to be “Tatar”); idem, Manhal iv, 54–56. Al-Sakhāwī, Ḍawʾ iii, 33 (said that his father was a Muslim); Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Manhal iv, 68 (his origin is from Bilād al-Rūm but his father was a Muslim); idem, Nujūm xv, 530– 532 (his father was a Muslim); al-Malaṭī, Nayl al-amal v, 264–265 (said that he was Muslim al-aṣl); idem, Majmaʿ 754 (Muslim al-aṣl). Al-Malaṭī, Majmaʿ 738 (aṣluhu Turkmānī al-jins; min Turkmān Jabal al-Aqraʿ); idem, Nayl al-amal vi, 22 (al-Turkmānī). Idem, Majmaʿ 735 (he was of the same ethnic origin as Alakuz the mamlūk of al-Ashraf Ināl [min jinsihi]. As far as I know, the sources mention only one Alakuz in the Circassian period: Alakuz al-Ashrafī the Cypriot [died after ca. 890/1485] the mamlūk of al-Ashraf Ināl, see ibid., 581. So, apparently Taghrī Birdī al-Ashrafī al-Zaradkāsh was a Cypriot, or at least a Rūmī). Ibid., 750. Al-Sakhāwī, Ḍawʾ iii, 34; al-Malaṭī, Majmaʿ 759–760. Al-Malaṭī, Nayl al-amal vi, 379 (al-Armanī; wa-aṣluhu min al-Faranj al-Farantiyyīna); idem, al-Rawḍ al-bāsim iv, 111–112 (al-maʿrūf bi-l-Armanī; aṣluhu min al-Faranj al-Farantiyyīna wa-hum ṭāʾifa maʿrūfa); idem, Majmaʿ 734 (al-Armanī; min al-Faranj). Al-Malaṭī, Majmaʿ 742 ( Jarkasī al-jins). Idem, Nayl al-amal vii, 247 (al-Turkmānī); idem, Majmaʿ 752–754 (al-Turkmānī; Turkmānī al-aṣl min al-aʿmāl al-Ḥalabiyya ismuhu Ḥasan).

98 table 4.7

yosef Names given exclusively to Europeans/Anatolians that appear in the transition period (cont.)

Name (year of death)

Master, age

16. Ṣadaqa al-Ẓāhirī (885/1480–1481)

Al-Ẓāhir Khushqadam promoted him 17. Al-Sayfī Lājīn (892/1487) Lājīn al-Ẓāhirī 18. Ṭaṭar al-Shamsī al-Ẓāhirī (894/1489) Al-Ẓāhir Jaqmaq, ~65 19. Min ʿĪsá al-Ashrafī (after ca. 890/1485) 20. Al-Sayfī Kasbāy (after ca. 890/1485) 21. Min Aruj Ghāzī al-Ashrafī (900/1494–1495)

6

Al-Ashraf Barsbāy, 70+ Kasbāy al-Shishmānī, 40+ Al-Ashraf Ināl, old

Ethnic origin Kurd?216 Rūmī217 Turco-Mongol/Muslim (exception)218 Circassian (exception)219 Rūmī220 Russian/Slav221

Names of Mamlūks in the Circassian Period (784–922/1382–1517)

After al-Ẓāhir Barqūq assumed power in the year 784/1382 he gradually began to buy large numbers of Circassian mamlūks and demoted the Turco-Mongols and Rūmīs.222 As time passed, the Circassians apparently gained confidence and began to feel superior to other ethnic groups. They no longer wanted to be associated with their former “allies,” the “Rūmīs,” and no longer wanted to be part of an ethnic group comprised of non-Turks in general. This change of perception in ethnic identity was reflected in name-giving practices. Names that were given to non-Turks in general during the Turkish period turned into names that were given exclusively to “Rūmīs.” The best example of such a name

216 217 218 219 220 221 222

Idem, Nayl al-amal vii, 276 ( yuqālu innahu Kurdī al-aṣl); al-Biqāʿī, Taʾrīkh iii, 147 (ʿAbdāllah al-Kurdī now known as Taghrī Birdī); and see also al-Malaṭī, Majmaʿ 744. Al-Malaṭī, Majmaʿ 745–748 (Rūmī al-jins). Ibid., 740–741 (al-maʿrūf bi-Ṭaṭar; Turkī al-jins Muslim al-aṣl); idem, al-Rawḍ al-bāsim ii, 235–236 (al-maʿrūf bi-Ṭaṭar li-kawnihi Tatarī al-jins; Turkī … Muslim al-aṣl). Idem, Majmaʿ 744 ( Jarkasī al-jins). Ibid., 758–759 (Rūmī al-jins). Ibid., 751–752 (known as Arūs; min al-Ṣaqāliba Arūsī al-jins). See, for example, al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk iii, 943; Fischel, Ascensus 166; and see also Ayalon, The Circassians 141.

the names of the mamlūks

99

is Iyāz/Iyās.223 As can be seen from table 4.8 below, during the Turkish period two or three Circassians received this name; however, during the Circassian period it was given only to Europeans/Anatolians. The Circassians themselves usually preferred to use new names. Yashbak is a good example of one such name (see table 4.9 below). It thus comes as no surprise that immediately after the death of Barqūq there are records of a Turco-Mongol/Rūmī faction (headed by Aytamush alBajāsī [d. 802/1400]) fighting a Circassian faction. Al-Malaṭī reports that at first some Circassians were fighting alongside the Turco-Mongols and Rūmīs (wakāna al-ʿaskar qad iftaraqa ʿalá firqatayni iḥdāhumā al-Turk wa-l-Rūm wa-bihim baʿḍ Jarākisa maʿa Aytamush wa-l-thāniya al-Jarākisa).224 Al-Maqrīzī reports, however, that when Aytamush al-Bajāsī’s intention to arrest all the Circassian mamlūks became known and the ethnic nature of the struggle became clear, all the Circassian supporters left his faction (wa-fāraqahu man kāna maʿahu min al-Jarākisa).225 Then al-Maqrīzī provides a list of members of the TurcoMongol/Rūmī faction including 29 names of mamlūks.226 Most of the members were low-ranking amirs who have no biographical entries in the sources, on whom we have hardly any information. The sources provide information on the ethnic origin of only six of them. The mapping of the mamlūks’ names, however, makes it possible to determine almost all of the members’ ethnic origins. The great majority of them have names that were given to Turco-Mongols or Rūmīs, and only one has a name that was given to Circassians (see appendix i below). After mapping the mamlūks’ names we no longer have to depend on the general statements of Mamluk writers regarding ethnic solidarity. We can verify the ethnic identity of members in various factions and observe sociopolitical behavior motivated by ethnic solidarity in action. 223

224 225 226

This phenomenon can be seen in a less conclusive manner also in the names Lājīn, Sunqur, Bahādur, and Balabān (see table 4.3.i; table 4.3.iv and footnote 108; table 4.5 and footnote 180; and see Yosef, Mamlūks of Jewish origin [table B and footnote 73]). As for the name Lājīn, it was reported that during the Circassian period a Turco-Mongol (Qāzānī al-aṣl) by the name of Aruj Khujā ibn Lājīn (d. 889/1484), who was apparently a free person, was thought by some to be a “Rūmī” (wa-qīla Rūmī al-aṣl), see al-Malaṭī, Majmaʿ 494. This must be because the name of his father (Lājīn) was given in the Mamluk Sultanate at that period exclusively to “Rūmīs.” In fact, there is no positive evidence that Circassians received during the Circassian period names that were given during the Turkish period to non-Turks in general (except perhaps for the special case of the name Baybars who went out of use during the third reign of al-Nāṣir Muḥammad, but then “revived” as a name for Circassians–see below), which suggests that all names given to non-Turks during the Turkish period turned into names given exclusively to “Rūmīs” during the Circassian period. Al-Malaṭī, Nayl al-amal iii, 33. Al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk iii, 987. Ibid., 987–988.

100 table 4.8

yosef

Names given to non-Turks in general during the Turkish period that turned into names given exclusively to Europeans/Anatolians in the Circassian period: the name Iyās/Iyāz227

Name (year of death)

Master, age

Ethnic origin

1. Al-Silāḥdār al-Nāṣirī (750/1349)228

Al-Nāṣir Muḥammad

Christian Armenian/ Circassian/Silāḥdār Al-Anṭākī (i.e., Rūmī)229 Al-Jarkasī230

Al-Nāṣir Faraj, ~80 Fāris al-Ṭawāshī, ~70

Rūmī231 Cypriot/Frank?232 Cypriot233 Rūmī234 Rūmī eunuch235

2. Al-Anṭākī (eighth/fourteenth century) 3. Al-Jurjāwī (799/1396) 4. 5. 6. 7. 8.

Al-Muḥammadī al-Nāṣirī (877/1472) Al-Fārisī al-Qubruṣī (883/1478) Al-Sayfī Yakhshibāy (883/1478–1479) Al-Sayfī Jurbāsh (after ca. 890/1485) Al-Ashrafī al-Sāqī/al-Shaʾmī (896/1491)

227

228

229 230 231 232 233 234 235

Jurbāsh Qāshuq Al-Ashraf Qaytbāy

The sources give information on the ethnic origin of some mamlūks named Iyās/Iyāz who do not have a biographical entry in the sources. During the Circassian period they mention Iyās al-Kamishbughāwī, whose son Aḥmad, born in the ninth/fifteenth century, is said to have been of Rūmī origin (Rūmī al-aṣl), see al-Malaṭī, Majmaʿ 258; and Iyās min Junayd the mamlūk of al-Ẓāhir Barqūq and grandfather of the historian Ibn Iyās whose son Aḥmad is said to have been of Rūmī origin (Rūmī al-aṣl), see ibid. The sources also mention in 802/1399 Iyās al-Jarkasī al-Khāṣṣakī, see Ibn Qāḍī Shuhba, Taʾrīkh iv, 72; and perhaps see also al-Sakhāwī, Ḍawʾ x, 223 (Yaḥyá ibn Iyās al-Jarkasī al-aṣl). It is more reasonable that Iyās al-Jarkasī arrived in the Mamluk Sultanate in the Turkish period when the name Iyās was given to non-Turks in general and not only to Europeans/Anatolians. Ibn al-Wardī, Taʾrīkh ii, 493 (min al-Jarkas); al-Malaṭī, Nayl al-amal i, 186 (min Naṣārá al-Arman); al-Sakhāwī, Wajīz al-kalām i, 47 (min al-Arman wa-aslama ʿalá yad al-Malik al-Nāṣir Muḥammad); Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Manhal iii, 119 (al-silāḥdār); idem, Nujūm x, 245 (Armanī aslama ʿalá yad al-Nāṣir Muḥammad); Ibn Ḥajar, Durar i, 246 (Armanī fa-aslama ʿalá yad al-Nāṣir Muḥammad); and see also Ibn Qāḍī Shuhba, Taʾrīkh ii, 684–685; al-Ṣafadī, Aʿyān al-ʿaṣr i, 638–641; al-Maqrīzī, Muqaffá ii, 322. Ibn Ḥajar, Durar i, 246 (al-Anṭākī). Ibn Ḥijjī, Taʾrīkh i, 204 (al-Jarkasī); Ibn Qāḍī Shuhba, Taʾrīkh i, 630–631 (al-Jarkasī). Al-Malaṭī, Majmaʿ 608–610 (Rūmī al-jins). Ibid., 605–607 (al-Qubruṣī; a captive from Cyprus; his father was a priest; he knew the law of the Franks); idem, Nayl al-amal vii, 211–212 (al-Qubruṣī; a captive from Cyprus). Al-Malaṭī, Nayl al-amal vii, 224 (a captive from Cyprus); idem, Majmaʿ 605. Al-Malaṭī, Majmaʿ 604 (Rūmī al-jins). Al-Sakhāwī, al-Tuḥfa al-laṭīfa i, 351 (al-Rūmī); ii, 212 (eunuch); al-Malaṭī, Majmaʿ 601 (eunuch); idem, Nayl al-amal viii, 193 (eunuch).

101

the names of the mamlūks table 4.9

Names given exclusively to Circassians that first appear in the Circassian period: the name Yashbak236

Name (year of death) 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9.

Al-Shaʿbānī al-Ẓāhirī (810/1407) Al-ʿUthmānī al-Ẓāhirī (815/1412) Ibn Azdamur al-Ẓāhirī (817/1414–1415) Anālī al-Muʾayyadī (824/1421) Brother of al-Ashraf Barsbāy (833/1430)

Master, age

Al-Ẓāhir Barqūq Al-Ẓāhir Barqūq Al-Ẓāhir Barqūq Al-Muʾayyad Shaykh, young Al-Ashraf Barsbāy?, older than Barsbāy Al-Sūdūnī al-Mushidd (849/1445) Sūdūn al-Jalab, ~50 Min Jānibak al-Muʾayyadī (863/1459) Al-Muʾayyad Shaykh, almost 60 Min Salmān Shāh al-Muʾayyadī (878/1473) Al-Muʾayyad Shaykh, ~80 Al-Jamālī (901/1495) Yūsuf ibn Kātib Jakam

236

237 238

239 240 241

242 243 244 245

Ethnic origin Circassian?237 Circassian238 Circassian239 Circassian240 Circassian241 Circassian242 Circassian243 Circassian244 Al-Jarkasī245

The sources give information on the ethnic origin of some persons named Yashbak who do not have a biographical entry in the sources: i. Yashbak the father of al-Ashraf Barsbāy’s Circassian wife, see al-Sakhāwī, Ḍawʾ xii, 17. ii. Yashbak al-Yūsufī al-Jarkasī (in the late ninth/fifteenth century or the early tenth/sixteenth century), see al-Ghazzī, al-Kawākib al-sāʾira ii, 255. Al-Sakhāwī, Ḍawʾ x, 278–279; al-Malaṭī, Nayl al-amal iii, 33 (the leader of a Circassian faction [wa-kāna al-ʿaskar qad iftaraqa ʿalá firqatayni … al-Jarākisa wa-hum maʿa Yashbak]). Ibn Qāḍī Shuhba, Taʾrīkh iv, 350–351 (a relative of al-Ẓāhir Barqūq); Ibn Ḥijjī, Taʾrīkh i, 496–497 (the leader of a Circassian faction); al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk iii, 1045 (a supporter of a Circassian shaykh whose followers are known to have been Circassians); and see also alSakhāwī, Ḍawʾ x, 279; Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Manhal xii, 132. Al-Sakhāwī, Ḍawʾ x, 270 (wulida bi-Bilād Jarkas); Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Manhal xii, 130 (mawliduhu bi-Bilād al-Jārkas). Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Manhal xii, 134 (qadima maʿa wālidatihi min Bilād al-Jarkas); and see also al-Sakhāwī, Ḍawʾ x, 275. Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Manhal xii, 134–135 (istaqdamahu akhūhu min Bilād al-Jārkas); and see also al-Sakhāwī, Ḍawʾ x, 280 (istaqdamahu akhūhu min Jarkas); al-Malaṭī, Nayl al-amal iv, 278. Al-Malaṭī, al-Rawḍ al-bāsim i, 361 (Circassian); Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Ḥawādith al-duhūr i, 128– 130. Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Manhal xii, 138 (a Circassian); idem, Nujūm xvi, 200–201. Al-Sakhāwī, Ḍawʾ x, 270–271 (uḥḍira min Bilād Jarkas). Ibid., 276 (al-Jārkasī); Ibn Iyās, Badāʾiʿ al-zuhūr ii, 588.

102

yosef

Another feature should be mentioned here concerning name-giving practices unique to the transition and Circassian periods: the revival of names. The best example of this is the name Baybars. As mentioned, al-Nāṣir Muḥammad preferred not to use this name, which reminded him of a period in the history of the Sultanate when it was ruled by a Circassian-Burjī elite. The name Baybars thus fell into oblivion for about 50 years. With the Circassian takeover, a need was felt to revive precisely that period in the history of the Sultanate. In the Circassian period many of the sultans’ relatives were given the name Baybars, so we can assume that it had special status.246 Another name-giving practice unique to the Circassian period perhaps also reflects nostalgia for Burjiyya rule. Whereas in the Turkish period Alans (Āṣ) were given names of Tatars or Turco-Mongols, in the Circassian period members of this group were given names of Circassians.247 Ayalon claimed that “the 246

247

See nos. 12–16 in table 4.3.ii above; and see also footnote 177 above. There is evidence for eight “revived” names that were used by Circassians after their revival. Significantly, at least four of them were names given to Burjīs in the days of Qalāwūn. It strongly suggests that the Circassians deliberately chose to revive names of the Burjiyya. Except for the name Baybars, the Burjī “revived” names are Bajās, Qijmās, and Uzbak. The name Bajās was given to a Burjī (see Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Nujūm viii, 261), then fell into oblivion, and then was given to a Circassian (Bajās al-Nawrūzī [d. 803/1401], see al-Sakhāwī, Ḍawʾ iii, 2). The name Qijmās was given to a Burjī (Qijmās al-Manṣūrī al-Jūkandār [d. 734/1333–1334], see al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk ii, 377; Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Nujūm ix, 41), then fell into oblivion, and then was normally given to Circassians (Qijmās al-Ẓāhirī [d. 793/1391], see Ibn Qāḍī Shuhba, Taʾrīkh i, 361; and Qijmās al-Isḥāqī al-Ẓāhirī [d. 892/1487], see al-Sakhāwī, Ḍawʾ vi, 213; al-Nuʿaymī, al-Dāris i, 434). The name Uzbak was given to a Burjī (see Baktāsh al-Fākhirī, Taʾrīkh 165), then fell into oblivion, and then was given to Circassians (see Yosef, Mamlūks of Jewish origin [footnote 132 and table F]). Having said that, it may be added it is quite reasonable that the revival of the name Baybars was also related to an attempt to connect Circassianperiod mamlūk rulers and the mamlūk sultan al-Ẓāhir Baybars after the long reign of the free descendants of Qalāwūn. Specifically, al-Ẓāhir Barqūq clearly made such an attempt. Barqūq took for himself the regnal title and kunya of al-Ẓāhir Baybars, a fact that was noted by historians, see Ibn Qāḍī Shuhba, Taʾrīkh i, 86 ( fa-luqqiba bi-l-Ẓāhir wa-kuniya biAbī Saʿīd ka-l-Ẓāhir Baybars). He clearly revived customs and practices from the days of al-Ẓāhir Baybars and renovated structures that were last renovated in the days of al-Ẓāhir Baybars, see for example Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Nujūm xi, 233; al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk iii, 491; Ibn Qāḍī Shuhba, Taʾrīkh i, 107, 432; al-Sakhāwī, al-Tuḥfa al-laṭīfa i, 60. Mamluk historians regularly made comparisons between Barqūq and Baybars, see for example Ibn Ṣaṣrá, A chronicle ii, 161–162; Ibn Qāḍī Shuhba, Taʾrīkh iv, 40. Mamluk historians make comparisons also between other Circassian-period mamlūk sultans and al-Ẓāhir Baybars, see for example al-ʿAynī, al-Rawḍ al-zāhir 11; al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk iv, 492. Interestingly, during the Circassian period some maintained that al-Ẓāhir Baybars was a Circassian, see al-ʿAynī, al-Rawḍ alzāhir 6. Thus, the revival of the name Baybars may be connected also to an attempt to give Circassian-period mamlūk sultans, and especially al-Ẓāhir Barqūq, legitimacy. See footnotes 29 and 126 above. After the days of al-Manṣūr Qalāwūn, we find an expli-

the names of the mamlūks

103

Burjiyya lost their importance several decades before their total disappearance. Barqūq himself never claimed any connection with the Burjiyya; neither did the other Circassian sultans or amirs, or even Mamlūks. During the whole Circassian period there is no glorification of them; neither is there the slightest nostalgia for them (this applies also to the only Burjī Circassian sultan, Baybars al-Jashnakīr). They simply did not exist as far as that reign is concerned.”248 The abovementioned name-giving practices perhaps prove otherwise.249

7

Conclusion

This inquiry into the name-giving practices in the Mamluk Sultanate revealed that mamlūks were given names according to their ethnic origin. Mapping the names of the mamlūks and the “ethnic destination” of these names significantly broadens our knowledge regarding the ethnic origins of the mamlūks. It helps follow changes in the ethnic composition of the Sultanate and date these changes in a more precise manner. It also helps detect sociopolitical actions motivated by ethnic solidarity. The practice of name-giving according to ethnic origin is, in itself, an indication of the prominent role of ethnicity in the Mamluk Sultanate period. It turns out that a mamlūk’s ethnic origin was an extremely important component of his identity. Mamluk society was divided along ethnic lines. Members of different ethnic groups were clearly distinguished by the names given to them and by the offices they were able to hold. A strong sense of ethnic solidarity existed among the members of each one of these ethnic groups. One last comment is in order. The political entity that ruled Egypt and Syria in the years 648/1250 to 922/1517 is known in modern research as “the Mamluk Sultanate” (Dawlat al-Mamālīk). This term distorts our perception of the period, because it makes us believe the main characteristic of the ruling elite was mamlūk descent and only mamlūk social ties were important. The term, however, was hardly ever used by Mamluk writers, who preferred the terms “the Turkish Sultanate” (Dawlat al-Atrāk) or “the Circassian Sultanate” (Dawlat al-Jarākisa). Mamluk writers emphasized the ethnic origin (or language) of

248 249

cit reference to the buying of Alan mamlūks only in the days of al-Ẓāhir Barqūq, see al-Jawharī, Nuzhat al-nufūs i, 499. Ayalon, Baḥrī Mamlūks 39. We also know that al-Ẓāhir Barqūq renovated a building that was built by Baybars alJāshankīr, see al-Jawharī, Nuzhat al-nufūs i, 502.

104

yosef

the ruling elite and not its slave origins.250 In light of the important role played by ethnicity throughout the period, this should come as no surprise.

Appendix i: Names of Mamlūks in the Anti-Circassian Faction in 802/1400251 The list of al-Maqrīzī includes 29 names of mamlūks. Among them only seven have a biographical entry in the sources (nos. 1, 12, 14, 15, 19, 20, and 23 in table 4.10 below). We have information on the ethnic origin of six out of the seven mamlūks who have a biographical entry in the sources (nos. 12, 14, 15, 19, 20, and 23). The rest were low-ranking amirs on whom we do not have much information. There is no explicit information on the “ethnic destination” of four names given to four members in the faction: Shādī Khujā al-ʿUthmānī, Tankizbughā al-Ḥaṭaṭī, Bayram al-ʿAlāʾī, and Yadī Shāh al-ʿUthmānī. None of them have a biographical entry in the sources, and there is hardly any information on them. In fact, as far as I know, the names Shādī Khujā and Yadī Shāh were not given to other mamlūks except for the abovementioned members in the faction. Still, in all likelihood, at least Shādī Khujā al-ʿUthmānī and Tankizbughā al-Ḥaṭaṭī were Turco-Mongols. As far as I know, names that end with khujā started to be common during the Circassian period and were given only to Turco-Mongols: Bāy Khujā al-Ẓāhirī (d. 802/1400, 30+),252 Aq Khujā al-Aḥmadī al-Ẓāhirī (d. 825/1422),253 Dawlāt Khujā al-Ẓāhirī (d. 841/1438, almost 70),254 Yalkhujā Min Māmash al-Nāṣirī (d. 850/1446, 50–60),255 Qaram Khujā al-Ẓāhirī (d. 864/1460, 90–100),256 Ḥasan Khujā al-Jamālī al-Ẓāhirī (d. 868/1463–1464),257 and Alṭun Khujā al-Ibrāhīmī al-Ẓāhirī (after ca. 890/1485, almost 70).258 The

250 251

252 253 254 255 256 257 258

For a detailed discussion, see Yosef, Dawlat al-Atrāk 387–410. See al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk iii, 987–988. The appendix includes only persons who were apparently mamlūks, i.e., persons who have names normally given to mamlūks, or persons who have a nisba of a master. The appendix does not include free persons who were members of the faction. See footnote 269 below. Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Nujūm xv, 112–113 (Turkī al-jins). Idem, Manhal v, 330–331 (Turkī); idem, Nujūm xiv, 360 (Turkī al-jins). Idem, Manhal xii, 182 (Turkī al-jins); idem, Nujūm xv, 517–518 (Turkī al-jins); al-Sakhāwī, Ḍawʾ x, 291 (Turkī). Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Nujūm xvi, 215 (Turkī al-jins). Al-Malaṭī, al-Rawḍ al-bāsim ii, 350 (Turkī al-jins Muslim al-aṣl). Idem, Majmaʿ 586 (Tatarī al-jins).

105

the names of the mamlūks

name Tankizbughā apparently first appeared in the days of al-Nāṣir Muḥammad and later on was given to several mamlūks. Like almost all other names that end with bughā during the Turkish period, it was probably given to TurcoMongols. The table below surveys mamlūks in the anti-Circassian faction who have names on whose “ethnic destination” there is information. The rubric “ethnic destination of name” mentions to which ethnic group the name was given and starting from which period. It should be remembered, however, that names sometimes changed their “ethnic destination.” The struggle between the factions surveyed here took place in 802/1400, and during the reign of al-Ẓāhir Barqūq, changes in the “ethnic destination” of several names took place. Thus, in the cases of mamlūks who have names that changed their “ethnic destination” during the reign of al-Ẓāhir Barqūq, it is not always possible to determine what their ethnic origin was. Luckily, such cases are not numerous, and anyway these cases involve only names that were given during the Turkish period to Turco-Mongols and then at some point during the reign of al-Ẓāhir Barqūq were given to Rūmīs (so these mamlūks were clearly not Circassians). As can be seen from the table, the first 15 members were in all likelihood Turco-Mongols. Numbers 16–18 were either Turco-Mongols or Rūmīs. Numbers 19–24 were in all likelihood Rūmīs. Only one member (no. 25) was in all likelihood a Circassian. table 4.10 Names of mamlūks in the anti-Circassian faction in 802/1400 on whose “ethnic destination” there is information

Name (year of death, age)

1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

Alṭunbughā Shādī = al-Yalbughāwī (802/1400, 50+) Alṭunbughā al-Khalīlī Alṭunbughā al-Ḥasanī Yalbughā al-Ẓarīf Min Khujā ʿAlī Yalbughā al-Balshūn al-Maḥmūdī

259 260 261

Entry

Ethnic origin

Ethnic destination of name

+

–259

1320s: Turco-Mongols260

– – – –

– – – –

1320s: Turco-Mongols 1320s: Turco-Mongols 1320s: Turco-Mongols261 1320s: Turco-Mongols

Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Manhal iii, 70–71; al-Sakhāwī, Ḍawʾ ii, 320. See table 4.2 above. See table 4.6 above.

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table 4.10 Names of mamlūks in the anti-Circassian faction in 802/1400 (cont.)

Name (year of death, age)

6. 7.

Asanbughā al-Maḥmūdī Manklībughā al-ʿUthmānī

262

263

Entry

Ethnic origin

– –

– –

Ethnic destination of name

1320s: Turco-Mongols262 1320s?: Turco-Mongols263

The name Asanbughā started to be used commonly during the third reign of al-Nāṣir Muḥammad, and in all likelihood it was normally given since that period to TurcoMongols. There is information on the ethnic origin of several mamlūks named Asanbughā who have biographical entries: i. Asanbughā al-Tājī al-Turkī (d. 799/1396–1397), see Ibn al-Furāt, Taʾrīkh ix, 471 (al-Turkī). ii. Asanbughā al-ʿAlāʾī al-Ẓāhirī (d. 803/1400–1401) was Aʿjamī and people accused him of cooperation with the Mongols, so he was probably a Central Asian Turk or Mongol, see Ibn Qāḍī Shuhba, Taʾrīkh iv, 210. iii. Asanbughā alZaradkāsh (d. 818/1415–1416) was originally a free person from Aleppo (aṣluhu min awlād Ḥalab), probably a Turkmen, who sold himself to slavery and took the name Asanbughā, see al-Sakhāwī, Ḍawʾ ii, 312. As mentioned, during the Turkish period, non-Anatolian Turkmens normally received names of Turco-Mongols, see footnote 38 above. iv. Asanbughā Min Ṣafar Khujā al-Muʾayyadī (d. 872/1468, about 80) was a Turco-Mongol, see al-Malaṭī, al-Rawḍ al-bāsim iii, 432–433 (Turkī Tatarī al-jins); idem, Majmaʿ 555–556 (Tatarī al-jins; Turk). v. Asanbughā al-Yashbakī al-Nāṣirī (d. 876/1471, more than 70) was a Turco-Mongol, see al-Malaṭī, Majmaʿ 558 (Turkī Tatarī al-jins); Ibn Iyās, Badāʾiʿ al-zuhūr i, 430 (al-Tatarī). vi. While the name Asanbughā was normally given to Turco-Mongols, we also find one Circassian who received the name: Asanbughā al-Ṭayyārī al-Nāṣirī (d. 857/1453, more than 70), see al-Malaṭī, Majmaʿ 556–557, 257 (his son is said to have been of Circassian origin [ Jārkasī al-aṣl]). He was a mamlūk of al-Nāṣir Faraj, who is known to have hated the Circassians and their names and to have changed the names of two of his Circassian mamlūks because of that, see footnote 28 above; and see Yosef, Mamlūks of Jewish origin (footnote 39). Thus, it is reasonable that for the same reason he gave the Circassian Asanbughā a name given normally to Turco-Mongols. The sources also give information on the ethnic origin of two mamlūks named Asanbughā who do not have a biographical entry: Asanbughā al-Turkmānī who died in 753/1352, see al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk ii, 875; and Asanbughā the “Turkish” slave of Khalīl ibn Aybak al-Ṣafadī (d. 764/1363) who is mentioned in 759/1358, see Gacek, Arabic holographs 69. There is explicit information on the ethnic origin of only one mamlūk named Manklībughā who has a biographical entry: Manklībughā al-Ṣalāḥī al-Ẓāhirī (d. 836/1432, old) who knew the Mongol language and was an envoy to Tīmūr, so he was probably a “Turk,” see Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Manhal xi, 286; al-Sakhāwī, Ḍawʾ x, 173; Ibn al-Furāt, Taʾrīkh ix, 453. It should be remembered, however, that, a name given to non-Turks never turned into a name given to Turco-Mongols, so the name Manklībughā must have been given to TurcoMongols already during the Turkish period. There is some information supporting this suggestion. The sources mention in 791/1389 Manklībughā al-Nāṣirī as one of the members of the faction of Minṭāsh who rebelled against al-Ẓāhir Barqūq, and he is known to

107

the names of the mamlūks table 4.10 Names of mamlūks in the anti-Circassian faction in 802/1400 (cont.)

Name (year of death, age)

8. 9. 10. 11.

Aljaybughā al-Sulṭānī Kuzul al-ʿAlāʾī Tumān Tamur al-Ashaqtamurī Jūbān al-ʿUthmānī

264

265

266

267

Entry

Ethnic origin

– – – –

– – – –

Ethnic destination of name

1320s?: Turco-Mongols264 Transition period: Turco-Mongols265 Transition period: Turco-Mongols266 Transition period: Turco-Mongols267

have been supported mainly by Turco-Mongols, see al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk iii, 671. In addition, as far as I know, during the Turkish period almost all the names ending with bughā were given to “Turks” and most of these names continued to be given to “Turks” also during the Circassian period (however, the names Aqbughā and Tamurbughā turned into names given to Europeans/Anatolians, and Kamishbughā perhaps turned into a name given to Circassians). For more evidence, see Yosef, Ethnic groups (2011) i, 79 (footnote 281). There is explicit information on the ethnic origin of only one mamlūk named Aljaybughā: Aljaybughā al-Nāṣirī, the amir of al-Nāṣir Faraj whose son is said to have been of “Turkish” origin (Turkī al-aṣl), see al-Malaṭī, Nayl al-amal viii, 59; al-Sakhāwī, Ḍawʾ vii, 145. Still, a name given to non-Turks never turned into a name given to Turco-Mongols, so the name Aljaybughā must have been given to Turco-Mongols already during the Turkish period, especially since it ends with bughā, see footnote 263 above. The name first appears in the transition period. There is information on the ethnic origin of several mamlūks named Kuzul: i. Kuzul al-Qirimī (d. 793/1391) is mentioned as a member of a faction who conspired in 793/1391 to murder al-Ẓāhir Barqūq together with a group of “Turks” ( jamāʿa min al-Turk), see Ibn Qāḍī Shuhba, Taʾrīkh i, 371; and see also Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Manhal iii, 364. ii. Kuzul al-Turkī al-Ḥājib (d. 800/1397), see Ibn Ḥijjī, Taʾrīkh i, 260–261 (al-Turkī). iii. Kuzul al-Nāṣirī al-Ẓāhirī (d. 820+/1418+) was a “Turk,” see Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Manhal ix, 129 (Turkī al-jins). iv. Kuzul al-ʿAjamī al-Ẓāhirī (d. 845/1441 or 849/1445, 80+) was a “Turk,” see Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Manhal ix, 130–131 (Turkī al-jins); and see also alMalaṭī, al-Rawḍ al-bāsim i, 351. v. The sources mention ʿAbdallāh ibn Kuzul who died after 870/1466, whose father was from the Golden Horde (al-Dashtī al-aṣl), see al-Sakhāwī, Ḍawʾ v, 42. The name first appears in the transition period. There is information on the ethnic origin of two mamlūks named Tumān Tamur: i. Tumān Tamur the mamlūk of Shaykhū al-Nāṣirī, whose descendant is said to have been of Turkish origin (Turkī al-aṣl), see al-Malaṭī, alRawḍ al-bāsim iv, 148. ii. Tumān Tamur al-Yūsufī al-Ẓāhirī (d. 818/1415–1416) the mamlūk of al-Ẓāhir Barqūq who was a Turco-Mongol, see Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Nujūm xiv, 136 (Turkī al-jins), 23 (a “Tatar”). There is information on the ethnic origin of one mamlūk named Jūbān: Jūbān al-Ẓāhirī (d. 830+/1427+, very old) the mamlūk of al-Ẓāhir Barqūq who is said to have been a “Turk,” see Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Manhal v, 36 (Turkī al-jins); al-Sakhāwī, Ḍawʾ iii, 81 (Turkī al-jins). Since he was very old when he died it is relatively clear that he had arrived in Egypt before Barqūq became sultan, i.e., in the transition period.

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table 4.10 Names of mamlūks in the anti-Circassian faction in 802/1400 (cont.)

Name (year of death, age)

12. Yaʿqūb Shāh al-Ḥājib = al-Kamishbughāwī al-Ẓāhirī (802/1400, 30+) 13. Bāy Khujā al-Ḥasanī

14. Kamishbughā al-Jamālī = al-Ẓāhirī (d. 831/1428, ~80) 15. Arghūn Shāh Amīr Majlis = al-Baydamurī al-Ẓāhirī (802/1400, 30+)

268 269

270 271

272

Entry

Ethnic origin

Ethnic destination of name

+

Turk268

–?

–?

+

Turk270

Transition or Circassian period: Turco-Mongols (unique name for mamlūks) Transition or Circassian period: Turco-Mongols (one mamlūk with entry)269 Transition period: Turco-Mongols271

+

Turk272

1320s: Turco-Mongols Circassian period: Rūmīs

Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Manhal xii, 148 (Turkī al-jins); al-Sakhāwī, Ḍawʾ x, 281 (Turkī). There is only one mamlūk named Bāy Khujā who has a biographical entry, and he is said to have been “Turk” (Turkī al-jins): Bāy Khujā al-Ẓāhirī (d. 802/1400, 30+) the mamlūk of alẒāhir Barqūq, see al-Sakhāwī, Ḍawʾ iv, 14; Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Manhal vii, 40–41. It is possible that Bāy Khujā al-Ẓāhirī and Bāy Khujā al-Ḥasanī are in fact the same person. Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Manhal ix, 146 (Turkī al-jins); al-Sakhāwī, Ḍawʾ vi, 230. The name first appears in the transition period. Except for Kamishbughā al-Jamālī, there is information on the ethnic origin of several mamlūks named Kamishbughā who have biographical entries: i. Kamishbughā al-Ḥamawī al-Yalbughāwī (d. 801/1399, ~60), the mamlūk of Yalbughā al-ʿUmarī, was according to Bertrando de Mignanelli a “Turk,” see Fischel, Ascensus 156; Ibn Qāḍī Shuhba, Taʾrīkh iv, 53–54. ii. Kamishbughā al-Ashrafī alKhāṣṣakī (d. 795/1392) the mamlūk of al-Ashraf Shaʿbān was a “Turk,” see Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Manhal ix, 141–142 (Turkī al-jins); Ibn Qāḍī Shuhba, Taʾrīkh i, 491 (Turkī). iii. Kamishbughā al-Aḥmadī al-Ẓāhirī (d. 838/1434, 50–60) the mamlūk of al-Ẓāhir Barqūq was a “Turk,” see Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Manhal ix, 148 (Turkī al-jins); al-Sakhāwī, Ḍawʾ vi, 229 (Turkī al-jins). iv. Kamishbughā al-Fīsī al-Ẓāhirī (d. 833/1430, 50–60) the mamlūk of al-Ẓāhir Barqūq was a Circassian, see Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Manhal ix, 147 ( Jārkasī al-jins); idem, Nujūm xv, 159. It is not clear if we have here a rare case of a name given to Turco-Mongols during the Turkish period that turned into a name given to Circassians at some point during the reign of alẒāhir Barqūq or a rare case of a Circassian mamlūk who received a name normally given to Turco-Mongols. Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Manhal ii, 303–304 (Turkī al-jins); al-Sakhāwī, Ḍawʾ ii, 267 (Turkī aljins).

109

the names of the mamlūks table 4.10 Names of mamlūks in the anti-Circassian faction in 802/1400 (cont.)

Name (year of death, age)

16. Arghūn al-Sayfī

273

Entry

Ethnic origin

Ethnic destination of name

–

–

1320s: Turco-Mongols Circassian period: Rūmīs273

There is information on the ethnic origin of several mamlūks named Arghūn/Arghūn Shāh. We have information on the ethnic origin of two mamlūks of al-Nāṣir Muḥammad, at least one of them arrived in the Sultanate before the 1320s: Arghūn al-Dawādār al-Nāṣirī (d. 731/1330, 40+) was a “Turk,” see al-Ṣafadī, Wāfī viii, 358–360 (Turkī); Ibn Ḥajar, Durar i, 205 (Turkī); Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Manhal ii, 307 (Turkī); al-Maqrīzī, Muqaffá ii, 22 (Turkī aljins); and Arghūn Shāh al-Nāṣirī (d. 750/1349) was Chinese, see Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Nujūm x, 244 (aṣluhu min Bilād al-Ṣīn); idem, Manhal, ii, 314 (min Bilād al-Ṣīn); al-Ṣafadī, Aʿyān alʿaṣr i, 457 (aṣluhu min Bilād al-Ṣīn). The Chinese mamlūks were in all likelihood perceived as related to the Mongols/Tatars (only Arghūn Shāh al-Nāṣirī and two of his brothers are mentioned in the sources). They were in all likelihood given names normally given to Mongols/Tatars [one of the brothers of Arghūn Shāh al-Nāṣirī received the name Ṭurjī (d. 749/1348–1349), see al-Ṣafadī, Aʿyān al-ʿaṣr ii, 577. The sources mention two mamlūks of al-Manṣūr Qalāwūn and his son al-Ashraf Khalīl by the name of Ṭurjī/Ṭughjī: Ṭurjī/Ṭughjī al-Ashrafī (d. 698/1299, 30+) who was a Mongol, see al-ʿAynī, ʿIqd al-jumān iii, 242 ( jins al-Mughūl); al-Ṣafadī, Aʿyān al-ʿaṣr ii, 604–605; and Ṭughjī al-Manṣūrī (d. 738/1337–1338), who was a Burjī, see Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Nujūm ix, 317. So, the name Ṭurjī/Ṭughjī seems to have been given to Mongols/Tatars starting from the days of Qalāwūn and until the 1320s]. Starting from the 1320s and until the Circassian period the sources mention several mamlūks named Arghūn/Arghūn Shāh who were Turco-Mongols: i. Arghūn al-Māridānī whose son, born in 750/1349–1350, is said to have been of “Turkish” origin (Turkī al-aṣl), see al-Malaṭī, Nayl al-amal iv, 299. ii. Arghūn al-Turkī al-Azaqī (d. 770/1369) the mamlūk of al-Nāṣir Muḥammad, see Ibn Qāḍī Shuhba, Taʾrīkh iii, 352 (al-Turkī). iii. Arghūn alṢaghīr al-Kāmilī (d. 758/1357, less than 30) the mamlūk of al-Ṣāliḥ Ismāʿīl was apparently a Turco-Mongol from the Golden Horde, see Ibn Ḥajar, Durar i, 205–206; al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk ii, 895 (his relatives arrived min al-Bilād, an expression that normally refers to the Golden Horde). iv. Arghūn Tatar al-Nāṣirī al-Turkī (d. 774/1372) the mamlūk of al-Nāṣir Ḥasan, see Ibn Ḥajar, Durar i, 204; idem, Inbāʾ al-ghumr i, 45 (al-Turkī). v. Arghūn Shāh al-Tamurbāwī (d. 793/1391) is mentioned as a member of a faction who conspired in 793/1391 to murder alẒāhir Barqūq together with a group of “Turks” ( jamāʿa min al-Turk), see Ibn Qāḍī Shuhba, Taʾrīkh i, 371; and see also Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Manhal ii, 305. vi. Arghūn Shāh al-Baydamurī al-Ẓāhirī (802/1400, 30+) who became the mamlūk of al-Ẓāhir Barqūq, but in all likelihood had received his name from his original master before al-Ẓāhir Barqūq became sultan (see no. 15 in table 4.10). During the reign of al-Ẓāhir Barqūq the name Arghūn/Arghūn Shāh turned into a name given to Rūmīs. The sources give information on the ethnic origin of two mamlūks from the Circassian period and both were Rūmīs: i. Arghūn al-Bashbughāwī al-Ẓāhirī (d. 819/1416), see al-Sakhāwī, Ḍawʾ ii, 268 (al-Rūmī); Ibn Qāḍī Shuhba, Taʾrīkh iv,

110

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table 4.10 Names of mamlūks in the anti-Circassian faction in 802/1400 (cont.)

Name (year of death, age)

Entry

Ethnic origin

17. Aqbughā al-Maḥmūdī al-Ashqar

–

–

18. Asandmaur al-Isʿardī

–

19. Baktamur Jilliq al-Nāṣirī (815/1412, older than his master al-Nāṣir Faraj)

+

274

275

276

Ethnic destination of name

1320s: Turco-Mongols Circassian period: Rūmīs274 – 1320s: Turco-Mongols Circassian period: Rūmīs275 “Galician” 1320s: Turco-Mongols = Slav?276 Circassian period: Rūmīs277

466 (min al-Rūm); and see also al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk iii, 1174; Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Manhal ii, 309. ii. Arghūn Shāh al-Sayfī Taghrī Birdī [al-Nāṣirī] (d. 819/1416–1417), see Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Manhal ii, 311–312; al-Sakhāwī, Ḍawʾ ii, 268; Ibn Ḥajar, Dhayl al-Durar 186 (al-Rūmī); and see also al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk iv, 284 (al-Rūmī). On the name Aqbughā during the Turkish period, see footnote 126 above. At some point during the reign of al-Ẓāhir Barqūq the name Aqbughā started to be given to Europeans/ Anatolians. In the Circassian period we have information on the ethnic origin of two mamlūks who have biographical entries: i. Aqbughā al-Jamālī (d. 837/1433) who was a Rūmī, see Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Manhal ii, 485–486 (Rūmī al-jins); al-Sakhāwī, Ḍawʾ ii, 317 (al-Rūmī). ii. Aqbughā Min Māmash al-Turkmānī al-Nāṣirī Faraj (d. 843/1440, ~60), see Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Nujūm xv, 475 (al-Turkmānī); al-Sakhāwī, Ḍawʾ ii, 316 (al-Turkmānī); al-Malaṭī, Majmaʿ 578. Being a blond (ashqar), Aqbughā al-Maḥmūdī al-Ashqar, the member in the faction, was probably a Rūmī. On the name Asandamur during the Turkish period, see footnote 66 above. At some point during the reign of al-Ẓāhir Barqūq the name Asandamur started to be given to Europeans/Anatolians, see Yosef, Mamlūks of Jewish origin (footnote 103). Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Nujūm xiii, 206 ( Jilliq); idem, Manhal iii, 403–408; Ibn Ḥajar, Inbāʾ alghumr vi, 164. Ulrich Haarmann mentioned that according to Piloti two of the conspirators against Sultan Faraj were “Christian renegades,” one came from Salonica, the other from the southern Slavic lands, see Haarmann, The Mamluk system 12. Piloti mentions that Faraj sent a force to Damascus that was supposed to return after one night, however, two of the commanders of the force decided to betray Faraj and join amirs who rebelled against him in Syria, see Piloti, L’ Egypte 12–13. According to the details given by Piloti it is possible to identify these two amirs as Baktamur Jilliq al-Nāṣirī and Ṭūghān al-Ḥasanī al-Ẓāhirī (d. 818/1415), see Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Nujūm xiii, 132 (the sending of the force), 137 (the betrayal of Baktamur and Ṭūghān); and see also idem, Manhal iii, 407 (the betrayal of Baktamur); al-Sakhāwī, Ḍawʾ iv, 11 (the betrayal of Ṭūghān). According to Piloti, one of the amirs was from Salonica and was of the same origin as Faraj (“ung des capitaines de celles gens estoit genre du souldain … et estoit de Salonic”), and the other was a Slav from Sclavonia (“Esclavon de Sclavonie”), see Piloti, L’ Egypte 12. While “Sclavonia” may refer to the southern Slavic lands (as Haarmann thinks), it is also a common Latin designation for various regions inhabited by Slavs, including Northeastern Europe (it may be mentioned

111

the names of the mamlūks table 4.10 Names of mamlūks in the anti-Circassian faction in 802/1400 (cont.)

Name (year of death, age)

20. Taghrī Birdī Amīr Silāḥ = Min Bashbughā al-Ẓāhirī (815/1412)278 21. Taghrī Birdī al-Julbānī 22. Taghrī Birdī al-Baydamurī 23. Fāris Ḥājib al-Ḥujjāb = al-Quṭluqujāwī (802/1400, almost 40)281

277

278 279 280 281 282

Entry

+

– – +

Ethnic origin

Ethnic destination of name

Rūmī/ Transition period: Rūmīs280 Greek279 – – Rūmī

Transition period: Rūmīs Transition period: Rūmīs Transition period: Rūmīs282

here that the Arabic term Ṣaqāliba refers not only to Slavs but also to Scandinavians, Finno-Ugrians, and various population of Eastern-Northern Europe, see Rotman, Migration 398). Baktamur almost always appears in the sources with the epithet jlq that should in all likelihood be read as Jilliq, i.e., a “Galician” or a Slav from Northeastern Europe, which strongly suggests that he was the “Esclavon de Sclavonie” referred to by Piloti. On the epithet Jilliq indicating “Galician” slaves in al-Andalus, see De la Puente, Slaves in al-Andalus 206, 209; idem, The ethnic origins 127–132. In that case, Ṭūghān al-Ḥasanī al-Ẓāhirī was a Greek from Salonica like Faraj. Faraj was the son of Shīrīn, the relative of Taghrī Birdī Min Bashbughā al-Ẓāhirī, who is known to have had relatives originating from Salonica (see no. 2 in table 4.7 above). The name Ṭūghān was given to Europeans/Anatolians (apparently starting from the transition period or the Circassian period), see Yosef, Ethnic groups (2011) i, 123–124; ii, 78–79. Until the 1320s the name Baktamur was given to Mongols/Tatars, see table 4.4.ii above. Starting from the 1320s until the Circassian period it was given to Turco-Mongols: i. Baktamur al-Aḥmadī al-Turkī (d. 770/1368–1369), see Ibn Ḥajar, Durar i, 287 (al-Turkī). ii. Baktamur al-Muʾminī (d. 771/1369) the mamlūk of al-Nāṣir Muḥammad was the brother of Ṭāz al-Nāṣirī (d. 763/1362) whose origin was from Bilād al-Turk, see Ibn Qāḍī Shuhba, Taʾrīkh iii, 370; al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk iii, 66; ii, 886–887 (the father of Ṭāz arrived from Bilād al-Turk). The name Ṭāz that first appears during al-Nāṣir Muḥammad’s third reign is another name that was given to Turco-Mongols (see also Ṭāz al-ʿUthmānī al-Ashrafī al-Turkī [d. 778/1377], Ibn Qāḍī Shuhba, Taʾrīkh iii, 525 [al-Turkī]; Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Manhal vi, 365). Starting from the Circassian period, the name Baktamur was given to Europeans/Anatolians: i. Baktamur Jilliq al-Nāṣirī (see no. 19 in table 4.10). ii. Baktamur al-Saʿdī (d. 831/1428, about 50), see Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Manhal iii, 408–409 (Rūmī al-jins); idem, Nujūm xv, 147–148 (Rūmī al-jins). Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Nujūm xii, 90. See no. 2 in table 4.7 above. See table 4.7 above. Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Manhal viii, 373 (Rūmī al-jins); al-Sakhāwī, Ḍawʾ vi, 164 (al-Rūmī). The name Fāris first appears in the transition period; see Yosef, Mamlūks of Jewish origin (table D).

112

yosef

table 4.10 Names of mamlūks in the anti-Circassian faction in 802/1400 (cont.)

Name (year of death, age)

24. Muqbil Amīr Ḥājib 25. Khāyir Bak Min Ḥasan Shāh

283

284

Entry

Ethnic origin

– –

– –

Ethnic destination of name

Transition period: Rūmīs283 Circassian period: Circassians284

Ayalon mentioned that the name Muqbil was given to many Rūmī eunuchs (and like many of the names normally given to eunuchs it was an Arab-Muslim name); however, it was also given to noneunuchs, see Ayalon, The eunuchs 275–279 (esp. 278–279). The name Muqbil first appears in the days of al-Ṣāliḥ Ismāʿīl (r. 743–746/1342–1345), and it is probably the first name that was given exclusively to Rūmīs, perhaps because it was given to many eunuchs. It is perhaps also not a coincidence that al-Ṣāliḥ Ismāʿīl was the son of a Rūmī slave girl, see Ibn Iyās, Badāʾiʿ al-zuhūr i, 159. There is information on the ethnic origin of several mamlūks named Muqbil who have biographical entries (eunuchs and noneunuchs): i. Muqbil al-Rūmī al-Shihābī (d. 795/1392–1393) the eunuch of al-Ṣāliḥ Ismāʿīl, see Ibn Qāḍī Shuhba, Taʾrīkh i, 498 (al-Rūmī); Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Manhal xi, 265 (alRūmī). ii. Muqbil al-Ṣarghitmishī al-Rūmī (d. 798/1396), see Ibn Qāḍī Shuhba, Taʾrīkh i, 601; al-Maqrīzī, Muqaffá vi, 46 (al-Rūmī). iii. Muqbil al-Rūmī al-Shaʾmī (d. 802/1399–1400, almost 60) the eunuch of al-Nāṣir Ḥasan, see al-Sakhāwī, Ḍawʾ x, 168 (al-Rūmī); al-Maqrīzī, Muqaffá vi, 44 (ḥumila min Bilād al-Rūm ṣaghīran ilá Bilād al-Shaʾm). iv. Muqbil al-Rūmī al-Yalbughāwī (d. 793/1391), see Ibn Qāḍī Shuhba, Taʾrīkh i, 415 (al-Rūmī). v. Muqbil alRūmī al-Ẓāhirī (d. 810/1408) the eunuch, see Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Manhal xi, 264 (al-Rūmī); idem, Nujūm xiii, 168 (al-Rūmī); al-Sakhāwī, Ḍawʾ x, 168 (al-Rūmī). vi. Muqbil al-Ẓāhirī al-Rūmī (d. 815/1412) the mamlūk of al-Ẓāhir Barqūq, see Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Manhal xi, 263 (al-Rūmī). vii. Muqbil al-Ashaqtamurī al-Rūmī (d. 819/1416) the eunuch, see al-Sakhāwī, Ḍawʾ x, 167 (al-Rūmī); Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Manhal xi, 265 (al-Rūmī). viii. Muqbil al-Ḥusāmī al-Rūmī al-Dawādār (d. 837/1433), see al-Sakhāwī, Ḍawʾ x, 167 (al-Rūmī); Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Manhal xi, 263 (Rūmī al-jins); idem, Nujūm xv, 185 (Rūmī al-jins). ix. The name Muqbil was given also to an Abyssinian and an Indian on whom there is not much information (both were not amirs and were probably eunuchs of civilians), see al-Sakhāwī, Ḍawʾ x, 168 (Muqbil al-Ḥabashī and Muqbil al-Hindī). In all likelihood this has to do with the fact that Muqbil was an Arab-Muslim name that was commonly given to eunuchs. As far as I know, non-Arab names that were given to Rūmīs (mainly noneunuchs) were never given to Abyssinians and Indians. The name apparently first appears in the Circassian period. There is information on the ethnic origin of only two mamlūks named Khāyir Bak and both were Abkhazians: I. Khāyir Bak al-Ẓāhirī Khushqadam (d. 879/1474), see al-Malaṭī, al-Rawḍ al-bāsim iii, 332; Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Nujūm xvi, 385, 387; Ayalon, The Circassians 143; and see on him also al-Sakhāwī, Ḍawʾ iii, 208–209. ii. Khāyir Bak Balabāy (d. 927/1521), see Ibn Iyās, Badāʾiʿ al-zuhūr ii, 1277. As mentioned, during the Circassian period Abkhazians were given names that were normally given to Circassians, see footnote 29 above; and see Yosef, Mamlūks of Jewish origin (footnote 144).

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sultanate: History in the service of faith, in H. Kennedy (ed.), The historiography of Islamic Egypt (c. 950–1800), Leiden 2001, 93–105. Little, D.P., An introduction to Mamlūk historiography: An analysis of Arabic annalistic and biographical sources for the reign of al-Malik an-Nāṣir Muḥammad ibn Qalāʾūn, Wiesbaden 1970. Little, D.P., Circassians, in J.R. Strayer (ed.), Dictionary of the middle ages, vol. 3, New York 1984, 398–401. Little, D.P., Review of The lion of Egypt: Sultan Baybars i and the Near East in the thirteenth century, by P. Thorau, trans. P.M. Holt, in jss 38/2 (1993): 340–348. al-Malaṭī, ʿA., al-Majmaʿ al-mufannan bi-l-muʿjam al-muʿanwan, ed. ʿAb. al-Kandarī, 2 vols., Beirut 2011. al-Malaṭī, ʿA., Nayl al-amal fī Dhayl al-Duwal, ed. ʿU. Tadmurī, 9 vols., Beirut and Ṣaydā 2002. al-Malaṭī, ʿA., al-Rawḍ al-bāsim fī ḥawādith al-ʿumur wa-l-tarājim, ed. ʿU. Tadmurī, 4 vols., Beirut 2014. al-Maqrīzī, A., Durar al-ʿuqūd al-farīda fī tarājim al-aʿyān al-mufīda, ed. M. al-Jalīlī, 4 vols., Beirut 2002. al-Maqrīzī, A., Kitāb al-Mawāʿiẓ wa-l-iʿtibār bi-dhikr al-khiṭaṭ wa-l-āthār, 2 vols., Beirut: Dār Ṣadr, n.d. al-Maqrīzī, A., Kitāb al-Muqaffá al-kabīr, ed. M. al-Yaʿlāwī, 8 vols., Beirut 1991. al-Maqrīzī, A., Kitāb al-Sulūk li-maʿrifat duwal al-mulūk, eds. M. Ziyāda and S. ʿĀshūr, 4 vols., Cairo 1934–1973. Mazor, A., The rise and fall of a Muslim regiment: The Manṣūriyya in the first Mamluk Sultanate, 678/1279–741/1341, Bonn 2015. Northrup, L.S., The Baḥrī Mamlūk Sultanate, 1250–1390, in C.F. Petry (ed.), The Cambridge history of Egypt, vol. 1, Cambridge and New York 1998, 242–289. al-Nuʿaymī, ʿA., al-Dāris fī taʾrīkh al-madāris, ed. I. Shams al-Dīn, 2 vols., Beirut 1990. al-Nuwayrī, A., Nihāyat al-arab fī funūn al-adab, eds. I. Shams al-Dīn et al., 33 vols., Beirut 2004. Piloti, E., L’Egypte au commencement du quinzieme siecle d’apres le traite d’Emmanuel Piloti de Crete (incipit 1420), ed. P.H. Dopp, Cairo 1950. De la Puente, C., Slaves in al-Andalus through Mālikī wathāʾiq works (4th–6thh/10th– 12th centuries ce): Marriage and slavery as factors of social categorization, in ai 42 (2008), 187–212. De la Puente, C., The ethnic origins of female slaves in al-Andalus, in M.S. Gordon and K.A. Hain (eds.), Concubines and courtesans: Women and slavery in Islamic history, Oxford 2017, 124–142. al-Qalqashandī, A., Ṣubḥ al-aʿshá fī ṣināʿat al-inshāʾ, ed. M. Shams al-Dīn, 15 vols., Beirut 1987. Rabbat, N.O., The changing concept of mamlūk in the Mamluk Sultanate in Egypt and

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Syria, in T. Miura and J.E. Philips (eds.), Slave elites in the Middle East and Africa: A comparative study, London and New York 2000, 81–98. Rabbat, N.O., The citadel of Cairo: A new interpretation of royal Mamluk architecture, Leiden 1995. Rotman, Y., Migration and enslavement: A medieval model, in J. Preiser-Kapeller, L. Reinfandt, and Y. Stouraitis (eds.), Migration histories of the medieval Afroeurasian transition zone: Aspects of mobility between Africa, Asia, and Europe, 300–1500c.e., Leiden 2020, 387–412. al-Ṣafadī, Ṣ., Aʿyān al-ʿaṣr wa-aʿwān al-naṣr, ed. ʿA. Abū Zayd et. al., 6 vols., Beirut and Damascus 1998. al-Ṣafadī, Ṣ., Kitāb al-Wāfī bi-l-wafayāt, eds. H. Ritter et al., 30 vols., Wiesbaden and Beirut 1962–2004. al-Saḥmāwī, S., al-Thaghr al-bāsim fī ṣināʿat al-kātib wa-l-kātim, ed. A. Anas, 2 vols., Cairo 2009. al-Sakhāwī, M., al-Ḍawʾ al-lāmiʿ li-ahl al-qarn al-tāsiʿ, 12 vols., Beirut 1992. al-Sakhāwī, M., al-Dhayl al-tāmm ʿalá Duwal al-Islām lil-Dhahabī, ed. Ḥ. Marwa, 3 vols., Beirut 1992. al-Sakhāwī, M., al-Tuḥfa al-laṭīfa fī taʾrīkh al-Madīna al-Sharīfa, ed. A. al-Ḥusaynī, 3 vols., Cairo 1979–1980. al-Sakhāwī, M., Wajīz al-kalām fī l-dhayl ʿalá Duwal al-Islām, 4 vols., ed. B. Maʿrūf et al., Beirut 1995. Shāfiʿ b. ʿAlī (Ibn ʿAsākir al-ʿAsqalānī), [Kitāb] al-Faḍl al-maʾthūr min sīrat al-Sulṭān alMalik al-Manṣūr, ed. ʿU. Tadmurī, Beirut 1998. al-Shujāʿī, S., Taʾrīkh al-Malik al-Nāṣir Muḥammad b. Qalāwūn al-Ṣāliḥī wa-awlādihi, ed. B. Schäfer, Wiesbaden 1977. Van Steenbergen, J., Order out of chaos: Patronage, conflict and Mamluk socio-political culture, 1341–1382, Leiden 2006. al-Ṣuqāʿī, F., Tālī Kitāb Wafayāt al-aʿyān, ed. J. Sublet, Damascus 1974. al-ʿUmarī, A., Masālik al-abṣār wa-mamālik al-amṣār, ed. ʿA, al-Sarīḥī et al., 24 vols., Abu Dhabi 2001–2004. Vrolijk, A., Bringing a laugh to a scowling face: A study and critical edition of the Nuzhat al-nufūs wa-muḍḥik al-ʿabūs by ʿAlī Ibn Sūdūn al-Bashbughāwī (Cairo 810/1407– Damascus 868/1464), Leiden 1998. Yosef, K., Cross-boundary hatred: (Changing) attitudes towards Mongol and ‘Christian’ mamlūks in the Mamluk Sultanate, in R. Amitai and S. Conermann (eds.), The Mamluk Sultanate from the perspective of regional and world history: Economic, social and cultural development in an era of increasing international interaction and competition, Göttingen 2019, 149–214. Yosef, K., Dawlat al-Atrāk or Dawlat al-Mamālīk? Ethnic origin or slave origin as the defining characteristic of the ruling elite in the Mamluk Sultanate, in jsai 39 (2012), 387–410.

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Yosef, K., Ethnic groups, social relationships and dynasty in the Mamluk Sultanate (1250– 1517), PhD diss., University of Tel-Aviv 2011 [in Hebrew]. Yosef, K., Ethnic groups, social relationships and dynasty in the Mamluk Sultanate (1250–1517), in ask Working Paper 06 (2012), 1–12. Yosef, K., Mamluks and their relatives in the period of the Mamluk Sultanate (1250– 1517), in msr 16 (2012), 55–69. Yosef, K., Mamlūks of Jewish origin in the Mamluk Sultanate, in msr 22 (2019), 49–95. al-Yūnīnī, M., Dhayl Mirʾāt al-zamān, 4 vols., Hyderabad 1954–1961. al-Yūsufī, M., Nuzhat al-nāẓir fī sīrat al-Malik al-Nāṣir, ed. A. Ḥuṭayṭ, Beirut 1986. Zetterstéen, K.V., Beiträge zur Geschichte der Mamlūkensultane in den Jahren 690–741 der Hiǧra nach arabischen Handschriften, Leiden 1919.

chapter 5

Nomen Est Omen: David Ayalon, the Mamluk Sultanate, and the Reign of the Turks Jo Van Steenbergen

1

Introduction*

In the middle of the seventh/thirteenth century, at one of the crossroads of premodern civilizations, a polity successfully emerged in the Eastern Mediterranean that was to dominate Egypt, Syria, and the wider Islamic world until the early tenth/sixteenth century. For a long time now, research on its history has taken for granted a particular view on what unites the quarter of a millennium of its existence: throughout this long period manumitted military slaves, or mamlūks, continued to be bound together into one tightly knit social group that systemically monopolized elite status, political authority, and power in the regions of Egypt and Syria; and the ranks of this dominant group were continuously replenished by new slaves of—predominantly—Central Asian stock, excluding in the process all other social groups—including mamlūks’ own descendants—from attaining similar status. As a result of this view’s prevalence, this polity is indeed defined in modern historiography and current global usage alike as the “Mamluk Sultanate,” its ruling elite as “the Mamluks,” and all aspects of its long history and rich culture as being first and foremost “Mamluk.”1

* This essay has been finalized within the context of the project “The Mamlukisation of the Mamluk Sultanate ii: Historiography, Political Order and State Formation in Fifteenth-Century Egypt and Syria” (Ghent University, 2017–2021); this project has received funding from the European Research Council (erc) under the European Union’s Horizon 2020 research and innovation programme (Consolidator Grant agreement No. 681510). It was first written within the context of the erc-project “The Mamlukisation of the Mamluk Sultanate. Political Traditions and State Formation in 15th-century Egypt and Syria” (Ghent University, 2009– 2014, erc StG 240865 mms). It is a substantially revised version of a paper presented at the April 2011 conference at the University of Haifa (Egypt and Syria under Mamluk rule: Political, social and cultural aspects). 1 As this is an exploratory essay rather than an article with new data or their interpretations, references will be limited to what is deemed strictly necessary to support the main ideas developed here.

© Jo Van Steenbergen, 2022 | doi:10.1163/9789004459717_007

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In recent decades, an immense upsurge of interest and research in all things “Mamluk” has substantially mitigated this picture of a successful Islamic Sultanate of slaves that—due to its long-term slave rule—would have been sociologically exceptional and historically incommensurable. It has become clear by now that what is today still known as Mamluk society, culture, and economy were fully integrated into the late medieval world of West Asia and beyond and that specific “Mamluk” realities across time and space—from the mid-seventh/thirteenth to the early tenth/sixteenth centuries, from Southeast Anatolia to Upper Egypt—were far more complex, diverse, and dynamic than sweeping Mamluk generalizations can account for. It is above all wellestablished by now that status, authority, and power in late medieval Egypt and Syria were objects of competition among various social groups, which transformed substantially over time, which included former military slaves but also others, and which—in their attempts to achieve, organize, or maintain dominance—applied a wide plethora of social strategies that in essence did not differ much from social practices at work elsewhere in the west Asian world between the fifth/eleventh and twelfth/eighteenth centuries. What is remarkable, however, is that while gradually coming to terms with these dynamic and complex realities of the Mamluk Sultanate, questions have nevertheless hardly ever been raised about the continued assumption that these realities belong to one historical-chronological entity, connected by some shared essence that justifies the continued use of a “Mamluk” identifier and that makes them distinct from Ayyubid realities before 648/1250 or from local Ottoman realities after 922/1517.2 This question of the phenomenon of the Mamluk Sultanate—of the assumption of a direct relationship between late medieval Syro-Egyptian experiences on the one hand and some connecting Mamluk essence on the other—is what this essay wishes to address. More precisely, in more modest ways than such a grand statement might suggest, this essay wishes to add its voice to the debate on the perceptions and representations of The Mamluk Sultanate and of the value and validity of such a terminology in particular.3 It will do so in even more modest ways: by considering and 2 This question of what this distinguishing “Mamluk” essence would be if not mamlūk slavery, is not resolved either by Donald Richards’ widely quoted remark in this respect—in a remarkably brief but extremely rich chapter that should be considered seminal for the gradual coming to terms with the full complexities of “Mamluk” social realities—that “throughout this piece I have used mamlūk to denote an individual who has that legal and social status and distinguished it from the adjective Mamluk (with a capital ‘M’ and without italics), which is used to describe the totality of the state, society and culture etc.” (Richards, Mamluk amirs and their families 40). 3 See also Yosef, Dawlat al-Atrāk or dawlat al-Mamālīk?, 387–410.

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reconsidering the very rich and valuable material that was collected by David Ayalon, among others in one of his later articles, published in 1990, in which he addressed exactly such ontological issues but explicitly refused to fully consider the outcome of his results: “Baḥrī Mamlūks, Burjī Mamlūks—Inadequate names for the two reigns of the Mamlūk sultanate.”4 More precisely, this essay will explore the ramifications—left untouched by Ayalon—of the article’s outcome that a “Mamluk” identity was largely alien to contemporary representations of late medieval Syro-Egyptian experiences. If “The Mamluk Sultanate” turns out to be another construction of the modern mind, it is relevant to question whether and how these experiences may be connected otherwise.

2

David Ayalon and the Mamluk Sultanate

In the course of many of his extremely rich and multifarious contributions to current understandings of “Mamluk” history, the late Israeli scholar David Ayalon (1914–1998) undoubtedly remained one of the most fervent supporters of the long-standing “Mamluk” paradigmatic vision of a late medieval SyroEgyptian history that was rooted in more than 250 years of slave dominance. As the doyen of contemporary “Mamluk” studies, Ayalon continued to refer constantly to a “Mamluk System” of rules, values, and norms of behavior, inculcated through military slavery, as the stable backbone for the Sultanate’s long history.5 Occasionally, however, Ayalon also displayed in some of his writings an implicit awareness of the more complex realities that made up the longstanding “Mamluk” social experience. At those moments one is left with the impression that—without ever being very explicit about it—Ayalon conceived of the “Mamluk System” as representing primarily a heuristic device and a discursive ideal for contemporary and modern historians alike in their attempts to understand, represent, and gain control over the full scope of late medieval Syro-Egyptian complexities. Already in his The Circassians in the Mamlūk kingdom, published in 1949, Ayalon explained in unequivocal terms how throughout the eighth/fourteenth

4 Ayalon, Baḥrī Mamluks, Burjī Mamlūks, 3–52. 5 Among Ayalon’s many publications on the Sultanate that were informed by this paradigmatic notion, its nature, impact, and limitations have been summed up most explicitly in his: Mamluk military aristocracy, 205–210. Ayalon’s thinking about the “Mamluk System” was also summarised in Amitai, The rise and fall of the Mamluk institution 19–32. A full bibliography of Ayalon’s work was published in the following obituary: Amitai, David Ayalon, 1914–1998 1–12.

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and ninth/fifteenth centuries a variety of political leaders of mamlūk origins continued to “bring over their relatives from their country of origin,” with the added practice that “older immigrants frequently obtained high posts as amīrs, or at least as Khāṣṣikiyya, without being slaves and without undergoing training in the military schools.” The reality of this practice and its impact on the structure of Syro-Egyptian politics made Ayalon even claim that “indeed, it would be no exaggeration to call the second half of the Circassian period ‘the period of rule by brothers-in-law and relatives.’”6 Toward the end of this 1949 article, Ayalon also already mitigated the “Mamluk System” paradigm from the angle of heredity, explaining how in the seventh/thirteenth and eighth/fourteenth centuries in particular the succession of fathers by their sons “had not altogether been abandoned.”7 The basic idea suggested there of large-scale continuity in institutional practices among political elites between the Ayyubid and (early) Mamluk Sultanates was fully developed in two, much later, publications. In his 1977 Aspects of the Mamlūk phenomenon: B. Ayyūbids, Kurds and Turks, Ayalon came to the following conclusion: The previous presentation and discussion prove, in my view, the existence of very strong ties binding the Ayyūbid and the Mamlūk regimes and demonstrate the continuity of these two regimes. As I have already stated elsewhere, one has, first of all, to go back to the Ayyūbids in order to discover the sources of the Mamlūk Sultanate, including the Turkish influences on it …. The model for Sultan Baybars, one of the greatest founders of the Mamlūk state, was his patron al-Ṣāliḥ Najm al-Dīn Ayyūb. Baybars is stated by his biographer, Ibn ʿAbd al-Ẓāhir, to have revived the government, the law and the usages of the Ayyūbid ruler. Of equal importance is the evidence of al-Qalqashandī, who wrote the classical book on the Mamlūk Chancellery. He says: “The Ayyūbid reign, which is the origin of the Mamlūk reign.”8 The same idea of continuity was further developed in the 1981 article From Ayyubids to Mamluks, but within a much larger and more ambitious historical framework, since Ayalon suggested that “the Zangids, the Ayyūbids, and even

6 Ayalon, The Circassians in the Mamlūk kingdom 144. In recent years, this issue has been explored further for this and other periods in Van Steenbergen, Order out of chaos 81–82; Loiseau, Reconstruire la maison du sultan i, 198–199; Broadbridge, Sending home for mom and dad 1–18; Yosef, Mamluks and their relatives 55–69. 7 Ayalon, The Circassians 146. 8 Ayalon, Aspects of the Mamluk phenomenon 31–32.

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the Mamlūks, were to this or that extent, successor states of the Seljuks.” This idea, with a specific focus on Ayyubid-“Mamluk” continuities, was then again elaborated in much detail, returning eventually again to the point already made back in 1949 about the obvious continuity in hereditary practices. This point was made even more explicitly, with specific reference to the continuity of dynastic realities in the seventh/thirteenth and eighth/fourteenth centuries: at that time, both Ayyubid and “Mamluk” polities—as with quite a few others in the medieval world of Islam—were very similar in being dominated by a powerful combination of dynastic rulers and their families on the one hand and military elites of predominantly mamlūk origins on the other hand. Ayalon explained this as follows: In dealing with the Mamlūk vis-à-vis the Ayyūbid regime, what we call the non-hereditary character of the Mamluk sultanate should be viewed in its right perspective. A considerable number of states had already been established in Islam by Mamlūks before [sic] the creation of the Mamlūk Sultanate. It was dynasties springing from those Mamlūks who ruled those states …. Whatever the reason, we witness dynasties of Mamlūks basing their power on a nucleus of a mainly non-hereditary military aristocracy. Among those dynasties, there were very strong and respectable ones, not less respectable than those descending from free-born rulers. One of them was the very respectable dynasty of the Zangids, the patrons of the founders of the Ayyubid dynasty. Now there is no indication whatsoever that the Mamlūks, when they came to power, ever dreamt, individually or collectively, of creating a nonhereditary Sultan’s office. This, as far as it materialized, came about, at least in the Baḥrī-Qipchaqī period, without any planning. During most of that period the Mamlūk Sultanate was ruled by the Qalāūnid [sic] dynasty, which lasted longer than the Ayyūbids, and if only its uninterrupted rule is considered, almost as long. Only Ibn Taghrī Birdī, in the third quarter of the fifteenth century, questions the wisdom of the reigning Sultan in appointing his son as his successor, knowing full well that he would be quickly overthrown.9

9 Ayalon, From Ayyubids to Mamluks 55–56. This point was repeated in similar terms in Ayalon’s article Mamlūk military aristocracy, where he summarised it as follows: “The socalled non-hereditary office of the sultan under the Mamlūks was not a thing which had been planned in any way. It just came about; and it does not apply to the whole of the Mamlūk reign.” (209). In recent years, this issue has also been explored further for this and other periods in Van Steenbergen, Is anyone my guardian …? 55–65; Broadbridge, Kingship and

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It is clear from all this that in spite of a continued insistence on understanding late medieval Syro-Egyptian sociopolitical life through the prism of the “Mamluk System,” Ayalon also always remained somehow aware of—if not struggling with—that life’s larger level of complexity. The Sultanate’s reality simply displayed far more parallels and continuities with preceding and contemporary social systems in West Asia than a simple focus on two centuries and a half of slave rule might suggest. As he noted from an early date onwards, these parallels and continuities consisted not in the least of the prevalence of inclusive social strategies, prioritizing kinship and lineage over slavery—a recurrent tendency that was topped in Ayalon’s analyses by the Qalāwūnid dynasty in the eighth/fourteenth century and by “the rule by brothers-in-law and relatives” in the ninth/fifteenth century. In 1990, Ayalon published yet another article in which he tried to come to terms with this larger complexity of the Sultanate’s reality. In Baḥrī Mamlūks, Burjī Mamlūks, the analysis focused not so much on social strategies but rather on related issues of definition, identification, and periodization: through which comprehensive units of analysis has the complex historical reality been represented, and how useful or meaningful are they, and, in particular, are the names used to refer to the two standard periods in “Mamluk” history? After a survey of “the Islamicist literature” and of “Mamlūk Source Evidence” Ayalon concluded that the ethnic denominations Qipchaq Turks and Circassians—rather than the widely used mamlūk corps names Baḥrī and Burjī—are the only meaningful ways to represent the regime’s two periods of reign, covering the periods 648–784/1250–1382 and 784–922/1382–1517 respectively. This conclusion represented a clear shift in focus from a purely mamlūk to an ethnic category in order to grasp what really meaningfully connected each of these two periods and transformed them into historically coherent units of analysis. In Ayalon’s analysis, such a shift was the only possible solution for the remarkable discrepancy between the modern usage of the terms Baḥrī and Burjī and contemporary Syro-Egyptian historians’ obliviousness to those mamlūk identities. As a matter of principle, I think that the terminology of the contemporary sources should be adopted, unless there are weighty considerations

ideology in the Islamic and Mongol worlds Cambridge, 2008; Bauden, The sons of al-Nāṣir Muḥammad 53–81; Loiseau, Reconstruire la maison du sultan i, 200–203; Broadbridge, Sending home for mom 1–18; Van Steenbergen, The amir Yalbughā al-Khāṣṣakī 423–443; Yosef, Ethnic groups, social relationships and dynasty in the Mamluk sultanate (1250–1517); Van Steenbergen, Qalāwūnid discourse 1–28; idem, The Mamluk sultanate as a military patronage state 189–217.

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against it. Under no circumstances should it be replaced by a terminology which has little foundation and may be misleading. In our particular case the sources lay particular stress on the ethnic element: first on the transformation from Kurdish Ayyūbids to the Turkish Mamlūks, and then from the Turkish Mamlūks to the Circassian Mamlūks. The decisive contribution of the Baḥriyya Mamlūks to the creation of the new sultanate did not induce these sources to call it after them. The justification for calling the second reign Burjī is infinitely smaller …. This fact is reflected even in the terminology adopted by some of the Islamicists …. So the designations which, in my view, Islamicists should prefer, and which will be the nearest to that of the sources would be: the reign of the Turkish Mamlūks and that of the Circassian Mamlūks (or in an abbreviated form, the reign of the Turks and that of the Circassians). For the first reign Turkish-Qipchaqi may also be considered.10 As is also true for Ayalon’s somewhat reluctant sensitivity for the greater complexity of the Sultanate’s social life, his introduction of new names for late medieval Syro-Egyptian history’s periodization, largely inspired by contemporary historiography, seems to have taken root in today’s study of the “Mamluk” Sultanate. A clear illustration of this surely is the fact that the editorial committee of the New Cambridge history of Islam decided for the “Mamluk” chapter to be duly subtitled “the Turkish Mamluk sultanate (648–784/1250–1382) and the Circassian Mamluk sultanate (784–923/1382–1517).”11

3

The Mamluk Sultanate versus the Reign of the Turks

As announced above, the purpose of this brief survey of the complexities of David Ayalon’s thought, however, is not so much to assess the latter but rather to think further about some of the new directions that were suggested by, but never fully explored in, his research. A fine example of this certainly is the intriguing suggestion to rethink late medieval Syro-Egyptian periodization. A shift in terminology and focus surely may be relevant, but it remains to be demonstrated that the exchange of a mamlūk for an ethnic tag makes that same old double periodization of “Mamluk” history really more meaningful. Apart from the fact that this illustrates how the ethnic majority in the military shif-

10 11

Ayalon, Baḥrī Mamlūks, Burjī Mamlūks 23. Levanoni, The Mamlūks in Egypt and Syria 237–284.

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ted from Turks to Circassians toward the end of the eighth/fourteenth century (which was in fact caused by factors mainly external to Syro-Egyptian realities), it remains unclear how these ethnic names provide better insight into the many transformations undergone by the Sultanate’s social, cultural, and economic realities. More germane to the argument of this essay, however, is the fact that in the same Baḥrī Mamlūks, Burjī Mamlūks article, Ayalon almost inadvertently came to a related outcome about meaningful identifications of the Sultanate in historiography, refusing however to adopt a consequential attitude similar to the one he applied to the two periods’ names. In the process of searching for more correct names for these two periods, Ayalon also demonstrated that rather than “Mamluk Sultanate” it was in fact Dawlat al-Atrāk (the Reign of the Turks), or variants thereof, that was the real name preferred by the majority of contemporary Mamluk historians to refer to this polity throughout its long history. In fact, Ayalon had again already suggested this much earlier, in his 1960 contribution to the 25th Congress of Orientalists in Moscow, published in 1963. In that paper, he made the following observation: Though they belonged to various races, the Mamluks were usually designated by the name Turk. This was only natural, because the most common general name which the Muslim sources gave to all the peoples of the Eurasian steppe was Turk as well. The name Turk as designating Mamluks persisted throughout the Middle Ages. The Mamluk sultanate was called Dawlat al-Turk or Dawlat al-Atrak, a name which was not changed even when the Kipchaki Turks were superseded by the Circassians. The Mamluk sultans were called Mulūk al-Turk up to the very end of the sultanate.12 In 1970, this view was reiterated by Bernard Lewis in his “Egypt and Syria” contribution to the Cambridge history of Islam. In this chapter, Lewis stated that “the state which [the Turkish mamlūks] established is known to scholarship as the Mamluk Sultanate; contemporaries called it dawlat al-Atrāk—the empire of the Turks.”13 In his 1990 article, in the context of his search for better names for the two Mamluk periods, Ayalon further reviewed this particular issue in much detail. He searched for such naming patterns in a wide array of narrative sources across time and space, from Sibṭ Ibn al-Jawzī (d. 654/1256), Abū Shāma (d. 665/1267), and Ibn al-ʿAmīd (d. 672/1274) to al-Suyūṭī (d. 910/1505) and Ibn

12 13

Ayalon, The European-Asiatic steppe 47–48. Lewis, Egypt and Syria i, 214.

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Iyās (d. 930/1524). In doing so, however, he also noticed how “some authors, especially those who lived in the first reign, either forgot completely to mention the fact that there had been a change of rule from the Ayyubids to the Mamluks, or alluded to that fact in a rather vague way.”14 One telling example he mentions concerns the well-connected Syrian secretary and biographer of mamlūk descent Khalīl b. Aybak al-Ṣafadī (d. 764/1363), about whom Ayalon explains that he stated “in the biography of the Ayyūbid Sultan al-Ṣāliḥ Ayyūb … that after him his Turkish Mamlūks became the rulers ‘up to this day’ (wa-baqiya al-mulk baʿdahu fī mawālīhi al-atrāk).”15 As transpires from references such as this one, the common name seventh/thirteenth- and eighth/fourteenth-century sources almost generically used when they wanted to refer to the rule to which they were subjected was indeed that of Dawlat al-Turk, Dawlat al-Atrāk, al-Dawla alTurkiyya, or other combinations with the term Turk. More precisely, out of a total of 72 relevant references recorded by Ayalon for the entire period, 34 were made by authors from this first time span; all—from Ibn al-ʿAmīd’s chapter entitled “The beginning of dawlat al-turk and their seizure of power in the country of Egypt ….” to Ibn Khaldūn’s similar chapter entitled “The account of al-dawla al-turkiyya which sustains al-dawla al-ʿabbāsiyya in Egypt and Syria from after Banū Ayyūb and up to this time ….” and Ibn Duqmāq’s statement in his Nuzhat al-Anām that in the year 650/1252 “the reign of the turk began (wafīhā kāna mubtadaʾ mulk al-turk wa-mabdaʾ ʾaḥwālihim)”—univocally agreed on representing the regime through a turk-related lens.16 The situation, as reconstructed by Ayalon for ninth/fifteenth- and early tenth/sixteenth-century representations, is less clear-cut due to a recurrent focus on a Circassian—as opposed to a pre-784/1382 Turkish—dominance. Nevertheless, in 23 recorded cases, again reference continues to be made to the same turk-related lens, including the representation of Sultan Barqūq as “the twenty-fifth of the mulūk al-turk who ruled Egypt” by Ibn Qāḍī Shuhba (d. 851/1448) and similarly as “the twenty-fifth of the turk kings and their descendants in Egypt” by Ibn Iyās (d. 930/1524).17 Unlike Ibn Qāḍī Shuhba, however, the latter author also simultaneously referred to Barqūq as “the first of the Circassian kings in Egypt,” illustrating how most ninth/fifteenth-century authors considered the long history of the dawlat al-atrāk as including that of the dawlat al-jarākisa.18 In this vein, Ayalon notes the following about Ibn 14 15 16 17 18

Ayalon, Baḥrī Mamlūks, Burjī Mamlūks 18. Ibid. 19. Ibid. 12, 15, 16. Ibid. 6–17, 18. Ibid. 19.

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Taghrī Birdī’s representation of Barqūq: “‘the twenty-fifth of the turk kings in Egypt … and the first of the jarākisa kings (wa-huwa al-sulṭān al-khāmis walʿishrūn min mulūk al-turk … wal-awwal min mulūk al-jarākisa).’ Sultan Faraj, Barquq’s son, was ‘the twenty-sixth of the kings of the turk and the second of the jarākisa (al-sādis wal-ʿishrūn min mulūk al-turk wal-thānī min al-jarākisa),’ and so on.”19 In an overwhelming majority of these sources, and whatever the particular names adopted for any of the Sultanate’s periods or reigns, there clearly also emerged from Ayalon’s study a picture of an overwhelming contemporary consensus that the most relevant long-term perspective on late medieval Syro-Egyptian history was that of the Dawlat al-Atrāk or its variants. As a result, Ayalon already formulated very convincingly the only conclusion that can possibly be drawn from all this: Although the foregoing list of citations is far from complete and could be greatly augmented without difficulty, I think it constitutes quite a representative sample of the terminology relating to the two successive Mamlūk reigns, as used by the sources …. As far as the sources themselves are concerned, the terms current in them, which the reader encounters with great frequency (examples, in addition to those cited above, can be multiplied with great ease) are: dawlat al-turk, dawlat al-atrāk, al-dawla al-turkiyya, mulūk al-turk, mulūk al-atrāk, and the like, … Dawlat al-turk, etc., might mean either the entire Mamlūk reign or only the first reign; and mulūk al-turk, etc., may refer either to the Mamlūk sultans in general, or only to the sultans of the first reign. Turk and atrāk (sing turkī) might mean Mamlūks of any ethnic group, or only Turkish Mamlūks.20 In the end, however, Ayalon refused to proceed along his own conclusions and to propose to exchange not just Baḥrī and Burjī for Qipchaq Turkish and Circassian but also Mamluk for Turk. He stated as a very specific reason for not doing so the ambiguity involved in the use of the term Turk, referring according to him either to the social status of military slavery or to shared ethnic origins, or to both: “The confusing element in the sources’ terminology (and this applies not only to the Mamlūk period) is that the terms turk, atrāk, turkī have a double meaning: Turk and Mamlūk.”21 Consequently, Ayalon concluded that “a literal translation of dawlat al-turk, or one of its variants, should not be adopted, if

19 20 21

Ibid. 17. Ibid. 22–23. Ibid. 23.

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only because of the double meaning of the term turk. ‘The Mamlūk sultanate’ seems to me to be the most appropriate name.”22

4

The Reign of the Turks: Discourse, Identity, and Integration

From all the above, the least one could say is that there appears a remarkable inconsistency between Ayalon’s revisionist views on the Sultanate’s periodization on the one hand and on the other hand his conservative attitude toward the use of “the Mamluk Sultanate.” As mentioned above, Ayalon actually already suggested (“As a matter of principle, I think that the terminology of the sources should be adopted …”)23 that the value of notions used by contemporaries to identify the contexts in which they operated should be acknowledged. Especially when such notions are shared by a majority of contemporaries as varied in time, space, and social backgrounds as the historians reviewed by Ayalon were, there should be little doubt about why they should be considered valuable and important: they clearly operated as signs and markers of a dynamic hegemonic discourse, appearing at the crossroads of dominant (and often competing) understandings and perceptions of long-term late medieval Syro-Egyptian social practices. It was in these dynamic, subjective, and contextbound ways that such notions remained meaningful across time and space to various social groups, including also to some of the latter’s representatives: historians and their audiences. Today, these notions’ continued presence in extant contemporary media of communication—such as in chronicles and biographical dictionaries—has therefore also preserved them as tools to try and unearth those meanings and their context-bound subjectivities, and thus continues to make them valuable for today’s understanding, perception, and representation of those selfsame social practices.24 This is especially true for the dominant identification of the long-term nature of late medieval Syro-Egyptian rule with the term turk and its variants. 22

23 24

Ibid. It should be noted here that Ayalon also saw a potential problem of confusion with the current usage of the word “Turk” in European languages, especially “when dealing with the Ottomans and their relations with the Mamlūks” (23–24). Ayalon, Baḥrī Mamlūks, Burjī Mamlūks 23. On hegemonic discourse, see in particular Laclau and Mouffe, Hegemony and socialist strategy; De Vos, Discourse theory 163–180, esp. pp. 164–169; a seminal work in this respect is of course Foucault, L’ archéologie du savoir. I am grateful to my master’s students, especially Jan Beke, for enriching discussions and debates on subjectivity, discourse, hegemony, identity, nodal points, (empty) signifiers, and their like, that have inspired some of the ideas presented here.

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There should be no doubt that this is an extremely complex signifier that meant different things to many different people at many different times. This was discussed in much detail by Ulrich Haarmann in his The Arab image of the Turk.25 Relevant in this particular context is that Haarmann illustrates how late medieval Syro-Egyptian religious scholars also tried to impose a particular (negative) perception of everything turk, through meaningful constructions that made turk represent an identity that was the exact opposite of everything their own scholarly identity was meant to stand for. To illustrate this, Haarmann explained how “al-Sakhāwī, for instance, belittled the achievement of his colleague and teacher Ibn Taghrī Birdī, who was the son of one of the highest Mamluk emirs of the time, when he asked disparagingly: ‘[W]hat else can be expected of a Turk?’”26 But this was certainly not the only way in which turk was made meaningful by and for contemporaries. As Ayalon demonstrated, when counting turk rulers—which happened especially in reports of the accession of a new one— contemporary historians made no distinction whatsoever between mamlūks and mamlūks’ sons, grandsons, great-grandsons, and great-great-grandsons; a fine example of this can be found with Ibn Qāḍī Shuhba (d. 851/1448), whose notice of the start of Barqūq’s sultanate in 784/1382 after the long-standing Qalāwūnid dynasty evoked the following comments from Ayalon: “In speaking of Barqūq’s accession to the throne Ibn Qāḍī Shuhba says that he was the twenty-fifth of the mulūk al-turk who ruled Egypt; the twenty-third of them who ruled Syria as well; and the eighth of those of them who were themselves slaves (mimman massahu al-riqq). But he says nothing about his being the founder of the Circassian reign.”27 In this case, it was the particular link with the term mulūk, rulers, rather than any ethnicity or slavery that made al-turk a meaningful signifier for Ibn Qāḍī Shuhba. The same is surely also true for many of the other references collected by Ayalon. The connection between al-turk and its variants with the noun mulūk was found by him in authors as diverse as Ibn al-ʿAmīd (602–672/1205–1274), Ibn al-Dawādārī (d. after 735/1335), alMufaḍḍal b. Abī al-Faḍāʾil (d. after 748/1348), Ibn Ḥabīb (710–779/1310–1377), Ibn al-Furāt (735–808/1335–1405), al-Maqrīzī (764–845/1363–1442), Ibn Taghrī Birdī (812–874/1410–1470), Ibn Bahādur al-Muʾminī (835–876/1432–1472), and Ibn Iyās (851–930/1448–1524).28 Furthermore, this revealing connection between signifiers such as al-turk or al-atrāk and issues of political power and 25 26 27 28

Haarmann, Ideology and history 175–196. Ibid. 181–184 (quote on 183). Ayalon, Baḥrī Mamlūks, Burjī Mamlūks 16–17. Ibid. 12–19.

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authority over late medieval Egypt and Syria is similarly alluded to by the appearance of the former in direct combination with the equally suggestive signifier dawla, referring to a dynasty, a coherent period of religiously sanctified rule in Muslim history.29 As seen above, this connection was so overwhelmingly omnipresent that already in the early 1960s even Ayalon came to the conclusion that in reality “the Mamluk sultanate was called Dawlat al-Turk or Dawlat al-Atrak.”30 In these and related combinations, the term turk was then clearly used by contemporary historians to distinguish and identify those performing that rule and domination, no matter whether they shared Qipchaqi, Circassian, Anatolian, Mongol, or any other origins, and no matter whether they were mamlūks, their sons, their grandsons, or their relatives, or non-mamlūks whatsoever. In the explicit connection with terms denoting hierarchy, authority, and power, al-turk and al-atrāk were used above all in late medieval Syro-Egyptian narrative historiography to mean that specific social group that shared at least the perception of their political domination, elite status, and social distinction in Egypt and Syria since the seventh/thirteenth century. “The Reign of the Turks” and its variants were meaningful signifiers of the long-term hegemony of that ruling group’s particular political discourse, often contested by cultural elites but effective nevertheless. The construction of “the Reign of the Turks” as a particular hegemonic discourse was, however, not just a matter of literary and historiographic tastes. It was at the same time also a matter of social perceptions, of the successful construction in social reality of a particular identity that represented, contributed to, and derived its meanings from that same “Reign of the Turks,” that same hegemonic discourse. As mentioned above, for Ayalon meanings for the term turk were not really to be explained in discursive ways but rather more from the perspective of ethnic realities first and foremost, with the complicating addition that the ethnic term turk and its variants also carried the connotation of referring to a (former) military slave.31 These realities transpire from many of his examples mentioned above, such as in the case of the doubled references to “the mulūk al-turk and their descendants,” where al-turk clearly refers to those 29 30 31

Ibid; Rosenthal, Dawla, ei2 ii, 177–178. Ayalon, The European-Asiatic steppe 47–48. Ayalon’s ethnic understanding of the term turk in this particular context of the Sultanate’s political elites has now been further emphasized, to the exclusion of slavery and with a particular focus on the linguistic perspective, by Yosef, Dawlat al-Atrāk or Dawlat al-Mamālīk 390–399. See esp. 391: “Membership in the ruling elite was not restricted to mamlūks but rather to the ones who knew Turkish, and the defining characteristic of the ruling elite was not slave origin but rather ethnic origin and language.”

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23 out of 48 Mamluk sultans between 1250 and 1517 who shared a background in Turkish descent and military slavery. They also appear—to name but one other example mentioned by Ayalon—when the Allepine historian Badr al-Dīn Ibn Ḥabīb (d. 779/1377) began his chronicle of the Sultanate’s history from the early 1250s up to his own time—tellingly entitled Durrat al-aslāk fī dawlat al-atrāk (The string of pearls on the reign of the Turks)—with an equally suggestive statement, translated by Ayalon as “this is a book which comprises [the history of] dawlat al-atrāk and their descendants.”32 In many of these and other instances, however, it can equally be argued that the term turk was used to refer to an identity that had much more than just ethnic or even servile origins in common.33 In his aforementioned 1960 contribution to the 25th Congress of Orientalists in Moscow, published in 1963, Ayalon had already alluded to such a wider dimension when he stated that “the most common general name which the Muslim sources gave to all the peoples of the Eurasian steppe was Turk.”34 Turk in this context clearly refers to a vague Eurasian connection, to outsiders’ perceptions of a shared Eurasian steppe identity that might be rendered into English as Turkish-ness. Transferred to the late medieval Syro-Egyptian context, the same signifier turk surely evoked in similar but more abstract ways the idea of such a Eurasian connection and the subsequent construction of a shared identity. Again, some of Ayalon’s publications prove a very helpful starting point to reconstruct the subtle realities of this identity, from his 1951 L’esclavage du Mamlouk and his 1953–1954 Studies on the structure of the Mamluk army, over his 1961 Notes on the furûsîyya exercises and games in the Mamlûk sultanate and his 1968 The Muslim city and the Mamluk military aristocracy, to his 1975 Names, titles, and “nisbas” of the Mamlûks.35 They all paint a picture of a political elite and its military power base that is indeed distinctly Turkish in the many aspects of its public 32 33

34 35

Ayalon, Baḥrī Mamlūks, Burjī Mamlūks 14. For inspiring other examples and parallels of this discursive process of the construction of complex elite identities in premodern societies, see Buylaert, De Clercq; and Dumolyn, Sumptuary legislation, material culture and the semiotics 393–417; Kunt, Ottomans and Safavids 191–205, esp. 197–199 (Speaking of the position and careers of devshirme boys and other slaves, Kunt made the following observation: “Taken together these ‘new Turks’, so to speak, came to represent Ottoman Rome par excellence …. By the mid-sixteenth century the Ottoman military-administrative elite was made up of these new Turkish-speaking Muslim officers who called themselves not Turkish but ‘Roman’ or ‘Ottoman’; it was in this sense that Ottoman writers could comment that the ‘Ottomans’ took the best qualities of many nations and blended them into a new, superior race” [199]). Ayalon, The European-Asiatic steppe 47. Ayalon, L’ Esclavage du Mamlouk; idem, Studies on the structure of the Mamluk army; idem, Notes on the furûsîyya exercises and games in the Mamlûk sultanate; idem,

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representation, not in the least in the way they are being portrayed in contemporary historiography. Despite the complexity of this elite’s composition— consisting of mamlūks and many other social categories and stemming from Qipchaqi, Circassian, Mongol and many other backgrounds, as Ayalon already acknowledged—it was yet bound together and distinguished from other relevant social groups by this Turkish public representation. This was achieved most importantly via the acquisition of any number of privileges, ranging from specific apparel and issues of horsemanship, over particular types of retinue and symbolic communication, to more strictly cultural issues of personal names and language, all linked one way or another to that abstract but connecting idea of Turkish-ness.36 Even the historical trajectory of the construction of this identity in late medieval Egypt and Syria may be reconstructed. It is clear that, as the polity established by the very Turkish entourage of the last Ayyubid ruler of Egypt consolidated itself in the course of the seventh/thirteenth century, the signifier turk came to represent an increasingly diverse reality, which—as seen above when discussing Ayalon’s somewhat reluctant sensitivity for the greater complexity of Syro-Egyptian social life—displayed many more subtleties than traditionally acknowledged. Hence, turk continued to refer to the identity of the changing and increasingly diverse political elites of late medieval Egypt and Syria, an identity that was distinctively Turkish in public appearance and perception and that was related to and favorably disposed toward the military slaves who continued to enter the Sultanate mainly from the Eurasian steppes. But it was also a discursively constructed identity, which was inclusive rather than exclusive, and which was generated through one or more specific symbolic, turk-related, and mostly malleable features, such as names, language, apparel, martial qualities, and sometimes even lineage. Depending on the circumstances and contexts, any or more of these features could be acquired by, awarded to, or operationalized for anyone who wanted or managed to enter late medieval Syro-Egyptian political elites, whatever his origins. In this perspective, turk was also an actively constructed political identity, signified in historiography through combinations with terms such as mulk and dawla, and conducive in social practice to the distinction and the social integration of the multifarious individuals and groups who monopolized the region’s resources from the mid-seventh/thirteenth century onwards. It was this process that generated a specific and variable semiotic framework of Turkish-ness, a way of life

36

The Muslim city and the Mamluk military aristocracy; idem, Names, titles, and “nisbas” of the Mamlûks. See now also Loiseau, Les Mamelouks esp. 146–160 (L’invention d’une tradition militaire).

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somehow derived from the Eurasian steppes but particular to and meaningful only for late medieval Syro-Egyptian realities under the “Reign of the Turks.” For those who managed to enter into that framework at least the perception was created of both their integration into one political elite of al-turk and their distinction from subjects and outsiders, the non-turk.

5

Concluding Thoughts

This essay has limited itself very consciously to heuristic parameters defined by the wealth of information and ideas provided by the late David Ayalon. In view of the remarkable growth of “Mamluk” studies in recent decades, this is surely a caveat that makes it very hazardous, if not impossible, to make any conclusive statements from the ideas presented here. That is not, however, the objective of this essay. As made clear from the outset, it rather aims at demonstrating how much work still needs to be done—even on such basic issues as the coherence and identities of the late medieval Syro-Egyptian Sultanate—and, most importantly, how this is not just a matter of unearthing new data from the growing amount of available source material. It is also a matter of reflexivity, of continuing to reflect on, to question, to problematize, and to revisit the very parameters and units of analysis with which the field is operating. In this respect, exploring some of the strengths and weaknesses of Ayalon’s pioneering research has turned out to be a most revealing reflexive process, generating insights that have proven more than worthy of further thought, debate, and examination. Most importantly, it has transpired that the continued use of dawlat al-atrāk as a meaningful signifier across the changing complexities of late medieval Syro-Egyptian space and time can only be accounted for through its flexible and subjective understanding, along the lines of a distinctly constructed elite identity, meaningful and functional in a variety of ways to those who perceived or constructed it. It is only this sort of inclusive understanding of the perceived Turkish identity of the political elites that can accommodate all of the above references, as well as any other—perhaps more surprising—examples of its use, mentioned elsewhere by Ayalon. In his From Ayyubids to Mamluks, he thus noted how “in speaking about the extinction of the Fāṭimids, Ibn al-Athīr says twice [sic] that the rule passed from them to the Atrāk.”37 He then added somewhat enigmatically that “a contemporary praising Saladin called his reign Dawlat al-Turk, precisely the name of the later

37

Ayalon, From Ayyubids to Mamluks 46.

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Mamlūk Sultanate.”38 A faint but equally revealing echo of the latter discursive focus on the Turkish-ness—or perhaps rather political elite-ness—of the Ayyubids may be found at the very end of his Aspects of the Mamlūk phenomenon. There, Ayalon translated a reference from the littérateur and scribe Aḥmad b. ʿAlī al-Qalqashandī (756–821/1355–1418) in his early ninth/fifteenthcentury manual of court protocol in the following manner: “ ‘The Ayyūbid reign, which is the origin of the Mamlūk [sic] reign’ (al-dawla al-Ayyūbiyya allatī hiya aṣl al-dawla al-Turkiyya).”39 Such a statement by a high-ranking chancery clerk—one of the guardians of the rulers’ self-representation and hegemonic discourse—can only suggest that the signifier Dawlat al-Atrāk was indeed more than just a historiographic construct: it was an intrinsic part of the perception, self-representation, and identity of the political elites of late medieval Egypt and Syria. At the same time, this little fragment also exposes painfully clear the impact on our understanding of any reluctance to translate phrases such as this one as their authors had meant them. As explained, Ayalon refused to do so for the simple reason that turk is a complex term. As demonstrated here, this is hardly an understatement. Perhaps, however, it is also about time to acknowledge that a growing awareness of the complexity of late medieval Syro-Egyptian realities deserves also to be reflected in the way they are being represented today.

Acknowledgments I am extremely grateful to the organizer of the Haifa conference in 2011, Amalia Levanoni, for her hospitality and for accepting this paper in the conference program, and to all participants, for their valuable feedback and comments.

Bibliography Amitai, R., The rise and fall of the Mamluk institution: A summary of David Ayalon’s work, in Sharon, M. (ed.), Studies in Islamic history and civilisation in honour of Professor David Ayalon, Jerusalem-Leiden 1986, 19–32. Amitai, R., David Ayalon, 1914–1998, in msr 3 (1999), 1–12. Ayalon, D., Baḥrī Mamluks, Burjī Mamlūks: Inadequate names for the two reigns of the Mamlūk sultanate, in Tārīkh 1 (1990), 3–52. 38 39

Ibid. Ayalon, Aspects of the Mamlūk phenomenon 32.

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Ayalon, D., The Circassians in the Mamlūk kingdom, in jaos 69 (1949), 135–147. Ayalon, D., Mamluk military aristocracy, a non-hereditary nobility, in jsai 10 (1987), 205–210. Ayalon, D., Aspects of the Mamluk phenomenon, in Der Islam 54/1 (1977), 1–32. Ayalon, D., From Ayyubids to Mamluks, in rei 49 (1981), 43–57. Ayalon, D., The European-Asiatic Steppe: A major reservoir of power for the Islamic World, in Trudy xxv. Mezhdunarod-nogo Kongressa Vostokovedov, Proceedings of the 25th International Congress of Orientalists (Moscow, 1960), Moscow 1963, 47–52. Ayalon, D., L’Esclavage du Mamlouk, Jerusalem, 1951. Ayalon, D., Studies on the structure of the Mamluk army, i-ii-iii, in bsoas 15 (1953), 203–228, 448–476; and bsoas 16 (1954), 57–90. Ayalon, D., Notes on the furûsîyya exercises and games in the Mamlûk sultanate, in Scripta Hierosolymitana 9 (1961), 31–62. Ayalon, D., The Muslim city and the Mamluk military aristocracy, in Proceedings of the Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities 2 (1968), 311–329. Ayalon, D., Names, titles, and “nisbas” of the Mamlûks, in ios 5 (1975), 189–232. Bauden, F., The sons of al-Nāṣir Muḥammad and the politics of puppets: Where did it all start?, in msr 13/1 (2009), 53–81. Broadbridge, A.F., Sending home for mom and dad: The extended family impulse in Mamluk politics, in msr 15 (2011), 1–18. Broadbridge, A.F., Kingship and ideology in the Islamic and Mongol worlds, Cambridge 2008. Buylaert, F., Wim De Clercq and Jan Dumolyn, Sumptuary legislation, material culture and the semiotics of “vivre noblement” in the county of Flanders (14th–16th centuries), in Social History 36/4 (2011), 393–417. Fierro, M. (ed.), The new Cambridge history of Islam, 5 vols., Cambridge 2011. Foucault, M., The archaeology of knowledge and the discourse on language, trans. Sheridan Smith, A.M., New York 1984. Haarmann, U., Ideology and history, identity and alterity: The Arab image of the Turk from the ʿAbbasids to modern Egypt, in ijmes 20 (1988), 175–196. Kunt, M., Ottomans and Safavids. States, statecraft, and societies, 1500–1800, in Y.M. Choueiri (ed.), A companion to the history of the Middle East, Chichester 2008, 191–205. Laclau, E., and C. Mouffe, Hegemony and socialist strategy: Towards a radical democratic politics, London 2001. Levanoni, A., The Mamlūks in Egypt and Syria: The Turkish Mamlūk sultanate (648– 784/1250–1382) and the Circassian Mamlūk sultanate (784–923/1382–1517), in M. Fierro (ed.), The new Cambridge history of Islam, Cambridge 2010, vol. 2, 237–284, 743–748. Loiseau, J., Reconstruire la maison du sultan. 1350–1450, 2 vols., Cairo 2010.

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Loiseau, J., Les mamelouks. Xiiie–xvie siècle, Paris 2014. Richards, D.S., Mamluk amirs and their families and households, in T. Pilipp and U. Haarmann (eds.), The Mamluks in Egyptian politics and society, Cambridge 1998, 32–54. Rosenthal, F., Dawla, ei2, ii, 177–178. Van Steenbergen, J., Order out of chaos: Patronage, conflict and Mamlūk socio-political culture, 1341–1382, Leiden–Boston 2006. Van Steenbergen, J., The amir Yalbughā al-Khāṣṣakī (d. 1366), the Qalāwūnid sultanate, and the cultural matrix of Mamluk society. A re-assessment of Mamluk politics in the 1360s, in jaos 131/3 (2011), 423–443. Van Steenbergen, J., Qalāwūnid discourse, elite communication and the Mamluk cultural matrix: Interpreting a 14th-century panegyric, in jal 43/1 (2012), 1–28. Van Steenbergen, J., The Mamluk sultanate as a military patronage state: Household politics and the case of the Qalāwūnid bayt (1279–1382), in jesho 56 (2013), 189–217. de Vos, P., Discourse theory and the study of ideological (trans-)formations: Analysing social democratic revisionism, in Pragmatics 13/1 (2003), 163–180. Yosef, K., Dawlat al-Atrāk or Dawlat al-Mamālīk? Ethnic origin or slave origin as the defining characteristic of the ruling elite in the Mamluk sultanate, in jsai 39 (2012), 387–411. Yosef, K., Mamluks and their relatives in the period of the Mamluk sultanate (1250– 1517), in msr 16 (2012), 55–69. Yosef, K., Ethnic groups, social relationships and dynasty in the Mamluk sultanate (1250–1517), PhD diss., Tel Aviv 2011.

chapter 6

A High Officer and His Reward: The Public Activity of a Commander of the Sultan’s Arms Depot in the Early Fourteenth Century Joseph Drory

1

Introduction

A wide variety of sources are available for the study of the history of the Mamluk state. These include general chronicles, either contemporaneous or subsequent to the events, local histories and urban topographies, biography collections, and manuals penned for secretaries of state. All of these make it possible to focus not only on the history of prominent rulers or key political and military developments but also on personages and functionaries from the secondary ranks. Zooming in on a specific such figure—an individual who is, as a rule, less frequently mentioned in the sources—and surveying that person’s vicissitudes and fortunes against the backdrop of the major events in the state provide additional opportunities to confirm, or refute, assumptions concerning the nature of the period. The records of the Mamluk Sultanate abound with evidence of intrigues, plots, and betrayals—real or presumed—in the midst of the overt and covert political scene. This atmosphere, which transformed the ruler’s throne, court, and palace in the Citadel of Cairo into a complex arena of multiple loyalties and rapid deceptions, typified the early years of the reign of the longest-lasting Mamluk sultan, al-Nāṣir Muḥammad. The tumultuous and volatile political climate that engulfed that sovereign from the time of his boyhood in 693/1293 until the consolidation of his authority in the third period of his rule, beginning in 709/1309, made him acutely aware of the need for caution and limited trust with regard to even his closest associates. His vigilance was severe: the senior members of the administration had to maneuver between the code of loyalty and commitment to their master and his progeny—an essential requirement of the Mamluk ethos—and the double-dealing, deceit, and suspicions that inundated their circles. This article depicts the political biography of an officer from the second rank of the senior stratum, Baktamur (al-Manṣūrī) al-Jūkāndār, who acquired his political experience during the formative decade of al-Nāṣir Muḥammad’s

© Joseph Drory, 2022 | doi:10.1163/9789004459717_008

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second reign (1299–1309). The course of his public career provides an excellent picture of the court, with its ambiance and the risks it entailed. I examine Baktamur’s standing, his attitude toward his ruler, his activities and civilian enterprises, the fluctuations in his centrality, and the reasons for his downfall. The details of Baktamur’s story provide a character sketch of his then adolescent master as well. An additional byproduct of this focused analysis of Baktamur is the opportunity to probe some of the partialities betrayed by Mamluk history-writers as they described these incidents, whether their narratives were sympathetic or critical.

2

Baktamur’s Role as Jāndār

Sayf al-Dīn Baktamur was a mamluk of the sultan al-Manṣūr Qalāwūn1 and accordingly was dubbed “al-Manṣūri.” We know almost nothing about him in the days of his original master, Qalāwūn, though the title “Jūkāndār,” which would become a sort of acquired family name, suggests that his initial public role was that of a polo ( jūkān) master. During Lājīn’s sultanate, toward the end of the thirteenth century, he served as the amīr jāndār,2 a post that entailed responsibility for the royal weapons stores (zardkhāna) and detention houses for mamluks, carrying out inquests and the penalization of amirs, and maintenance of the sovereign’s dwelling (and tent, when in transit). After the assassination of Lājīn (698/1299), Baktamur took steps to ensure the return of Qalāwūn’s youthful heir, al-Nāṣir Muḥammad, from Karak to Egypt. Upon his return, Baktamur kept his office and rose to be one of the high-ranking decision-makers (alladhīna yushāru ilayhim3 / min ahl al-ḥall wa-l-ʿaqd4). The most prominent figures in this group were Salār, the vice-regent, and Baybars al-Jāshnakīr, the ustādār (manager of palace affairs).

1 He is mentioned as having participated in the battles of Nubia, south of Egypt in 688/1289, al-Maqrīzī, Kitāb al-Muqaffá ii, 329. 2 Levanoni, A turning point 201 (glossary); Baybars al-Manṣūrī, al-Tuḥfa 148. The jāndār, a position that existed in Muslim courts from the eleventh century and for decades to come, was entrusted with the supervision of access to the sultan for persons wishing to meet with him (a sort of doorkeeper), the reading of letters sent to the sultan, and control of his contacts with other senior officers (al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ al-aʿshā v, 461; al-Maqrīzī, Khiṭaṭ ii, 222). During the Mamluk state, the jāndār was entrusted with arresting and even executing senior officers at the sultan’s request (al-Maqrīzī, Kitāb al-Muqaffá vii, 201; al-Nuwayrī, Nihāyat al-arab xxxi, 66) along with securing the royal arsenal (al-Maqrīzī, Kitāb al-Muqaffá iii, 800). 3 Al-Ṣafadī, al-Wāfī bi-l-wafayāt x, 198. 4 Al-Ṣafadī, ʿAyān al-ʿaṣr i, 707; al-Maqrīzī, Kitāb al-Muqaffá ii, 459.

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Although with no sound explication, it is said that Baktamur was endowed with great wealth,5 which he displayed ostentatiously on a pilgrimage (ḥajj) that he headed at the end of the year 700/July–August 1300. During the pilgrimage, Baktamur showed great generosity, lavishing money, flour, wheat, and oil on the poor of Mecca and sending ships loaded with sweets from Egypt to the port of Mecca for the well-being of the pilgrims.6 Later, Baktamur’s great fortune enabled him to purchase unusual quantities of human property; his own retinue numbered 800 mamluks.7 In his position as head of the sultanic arsenal and jail (amīr jāndār), Baktamur played a prominent role during the rebellion of the Oirats, the Mongolian corps of soldiers who had joined the Mamluk state and set out with its army to halt the advance of Ghāzān, the Ilkhānid, who had invaded Syria at the end of 698/summer 1299. At the time of the Oirat insurrection (early 699/October 1299) at Tell Ajjūl near the town of Gaza, where their supporters were located, and the failed attempt on Baybars’s life,8 Baktamur rushed to the aid of his inexperienced sultan—then only 14 years old—and, in a spontaneous decision, ordered the posting of the state banners (sanājiq/aṣāʾib) next to the sultan’s tent (dihlīz). Baktamur succeeded in persuading the sultan to stay in his tent and not to go outside to follow the events or take an active part in its defense.9 All the mamluks who saw the banners flying were thus summoned to assist their sultan.10 Baktamur’s independent decision to call the troops to the sultan’s headquarters rather than to the tents of Salār and Baybars, the “strongmen” of the state, made the latter suspicious of Baktamur, whom they believed wanted to curtail their power, circumvent their authority, and perhaps even have them removed entirely. They also assumed that the Oirats’ rebellion was no more than a pretext for Baktamur to personally raise a loyal Mamluk unit (consisting of veteran combatants, mainly from the Burjiyya regiment) and challenge their 5 6

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As stated by Ibn Ḥabīb in Durrat al-aslāk fol. 138a: “[the owner of] much money and many mamluks and wealth whose foundation is solid.” Al-Ṣafadī, al-Wāfī bi-l-wafayāt x, 199; al-Ṣafadī, Aʿyān al-ʿaṣr i, 707; al-Maqrīzī, Kitāb alMuqaffá ii, 459–460; al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk i, 917; Ibn Ḥajar, al-Durar al-Kāmina i, 285 (no. 1308); al-Yūnīnī, Dhayl Mirʾāt al-Zamān ii, 215, 247; Ibn Taghrī Birdī, al-Manhal al-ṣāfī iii, 400. By comparison, during this time, the governor of Aleppo, Qarāsunqur al-Manṣūrī, owned 600 mamluks, whereas Asandimur, the governor of Tripoli, owned 500: these were large numbers made possible by the flow of “cheap” slaves from their homelands on the banks of the Volga. Irwin, The Middle East 88. Al-ʿAynī, ʿIqd al-jumān iii, 464. Ibid., 465. Al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk i, 884. In the words of al-ʿAynī, conveying the soldiers’ rallying cry: “when we see the sultan’s banner flying, we devote ourselves to nothing but him (naḥnu idhā raʾaynā sanjaq al-sulṭān manshūran lā naltafit ilā ghayrihi).” Al-ʿAynī, ʿIqd al-jumān iii, 465.

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superior position. In the course of the subsequent debriefing, Salār and Baybars accused Baktamur of having plotted with the sultan’s mamluks to undermine, dismiss, and ultimately expel both of them.11 Baktamur was far from hesitant in his response to these charges. The flying of the banners had been rightly ordered, he testified, because “[my men] were afraid that [the Oirats] would kill the sultan and put another [that is, a former sultan, Kitbughā, the benefactor of the Oirats, living in exile in distant Ṣarkhad] in his place.” Moreover, he continued, Salār and Baybars’s accusation was intended to incriminate, or rather, discredit, the sultan’s mamluks to make sure they were surveilled. “If the Sultan and his Mamluks intentionally damaged (shawwashū) or harmed the officers, I, Baktamur, am willing to take them [away from here] and go [into exile] to Karak.”12 The tense standoff between the veteran officers and Baktamur was defused by Salār, who accepted the advice of the army commander13 that “the blood of the Muslims is bound with and depends upon [the welfare of] the son of their master”; in other words, that it was better not to debate with or censure the sultan’s defenders.14 Instead, blame was directed against the (mostly foreign) Oirats. The heads of the Oirats were arrested and admitted having plotted to murder Salār and Baybars and reinstate Kitbughā to the throne: they were vilified as “the reason for this divisive dispute ( fitna)” and were punished accordingly.15 The suspicion of the Burjiyya officers, which had been directed against Baktamur, was thus allayed.16 The incident, which could have cast a shadow over Baktamur’s future in court in terms of his relationship with other senior members of the establishment, was resolved. In hindsight, it could be argued that the mistrust expressed by Salār and Baybars regarding Baktamur’s intentions to depose them, with the assistance of fresh military elements affiliated with the sultan, stemmed from a reasonable presentiment. Nonetheless, in 699/1299, the supposition of an attempt at such a coup seems rather exaggerated. The sultan, on the other hand, could view Baktamur’s conduct as exemplary proof of the officer’s suitability to be charged with his own safety and testimony to his devotion to duty, even at the price of severe criticism. Baybars al-Manṣūrī’s17 conclusion that “Baktamur had helped 11 12 13 14 15 16 17

Ibid., 466. Al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk i, 884; al-ʿAynī, ʿIqd al-jumān iii, 466; al-Maqrīzī, Kitāb al-Muqaffá vii, 168. Badr al-Dīn Baktāsh al-Fakhrī commanded the march to Syria as atābak al-ʿasākir. Al-ʿAynī, ʿIqd al-jumān iii, 467. Ibid.; al-Maqrīzī, Kitāb al-Muqaffá vii, 168. Al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk i, 884. The historian and statesman Baybars al-Manṣūrī (d. 725/1325) served in the administration, military, and palace of al-Nāṣir Muḥammad. At the height of his career, he was promoted to the position of deputy to the sultan (nāʾib al-salṭana), succeeding Baktamur.

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al-Nāṣir Muḥammad already before [the Oirat revolt], but his comportment in this affair uplifted him into a loyal counselor (naṣīḥ), both overtly and covertly,”18 properly expresses the impression left by this incident, which resulted in a greater belief in Baktamur’s credibility in the sultanate.

3

Al-Nāṣir Muḥammad’s Attempt to Govern Exclusively

No exceptional events were recorded in the next few years of Baktamur’s tenure as amīr jāndār. The chroniclers mention his participation in the prominent military campaigns of those years: the battle of Wādī Khāzindār near Ḥimṣ in 699/1299,19 the campaign to wipe out nests of rebels and political rivals in the eastern desert in 701/1301,20 and the confrontation with the Mongols at Shaqḥab, south of Damascus, in 702/1302.21 In terms of construction initiatives, Baktamur is known to have commissioned the building in 699/February– March 1300, of a minbar in the Fatimid al-Jāmiʿ al-Ṣāliḥ22 and was entrusted with its renovation after the disastrous earthquake of 702/July 1303.23 A key event in Baktamur’s career took place in 707/1307. At the beginning of that year (July 1307), a new conflict erupted between Baktamur and the de facto duumvirate, Salār and Baybars. This time, the justification for the dispute was more founded. Baktamur, as can be ascertained from the chronicles, was the guiding force behind the initiative of his much-frustrated sultan— now about 21 years old—to rid himself of the restrictive supervision24 of his

18 19 20 21 22 23 24

He held this post for less than a year (from Jumādā al-Ūlā 711/October 1311 to Rabīʿ al-Ākhar 712/August 1312). Little, An introduction to Mamluk historiography 4. Baybars al-Manṣūrī, Tuḥfa 156. Al-Maqrīzī, Kitāb al-Muqaffá vii, 170. Al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk i, 921. Al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk i, 932; idem, Kitāb al-Muqaffá vii, 181; Baybars al-Manṣūrī, Tuḥfa 165; idem, Zubda 375. Al-Maqrīzī, Khiṭaṭ (afs) iv, 168n4, citing the inscription where it is stated that the pulpit was established from Baktamur’s private finances. Al-Maqrīzī, Khiṭaṭ (afs) iv, 103. Literally, “limitations on independence (manʿ min al-taṣarruf )” or “restriction of movement (ḍīq yad)”: al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk ii, 33. On the other hand, according to al-Maqrīzī (Kitāb al-Muqaffá ii, 541), it was al-Nāṣir Muḥammad himself who loathed (ḍajira) the curtailment of his actions. His close mamluk allies (khāṣṣikiyya) decided to take action to change his unsatisfactory conditions. Al-Nāṣir Muḥammad then summoned Baktamur and announced his plan. Baktamur agreed to implement what the sultan, frustrated with his lack of real influence, had requested. According to a different account, also in alMaqrīzī, Kitāb al-Muqaffá (vii, 186), the mamluks of al-Nāṣir Muḥammad chose Baktamur

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vice-regent, Salār, and the palace majordomo, Baybars. The initiative and the attempt to achieve independent direct rule (istibdād) reflected the profound feelings, aspirations, and desires of al-Nāṣir Muḥammad, which he shared with his intimates, including Baktamur, the officer responsible for the arms stores and the jail for delinquent amirs. Baktamur’s status did not fall short of that of a privy family member; Baktamur was referred to by al-Nāṣir Muḥammad as “my uncle” (ʿammī) and Baktamur’s first-born, Nāṣir al-Dīn Muḥammad, was likewise addressed by the youthful sultan as “my brother.”25 Al-Nāṣir Muḥammad’s plan was to take over the citadel at night, block the possible riding paths of the officers, summon his loyal troops with a war alarm (daqq ḥarbī), and send Baktamur to attack the residences of Salār and Baybars and seize them. However, the reigning atmosphere of denunciation, secrecy, and duplicity within the palace and throughout the citadel made it difficult to maintain secrecy. For whatever reason, the scheme was foiled. The delay in the action called Baktamur’s loyalty into question; on the prearranged date, he failed to show up to carry out the attack. A team sent to summon him found him with Salār and Baybars, whom he was supposed to detain. Instead of doing so, Baktamur swore to the duumvirate (this, according to the source, which most likely reflects the impression of the squad sent on behalf of al-Nāṣir Muḥammad) that he would cooperate with them. At dawn, the disgruntled sultan was convinced that he had fallen victim to betrayal at the hands of Baktamur (his “uncle”).26 The course of events was complex. The nighttime conversation between Baktamur and the officers whom he had been commissioned to confine indeed did take place, and its content actually did include a declaration by Baktamur that he would cooperate with them. His motives apparently included his intention to mislead the pair of commanders, who were busy investigating the alleged plot, in order to allay their fears and allow the clandestine conspiracy to advance—coupled with a desire to exonerate himself from any association with the plot. In the course of al-Nāṣir Muḥammad’s abortive attempt to liberate himself from the supervision of his officers, two different factions emerged. One was a

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in order to lend their uprising an air of respectability. A high-ranking veteran officer as leader, rather than just a few ambitious mamluks, could better secure the revolt’s chances of success. Baktamur was selected as a symbol, due to his affection and sympathy (mawadda in the text: mawādda) for the sultan. In Ibn Ḥajar, Durar (i, 285), Baktamur is mentioned as having encouraged (ḥassana) al-Nāṣir Muḥammad in his vision of “exclusiveness” (istibdād). Al-Maqrīzī, Kitāb al-Muqaffá ii, 459. Al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk ii, 33; idem, Kitāb al-Muqaffá vii, 187.

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group of veteran officers, from Qalāwūn’s era, who cast blame on the new mamluks on close terms with their coeval sultan, who were accused of trying to turn him against the old warriors.27 Some of the “guilty” young mamluks were punitively sent to Jerusalem, a city to which political rebels were often dispatched. The other faction—that of the common people (ʿāmma)—interpreted the events in and around the citadel as having been aimed at harming their sultan. Their cries of “yā nāṣir, yā manṣūr” (an allusion to the present ruler and to his mighty father who radiated authority and required loyalty), or “Allah will let down he who betrays the son of Qalāwūn” (a rhyme in colloquial Arabic: Allāh bikhūn man yakhūn ibn Qalāwūn),28 attested as much to the extent of public sympathy for the young heir as it did to the amount of support for the dynastic principle. No one with any political ambition could have easily ignored such stances. When the tempest subsided, a public procession was organized, from the citadel to one of the nearby mountains, in an endeavor to reassure the people that nothing would happen to the sultan and that the tension between him and his officers had dissipated. After the procession, a debriefing session was held in which the ruler declared that his move had failed because “the reason for the revolt ( fitna) was none other than Baktamur al-Jūkandār.” The justification cited by the chronicler for this rather inconsistent and rash declaration was that this was al-Nāṣir Muḥammad’s way of reacting to the events of the night, in which he had seen, or been told, that Baktamur had ridden alongside Baybars and spoken with him—an act the sultan interpreted as treason.29 Even when al-Nāṣir Muḥammad was informed of the mitigating circumstances with regard to Baktamur’s behavior, he did not retract his statements. “[My anger is so great that] I do not have an eye capable of looking at him (mā baqiyat lī ʿayn tanẓuru ilayhi). As long as he remains in Egypt, never will I be able to sit on my throne (matā aqāma fī Miṣr lā jalastu ʿalā kursī al-mulk).”30 Against the backdrop of the close relationship between Baktamur and alNāṣir Muḥammad, if we are to trust the version of the chronicles with regard to the formally reigning sovereign’s role in his “attempted emancipation,” and in light of future chapters in Baktamur’s biography, this declaration is more than puzzling. The most plausible explanation is that this was a statement somehow forced out of the officiating sultan, which paints him as a political opportunist and a coward who was willing to clear his own name at the price of abandon27 28 29 30

Al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk ii, 35. Ibid.; al-Maqrīzī, Kitāb al-Muqaffá vii, 188. Al-Maqrīzī, Kitāb al-Muqaffá vii, 187. Al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk ii, 36.

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ing faithful supporters. Another explanation for al-Nāṣir Muḥammad’s reaction was his superficial and inaccurate assessment of what he had seen. When he saw Baktamur conferring with Baybars, he immediately became infuriated, and it was this anger that led him to make so drastic a pronouncement.31 Al-Nāṣir Muḥammad would later try to mitigate the severity of his own statement. On 15 Muḥarram 707/18 July 1307, Baktamur was sent as governor to the fortress of Ṣubayba, far away in the upper Galilee. This apparently came about after Baktamur rejected the idea of being moved to Ṣarkhad, because of its polluted air (wakham).32 This was lenient punishment for his supposed share in the intrigue to wipe out the official leadership. His office of amīr jāndār was placed in other hands.33 A different account of the events of 707/1307, which provides less detail concerning the failed subversive events but rather emphasizes the suffering, restraint, and wise consideration manifested by al-Nāṣir Muḥammad, was given by Baybars al-Manṣūrī, who experienced the events first-hand. His report is not devoid of explicable idiosyncratic considerations. It is characterized by identification with—and almost protection of—his master. Meanwhile, Baktamur is also portrayed by Baybars al-Manṣūrī in an extremely favorable light. According to the historian, it was the senior officers, Salār and Baybars, who acted unilaterally (istabaddā bil-umūr) to considerably reduce al-Nāṣir Muḥammad’s freedom of action and operative strength. The two took over the responsibilities of finances, debt collection, and estate allocation. The sultan, stripped of meaningful authority, restrained himself and waited patiently for his position to improve. But instead of witnessing any significant progress on the part of his officers to increase his powers, he continuously viewed their conduct as marginalizing him even further. The rumor of their intention to dispose of his supporters (that is, his personal mamluks, alzām), was a “red line” that alNāṣir Muḥammad could not allow himself to cross. In an act of passive protest, he refused to sign or approve documents and orders issued in his name as the official sultan. His confidant in court was Baktamur, whose role as a go-between entailed maintaining the sultan’s interests and securing his well-being (li-jānib al-sulṭān ḥāfiẓ wa-ʿalā maṣlaḥatihi muḥāfiẓ).34 Alas, it was precisely these skills and virtues that caused his downfall. The “strongmen,” who deemed Baktamur

31 32

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Al-Maqrīzī, Kitāb al-Muqaffá vii, 189. Baybars al-Manṣūrī, Zubda 393; while according to al-Nuwayrī (Nihāyat al-arab xxxii, 131) it was Ṣubayba that Baktamur loathed for its unhealthy air. Ṣarkhad was suggested instead, but suddenly the post at Safed became vacant. Baktūt al-Fattāḥ: al-Maqrīzī, Kitāb al-Muqaffá ii, 476. Baybars al-Manṣūrī, Tuḥfa 181.

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an efficient agent and loyal subordinate to his ruler, dreamed of getting rid of him.35 In the prevailing balance of powers at that time, al-Nāṣir Muḥammad lacked the power, once his plan failed, to prevent his removal. His mercy for Baktamur—in the apologetic assertion of the pro-al-Nāṣir historian—required that he give in to the demand of his officers, Salār and Baybars, to remove the amīr jāndār from his key post (his relocation was a lighter punishment than the offense deserved). Al-Nāṣir Muḥammad openly agreed to exile Baktamur as his powerful officers demanded. In secret, however, he was grieved at the separation from his benefactor. Baktamur’s exile was an act of concealed charity (min khafiyy alṭāfihi) decreed by Providence, since otherwise he would have been exposed to an even more severe blow.36 In the report sketched out by Baybars, the historian, Baktamur is portrayed as a loyal officer. His total support for his master posed a threat to the duumvirate, Salār and Baybars. Al-Nāṣir Muḥammad, the writer endeavors to convince, must be absolved of the insult of being a cowardly prince who rushes to incriminate his trustworthy defender in order to save his own skin. Baybars al-Manṣūrī’s description of Baktamur’s expulsion from the centers of power downplays al-Nāṣir Muḥammad’s responsibility (with expressions such as “was secretly saddened at the separation” or “God was charitable in removing him [and not executing him]”). A historian less committed to his lord would certainly not have produced such an exonerating statement.

4

Governor in Syria

Baktamur’s term in exile as governor of the fortress of Ṣubayba did not last long.37 In Shaʿbān 707/February 1308, the governor of Safed, Sunqur-Shāh, died and Baktamur was sent to replace him. Several events related to his activities in Safed have come down to us. Baktamur entered the unwalled, hilly city, the capital of the district, accompanied by his private retinue, which surpassed that of equally ranked functionaries and numbered some 800 mamluks (a figure close to the number of troops stationed in the Cairene citadel on behalf of the state and subordinate to the governor of

35 36 37

Ibn Taghrī Birdī, al-Manhal al-ṣāfī iii, 398. Baybars al-Manṣūrī, Tuḥfa 181. Although he was sent from Egypt on 15 Muḥarram, he only reached Ṣubayba, according to al-Ṣafadī (Aʿyān al-ʿaṣr i, 707) in the month of Rabīʿ al-Ākhar [707/1307a.h.]. Apparently, he served in the governorship of Gaza from Muḥarram to Rabīʿ al-Ākhar/February to May.

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the citadel).38 His sentences in trials were lenient; he was said to avoid bloodshed and even sanctioned the replacement of the death penalty for murderers with whipping and imprisonment, declaring that “the living are better than the dead.” This policy was considered by al-Ṣafadī (who was highly familiar with the region) to be deleterious for Safed and the surrounding district, since during his reign, “there were a great many assaults and much destruction [by criminals who knew they would escape severe punishment].”39 Baktamur—usually accompanied by Muḥammad, one of his four sons—spent his free time playing polo (kura/ jūk). Father and son gained skill at the game, though the son was definitely more proficient (waladuhu afras minhu).40 On more than one occasion, Baktamur, his family, and their entourage, left Safed for the adjacent village of Bīriyā, set up a headquarters tent next to the playing grounds, and conducted routine affairs of state and court while engaging in their favorite sport in the open mountain spaces.41 It is worth mentioning that Baktamur’s epithet was “polo master” ( jūkāndār), doubtless due to his initial important office in Qalāwūn’s court. By virtue of his two-year stay in Safed, it is highly likely that his affinity for this appellation intensified. He became an excellent player of the game, for which he formerly served only as a ceremonial, and not necessarily trained, bearer of accessories. In Safed, Baktamur dug a cave, carefully carved his heraldic symbol inside, and used it as the burial place for one of his wives, the mother of his sons, who passed away in the town. He also instituted regular funding (by the state or the city) for the maintenance of the site. A water facility (ṣihrīj) guaranteed the irrigation of the lands around the cave and ensured that they were kept clean and that visitors to the site would never lack drinking water.42 It is possible that the two shops in the vegetable market mentioned in an inscription found in Jāmiʿ Iskandar in the city were also initiated by Baktamur.43

38 39 40 41 42 43

Al-Maqrīzī, Kitāb al-Muqaffá ii, 460; Ibn Taghrī Birdī, al-Manhal al-ṣāfī iii, 399 adds that their number neared that of the town’s military unit. Al-Ṣafadī, al-Wāfī bi-l-wafayāt ix, 199; al-Ṣafadī, Aʿyān al-ʿaṣr i, 707; Ibn Taghrī Birdī, alManhal al-ṣāfī iii, 400. Al-Ṣafadī, al-Wāfī bi-l-wafayāt ix, 199; Ibn Taghrī Birdī, al-Manhal al-ṣāfī iii, 401. Al-Ṣafadī, al-Wāfī bi-l-wafayāt ix, 199; Ibn Taghrī Birdī, al-Manhal al-ṣāfī iii, 401. Al-Ṣafadī, al-Wāfī bi-l-wafayāt ix, 199; al-Ṣafadī, Aʿyān al-ʿaṣr i, 708; Ibn Taghrī Birdī, alManhal al-ṣāfī iii, 401. Yadin, Arabic inscriptions in Palestine 116. The inscription mentions a certain son of ʿAbd Allāh al-Jūkandār al-Manṣūrī al-Ashrafī who quite probably was a mamluk of the sultan al-Ashraf Khalīl. Baktamur could also have been the author of the inscription. Yadin,

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Al-Nāṣir Muḥammad kept in touch with Baktamur through letters addressed to his son, Muḥammad (with whom he had nurtured close relations and whom he continued to refer to wholeheartedly as “my brother”).44 The expelled father appeared to be in no hurry to heed al-Nāṣir’s call to aid in his comeback from self-imposed exile in Karak, dated Shawwāl 708/March 1309. A messenger dispatched to Safed by al-Nāṣir Muḥammad with a request for assistance was sent away.45 Baktamur was only willing to explain his earlier snub in a secret nocturnal meeting at the Safed cemetery, arranged by his son, Muḥammad, with an officer loyal to the sultan; namely, he was afraid that Salār and Baybars could be informed. The vacillating Baktamur declined to support al-Nāṣir Muḥammad until being told the identity of other supporters from among his fellow governors of Syria.46 In Shawwāl 709/March 1310 in Damascus Baktamur joined his resurgent sultan. Baktamur is characterized in that reunion as the “most loyal of all adherents” (khāliṣat al-khulṣān).47 Upon al-Nāṣir’s return to Cairo, he summoned Baktamur back from Safed and appointed him to a no lesser post in public service than that of vice-sultan (nāʾib al-salṭana).48 Both the letter sent by al-Nāṣir Muḥammad from Karak (in early 709) to Baktamur in Safed and—even more forcefully—the latter’s prestigious appointment in Shawwāl 709/ March 1310, shed a rather different light on the sultan’s hasty declaration of 707/1307 that he could not rule so long as Baktamur remained in Egypt. It is more than likely that this reckless statement was forced upon him. Alternatively, if al-Nāṣir Muḥammad was fully aware of the implications of his hostile declaration, it attests to the sultan’s volatile nature. Both narratives, nonetheless, reflect an appreciation of Baktamur’s competence. However, it is quite possible that al-Nāṣir Muḥammad, by choosing Baktamur to officiate as his vice-sultan, was motivated by a guilty conscience for having abandoned him in the aftermath of the failed plot that the two had concocted.

44 45 46 47 48

however, is confident that the “son of ʿAbd Allāh” is a different governor of Safed, about ten years prior to Baktamur. Ibn Taghrī Birdī, al-Manhal al-ṣāfī, iii, 399. Al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk ii, 57. Ibid., 62. The officer from Karak who was sent to Baktamur was his comrade Aytamish, governor of Karak. Al-Maqrīzī, Kitāb al-Muqaffá ii, 337. Baybars al-Manṣūrī, Zubda 421. Al-Nuwayrī, Nihāyat al-arab xxxii, 158.

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149

In the Viceroyship of the Sultanate

Baktamur’s documented activity during this short period, in which he held the most exalted position of his career, is more closely related to public works projects in Palestine than to activities in Egypt proper. In Hebron, Baktamur invested considerable finances (ignoring the real costs49) to build an aqueduct from one of the surrounding springs to the Cave of the Patriarchs (the sanctuary of Abraham according to Islamic tradition).50 The benefit to the residents of Hebron was enormous, since they had previously been required to pay for water in their desert-frontier town.51 Motivated by imitation (iqtadā bi-makhdūmihi / taʾāsyan bi-mawlānā alsulṭān52) and appreciation of his master’s efforts in Hebron (i.e., the restoration of the citadel adjacent to the Cave of Patriarchs53), Baktamur undertook the renovation of the ancient citadel of Jerusalem (Burj Dāʾūd), which lay in ruins at the time. Although a generation later Aḥmad b. Yaḥyā b. Faḍl Allāh al-ʿUmarī (d. 749/1349) would maintain that the construction project was of little advantage to the city and that in his day (circa 1340), “its presence or absence matters the same, as it provides neither profit nor fortification,”54 Baktamur’s role in this enterprise should not be belittled. The fact that this Jerusalem initiative fails to be mentioned in most of the biographical passages dedicated to Baktamur’s life and work55 is perplexing, as though there was a deliberate intention to deprive him of this achievement given the unfortunate end to his political career. In late 710/1310, Baktamur, viceroy of the sultan in Egypt, was accused of collaborating with another Qalāwūni officer (Batkhāṣ or Badkhāṣ al-Manṣūrī) in an effort to topple his master and replace him with another offspring of 49

50 51 52 53 54 55

It is said (al-Maqrīzī, Kitāb al-Muqaffá ii, 461) that when Baktamur was handed the bill for the Hebron aqueduct he did not read it but rather “rinsed off” (that is, erased) the document. His reasoning was that he did it for the sake of Allah, and such enterprises should not be the object of petty accounting. Ibn Ḥajar, Durar ii, 18; Mujīr al-Dīn, al-Uns al-Jalīl ii, 80. Al-Maqrīzī, Kitāb al-Muaqaffá ii, 461. Baybars al-Manṣūrī, Tuḥfa 225. Ibid. Al-ʿUmarī, Masālik al-Abṣār 138. For example, the biographical entries devoted to Baktamur by al-Ṣafaḍī in al-Wāfī bil-wafayāt, Ibn Ḥajar al-ʿAsqalānī in Durar, or al-Maqrīzī in Kitāb al-Muqaffá. Also, the inscription (from 710/1310) in the mosque within the Jerusalemite citadel, which mentions the sultan al-Nāṣir Muḥammad, fails to mention Baktamur. Van Berchem, Corpus inscriptionum arabicarum 160. Baktamur’s role in renovating the citadel of Jerusalem is also left out in al-Uns al-jalīl, the most comprehensive and detailed monograph on medieval Jerusalem, by Mujīr al-Dīn.

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Qalāwūn (namely Mūsā, grandson of Qalāwūn, the son of his oldest son, alṢāliḥ ʿAlī, who had died an untimely death).56 The officers of a recently deposed sultan (al-Muẓaffar Baybars al-Jāshnakīr) were said to have been privy to this plot. The word of the intrigue reached al-Nāṣir Muḥammad, who took hasty measures to thwart it. Its initiator, the veteran Qalāwūni officer, Badkhāṣ, was arrested57 and an attempt was made to seize the prince, Mūsā, al-Nāṣir Muḥammad’s (second) nephew, who was allegedly vying to replace his (second) uncle. Nonetheless, Baktamur— although convinced by Badkhāṣ’s arrest that he, too, would soon be punished— was not harmed by al-Nāṣir Muḥammad.58 It is worth speculating what could have propelled Baktamur to turn against his sultan—after having defended his original master’s son time and again and paid at times an unpleasant personal price for this loyalty, and after having been chosen by him to fulfill the prestigious position of viceroy of the sultanate. One possible explanation is that Baktamur was willing to sustain the young immature al-Nāṣir Muḥammad so long as he required protection from the officers’ intrigues. Yet once the sultan had adopted his own, vengeful course of action, Baktamur realized the danger of that course of action to the regime, his peers, and even to himself. In other words, Baktamur was ready to support an immature ruler, a political novice who was dependent upon his protective guardianship; the senior mamluk officers preferred a young, easy-to-manage “master” who would not intervene in their plans and would go along with their aspirations, rather than a mature, experienced sovereign. A different interpretation argues that Baktamur was disappointed by al-Nāṣir Muḥammad’s lack of integrity. The fact that al-Nāṣir Muḥammad gave in to his officers, Salār and Baybars (in 707/1307), his ungrateful condemnation of the devoted “civil servant” as allegedly responsible for the scheme, and his banishment to Ṣubayba and Safed, hurt Baktamur and undermined his willingness to serve al-Nāṣir Muḥammad with complete loyalty. This is also attested to by Baktamur’s reticence, when in office at Safed, to the idea of al-Nāṣir Muḥammad’s return from Karak to Cairo. A more likely narrative is that Baktamur was indeed charged and accused of entering into a conspiracy to set Mūsā on the throne but took no active part in it. His devious enemies, rivals in high circles, framed him out of revenge.59 56 57 58 59

Ibn Ḥajar, Durar i, 285; al-Maqrīzī, Kitāb al-Muqaffá ii, 389, 460. Baybars al-Manṣūrī, Tuḥfa 224; al-Maqrīzī, Kitāb al-Muqaffá ii, 389, 460. Al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk ii, 91. This is contrary to Ibn Ḥajar, Durar i, 278, who asserts that al-Nāṣir Muḥammad summoned Baktamur and interrogated (ʿawwaqa) or pressured him. The case of Aydughday al-Mankūtimurī reflects the atmosphere in the court of al-Nāṣir

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Primarily however, it would seem that al-Nāṣir Muḥammad, who was keen on getting rid of his father’s officers60 and installing his own mamluks in their place, was the one who incriminated Baktamur. The comments on Batkamur’s dismissal by a contemporary historian, Ibn al-Dawādārī (whose nine-volume oeuvre ends with the events of 736/1336; an author with uncommonly good connections and sources of information),61 suggest that the “fault” lay in the fact that he had too much power and was an ally of other “perilous” officers from Syria. Baktamur made false promises to these governors and nurtured their expectations for promotion and authority. The political clout, according to Ibn al-Dawādārī, explains his arrest, along with his coconspirators. There is no mention of the allegation that Baktamur tried to set Mūsā, Qalāwūn’s grandson on the throne by plotting with Badkhāṣ.62

6

Dismissal in 711/1311

Although suspicions of an attempt by his second-in-command to depose the head of state had circulated as early as 710/1310, al-Nāṣir Muḥammad managed to ignore hostile claims against Baktamur.63 Instead, he bided his time (taʿāmala ʿalayhi) for several months. In Jumādā al-Ūlā 711/ October 1311, having deceived Baktamur by making him believe there was an assignment to confine some suspected officers (a move intended to allay Baktamur’s fears and

60

61 62 63

Muḥammad. Aydughday was one of al-Nāṣir Muḥammad’s close associates with whom he conferred. Aydughday took advantage of this closeness—according to the source— to incite the sultan against the officers. In response, they clandestinely plotted to charge him with a scheme to hurt the sultan. In 715/1315, al-Nāṣir Muḥammad captured Aydughday and executed him on the very same day. (Ibn Ḥajar, Durar i, 250). The officers’ claim in 707/1307 that Baktamur incited his master (mā ghayyara khawāṭirahu al-sharīfa ʿalaynā ghayruhu. Ibn al-Dawādārī, Kanz al-durar ix, 148) against them reinforces the assumption that in 711/1311 Baktamur fell victim to the ruse of his opponents, rather than to his own recklessness. “… surprise arrests of royal servants and the deaths of former favorites in dubious circumstances were … a feature of this, otherwise relatively, peaceful reign.” Irwin, The Middle East in the middle ages 107. Little, An introduction to Mamluk historiography 18. Ibn al-Dawādārī, Kanz al-durar ix, 212–213. For example, the accusations addressed at the captured and chained Baktamur by the officers of the sultan al-Muẓaffar Baybars al-Jāshnakir who were involved in the plot: “this is the result of your cursed action” (shughluka al-mashʾūm), al-Maqrīzī, Kitāb al-Muqaffá ii, 460.

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make him less wary), al-Nāṣir Muḥammad ordered the arrest of his deputy and “uncle,”64 along with other officers. Baktamur was imprisoned and his public career was sealed. His niyāba (viceroyship) was delegated to another (Baybars al-Manṣūrī al-Dawādār, the above-cited historian), and Baktamur was sent to jail in Alexandria. In the same year, 711/1311, Baktamur was again transferred— this time to Karak, a prison he would never leave.65 Five years later, he was executed. A review of the period of Baktamur’s activity reveals two different narratives. The first paints Baktamur as acting with complete loyalty, devoid of egoistic interests, and in faultless support of al-Nāṣir Muḥammad. This faithfulness was improperly interpreted by the distrustful sultan, both at the time of his attempt to rid himself of Salār and Baybars in 707/1307 (which brought about Baktamur’s banishment to Ṣubayba and Safed) and in the outline of the 711/1311 plot. The other description maintains that the disenchanted Baktamur navigated his political career with prudence and caution, declined to assist al-Nāṣir Muḥammad when he was preparing his comeback to Egypt in 709/1309, and sided with the plotters to overthrow him in 711/1311. In deciding which narrative sounds more plausible, it is instructive to consult the work of Baybars al-Manṣūrī. The image of Baktamur, as portrayed by his successor in office, is extremely positive. He is described as a loyal counselor, a good friend, and a long-time (ṣāḥib al-sābiqa) and consistent (mudāwama) supporter of his lord.66 Because Baybars al-Manṣūrī’s opus was written after Baktamur had fallen from grace and blamed of complicity,67 and since, being Baktamur’s successor, the drafter of the work had no good reason to underplay the grounds for his predecessor’s dismissal, it is likely that Baktamur was indeed characterized by devotion and fidelity, was worthy of praise, and was viciously foiled by vil-

64

65

66 67

Al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk ii, 102; al-Ṣafadī, al-Wāfī bi-l-wafayāt ix, 198; Ibn al-Dawādārī, Kanz aldurar ix, 213, 218; al-Nuwayrī, Nihāyat al-arab xxxii, 177; Ibn Taghrī Birdī, al-Manhal al-ṣāfī iii, 399–400. A further example of al-Nāṣir Muḥammad’s extremely suspicious nature is the fact that the governor of Karak, Aytamish, to whom Baktamur was dispatched, came, by chance, from the same household (and thus was related to as khushdāsh) as his detainee. Al-Nāṣir Muḥammad’s concern that the governor would be more lenient to his “brother” led to his replacement and transfer to another office, al-Maqrīzī, Kitāb al-Muqaffá ii, 337. Baybars al-Manṣūrī, Tuḥfa 209. Baybars al-Manṣūrī does and could not officially and openly absolve Baktamur of the charge that blemished him. “Baktamur was valuable when he was reliable … but when he turned traitor, his value diminished” ( fa-kāna thamīnan lammā kāna amīnan fa-lammā khāna hāna). Baybars al-Manṣūrī, Tuḥfa 228.

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lainous enemies, who attempted to frame him in accordance with al-Nāṣir Muḥammad’s own caustic distrust of his executives and confidants. The verdict I favor is that Baktamur was indeed a trustworthy officer throughout his career, who had the misfortune of serving an unpredictable, compulsively mistrustful, and ungrateful ruler.

Bibliography Avi Yonah, M., H.Z. Hirschberg et. al. (eds.), Eretz-Israel: Archeological, historical and geographical studies, Jerusalem 1951–2015. al-ʿAynī, B., ʿIqd al-jumān fī taʾrīkh ahl al-zamān, ed. M. Amīn, 4 vols., Cairo 1987–1992. Baybars al-Manṣūrī, al-Dawādār, Kitāb al-Tuḥfa al-mulūkiyya fī al-dawla al-turkiyya, ed. ʿA. Ḥamdān, Cairo 1987. Baybars al-Manṣūrī, al-Dawādār, Zubdat al-fikra fī tʾarīkh al-hijra, ed. D.S. Richards, Beirut 1998. van Berchem, M., Corpus inscriptionum arabicarum—Jerusalem: Ville, Cairo 1922–1923. Ibn al-Dawādārī, Khalīl b. Aybak, Kanz al-durar wa-jāmiʿ al-ghurar, various editors, 9 vols., Cairo 1982–1992. Ibn Habib, al-Hasan b. Umar, Durrat al-aslak fi dawlat al-Atrak, Ms. Bib. Nat. 1719. Ibn Ḥajar al-ʿAsqalānī, A., al-Durar al-kāmina fī aʿyān al-miʾah al-thāmina, ed. ʿA. ʿAlī, 4 vols., Beirut 1993–1997. Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Y., al-Manhal al-ṣāfī wa-l-mustawfī baʿda al-wāfī, ed. N. al-ʿAzīz, 12 vols., Cairo 1985. Irwin, R., The Middle East in the middle ages, the early Mamluk sultanate 1250–1382, London 1986. Levanoni, A., A turning point in Mamluk history, Leiden-New York-Köln 1995. Little, D.P., An introduction to Mamluk historiography, Wiesbaden 1970. al-Maqrīzī, A., Kitāb al-Muqaffá al-Kabīr, ed. M. al-Yaʿlāwī, 8 vols., Beirut 1991. al-Maqrīzī, A., Kitāb al-Mawāʾiẓ wa-l-iʿtibār bi-Dhikr al-khiṭaṭ wal-āthār (afs), 2 vols., Cairo 1853–1854. al-Maqrīzī, A., Kitāb al-Mawāʾiẓ wa-l-iʿtibār bi-dhikr al-khiṭaṭ wa-l-āthār, ed. A. Sayyid, 4 vols., London 2002. al-Maqrīzī, A., Kitāb al-Sulūk li-maʿrifat duwal al-mulūk, ed. M. Ziyāda and S. ʿĀshūr, 4 vols., Cairo 1930–1973. Mujīr al-Dīn,ʿA., al-Uns al-jalīl bi-taʾrīkh al-Quds wa-l-Khalīl, Amman 1973. al-Nuwayrī, A., Nihāyat al-arab fī funūn al-adab, ed. F.M. Shaltūt, 32 vols., Cairo 2002. al-Qalqashandī, A., Ṣubḥ al-aʿshā fī ṣināʿat al-inshāʾ, 14 vols., Cairo 1913–1919. al-Ṣafadī, K., Kitāb al-Wāfī bil-wafayāt, various editors, 30 vols., Istanbul-DamascusWiesbaden 1931.

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al-Ṣafadī, K., Aʿyān al-ʿaṣr wa-aʿwān al-naṣr, eds. A. Zayd, A. ʿAmsheh et al., 6 vols., Beirut-Damascus 1998. al-ʿUmarī, A., Masālik al-abṣār fī mamālik al-amṣār, L’Egypte, la Syrie, le Higaz et le Yémen, ed. A. Sayyid, Cairo 1985. Yadin, Y., Arabic inscriptions in Palestine (Hebrew), in Eretz-Israel: Archeological, historical and geographical studies vii, L.A. Mayer memorial volume 1964, 102–116. al-Yūnīnī, M., Early Mamluk Syrian historiography: Al-Yūnīnī’s dhayl mirʾāt al-zamān, trans. and ed. Li Guo, 2 vols., Leiden-New York-Köln 1998.

part 3 Archival Literature

∵

chapter 7

Ikhwāniyyāt Letters in the Mamluk Period: A Document (Muṭālaʿa) Issued by al-Muʾayyad Shaykh’s Chancery and a Contribution to Mamluk Diplomatics Frédéric Bauden

1

Introduction*

The field of Mamluk diplomatics has recently witnessed a rejuvenated interest as demonstrated by several publications and research projects.1 We hope that these initiatives will improve our knowledge of Mamluk chancery and notarial practices and that manuals describing those practices as they were defined by some authors and applied by the actors (secretaries, notaries) will soon be available. The present publication is a contribution to the understanding of a practice operative at the chancery in the Mamluk period: the official correspondence exchanged by the various levels of state officers. So far, studies have mainly been devoted to the correspondence issued in the name of the sultan, with a particular focus on the letters exchanged with foreign rulers. Our concern here is to analyze the everyday correspondence that circulated between officials; we can now undertake this analysis thanks to a document preserved in the State Archives of Venice. With the help of the contemporary chancery manuals, those published or still unpublished, I will try to demonstrate that this kind of correspondence belonged to the category of the ikhwāniyyāt letters. The document being studied will be placed in its historical context. From this, it becomes clear that the Mamluk sultan was eager to see the Venetian merchants and their representative, the consul, treated well in a context dominated by his wish to secure his power both in Egypt and in Syria.

* This article was written in the course of a research program at the Università di Pisa financed by the Italian Government (“Incentivazione alla mobilità di studiosi stranieri e italiani residenti all’estero”). 1 See Bauden, Mamluk diplomatics. For official correspondence, the most recent contribution is Richards, Mamluk administrative documents. For the private documents, one can mention Christian Müller’s research project entitled ilm (Islamic Law Materialized).

© Fré d é r ic Bauden, 2022 | doi:10.1163/9789004459717_009

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Description

The document under study is to be found in a file (busta) belonging to the series of the Procurators of Saint Mark (Procuratori di San Marco), under the subheading Commissarie miste. The file in question contains several folders. Folder no. 9 holds papers that belonged to Biagio Dolfin, the Venetian consul in Alexandria from 1408 to 1410 and again from 1418 to 1420, when he died of the plague while in Cairo. This folder is composed of eleven documents in Arabic, most of which are linked to Biagio Dolfin in one way or another, but some of these date to the terms of previous consuls, a fact that demonstrates that they were kept in the archive of the consulate in Alexandria and that they were taken away somehow.2 If this happened and the documents were removed, it was thanks to Dolfin’s nephew, Lorenzo Dolfin, who took over the dispatch of his uncle’s belongings to Venice where probate of the estate took place. In doing so, Lorenzo Dolfin preserved part of these documents, which would otherwise have remained in the archive of the consulate in Alexandria, an archive that disappeared at an unknown date.3 We are thus indebted to him for preventing these documents from sinking into oblivion.4 Notwithstanding, the document under study must have been brought back to Venice through another route because it was originally found unnumbered in another collection, the Documenti turchi (Turkish documents), and placed in the actual file by the Egyptian scholar S. Labib.5 Originally, the document had the shape of a scroll (rotulus, i.e., unrolled vertically, not horizontally) consisting of three sheets (from now on referred to as sheet 1, 2, and 3) of Oriental laid paper measuring all in all 57.5 by 12.4–12.5 cm, each sheet being 19.5cm long with the exception of the first one that is half a centimeter shorter. Sheets 2 and 3 are glued to one another at a height of

2 For the Arabic documents of the Mamluk period held in the Venetian State Archives, see Bauden, The Mamluk documents. The following documents that were unpublished have been so far studied by me: no. v, Bauden, D’ Alexandrie à Damas et retour; nos. vii–ix, idem, “Lam baqā yuʿāriḍkum”: Analyse linguistique de trois lettres; nos. x and xii, idem, L’Achat d’ esclaves et la rédemption des captifs; no. xi, Idem, Le Transport de marchandises et de personnes sur le Nil; no. xiii, idem, The role of interpreters in Alexandria. 3 See particularly Pedani, The Mamluk documents of the Venetian state archives; Christ, Trading conflicts 6–7. 4 For Biagio Dolfin’s activity in Alexandria and his archives, see Christ, Trading conflicts. 5 Labib, Handelsgeschichte 349–350 (note 37: “Ich habe das Dokument in der unnumerierten und nicht katalogisierten Sammlung der ‘Dokumenti Turchi’ gefunden. Um es nicht zu verlieren, habe ich es in ‘Busta Nr. 180, Misti, Procuratori di San Marco’ zusammen mit einer arabischen Dokumentensammlung eingeordnet.”).

ikhwāniyyāt letters in the mamluk period

159

approximately 0.5cm (the juncture corresponds to what is called a kollêsis in papyrology). Sheet 1, now separated from the rest of the document, was originally glued to the top of sheet 2:6 the large stain of dampness that almost completely covers sheet 2 and the beginning of sheet 3 and the end of sheet 1 shows that the two pieces match perfectly and that nothing is missing. Given that most of the Arabic documents preserved in the same file are affected by similar stains, one can conclude that they were all in contact with water at the same time. Sheet 2 was folded in the middle to prevent the document from going beyond the file where it is preserved. This fold damaged the document, and consequently, the words situated at the end of the line are hardly legible now. It is difficult to assert when the cut was made, but the shape of the stain demonstrates that the document was precisely folded at this level when the cut happened. With the exception of the stain of dampness, which did not damage the ink, and the wrinkle, the state of conservation of the document is rather good. One just notices that a small part of the paper was consumed at the beginning of the roll, on the left side of sheet 1, and at the end of the roll, on the right side of sheet 3. Sheet 1, as photographed, must be turned over because it bears the address which was added on the verso of the scroll (see the virtual reconstruction below). Once this is done, we notice that both sides were consumed together. This is an additional element that proves that the scroll was folded in the middle, at the level of the wrinkle that affects sheet 2, and that the stain and the sections of paper that were eaten happened after the document had been preserved in that way, a long time ago. All in all, the only negative aspect is in the deterioration of the paper in the middle of the second sheet, as this impedes the reading of the end of the line concerned by the fold. The scroll also features some holes in sheet 1 and sheet 3 (between lines 15–16 and 16–17). We know that the paper is Oriental based on many aspects: it has no watermark; it is of poor quality (long fibers are still visible); it is yellowish in color; and it is slightly smoothed. The chain lines, perpendicular to the text, are present in groups of two (distance within the group: 0.9 cm; distance between groups: 4.5cm) and are askew. The laid lines, parallel to the text, look large (20 of them = 3.4cm). This kind of paper belongs to the type 2/2 as described by G. Humbert.7 Though her analysis is solely based on paper found in manuscripts, the

6 They were catalogued with two different numbers in the folder (no. 3 and no. 13). For a first description and analysis, see Bauden, The Mamluk documents 151 (no. vi) and 154 (no. xvi). The document was mentioned for the first time in Labib, Handelsgeschichte 349–350. 7 See Humbert, Papiers non filigranés 20–21 and 31–32.

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conclusions she reached are confirmed for the paper used by the Mamluk chancery.8 The text is written in dark black to grey ink and was written by the same hand, with the exception of the signature (ʿalāma) between lines 3 and 4 and the three lines on the left side of sheet 1. These were written by the person in the name of whom the document was issued and the ink is of a dark black color slightly different from the one used for the text. The right margin is about 3 cm wide. The space between the lines is roughly 1 cm and the basmala starts at 1.1cm from the top of sheet 2. Once issued by the chancery, the document was rolled up and sealed.9 During the dispatch, on its way to the recipient, it was probably crushed, as is shown by the traces of folding in strips of about 2.5cm wide.

3

Analysis

On 13 Dhū al-Ḥijja 816/6 March 1414 the supervisor of the privy funds (nāẓir alkhāṣṣ), Ḥasan ibn Naṣr Allāh, wrote to the viceroy in Alexandria, Badr al-dīn Ḥasan ibn ʿAbd Allāh al-Ṭarābulusī, to notify him that the Venetian consul and the merchants belonging to his community informed the chancery (al-dīwān) that decrees were issued in their favor after inquiring about the actions against them by the prefect of police in Alexandria. In answer to their petition, the sultan asked that a rescript (mithāl) be released requesting that the governor seek out the prefect and forbid him from exercising his office as well as asking him to pronounce an oath (qasāma), in which he would refrain from trying to regain his office, or he would have to pay the amount of 1,000 dinars. The viceroy was asked to execute the decree issued earlier with respect to the rescript, keeping in mind the recommendations that he behave in the best manner toward the Venetian consul and the merchants under his authority.10

8 9

10

See, for another document copied on the same kind of paper found in the same file, Bauden, The Role of Interpreters 35–36. On the process of rolling-up documents in the Mamluk chancery, see al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ al-aʿshā vi, 352. On the various ways to seal a document, see ibid., 356–358. Our document was sealed according to its category: rolled up, then wrapped in a narrow band of paper glued at its extremity (see below). Labib misunderstood the meaning of the document: “Es handelt sich um einen Brief, in dem der Sultan al-Muʾajjad Šaiḫ den Gouverneur von Alexandrien aufforderte, von dem venezianischen Konsul 1000 Dinare zu verlangen. Darüber hinaus setzte sich der Sultan in seinem Schreiben für eine angemessene Behandlung der venezianischen Kaufleute ein.” See Labib, Handelsgeschichte 350, note 37. See also note 112 below.

ikhwāniyyāt letters in the mamluk period

figure 7.1 Procuratori di San Marco, Commissarie miste, busta 180, fascicolo ix, no. 3 © archivio di stato di venezia (asve)

161

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figure 7.2 Procuratori di San Marco, Commissarie miste, busta 180, fascicolo ix, no. 13 © archivio di stato di venezia (asve)

ikhwāniyyāt letters in the mamluk period

figure 7.3 The document virtually reconstructed (recto)

163

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figure 7.4 The document virtually reconstructed (verso)

‫‪165‬‬

‫‪ikhwāniyyāt letters in the mamluk period‬‬

‫‪Oriental laid paper. 57.5×12.4–12.5cm.‬‬ ‫‪Folded in strips of 2.5cm.‬‬ ‫‪Right margin: 3cm.‬‬ ‫‪Dated 13 Dhū al-Ḥijja 816[/6 March 1414].‬‬

‫‪Text‬‬

‫‪4‬‬ ‫‪Recto‬‬

‫‪(١‬‬ ‫‪(٢‬‬

‫بســـــــــــــــــم الله الرحمن الرحيم‬ ‫البدري‬

‫‪(٣‬‬

‫الملـكي المو يدي‬

‫يقبل الارض و ينهي بعد ابتهاله الى الله تعالى‬

‫المملوك‬ ‫نصر الله‬ ‫حسن بن‬

‫‪(٤‬‬

‫بدوام ايام مولانا ملك الامرا وخلود سعادته وعلو‬

‫‪(٥‬‬

‫درجاته في الدنيا والاخرة ان قنصل البنادقة وتجاره انهو‬

‫‪(٦‬‬

‫الى الديوان ان المراسيم الشر يفةكانت برزت بطلب تاج الدين‬

‫‪(٧‬‬

‫ابن ابي بكر الوالي بالثغر كان واذا وجد بقاه ]ودوام[ فعله‬

‫‪(٨‬‬

‫بطايفتهم فيردعه عنهم وقد شملتهم الصدقات الشر يفة‬

‫‪(٩‬‬

‫بمثال شر يف الى مولانا ملك الامرا بما ستحيط به العلوم الـكر يمة‬

‫‪ (١٠‬من طلب المذكور والا يمكن من مباشرة وظيفـ]ـتـ[ـه بالثغر المحروس‬ ‫‪ (١١‬جملةكافـ]ـيـ[ـة وكتابة قسامة شر يفة عليه بانه متى تحدث في وظيفـ]ـتـ[ـه‬ ‫‪ (١٢‬كان عليه القيام للديوان الشر يف من ماله بمبلغ الف دينار‬ ‫‪ (١٣‬والمرسوم بالصدقات مولانا ملك الامرا ينفذ اوامره العالية‬ ‫‪ (١٤‬باعتماد ما تضـ]ـمنـ[ـه المثال الشر يف المشار اليه والعمل بمقتضاه مع الوصية‬ ‫‪ (١٥‬بالقنصل المذكور وتجاره ومراعاتهم والاحسان اليهم‬ ‫‪ (١٦‬وكف اسباب الضرر عنهم بحيث يخـبر بذلك و يتفضل‬ ‫‪ (١٧‬على عوايد صدقاته واحسانه والله تعالى يمتع المملوك‬

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‫بمنه وكرمه‬

‫( بطول بقاه‬١٨

‫ان شا الله تعالى‬

(١٩

‫كتب في ثالث عشر ذي الحجة الحرام‬

(٢٠

‫سنة ست عشر]ة[ وثمانمـ]ـايـ[ـة‬

(٢١

‫الحمد لله وصلوته على سيدنا محمد واله وصحبه وسلامه‬

(٢٢

‫حـ‬

(٢٣

Verso ‫مطالعة‬

‫البدري‬

(١

‫المملوك‬

‫مولانا ملك الامرا بثغر الاسكندر ية المحروس‬

(٢ (٣

‫حسن بن نصر الله‬ Diacritics Verso: .‫حسن‬

5

(٣

Transcription

Recto 1) 2) 3)

Bi-smi Allāhi al-raḥmāni al-raḥīm al-Badrī al-Malakī al-Muʾayyadī yuqabbilu al-arḍ wa-yunhī baʿda ibtihālihi ilā Allāh taʿālā al-Mamlūk Naṣri Allāh Ḥasanu bnu

4) 5) 6)

bi-dawāmi ayyāmi mawlānā maliki al-umarāʾ wa-khulūdi saʿādatihi waʿuluwwi darajātihi fī al-dunyā wa-l-ākhira anna qunṣula al-Banādiqa wa-tujjārahu anhaw ilā al-dīwān anna al-marāsīm al-sharīfa kānat barazat bi-ṭalab Tāji alDīni

ikhwāniyyāt letters in the mamluk period

7) 8) 9) 10) 11) 12) 13) 14) 15) 16) 17) 18) 19) 20) 21) 22) 23)

167

bni Abī Bakrini al-wālī bi-l-thaghr kāna wa-idhā wajada baqāʾahu [wadawāma] fiʿlihi bi-ṭāʾifatihim fa-yardaʿuhu ʿanhum wa-qad shamilathumu al-ṣadaqātu alsharīfa bi-mithāl sharīf ilā mawlānā maliki al-umarāʾ bi-mā sa-tuḥīṭ bi-hi al-ʿulūmu al-karīma min ṭalabi al-madhkūr wa-allā yumakkana min mubāsharati waẓīfatihi bil-thaghri al-maḥrūs jumlatan kāffiyyatan wa-kitābati qasāma sharīfa ʿalayhi bi-annahu matā taḥaddatha fī waẓīfatihi kāna ʿalayhi al-qiyām li-l-dīwāni al-sharīf min mālihi bi-mablagh alf dīnār wa-l-marsūm bi-l-ṣadaqāt mawlānā maliku al-umarāʾ yunafidhdhu awāmirahu al-ʿāliya bi-iʿtimādi mā taḍammanahu al-mithālu al-sharīfu al-mushār ilayhi wa-lʿamal bi-muqtaḍāhu maʿa al-waṣiyya bi-l-qunṣuli al-madhkūr wa-tujjārihi wa-murāʿātihim wa-l-iḥsān ilayhim wa-kaffi asbābi al-ḍarar ʿanhum bi-ḥaythu yukhbaru bi-dhālika wa-yatafaḍḍalu ʿalā ʿawāʾidi ṣadaqātihi wa-iḥsānihi wa-Allāh taʿālā yumattiʿu al-mamlūk bi-ṭūli baqāʾihi bi-mannihi wa-karamihi in shāʾa Allāh taʿālā kutiba fī thālitha ʿashrata Dhī al-Ḥijjati al-ḥarām sanata sitta ʿashrata wa-thamānīmiʾa al-ḥamdu li-llāh wa-ṣalātuhu ʿalā sayyidinā Muḥammad wa-ālihi wa-ṣaḥbihi wa-salāmuhu ḥ

Verso 1) 2) 3)

6

al-Badrī Muṭālaʿatu mawlānā maliku al-umarāʾ bi-thaghri al-Iskandariyyati al-maḥrūs al-mamlūk Ḥasani bni Naṣri Allāh

Textual Notes

The document contains 23 lines of text without taking into account the signature between lines 3 and 4. As will be seen in the diplomatic commentary, the handwriting corresponds to the riqāʿ script, which was used in the chancery

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for specific documents, like this one. It may be characterized as very cursive and hardly legible for an unskilled eye. It features several ligatures, particularly between letters that should not normally be connected to the following one— this is almost always the case for the alif and the wāw—and even between words though, in this case, it is not applied as a general rule. The letters sīn/shīn are represented as a long stroke (e.g., l. 9: ‫)ستحيط‬. When a word ends with a hāʾ preceded by a letter corresponding to the ductus of a ‫ىـ‬/ ‫ـىـ‬, the scribe usually overlooks it to write the latter (e.g., l. 10: ‫ ;وظيفته‬l. 11: ‫كافية‬, ‫عليه‬, ‫ ;وظيفته‬l. 12: ‫;عليه‬ l. 14: ‫)تضمنه‬. Moreover, the text is entirely deprived of diacritical dots. The only relief for the paleographer comes from the standard formulae found in other documents from the same period, which confirms the interpretation of almost the entire document. Line 1:

Line 3: Lines 3–5:

Line 5:

11 12

The document opens with the basmala, which is written as a cipher, in one word, in particular after Allāh. In that sense, it does not respect the rule asserted by Mamluk secretaries, like alQalqashandī, who expressly stated that the scribe ought to write it in the most beautiful manner as a demonstration of the glorification of God. Yet, it does observe another norm he provides because the scribe paid attention to the beginning of the formula where the bāʾ, according to al-Qalqashandī, should be slightly enlarged in height—a device for remembering the alif of ism that disappeared—and the sīn fully written (i.e., with its three teeth) and then moderately elongated before the mīm.11 taʿālā. The word is written as a cipher and is similar to the other two occurrences (lines 17 and 19). baʿda ibtihālihi ilā Allāh taʿālā bi-dawāmi ayyāmi mawlānā maliki al-umarāʾ wa-khulūdi saʿādatihi wa-ʿuluwwi darajātihi fī al-dunyā wa-l-ākhira. A similar expression is given in a short treatise attributed to Ibn Faḍl Allāh al-ʿUmarī.12 anhaw. The verb does not end with the alif al-wiqāya normally necessary in such a case. There is a proclivity in early Quranic orthography and mixed Arabic to add the alif otiosum at the end of any word ending with a wāw, be it part of the root or corres-

Al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ al-aʿshā vi, 221. See Veselý, Zwei Opera Cancellaria 551 ( yuqabbilu al-arḍ mubtahilan ilā Allāh taʿālā fī baqāʾi saʿādati mawlānā takhlīdan yastaʿīdu bi-hi ʿumra al-zamān; yuqabbilua l-arḍ mubtahilan ilā Allāh taʿālā bi-dawāmi saʿādatihi wa-khulūdi ʿalāʾihi).

ikhwāniyyāt letters in the mamluk period

Line 6:

Line 7:

Lines 7–8:

13

14 15

169

ponding to a suffix.13 The case discussed here thus deviates with respect to the tendency noticed in general in manuscripts from the same period. Quite interestingly, the same phenomenon is to be observed in the handwriting of the Egyptian historian alMaqrīzī (d. 845/1442); he overlooked the alif otiosum in plural forms of defective verbs like raʾā, which exactly tallies with the verb anhā.14 al-marāsīm al-sharīfa kānat barazat bi-. This is a standard formula usually found in decrees.15 Tāj al-Dīn. This is a conjectural reading. If it is correct, the jīm is linked to the following alif. Ibn Abī Bakr. Written at the beginning of a new line, the word ibn starts with an alif. The kunya Abū Bakr is tentatively deciphered here; alternatively, it could stand for a Turkish name ending in Bak, though this solution looks less probable given the ductus. kāna wa-idhā wajada baqāʾahu [wa-dawāma] fiʿlihi bi-ṭāʾifatihim fa-yardaʿuhu ʿanhum. This is the most problematic passage in the document. Due to the fact that the end of line 7 is damaged, our reconstruction of the text can only be conjectural. The verb kāna, clearly decipherable, might be connected to the words that precede it, as suggested to me by Werner Diem. In this case, the sentence should be understood as: “Tāj al-dīn Ibn Abī Bakr, the former prefect of police in the harbor. If he finds him still around …” The second part of the sentence is composed of a hypothetical clause introduced by idhā. What follows seems to be read wajada baqāʾahu or wujida baqāʾuhu. A tentative reconstruction of the words in the missing parts could be dawām. The last word on line 7 looks like fʿlh ( fiʿlihi), which fits well with bi-ṭāʾifatihim. The apodosis must certainly be identified on line 8 with the verb

For the Quran, see Diem, Untersuchungen zur frühen Geschichte 392–393. For the papyri, see Hopkins, Studies in the grammar i, 50a. For the manuscripts, see Blau, A grammar of Christian Arabic i, 127–128. See Bauden, Maqriziana viii, 31–32. Risciani, Documenti e firmani 72 (decree dated 869/1464: tabruzu al-marāsīmu al-sharīfa bi-iḥḍārihi ilā al-abwābi al-sharīfa / si emaneranno i nobili rescritti per condurlo alle nostre nobili porte); Richards, Mamluk administrative documents 73, ll. 11–12 [a letter dated 877/1472: wa-qad barazati al-marāsīmu al-sharīfa bi-kitābati mithāl sharīf muṭlaq / li-kulli wāqif ʿalayhi bi-l-thaghri al-maḥrūs bi-ṭalab (the noble decrees [of the sultan] have gone forth that a noble open rescript should be issued / to all whom it may concern in Damietta, enjoining)].

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Line 8:

Line 11:

16

17 18

19

radaʿa. This verb cannot be read as a passive because the two objects are expressed. It looks like the verb is preceded by a wāw or a fāʾ. If this is the apodosis, the fāʾ would be expected if it is followed by an imperfect ( fa-yardaʿuhu ʿanhum). In any case, it is difficult to adopt one translation over another with certainty. shamilathumu al-ṣadaqāt al-sharīfa bi-marsūm sharīf. This is a formula often found in official correspondence.16 It must be noted that the expression al-ṣadaqāt al-sharīfa refers to the sultan and that it is often used in the context of petitions addressed to him.17 jumla kāffiyya. The two words appear in three documents issued by the Mamluk chancery to strengthen the negation.18 matā taḥaddatha fī waẓīfatihi. This is one of several possible readings. On the one hand, it is preferred to matā yuḥdith fī waẓīfatihi (whenever he should introduce an innovation) because one should rather expect here a formula like matā yuḥdith ḥādithan as it appears in an official letter datable to the Mamluk period.19 On the other hand, the document explicitly requests that the governor ban him from office, in which case it is impossible to

See Ibn Ḥijja, Das Rauschgetränk der Stilkunst oder Qahwat al-inshāʾ 79, ll. 12–13 (washamilatnī al-ṣadaqātu al-sharīfa bi-tashrīf sharīf ); Risciani, Documenti e firmani 36, ll. 2–3 (anna al-ṣadaqāti al-sharīfa shamilathum bi-marsūm sharīf / che le munificenze nobili sono state estese ad essi con un rescritto nobile), 66, ll. 2–3 (anna al-ṣadaqāti al-sharīfa shamilathu bi-tawāqīʿ sharīfa / che le munificenze nobili sono state estese a lui con nobili firmani), 74, ll. 8–9 (anna al-ṣadaqāti al-sharīfa sharrafahā Allāh taʿālā wa-ʿaẓẓamahā shamilathu bi-tawāqīʿ sharīfa wa-karīma / che le munificenze nobili,—le nobiliti l’altissimo Dio e le magnifichi—, sono state estese a lui con nobili e munifici rescritti). See Stern, Petitions from the Mamlūk period 239 (note 22). See Risciani, Documenti e firmani 148 (wa-lā yuṭālabū wa-lā yukallafū bi-shayʾ jumlatan kāffiyyatan ʿalā jārī ʿādatihimi al-qadīma / nè si dimandi, ne si esiga da loro, assolutamente, alcuna cosa, secondo il corso della loro antica usanza); Richards, Mamluk administrative documents 73, l. 18 (wa-lā yuḥwijū fī dhālika ilā muʿāwada thāniya jumlatan kāffiyyatan / Let them not require further communication concerning this matter, not at all); Diem, Arabische Briefe 148, l. 13 ( fa-lā taḥtajja ʿalayya bi-ḥujja jumlatan kāffiyyatan / Führe gegen mich also auf gar keinen Fall ein Argument an). The same construction also appears in a memorandum redacted by Ibn ʿAbd al-Ẓāhir (d. 692/1292). See Moberg, Regierungspromemoria eines ägyptischen Sultans 417 (note 1). Diem (Arabische Briefe 151) suggests that the adjective must be considered a nisba built on the substantive kāffa (totality, entirety) rather than corresponding to the more expected kāfin/kāfiya (sufficient). See Diem, Arabische amtliche Briefe i, 166, l. 17 (lā yuḥdath ʿalayhim ḥādithun fī ayyāmi mubāsharati al-mamlūk / und daß gegen sie in der Zeit, in der der Sklave [hier] als Verwaltungsbeamter tätig ist, keine Neuerung eingeführt wird). Diem mentions other occurrences (ibid. 169).

ikhwāniyyāt letters in the mamluk period

Line 16:

Line 19:

Line 23:

7

171

consider that he could still be active after that. Consequently, the reading matā yaḥduth fī waẓīfatihi must also be rejected. I opted for the reading taḥaddaṯa fī, which is attested in a variety of Mamluk sources as meaning “to administer, to supervise, to have authority over.”20 If I am right, the context implies that the prefect would seek to regain his position. Wa-kaffi asbābi l-ḍarar ʿanhum. This is a standard expression that often appears in documents requesting that harassment against a group who petitioned the intervention of the sultan should stop.21 The formula in shāʾa Allāh must be written centered on a single line, according to the rules. If the script adopted is the riqāʿ, which is the case here, the formula is written almost in one block.22 This sign corresponds to the letter ḥāʾ followed by a small stroke and not a rāʾ as believed by some scholars.23 It is tentatively explained by al-Qalqashandī as an abbreviation of the ḥasbala, which in most cases preceded in full letters, though it is not the case here.

Translation

Recto 1) 2) 3)

In the Name of God, the Compassionate, the Merciful. al-Badrī al-Malakī al-Muʾayyadī kisses the ground and reports, after he supplicated God Almighty The Slave Naṣr Allāh Ḥasan ibn

4) 5)

20 21 22 23

for [granting] our Lord, the Chief Emir, a long life, eternal felicity, and high ranks in this life and the Hereafter, that the consul of the Venetians and his merchants communicated

See Quatremère, Histoire des sultans mamlouks de l’ Égypte ii/2, 108 (note 46). See, for instance, a rescript of Barqūq dated 790/1388 in Risciani, Documenti e firmani 30, ll. 6–7 (wa-kaffi asbābi al-ḍarar ʿanhum / e si allontanino da essi le cause del danno). See al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ al-aʿshā vi, 233–234. See Björkmann, Diplomatic 302 on the basis of al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ al-aʿshā vi, 270, where it is typographically badly reproduced by the editors of the text.

172 6) 7) 8) 9) 10) 11) 12) 13) 14)

15) 16) 17) 18) 19) 20) 21) 22) 23)

bauden

to the chancery that the noble decrees were emanated to seek out Tāj alDīn Ibn Abī Bakr, the former prefect of police in the harbor. If he establishes that the latter is still around and continues to act against their community, he should deter him from them. The noble bounties have just encompassed them with a noble rescript for our Lord, the Chief Emir, of which he will take eminent cognizance, [i.e.,] to seek out the aforesaid [the prefect], to forbid him from exercising his office in the protected harbor under any circumstances, and to issue a noble oath against him, according to which, whenever he [seeks to] administer his office, he will have to pay the noble dīwān, from his resources, the amount of 1,000 dinars. The decree including the bounties, our Lord, the Chief Emir, will enforce its exalted orders and do what the aforementioned noble rescript contains, and execute it in accordance with the provisions thereof, together with the recommendation for the abovementioned consul and his merchants, respecting them, treating them well and refraining from annoying them inasmuch as this will be reported. He [the Chief Emir] will confer his customary bounties and his beneficence. May God Almighty bestow upon the slave a long life with His grace and munificence if God Almighty wills Written on the thirteenth of the sacred Dhū al-Ḥijja in the year eight hundred sixteen Praise be to God and His blessing be upon our lord, Muḥammad, and his family and his companions, and also His peace [God is our sufficiency, and an excellent Steward is He!]

Verso 1) 2) 3)

al-Badrī Our Lord, the Chief Emir in the protected harbor of Alexandria

Report of the slave Ḥasan ibn Naṣr Allāh

ikhwāniyyāt letters in the mamluk period

8

173

Diplomatic Commentary

Documents may be divided into two categories: official and private. By its nature, this document belongs to the first category. The term muṭālaʿa that appears on the verso of sheet 1 allows the identification of the document with others already described. In his catalogue of the documents discovered in the Ḥaram of Jerusalem, D. Little classified them as muṭālaʿāt (reports) in the section regarding decrees (marsūm) and petitions (qiṣṣa). The format and the phrasing of this kind of documents, which, he noticed, tally with those of the petition, convinced him that the muṭālaʿa had to be considered together in the same section.24 According to Little, the muṭālaʿa, like the petition, contains a text that is “spaced on the page in the same way, that is to say with a wide margin at the right in which a tarǧama introduced by almamlūk appears, usually opposite the blank space between the top lines of the text.”25 Moreover, both texts usually begin with the formula “yuqabbilu al-arḍa wa-yunhī” (he kisses the ground and reports) and, in some cases, the muṭālaʿa contains a request, as does the petition.26 The muṭālaʿa can, however, be distinguished from the petition provided that the document is completely preserved because it bears on the top of the scroll, on the back, an address (ʿunwān) providing the name of the addressee and that of the sender preceded by the term muṭālaʿa. On the basis of this characteristic, Little classified all the documents that were written in the format of the petition as muṭālaʿa. Fragmentary documents where this characteristic was not more visible were considered as muṭālaʿa if the content looked more like a report than a petition.27 In the Ḥaram documents, Little identified 22 documents as muṭālaʿāt, of which only four bear the word muṭālaʿa in the address.28 Little’s description of this category of documents is problematic given that some specimens that do not feature the address are regarded as belonging to the category and are not necessarily reports of something. In some cases, they should rather be considered as letters.29 Thus, the question arises: did there exist a specific category of documents called muṭālaʿa (report)? 24 25 26 27 28

29

Little, A catalogue of the Islamic documents 50–58. Ibid. 51. For the evolution of the petition up to the Mamluk period, see Khan, The historical development. Little, A catalogue of the Islamic documents 51. We can add to these the following document published by Diem, Arabische amtliche Briefe 164–170, no. 35 (A. Ch. 10291) where the last word at the end of the first line in the address, on the verso, should be read muṭālaʿa and not wa-aʿlā amrahu. See, for instance, Little, A catalogue of the Islamic documents 54, no. 69.

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For this matter, as for all those dealing with the Mamluk chancery, al-Qalqashandī’s magnum opus, Ṣubḥ al-aʿshā fī ṣināʿat al-inshāʾ, is the place par excellence to search for an answer. In the chapter dealing with correspondence (mukātabāt), al-Qalqashandī devoted a section to the letters sent by Muslims, be they rulers or subjects, to the Mamluk sultan. This section is divided into two parts: one dealing with those who are qualified to write to the sultan from within his territories (i.e., the armed forces, such as governors or the civil servants, including viziers, scholars, and the like) and another dealing with those who write to him from outside his dominion (i.e., foreign rulers). The first part is the one that interests us in this particular case, as the author tackles the correspondence sent by the governors to the sultan. Within this part, alQalqashandī considers two categories: letters sent by viceroys (nuwwāb) and those who are considered at the same level and the letters sent by the governors (wulāt) and the like. The term muṭālaʿa appears for the first time at this level because in all the titles of the chapter, subchapter, section, etc., specific to this question, al-Qalqashandī always used the term mukātabāt. In light of this, it may be said the muṭālaʿa was a particular category of correspondence. From the examples provided for the viceroys, one might conclude that the muṭālaʿa designated the letters they sent to the sultan. Thanks to the detailed description he provides, it is understood that the term muṭālaʿa was specifically coined for these letters because the text must end with the phrase “ṭālaʿa bi-dhālika” (he exposed this)—interchangeable with “anhā dhālika” (he reported this)— an expression that is further echoed in the address (ʿunwān) with the word muṭālaʿa (muṭālaʿat al-mamlūk fulān, “report of the servant so-and-so”).30 Al-Qalqashandī does not provide details of the nature of the reports. He simply states that it may contain one or several pieces of information. However, we can form an idea of their nature through the various rules he describes: a) the sender may request something from the sultan through two categories of expressions, one of them being reserved for important matters ( yasʾalu al-ṣadaqāt al-sharīfa); b) if the topic of the document deals with an important matter (amr muhimm), like the nomination of a governor (istiqrār nāʾib) or the good news of a victory (bishāra bi-fatḥ), the use of rhymed prose (sajʿ) is compulsory, otherwise not; c) the report may be made on the basis of another report (muṭālaʿa) received from the governor of a city on the border or from afar, like Edessa (alRuhā);

30

Al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ al-aʿshā viii, 55 and 60.

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175

d)

the report may consist of a response to a rescript (mithāl) received from the sultan in which the governor quotes the order and explains whether or not the order was put into effect and if not, why.31 Our understanding of the nature of the report is improved by the three samples he quotes: a) an inceptive report (ibtidāʾ, i.e., not an answer to a previous letter or report) from the viceroy of Damascus consisting of a summary of various reports received from several places. These are in regard to diplomatic and military intelligence and internal affairs (like the death of a mamlūk and the request to grant his fief to his son); b) a report answering ( jawāb) a decree (marsūm) received from the sultan regarding military operations and informing him that the orders were fulfilled; c) a mixed report (inceptive and answer) apropos of two matters: the arrival of an envoy from a foreign country for whom the authorization to travel to the capital is expected32 and the arrival of an agent from the capital to whom a person must be handed over to be brought before the sultan. From this, it appears that the muṭālaʿa was a letter of a particular genre written by a governor who reported to the sultan on various matters dealing with internal and external affairs.33 Unfortunately, al-Qalqashandī did not provide any example of this kind of correspondence for the second category of governors (wulāt). In a footnote, the editors indicated that the title of the section is followed by a blank space the size of one page.34 Notwithstanding, this embryonic definition is corroborated by another passage found in the fourth volume of al-Qalqashandī’s manual where, speaking of the prefect of police (wālī al-shurṭa), he states that this officeholder used to inquire about events that happened in his district every day (like a big fire or 31 32

33 34

Ibid. 55–57. We find a confirmation of this practice in a particular document emanated by the chancery once the envoy was sent back to his ruler. A waraqat al-jawāb was issued to the attention of the governor who was informed of his arrival in the country (hence when the governor sent the report with this piece of information). This document is described by Muḥammad b. Muḥammad al-Saḥmāwī (d. 868/1464) in his al-Thaghr al-bāsim ii, 731. In the model he gives, reference is made to the report written by the governor the envoy was bearing when he arrived in Cairo (bi-mā ʿalā yadihi mina al-muṭālaʿati al-mukhtaṣṣa bi-l-mawāqifi al-sharīfa). Cf. also al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ al-aʿshā iv, 58. See also al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ al-aʿshā iv, 59. The copy of al-Qalqashandī’s work preserved in Cambridge (University Library, ms Qq.36, corresponding to volume 4) does not display this section either. The scribe specified that there was a blank space the size of one page in the original from which he made his own copy (fol. 69b: bayāḍ qadruhu ṣafḥa).

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the like). The prefect then wrote a report in which all the events were described. These reports were brought every morning to the sultan.35 They were in fact dispatched through the postal service (barīd) and delivered by the courier to the executive secretary (dawādār) who subsequently transmitted them to the sultan. The sultan opened the letter and gave it to the secretary of state (kātib al-sirr),36 who grasped the contents and summarized them to the sultan. Upon their transmission, a formula attesting that it was delivered on that day by the intermediary of so-and-so was inscribed upon them.37 Thanks to al-Saḥmāwī, who provides a detailed description of the process of the transmission of the muṭālaʿa upon its arrival at the citadel, we know the etiquette respected in these circumstances. According to this author, the secretary of state was responsible for reading to the sultan three categories of documents: firstly, the muṭālaʿāt; secondly, the documents dealing with legal matters (like the waqf s); and thirdly the petitions (the qawāʾim being the term strictly reserved to those presented by the bureaus while those tendered by common folk were called qiṣaṣ). As for the muṭālaʿāt, it is interesting to quote the full passage: “The messenger or the courier who arrives at the citadel (bāb al-sulṭān) is usually introduced to the sultan (al-ḥaḍra) by the dawādār, who receives the muṭālaʿa from him, strokes it on the face of the carrier, and then conveys it to the sultan who unseals it and gives it back to the dawādār. The latter then hands it to the secretary of state who reads it aloud to the sultan.”38

35 36 37

38

Al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ al-aʿshā iv, 60. Al-Saḥmāwī, al-Thaghr al-bāsim i, 373. Ibid. 365–366, who calls this procedure the kitābatu al-tawrīd (to write down an archival caption). The note was: waradat fī tārīkh kadhā wa-kadhā ʿalā yadi fulāni al-fulānī (it arrived on the date so-and-so by the intermediary of so-and-so), and it was inscribed on the recto of the sheet where the basmala appears (i.e., the second sheet, see below), in the right margin beyond the text ( fī ẓāhiri al-waṣli alladhī fīhi al-basmala min jihati al-yumnā khalfa al-kitāba), though, for the reports sent by Arab and Frankish rulers (mulūku al-ʿArab wa-l-Firanja), the correct place was the first sheet, which is the first onto which the secretary’s glance falls. This author also states that, usually, this operation was entrusted by the secretary of state to one of his substitutes. If my interpretation of another passage (ibid. i, 350: wa-humu alladhīn yaktubūn awrāqa al-riqāʿ wa-yuwarridūna al-muṭālaʿāt waghayrahā) is correct, he asserts that those responsible for this operation are the kuttāb al-dast, the higher of the two levels of secretaries working in the chancery. The verb warrada would mean, according to me, “to write down the archival caption” (kitābat al-tawrīd) or “to archive.” Al-Saḥmāwī, al-Thaghr al-bāsim i, 344. Cf. also al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ al-aʿshā i, 59 according to whom the courier was brought before the sultan by the amīr jāndār, the dawādār, and the secretary of state.

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The author then emphasizes the qualities required of the secretary for this part of his function, like the excellence of his language, from which it may be inferred that the reading is not verbatim but rather a summary of the contents, and his ability to decipher the handwritings (qawī al-malaka fī istikhrāj al-khuṭūṭ). Not all of these qualities were possessed by the secretary of state. A notorious case in this respect was recorded by Ibn Taghrī Birdī. In 835/1432, Karīm al-dīn ʿAbd al-Karīm Ibn Kātib al-Munākh, vizier since 826/1423, also became the secretary of state, a first for the Mamluk period as no one before him held these two offices conjointly, and this despite his ignorance of the chancery procedures (ṣināʿat al-inshāʾ). Among other deficiencies, Ibn Taghrī Birdī pinpoints his poor experience in reading the petitions and the muṭālaʿāt arriving from everywhere (mina al-aʿmāl wa-l-aqṭār). On top of that, he was blind as a bat, a disability that compelled him to take ridiculous attitudes, his voice was graceless, and he made awful spelling mistakes. Unsurprisingly, the duty of reading these documents fell on his deputy (nāʾib kātib al-sirr). It took only three months before he was discharged from this office.39 Physically, the muṭālaʿa sent by a viceroy, as described by al-Qalqashandī,40 looked like a scroll made up of several sheets of the regular format (qaṭʿ alʿāda).41 a) On the recto of the first sheet,42 on the top (called the ṭurra), the summary ( fihrist) consisted of, on the right side, the inscription “to the noble doors” (ilā al-abwābi al-sharīfa) and, on the left side, the matter which urged the sender to write this report (bi-sababi kadhā wa-kadhā). b) On the top of the verso of the first sheet, the scribe indicated the address (ʿunwān), composed of two parts: on the right side, the laqab of the addressee, consisting of the title linking him to the sultan (al-malakī) and the title corresponding to his personal laqab (al-fulānī, i.e., al-sayfī for someone called Sayf al-Dīn);43 on the left side, the expression muṭālaʿat al-mamlūk fulān on two lines, the ism being on the second line. c) The text in itself (ṣadr, i.e., opening protocol) started on the top of the recto of the second sheet and was made up of the basmala with, beneath 39 40 41 42

43

Ibn Taghrī Birdī, al-Nujūm al-zāhira xiv, 361; Wiet, Les Secrétaires de la chancellerie 296– 299 (no. xxi). Al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ al-aʿshā viii, 54–55. For a description of this format, see below. The face that receives the text is considered the recto (wajh) while the one that corresponds to the external face where the address is written is the verso (ẓāhir). See alQalqashandī, Ṣubḥ al-aʿshā viii, 55. From this, it may be inferred that the report is not directly addressed to the sultan but to the official who is in charge of the chancery.

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it, the laqab of the sender, forming a double title linking him to the sultan if he was an officeholder (al-malakī al-fulānī, the latter corresponding to the sultan’s laqab like al-Ẓāhirī for al-Ẓāhir Barqūq for instance) or of a single title connecting him to his emir in other cases (al-sayfī for a person whose emir’s laqab was Sayf al-Dīn). Then, on another line, the text began with the formula yuqabbilu al-arḍ wa-yunhī. The process may be represented as follows:44 a) Ṭurra (recto of the first sheet): ‫بسبب كذا وكذا‬ b)

‫إلى الأبواب الشر يفة‬

ʿUnwān (verso of the first sheet): ‫مطالعة المملوك‬

‫الملـكي الفلاني‬

‫فلان‬ c)

Ṣadr (recto of the second sheet): ‫بســــــــم الله الرحمن الرحيم‬ ‫الملـكي الظاهري‬ … ‫يقبل الأرض و ينهي‬

The order in which these operations were carried out is exactly the one detailed above, which means the scroll was turned over twice by the scribe: a) recto > b) verso > c) recto. Notably, our document looks very similar to this description, though there is no inscription on the ṭurra. Our document was not destined for the sultan but for the viceroy of Alexandria, and this may explain the discrepancy between it and the description provided by al-Qalqashandī. In any case, it appears this is not a muṭālaʿa written by a viceroy, rather it was written by the supervisor of the privy funds (nāẓir al-khāṣṣ) for the viceroy of Alexandria. Consequently, the level of the two correspondents is somewhat similar. The question is thus: what kind of document is this? In another section of his manual, al-Qalqashandī describes a particular kind of letter called ikhwāniyyāt, which he defined as what circulated between func-

44

See al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ al-aʿshā viii, 60.

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tionaries.45 The details provided for the elaboration of this category of letters tally, roughly speaking, with the ones just particularized for the muṭālaʿa. The problem is that the ikhwāniyyāt have always been considered private letters exchanged by friends—hence the designation (akh/ikhwān)—as opposed to official correspondence, though this interpretation hardly stands in view of the fact that they appear in the chancery manuals that normally only deal with the official correspondence.46 The earliest examples can be found in the collections of letters written by famous Abbasid secretaries like al-Ṣābiʾ (d. 384/994)47 and al-Ṣāḥib Ibn ʿAbbād (d. 385/995)48 who worked for the state chancery. For instance, speaking of Ibn ʿAbbād’s compositions, Pomerantz identified his sultāniyyāt as his official chancery letters and his ikhwāniyyāt as his non-official correspondence, his letters of friendship, or even his social letters.49 Truly, the topics illustrated by the examples that have reached us from this period give the impression that this interpretation is valid, at least for those examples from the tenth century: congratulations, condolences, mutual exchanges of gifts, and acts of benevolence, etc. For the Mamluk period, save for some restricted studies dedicated to letters exchanged with European powers, we still lack a thorough study of the correspondence produced by the chancery from the literary or diplomatic points of view.50 The section devoted to the ikhwāniyyāt by al-Qalqashandī in Ṣubḥ alaʿshā seems to corroborate the traditional view: the topics (maqṣid/maqāṣid), 45

46

47 48 49 50

Ibid. 168–232 (168: mimmā huwa dāʾir bayna aʿyāni al-mamlaka wa-akābiri ahli al-dawla min nuwwābi al-salṭana wa-sāʾiri al-umarāʾ wa-l-wuzarāʾ wa-man fī maʿnāhum min aʿyāni l-kuttāb wa-man nahaja nahjahum min arbābi al-waẓāʾif ). See Arazi and Ben-Shammay, Risāla, who speak of risāla ikhwāniyya and risāla dīwāniyya, thus considering them as being produced in two different environments. The same holds true for Gully, The culture of letter-writing 177 (informal letters) and 187 (for the Mamluk period: formal epistolary category [risāla dīwāniyya] as opposed to informal epistolary category [risāla ikhwāniyya]). See, particularly, Hachmeier, Die briefe Abū Isḥāq Ibrāhīm al-Ṣābiʾ’s. For this author, see Pomerantz, Licit magic. Ibid., chapter 7 is entirely devoted to the ikhwāniyyāt. For the Republic of Venice, see Wansbrough, A Mamluk letter. For the Republic of Florence, see Amari, I diplomi arabi del R. Archivio fiorentino. For the Republic of Ragusa (Dubrovnik), see Korkut, Arapski dokumenti u državnom arhivu u Dubrovniku. For Castilla and Aragon, see Alarcón y Santón and García de Linares, Los Documentos árabes diplomáticos del Archivo de la Coroña de Aragón. All these studies provide editions and translations of Mamluk official letters but are devoid of any diplomatic commentary. The material found in al-Qalqashandī’s Ṣubḥ al-aʿshā regarding Christian powers was translated, well before the publication of this source, by Lammens, Correspondances diplomatiques entre les sultans mamlouks. The following article mainly focuses on private letters: Diem, Arabic letters in pre-modern times.

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which may give birth to this genre of correspondence, look similar to those already quoted for the Abbasid period, though al-Qalqashandī expanded their number to 17, offering for the first time a systematic presentation of them.51 Before him, only two authors tackled the question of this category of correspondence: Ibn Faḍl Allāh al-ʿUmarī (d. 749/1349) and Ibn Nāẓir al-Jaysh (d. 786/1384). In his manual al-Taʿrīf bi-l-muṣṭalaḥ al-sharīf,52 the first did not consider them but composed a treatise entitled ʿUrf al-taʿrīf bi-l-muṣṭalaḥ alsharīf devoted to the correspondence in general and dealing with this matter, though he never used the term “ikhwāniyya.”53 In contrast, Ibn Nāẓir al-Jaysh concluded his manual Tathqīf al-Taʿrīf bi-l-muṣṭalaḥ al-sharīf with a small section (Bāb fī al-mukātabāti al-ikhwāniyya)54 where he presented, in a schematic manner, the various levels of this kind of correspondence. However, neither of these authors provide any data regarding the topics for which these letters were issued. This paucity of data and the lack of evidence, since no original letter of this kind has been identified so far, have confused most of the few scholars who have addressed this topic and have led to the general definition already referred to above.55 Only recently did D. Richards propose a more pragmatic interpretation: “… one may hazard that what is intended by the term [ikhwāniyya] is a range of semi-official, on certain occasions almost obligatory, letters, exchanged by the upper ranks of Mamluk society, both military and civilian.”56 Our knowledge of the ikhwāniyyāt would have remained limited were it not for two unpublished treatises specifically dedicated to official Mamluk correspondence of all levels of senders and addressees. The first one is entitled Muzīl al-ḥaṣr fī mukātabāt ahl al-ʿaṣr [The withdrawal of the barrier regarding the correspondence of our contemporaries]. Though its author does not reveal his identity, the treatise can be dated shortly after 815/1412.57 51 52 53 54 55 56 57

See al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ al-aʿshā ix, 5–228. Ibn Faḍl Allāh al-ʿUmarī, al-Taʿrīf. Ibn Faḍl Allāh al-ʿUmarī, ʿUrf al-Taʿrīf. Ibn Nāẓir al-Jaysh, Tathqīf al-Taʿrīf 206–209. It seems the wrong interpretation given by Björkman did lead to this state of affairs. See Björkman, Beiträge 135 and note 1. Richards, Mamluk administrative documents 14. In the introduction, the author explains that he composed the treatise at the request of the son of the Abbasid caliph al-Mutawakkil i (r. 763–779/1362–1377, 779–785/1377– 1383, 791–808/1389–1406). The son in question is named Abū al-Khayr Yaʿqūb. The caliph al-Mustaʿīn (r. 808–816/1406–1414) is also mentioned in the work with regard to his sultanate after alaNāṣir Faraj’s death. Two manuscripts of this treatise have been identified: Berlin, Staatsbibliothek, Orientabteilung, ms Petermann i 299 (see Ahlwardt, Verzeichnis der arabischen Handschriften vii, 577–579); Escorial, ms Árabe 566 (see Derenbourg,

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The second treatise, whose title is Qalāʾid al-jumān fī muṣṭalaḥ mukātabāt ahl al-zamān [The pearl necklaces or the protocol of correspondence of the people of our time],58 was written by one of al-Qalqashandī’s sons, namely Najm al-Dīn Muḥammad, also known as Ibn Abī Ghudda (d. 876/1471).59 Ibn al-Qalqashandī served several emirs as a personal secretary, and his treatise mainly deals with the correspondence exchanged between them.60 The Muzīl al-ḥaṣr is a small work divided into two parts: first, the various categories of official correspondence exchanged by those at all levels of state, and second, the topics that may give rise to the exchange of letters according to these categories.61 As for the Qalāʾid al-jumān, the scope is quite similar to that of the father in his Ṣubḥ al-aʿshā, though the data was updated in view of the period in which it was written. As such, they offer little originality in comparison with the more comprehensive Ṣubḥ al-aʿshā, but, given their shorter size, one immediately grasps how the official correspondence was organized in the secretaries’ minds. According to Muzīl al-ḥaṣr, official correspondence was categorized in three levels: a) incoming and outgoing letters regarding the caliph and his designated heir (walī al-ʿahd);62 b) incoming and outgoing letters regarding the sultan and his designated heir (walī al-ʿahd); c) incoming and outgoing letters regarding the various levels of servants of the state and those exchanged between them and local rulers.63

58 59

60

61

62 63

Les Manuscrits arabes de l’ Escurial 389). References are only made here to the Berlin copy. The text is preserved in a unicum held by the British Library, ms or 3625. See Rieu, Supplement to the Catalogue of the Arabic Manuscripts 642–643 (no. 1020). The date of his death provided by Richards in Mamluk Administrative Documents 13 (867/1462–1463) is erroneous. See al-Sakhāwī, al-Ḍawʾ al-lāmiʿ vi, 322–323. On the author and his treatise, see Bauden, Like father, like son. Almost contemporaneous with Ibn al-Qalqashandī’s treatise is Khalīl ibn Shāhīn al-Ẓāhirī’s Zubdat Kashf al-mamālik wa-bayān al-ṭuruq wa-l-masālik, the summary of a more comprehensive work composed in 857/1453, published by Ravaisse in Paris in 1894. The author devotes some space to the ikhwāniyyāt letters. See Ibn al-Ẓāhirī, Zubdat Kashf almamālik 101–102. The anonymous author’s aim in writing this book was to detail the topics (maqāṣid) of the ikhwāniyyāt letters, as he reveals on fol. 45b: al-bāb al-thālith fī maqāṣid al-mukātabāt al-ikhwāniyyāt wa-huwa al-maqṣūd bi-waḍʿ hādhā al-kitāb (Chapter iii: Topics of the ikhwāniyyāt letters that are the reason why this book was composed). It must be noted here that al-Qalqashandī devoted a work to the documents issued for and addressed to the caliphs and their designated heirs. See al-Qalqashandī, Maʾāthir al-ināfa. In Muzīl al-ḥaṣr, the author enumerates the local rulers with whom the viceroy of Damascus exchanged correspondence (fols. 32a–33a) and ranks them in seven levels. The same

182

bauden

The letters were attributed to one of these categories on the basis of a hierarchy starting with the caliph and ending with the officeholders. For example, a letter addressed by the sultan to the caliph was considered a “caliphal” letter, while a letter sent by an emir to the sultan was regarded as a “sultanian” letter (sulṭāniyya). Obviously, if the caliph or the sultan was the issuer of a letter, the latter belonged to his category (i.e., a “caliphal” or a “sultanian” letter). Consequently, and this is the most important point for our reasoning, letters exchanged by persons belonging to the third category (the officeholders, i.e., secretaries, emirs of higher or lower rank, and the like) were held as “fraternal” letters (ikhwāniyyāt). The ikhwāniyyāt thus designated the correspondence dealing with everyday politics and governing addressed by officeholders to peers, whatever their rank, but also to correspondence that circulated between them and dealt with private matters, like the birth of a child or the death of a wife, which are among the traditional topics listed by alQalqashandī and his son for the issue of the ikhwāniyyāt.64 Several patterns were set for the issue of an ikhwāniyya, each of which depended upon the rank of the sender and of the addressee.65 In chancery terms, the rank was determined by the type of initial protocol (ṣadr) the sultan used in his correspondence when addressing himself to the said officeholder. Al-Qalqashandī limited himself to detailing the correspondence for the first (i.e., higher) four ranks, explaining that the remaining ranks have to be written in proportion to the latter.66 The supervisor of the privy funds (nāẓir al-khāṣṣ), for instance, who is precisely the addresser of our document, coincided with the third rank to whom the sultan reserved the initial protocol “ḍāʿafa Allāh

64

65 66

was valid for the governor of Aleppo, he says (fol. 34a), but he does not specify whom they were, though we may deduce that they were similar to those in contact with the viceroy of Damascus. That letters were exchanged between persons of lower rank than the sultan and foreign rulers is revealed by a letter sent in 1473 by a dawādār to the Venetian authorities. See Arbel, Levantine power struggles. One also understands that the letters exchanged on private matters by the secretaries who are friends (al-aṣdiqāʾ wa-l-aṣḥāb min afāḍil al-kuttāb) and men of letters (ʿuyūn ahl al-adab) who have talent for the art of composition (inshāʾ) and aptitude for poetry and prose were part of the ikhwāniyyāt. Al-Qalqashandī qualifies this kind of correspondence as unsealed responses (ajwiba muṭlaqa). See al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ al-aʿshā viii, 217. Ibid. 217–232. For an example of this kind of ikhwāniyya exchanged by two scholars (alMaqrīzī and al-Qalqashandī), see Bauden, Maqriziana xiii. Al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ al-aʿshā viii, 232. The hierarchy thus established varied greatly with time. According to several authors, al-Qalqashandī stressed in which order they were placed in the fourteenth century. See ibid. 183–185.

ikhwāniyyāt letters in the mamluk period

183

taʿālā niʿmata al-janābi al-ʿālī.”67 The other functionaries who belonged to that rank were the vizier, emirs of 1,000 like the amīr silāḥ, the amīr majlis, the amīr ākhūr, the ustādār, the ḥājib al-ḥujjāb, the viceroys of Alexandria and Tripoli, Ḥamā, and Ṣafad for Syria.68 Thereby, each of these officeholders would write to various categories of peers. For the said rank, al-Qalqashandī lists nine levels, each one described through a classifier that relates to the address or the initial protocol.69 For example, if the secretary of the privy funds wrote a letter to 1) a person of the first level, like the interim viceroy, the commander in chief of the armies, or the viceroy of Damascus, he used the pattern al-fulānī bimuṭālaʿa, whose initial protocol was yuqabbilu al-arḍ wa-yunhī; 2) a person of the second level, like the viceroy of Aleppo, he used the pattern al-abwāb bi-muṭālaʿa, whose initial protocol was similar to the above pattern. etc.70 Within the same rank, one understands that the officeholders used the highest pattern, which means that if the secretary of the privy funds addressed a letter to a peer who belonged to his rank, like the viceroy of Alexandria, he would do so according to the first pattern (i.e., al-fulānī bi-muṭālaʿa), which is exactly what we have in our document. Four main patterns, each one divided into several levels and sublevels, were in use. These were categorized according to the initial protocol corresponding to each rank of officeholder: 1) taqbīlu al-arḍ; 2) taqbīlu al-yad; 3) invocatio (duʿāʾ); 4) various formulae like aṣdarnā, ṣadarat, hādhihi al-mukātaba … To each pattern and its subdivisions, a different address was fixed. The manuals used, to a certain extent, the various kinds of address like classifiers. The first pattern (taqbīlu al-arḍ) was divided into five levels:

67

68 69

70

At least, this was the situation when al-Qalqashandī was writing, and he indicates that this was recent (ibid. 229: ʿalā mā istaqarra ʿalayhi al-ḥāl ākhiran), because earlier this function was graded at the fourth rank (ibid., 231: wa-ʿalā dhālika kāna nāẓiru al-khāṣṣ fī al-zamani al-mutaqaddim). Ibid. 229. Ibn al-Qalqashandī, Qalāʾid al-jumān fols. 130a–b, only lists eight levels for this rank, which probably reflects the evolution of the system during the decades that separate him from the practice in use during his father’s life. The other patterns were: 3) al-abwāb bi-ghayr muṭālaʿa; 4) al-bābu al-karīm; 5) yuqabbilu al-arḍ bi-l-maqarri al-sharīf ; 6) yuqabbilu al-yada al-ʿāliya; 7) ḍāʿafa Allāh taʿālā niʿmata al-janābi al-ʿālī; 8) adāma Allāh taʿālā niʿmata al-majlisi al-ʿālī; and 9) ṣadarat wa-l-sāmī.

184

bauden

a)

al-fulānī bi-muṭālaʿa because the address starts with the personal laqab of the addressee and ends with the word muṭālaʿa followed by the word al-mamlūk and the name of the sender;71 b) al-abwābu al-karīma bi-muṭālaʿa because the addressee is referred to as al-abwābu al-karīma followed by his titles, an invocatio, and his function, and the address ends as above; c) al-abwābu al-karīma bi-ghayr muṭālaʿa like b) but without any reference to the sender; d) al-bābu al-karīm bi-ghayr muṭālaʿa like c) but with the reference to the addressee in the singular; e) al-maqarru al-sharīf bi-ghayr muṭālaʿa like c) but the addressee is referred to through the title al-maqarru al-sharīf. The main features of the ikhwāniyya letter corresponding to the first pattern (taqbīl al-arḍ), and as they were outlined by al-Qalqashandī and his son, were as follows.72 External features: a) Paper. Whatever the category of the ikhwāniyya, the paper format (qaṭʿ) was of the regular type (al-ʿāda), also called the small format (al-ṣaghīr), whether the report was produced in Egypt or Syria and whatever the level of the sender and addressee. Because the sultan wrote to his subjects on this format of paper, they were precluded from writing on a format larger than this one. The paper used is always the one produced locally (baladī for Egypt and shāmī for Syria).73 For Egypt, the regular format (qaṭʿ alʿāda) was the smallest of all formats used by the chancery, excluding the one reserved to correspondence by carrier pigeons.74 Its usage was restricted to the issue of the ordinary correspondence addressed by the sultan’s chancery to the governors (ḥukkām) and the subjects of the sultanate, as

71

72 73

74

See Ibn al-Qalqashandī, Qalāʾid al-jumān fol. 123a, where he added two levels superior to this one (al-fulānī al-makhdūmī and al-fulānī al-akhawī). This author witnesses that, in his time, the third level (al-fulānī alone) was considered the highest and he vilifies those who think like this, quoting his father in favor of his interpretation. Al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ al-aʿshā viii, 168–232; Anonymous, Muzīl al-ḥaṣr fols. 14b–34a; Ibn al-Qalqashandī, Qalāʾid al-jumān fols. 122b–128a. Al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ al-aʿshā viii, 168–169; Anonymous, Muzīl al-ḥaṣr fol. 13a (wa-iʿlam annahu yajibu al-tanbīh hunā li-umūr aḥaduhā anna jamīʿa ahli al-mamlaka mimman yukātabu ʿani al-abwābi al-sultāniyya mimman yuktabu la-hu ʿani al-sulṭān yuktabu la-hu fī qaṭʿi al-ʿāda wa-huwa al-qaṭʿu al-ṣaghīr). In fact the latter consisted of a different kind of paper, very thin for obvious reasons, produced in Syria. See al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ al-aʿshā vi, 192.

ikhwāniyyāt letters in the mamluk period

185

well as the rulers of neighboring territories subjected to the sultanate,75 and for the issue of the answers to petitions (tawāqīʿ) and the smallest of the rescripts (marāsīm).76 For Syria, the regular format was similar to the Egyptian one except that the paper used was produced in Syria, and it was a prerogative of the governors of Damascus and al-Karak to make use of a red tinted variety.77 As for Egypt, its usage was limited to the issue of the lowest level of answers to petitions and of rescripts, as well as to the ordinary correspondence addressed by the governors to the sultan and his subjects. It is thus not a surprise to learn that the regular format was the one most commonly used by the chancery of Cairo, in addition to the local ones.78 As with most formats handled by the chancery, its size corresponded, according to al-Qalqashandī, to one-sixth of the baghdādī format, which was one of the largest sheets used by the chancery. As a matter of fact, the steward of the paper (warrāq), one of the functionaries working at the chancery, produced the various formats of scrolls requested according to the rules by cutting a sheet of the baghdādī format. The size of one sheet of paper (waṣl) is always provided for the width that corresponded to the width of the scroll and in accordance with the cloth Egyptian cubit, a measurement of reference for cloth equivalent to 58.15cm.79 A sheet of the baghdādī format was one cubit wide (58.15 cm) and one cubit and one-half in length (87.225cm). Consequently, the regular format (one-sixth of a cubit) had to be 9.69 cm wide.80 Considering the documents identified as muṭālaʿāt, we get the following measures: Vienna (10cm); Venice and Ḥaram no. 600 (12.5 cm); Ḥaram nos. 841 and

75 76 77

78 79

80

This is how I interpret the passage: wa-l-mukātabāt ilā ḥukkāmi al-bilād bi-l-mamālik. Al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ al-aʿshā vi, 191. Ibid. 192–193. This custom went back to the Ayyubid period. Fragments of documents written on red-colored paper are preserved in some of al-Maqrīzī’s and al-Ṣafadī’s holograph manuscripts where they were reused as scrap paper. On this practice, see Bauden, The recovery of Mamlūk chancery documents. Al-Saḥmāwī, al-Thaghr al-bāsim ii, 550 (wa-huwa akthar mā yustaʿmalu bi-l-dīwān). See Hinz, Islamische Masse und Gewichte 56; idem, D̲ h̲ irāʿ 232. For Mamluk chancery paper formats, see Humbert, Le Manuscrit arabe et ses papiers 68–74 (Humbert relied on the measure of the Egyptian cubit given by Karabacek in 1887 as being almost 48.8cm, which is erroneous). However, a few decades later, al-Saḥmāwī, itemizing the various formats of paper found in the chancery, referred to the regular format as being almost one-fourth plus one inch (qīrāṭ) of the same measurement. Here we need to take into account a change that intervened, he says, from the middle of the fourteenth century, as, in his time, the standard sheet of paper had lost one current inch (qīrāṭ dāʾir). Al-Saḥmāwī, al-Thaghr al-bāsim ii, 550.

186

b)

c)

81 82 83 84

85

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23 (13.5cm); Ḥaram no. 599 (13.6cm). With the exception of the Vienna item, which is close to the standard measure given by al-Qalqashandī, we notice that the average is 13cm, a little less than one-third superior to the size provided by al-Qalqashandī. It is not possible to detail here the reasons why this happened, but this will be dealt with in a forthcoming study I have devoted to paper sizes and paper formats available in the Mamluk period. Script. A defined style of handwriting is applied to every paper format. For the regular format, the text was written in riqāʿ style.81 Within this style, there remained the possibility of giving a thicker or thinner effect to the handwriting, and this varied according to the level of the addressee: if he was of a high level, the script would be given a thinner effect and the contrary for a person of a low level.82 This practice was applied in agreement with the interlinear space (see below). Spaces. Given that the number of sheets (waṣl) in a scroll for letters sent in the name of the sultan was never fewer than two, the first one remaining blank, letters sent by his functionaries could not be fewer than that number. As a consequence, the ikhwāniyyāt letters were written on a scroll of at least three sheets.83 The first sheet, called ṭurra, remained blank.84 By this, it was meant that the text of the letter began on the second sheet, but in fact the ṭurra did not remain blank, as the secretary wrote the address on the top of it, on the verso. The secretary left a blank margin on the right of the scroll equivalent to one-fourth of the width of the sheet for this kind of document.85 Here, Al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ al-aʿshā vi, 194; viii, 169; Anonymous, Muzīl al-ḥaṣr fol. 15a. Al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ al-aʿshā viii, 170; Anonymous, Muzīl al-ḥaṣr fol. 15b. Obviously, it could be higher depending on the number of reports to be written. See alQalqashandī, Ṣubḥ al-aʿshā viii, 169; Anonymous, Muzīl al-ḥaṣr fol. 15a. Al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ al-aʿshā vi, 195 (al-mukātabātu al-ṣādira ʿan sāʾiri arbābi al-dawla miṣran wa-shāman yutraku fī jamīʿihā qabla al-basmala waṣl wāḥid faqaṭ wa-fī kitābati al-adnā ilā al-aʿlā yutraku baʿḍu waṣl); ibid. 314 (mina al-nuwwāb wa-man fī maʿnāhum takūnu waṣl wāḥid); ibid. viii, 169 (al-waṣlu al-abyaḍ fī aʿlā al-mukātaba); Anonymous, Muzīl al-ḥaṣr fol. 15a. Al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ al-aʿshā viii, 169 ( yutraku li-l-kitāb ḥāshiya bayḍāʾ takūnu bi-qadri rubʿi al-darj); Anonymous, Muzīl al-ḥaṣr fol. 15a. According to chancery practices, the size of the right margin was left to the secretary’s discretion but it was never inferior to one quarter of the width of the sheet. See al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ al-aʿshā vi, 195. In another place, al-Qalqashandī reports on something he heard from a respectable secretary that the margin should be nearly one third (ibid. vi, 314), but this practice is not confirmed by him in the rest of his manual.

ikhwāniyyāt letters in the mamluk period

187

the margin measures roughly 3cm, which tallies with this rule. The interlinear space varied according to the level of the addressee. The higher he was, the narrower the space between lines. On the contrary, the interlinear space became wider if the level of the addressee was lower. The general effect given to the handwriting, which was always of the riqāʿ type, accorded with this practice.86 It happened that a report letter contained several pieces of information. In this case, it is stipulated that they must be separated one from another by a blank space equal to the width of a fingertip (raʾs iṣbaʿ).87 Between the sender’s laqab or laqabs (intitulatio) placed under the basmala and the first line of the text, a space could be left blank according to the level of the addressee: no space in the case of the higher levels, a space of two fingers for the lowest. This space is called the bayt al-ʿalāma (in this particular case, the space left for the signature), though it remained blank when the rule was applied as the signature was in fact added by the sender in the right margin, in its upper part for the higher levels and in its lower part for the lower. This is seen as a mark of the sender’s tactfulness with regard to the addressee.88 Internal features: a) the address was written on the verso of the first sheet (ṭurra) of the scroll, at the top, in two parts: 1) first, the identification of the addressee. Depending on the pattern applied, this could be done through his laqab (title) or an expression like al-abwāb al-karīma al-ʿāliya … al-sayfiyya. It was written on one line and beneath it, on one line, the identification (taʿrīf ) of his function (waẓīfa) or his status (shuhra) followed by an invocatio (duʿāʾ) separated from the previous by a small blank. This part of the address could not exceed one-quarter of the width of the sheet for the first line and two-thirds of the width of the sheet for the second line. 2) second, the identification of the sender on two or three lines depending on the level of the addressee (i.e., whether the term muṭālaʿa was added or not). This part of the address could not go beyond one-third of the width of the sheet.89 86 87 88 89

Al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ al-aʿshā viii, 170; Anonymous, Muzīl al-ḥaṣr fol. 15b. Anonymous, Muzīl al-ḥaṣr fol. 14a. Al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ al-aʿshā viii, 170. Ibid. 172–173; Anonymous, Muzīl al-ḥaṣr fol. 16a; Ibn al-Qalqashandī, Qalāʾid al-jumān fol. 123b.

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The address may be represented as below for the level known as al-fulānī bi-muṭālaʿa, which tallies with the document studied here (see figs. 7.5 to 7.7): ‫مطالعة‬

‫السيفي‬

‫المملوك‬

‫مولانا ملك الأمراء بالشام المحروس عز نصره‬

‫فلان‬ b)

Once the address had been written, the scroll was turned over. 1) Then, the secretary wrote the basmala on the top of the second sheet and, just beneath it, the intitulatio, i.e., the title(s) of the sender (laqab) composed of two laqabs if he was one of the sultan’s officeholders (al-malakī al-muʾayyadī if the sultan’s title was al-Muʾayyad) or one laqab if he was one of an emir’s officeholders (al-ʿalāʾī if his master’s laqab was ʿAlāʾ al-dīn), the whole starting between the sīn and the mīm of the first word of the basmala. 2) The title of the addressee, limited to his personal laqab, was then inscribed in the right margin, on another line, in such a manner that the first half of the word was located in the right margin and the second half fell below the initial of the basmala.90 This was applied only in the case of the first two levels of this pattern (al-fulānī bimuṭālaʿa and al-abwābu al-karīma bi-muṭālaʿa). This may be illustrated as follows for our type (see figs. 7.8 to 7.10): ‫بســــــــــــــــــم الله الرحمن الرحيم‬ ‫الملـكي الفلاني‬ ‫السـيفي‬

c)

The letter could then be written, starting with the initial protocol that varied according to the patterns applied in compliance with the rank of the addressee: 1) al-fulānī bi-muṭālaʿa: yuqabbilu al-arḍ wa-yunhī without invocatio and praise (thanāʾ); 2) al-abwābu al-karīma bi-muṭālaʿa: as above but with invocatio without praise;

90

Al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ al-aʿshā viii, 174; Anonymous, Muzīl al-ḥaṣr fol. 16b; Ibn al-Qalqashandī, Qalāʾid al-jumān fol. 124a.

ikhwāniyyāt letters in the mamluk period

189

figure 7.5 Anonymous, Muzīl al-ḥaṣr fol. 16a Note: The text reads on the right: al-Sayfī / Mawlānā malik alumarāʾ bi-l-Shāmi al-maḥrūs aʿazza Allāh taʿālā nuṣratahu; on the left: muṭālaʿatu / al-mamlūk / Yalbuġā. courtesy of staatsbibliothek zu berlin—preussischer kulturbesitz, orientabteilung, ms petermann i 299

figure 7.6 Ibn al-Qalqashandī, Qalāʾid al-jumān fol. 123b Note: The text reads on the right: al-Akhawī al-Sayfī / nāʾibu al-salṭanati al-sharīfa bi-Ḥalaba al-maḥrūsa kaththara Allāh taʿālā anṣārahu; on the left: muṭālaʿatu / al-mamlūk / Fulān. courtesy of british library, london, ms or. 3625

figure 7.7 Procuratori di San Marco, Commissarie miste, busta 180, fascicolo ix, no. 3 © archivio di stato di venezia (asve)

figure 7.8 Anonymous, Muzīl al-ḥaṣr fol. 16b courtesy of staatsbibliothek zu berlin—preussischer kulturbesitz, orientabteilung, ms petermann i 299

190

bauden

figure 7.9 Ibn al-Qalqashandī, Qalāʾid al-jumān fol. 124a courtesy of british library, london, ms or. 3625

figure 7.10

Procuratori di San Marco, Commissarie miste, busta 180, fascicolo ix, no. 3 © archivio di stato di venezia (asve)

figure 7.11 Procuratori di San Marco, Commissarie miste, busta 180, fascicolo ix, no. 3 © archivio di stato di venezia (asve)

3)

al-abwābu al-karīma bi-ghayri muṭālaʿa: as above but with invocatio and praise with rhyme; 4) al-bābu al-karīm bi-ghayri muṭālaʿa: as 3); 5) al-maqarru al-sharīf bi-ghayri muṭālaʿa: yuqabbilu al-arḍ bi-l-maqarri al-sharīf. The text ended with the formula ṭālaʿa bi-dhālika or anhā dhālika.91 91

See al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ al-aʿshā viii, 172 (for the first level of the taqbīl al-yad: wayakhtimu al-kitāb bi-qawlihi anhā dhālika aw ṭālaʿa bi-dhālika); 175 (for the second level of the latter: thumma yaqūlu ṭālaʿa bi-dhālika wa-l-raʾyu al-ʿālī aʿlāhu Allāh taʿālā aʿlā); 177 (for

191

ikhwāniyyāt letters in the mamluk period

d)

The document was then submitted to the sender for his approval, and he added, in the right margin, his sign of validation (in this case his signature, ʿalāma) on two lines composed of al-mamlūk on one line and his name (ism) on the second line. Depending on the level of the addressee, the signature was placed either at the height of the first word of the first line of the text ( yuqabbil), so that the stroke of the kāf in the word almamlūk appeared under the yāʾ of yuqabbil—as is the case here—or at the end of the text. He signed with a thin pen if the level of the addressee was elevated and with a thicker pen if the addressee was lower.92 This may be depicted as follows for our document (see fig. 7.11): … ‫يقبل الارض و ينهي‬

(٣

‫المملوك‬ ‫نصر الله‬ ‫حسن بن‬ Our document roughly follows the rules provided by the chancery manuals mentioned, but it also demonstrates that some parts could be added by the sender depending on his level. In the case of the supervisor of the privy funds, the second part of the address dealing with the sender’s identification was added by him once the document was redacted and submitted for his approval, as is proven by the contrast one notices in the handwriting and the color of the ink. In this way, it served as an additional mark of validation.93 This kind of document was rolled up and wrapped in a narrow band of paper (called quṣāṣa) and glued at its extremity before being dispatched.94

92

93

94

the third level of the latter: ṭālaʿa bi-dhālika aw anhā dhālika aw wa-l-mamlūk yastaʿriḍu al-marāsīma al-ʿāliya …). Al-Qalqashandī did not provide the concluding formulae for the other levels of this pattern or for the other patterns. Al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ al-aʿshā viii, 173; Anonymous, Muzīl al-ḥaṣr fol. 17a; Ibn al-Qalqashandī, Qalāʾid al-jumān fol. 123b; Ibn al-Ẓāhirī, Zubdat kashf al-mamālik 101 (ʿalāmatu al-ikhwāniyya wa-ghayrihā al-mamlūk fulā[n] ṣaghīra jiddan taḥta yuqabbilu). Quoting an earlier author still unidentified, Abū al-Faḍl al-Ṣūrī, al-Qalqashandī stated that the address of the letter issued by a bureau had to be penned by the person in charge of the bureau. In this way, he showed that he read the letter and approved its contents. See al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ al-aʿshā vi, 198. This practice, though referring to an earlier period, echoes the one observed in this document with regard to the second part of the address. See al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ al-aʿshā vi, 357 (wa-yakūnu dhālika fī al-riqāʿi al-ṣaghīra almutaraddida bayna al-ikhwān).

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Thanks to these details, it is possible to identify our document as an ikhwāniyya of the first pattern and, within this, as an example of the first classifier (al-fulānī bi-muṭālaʿa). As for all types of correspondence (caliphal or sultanian), the ikhwāniyyāt were divided into two main varieties: the inceptive letters (ibtidāʾāt) (i.e., letters that do not constitute an answer to a previous letter) and responses ( jawābāt), the main difference between them lying in the fact that, in the response, reference had to be made to the arrival of the letter.95 The analysis of our document demonstrates that it must be regarded as an inceptive letter. Moreover, our study allows us to return to our initial question regarding the specificity of the muṭālaʿa. We have seen that the letters the viceroys, the governors, and the prefects of police sent to report everyday events to the sultan— thus to be considered as sulṭāniyyāt letters—were defined in the sources as muṭālaʿāt. This term was used to recall the formula ṭālaʿa bi-dhālika (exchangeable for anhā dhālika) with which these letters sent to the sultan concluded. The correspondence exchanged at the various levels of state by the officeholders, to the exclusion of the sultan—and thus viewed as ikhwāniyyāt—could also deal with similar matters. This category of letters shared some similarities with the muṭālaʿāt addressed to the sultan: format of paper, type of handwriting, shape of the document, address, etc. On the other hand, some of these (those exchanged by the highest ranks) also bore the term muṭālaʿa in the address, echoing here again the formula ṭālaʿa bi-dhālika, which concluded the text of the letter. Furthermore, Ibn al-Qalqashandī’s treatise demonstrates that the ikhwāniyyāt of this type (at least those read aloud to the sultan) were also referred to as muṭālaʿāt.96 As a result, letters of this kind (either sulṭāniyyāt or ikhwāniyyāt) were referred to as muṭālaʿāt through a “relative definition” (i.e., defined in relation) with this term used as a metonymy. To conclude with this part, it may be said that the official correspondence exchanged by the various levels of the administration was known as ikhwāniyyāt provided that the addressee was not the sultan, in which case it fell in the category of the sulṭāniyyāt. Those correlated with the highest ranks, who used the pattern taqbīl al-arḍ, either addressed to the sultan or to an officeholder, 95

96

For the latter, see al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ al-aʿshā viii, 212–217. Four levels are detailed, all of which are distinguished on the basis of the reference used to allude to the inceptive letter: 1) al-mithālu al-karīmu al-ʿālī; 2) al-mithālu al-ʿālī; 3) al-musharrifa; and 4) al-mukātaba. Ibn al-Qalqashandī, Qalāʾid al-jumān fol. 124b: wa-quriʾati al-muṭālaʿatu al-makhdūmiyya ʿalā al-masāmiʿi al-sharīfa in an answer issued by the dawādār or qaraʾa al-mamlūku almuṭālaʿata al-makhdūmiyya ʿalā al-masāmiʿi al-sharīfa faṣlan faṣlan wa-aḥāṭati al-ʿulūmu al-sharīfa bi-maḍmūnihā fa-barazati al-marāsīmu al-sharīfa li-l-makhdūm bi-kadhā wakadhā in an answer produced by the secretary of state.

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were known through the technical term muṭālaʿa. Considering that both the sender and the addressee of our document belonged to one of the highest ranks of the administration, this letter must thus be considered as an ikhwāniyya which can also be held as a muṭālaʿa.

9

Historical Commentary

Thanks to the opulence of the sources for the Mamluk period, this document can be contextualized and interpreted quite exhaustively. The dramatis personae are all well-known officials save for the prefect of police. a) The sender, whose identity is revealed by the document in the address and in the signature (ʿalāma), was Badr al-Dīn Ḥasan ibn Naṣr Allāh, a famous functionary who spent his whole life in the service of the Mamluk administration.97 Born in 766/1365 in a family originally from Edku, but settled, for the previous two generations, in Fuwwa, he began his administrative career in Cairo, where he arrived at the estimated age of 35. He was soon transferred to Alexandria and then to his native town, Fuwwa, where he held various positions before coming back to the capital. At the beginning of the ninth/fifteenth century, his career witnessed a major advance as he reached the highest levels of the administration, as supervisor of the privy funds, vizier, supervisor of the army, secretary of state, and majordomo. He sometimes combined two of these positions and held some of them at several times, as usual in this period. He died in 846/1442. When this document was issued (16 Dhū al-Ḥijja 816/6 March 1414), he was supervisor of the privy funds (nāẓir al-khāṣṣ): he had been appointed to this position a few months before, on 8 Jumādā I 816/6 August 1413, after he had been dismissed from the charge of supervisor of the army.98 b) The addressee’s identity is provided both by the address and in the right margin on the verso, in what is for us a laconic way: al-Badrī. It would have been complicated to identify him if it were not for the high posi-

97

98

On him, see al-Maqrīzī, Durar al-ʿuqūd ii, 8–9 (no. 393); al-Sakhāwī, al-Ḍawʾ al-lāmiʿ iii, 130–131 (no. 505). On the family, see Martel-Thoumian, Les Civils et l’administration 213– 225. See al-Maqrīzī, al-Sulūk iv, 264; Ibn Taghrī Birdī, al-Nujūm al-zāhira xiv, 8. The deed of his appointment (taqlīd) to the same position on 1 Ṣafar 824/5 February 1421 was composed by Ibn Ḥijja and is preserved in his Qahwat al-inshāʾ. See Ibn Ḥijja, Das Rauschgetränk 324–327 (no. 88).

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tion he held: viceroy of Alexandria. Between 816/1414 and 817/1415, the person who held this function was Badr al-Dīn Ḥasan ibn ʿAbd Allāh alṬarābulusī, known as al-Amīr and Ibn Muḥibb al-Dīn, his father’s laqab.99 As his nisba reveals, he was born in Tripoli, from a Christian father who had converted to Islam. His son started his career as secretary (kātib alsirr) of that city, and this is where Badr al-Dīn became acquainted with the future sultan Shaykh who was the viceroy at that time. He struck up a strong relationship with him on that occasion and followed him during his ascension to power. On 8 Shawwāl 816/1 January 1414, Shaykh appointed him viceroy of Alexandria,100 a position he did not manage to hold for a long time, as less than a year later, on 12 Ramaḍān 817/25 November 1414, he was called back to Cairo to serve as majordomo. Due to his misbehavior, he lost Shaykh’s support, and he was tortured to death in 824/1421. c) The letter was written with reference to two persons. The first of these was the prefect of police (wālin) of the port of Alexandria. The existence of this position is confirmed by al-Qalqashandī, who listed it among those which depended on the viceroy.101 This author provides no example of a diploma of appointment for this office, which means he was designated by the viceroy, and his chancery was responsible for the issue of the diploma.102 According to the letter, his name was Tāj al-Dīn Ibn Abī Bakr. However, none of the sources consulted provide a hint of any sort about his identity. d) The second person who is dealt with in the letter was the Venetian consul. This official was nominated by the Senate for a term of two years. Between 1412 and 1414, Pietro Trevisan was on duty. His designated successor, Bartolomeo Storlato, was about to reach the harbor with the spring muda, which traditionally left Venice in April or May.103 It is understood that the Venetians wrote to the supervisor of the privy funds to complain about the abuses they suffered from the prefect of police. The latter apparently prevented them from doing something they deemed important. The sultan answered their protest by issuing a rescript (mithāl), from which we know that the Venetians had submitted a petition to see their grievance redressed. The order consisted of a request to the viceroy of Alexandria to

99 100 101 102 103

On him, see the references quoted in ʿAbd al-Rāziq, Les Gouverneurs d’Alexandrie 145 (no. 59). See al-Maqrīzī, al-Sulūk iv, 272. Al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ al-aʿshā iv, 63. See Müller-Wiener, Eine Stadtgeschichte Alexandrias 177. See Ashtor, Levantine trade in the later middle ages 552.

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investigate whether the prefect was still making nuisance, and if this was the case, he should take all possible measures to put an end to the prefect’s behavior toward the Venetians. The viceroy was also asked to dismiss the prefect from his office and make him take an oath (qasāma), according to which he would refrain from seeking to regain his office. The oath was accompanied by a penalty of 1,000 dinars, which the former prefect should pay from his personal resources.104 Our document consists of a letter addressed to the viceroy informing him of this order, asking him to execute it, and reminding him that the Venetians should be well treated. Obviously, the document must be interpreted in light of the role played by the Venetians in terms of trade. The relations of the European merchants with the Mamluk power at the beginning of the ninth/fifteenth century may be characterized as stormy. One of these merchants, Emmanuel Piloti, a contemporary of our document, witnessed the abuses and vexations (like being charged duties twice on the same merchandise) the merchants suffered at the hands of various categories of officials. The treaties concluded by the European rulers with the Mamluk sultans echo these troubles in various ways, and it is understood that each issue must be repeated from one treaty to another in order to secure that they were still in operation. From the Mamluk point of view, it appears al-Nāṣir Faraj had opted for a policy of confrontation with the Venetians, increasing the abuses.105 When al-Muʾayyad Shaykh ascended to the throne, the economic situation was bad, and it did not improve with the passing of time or, at least, as long as his rival, Nawrūz, ruled over Syria. Several military expeditions burdened the budget of the state. Al-Muʾayyad Shaykh adopted a softer policy toward the Venetians, partly due to the receipt of a solemn embassy from Venice in May 1415.106 On 17 September 1415, he renewed the earlier agreements and promised to enforce them and facilitate the freedom of trade.107 Dated a year and a half earlier, our document testifies that this new policy was already being enacted. The importance of trade for the state revenues and particularly for the sultan himself is certainly one of the main reasons behind this. On the goods traded in Alexandria, duties were levied for 104

105 106 107

On this kind of oath with financial penalty, see Richards, The qasāma in Mamlūk society. A similar oath dated 822/1419 and regarding the interpreters working at the harbor in Alexandria is preserved in the State Archives in Venice and was published by the present writer: Bauden, The role of interpreters in Alexandria. See Darrag, L’ Égypte sous le règne de Barsbay 298. See Ashtor, Levantine trade in the later middle ages 248. For this treaty, see Thomas and Predelli, Diplomatarium veneto-levantinum ii, 309–315 (no. 168); Ashtor, Levantine trade in the later middle ages 248–251; Christ, Trading conflict 49–54.

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the bureau of the privy funds (dīwān al-khāṣṣ). The revenues of this bureau were vital for the sultan as it enabled him, among many things, to supply arms and equipment for the military expeditions, the robes of honor for the officeholders, the funding of the postal service, etc.108 Consequently, the taxes raised on the goods traded in Alexandria were essential to the sultan. Whenever the Venetians complained of ill-treatment and did not see any positive result, they could raise the specter of a trade embargo, which would have meant a significant economic loss to the Mamluks.109 The secretary of the privy funds could not ignore this threat, and in this particular case, as probably in many others, he sought to avoid any confrontation. Our document is a valuable witness of this policy.110

108 109

110

See Ibn al-Ẓāhirī, Zubdat kashf al-mamālik 107–109. For the postal service, see al-Saḥmāwī, al-Thaghr al-bāsim i, 366. As, for instance, in 1404, when the Venetian consul threatened that the merchants of his community would all leave Egypt if the bad treatment they received from the Egyptian authorities did not cease. See Ashtor, Levant trade in the later middle ages 247 (quoting the testimony of Piloti). It is crucial to mention here that, on two occasions, Francisco Javier Apellániz Ruiz de Galarreta made reference to this document, dating it and interpreting its contents erroneously: Apellániz Ruiz de Galarreta, Banquiers, diplomates et pouvoir sultanien; idem, Pouvoir et finance. In the first of these publications (298, note 44), he dated the document to 3 Dhū al-Ḥijja 822 instead of 13 Dhū al-Ḥijja 816, making an anachronism because the governor of Alexandria in 822 was Nāṣir al-dīn Muḥammad ibn Aḥmad Ibn al-ʿAṭṭār. Accordingly, letters addressed to him by the chancery bore the laqab al-Nāṣirī and not al-Badrī. In the second publication, which is based on his doctoral dissertation, he again refers to the document with the same incorrect dating, but more importantly, he uses it to argue a point of his theory though his understanding of the meaning of the document and of the persons involved is completely erroneous (73, note 85): “… lettre signée [sic] alBadrī al-Malikī [sic] al-Mūʾayyadī [sic], datée du 3 dhū-l-ḥiǧǧa 822h. La lettre fut expédiée à l’ occasion des problèmes suscités entre les autorités du port d’Alexandrie et les Vénitiens, en raison de l’ exigence d’ une «contribution» (al-ṣadaqāt al-sharīfa) de la part du sultan. Badr al-dīn Ḥasan expliqua au consul vénitien qu’il fallait redistribuer les pertes individuelles sur toute la communauté (… wa aqarra ithbāt aḥad ʿanhum bi-ḥaithu yaǧbur bi-dhalika [sic] wa yanfaṣil bihi …, ibid. ligne 16).” Not only is Apellániz’s reading of line 16 a complete and unintelligible fabrication (it can be compared with my reading above, the validity of which is corroborated by other instances), but it is also used to sustain his interpretation of the said document and, consequently, confirm his theory. He also misunderstands the true meaning of al-ṣadaqāt al-sharīfa, as though ṣadaqa in this context was a financial contribution; he ignores the reality that this is a technical term that refers to the sultan’s answer to a petition.

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Hopkins, S., Studies in the grammar of early Arabic: Based upon papyri datable to before 300a.h./912a.d., Oxford 1984. Humbert, G., Papiers non filigranés utilisés au Proche-Orient jusqu’en 1450. Essai de typologie, in Journal Asiatique 286 (1998), 1–54. Humbert, G., Le Manuscrit arabe et ses papiers, in remm 99–100 (2002), 55–77. Khan, G., The historical development of the structure of medieval Arabic petitions, bsoas 53 (1990), 8–30. Korkut, B., Arapski dokumenti u državnom arhivu u Dubrovniku. Knjiga I, sveska 3: Osnivanje Dubrovačkog Konsulata u Aleksandriji, Sarajevo 1969. Labib, S., Handelsgeschichte Ägyptens im Spätmittelalter (1171–1517), Wiesbaden 1965. Lammens, H., Correspondances diplomatiques entre les sultans mamlouks d’Égypte et les puissances chrétiennes, Revue de l’Orient chrétien (1904), 151–187. Little, P.D., A catalogue of the Islamic documents from al-Ḥaram al-Sharīf in Jerusalem, Beirut 1984. Martel-Thoumian, B., Les Civils et l’administration dans l’état militaire mamlūk (ixe–xve siècle), Damas 1991. Moberg, A., Regierungspromemoria eines ägyptischen Sultans, in G. Weil (ed.), Festschrift Eduard Sachau zum siebzigsten Geburtstage gewidmet von Freunden und Schülern, Berlin 1915, 406–421. Müller-Wiener, M., Eine Stadtgeschichte Alexandrias von 564/1169 bis in die Mitte des 9/15. Jahrhunderts. Verwaltung und innerstädtische Organisationsformen, Berlin 1992. Pedani, M.P., The Mamluk documents of the Venetian state archives: Historical survey, in Quaderni di Studi Arabi 20–21 (2002), 133–146. Pomerantz, M.A., Licit magic: The life and letters of al-Ṣāḥib b. ʿAbbāb (d. 385/995), Leiden-Boston 2018. Quatremère, É., Histoire des Sultans mamlouks de l’Égypte, 2 vols., Paris 1837–1845. Richards, D.S., The qasāma in Mamlūk society: Some documents from the Ḥaram collection, ai 25 (1990), 245–284. Rieu, Ch., Supplement to the catalogue of the Arabic manuscripts in the British Museum, London 1894. Risciani, N., Documenti e firmani, Jerusalem 1936. Stern, S.M., Petitions from the Mamlūk period (notes on the Mamlūk documents from Sinai), in bsoas 29/2 (1966), 233–276. Thomas, G.M. and R. Predelli, Diplomatarium veneto-levantinum sive Acta et diplomata res venetas, graecas atque levantis illustrantia, 2 vols., Venice, 1880–1899. Veselý, R., Zwei Opera Cancellaria Minora des Šihābuddīn Aḥmad b. Faḍlullāh alʿUmarī, in Archiv orientální 70/4 (2002), 513–557. Wansbrough, J., A Mamluk letter of 877/1473, bsoas xxiv (1961), 200–213. Wiet, G., Les Secrétaires de la chancellerie (Kuttâb-el-Sirr) en Égypte sous les Mamlouks circassiens (784–922/1382–1517), in Mélanges René Basset, Paris 1923, 271–314.

part 4 Economy of Infrastructures

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chapter 8

Grain, Textiles, and Demand Elasticity in Late Mamluk Egypt: A Preliminary Sketch Stuart Borsch

figure 8.1 Embroidered linen fragment from fourteenth-century Mamluk Egypt

figure 8.2 Embroidered silk fragment from fifteenth-century Mamluk Egypt

1

Introduction

The trajectory of the late Mamluk Egyptian economy has been the subject of a number of studies that have explored various facets of the economic malaise that set in during the late medieval period. This article is a preliminary step in an early stage of research; the intent is to enhance the analysis of this

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problem with a hypothetical sketch of the fate of two markets, grains and textiles, that will serve as representatives for broader spheres of economic activity. Some basic tools of economic analysis, including the production function and demand elasticities, will be employed here in the hopes that they will shed more conceptual light on a relatively complex agrarian-commercial problem. This article will begin by examining economic changes that were caused by depopulation from the fourteenth- and fifteenth-century plague pandemic and the impact of the resulting supply shock on the economy of Egypt, with a particular focus on the collapse of Egypt’s irrigation system. Demand elasticities will then be used to explore the hypothetical reactions of the grain and textile markets to the fall in aggregate production. The article will also explore the role of some diverse elements in the Egyptian domestic grain market, including crop selection and growing durra (sorghum). After an examination of the international market for textiles, the question of Egypt’s currency, in particular silver specie, and its impact on the current account will be explored. The interaction of these elements will then be brought together to frame an analysis of Mamluk Egypt’s economy in the fifteenth century.

2

Depopulation and Irrigation System Collapse

Substantial and sustained loss of population was the result of a plague pandemic that started with the Black Death in the mid-fourteenth century. Depopulation made itself felt in a number of areas, but its principal target was the agrarian sector. The decline in population had a very dramatic effect on agriculture, as the loss of rural labor had a direct impact on the functioning of the irrigation system. The two parts of the irrigation system, the baladī (the inner village system: local and simple) and the sultanī (the interconnecting superstructure: remote and complex) were affected in different ways, with especially dismal results for the sultanī part of the system. There is abundant evidence for the collapse of the sultanī system, which, via vital interconnections with the local systems, crippled the structure as a whole.1 An overall system collapse seems to have been out of proportion with the loss of population. Al-Qalqashandī, writing in the fifteenth century, informs us that, “in our times, the maintenance of the baladī system is being neglected, and the upkeep of the sultanī system has been limited to the most trivial repairs that have little

1 Borsch, Black death 41–46.

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figure 8.3 The basin irrigation system in Upper Egypt from Julien Barois, Irrigation in Egypt, Planche ii

impact on production.”2 Ibn Ḥajar al-ʿAsqalānī describes how the system has been badly damaged and how openings in the sultanī dikes were allowing Nile floodwater to pour out of the basins before the completion of absorption and the settling of alluvial silts.3 These cuts in the dikes were also causing serious episodes of excess inundation. Quite often, too much floodwater was accumulating in low lying spaces, preventing proper drainage, waterlogging the soil, allowing for the infestation of pests, and delaying the sowing of the winter crop.4 If there was an inherent and underlying cause for the dramatic reaction of the system to depopulation, it lay in the nature of the Mamluk sociopolitical system. Depopulation led to resource scarcity which potentiated anarchic chaos, intensified factional fighting, and the loss of centralized control of the irrigation system.5 Decentralization entailed the devolution of authority to regional governors (wulāt) who were short-tenured and indifferent managers of the sultanī system.6 The weakness of the regional administrative structure 2 Al-Qalqashandī, Subḥ iii, 516. 3 Ibn Ḥajar al-ʿAsqalānī, Inbāʾ viii, 257. 4 Al-Maqrīzī, al-Sulūk iv, 874. The delay in sowing led to the late bloom of the spring harvest, which subjected the new crop to the dangerously high temperatures of the early summer. 5 Borsch, Black death 41; addressing the theme of rising factionalism, see Steenbergen, Order 169–173; and Levanoni, A turning point 197–199; Petry, Paradox 204; Igarashi, Evolution 89, 106; idem, Private property 170. For a contrary perspective, see Irwin, Factions 228–246. 6 For the transfer of control of the system to the governors, see al-Ẓāhirī, Zubdat 129; al-Maqrīzī, Khiṭaṭ i, 101; Sato, State 226; Nāṣir, al-Ḥayāt 121, 172, 176–179. For the flaws of regional control, see Borsch, Black death 42; al-Qalqashandī, Subḥ iii, 51–53; iv 61–64; vi 192–193; al-Ẓāhirī, Zubdat 129.

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figure 8.4 Sultanī system: Jacotin, Pierre, Tableau de la superficie d’Egypt in Description of Egypt our recueil des observations et des recherches qui ont ete faites en Egypte pendant l’expedition de l’ armee francaise

led to a massive crisis in maintenance and repair, and hence the collapse of the system as a whole.7 Thus, the overall drop in population led to a change in the polity, and this change in polity led to the ruin of the irrigation system. The effect of the irrigation collapse was the severe and sustained impairment of the rural production of grain and commercial factors, particularly flax and sugar that fed urban export industries.8 The collapse of the irrigation system also led to a decline in rural production that was substantially out of pro7 Borsch, Nile floods 461; Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Ḥawādith iv, 673; al-Asadī, Kitāb al-taysīr 92–93; Ibn Iyās, Badāʾiʿ v 114–115; Ibn Iyās, Nuzhat 182. 8 See al-Maqrīzī’s description of the markets of post-plague Egypt, Khiṭaṭ i, 94–100.

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figure 8.5 The production function

portion with the drop in population.9 In the above figure (no. 8.5), one can see the linear drop in population was matched with a disproportionate decline in production. This dramatic fall in agrarian output was due to the loss of largescale structural efficiencies as regional connections (i.e., the sultanī system) failed. The marginal product of labor plummeted as these system interconnections ruptured. One can also envision this result as a sharp rise in the average total cost of the system. This occurred when the benefits of economies of scale were lost during structural collapse. An efficient complex system became a costly simple system, and repair costs spiraled upwards when the network lost coherency. This proposition is illustrated in the following figure. Thus, the overall impact of this structural collapse was a drastically reduced level of agricultural output. The drop in output can be visualized as a substantial shrinking of the effective land area available for agrarian production. This land area did not decrease in proportion to population decline; it dramatically surpassed that proportion, dropping by as much as two-thirds over the

9 Borsch, Black death 118–133.

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figure 8.6 Average total cost, the Sultanī system and returns to scale

course of a century.10 The counterintuitive proposition here is therefore that land became the scarce factor and labor the abundant factor in the wake of plague depopulation.

3

Elasticities: How They Shaped the Economic Impact of This Supply Shock

How did the sharp drop in production affect the product and factor markets of Mamluk Egypt? The following model employs two spheres of production, grain and textiles, as representatives of agrarian and “industrial” activity. While market response depended on many factors, the focus here is the impact of the supply shock and the interaction of this supply shock with the mechanisms of market demand elasticities. Elasticity will serve here as a focusing device for conceptualizing the overall problem.

10

Borsch, Black death 80–87.

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figure 8.7 1st type of elasticity of demand and supply of grain: drop of grain supply and increase in price, early 1300s and 1400s

3.1 First Type: Price Elasticity of Demand and Supply The first of three types of elasticity that follow is the price elasticity of demand: the ratio of a change in demand divided by the change in price. Є=

% change in quantity demanded % change in price

The demand curve for grain is assumed to be very inelastic. This is based upon the simple assumption that consumers are unable to significantly reduce their consumption of grain. They are therefore willing to pay significantly higher prices.11 The result is shown in the above figure (no. 8.7), where the supply of grain has dropped, the quantity demanded has changed very little, and the price has increased dramatically. The attraction of higher prices then impels producers to favor the cultivation of grain at the expense of other crops (notably the textile factors, flax, cotton, and wool). In the circumstance of severe scarcity, non-foodstuffs are pushed aside and grain takes their place: grain crowds out other goods. The res-

11

The drop in demand, posited as less than the drop in supply, is not depicted here for simplicity’s sake.

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figure 8.8 Elasticity of grain demand and supply: increase of supply and drop of price, early 1300s and 1400s

ulting situation is depicted in the above figure (no. 8.8), where supply of grain increases and the price of grain goes down. But the end outcome for the economy of Egypt, shown at S3-D, is still one of relative grain scarcity and higher prices.12 For textiles, it is observed that the elasticity of demand is relatively large and the quantity demanded drops precipitously, leading to a very small increase in price. This is because consumers are willing to forgo expenditure on textiles and concentrate on basic survival needs. The result is depicted in the following figure, where supply decreases, the quantity demanded drops substantially, and the price increases by a very moderate amount. Thus, from the viewpoint of this simple analytical tool, textile production is shown to suffer far more than grain production in the reduced circumstances of the fifteenth century. 3.2 Second Type: The Cross-Price Elasticity of Demand The cross-price elasticity of demand (Xed) measures how the quantity demanded of one good changes in response to the variation in price of a second good. 12

Borsch, Black death 91–96.

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figure 8.9 Elasticity of textiles demand: high decrease in demand and supply and very moderate price increase, early 1300s and 1400s

In its most simple form as an equation, it may be rendered: Xed =

% change in quantity demanded of good a % change in price of good b

One can visualize this with an example from a modern economy: if the price of hamburgers—good (b)—goes up, the demand for hotdogs—good (a)— goes up with it, and consumers will be tempted to switch from hamburgers to hotdogs as an easy and obvious replacement. In this case, good (a) is a substitute for good (b) and Xed is positive. If, on the other hand, one takes the example of computer hardware and computer software, then we are talking about goods that complement each other. If the price of computer hardware goes up, people are going to buy fewer computers, and their corresponding demand for accompanying software will go down. So computer software is a complement of computer hardware, and demand decreases with the increase in price: Xed is negative. On the following graph, one can see representative curves for substitutes, complements, and, at a slope of zero, independents (for which there is no cross-price relationship between the two goods).13

13

Xed is held “uncompensated” by (independent of) the income elasticity of demand.

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figure 8.10

2nd type: the cross-price elasticity of demand

While the basic scheme of this mechanism is fairly straightforward, the application of this conceptual tool hinges on a historically obscure factor that played a role far out of proportion with its meager showing in the sources. This is durra (sorghum), the subsistence diet of the peasant, the consumption of which waxed and waned with the successes and failures of Nile floods over the Islamic centuries. The story of grain and textiles is bound up with the story of this crop of last resort, and the selection of this crop is bound up with the operation of the cross-price elasticity of demand. Durra is an old world plant that is an important staple for poor and rural people in many parts of the world. It is grown primarily in Africa, South Asia, and Central America.14 It is resistant to salinity and can be grown in the most arid conditions—conditions that would impair the cultivation of other grains such as wheat and barley. At the same time, it is tolerant of flooding and can be grown where there is an excess of water that would overwhelm many other

14

Carter, Grain sorghum 90–117.

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crops.15 It is thus a very hardy plant that can be cultivated under the most difficult circumstances. It does, however, demand a high temperature, requiring an average temperature of 80 degrees Fahrenheit and a minimum nighttime temperature of 55 degrees Fahrenheit.16 It has a yield of 2,200 liters per feddān (the .6ha Mamluk feddān), which compares very favorably with wheat: the latter at roughly 1,000 liters per feddān.17 Because durra requires relatively intense heat, it was not grown as a winter crop. In Egypt’s agrarian system it was primarily grown as a flood crop in the late summer and early autumn.18 It was sown at the beginning of the Coptic month of Misrā (August) when the flood was at half its height, and it was harvested in Bābih (October) before the sowing of the winter crops.19 The technique was to either grow it on the banks of canals or, quite often, to segment off sections of the irrigation basin and water the durra using a syphon canal feeding from one of the upper basins.20 It required a great deal of water and had to be carefully tended.21 Durra was (and, as Indian corn, still is) a major part of the peasant diet.22 It was used by peasants as an alternative to wheat and barley.23 With a high caloric content, its high yield allowed for a high carrying capacity for the population. Yet durra was not part of the market economy; it was grown only for peasant consumption and was not bought and sold in the marketplace. It did not appear on the schedule of rent and taxation in the bureaucratic manuals of the sultanate.24 Ibn Mammātī, in his treatise on bureaucratic procedures, does not even mention durra.25 Al-Qalqashandī, in his enormous chancery manual, at least acknowledges the existence of durra, but does not report a rent/taxa-

15 16 17 18 19 20

21 22 23 24

25

Ibid. Carter, Grain sorghum 90–117. Park, Early trends 92. It was also grown as a summer crop. Willcocks, Egyptian irrigation 309. Ibid.: “Most (of the basins) have reserved for millets large areas which are separated from the rest of the basins by subordinate dykes, and are only filled at the time of the discharge after the millet crop is off the ground. In very many of the larger basins, so late is the full supply in coming, that all the higher-lying parts of the basins are sown with millet in August, reaped in October, before the final filling takes place.” Ibid., 304. Nāṣir, al-Ḥayāt 344; Cuno, Pasha’s peasants 18. Willcocks, Egyptian irrigation 314. I list rent in distinction from taxation here because taxation belongs in a separate category in the land revenue system. Taxation was properly added on top of—as an increase to—rent. See Ibn Mammātī’s list of crops in Qawānīn 358–370.

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tion (qatīʿa) rate.26 Durra could be grown on plots classified as sibākh (highly saline), sharaqī (unirrigated), and mustabḥar (overinundated). None of these categories were subject to rent and taxation (except in some cases sibākh). Thus durra existed outside of the urban market system and outside of the rent and taxation system, a form of sustenance unseen by the rent and tax collectors of the rural-urban bureaucracy. Peasants were known to subsist on durra alone, and this was particularly true in times of famine. The shift to durra was symptomatic of Egypt’s supply shock. Since durra could be grown in conditions that were either very high in salinity, very dry, or, conversely, overinundated, it was an ideal survival crop for times when the irrigation system was falling apart. Thus, if canals were choked with silt, dikes were ruptured, and dams were broken open, durra could be grown in these marginal conditions—allowing peasants to survive under the worst of circumstances.27 Durra thus had its own special ecological niche, surviving and even thriving when the growing of wheat, barley, and other crops were severely curtailed by the adverse conditions. As peasants attempted to grapple with the malfunctioning irrigation system, many of them shifted to this more autarkical mode of survival.28 AlMaqrīzī tells us that peasants were living off durra alone during the great crises (ḥawādith) of 806–808/1403–1405. He also reports durra consumption as a reflection of disaster in 825/1422.29 The economic historian Eliyahu Ashtor found that consumers changed their dietary habits in the late fifteenth century, and people began eating millet and sorghum instead of wheat and barley.30 Other scholars take note of a more general shift in consumption away from wheat toward durra and barley.31 Nineteenth-century observers reported that the cultivation of durra increased in proportion to worsening flood conditions.32 26

27

28 29 30 31 32

Al-Qalqashandī mentions it with no details, Ṣubḥ iii, 343. Durra was hated by urban consumers. Wheat, barley, and other winter crops were preferred. They would only consume durra during desperate times of drought and famine. See Sabra, Poverty 163, 167. At the same time, with regard to major winter crops, Fekri Hasan has remarked that “the ratio of barley to wheat at Nagada Predynastic sites was 2:1. Although emmer wheat is preferred, barley is more resistant to salinity and fluctuations in ground moisture and was for this reason most probably cultivated more widely than wheat … emmer wheat gained over barley only at the end of the New Kingdom.” Fekri, Geoarchaeological perspective 55. Borsch, Black death 50. Al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk iv, 603. Ashtor, Levant trade 437; Ashtor, Social and economic 319. Coureas, Trade between Cyprus and Mamluk lands 427–429. Willcocks, Egyptian irrigation 314: “in years of a defective flood … the flood sorghum irrigation will be extensive.”

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Why was this switch to durra so important? What does the transition to durra have to do with the cross-price elasticity of demand and the grain/textile markets? The transition to durra ultimately had a dramatic impact on the grain and textile markets via the cross-price elasticity of demand. It was significant that the transition to durra was accompanied by falling per-capita income because falling per-capita income magnified the degree of substitution in the crossprice elasticity of demand. Studies of modern world economies illustrate the stark fact that cross-price elasticities of demand increase in reverse proportion to per-capita income. When one moves from the developed to the underdeveloped world, and as the corresponding food-share in the consumption basket rises, the cross-price elasticity of demand rises as well.33 When budget constraints are truly desperate, purchasing decisions take on an urgency unseen under more prosaic circumstances. In the present-day world, when one moves from a developed country like the United States to a middle income country like Brazil, food-share climbs from some 10% of budget for the US to roughly 22% for Brazil. At the same time, Xed for the basic groups (food/nonfood) increases from .015 for the US, a relatively low degree of substitution, to as much as .218 for Brazil. If one looks at a more extreme case like that of Nigeria, where the food-share climbs as high as 73%, Xed rises even further, to .623, where the relationship of substitution is much stronger.34 Thus, there is a spectrum of elasticity here that varies according to per-capita income and relative food-share. The unfortunate inhabitants of Egypt in the worst years of the fifteenth century would have experienced extreme degrees of cross-price demand elasticity. Food-share for consumers in the urban setting, for which we have data, rose from some 50% in the early fourteenth century to some 80 to 90 %, or higher, in the early fifteenth century. As these needs were expressed as fractions of basic caloric grain requirements, it is hardly surprising that the cross-price elasticity for durra/other grains would have been very high. In the figure below, presentday statistics are juxtaposed with extrapolations for Mamluk Egypt in the early fourteenth century (N) and for the fifteenth century (N’). What then were the wider consequences of this process of substitution? What does the story of durra tell us, in general terms, about the grain and textile markets? It seems quite clear that it was ultimately as severe as the sense of urgency that drove peasants to make the switch. Peasants had been accus-

33 34

Regmi and Seale, Cross-price elasticities 5, 13–14, using Slutsky own-price elasticities. Ibid., Cross-price elasticities 13–14.

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figure 8.11

Cross-price elasticity of food-nonfood demand, Egypt early fourteenth century and fifteenth century

tomed to bringing their grain to rural markets to exchange for silver specie with which to pay their rents.35 This activity was easily the most vibrant and substantial component of market transaction in the rural sector of Mamluk Egypt’s economy. But durra took the place of the principal monetized grains, wheat and barley, and these staple goods of the rural market economy vanished.36 The vacuum created by their absence wreaked collateral damage on all the other sectors of rural commerce.37 Rental payments shifted from cash to kind, the rural market system was ruined, and the rural sector moved toward a barter economy.38 What about textiles themselves? Next to grain, textile factors were the most significant artery of rural commercial activity. Damage to the grain market meant damage to the textile factor market and thus damage to textile pro-

35 36 37 38

Nāṣir, al-Ḥayāt 347. Borsch, Black death 50–51. Ibid., 52. Ibid., 47; al-Qalqashandī, Subḥ iii, 519–522; Ṭarkhān, al-Niẓām 100.

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duction capacity in general—and all indications are that both the factor and product markets were badly impaired by the early 1400s. Ibn Taghrī Birdī and al-Maqrīzī testify to the very dramatic fall in production capacity over a 50 year period from the late fourteenth century to the early fifteenth century.39 The economic historian Ashtor focuses on the early fifteenth century as the locus of decay for the textile market, which he chooses to call the “most important sector of industrial production in the Middle Ages.” Given the concurrent damage to the production infrastructure (i.e., the irrigation system), it goes without saying that factors such as wool were especially hard hit, as references to the pastoral economy suggest.40 Overall it seems that durra played an important role in this economic transformation via the mechanism of cross-price demand elasticity. 3.3 Third Type: The Income Elasticity of Demand Another elasticity mechanism, the income elasticity of demand, also played a role here—and it did so via durra substitution as well. Income elasticity of demand measures the exact change in quantity demanded of a good with respect to a change in income. Ei =

% change in quantity demanded % change in income

When a consumer’s income drops, what goods will he forgo, and how will his consumption patterns change? One would logically expect that his demand for most products decreases with falling income, with the reduction of demand being greater or lesser in degree to the urgency of need. This is indeed the case, and it is the subject of “normal” goods that fall into the subcategories of “superior” and “necessity.” But what of the counterintuitive proposition: that consumer demand would rise as income falls? This is the proposition and attraction of the “inferior” good, for which exceptions are made as economic alternatives are curtailed; the quantity demanded of the inferior good increases as income decreases. (In a modern economy, the increased use of public, over private, transportation is the most common example.) As was the case with the cross-price elasticity of demand, the switch to an inferior good takes place as economic misery sets in and expenses are curtailed. With incomes plummeting and food-share spiraling upward in the early fifteenth century, the consumers of Mamluk Egypt, rural and urban, took recourse 39 40

See also al-Maqrīzī, Suluk iv, 909. Ibid., 603, 663.

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to inferior goods. This mechanism, as it operated in the early fifteenth century, further explains why Egyptians switched to durra, a classic case of the inferior good. And again, the same train of causation applies here as well, what was good for durra was bad for commerce, with more of the same consequences for the textiles market. Even more so, much more so, as it turns out, when one looks at the workings of this elasticity on the noninferior, or “normal,” goods. When selections were made, and survival needs put in first place, most textiles did not fare very well. It is clear that the fall in demand for normal goods hinged upon the urgency of its consumption. Wheat, barley, and broad beans, the three pillars of the mix that the Mamluk authorities used as the price mechanism for the macroeconomy, fell into the range of “normal-necessity goods,” whose elasticity was positive, but at a ratio of less than one. But textiles were sacrificed in this equation as “normal-superior” goods whose elasticity was greater than one. We saw above that textile’s large price-demand elasticity determined a substantially reduced production point when Mamluk Egypt’s economy was struck with a supply shock. So here, too, the pressure of income elasticity operates against textiles. One can see the range of goods on the following figure, where Ei (the slope Qd/I) varies according to the manner in which urgency and necessity drive consumption patterns, and goods fall into a range that runs from durra (an inferior good) to textiles (a normal-superior good). That textiles were sacrificed by both producers and consumers is clear from the historical record. What is remarkable here is the punishing degree of this income extremis. By the early fifteenth century, Egyptian consumer income, in terms of real wages, may have dropped by as much as 80 %.41 Survival was indeed the sole priority for most Egyptians, and even that was beyond their means in these worst of the worst times.42

4

The Production Possibilities Frontier (ppf)

Another useful way to visualize the changes in the grains and textile markets is to graph the production possibilities frontier using the specific factors model.43

41 42 43

Borsch, Black death 111. See, for example, al-Maqrīzī’s discussion of the “Ḥawādith,” in Sulūk iii, 1113–1169. Krugman, International economics (2005) 84–92; Idem, International economics (1991) 40– 50.

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figure 8.12

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3rd type: the income elasticity of demand

In this representation of Egypt’s economy, two goods are produced, grain and textiles. Three factors of production are employed in the output of grain and textiles: land, labor, and capital, where labor is a mobile factor, land is specific to grain, and capital is specific to textiles. In the figure below are the production alternatives for this highly simplified economy that produces only two goods, grains and textiles. Here, the curve represents the range of different possible alternatives for the production of these two goods. The figure above (no. 8.12) represents Egypt’s reduced economic alternatives in the early fifteenth century. On this new, retracted, curve for the early fifteenth-century economy following sustained depopulation, the production of both goods has been sharply curtailed, and the economy’s choice of production alternatives is represented by point (2). The slope of the curve at point (2) is lower than the slope at point (1), reflecting lower opportunity cost of textiles in terms of grain. The curve is thus biased in favor of textiles: here is the counterintuitive “abundance” of labor, given the severe retraction in the effective cultivable land area.

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figure 8.13

Production possibilities frontier for Mamluk Egypt in the early fourteenth century

figure 8.14

Production possibilities frontier for Mamluk Egypt in the fifteenth century (1)

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figure 8.15

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Production possibilities frontier for Mamluk Egypt in the fifteenth century (2)

In the above figure (no. 8.15), Point (2) depicts the outcome based on supply factors alone, while point (3) demonstrates the shift in production, which results from the impact of price-demand elasticity upon grain and textiles. At point (3), textile production has been sacrificed for grain production, and the shallower slope of the line at point (3) reflects the new ratio of the price of textiles divided by the price of grain in the mid-fifteenth century, where the price ratio of textiles to grain has decreased.

5

The Invasion of “Jūkh”

Further developments may be addressed with reference to the international textiles market. In the fifteenth century, the slump in Mamluk Egypt’s textile production seems to have been accompanied by the import of large quantities of foreign textiles. One token of this market penetration came in the form of wool products from Europe, some of which were called “jūkh.” Jūkh is sometimes translated as broadcloth and traced to the production of English broadcloth in the fifteenth century. The term is used in present-day Arabic to refer to both woolens and cotton fabrics that are of particularly dense weave. His-

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figure 8.16

Line from the original 1513 letter from Sultan Qāytbāy to the Doge of Venice Note: Original from Richards, A late Mamluk document 26

torically, jūkh also seems to have had a wider connotation that indicated all woolen cloth from Europe. A 877/1437 letter from Sultan Qāytbāy to the Doge of Venice, refers to jūkh cloth in parallel with qumāsh.44 There are cognate words, chūkhā and choqa, in Persian and Turkish, respectively.45 Goitein notes that it may have been a kind of cloak or raincoat.46 Jūkh of high quality is referred to in a 919/1513 “general order” (marsūm muṭlaq) to Mamluk officials regarding trade with Venetians.47 Among Mamluk contemporaries who mention jūkh, al-Qalqashandī refers to it as a “superior fabric” made in Venice.48 The subject of jūkh evoked some bitter commentary on the part of the market inspector al-Maqrīzī. He caustically informs the reader that jūkh, a fabric from Europe, was only worn during rainy weather. But after the recent disasters (al-Ḥawādith), by which al-Maqrīzī and other chroniclers mean the horrific plague, low Nile, and famine from 1403 to 1405, domestic textiles “became expensive and necessity forced people to abandon luxury fabrics. Most people then began to weak jūkh—a product imported from Europe.”49 Patchy data from al-ʿAynī and al-Maqrīzī suggests domestic textile prices increased by roughly 75% in this period.50 44

45 46 47 48 49 50

Wansborough, A Mamluk letter 206, 208, 212–213. Sultan Qāytbāy complains here that the Venetians are shorting the Italian piece (here “khirqa,” 55 dhirāʿ/cubits or 30 meters) to half of its proper length (at 30 cubits, some 15 meters) and are also “maqṭūʿ min al-wasaṭ”: cut in the center. Ibid., 206. Wansborough, A Mamluk letter 212. Goitein, Mediterranean society 140. Richards, A late Mamluk document 30. Al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ v, 383. Al-Maqrīzī, Khiṭaṭ i 98; for Ibn Taghrī Birdī’s comments on the Ḥawādith, see Nujūm xiii, 80. Ashtor, Prix 3405. With a linen thawb (also meaning a piece of some 55 cubits/30 meters— like khirqa) selling for around 23 dinars Ashrāfī in the early fifteenth century. Compare with Munro’s data that lists woolen broadcloth pieces from Catalonia and Narbonne selling in the Levant for prices ranging from 10.5 to 16.5 Florins (i.e., roughly equivalent

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Andre Raymond has summed up the situation: “The decline of the local textile industry is no doubt reflected in the vogue for European woolen fabric (gukh). Traditionally worn only by the poorer classes, gukh seems to have come into general favor in the fifteenth century. It was cheaper than Egyptian cloth, which was at one time more highly prized, and also owed its penetration of the Egyptian market to the growing dominance of Western merchants.”51 Archibald Lewis notes that, “it was no accident that in Mediterranean Europe textiles could now be produced so cheaply that the Moslem East’s weavers found it impossible to compete against them as exports.”52 And Louise Mackie contends that in Europe, “the textile industry had, by 1400, benefited from technological innovations that enabled the manufacture of finer and cheaper silks and woolens than in the Mamluk Kingdom.”53 Lopez, Miskimin, and Udovtich went further and described this trend in terms of a wider geographical scope, contending that, “large quantities of European and Eastern textiles were found in the markets of Cairo and Alexandria. Not only did these imports directly aggravate an already serious balance of payments problem, but they also contributed in some measure to a decline of the indigenous Egyptian textile industry.”54 In this wider scheme of things, aggressive trade strategies can be observed in the case of Ming China, which was actively cultivating trading ties, exporting textiles, and seeking markets in the Middle East, as represented by the voyages of Zheng He and the Mamluk efforts to shift trade depots from Aden to Jiddah.55 The development of stronger long-distance trade networks from India and the emergence of Malacca as a major trading center should also be considered here.56 The invasion of jūkh and other textile goods from Europe, South Asia, and Far East Asia, can be conceptualized in terms of shifts in comparative advantage that arose from changes in factor proportions in Asian and European markets, changes that accompanied the worldwide plague pandemic. One can visualize this in terms of hypothetical production possibilities frontiers, where the

51 52 53 54 55 56

to dinars Ashrāfī). See Munro, Rise, expansion, and decline, 80–82. Ashtor lists woolens of southern France selling for 9–11 ducats, Catalan woolens selling for 10–12 ducats, in the 1390s. See Ashtor, Levant trade 153, 341. European linens were selling for prices ranging from 3.3 to 7 ducats. See Ashtor, Levant trade 155. Raymond, Cairo 146. Lewis, The Islamic world 839. Mackie, Toward an understanding of Mamluk silks 127. Udovitch et al., England to Egypt 126. Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Nujūm xviii, 86; Meloy, Imperial power 66–67; Atwell, Time, money, and the weather 89. Lewis, The Islamic world 837.

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figure 8.17

Wikipedia file: Eurasia (orthographic projection).svq

economic outcomes for two regions, Eurasia and Mamluk Egypt, are set side by side. Using the Heckscher-Ohlin factor proportions model,57 it is suggested here that these economies might have witnessed changes that biased production in the direction of textiles, even when production in all economic spheres declined sharply due to depopulation.58 Shown in the figure below, Eurasia’s production shifts from (a) to (b) and then (c), in a mirror image of the market elasticities in Egypt. It can be seen that the post-plague production possibilities frontier is shallower than Egypt’s, reflecting lower opportunity costs for textiles in terms of grain and a comparative advantage in the production of textiles. The export of jūkh, it is suggested, was representative of this comparative advantage.

57 58

Krugman, International economics (2005) 50–61; idem, International economics (1991) 68– 84. The impact of the plague pandemic on China was every bit as severe as it was for the rest of Eurasia. From the thirteenth century to the late fourteenth century, the population of China dropped from some 108 million to barely 67 million, a substantial portion of this damage was due to Yersinia pestis. Shirokauer, Brief history 228. For a discussion of these factors, see Dardess, Shun-ti 585–586.

grain, textiles, and demand elasticity in late mamluk egypt

figure 8.18

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The Production Possibilities Frontier for Egypt and Eurasia in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries

Whatever the magnitude of this shift, it seems plausible that a current account deficit was a considerable problem for Egypt during this time. E. Ashtor promoted the story of the dramatic trade imbalance and then went further still and posited a center-periphery/developed-underdeveloped relationship between Europe and the Near East in the late medieval period. In his model, raw materials flowed from the Near East and were exchanged with finished products from the European West. As Ashtor argued: “The Middle East supplied Europe with raw materials and bought industrial products from them … what we are dealing with here is a previously industrialized and monetary economy which, having declined, became dependent upon a swiftly progressing and more modern economy.”59 If one were to accept this dramatic schema, it might be logical to ask if the economies of South and East Asia represented another such developed center vis-à-vis Egypt. At the same time, one should take note of scholarship that rejects this view in its entirety. As Munro cogently sums up a contrary point of view, “The fact that the Italians had been so successful in marketing not only their own but

59

Ashtor, Technology, industry, and trade 280–281.

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other European woolens in the Levant is hardly evidence of any Mamlūk ‘industrial decline,’ as Ashtor has so frequently argued.” Furthermore, he reasons that, “Trade is not a Mercantilist zero-sum game, in which the victors gain by imposing their goods on the losers. Trade serves to satisfy mutual and differing wants, in order to benefit both sides, indeed in what Classical Economists called the ‘gains of trade,’ from the ‘law of comparative advantage.’”60 The only significant comparative advantage that Munro sees here was that of English cloth over other woolens due to English export taxes on wool. In fact, Munro’s analysis suggests that any comparative advantage Europe had in the Levant was greatly reduced in the later fourteenth and early fifteenth centuries by rising transaction costs stemming mainly from the intensification of warfare.61

6

The Current Account and the Capital Account

However one views the role of comparative advantage here, we should examine the monetary aspects of the grains and textiles markets, as they are an important part of this hypothetical analysis. Precious metals shortage was a marked feature of the Egyptian economy in the early fifteenth century, and there seem to have been two possible causes here: supply factors and the potential impact of a trade deficit. How might supply factors have affected Egypt’s monetary situation? The European supply of silver seems to have dried up at this time. The term “silver famine” is no longer in vogue among economic historians of medieval Europe, but this famine was nevertheless very real for the inhabitants of late Mamluk Egypt. Aḥmad ibn ʿAlī al-Qalqashandī is quite specific: Egyptian silver supplies came from Europe, and European supplies had dried up.62 Al-Maqrīzī reports

60 61 62

Munro, A non-mercantilist approach 938–939. Munro, Rise, expansion, and decline 14. Al-Qalqashandī, iii Ṣubḥ 535. For the European silver famine, see Munro, Crisis and change 217. For the European silver famine, Munro refers to the episode as the “unhappily and inaccurately termed late medieval bullion famine,” preferring the label, “relative monetary scarcities.” See Munro, Crisis and change 217. Ironically, the seeds of European recovery were to be found in Egypt, where the mechanics of the Saigerhutten process were well understood as early as the thirteenth century. See Ibn Baʿra’s instructions to combine lead with the silver-copper alloy and melt it under powerful “upside-down” bellows (rūbāsh) and: (‫“ )فيخرج الرصاص ما في جسم الفضة من النحاس‬the lead pulls the silver out of the silvercopper mix.” And when the lead has then been removed, “you are left with pure silver.” From Ibn Baʿra’s Ayyubid mint manual in Ehrenkreutz, Extracts 442.

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essentially the same information.63 Other sources for this period, including Egyptian archival records, clearly indicate that silver had all but vanished from Egypt’s markets.64 Did other suppliers also fail Egypt? Central Asian supplies seem to have been impacted, with Iranians making an abortive attempt to switch to paper currency.65 Trading partners as far afield as India and China were apparently grappling with a shortage of silver during this period.66 Malaccans were suffering from such a severe precious metal shortage that they resorted to using tin for currency.67 Seemingly there was something of a global aspect to this phenomenon. But what of Egypt’s current account? It is possible that Egypt’s trade deficit was draining its supply of silver, and Egypt was also exchanging silver for European copper.68 Was a trade deficit across the Indian Ocean also working to rob Egypt of its silver? Ibn Ḥajar al-ʿAsqalānī thought so, indicating that the Mamluk regime was concerned enough to try to take action: “The Mamluk regime forbade the use of silver in the making of silver utensils and tools and took stern measures against those who, by exporting minted silver to the Hejaz, attempted to profit from Indian demand for this metal. Because of this, silver thus became very scarce.”69 The monetary side of Egypt’s current account deficit had an enormous impact on the grains and textiles markets, as we will see. But an unmistakable “copper famine” also comes into the story here, and this famine plays an important role in the larger economic schema of late Mamluk Egypt.70 Why was copper scarce as well? As was the case with silver, some scholars have blamed the problem on a shortage of supply from Europe, reasoning

63 64 65 66 67 68

69 70

Al-Maqrīzī, Shudhūr 159; idem, Sulūk iii, 1111; iv, 27; Shoshan, Exchange 28. See the systems of payment in fifteenth-century foundation deeds: waqfiyyāt raqam 809, 738, 886, 749. Shoshan, Silver to copper 100, 102; Allouche, Mamluk economics 18. Atwell, Time, money, and the weather 97. Ibid. See al-Maqrīzī, Shudhūr 156–159, and the famous incident of Maḥmūd bin ʿAlī wherein, “the Franks began to deal in unworked copper, seeking profit, and they imported silver from Egypt, until it became scarce and nearly depleted.” Allouche, notes that the trade deficit was a prominent part of this equation when he refers to a “shrinking of the volume of Mamluk exports due to a decline of local industrial production, especially of sugar and textiles.” See Allouche, Mamluk economics 18. Ibn Ḥajar, Inbāʾ viii, 390. Garcin and Taher, Les comptes 288; Shoshan, From silver to copper 110; Meloy, Copper money 298; Bacharach, Circassian monetary policy 43; Hennequin, Mamlouks et metaux precieux 37–44.

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that copper loads in mines, so often found with silver, suffered the same fate.71 Data indicates that copper imports from Europe had dwindled to a small trickle at the dawn of the fifteenth century, shortly before this copper famine began.72 Could Egypt’s trade deficit have played a crucial role here as well? A negative current account with Indian Ocean trading partners may have had a substantial role in the process of draining Egypt’s copper supply.73 And, as with silver, the shortage of copper seems to have had a reach across the Indian Ocean. Ming China closed down much of its copper production in the 1400s, resulting in a shortage of this copper metal that had been “one of the key media of exchange in maritime Asia since at least the twelfth century.”74 There was an associated shortage of all metal currencies in Southeast Asia.75 But the shortage of copper took on its own dynamic in Egypt. As copper grew scarce, the Mamluk Sultanate made a series of efforts to profit from the rising price of the metal by recalling old copper coinage ( fulūs qadīm) and issuing its own new copper coinage ( fulūs judud) at a higher price. The regime also attempted to profit from the situation by debasing copper coinage with other metals, such as lead, zinc, and iron.76 These clumsy operations set Gresham’s law into motion in Mamluk Egypt. We are told that the issuing of new, debased, coinage at a higher price, created a situation whereby “merchants and moneychangers were culling out the higher quality coins and exporting them to the Hejaz, Yemen, the Maghrib, and India.”77 ʿImād Abū Ghāzī tells us that the raw copper was sold in India at a price higher than the minted fulūs, leading to an overall scarcity of copper coinage.78 As was the case with silver, phenomena here seem to have found parallels across the Indian Ocean, whereby copper coinage succumbed to Gresham’s law in Ming China.79 So the regime’s attempts to profit from the scarcity of copper had the effect of exacerbating this copper famine, and all means of currency transactions were threatened in the 1420s and 1430s.80 To make matters worse, 71 72

73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80

See Shoshan, From silver to copper 110. Ashtor, Les metau, 83. While annual copper imports from Europe averaged nearly 1 million kilograms in the late fifteenth and early sixteenth century, their annual average was little more than 40,000 in 1399–1400 ce. It seems hard to accept the former figure, but the indicated discrepancy is nonetheless indicative. Bacharach, Circassian monetary policy 43. Atwell, Time, money, and the weather 97. Ibid., 97. Al-Aynī, ʿIqd 252; al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk iv, 3; Garcin and Taher, Les comptes 287. Al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk iv, 642. See also Ibid., 794; al-ʿAynī, ʿIqd 252. Abū Ghāzī, Taṭawwur 65; al-Najīdī, al-Naqd 361–362. Al-ʿAynī, ʿIqd, 97. See Warren Schultz’s discussion of the sultanate’s fundamental inability to control mon-

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a unit of account, the dirham min al-fulūs, was employed to reckon with the adoption of copper currency as the primary medium of exchange in Egypt.81 Wild inflation set in, inflation that alarmed merchants, money changers, and market inspectors.82 Transaction costs soared. The dirham min al-fulūs, serving as a representative currency with copper as its base, was an unstable mechanism. As the fifteenth century wore on, this unit of account became uncoupled from the underlying metal.83 As the official copper price fluctuated, the unit of account effectively became a purely fiat currency, stimulating ripples of panic in the monetary markets of Mamluk Egypt.84 Devoid of silver, denuded of all but a paucity of copper currency, and that currency heavily debased, Egypt’s economy lay prostrate in the first half of the fifteenth century. What then was the impact of these alarming developments on the main arteries of commerce, the grain and textile markets? The answer to this question calls for a glance at the happier days of Egypt before the onset of the plague pandemic. The agrarian system and rural market system, in Lower Egypt at least, had been highly monetized. Peasants were expected to sell their crops to obtain specie for rent. Rent was paid in installments over the course of the agricultural year, in intervals of one-eighth to one-third, paid from Amshīr (February) through Baʾūna (May). Local markets were dense enough in the countryside to allow for peasant exchange. Sale of grain could be easily exchanged for specie. The landholding system had been very efficient and stable, with the reliable silver dirham functioning as an efficient and orderly mechanism for exchange and rent payment. The level of rent, for most crops, was equal to 2.5 to 3 ardabbs per feddān (.6 ha) or some 264 to 316.8 liters.85 But most transactions took place in specie, with the rent for 1 feddān equal to 30–40 silver dirhams.86 During the early Mamluk period (1250–1350) rents were stable, and this silver amount served for all transactions. Silver was thus the essential staple of this technically advanced and highly monetized economy. As was the case with urban areas, silver was the essential medium, with gold used for very large transactions and copper used as petty change for small transactions.

81 82 83 84 85 86

etary events and some of the reactive strategies that the regime employed: It has no root 180. See also Rolnick and Weber, Gresham’s law or Gresham’s fallacy? 185–199. This dirham min al-fulūs seems to have first appeared in the year 1401. See Allouche, Mamluk economics 16–17. Al-Maqrīzī, al-Sulūk iv, 27–29. Al-ʿAynī, ʿIqd 252. Al-Maqrīzī, al-Sulūk iv, 27–29. An ardabb was equal to 92.4 liters. See al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ iii, 519–522.

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All of this was violently changed by the currency crisis of the early fifteenth century. Silver disappeared from the rural markets. Peasants no longer had a reliable mechanism for rent and other median-level transactions. Copper took its place but was a poor substitute for silver. Peasants hated copper and often refused to deal in it. A complex crisis of interchange confusion struck the rural domain at this time, meaning that a very stable transaction system had been replaced by a highly variable and uncertain medium. Rural land rents in the early fifteenth century were paid in fulūs coins, not silver.87 “The money that anyone now receives from land tax or any other source consists instead of [copper] fulūs … weighed by the raṭl.”88 Real rents went up in the midst of surging inflation.89 As copper then became extremely scarce, as its price surged by some 600%, as copper coinage was debased with other metals, the rural economy was effectively robbed of all viable currency.90 Subsequent barter was accompanied by rent extraction in kind, and rural flight became a common phenomenon.91 The overall monetary shortage acted as a violent supply shock to the economy and, as barter became the common means of highly inefficient and effectively expensive transaction in the rural economy, waves of economic chaos gripped the agrarian system.92 The monetary market had a very dramatic impact on proto-industrial inputs such as sugar and flax, robbing the textile industry of its primary factors.93 The crisis furthermore created webs of feedback. Upwardly spiraling prices for textiles greatly exacerbated Mamluk Egypt’s trade deficit, and the expanding trade deficit accelerated the drain of silver and, seemingly, copper currency. The shortage of these metals then further deepened the crisis in factor markets, feeding and fanning the trade deficit. The ailing condition of the irrigation system moved in tandem with the monetary crisis, worsening overall economic conditions. Demand elasticities acted to further deepen the crisis. All of these elements acted to damage the grains and textile markets, and these factors interacted with each other. “It’s an ill-wind that blows nobody any good,” as Lopez, Miskimin, and Udovitch long ago observed of the economies of Europe, the Middle East, and India at this time.94 Although much of this picture drawn here is composed 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94

Allouche, Mamluk economics 77. Ibid., 84. See, for example, al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk iv, 28; Borsch, Black death 47–49. Borsch, Black death, 47–49. Ibid. Nāṣir, al-Ḥayāt 343. See, for example, al-Maqrīzī’s discussion of the sugar industry, Khiṭaṭ i, 99–100. Udovitch, Lopez, and Miskin, England to Egypt 95.

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of hypothetical economic reasoning, Egypt’s grain and textile markets might be seen to be markers of aggravated economic distress in the early fifteenth century. As far as is posited here, late Mamluk Egypt never recovered from this crisis, though the copper and silver shortages slowly eased up. It seems likely that the pathetic condition of the irrigation system awaited the Ottoman intervention into the infrastructure of the economy. It is conceivable that only then did conditions begin to improve.

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al-Maqrīzī, A., Mamluk economics: A study and translation of al-Maqrīzī’s Ighāthah, trans. A. Allouche, Salt Lake City 1994. Meloy, J., Copper money in late Mamluk Cairo: Chaos or control?, in jesho 44/3 (2001), 293–321. Meloy, J., Imperial power and maritime trade: Mecca and Cairo in the later middle ages, Chicago 2010. Munro, J., Crisis and change in the later medieval English economy: A review article, in Journal of economic history 58/1 (1998), 215–219. Munro, J.H., The rise, expansion, and decline of the Italian wool-based textile industries, 1100–1730: A study in international competition, transaction costs, and comparative advantage, Working Paper 440 2011, 1–142. Munro, J., South German silver, European textiles, and Venetian trade with the Levant and Ottoman empire, c. 1370 to c. 1720: A non-mercantilist approach to the balance of payments problem, in Simonetta Cavaciocchi (ed.), Relazione economiche tra Europa e mondo islamico, seccoli xiii–xviii: Atti delle “Settimana di Studi” 38/1 (2007), 907– 962. al-Najīdī, Ḥ., al-Niẓām al-Naqdī al-Mamlūkī, 648–922h./1250–1517m.: Dirāsah tārīkhīyah ḥaḍārīyah, Alexandria 1993. Nāṣir, ʿĀ., al-Ḥayāt al-iqtiṣādiyya fī Miṣr, Ramallah 2003. Park, T., Early trends toward class stratification: Chaos, common property, and flood recession agriculture, in American anthropologist 94 (1992), 90–117. Petry, C.F., A paradox of patronage during the later Mamluk period, in mw 73 (1983), 182–207. al-Qalqashandī, A., Subḥ al-aʿshā fī sināʿat al-inshā, ed. M. al-Dīn, 15 vols., Beirut 1987. Raymond, A., Cairo, Cambridge 2000. Richards, D.S., A late Mamluk document concerning Frankish commercial practice at Tripoli, in bsoas 62/1 (1999), 21–35. Regmi, A. and J.L. Seale Jr., Cross-price elasticities of demand across 114 countries, ers report summery, Economic Research Service, U.S. Department of Agriculture 2010. Rolnick, A. and W. Weber, Gresham’s law or Gresham’s fallacy? in Journal of political economy 94/1 (1986), 185–199. Sabra, A., Poverty and charity in medieval Islam, Cambridge 2000. Sato, T., State and rural society in medieval Islam, Leiden 1997. Schultz, W.C., “It has no root among any community that believes in revealed religion, nor legal foundation for its implementation”: Placing al-Maqrīzī’s comments on money in a wider context, in msr 7/ 2 (2003), 169–181. Shirokauer, C., et al, A brief history of Chinese and Japanese civilizations, 4th ed., Boston 2013. Shoshan, B., Exchange-rate policies in fifteenth-century Egypt, in jesho 24 (1986), 28– 51.

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Shoshan, B., From silver to copper: Monetary changes in 15th century Egypt, in Studia Islamica 56 (1982), 97–116. van Steenbergen, J., Order out of chaos: Patronage, conflict and Mamluk socio-political culture, 1341–1382, Leiden–Boston 1997. Ṭarkhān, I., al-Niẓām al-iqtaʾiyya fi al-Sharq al-Awsat fi al-ʿusur al-wusta, Cairo 1968. Udovitch, A., R. Lopez, and H. Miskimin, England to Egypt, 1350–1500: Long term trends and long distance trade, in M. Cook (ed.), Studies in the economic history of the Middle East, London 1970, 93–128. Wansbrough, J., A Mamluk letter of 877/1473, in bsoas 24, 2 (1961), 200–213. Willcocks, W., and J.I. Craig, Egyptian irrigation, 3rd ed., 2 vols., London 1913. al-Ẓāhirī, K., Kitāb zubda kashf al-mamālik wa bayān al-ṭuruq wa-l-masālik, ed. P. Ravaisse, Paris 1894. waqfiyyāt raqam 809, 738, 886, 749.

chapter 9

The Management of Water in Fourteenth-Century Damascus Yehoshua Frenkel

The historical study of soil, water, climate, and other physical components of ecosystems is not a new topic. It suffices to refer here to numerous studies by members of the Annales School.1 During the late 1960s,2 historiography on natural history shifted from the longue durée3 to environmental history, which emerged as a distinctive branch within the field. This branch deals with the contact of human beings with their total habitat in the past4 and can be divided into four subjects:5 1) The role of nature in contemporary discourse, including the shaping of artificial terrains and the representation of it as a concept;6 2) the influence of climate on clothing and habitation;7 3) the management of natural resources, including water; and 4) natural hazards, the chronology of calamities, and the sociopolitical reactions to natural disasters. Applying Marxist terminology, we can differentiate between: 1) Base (i.e., geography and climate); 2) Structure (i.e., modes of production); and 3) Superstructure (i.e., culture and ideology).8 Contemporary Mamluk chronicles are rich with references to precipitation and natural disasters: droughts and floods9 and their effect on the society, economy, and government.10 Some of these reports by historians, contemporary to these events in Damascus and Cairo, are based on official records (maḥḍar),11 others are based on eyewitness accounts and private letters.

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

Stoianovich, French historical method 113–115. White, The historical roots of our ecological crisis 1203–1207. Braudel, Histoire et sciences sociales 726. Nash, American environmental history 363. For a different classification, see McNeill, Observations on the nature and culture 6. Soravia, Les manuels à l’ usage des fonctionnaires de l’administration 422. Rosenthal, Poetry and architecture 1–19. White, Environmental history 1112. Al-Nuwayrī, Nihāyat al-arab xxx, 312; Ibn Ṭūlūn al-Ṣāliḥī, Lamaʿāt al-barqīya fī al-nukat altārīkhīyya 54–58. Tucker, Environmental hazards 109–128. Among other topics, these bureaucratic reports illuminate society, urban topography,

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To support my assumption that environmental history is an effective tool for students of Mamluk social history and related research topics, including urban topography, I will offer two brief examples of reports from period sources. The earliest is an account of flooding that caused widespread damage in Baalbek (May 717/1317). Upon learning of the disaster, the governor of Damascus dispatched a mission to survey the city. The team sent an official account of the devastation to the viceroy in Damascus and to the Sultanate’s headquarters in Cairo. These dispatches were copied by Syrian and Egyptian chroniclers. According to these quasi-official documents, the water washed away vineyards and destroyed parts of the city walls. Houses and baths, as well as portions of the great mosque, collapsed. One thousand and five hundred men, and an unspecified number of women and children, drowned. One hundred and fortyseven persons were reported missing.12 In the year 728/September 1327 a similar account reached Damascus from ʿAjlūn.13 Heavy rains, which caused flooding and significant destruction, was reported. Among the damaged buildings the sources name a qaysariyya that was endowed to finance the hospital in Safad, shops that were bequeathed to support a madrasa in Nablus, and a pious donation established to support the local mosque.14 Mamluk historians also discuss the digging of canals15 and the building of bridges over rivers.16 Although we may assume that these works were motivated to bolster political images, this hypothesis does not rule out the possibility that

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including information on material goods, buildings and institutions, and eventually history. Al-ʿAbbāsī al-Ṣafadī, Nuzhat al-mālik wa-l-mamlūk 242–244; al-Nuwayrī, Nihāyat al-arab xxxii, 247; Ibn al-Dawādārī, Kanz al-durar ix, 290–291; Ibn Ṣaṣrá, A Chronicle of Damascus 233 (Arabic). Al-Nuwayrī, Nihāyat al-arab xxxiii, 266–271; al-Birzālī, al-Muqtafī ʿalá kitāb al-rawḍatayn iv, 477–479; Ibn al-Jazarī, Ḥawādith al-zamān ii, 274–276; Ibn Ḥabīb al-Ḥalabi, Tadhkirat al-nabīhi 181, 189–190; Walker, Mamluk investment in southern Bilad al-Sham 244. On floods in Damascus (801/February 1399): Ibn Qāḍi Shuhba, Taʾrīkh iv, 13; in the Valley of Lebanon, see al-ʿAbbāsī al-Ṣafadī, Nuzhat al-mālik wa-l-mamlūk 232–234; al-Birzālī, alMuqtafī ʿalā kitāb al-rawḍatayn i, 233. Faberi, The book of the wanderings of Felix Fabri ii, 199–201 (Solomon’s Pool and Jerusalem). Al-Nuwayrī, Nihāyat al-arab xxxiii, 180. Occasionally, factual information is interlocked with stories of marvels and wondrous phenomena. An example of such transmission is concealed in the account of the meeting between Baybars’ delegation and Bereke Khan. While exchanging information about their lands, the Mongol ruler asked the sultan’s embassy about the Nile River, adding: “[is it true] that a bridge from human bones stretches over the water and men cross on them over to the opposite bank?” Mufaḍḍal b. Abī al-Faḍāʾil, Histoire des sultans Mamlouks xii, 461.

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the builders responded to genuine needs of the population. In addition, new canals contributed, potentially at least, to economic growth. A case in point is the description of a public celebration called for by the viceroy Arghūn al-Dawādar (governed 727–731/1326–1330) to commemorate the completion of the Shaghur canal (in Aleppo in 731/1330–1331).17 The Syrian historian al-Birzālī (1267–1339) describes the convening of army commanders, notables, and commoners to witness the event, stressing that the puritanical governor banned musicians (muṭribūn) from participating.18 In order to demonstrate the potential contribution of environmental history to the study of Mamluk society and government (Egypt and Syria 1250–1517), the following discussion will examine accounts of water use from fourteenthcentury Damascus.19 It is grounded in the assumption that reports of conflicts over water use illuminate the structure of power, the modus operandi of the administration, the struggle to control resources, and the management of public space.

1

The Waters of Damascus

Surrounded by a green belt of farm land, Mamluk Damascus was depicted in the sources as a fertile oasis (ghūṭa).20 A sophisticated distribution system maintained an extensive irrigation network and supported a rich agricultural economy.21 This sophisticated network is described by several medieval historians and geographers. Local scholars, such as Ibn ʿAsākir,22 Ibn al-Shaddād,23 al-Subkī24 and Ibn Mibrad,25 fulsomely praised the waters and gardens of the city and its environs.26

17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26

Arghūn is mentioned by Ibn Baṭṭūṭa. Allouche, A study of Ibn Battutah’s account 293–294. Frenkel, Public projection of power in Mamluk Bilad al-Sham 43. For earlier studies on Mamluk water history, see Levanoni, Water supply in medieval Middle Eastern cities 179–205; Shoshan, Mini-dramas by the water 233–244. Bianquis, Le problème de l’ eau à Damas et dans sa Ghouta 35–39, 46. In other parts of Bilād al-Shām, fields were rain-fed areas. Al-Ramlī, Kitāb al-Fatāwá alkhayriyya ii, 221. Ibn ʿAsākir, Taʾrīkh madīnat Dimashq ii, 378–386. Ibn Shaddād, al-Aʿlāq al-khaṭīra. Al-Subkī, Fatāwá i, 453–461. Ibn al-Mibrad, Ghadaq al-afkār fi dhikr al-Anhār 196–206. Several renowned scholars have investigated the rich medieval accounts of Mamluk Damascus. The result of their works was popularized by local as well as by foreign contemporary authors. These scholarly achievements make a detailed account of the topography of

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These sources discuss water management and water politics from Umayyad times until the Mamluks.27 In addition to historical and geographical accounts, legal documents, including collections of legal opinions ( fatāwā), also clarify water use in Damascene. They elucidate juridical statutes for water, rivers and springs, regulations of irrigation, allocation rights, and conflicts. These data contribute to the physical reconstruction of medieval Damascus and enrich our knowledge of the city’s social construction. Their detailed information also enables us to outline a history of hydraulic administration, methods, and instruments of water measurement.28 Irrigation and water rights certainly influenced local land tenure and taxation. In Mamluk Damascus many fields were owned privately (milk).29 Ibn al-ʿAsākir, who composed his voluminous historical dictionary of Damascus during the reigns of Nūr al-Dīn and Salāḥ al-Dīn, describes the situation: In Damascus occur water pipes (qiná) precisely defined by pious endowments. They are registered at the bureau of charitable administration. The supervisor of this department has a comprehensive knowledge of the conduits that are clearly marked. The great majority of the water pipes are not endowed property, and the general Muslim public is free to use (isʿāf ) the water courses, to benefit from them and to profit from grounds close to the conduits.30 According to al-Qalqashandī’s narrative: The watering of Damascus and the irrigation of its gardens depend on the river named Barada [Biblical Amana/Abana; 2 Kings 5:12].31 The river gushes forth from two springs. The remote spring is below the al-Zabadānī village. The second spring is further down and closer to Damascus, in a village named al-Fija.32 This village is on the slopes of the mountain, halfway downhill. There, a Roman-style [i.e., pre-Islamic] structure was construc-

27 28 29 30 31 32

Mamluk Damascus unnecessary. Ziadeh, Damascus under the Mamluks; Pouzet, Damas au 7e/13e siecle; Degeorge, Damas. Ibn ʿAsākir, Taʾrīkh madīnat Dimashq ii, 370. Glick, Irrigation and society in medieval Valencia. Sublet, Le Séquestre sur les jardins de la Ghouta 81–86. Ibn ʿAsakir, Taʾrīkh madīnat Dimashq ii, 377–378. Masterman, The water supply of Damascus 98–107. Ibn Shaddād, al-Aʿlāq al-khaṭīra 14.

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ted, shaped in the form of a vault. The water gushes from this spring.33 As the brook flows downwards, additional tributaries join the stream. The Barada River divides into seven streams.34 Four are in the west: Darāyyā, Mizza, Qanawat and Bānās (Bāniyas); Two are in the east: Yazīd35 and Thawra. The Barada spreads between these streams. The Qanawat and Bānās are the streams that irrigate the city of Damascus. These two streams control the city and rule its houses. The Bānās enters the citadel of Damascus and divides into two: one flows to the cathedral (Umayyad) mosque, the other provides water to the fortress. Then the two streams branch out to numerous courses. The water is measured by fingerbreadth and is distributed according to quotas agreed upon by custom. The Qanawat water pipe divides within the city wall.36 It does not enter the citadel or the central mosque. The water flows in pipes hidden beneath the ground until they reach the allocated houses and locations, according to the plans. The surplus water from pools and channels of the ablution fonts collects in underground pipes and is directed to the gardens beyond the city wall. There the flow irrigates the orchards. The Yazīd Canal runs along the foot of the Salāḥiyya Ridge. It cuts through its slopes. The other streams water the orchards and gardens. Villas and houses were built along the banks of the waterways, particularly on the banks of the Thawra River. [Some call it] the Nile of Damascus. Most of the resorts of the Damascenes are there, some of which are illustrious mansions. Whoever resides there, surrounded by trees all over, will imagine that he is looking at a green emerald.37 The sources report on interventions by Muslim jurists and their efforts to regulate the water supply. The distribution of water allegedly was in accord with principles of Shariʿa Law. According to these regulations, canalization proceeds

33

34 35

36 37

Presumably maqāsim al-anhar or al-tāliʿ; see Ibn Ṭawq, al-Taʿlīq i, 182 (l. 23), 351 (l. 1). In Aleppo this device was named qasṭal. It “consists of two principal architectural elements: the entablature and porch vault.”Raby, Nur al-Din, the qastal al-Shuʿaybiyya and the “classical revival” 289–310. Ibn al-Mibrad, Ghadaq al-afkār fi dhikr al-Anhār in Rasāʾil Dimashqiyya 23. It is narrated that the caliph Yazīd b. Muʿāwiya had dug this canal. Al-Iṣṭakhrī, al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik 59 (l. 13); Ibn ʿAsākir, Taʾrīkh madīnat Dimashq ii, 369; Le Strange, Palestine under the Muslims 235. On these water systems, see al-Māwardī, al-Aḥkām al-sulṭāaniyya, 189–190; Lightfoot, Qanats in the Levant 432–451; idem, The origin and diffusion of qanats in Arabia 215–226. Al-Qalqashandī, Subḥ al-aʿshá iv, 95–96.

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downstream,38 and no preemption (shufʿa) rights prohibit selling of water.39 These rules were of crucial importance to a city built on the desert edges. Damascus’s food supply depended heavily on the canals that carried the waters from the slopes of mountains, which block the rain clouds, eastward to irrigate gardens ( junayna—janānīn), orchards (bustan—basātīn), and fields. Some of these properties were owned by religious clerics and institutions.40 The famous jurist ʿAlī b. ʿAbd al-Kāfī al-Subkī (1284–1355/683–756) clarified these principles in a legal opinion ( fatwā) that dealt with petty water dealers (saqqāʾūn, water-carriers or persons in charge of water reservoirs).41 He was asked whether they should be prevented from drawing water from a public watering trough (sabīl).42 Al-Subkī responded: If a donor does not explicitly in his endowment charter ban a water carrier from drawing water from the public fountain that the donor had constructed, no water carrier should be prevented from doing so. However, priority is reserved for the person who comes first to drink or to water a beast at this fountain.43 In such case, this person should be privileged to be the first. The water carrier should wait till the former fulfills his needs. The second to arrive should wait. This is the rule concerning public water fountains. Priority is reserved for the person or animal that arrives first to drink, or to water a mule or a garden. In all cases the second in line should wait. If two arrive simultaneously and do not agree about the order of who reached the water, they should cast lots. Allah knows best.44 Changes in the canals’ network and fluctuations in the volume of water flow, due to natural disasters and man-made modifications,45 as well as changes in

38 39 40 41

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44 45

Ibn Qudāma, al-Mughnī viii, 168–169; Wilkinson, Muslim land and water law 61. Ibn Sirāj al-Andalusī, Fatawá Qāḍī al-Jamāʿa 189; Mallat, Land and the Nile river 373, 383 (note 28). Al-Birzālī, al-Muqtafá i, 367 (bustān ʿIzz al-Dīn b. al-Ṣaʾigh; bustān al-Sumaysatiya) iii, 197; iv, 14. Ibn Kaykaldī al-ʿAlāʾī Fatāwá al-ʿAlāʾī 372; Ibn Ṭūlūn al-Sāliḥī, Naqd al-Ṭālib li-zaghal almanāsib 66; Elisséeff, Corporations de Damas sous Nūr al-dīn 72–73 (no. 39); not to be confused with suqāʾ (cupbearer). Lamei, The Cairene Sabil 34, 35. Abū Yūsuf, Kitāb al-Kharāj 95; Fagnan, Le livre de l’impot foncier 144 (“Il dit encore: Quiconque a une source, un puits ou une conduite ne peut empêcher le voyageur d’y boire et d’ abreuver ses bêtes de somme, ses chameaux et son petit bétail”). Al-Subkī, Fatāwá i, 450. Ibn Kathīr, al-Bidāya wal-nihāya xviii, 673 (764/1362–1363).

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property ownership,46 stimulated competition regarding water resources. The following example illustrates the point: During the first days of Shawwāl 720/November 1320, a new water conduit was opened, allowing the stream to reach the al-Kārimī mosque in Qubaybat, outside the walls of Damascus.47 The donor had bought a defined quantity of water (ḥijar māʾ)48 from the Darāyya canal for 45 thousand (coins). He built a conduit and rented the water. The canal passed through the village of Kafar Sūsiya. Upon reaching the village, it benefited the inhabitants and delighted them. [Trees and orchards were planted], which attracted countless people who came to the place seeking for amusements and enjoyment. [He (Karīm al-Dīn) dug rivulets ( jadwal) enabling the water to reach] the great reservoir that had been built opposite the mosque. It was utilized by the population: worshipers, animals, local farmers and their guests drank from the basin. [In addition an ablution room was constructed].49 Additional Mamluk records report conflicts over water rights.50 The diary of Ibn Ṭawq, for example, informs us of clashes between the ruling elite in Damascus and Muslim jurists, incompatible interests among the religious establishment, and public confrontations.51 Similar to the working method of Muslim jurists, who quote long sentences from earlier authors, even post-Mamluk sources, such as the legal compendium of Khayr al-Dīn al-Ramlī (993–1081/1585–1671), depict social reality in Damascus during the Mamluk Sultanate’s final years.52 Thus, for example, this Palestinian jurist writes:

46 47 48

49 50 51 52

Ibn al-Ṣalāḥ, Fatāwá Ibn al-Ṣalāḥ ii, 591 (no. 691). On a waqf to finance a wáter reservoir (sāqiya) see al-Kaykaldī al-ʿAlāʾī, Fatāwá al-ʿAlāʾī 383. Waqf deeds mention the function of a water carrier. Mizzī (‫ )ِحجر ما مزي من نهر‬should be read (‫)ِحجر الذي مر ]يجري[ منه الماء‬. A ḥijr is a hole in the dike, about one shibr and a half (25 cm) horizontal and one shibr and a half vertical; cf. Ibn ʿAsākir, Taʾrikh madinat Dimashq ii, 370 (ll. 3–4, 12), 371; Ibn Mazrūʿ al-Shibāmī, Fatāwá 215; Lane, An Arabic-English lexicon ii, 517 (b). Al-Birzālī, al-Muqtafī iv, 453; Ibn Kathīr, al-Bidāya wa-l-nihāya xviii, 203. Ibn ʿAsākir, Taʾrīkh madinat Dimashq 2, 369 (wa-manaʿahu ahl al-ghūṭa). Ibn Ṭawq, al-Taʿlīq i, 71, 129–131, 160–162, 182–187, 351, 451; and see Shoshan, Mini-dramas by the water. On him, see Gerber, Rigidity versus openness in late classical Islamic law 165–169; Tucker, Biography as history 12–17.

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Water flows out through an ancient canal (min wādī qadīm) from a large ravine named Barada. Its waters are used to irrigate some farm lands, and traverse villages inhabited by numerous people. They have no other source of water except the Barada. Some of these villages are situated on ground higher than the water source while others are located downstream. Water use is divided between several pious endowments, the treasury and others who obtain some property rights. Each village owns a water conduit that branches out from the Barada River. The villagers dam the Barada River until the level of the water rises to the height of their conduit’s gate. The villages have no other allocated quantity of water except what they draw from the Barada. Each of the villages takes from the river the quantity of water it needs and often seizes surplus quantities. Generally, the villages upstream share the water fairly with the villages downstream. The surplus flows to the neighboring lower canals. It happens that in some years the river’s flow diminishes. On these occasions the inhabitants of the villages further up the stream claim to have priority and the privilege to block the flow of the water in the Barada totally. They use clay, mud and other materials, as well as boulders and dry grass, to dam the river. By doing so they stop the water and only drops reach the villages downstream. Is it possible to prevent the farmers of the upper village from blocking the Barada River with clay, mud and additional materials and to order them to use instead wood and dry grass, so that the farmers downstream will get sufficient quantities of water, in accordance with the size of their fields? We ask for your learned opinion. To this detailed query, the learned jurist responded: Indeed they should be prevented from acting in this manner. Our learned scholars of past generation, may God have mercy upon them, have already mandated that villagers dwelling upstream should not block the water from flowing downstream.53 They should utilize only their share of the water. Constructing a dam, which previously did not block the river bed, is a novel implement [that should not be used]. They are joint partners in the surveillance of the river. One party cannot act without the consent of the others. Yet it is legitimate for villagers who dwell upstream to reach an agreement that will obstruct the water flow for a limited period

53

Ibn al-Bazzāz, al-Fatāwá al-Bazzāziyya vi, 119.

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or that each farmer will block the water in his turn. This holds only if they use a barrier to stop the water stream partially, allowing some portion of the water to pass downstream. For this purpose they must either use timber or construct a gate; however, they cannot use clay and mud because these materials stop the river totally. This sort of a dam causes harm to the partners; yet if they mutually agree it is permissible. If dams must be constructed in order to irrigate the fields, they should start with the lowest field and then proceed upstream. The farmers in the highest elevations should start irrigating only after the fields in the lower lands are watered. Based on the prophetic tradition transmitted by Ibn Masʿūd: “the people of the lower stream are the rulers of the people of the upper stream and they are the first to water,” we conclude that the villagers in the high ground cannot close the dams and stop the water before to the farmers in the lower lands. This is also the view of al-Zaylaʿī (d. 1342) and others.54 Al-Subkī, whom we quoted above, dwells at length on these issues in a condense fatwā addressing water canalization, administration, and disputes in fourteenth-century Damascus.55 The document articulates a general inquiry about the legal status of water canals and conduits. It questions whether they are to be considered private property (mamlūka). Yet the long document sheds light on an urban conflict involving rival parties in Damascus: I assert that the water channels in Damascus are not private property. Water pipes are public property (ʿāmma). All these installations are available to everyone (mubāḥa), and it is impossible to seize or possess them. They are public pious charities usable by all Muslims. Muslim jurists agree that wide rivers, such as the Nile and the Euphrates for example, are public property and that access to the water is permissible to all.56 They assert in their writings that no one can turn them into private property, neither under the law of restoring land (iḥyāʾ al-amwāt) nor under the pretext of buying land from the public treasury (bayt al-māl)57 or through other jur-

54 55 56 57

Al-Ramlī, Kitāb al-Fatāwá al-khayriyya 2, 223–224. Al-Subkī wrote several short treatises concerning the water of Damascus (muṣannafāt fi miyāh Dimashq). Al-Subkī, Fatāwá i, 453 (l. 2). Al-Marghiyānī, al-Hidāya sharḥ bidāyat al-mubtadá x, 94; Abū Yūsuf, Kitāb al-Kharāj 97. The bayt al-māl administrated the lands of the sultanate. For earlier organization of this department (dīwān), see Cahen, L’Administration financière de l’armée fatimide d’après al-Makhzūmī 169.

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istic procedures. The legal status of these river shores, which are used by the general public, is similar.58 Regarding small canals that were dug by known and recognizable people, they may be privatized. They are considered as collective property owned jointly (amlāk mushtaraka) for communal use.59 Those canals, whose legal status is undetermined, should be regarded as the personal property of those who control them. The possessors’ role as managers indicates that these canals are privately owned. However, regarding water conduits [in Damascus or in the villages surrounding the city], not a single one of these canals or streams that are supplied by these water canals is private property possessed by a recognized owner. Yet, private properties, such as lodges, watermills, baths and buildings, were constructed in the city and the villages by private owners who are known to all. These properties can be found in Damascus, in villages beyond the city’s walls, in the green belt that surrounds the city (ghūṭa)60 and in adjacent valleys. These properties are supplied by those public water tributaries. Since water is essential to the cultivation of these properties, they have prior rights (iḍāfat takhṣīṣ) to these waters. Yet they do not obtain ownership rights (iḍāfat milk). They are merely the owners of their private properties and nothing beyond it. Were these tributaries the private assets of these proprietors, they would gain tenure rights to either the narrow pipes or the water conduits, and this should be stated in transactions of sales and cited in deeds of awqāf. Yet such proofs were not recorded. Hence these proprietors own only what is visibly their private property. Moreover, anyone who holds rights to use one of these water conduits, or a tributary or a stream that connects these canals, must be permitted to utilize them, unless it is established that he has no rights to use the water. However, he has no rights whatsoever beyond the boundaries of his property, whether this land be allowable to the general public or a pious endowment. Indeed, we have so stated because these water canals may bear evidence of ownership by infidels before the conquests of Islam. In this case, the property is incorporated according to the stipulations of the conquest, and the endowment of ʿUmar b. al-Khattāb determines its use. Its 58 59 60

Al-Subkī, Fatāwá i, 453. His position is quoted by al-Suyūṭī, al-Ḥāwī lil-fatāwī fī al-fiqh waʿulūm al-tafsīr i, 135. Michel, Devoirs fiscaux et droits fonciers 541. Sublet, Le Séquestre sur les jardins de la Ghouta (Damas 666/1267) 81–82.

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legal status is equivalent to that of the other lands that were included in Umar’s endowment (waqf ) for the Muslim community.61 Hence the rivers of Damascus,62 the Barada, nahr Thawra (Thoura), nahr Bānās and the subsurface water channels (qanawāt) remain in the same category as the land of southern Iraq (al-Sawād). The use and the administration (taṣarruf )63 of these canals parallel the administration of public pious endowments (al-awqāf al-ʿāmma).64 The administrator (nāẓir) of the public properties has the legal authority to determine the use of these canals and to respond to claimants who approach him on the ground that the water is accessible to all. This is based upon the prophetic maxim (ḥadīth): “The Muslims are partners in three: water, fire and grass.”65 As we have already stated above [this includes also] rivers and their banks. The nāẓir will not prevent the public from approaching them. If there is no evidence of specific ownership, then the permission [to benefit from the water] is according to the primary principles and everyone is entitled to use the canal. This rule should be clarified and harmonized.66 The regulations of the water canals available to the general public,67 whether large canals or small water pipes, are that the upper takes precedence over the lower and will irrigate first. This is the sound and wellestablished Islamic tradition (sunna).68 It is so because the Prophet ruled likewise in the case of al-Zubayr versus one of the inhabitants of alMedina (al-anṣārī). This is the rule in cases for which the users on the lower stream has not gained the water rights earlier. Yet if the lower stream was utilized earlier for irrigation, the regulations are similar to the regulations in cases of restoring farm lands.

61 62 63 64 65

66 67

68

Duri, Notes on taxation in early Islam 140. Cf. the description of Damascus in Ibn Baṭṭūṭa, Riḥla i, 233–235. Cleaves, The Mongolian documents in the Musée de Téhéran 74 (note 19); Michel, Les paysans et leur juge 136; Müller and Pahlitzsch, Sultan Baybars i and the Georgians 269. Namely, providing public goods. See Kuran, The provision of Public Goods under Islamic law 841–898. Wensinck, Concordance et indices de la traditiom Musulmane vi, 51 (a and b); al-Shawkānī, Nayl al-awtār xi, 37–42 (no. 2404–2406); Qāḍīkhān al-Farghānī, Fatāwá Qāḍīkhān iii, 59; al-Kāsānī, Badaʾiʿ viii, 294. Ibn Ḥajar, Bulūgh al-marām min adillat al-aḥkām 187 (no. 9). This term is used to delineate property and land that is not appropriated by private proprieties (mamlūka). Al-Kāsānī, Badaʾiʿ viii, 294; cf. Trillo San Jose, Agriculture and food in the 14th century 293; although her translation “inappropriate” seems too literal. Al-Māwardī, al-Aḥkām al-sulṭāniyya 236.

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If a person had preceded others and restored a field on a river bank or near the stream, and later on another man restored a field near the river sources, which are located upstream, then the second man has no priority over the first one. This is due to the fact that the man who irrigates the field downstream had benefited previously from the water. Yet when there are two users and we have no knowledge about the history of the usage and no one can establish his priority, then the user who is upstream precedes the user who irrigates downstream. If the man at the lower part of the canal acquires the shirb prerogatives, i.e., drinking rights69 or irrigation privileges,70 and a person upstream, who does not hold irrigation rights, wants to seize the water, we have to prevent him [from tunneling]. This is because in this case it has been proved that the person downstream had first gained the right to water crops and animals and to drink (shurb).71 It is already established that everyone has his recognized rights with regard to the canals and conduits constructed in Damascus and in the city’s outskirts and that he retains them, unless he has given up or lost his rights. No one located upstream has the right to dig a new irrigation canal and consequently take advantage of the proprietors downstream. He certainly has the right to obtain water from the canal but [it is limited]. He cannot inflict harm (ḍarar)72 on the proprietors who are located downstream. If the property he owns is adjacent to the water canal, he should be assured of the quantities of water he has obtained. He should be allowed to use and administer the water that is free to the public (mubāḥ), but his shares are restricted by this condition. However, in case his property borders the banks of a water canal, that is a public-cooperative property (mushtarak bayn al-muslimīn), he has to obtain permission from the Muslim ruler, who has the authority to grant such permission, if the proprietor vitally needs extra water. Indeed, even if a broad authorization would cause harm to the public, the ruler (imām) can permit it. However, if the proprietor has a vital need and his ownership of the property is undisputed, then the ruler can authorize him to

69 70 71 72

Quran 26 (al-Shuʿarāʾ): 155 [“Here is a she-camel: it has a right to drink (shirb) and you have a right to drink (shirb)”]; al-Kāsānī, Badaʾiʿ al-ṣanāʾiʿ viii, 293. Al-Sarakhsī, al-Mabsūṭ xxiii, 161. Mallat, Land and the Nile River, 373. Kahera and Benmira, Damages in Islamic law 131–164; Nejmeddine, La rue dans la ville de l’ Occident musulman médiéval d’ après les sources juridiques malikites 273–305.

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seize water. In this case it makes no difference if he causes harm to others or not. Nevertheless, the potential damage limits the water quantities and he cannot exceed the essential needs [of others].73 Related to this [general regulation] is a report [about a legal case] that had recently occurred in Damascus. Two Sufi lodges, the al-Sumaysaṭiyya74 and the al-Andalusiyya,75 obtained water rights in the al-Qanawāt conduit according to their endowments’ stipulations.76 While the deeds do not specify the shares, the lodges established methods to allocate the water which were recognized as a customary rule (ʿāda).77 In practice, the water conduit cut across an unnamed plot and reached the Sufis’ holding. However, this unnamed parcel of land was an orchard. It was the property of untitled proprietors, not of the Sufis, and had been leased (ḥikr).78 The occupants had built structures in this patch. They, the owner of these installations, appropriated the water and used it to irrigate the gardens that they cultivated. Due to this innovation, the water ceased to reach the Sufis’ plot of land and they were prevented from [receiving] their shares. To regain access to the water, the Sufis wanted to tunnel a new opening in the conduit, and selected a place near their orchard. They aimed to obtain the quantity of water they were entitled to according to their claims. Yet this new aperture in the conduit stopped the water from reaching the upstream gardens, which the above-mentioned tenants had rented for a long period. I [al-Subkī] contemplated the affair and concluded that the opening of the water gate by the Sufis simultaneously with the tenants’ watering of the garden will cause harm to the general public, because of the decrease in flow of water to which the remaining users are entitled to. The fraction they rightfully claim will not reach them. On the other hand, if the situation remains as it is, the Sufis will be harmed. Conversely, the tenants are

73 74

75 76 77 78

S.v. Māʾ, ei2 v, 860, 870–871. Ibn ʿAsākir, Taʾrīkh madīnat Dimashq 43, 215–217 (no. 5069); Ibn Shaddād, al-Aʿlāq alkhatīra 191; al-Nuʿaymī, al-Dāris fī taʾrīkh al-madāris ii, 118–126 (no. 166); Sauvaire, Description de Damas 278–280, 301 (note 43); Herzfeld, Damascus: Studies in architecture: ii 32–34 (dār al-fuqarāʾ); Sauvaget, Notes sur quelques monuments musulmans de Syrie 220. Ibn Shaddād, al-Aʿlāq al-khatīrah 191; al-Nuʿaymī, al-Dāris fī taʾrīkh al-madāris ii, 110–111 (no. 160); Sauvaire, Description de Damas 270. On the digging of this qanā, see Ibn ʿAsākir, Taʾrīkh madīnat Dimashq 21, 101 (4290). Muslim jurists used ʿāda to signify normative practice. Johansen, Casuistry: Between legal concept and social praxis 151–152. Hoexter, Adaptation to changing circumstances 320 (note 2).

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entitled to water their fields and animals and to wash themselves from the conduit that flows near the gardens which they have leased. If the conduit that leads to their gardens were to be blocked, then they would be harmed. The local social custom (ʿurf )79 stipulates that they have the right to use the water stream that flows adjacent to their lease.80 Hence, I conclude that both parties: the people who leased the gardens and the orchards of the two Sufi lodges, hold rights to the waters. This divides the water into two uneven halves. Due to the fact that gardens need greater quantities of water than men need for drinking and washing, it is impossible to split the water into two equal shares. Hence, the tenants of the leased gardens will receive one-third of the water and the occupants of the two Sufi lodges will be given two-thirds of the water. Two-thirds of the water will be closed off and a third of the water will flow freely as regulated by the governor. If the Sufis are allowed to construct a water conduit in the location that they prefer, it will virtually prevent the tenants from reaching the water, since in practice the water will flow to the Sufis’ fields. If they, the Sufis, do not dig pipelines, let their share, I mean the above-mentioned two-thirds of the water stream, supply the water pipelines (rawa) that flow close to their orchard. In this case, the governor will be able to grant the Sufis permission to open the pipelines and to use two-thirds of the water flow in their lands. Accordingly, a quantity of water that was used in the past by the tenants will, from now on, be used by the Sufis. This course should be trusted. No other arrangement would work. One cannot assume that the tenants will obey an order not to water trees. This is my decision, which is as close as possible to legal equity and does not require the flowing of water from one beneficiary to another claimant. Allah knows the best. It was written in al-Dahsha81 on Tuesday, during the first decade of Rabīʿ i, 754/1–9 April 1353.82 The influence of Sufism as a social force in Damascus and the economic role of Sufi lodges throughout the Mamluk Sultanate are well-known historical pro-

79 80

81 82

Johansen, Coutumes locales et coutumes universelles 30–31, 33. Libson, On the development of custom as a source of law in Islamic law 132 claims that: “Islamic law chose not to grant formal status to custom.” I believe that al-Subkī’s rationalization proves the opposite. Ibn Ṣaṣrá, A chronicle, 156 (note 921; English). Al-Subkī, Fatāwá i, 450–452.

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cesses. The growth in the size and number of waqf pious charities to support Sufi mendicants ( fuqarāʾ)83 also became visible in the distribution of water in Damascus. From the biography of Saʿīd b. Sahl b. Muḥammad al-Falakī (d. 660/1165) we learn about the Sumaysaṭiyya (Shumayshaṭiyya) khānqāh in Damascus.84 Nūr al-Dīn refused to permit Ibn Sahl’s departure from Damascus and forced him to dwell in the khānqāh, nominating him as its head. This evidently infuriated the shaykh Ibn Sahl, who demonstrated his resentment by refusing to benefit from the endowment of the lodge. He amassed a considerable sum of money and invested it in a sāqiya or birka (a water reservoir) and a water conduit (qanā).85

2

Conclusion

Study of the urban water system, its regulations, and its operation sheds light on the structure of Mamluk Damascus, its political system, and its social conflicts. The religious establishment’s participation in daily life and its power and position in communal and economic issues can be assessed from accounts of legal cases and competitions over water rights. The ruling military institution could not ignore the prestige of jurists and judges. Their opinions and public actions were carefully weighed by governors and army commanders. Yet these were not the sole religious class. The Sufis also exerted a powerful and visible presence in the streets of Damascus. When disputes erupted they could mobilize the masses (ʿawāmm; awbāsh; ghawghā). Protesting, waving banners, and carrying volumes of Qurans (rabʿāt) in their hand, they were a potent source of urban unrest.86

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al-Nuʿaymī, ʿAbd al-Qādir b. Muḥammad, al-Dāris fī taʾrīkh al-madāris, Beirut 1990. al-Nuwayrī, Aḥmad b. ʿAbd al-Wahhāb, Nihāyat al-arab fī funūn al-adab, 32 vols., Cairo 1963–1998. Pouzet, L., Damas au 7e/13e siecle: Vie et sractures religieuses d’une metropole islamique, Beirut 1988. Qāḍīkhān al-Farghānī, Fatāwá Qāḍīkhān, Beirut 2009. al-Qalqashandī, Aḥmad b. ʿAlī, Subḥ al-aʿshá fi sināʿat al-inshāʾ, ed. Ḥ. al-Laṭīf, 14 vols., Cairo 1963. Raby, J., Nur al-Din, the Qastal al-Shuʿaybiyya and the “classical revival,” in Muqarnas 21 (2004), 289–310. al-Ramlī, b. Aḥmad, Kitāb al-Fatāwá al-khayriyya li-nafʿ al-bariyya ʿalá madhhab alimām al-aʿẓam Abī Ḥanīfa, Būlāq 1859. Rosenthal, F., Poetry and architecture: The “Bādhanj,” in jal 8 (1977), 1–19. al-Ṣafadī, Khalīl b. Aybak, al-Wāfī bi-l-wafayāt, ed. J. Arnaut, Beirut 2000. al-Sarakhsī, Muḥammad b. Aḥmad, al-Mabsūṭ, 32 vols., Beirut 2001. Sauvaget, J., Notes sur quelques monuments musulmans de Syrie: A propos d’une étude récente, in Syria 24 (1944–1945), 211–231. al-Shawkani, Muhamad b. ʿAli, Nayl al-awtar min asrar muntaqa al-akhbar 16 vol. Riyad, 1427/2006. Shoshan, B., Mini-dramas by the water: On irrigation rights and disputes in fifteenthcentury Damascus, in R. Margariti et al. (eds.), Historians of the Middle East: Studies in Middle Eastern society, economy and law in Honor of A.L. Udovitch, Leiden 2011, 233–244. Soravia, B., Les manuels à l’usage des fonctionnaires de l’administration (“Adab alKātib”) dans l’Islam classique, in Arabica 52/3 (2005), 417–436. Stoianovich, T., French historical method: The Annales paradigm, New York 1976. Sublet, J., Le Séquestre sur les jardins de la Ghouta (Damas 666/1267), in si 43 (1976), 81–86. al-Subki, Taqi al-Din Abu al-Hasan ʿAli b. Abd al-Kafi, Fatawa al-Subki (Beirut, s.d.), al-Suyūṭī, ʿAbd al-Raḥmān b. Abī Bakr, al-Ḥāwi lil-fatāwi fi al-fiqh wa-ʿulūm al-tafsīr, Beirut 1981. Trillo San Jose, C., Agriculture and food in the 14th century, in M. Viguera (ed.), Ibn Khaldun: The Mediterranean in the 14th century—Rise and fall of empires, Seville 2006, 292–303. Tucker, J.E., Biography as history: The exemplary life of Khayr al-Din al-Ramli, in M.A. Fay (ed.), Autobiography and the construction of identity and community in the Middle East, New York 2002, 12–17. Tucker, W.F., Environmental hazards, natural disasters, economic loss, and mortality in Mamluk Syria, in msr 3 (1999), 109–128. Walker, B.J., Mamluk investment in southern Bilad al-Sham in the eighth/fourteenth century: The case of Hisban, in jnes 62 (2003), 241–263.

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Wensinck, A.J., Concordance et indices de la traditiom Musulmane, Leiden 1955/1967. White, L.T. Jr., The historical roots of our ecological crisis, in Science 155 (1967), 1203– 1207. White, R., Environmental history, ecology, and meaning, in The journal of American history 76/4 (1990), 1111–1116. Wilkinson, J.C., Muslim land and water law, in jis 1 (1990), 54–72. Ziadeh, N.A. Damascus under the Mamluks, Norman (Oklahoma) 1964.

chapter 10

Urban Water Management in the Medieval Middle East: The Case of Mamluk Cairo Amalia Levanoni

i After the Arab conquest of Egypt, Fusṭāṭ or Miṣr, the oldest part of Cairo, was built (643/22) on the eastern bank of the Nile as a provincial capital and river port. Texts from the Islamic period attest that until the fourteenth century, water projects in Cairo, much like irrigation projects in Egypt, were constructed on the shore to catch the Nile waters with technically traditional methods that enabled the geographic expansion of the city on the Nile shore and inland areas with a relatively negligible effect on the natural environment. Yet, the Nile natural recession westward often posed difficulties for water provision to the city. The last recession before the fourteenth century started at the end of the tenth century and continued until the middle of the thirteenth century, when the course of the river stabilized. This prolonged and gradual natural recession enabled a sustainable water provision that adapted to the new ecological conditions, though access to clean drinking water became more difficult.1 Some Mamluk sources, particularly the fifteenth-century historian Aḥmad b. ʿAlī al-Maqrīzī (d. 846/1442), argued that this ecological equilibrium was disturbed when ambitious water projects in Cairo during al-Nāṣir Muḥammad’s third reign (710–741/1310–1341) were ventured. Al-Nāṣir’s projects, al-Maqrīzī argued, interfered with the Nile’s natural flow and triggered an immediate process of river recession westwards that led to a severe water shortage in the city, disturbed water transportation to the city, and eventually brought about the decline of its western suburbs.2 Long after al-Nāṣir Muḥammad’s death, the government coped without much success with the problem of the Nile recession westward. As this article will show, the failure of al-Nāṣir Muḥammad’s projects and those that were designed to remedy their malfunctions stemmed

1 For more information on the water supply in medieval Cairo, see Levanoni, Water supply in medieval Middle Eastern cities. 2 Al-Maqrīzī, Khiṭaṭ ii, 167, 109; Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Nujūm ix, 124–128.

© Amalia Levanoni, 2022 | doi:10.1163/9789004459717_012

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from the discrepancy between new ideas and concepts about the manipulation of natural resources and the invariance in traditional water management practices. The issue of water provision for agriculture in Egypt has been investigated in modern historical literature chiefly in relation to the severe demographic decline and the drastic deterioration of agriculture in Egypt in the wake of the Black Death or the bubonic plague (748–750/1347–1349).3 Modern scholars have argued that in terms of the “Pseudo-Malthusian” economic model (based on the production factors formula of land, labor, and capital), labor scarcity and land abundance should lead to higher productivity due to greater marginal returns to labor and also boost demographic growth, which in turn should contribute to production growth. This scenario occurred in some postplague economies in Europe, such as England, but not in Egypt.4 In premodern irrigation economies like Egypt, demographic recovery depended on an enormous investment of capital in irrigation networks to reclaim cultivated land and expand agricultural output. However, it was argued, internecine warfare among the Mamluk landholding elite distracted the central authority from investing in water systems to reclaim cultivated lands.5 Undoubtedly political instability affected investment in water systems in Egypt to varying extents, but it was not the main reason for the poor post-plague state of the water supply, especially when Mamluk politics and power struggles during the Circassian period (784–923/1382–1517) were less frequent and largely nonviolent in comparison to the Turkish period (648–784/1250–1384) because they were based on a biparty political system.6 Water provision is part of the governance systems of all societies and hence is based on a certain form of institutional organization. This article provides a systematic account of the major water projects constructed in Cairo during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries and discusses the institutional frameworks of water provision and policies that emerged from them. The legal aspects of the water supply in Cairo will not be discussed in this article.7 This paper argues that water projects constructed in Cairo during the fourteenth century indeed 3 Udovitch, England to Egypt, 1350–1500 119; Ayalon, The plague and its effects 67–73; Ashtor, Histoire des prix et des salaires 49; A Social and economic history of the Near East 302–303; Dols, The second plague pandemic and its recurrences 413; The black death in the Middle East 154–162. 4 Ashtor, Levant trade 437–440; Ashtor, Factors of technological and industrial progress 15–16; Dols, Black death 231, 282–283. 5 Borsch, Environment and population. 6 For more on this issue, see Levanoni, The sultan’s laqab. 7 For the legal aspects of water supply, see Walker, The struggle over water; Kumakura,

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reveal a more daring attitude toward the manipulation of natural resources that also entailed a change in the dimensions and magnitude of projects than in the past. Yet these changes did not generate improvements in water technology and even led to the deterioration of the existing water systems because the traditional governance concepts related to the provision of public services remained untouched. Urban water provision in the Mamluk Sultanate was generally based on cooperation between the public and private sectors, a model that was enhanced in the Middle East by the Turkic regimes during the tenth–eleventh centuries.8 There was no bureaucratic system responsible for water management on a regular basis. Rather, the Mamluk central authority coped with issues of water supply ad hoc by projects constructed according to necessity. This model of hybrid institutional organization of public services provision tended, and still tends today, to be flexible and has a wider range of stakeholder interests and ambiguous and contradictory missions and strategies.9 This mix of sectoral and mission-related elements reduced the government’s responsibility and performance in water projects10 and eventually led to technological stagnation as it often does today.11 Water projects in Cairo during the fourteenth–fifteenth centuries involved public and private resources, skilled engineers and laymen, and stakeholders and freelancers with different interests and missions, which is characteristic of the hybrid institutional organization of public services.

ii From the inception of Cairo, there was cooperation between the public and private sectors in providing urban public services. According to the Muslim tradition, major water projects connected to water drawing from the Nile were the moral commitment and responsibility of the rulers who had the financial resources and manpower to shoulder such a heavy burden.12 More modest

8 9 10 11 12

The early Ottoman rural government system 87–114; Barnes, Cultivating the Nile; MeinzenDick and Nkonya, Understanding legal pluralism in water and land rights 12–27. For this historical development in the Middle East, see Heidemann, Charity and piety for the transformation of the cities 153–174. Kickert, Public management of hybrid organisations 135–150; Jansson, The stakeholder model 1–13; Baird, Exploring the organization of hybrid organizations 1–18. Battilana and Dorado, Building sustainable hybrid organisations 1419–1440. Cornforth and Spear, The governance of hybrid organisations 70–89. Al-Qalqashandī, Subḥ al-aʿshá iii, 516; Levanoni, Water supply 179–180.

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water projects related to carrying water to the city’s quarters were considered private and generally were sponsored and built by prominent members of the ruling elite and the bourgeoisie as part of their private profit-making enterprises and charity foundations.13 New quarters in Cairo equipped with water infrastructures were normally built around the royal and administrative centers that were established with the rise of new regimes such as the Tulunid al-Qaṭāʾiʿ, Fatimid Cairo, or the Ayyubid Citadel on the al-Muqaṭṭam hill. Strong Mamluk sultans could use their full command and wield authority over the private sectors and the army for the upkeep and construction of water systems.14 In 659/1261, al-Ẓāhir Baybars (r. 658–676/1260–1277) ordered the cleaning of the Ushmūn canal, which had become silted up, and in 663/1265 Baybars personally supervised the digging out of the canal and toiled with the amirs he had summoned to carry out the work.15 In 682/1283, Sultan al-Manṣūr Qalāwūn (r. 678–689/1279–1290) supervised the digging of the Ṭayriyya canal in al-Buḥayra province to allow cultivation of abandoned land in this region to begin anew.16 Al-Maqrīzī related that in 713/1313 al-Nāṣir Muḥammad enlisted the entire army for the construction of the Umm Dīnār Dam and the rural network of dams and aqueducts in al-Jīza province.17 With respect to water technology, water provision in the early days of Old Cairo was based on porters who carried the Nile water, day and night, in water skins on pack animals to reservoirs in the city.18 Later on, water projects, based on Roman hydraulic knowhow and experience19 present in the Mediterranean Basin before the Arab conquests, conveyed the Nile water inland in canals dammed at their mouth by embankments made of raised mounds of earth.20

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15 16 17 18 19

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Levanoni, Water supply 179–180. For examples of corvée labor in water projects during the reigns of Baybars and Qalawun, see al-Maqrīzī, Khiṭa i, 171; ii, 168–169; Ibn Shaddād, Taʾrīkh al-Malik al-Ẓāhir 349–350; alYūnīnī, Dhayl mirʾāt al-zamān ii, 322; Ibn al-Furāt, Taʾrīkh al-duwal wa-l-mulūk vii, 260; Rabie, Some aspects of agriculture, 60–61; Ashtor, A social and economic history of the Near East 317–318. Al-Maqrīzī, Khiṭaṭ i, 171; Ibn Shaddād, Taʾrīkh al-Malik al-Ẓāhir, 349–350; al-Yūnīnī, Dhayl mirʾāt al-zamān ii, 322. Ibn al-Furāt, Taʾrīkh al-duwal wa-l-mulūk vii, 260; Rabie, Some aspects of agriculture, 60– 61, 65; Ashtor, A social and economic history of the Near East 317–318. Al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk ii, 130. Scanlon, Housing and sanitation, 186–188; al-Maqrīzī, Khiṭaṭ i, 335–339. Gargarin and Fantham, The Oxford encyclopedia of ancient Greece and Rome i, 144–145; Taylor, Rome’s lost aqueduct. On the ancient Persian qanāt (s. qanā) that served a reliable supply of water in hot and arid climates, see: Wilson, Hydraulic engineering and water supply 291 f.; Wulff, The qanats of Iran 94–105; Hodge, 4. qanats i, 35–38. For more details on water projects in Cairo, see Levanoni, Water supply.

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These traditional and simple local methods of water provision only slightly manipulated natural resources during the high tide of the Nile.21 There is a general consensus that the principles of water management and the local traditional hydraulic techniques remained in place in Cairo and Egypt until the nineteenth century. Yet information collated from the sources about water projects in Cairo in the fourteenth–fifteenth centuries shows that a gradual change took place in the concepts related to the manipulation of natural resources and the role of the central authority in the financing, planning, and execution of water projects. It was during al-Nāṣir Muḥammad’s third reign that a more daring and large-scale water engineering was attempted, which was mainly intended to protect the newly established quarters from Nile floods. Subsequent to the considerable flooding in 723/1323 that submerged Cairo’s newly built flourishing areas22 from Būlāq to Old Cairo (and caused widespread damage to agriculture), al-Nāṣir Muḥammad decided to construct an embankment from Būlāq to Minyat al-Shīrij. All the property owners in this area were ordered to build levees at the water’s edge.23 Most of the labor on the construction of the embankment devolved upon the farmers who lived on the amirs’ iqtāʿāt (fiefs). The mobilization of the farmers from the provinces to the city obviously affected the amirs’ private income from their fiefs. The cattle and equipment for the project were financed from the sultan’s purse since they were also brought in from the provinces where they were assigned to the construction of the public embankments or al-jusūr al-sulṭāniyya.24 This is indicative of an increase in private sector involvement in the financing and construction of urban public projects, whereas previously, under the Tulunid, Fatimids, and Ayyubid, they were generally sponsored by the rulers and the most prominent members of the ruling elite. When in 738/1337 the embankment built in 723/1323 proved ineffective, alNāṣir Muḥammad opted for a more drastic and more carefully planned project, 21 22

23 24

Rapoport and Shahar, Irrigation in the medieval Islamic fayyum 7. For the establishment of the flourishing western quarters of Cairo, see al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk ii, 261–262; al-Maqrīzī, Khiṭaṭ ii, 109, 110, 130, 131, 151, 166–167; Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Nujūm ix, 81–83, 182–183, 184–185; al-Nuwayrī, Nihāyat al-arab xxxiii, 180. Al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk 2, 251; al-Maqrīzī, Khiṭa ii, 166. There were two kinds of dams, or embankments, in the rural irrigation system of Egypt. The public or sultanic dams, al-jusūr al-sulṭāniyya, were constructed on the Nile banks to catch the flood waters for distribution in the provinces. These dikes were the responsibility of the central authority: they were built, financed, and controlled by the central authority. The second type were the village dams, al-jusūr al-baladiyya that were the responsibility of the fiefs’ holders in the provinces and functioned as part of the local irrigation system. Al-Qalqashandī, Subḥ al-aʿshá 3, 515–516; al-Maqrīzī, Khiṭaṭ i, 101; Rabie, Aspects of agriculture, 61; The Financial system of Egypt, 70–71, 115.

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for which he summoned engineers from Upper and Lower Egypt. This time the scheme included the reconstruction of a dam extending from Būlāq to Minyat al-Shīrij and the digging of a canal on al-Rawḍa island that was designed to direct the floodwaters toward the new dam and from there to flow in the direction of the Manbāba area on the western bank of the Nile.25 For the construction of the new dam, a total of 12,000 vessels, each bearing a load of 1,000 irdabb (wasq kull markab alf irdabb), were sunk in the Nile, in addition to 23,000 boatloads of stones quarried from the mountains, thus creating a continuous barrier between Cairo and al-Rawḍa island. The embankment from Būlāq to Minyat alShīrij was built by the forced labor of the common people of Cairo and peasants enlisted from all districts of Egypt.26 The dam proved strong enough to withstand the flood waters that were now steered in the direction of Manbāba and Būlāq al-Takrūrī.27 According to al-Maqrīzī, this dam triggered the process of the Nile’s recession toward the west bank. After its construction, he claimed, many tracts of land that had been under water in the western quarters of Cairo to the north, south, and east of Būlāq, including Būlāq itself, emerged, disrupting access to clean drinking water and transportation on the Nile.28 A striking feature in the planning and construction of the dam from Būlāq to Minyat al-Shīrij, and other dams related to water supply to Cairo, as will be shown below, was the absence of institutionalized urban water management on a regular basis. Al-Nāṣir Muḥammad alone conceived of the idea of constructing a dam from Būlāq to Minyat al-Shīrij. The sources do not mention any alternative proposal brought up during an ad hoc consultation with the engineers convened from Upper and Lower Egypt. The engineers were normally responsible for the annual construction of public dikes (al-jusūr alsulṭāniyya) related to agricultural water systems in the provinces.29 They possessed unsophisticated traditional knowledge of water techniques since these dikes were in fact raised mounds of earth that served seasonally to catch the

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Al-Maqrīzī, Khiṭaṭ ii, 167; al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk ii, 449–451. Al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk ii, 450–451. Al-Shujāʿī, Tʾarīkh al-Malik al-Nāṣir Muḥammad i, 31–32; al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk ii, 449–451; Khiṭaṭ ii, 166–167. An attempt to build an embankment with the same techniques was made in the early decades of the thirteenth century by Fakhr al-Dīn ʿUthmān, majordomo to the Ayyubid sultan al-Malik al-Kāmil (615–635/1218–1237). It was constructed to redirect the Nile water to Baḥr Yūsuf that fed the al-Fayyūm area, see Rapoport and Shahar, Irrigation in the medieval Islamic fayyum. Al-Maqrīzī, Khiṭaṭ ii, 169. Water vendors had to bring drinking water from Manbāba, which raised the price of water from a quarter or half a dirham to some two dirhams for a jug (rāwiya). Ibid., 167. Al-Qalqashandī, Subḥ al-aʿshá iii, 515–516.

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figure 10.1

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Cairo and its environs during the fifteenth century. Based on figure 5 in William Popper, Egypt and Syria under the Circassian Sultans, 1382–1468a.d.

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Nile water and did not survive the next year’s inundation.30 The unpredicted consequences of this project, which resulted in the flooding of Manbāba and Būlāq al-Takrūrī and the recession of water from Cairo, clearly indicate that the provincial water engineers were ill equipped to undertake complex urban water systems. Long after al-Nāṣir Muḥammad’s death, the government, despite its empty coffers, still coped with the problem of the Nile recession westward. In 747/1346, the population of Cairo complained about the high price of drinking water because the water along the Nilometer, al-Miqyās, and Miṣr had become shallow during the Nile ebbing and tracts of land emerged from Elephant Island to Būlāq. In response, the senior Mamluk amirs who supported the rule of Sultan al-Kāmil Shaʿbān (r. 746–747/1345–1346) and engineers convened on the shores of the Nile for consultation about building a dam from al-Jīza on the west bank of the Nile to the Nilometer on al-Rawḍa island so as to “divert again the water to the area from which it had receded [wa-yadfaʿu al-māʾ ilā al-jiha allatī inkhasara ʿanhā].”31 Since the inundation had already started, it was decided to build an embankment made of soil and pots shreds from sugar processing factories. The dam gave way soon after its construction when the inundation intensified.32 This was the first time the idea of building a dam across the Nile had been raised. However, its implementation reveals that the decision-makers knowingly provided a temporary inexpensive solution for a complex project that necessitated water engineering expertise, a huge financial investment, and executive organization on the part of the central authority. When complaints about the high prices of water and lack of accessibility to the Nile continued, the 15-year-old sultan al-Muẓaffar Ḥājī (r. 747–749/1346– 1347), who ascended to the throne after his brother’s assassination, ordered engineers to resubmit a plan for a dam to be built across the Nile covering the same area, from al-Jīza on the west bank to the Nilometer on al-Rawḍa island. According to the engineers, the estimated costs of the new plan reached 120 thousand dirhams, which were levied from Cairene property owners along the riverbank.33 This project signals a change in the financing policy of urban water projects, though as early as the construction of the dam from Būlāq to Minyat al-Shīrij private property owners were ordered to contribute by building levees at the water’s edge to protect their own homes. Whereas early major water pro30 31 32 33

For an example of how embankments were traditionally built, see the case of Baḥr Yūsuf. Rapoport and Shahar, Irrigation in the medieval Islamic fayyum 7, 13–14. Al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk ii, 704; Khiṭaṭ ii, 167. Al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk ii, 704. Al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk ii, 724; Khiṭaṭ ii, 168–169.

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jects in Cairo were initiated and funded by the rulers and elite members, now they were considered only after loud complaints about water shortage by the population at large and their financing devolved to the private property owners according to their derived benefit. In preparation for the dam construction from al-Jīza to the Nilometer on alRawḍa island, the vicegerent Ṭuquzdamur,34 a number of high-ranking amirs, engineers, and experienced shipmasters of Nile sailboats who had practical knowledge of the Nile water regime were convened to measure the distance from al-Jīza to the Nilometer in al-Rawḍa. Yūsuf, one of the shipmasters, voiced serious doubts about the idea of even partially blocking the Nile’s natural flow and warned of the dangers to al-Jīza entailed by such a scheme. Ṭuquzdamur was of the opinion that the project would ruin both Miṣr (Old Cairo) and Būlāq. However, two amirs—Maliktamur al-Ḥijāzī, the power behind the sultan, and Ṭughaytamur al-Najmī, the sultan’s close associate and ink bearer (dawādār)— spoke in praise of two engineers35 who vouched for the success of the project, each according to his own plan.36 These two individuals were summoned to present their plans to Ṭuquzdamur and the vizier. Al-Ḥijāzī’s protégé was of the opinion that one end of the dam to al-Jīza should start from the Nilometer and suggested building it by sinking ships loaded with stones and wood, beams, and esparto leveled by soil and sand. In fact, this plan was based on local knowledge and water technology practices in medieval Egypt but had been tested only in proximity to the Nile banks, such as in al-Nāṣir Muḥammad’s Minyat al-Shīrij dam. Ṭughaytamur’s engineer, however, suggested a plan for a dam stretching from Bustān al-Dhahabī to al-Jazīra,37 i.e., al-Wusṭā island (the Middle Island) to al-Jīza, made of esparto and palm wood (ḥasaniyya, probably palm trunks), beams, and soil. He estimated that the building costs of this plan would not 34

35

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Ṭuquzdamur’s position in Egypt was weak since he was elderly and an outsider among the amirs who exerted influence on the sultan. He was one of al-Nāṣir Muḥammad’s veteran amirs. Originally, he was a mamluk of the Ayyubid ruler of Ḥamāt al-Muʾyyad. When he joined al-Nāṣir Muḥammad’s service he earned his trust for he was harmless, an outsider among his mamluks. Al-Nāṣir Muḥammad promoted him to an amirate and made him one of his close associates. Al-Nāṣir Muḥammad married his two daughters to two of Ṭuquzdamur’s sons. After al-Nāṣir Muḥammad’s death he was appointed governor in Ḥamāt, Aleppo, and Damascus. In 746/1345 al-Kāmil Shaʿbān summoned him to Cairo and made him vicegerent despite his old age and illness from which he died in the same year. Ibn Ḥajar, Durar ii, 225; al-Maqrīzī, Suluk ii, 698; Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Manhal iv, 420–422. Their names or professions are not mentioned in the text, probably to ridicule the conduct of the decision-makers compared to the importance and scale of the project discussed in the scenario. Al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk ii, 761–762. The layout of this dam is unclear.

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exceed 4,000 dirhams. Although he was ridiculed for his unrealistic plan, both schemes were presented to the sultan al-Muẓaffar Ḥājī, mainly to appease their patrons. There is no indication in the sources of other competing engineering plans submitted to the sultan. Al-Muẓaffar Ḥājī chose the 4,000 dirham plan and imposed the whimsical condition that if the plan proved effective, its planner would receive a fief, but if he failed, he would be executed.38 Upon Ṭughaytamur’s engineer’s request, wood, esparto, posts, and manpower were provided. The inspector (kāshif pl. kushshāf )39 and the construction controller of the sultan’s inshore projects (shādd al-ʿamāʾir) were ordered to assist him in the construction. This once again points to the absence of established administration practices for water management and engineering. Since the dam was made mainly of soil and sand, the Nile destroyed at night what had been accomplished during the day. After a week of Sisyphean labor, this plan was abandoned, and al-Ḥijāzī’s engineer was summoned to execute his plan. He submitted a list of required materials for the construction of the dam that included 500 posts, 1,000 palm wood or trunks, 1,000 stones two forearms wide (dhirāʿ pl. adhruʿ), sacks (shinf pl. ashnāf ), and so on. The project costs were estimated at 150,000 dirhams to be raised from the property owners on the Nile shore from the mouth of the al-Nāṣirī canal to Būlāq, including Būlāq itself. Only 70,000 dirhams were actually levied when al-Muẓaffar Ḥājī was assassinated and preparations for this ambitious project ceased.40 The sources are silent as to whether the money levied for this project was spent on future water projects in Cairo. It is worth mentioning that levies for hydraulic projects, as they were military expeditions, provided opportunities for all parties involved, including the sultan, to make private profits. Improvisation and mismanagement clearly characterized the entire decision-making process in the last two water projects in Cairo. The ad hoc advisory body convened for the planning and execution of Muẓaffar Ḥājī’s project was led by Mamluk amirs whose professional knowledge or practical experience in hydraulic engineering are not mentioned in the sources. They were chosen for their military and political position and their relations with the sultan. The sources do not report any other plans expressed by the construction engineers except for those put forward by the protégés of the two prominent amirs whose plans were the only ones submitted to the sultan. The disregard for

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Al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk ii, 762. The kāshif was in charge of the financial management of Upper Egypt and the upkeep of its dikes. Al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ iii, 515–516; iv, 26, 66. Al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk ii, 762–763.

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professionalism in the decision-making process was highlighted in the sultan’s irresponsible decision to agree to the amateurish plan out of financial considerations and patronage. In 749/1348 the areas between Old Cairo in the south and the mouth of the Khawr canal in the north remained arid during the Nile ebbing and impeded the transportation of crops to the city. This again prompted the idea of building a dam across the Nile. This time, the plan included two ambitious projects in addition to the dam to be built across the Nile from al-Jīza and the Nilometer in al-Rawḍa, a dam between the al-Rawḍa and al-Wusṭá islands, and a canal on the shore between the Esparto Quai (Mawridat al-Ḥalfāʾ)41 and Būlāq, which would contain the overflow from the inundation.42 Much like in previous cases of complex water projects, warnings voiced by experienced sailors on the Nile as to the dangers to both Cairo and al-Jīza in this plan were ignored.43 Manjak, the majordomo and the superintendent for the construction of embankments on the Nile (shādd al-ʿamal ʿalā al-jusūr fī al-Nīl) in the provinces, was in charge of the building of the dam. We learn from this case that there was a department exclusively devoted to the construction of water projects on the Nile, but it was conferred on one of the prominent and high-ranking Mamluk amirs, not a professional water engineer. For the financing of the project, the Amir Shaykhū, the power behind the minor sultan al-Nāṣir Ḥasan (r. 748–752/1347–1351; 755–762/1354–1361), suggested that the army should be called to carry out the manual labor (i.e., the amirs, the peasants on their fiefs, their mamluks, and Ḥalqa soldiers).44 Manjak, however, undertook to construct the project without using any forced labor. Eventually, the high costs of these two projects, which reached 300,000 dinars over and beyond the building materials supplied from the sultan’s private purse,45 were levied from the Mamluk amirs, clerks in their service, Ḥalqa soldiers, and all property and business owners in Cairo and its outskirts; that is, all the well-heeled sectors of Cairo, public and private, that would directly benefit from the planned project.46 This case proves again that the decision-making process was in the hands of members of the military ruling elite who were primarily motivated by their political survival. Manjak doubtlessly avoided 41 42 43 44 45 46

In William Popper’s Egypt under the Circassian sultans 1382–1468a.d., Mawridat al-Ḥalfāʾ appears as “Alfalfa Quai” (see map no. 5). Al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk ii, 765–766. Al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk ii, 763. The Ḥalqa soldiers were a military reserve force paid by small fiefs for their services. For details, see Levanoni, The halqa in the Mamluk army. Al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk ii, 763–764; Khiṭaṭ ii, 168–169. Al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk ii, 763–764; Khiṭaṭ ii, 168–169.

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unrest in the army by recruiting the military and peasantry manpower of freshly appointed amirs for forced labor in urban projects, which would have disrupted the cultivation of land in their fiefs and endangered their income that also served to pay the salaries of their mamluks. As mentioned above, in most cases mobilizing peasants in the amirs’ iqtāʾāt for corvée labor was limited to local provincial water projects that only benefited the province fiefs holders and peasants, and this once again documents the increasing process of privatization and localization of the provision of public services. The consultation between the two prominent amirs, Manjak and Shaykhū, regarding the sectors that would shoulder the funding of the project proves again that there were no fixed and clear procedures for public water provision. This flexible form of Mamluk institutional organization of water provision and the wide range of sectors participating in water projects left considerable room for improvisation and vacillations in the government’s responsibility for water supply and performance in water projects.47 Aḥmad b. ʿAlī al-Qalqashandī (d. 821/1418) attested that during his time, sultans invested very little in the construction and upkeep of the public dams. The government neglect of the public dams led the amirs to abandon the construction of most of the local dikes in their fiefs.48 The construction details of Manjak’s dam from the al-Rawḍa to al-Wusṭá islands indicate it measured 200 qaṣṣaba long (a linear measure of 3.55 m.), 8 qaṣṣaba wide, and 4 qaṣṣaba high, while that running from the Nilometer on al-Rawḍa to al-Jīza was 230 qaṣṣaba long.49 The sources provide important information about the techniques used to build these two dams. The dam from the al-Rawḍa to al-Wusṭá islands, which was relatively close to the Nile’s eastern bank, was built of two parallel walls made of trunks. The space in between was filled with stones, soil, and esparto. Since the dam from al-Jīza to al-Rawḍa was built in the Nile’s deep waters, more massive materials were used, but the technique remained the same: a total of 12,000 boats loaded with stones quarried from the mountains in Cairo’s vicinity and esparto and soil dug from al-Rawḍa island were sunk in the river.50

47

48 49 50

In modern democratic states, for example, accountability is divided between the government and other sectors or actors who are accountable to the people in areas they affect as well as their own constituents and members. Andanova and Levy, Franchising global governance 19. Al-Qalqashandī, Subḥ al-aʿshá iii, 515–516; Ibn Ḥajar al-ʿAsqalānī, Inbāʾ viii, 257; al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk iv, 874. Ibid., 766. Al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk ii, 765, 766; Khiṭaṭ ii, 169.

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While the canal between the Esparto Quai and Būlāq was successfully dug and small vessels resumed sailing, only two-thirds of the work on the dam across the Nile had been completed before the river rose again.51 When the inundation proved exceptionally high and the al-Jīza dam was almost ruined, Manjak, accompanied by a number of amirs and commoners, not professional engineers, rushed to fill it up with earth, as was traditionally done for embankments. Consequently, the waters raced toward the Būlāq area, destroying many houses in Būlāq, al-Sanānī, and part of the al-Khaṭīrī quarter in its wake, while vast amounts of property were plundered by the mob.52 No ventures would be made for about 40 decades after Manjak’s project to improve water provision in Cairo until 784/1382 when Jahārikas al-Khalīlī, a steadfast amir of Sultan Barqūq (r. 784–791/1382–1389; 792–801/1390–1399) made another attempt to divert the Nile flow toward Cairo. This time the plan involved the construction of a dike 300 qaṣṣaba long and 10 qaṣṣaba wide between the two islands of al-Rawḍa and al-Urwá, again using the same available water techniques. The plan also included the digging of a new canal in the Nile bed from that dam to Zarībat53 Qawsūn to shunt the flood water toward Cairo. Jahārikas al-Khalīlī financed this project from his own coffers and even toiled manually with his own mamluks on its construction. The sources reveal that after the construction of this dam the Nile receded from Cairo to an unprecedented extent.54 Water scarcity in Cairo and disrupted fluvial transport in years of normal or low flood became a persistent problem.55 Jahārikas al-Khalīlī’s water project was the last attempt to divert the Nile’s natural course. The idea of building a dam across the Nile or offshore was abandoned and the traditional water techniques of building embankments on the shore in proximity to the river bank were reintroduced in general in both the rural and urban areas. The sources do not reveal, to the best of our knowledge, any case since the Arab conquest of Egypt of building a dam in deep waters across the Nile. Offshore projects that were considered technically complex and expensive were rarely attempted in the Islamic period and normally ended in failure.56 When the Mamluk authorities ventured on deep waters projects, 51 52 53 54 55 56

Al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk ii, 765; Khiṭaṭ ii, 169. Al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk ii, 765–766, 769; Khiṭaṭ ii, 169, 312; Ibn Iyās, Badāʾiʿ ii, 521–522. A zarība is a levee, a long wall of soil built along a river to prevent flooding. Al-Maqrīzī, Khiṭaṭ ii, 169–170; Sulūk iii, 469–470; Ibn Iyās, Badāʾiʿ ii, 85–86. Al-Maqrīzī, Khiṭaṭ ii, 169; Ibn Iyās, Badāʾiʿ i, 512–513, 521–522; al-Suyūṭī, Ḥusn al-Muḥāḍara ii, 266. See, for example, Fakhr al-Dīn ʿUthmān’s failed attempt in the 1220s to build a huge dam by sinking a number of large boats in the Nile in proximity to the opening of Baḥr Yūsuf that fed the irrigation system of Fayyūm. The construction of this dam increased the water

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they repetitively relied on traditional local hydraulic techniques, whereas such projects required technological advances compatible with the new variants such as fluctuations in water quantity and flow rates. This was the result of the limited knowledge the professional engineers possessed, which was based in general on local practical experience but more so with the fact that supervision of these projects was conferred out of political considerations to high-ranking soldiers with little or no professional water engineering backgrounds. Manifest in all the abortive attempts done during the Mamluk era to build major dams across the Nile is the technological stagnation and the gradual relinquishment of the responsibility for water provision to private parties. These characteristics attest to the hybrid institutional organization of water management in Mamluk Cairo. The crucial impact of institutional organization on the quality of public services provided to the public in premodern economies can be ascertained by the reverse model of water management in centralized hydraulic economies. The Chimú Empire (800–1450) was a thriving hydraulic economy in Peru in South America and contemporary to the Mamluk Sultanate. This Andean society was based on a state-controlled resource management system entrusted to professional officials and technocrats who developed adaptive and defensive strategies to cope with the uncertainties of excessive climate, weather, and topographic variations. Their strategies were usually based on theoretical hydraulic knowledge and constant empirical observations and included iterative procedures whereby unsuccessful ones were corrected by revised decisions that normally led to predictable positive results and innovative hydraulic technology.57 The archaeological field data on the major branches of the 74-km Chicama-Moche Intravalley Canal that supplied water to the capital and its surrounding agricultural areas reveal the creativity that characterized the Chimú water projects. In this huge water project there was sequential abandonment of numerous canals and intersections and construction of differently placed new designs, generally moving from great valley bottom trenches to high-elevation contour canals.58 This change in canal design and placement was necessary to build new upstream inlets to permit the required flow rate for irrigation of the farming area that became continuously lower than the original canal

57 58

shortage in Fayyūm because the boats, which were positioned incorrectly, diverted the water away from the opening of Baḥr Yūsuf. Rapoport and Shahar, Irrigation in the medieval Islamic fayyum 7, 13–14. Ortloff, Water engineering in the ancient world 11–15, 183, 185–186. For mapping and excavation details of the Moche Valley irrigation in the early Chimú period, see Ortloff et al., Hydraulic engineering aspects.

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inlet due to gradual processes of rivers down-cutting and deepening riverbeds affected by the ongoing topographic landscape distortions and infrequent El Niño-derived flooding59 that washed out the valley floors.60

iii At the beginning of the fifteenth century, due to political crises, administrative mismanagement, and oppressive fiscal policies, neglect of the water system in Cairo was further aggravated.61 The civil war that ravaged the country for 12 years after al-Ẓāhir Barqūq’s death in 801/1399 prevented the central authority from maintaining the city’s water supply facilities. Al-Maqrīzī stated that as of 806/1403 the government stopped draining the canals in Cairo and ceased all efforts and investments in bringing the Nile waters back to the city. Indicatively, he recalled seeing the remains of harrows no longer in use in the outskirts of the city.62 In his account of the year 831/1427, he mentioned that cultivation of the land in Cairo’s environs had been stopped because of the short range and span of the Nile inundations (li quṣūr madd al-Nīl wa-surʿat hubūṭihi).63 The price of a water skin continued to rise until it reached one and a half silver dirhams in 902/1496, regardless of the flood level.64 In 912/1506, the Nile’s recession reached the point that an island appeared in Būlāq, and the shallow riverbed allowed Cairene residents to collect water in person until late at night (i.e., the responsibility for drinking water fell upon individual consumers).65 Lack of access to the Nile’s deep waters naturally brought about the decline of Cairo’s western quarters. Al-Maqrīzī described the quarters from Munshaʾat alMahrānī to Būlāq of his days as “… a forsaken desert, as though they had never existed [kharāb muqfir ka-anna lam yakun].”66 Similarly, there was desertion and exchange of numerous waqf assets situated on the riverbank for others inside the city, while rubble from the old assets were sold cheaply for reuse

59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66

Climate changes during the Late Intermediate Period caused more El Niño events. Ortloff, Water engineering in the ancient world 35. Ibid., 11–15, 18–19, 28–33. For details on rural decay, see Levanoni, A turning point 138–139. Al-Maqrīzī, Khiṭaṭ ii, 130. Al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk iv, 764, 778, 779. For details on rural decay, see Levanoni, A turning point 138–139. Ibn Iyās, Badāʾiʿ iii, 360, 369. Ibn Iyās, Badāʾiʿ iv, 110, 114. Al-Maqrīzī, Khiṭaṭ ii, 131–132. On the other hand, Badr al-Dīn al-ʿAynī’s edifice still stood in 917/1511 in Munshaʾat al-Mahrānī, Ibn Iyās, Badāʾiʿ iv, 213.

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as building materials.67 This indicates that throughout the fifteenth century, the water supply in Cairo was devolved to the private sector while the central authority shunned responsibility for providing this service. Most probably the central authority’s preoccupation during the second half of the fifteenth century with the Mamluk–Ottoman conflict over hegemony in Anatolia and the decline in the Mamluk Sultanate’s prestige as a great power in the Middle East68 contributed to the meager investment of the government in the provision of public services. Roughly 120 years after Jahārikas al-Khalīlī’s venture to improve water provision in Cairo, Qānṣawh al-Ghawrī (r. 906–922/1501–1516), the last powerful Mamluk sultan, initiated a very modest water project in the al-Ḥākimī and alNāṣirī canals. In 917/1511 al-Ghawrī ordered the property owners along the two canals to dig out three and a half arms of the earth that had accumulated in their beds and threatened to confiscate the houses of those who failed to do so. Property owners suffered the hardships and humiliation of manual work imposed on them by the agents of Aṣanbāy, the Ḥājib al-Ḥujjāb (Grand Chamberlain).69 The sultan attempted in this case to discharge the manual work on the private sector that would benefit from this water project and reduce the government’s involvement to inspection alone. Obviously, this attempt failed because both the workers and the inspectors were unskilled. In the same year al-Ghawrī ordered the redigging of al-Ḥākimī Canal from Goose Bridge (Qanṭarat al-Iwaz) to New Bridge (al-Qanṭara al-Jadīda) north of Cairo. This time the central authority was more involved in the project. Apparently, the goal was to improve the irrigation system in Cairo’s agricultural environments rather than its urban water supply. On the sultan’s orders, the project was personally inspected by Grand Chamberlain Aṣanbāy, who also secured the harrows and cattle for the work. The project was financed from the kharāj (tax on agricultural lands) collected in advance from all fief holders whose lands were irrigated from this canal. The financial burden imposed on them was debilitating that year.70 It should be emphasized that only part of the taxes levied was actually spent on this project, which was very modest in scale and benefit.71 This suggests that al-Ghawrī initially sought a temporary solution for the problematic water supply, and his main interest was to use this project as an opportunity for making extra income. Al-Ghawrī’s top priority was the introduction 67 68 69 70 71

Al-Maqrīzī, Khiṭaṭ ii, 132. Levanoni, The Mamlūks in Egypt and Syria 270–272. Ibn Iyās, Badāʾiʿ iv, 211–212. Ibid., 228, 232. Ibid., 228.

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of up-to-date firearms to replace the antiquated equipment of the Mamluk army. His military reform was bound up with high expenditures that siphoned resources from the treasury and triggered conflicts with the conservative elements in the army, mainly the Mamluk high-ranking amirs who normally also possessed the fertile fiefs in Egypt.72 The limited benefits of al-Ghawrī’s project required the implementation of another one. On the advice of Ibn al-Farw, the local influential chieftain entrusted with the inspection of al-Maṭriyya lands, al-Ghawrī decided in 917/1511 to launch another water project involving the construction of an embankment in the Zarībat al-Sultan, near the Mawridat al-Jibs (Gypsume Qaui) in order to block the water flow to Būlāq and direct them to the al-Nāṣirī canal that only received enough flood waters in years of high rises. The project was closely inspected by Ibn al-Farw and the sultan himself but still proved disastrous since the water in the al-Nāṣirī canal became stagnant, ships from Būlāq could not anchor any longer in the al-Zarība area, and houses and shops in al-Wusṭá island and al-Zarība were abandoned that year.73 The next year, the sultan was compelled to abandon the whole project.74 Al-Ghawrī’s water projects show that water provision was still based on ad hoc unprofessional solutions. The long interval of 120 years between Jahārikas al-Khalīlī’s and al-Ghawrī’s water projects in Cairo and its environs and the imposition of manual work on property owners in the city implies that the central authority relinquished responsibility for urban water provision to individual consumers and fief holders in the provinces, which led to the ruin of the urban and agricultural water systems in Egypt.75 The decline in the central authority’s involvement in water project construction and maintenance in the fifteenth century led to the deterioration of earlier cooperation arrangements between the public and private sectors and to the stagnation of water techniques that had prevailed in Egypt. This was borne out by the difference between al-Ghawrī’s plan and the ambitious planning and execution of fourteenth-century water projects. Whereas during the 1330s–1340s near-shore projects, such as al-Nāṣir Muḥammad’s dam from Būlāq to Minyat al-Shīrij and Manjak’s dam, which were technically complicated, were successfully executed, but al-Ghawrī’s failed in spite of their limited scale, unsophisticated plans, and low expectations.

72 73 74 75

Levanoni, The Mamlūks in Egypt and Syria 272–273. Ibid., 233–234. Ibid., 272–273. Al-Qalqashandī, Subḥ al-aʿshá iii, 515–516; Ibn Ḥajar al-ʿAsqalānī, Inbāʾ viii, 257; al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk iv, 874.

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Conclusion From the 1340s until the end of Mamluk autonomous rule in Egypt in 1517, Cairo suffered from water shortages and impaired water transportation to the city. Water provision has always been invariably based on a mode of institutional organization that depends on the presence or absence of technological advances. In the premodern model of centralized, state-controlled public services provision, as demonstrated in the Chimú Empire case, water management was entrusted on a regular basis to officials, technocrats, and professional water engineers. The institutionalized cooperation of these stakeholders yielded a sustainable water supply, and their organized quest for improvement of water systems eventually encouraged remarkably innovative strides forward in technology. By contrast, the Mamluk central authority never established bureaucratic institutions responsible for urban water management. Water management only came close to the centralized model in certain respects under strong and authoritative Mamluk sultans. Sultans like al-Ẓāhir Baybars, al-Nāṣir Muḥammad, and Qānṣawh al-Ghawrī could wield their power over the civilian population of Cairo and the army to levy money and mobilize manpower for grand or modest water projects. These sultans initiated administrative and military reforms, yet none of them introduced reforms to the prevailing water provision. High flexibility or hybridity characterized the institutional modes implemented for public services provision in Mamluk Cairo. The government dealt with water supply on a limited scale and an ad hoc basis and then called for the private sector to shoulder water projects financially and often manually. Water projects in Cairo during the fourteenth–fifteenth centuries involved public and private resources, skilled engineers, and laymen, as well as stakeholders and freelancers with different interests and missions. This flexible form of institutional organization made accountability for public services provision difficult because it was spread across many actors. For the same reason, it restricted and impeded change and technological progress, which required huge resources that only governments could shoulder. A clear outcome of the flexible institutional structure of public services provision in Cairo was the lack of professional water management. What emerges from all the abortive attempts during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries to build major dams across the Nile is the repetitive reliance on traditional local hydraulic techniques. The water engineers possessed limited knowledge, based generally on local practical experience, and supervision over execution was conferred to high-ranking soldiers with little or no professional water engineering backgrounds. The blurring of the boundaries between formal and informal

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institutions allowed a gradual reduction in the government’s part in the financing, planning, and execution of water projects that led increasingly to the privatization of the water supply. Consequently, the number, magnitude, and scope of water projects declined drastically. This process hindered technological innovation, which in premodern traditional economies normally required centralized institutional organization and financing.

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White, K.D., Greek and Roman technology, Ithaca 1984. Wilson, A., Hydraulic engineering and water supply, in J.P. Oleson (ed.), Handbook of engineering and technology in the classical world, Oxford and New York 2008, 285– 318. Wulff, H.E., The qanats of Iran, in sa 218 (1968), 94–105. al-Yūnīnī, M., Dhayl mirʾāt al-zamān, 4 vols., Hyderabad 1954–1961.

chapter 11

Waqf as a Means of Securing Financial Assets: The “Self-Benefiting Waqf ” in Mamluk Egypt and Syria Daisuke Igarashi

i During the Mamluk period, especially after the latter half of the fourteenth century, there was an increase in the sale and privatization of state land (amlāk bayt al-māl), which was then being converted into waqf s (Islamic religious endowments). One of the underlying reasons was that under the radically changing political and socioeconomic circumstances, the Mamluks strived to obtain state lands as their private property (milk) and, thus, converted these lands into waqf s for the purpose of securing the endowers’ private sources of revenue.1 In this paper, we are concerned with the function of waqf as a means of securing financial assets. In particular, we focus on a certain kind of waqf, referred to in Islamic legal texts as al-waqf ʿalā al-nafs. According to this kind of waqf, the wāqif (endower) declares himself to be the main beneficiary (mawqūf ʿalayhi) of the revenues earned from his waqf-endowed properties (mawqūf ). For the purpose of this paper, we provisionally refer to these waqf s as “self-benefiting waqf s.” The waqf is a system of Islamic religious endowment wherein a wāqif relinquishes his ownership (milk, milkiyya) of an object by waiving his right to it and dedicating the revenue earned from this object to specific charitable purposes. According to Islamic law, waqf is a good deed that will bring the wāqif “closer to God” (qurba). However, throughout the premodern Islamic era, the popularity of the waqf system was not attributed to the fact that it was a simple charitable act stemming from altruism and benevolence. Instead, it is generally believed that there was a more selfish motive behind establishing these waqf s. From among the various types of waqf s, the so-called “family waqf ” (waqf ahlī, waqf dhurrī) is the most important. According to this system, the wāqif ’s family and/or descendants are designated as the main beneficiaries. There is enough

1 Igarashi, The establishment and development of al-Dīwān al-Mufrad 121–124, 137–138; idem, Land tenure 52–56, 178–182; Abū Ghāzī, Taṭawwur al-ḥiyāza al-zirāʿiyya.

© Daisuke Igarashi, 2022 | doi:10.1163/9789004459717_013

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evidence in the literature proving that the system of the family waqf arose as a means of avoiding the fractionalization of property, which was one of the tenets of the Islamic law of inheritance.2 The family waqf, in a sense, ensured that family property remained in the family en bloc. The establishment of such waqf s, aiming to bring benefits to descendants, was particularly popular in Mamluk Egypt and Syria. Here, the ruling class comprised the military elite of slave origin—the Mamluks. Their social status as military aristocracy could not be succeeded by their freeborn children (awlād al-nās); therefore, they established numerous waqf s from which their children could benefit. Ibn Khaldūn (d. 808/1406) states the following about the matter: This (i.e., the flowering of science and education in Egypt) is because the Turkish (i.e., Mamluk) amirs under the Turkish dynasty (i.e., Mamluk sultanate) were afraid that their ruler might oppress the descendants they would leave behind, in as much as they were his slaves or clients, and because chicanery and confiscation are always to be feared from royal authority. Therefore, they built a great many colleges (madāris), hermitages (zawāyā), and monasteries (rubuṭ), and endowed them with waqf s that yielded income. They saw to it that their children would participate in these waqf s, either as administrators or by having some other share in them … As a consequence, waqf s became numerous, and the income and profit [from them] increased.3 It is only recently that researchers have brought to light the fact that the active function of the waqf was to secure the private income of the wāqif. Of particular note are C.F. Petry’s recent studies dealing with the waqf s of al-Ashraf Qāytbāy (r. 872–901/1468–1496) and al-Ashraf Qānṣūh al-Ghawrī (r. 906–922/1501–1516).4 These two prominent sultans of the late Mamluk period endowed as waqf s many religious institutions—for example, mosques, madrasas, and khānqāhs—with huge amounts of urban and rural property in the form of arable land, housing, caravansaries, and public baths. Petry’s analysis of the waqf deeds of these two sultans revealed large discrepancies between the

2 Cahen, Réflexions sur le Waqf ancien 37–57. According to the Islamic law of inheritance, an ancestor’s sons and daughters should be allotted equal portions of property; however, the portion allotted to males was to be twice as large as that allotted to females. 3 Ibn Khaldūn, Muqaddimat (Quatremère) ii, 384; idem, The Muqaddimah (Rosenthal) ii, 435 (I made some changes in the wording of his translation). 4 Petry, Protectors or praetorians?; idem, Fractionalized estates 96–117; idem, Waqf as an instrument of investment 99–115.

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total incomes from their waqf-endowed properties and their expenditures for designated charities, as described in those waqf deeds: in the case of both sultans, only seven percent (or, at the maximum, fourteen percent) of the total revenues earned from the waqf property was spent on the above specified purposes. The management of the remainder of the income was left to the discretion of the nāẓir (waqf administrator), this post being invariably held by the original wāqif, namely, the sultan. Based on his research, Petry finally concludes that the sultans’ waqf endowments were merely a “financial policy” that was independent of the state’s traditional financial system. It was through the waqf system that sultans intended to secure their own financial resources against the backdrop of the political and economic crises of the late Mamluk period.5 The extant waqf deeds yield numerous examples of wāqif s who, after spending on the upkeep of religious institutions or on other charitable activities, designated themselves as the beneficiaries of the remainder of the waqf income.6 This was particularly so in the case of large waqf s established by sultans and high-ranking amirs like al-Ashraf Shaʿbān,7 al-Ashraf Barsbāy,8 Masrūr,9 Qarāqujā al-Ḥasanī,10 Jamāl al-Dīn Yūsuf al-Ustādār,11 and Uzbak min Ṭuṭukh.12 On the surface, a wāqif receiving benefits from the waqf as the beneficiary seemed like a rare exception, occurring only when there was a surplus after expenditure on charitable acts. However, in reality, the existence of large discrepancies between the incomes from waqf s and the money spent on charitable acts was also confirmed in the case of the waqf s of Sultan al-Ashraf Īnāl, his son alMuʾayyad Aḥmad, and even Jawhar al-Lālā, the influential eunuch in the reign of Barsbāy.13 Furthermore, al-Maqrīzī (d. 845/1442) states that the khānqāh and madrasa of Amir Shaykhū al-Nāṣirī and the madrasa of Sultan al-Ẓāhir Barqūq comprised a large amount of waqf property, the revenue of which substantially exceeded the expenses necessary for the maintenance of institutions and char-

5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13

Petry, Protectors or praetorians? 199–200, 202–203; idem, Waqf as an instrument of investment 104–105. Amīn, al-Awqāf 72–81; Lev, Charity, endowments 153–154. Al-Qaḥṭānī, Awqāf al-Sulṭān al-Ashraf Shaʿbān 253. Darrāj, Ḥujjat waqf al-Ashraf Barsbāy 5. Ibrāhīm, Wathīqat waqf Masrūr 149. Ibrāhīm, Wathīqat al-Amīr Ākhūr 214. ʿUthmān, Wathīqat waqf Jamāl al-Dīn 199. Waqf deed, Cairo, Dār al-Wathāʾiq al-Qawmiyya (hereafter cited as dw) 31/198. Reinfandt, Mamlukische Sultansstiftungen 87–91; Garcin and Taher, Enquete sur le financement d’ un waqf égyptien 276–278, 301–302.

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itable acts.14 Even though the establishment of waqf enabled wāqif s to derive steady incomes for themselves, this was not the only motivation behind it. The wāqif s established waqf s to also do good deeds, as this ensured their salvation in the next world, which was the ultimate purpose of establishing waqf s. By founding huge religious institutions, the wāqif s could also portray themselves as “the guardians of Islam.” Given all this, there remains no doubt, though, that these waqf s, carefully concealed under the façade of charitable work, served as good asset management vehicles for the wāqif s.

ii The self-benefiting waqf was the most direct and effective means by which the wāqif secured his private income. The uniqueness of this type of waqf has been almost overlooked by scholars and has been regarded as a kind of family waqf, because after the wāqif ’s death, his descendants are usually stipulated as the second beneficiaries. However, there is a big difference between being the first and second beneficiaries. The former has to focus on caring for the wāqif ’s family after the wāqif ’s death, whereas the latter has to focus on caring for the wāqif when alive. The legality of the wāqif being designated as the beneficiary of the waqf (i.e., the legality of the self-benefiting waqf ) is debatable according to the Islamic legal theory of waqf. Opinions of the four major Sunni schools of law are divided on this issue.15 The Hanafi school is the only one that acknowledges this legality without question in the Mamluk period. Al-Isʿāf fī Aḥkām al-Awqāf is the Hanafi law text that specially deals with the issue of waqf. The author, al-Ṭarābulusī (d. 922/1516), devotes an entire chapter to this issue, entitled “Chapter on a man’s waqf for himself and then for his sons and then for the poor” (Bāb waqf al-rajul ʿalā nafsihi thumma ʿalā awlādihi thumma ʿalā alfuqarāʾ wa-l-masākīn). Herein, he adopts the opinions of various scholars who acknowledge the legitimacy of the self-benefiting waqf, for instance Abū Yūsuf (d. 182/798), Ibn Abī Laylā (d. 148/765), and Ibn Shubruma (d. 144/761).16 On the contrary, the other three Sunni schools of law, for the most part, deny this legality. In the case of the Shafiʿi school, for example, although some scholars, such as Ibn Surayj (d. 306/918) and al-Zubayrī (d. 317/929), acknowledge the legality 14 15 16

Al-Maqrīzī, Khiṭaṭ iv, 686, 764; Igarashi, The Private property and awqāf 173; idem, Land tenure 87–88, 186. Abū Zahra, Muḥāḍarāt fī al-waqf 183–193; al-Miṣrī, al-Awqāf 36–38; Peters, waḳf i xi, 61. Al-Ṭarābulusī, al-Isʿāf fī aḥkām al-awqāf.

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of the system, the majority ( jumhūr) of the proponents of this school deny it. The Shafiʿi scholars in the Mamluk period also did not acknowledge the legality of this system. Al-Nawawī (d. 676/1277), proponent of the Shafiʿi school of law and the foremost authority in the early Mamluk period, states that although opinions are divided on this issue, it would be more correct to say that this system is invalid (buṭlān).17 Taqī al-Dīn al-Subkī (d. 756/1355) also denounces the legality of the self-benefiting waqf in his fatwā.18 Nevertheless, the reality remains that the self-benefiting waqf s were widespread in the Mamluk period. In 877/1472, Sultan Qāytbāy endowed private land that he had bought with his own money as a waqf for the distribution of bread and soup (dashīsha) among the poor in Medina; al-Ṣayrafī (d. 900/1495) states the following about the sultan’s act: The sultan endowed the waqf to the aforementioned people (i.e., the poor in Medina), unlike [other] kings and “sons of the era” (abnāʾ al-ʿaṣr) [who] dedicated their waqf s first to [the wāqif s] themselves; then to their sons; then to their grandsons; then to their descendants, generation upon generation until the last generation; and then to the poor in Medina. With this (i.e., establishing this waqf ), he (Qāytbāy) intended to do a good deed for the inhabitants of Medina, right from the start.19 Although this excerpt praises Qāytbāy for his noble intentions, it simultaneously shows that the sultans and “sons of the era” (i.e., al-Ṣayrafī’s contemporaries) usually designated themselves as the first beneficiary when they established waqf s.

iii Now we will examine actual waqf deeds to shed light on the reality of the self-benefiting waqf system. Following the list of assets, the deed of the selfbenefiting waqf usually states that the wāqif endowed the aforementioned assets “as waqf for himself during his lifetime” [waqfan … ʿalā nafsihi ayyām (muddat) ḥayātihi]. Many such deeds have survived the test of time; their legality, though, is debatable, as mentioned earlier. By way of an example, let us examine the self-benefiting waqf of Khushqadam al-Ẓāhirī, the powerful 17 18 19

Al-Nawawī, Rawḍat al-ṭālibīn v, 318. Al-Subkī, Fatāwā al-Subkī ii, 95. Al-Ṣayrafī, Inbāʾ al-haṣr 480.

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zimām (chief eunuch) of Sultan Barsbāy. Khushqadam was known to be a person who “liked accumulating property” (kāna … muḥibban li-jamʿ al-amwāl), and when he died in 839/1435, he left behind money amounting to a 100,000 dinars.20 According to his waqf deed,21 on 15 Jumādā al-Ākhira 833/11 March 1430, he first endowed as waqf at least one structure (bināʾ) in Cairo and ten landed estates—e.g., an entire village (nāḥiya), shares (ḥiṣṣa) of a nāḥiya, pieces of land (qiṭʿa)—across eight areas in Egypt and Syria—e.g., Cairo environs (Ḍawāḥī al-Qāhira), Giza, Daqahliyya, Gazza, and al-Biqāʿ—and designated himself as beneficiary. To this waqf property, he added a landed estate and seven urban estates on the 27th of the month/23 March 1430 and three landed estates on 1 Rabīʿ al-Thānī 837/16 October 1433. Khushqadam’s waqf deed shows how this moneymaker managed his assets by turning a part of his private property into self-benefiting waqf s. Another example of the self-benefiting waqf is the case of Amir Jānibak Nāʾib Jidda. He served as the controller of Jedda (shādd al-Jidda) for a long time and increased his influence and wealth during his tenure. He was finally promoted to dawādār kabīr (executive secretary) with the amirate of a hundred (amīr miʾa muqaddam alf ) under the reign of Sultan al-Ẓāhir Khushqadam (r. 865–872/1461–1467), and he became one of the most powerful figures of the time.22 Ibn Taghrībirdī (d. 874/1470) states that Amir Jānibak Nāʾib Jidda bought arable land as well as many villages from the state treasury (Bayt al-Māl) and endowed them as waqf.23 Actually, his waqf deed proves that on 19 Jumādā al-Ūlā 864/13 March 1460, Jānibak Nāʾib Jidda bought three pieces of land in al-Gharbiyya, al-Daqahliyya, and Giza, each, from the Bayt al-Māl through the wakīl bayt al-māl (agent of the state treasury), and he then endowed this land as a waqf for himself.24 According to his another waqf deed, on 3 Rabīʿ al-Awwal 866/5 December 1461, he also acquired a village in the district of Jerusalem. This village was already being endowed as a waqf for another object, but he bought it by means of istibdāl (the exchange of one waqf-endowed property for another); he then endowed it as a self-benefiting waqf on the 9th of the month/11 December.25

20 21 22 23 24 25

Ibn Taghrībirdī, al-Manhal al-ṣāfī v, 207–210; al-Sakhāwī, al-Ḍawʾ al-lāmiʿ iii, 175; al-Ṣayrafī, Nuzhat al-nufūs iii, 359. Waqf deed, Cairo, Wizārat al-Awqāf (hereafter cited as wa) 188 jadīd. Mortel, Grand dawādār 437–456. Ibn Taghrībirdī, Ḥawādith iv, 803. Waqf deed, Cairo, dw 20/122. Waqf deed, Cairo, dw 21/130.

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In some cases, several wāqif s jointly established a self-benefiting waqf and then divided the income thereof. One such example is the case of Khushqaldī, an amir of ten (amīr ʿashara) and superintendent of the buttery (shādd alsharabkhāna), and his emancipated slave (ʿatīq) (i.e., mamluk), ʿAlībāy. On 26 Ramaḍān 871/1 May 1467, they jointly endowed a share (ḥiṣṣa) of a nāḥiya in alManūfiyya as a waqf and stipulated that its income would be divided between them in equal proportions.26 The original deed of the waqf will rarely set down a specific figure (or a sum of money) that should be given to the wāqif. Instead, the wāqif usually takes all the income as his own after meeting expenses necessary for the maintenance of the waqf-endowed property. In some cases, though, only a specific part of the waqf income is allotted to the wāqif. For example, when a wāqif endows several assets as waqf, he designates some of these assets for himself, whereas others, he designates to specific people or for other purposes, such as for institutions and charitable activities.27 Another method was to assign a fixed share of the waqf income for each beneficiary, including for himself. According to a waqf deed with an unknown date, Sultan al-Nāṣir Faraj ibn Barqūq endowed 1,200 feddans (about 764 hectares) of farmland in Giza as waqf ; and from the income earned, one-eighth was allotted to the poor in Mecca, one-eighth to those in Medina, and three-quarters to himself.28

iv In the case of the self-benefiting waqf s, as well as in the case of other types of waqf, a large proportion of the wāqif s were comprised of military men, especially the Mamluks. Establishing the self-benefiting waqf s was not the sole prerogative of amirs of a hundred (i.e., the highest-ranking amirs in the mamluk military hierarchy); even the middle- or low-ranking mamluks (amirs of forty, amirs of ten, and those in the rank and file) often established these waqf s. For example, Qijmās al-Isḥāqī established self-benefiting waqf s in 869/1465 when he still belonged to the rank and file of the khāṣṣakiyya (intimate mamluks); he established yet another in 876/1472 when he served as viceroy of Alexandria, with the rank of amir of forty (amīr al-ṭablkhāna). Again, in 881/1476, he established a self-benefiting waqf after he was promoted to amīr ākhūr kabīr

26 27 28

Waqf deed, Cairo, dw 32/201. Waqf deed, Cairo, dw 16/101, 38/241. Waqf deed, Cairo, wa 68 jadīd.

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(amir of the horse), one of the highest military designations in the Egyptian Central Government of the Mamluk Sultanate.29 Contrarily, the sultans rarely established self-benefiting waqf s, except in the case of Sultan al-Muʾayyad Aḥmad ibn Īnāl (r. 824/1421). However, even in this case, the waqf was originally established by Aḥmad’s father, the last Sultan Īnāl, as family waqf for his wife and sons; Sultan Aḥmad was the beneficiary of this waqf. On the eve of his dethronement, Aḥmad added an expanse of 33 pieces of agricultural land to the waqf, probably to protect his family assets against confiscation.30 It seems reasonable to suppose that the sultans, who often established large waqf s for their religious institutions through the (legally debatable) purchase of state lands,31 preferred to endow a large amount of property and pocket the income after spending on the institutions under the guise of “charitable acts,” as we have seen before. In doing so, they avoided establishing self-benefiting waqf s that, although also being legally debatable, would plainly have brought them profits. Apart from military men, civilian elites also established self-benefiting waqf s to safeguard their assets and private income sources.32 This was because in the late Mamluk period, the sale of official posts and the confiscation of the property of dismissed officials became very popular.33 Civilian elites as well as military men, therefore, needed to have enough funds to buy official posts and retain possession of them.34 It was generally the case that people in high positions owned large selfbenefiting waqf s that comprised huge amounts of endowed property. To the best of my knowledge, the largest self-benefiting waqf was that of Amir Qurqamās min Arikmās min Walī al-Dīn, a powerful amir in the late Mamluk period. He first endowed two urban structures in Cairo and a ḥiṣṣa of a nāḥiya in al29

30 31

32

33 34

Waqf deed, Cairo, wa 670 jadīd, 672 jadīd, 674 jadīd, 679 jadīd, 685 jadīd, 691 jadīd; Igarashi, Religious endowments 423–425; idem, The waqf-endowment strategy 39–40, 43– 45. Reinfandt, Religious endowments and succession to rule 60. Igarashi, The Private property 178; idem, Land tenure 96–98, 121–122. For example, the case of Jaqmaq: Waqf deed, Cairo, dw 17/109, dated 22 Ramaḍān 853. The case of Īnāl: Reinfandt, Mamlukische Sultansstiftungen 141, 148, 153, 154; idem, Religious endowments and succession to rule 55; The case of Qāytbāy: Mayer, The building of Qāytbāy 4. For example, the case of Zayn al-Dīn Abū Bakr ibn Muzhir, the kātib al-sirr of Sultan Qāytbāy: Waqf deed, Cairo, dw 40/175. The case of Ṣalāḥ al-Dīn Muḥammad b. Yaḥyā ibn al-Jīʿān, the nāʾib kātib al-sirr under the reign of Sultan Qāytbāy: Waqf deed, Cairo, wa 191 jadīd. Martel-Thoumian, The sale of office 49–83; Miura, Administrative networks in the Mamlūk period 39–75. As for the function of waqf as the safeguarding of assets from the confiscation of property, see Petry, Waqf as an instrument of investment 101–102.

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Gharbiyya as a waqf for himself on 10 Rajab 898/27 April 1493, when he was still in office as amīr ākhūr thālith (third amir of the horses) with the rank of amir of forty or amir of ten. He then added the following assets to the already established self-benefiting waqf : a building (makān) in Cairo on 22 Shaʿbān 905/23 March 1500, after his promotion to the rank of amir of a hundred and his assumption of the role of ḥājib al-ḥujjāb (grand chamberlain); a structure and a garden ( junayna) in Cairo on 1 Rabīʿ al-Thānī 906/25 October 1500, after his transfer to Aleppo as the viceroy of the province; eight landed estates in the north of Egypt and the province of Damascus on 26 Rabīʿ al-Thānī 909/18 October 1503, after his return to Egypt as amīr silāḥ (amir of the arms); seven urban properties in Cairo and Damascus and thirteen landed estates in the north and south of Egypt on 1 Rajab 910/8 December 1504; and three buildings in Cairo and eighteen landed estates in northern Egypt and the province of Damascus (including Baalbek, al-Ramla, al-Biqāʿ, al-Kuswa, and Wādī al-Taym) on 27 Ramaḍān 913/31 January 1508, after his promotion to atābak al-ʿasākir (commander in chief), the highest military position next to the sultan. In total, this accounted for 15 urban estates and 40 landed estates.35 Another example is Qijmās al-Isḥāqī, who endowed 15 urban and landed estates—structures, ḥiṣṣas of nāḥiyas, orchards (bustān), and sugarcane presses (miʿṣarat qaṣb alsukkar) in Cairo and in rural areas in the north and south of Egypt—as selfbenefiting waqf s on 18 Shaʿbān 881/6 December 1476, when he was the amīr ākhūr kabīr.36 There were a lot of small self-benefiting waqf s as well. Waqf s that comprised only one or two assets were not uncommon, especially in the case of waqf s established by middle- or low-ranking military men. However, there are cases in which powerful figures (at the rank of amir of a hundred) endowed only one or two assets as self-benefiting waqf s. One such example is Amir Ṭurābāy, the raʾs nawbat al-nuwab (head of the guards). He endowed one urban estate as a self-benefiting waqf on 8 Shawwāl 911/3 March 1506,37 and then another on 12 Jumādā al-Ūlā 912/30 September 1506.38 However, because the assets were few in number, this does not necessarily mean that the self-benefiting waqf s were on a small scale. Among the 15 assets endowed by Qijmās in 881/1476, eleven were recorded in one deed (wa, j670), and each of the other four was recorded in separate deeds (wa, j672, 674, 685, 691). Therefore, we cannot deny the pos35 36 37 38

Waqf deed, Cairo, wa 901 qadīm. Waqf deed, Cairo, wa 670 jadīd, 672 jadīd, 674 jadīd, 685 jadīd, 691 jadīd; Igarashi, The waqf-endowment strategy 45. Waqf deed, Cairo, dw 40/252. Waqf deed, Cairo, dw 41/265.

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sibility that they established large self-benefiting waqf s concurrently, but the deeds to them are lost or remain undiscovered.

v Legally, the waqf was required to be permanent; therefore, self-benefiting waqf s contained a stipulation wherein the second beneficiaries (after the wāqif ’s death) were named in the body of the deed. These second beneficiaries can be classified into three categories: (1) the wāqif ’s descendants, wives, or other relatives (i.e., the family waqf )—in the event of the wāqif ’s death, all (or part) of the waqf income first went to the relatives, and then, after the extinction of the family line, to the poor or to charitable organizations;39 (2) the waqf-financed institutions such as mosques, madrasas, and mausoleums founded by the wāqif and comprising larger-scale waqf s before the establishment of self-benefiting waqf s;40 and (3) new, independent charitable activities specified by the wāqif.41 Cases belonging to the third category are rarely seen, and the majority of the cases fall under the first or second category. In general, self-benefiting waqf s established by the middle- or low-ranking military men belonged to the first category; those established by high-ranking amirs tended to belong to the second category. These facts show that while powerful figures established self-benefiting waqf s for personal benefit, they also tended to establish large waqf s for the management of religious institutions or for other charitable activities. This could have been done for various reasons: enhancing their own prestige or that of their regime, and/or seeking salvation in the next world. In other words, they exploited the waqf system to suit their needs, and they established self-benefiting waqf s purely to safeguard their financial assets in their lifetime. On the other hand, the low- or middle-ranking military men, who generally did not have sufficient funds to endow multiple waqf s for separate beneficiaries, also fulfilled the purposes mentioned above by establishing single waqf s: they preserved their wealth, leaving it to their families after their deaths, and they practiced piety to seek salvation in the next world. 39 40

41

Waqf deed, Cairo, dw 16/104, 20/121, 23/152, 25/162, 39/247, 40/175, 40/252, 40/253; wa 1018 qadīm, 1143 qadīm, 450 jadīd, 571 jadīd, 679 jadīd, 714 jadīd. Waqf deed, Cairo, dw 20/122, 21/134, 40/256, 41/265; wa 901 qadīm (dated on 10 Rajab 898, on 22 Shaʿbān 905, on 1 Jumādā al-Ākhira 906, on 26 Rabīʿ al-Thānī 909, on 1 Rajab 910, on 27 Ramaḍān 913), 188 jadīd (dated on 27 Jumādā al-Ākhira 833), 191 jadīd, 670 jadīd (dated on 13 Dhū al-Ḥijja 876, on 18 Shaʿbān 881), 714 jadīd. Waqf deed, Cairo, wa 71 jadīd, 188 jadīd (dated on 15 Jumādā al-Ākhira 833, on 1 Rabīʿ al-Thānī 837).

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An important point to be noted is that the stipulations in the deeds of the self-benefiting waqf s did not remain unchanged until the death of the wāqif ; rather, it was not unusual that the stipulations, including those for the provision of beneficiaries, were changed radically. One such example is the case of Qijmās. When Qijmās established as a new waqf the mausoleum he founded at al-Ṣaḥrāʾ (the cemetery in the suburbs of Cairo) on 16 Muḥarram 874/26 July 1469, he combined two structures in Cairo and agricultural land of a nāḥiya in Daqahliyya—all of which were endowed by him as a self-benefiting waqf on 11 Dhū al-Ḥijja 869/4 August 146542—and made them part of the new waqf for the mausoleum.43 Another example is the case of Qurqamās. He established self-benefiting waqf s on 10 Rajab 898/27 April 1493 and 22 Shaʿbān 905/23 March 1510. Then, on 18 Rabīʿ al-Awwal 916/25 June 1510, Qurqamās changed the stipulations in the deeds: the beneficiary was changed from Qurqamās himself to the mausoleum he founded for himself, the Sufis, and their shaykh who worshiped at Azhar mosque.44 In a will drawn up on 15 Ṣafar 839/9 September 1435, just three months before his death on 10 Jumādā al-Ūlā 839/1 December 1435, Khushqadam al-Ẓāhirī also changed the beneficiary of his self-benefiting waqf to the maktab al-sabīl (the public drinking fountains together with the Quranic school) he founded in Cairo.45 Based on the above examples, it is possible to say that the people endowed their assets as self-benefiting waqf s without the intention of keeping them as they were but with the intention of utilizing the income received from them for their personal use during the interim period. Anyone who donated his private property as a self-benefiting waqf relinquished all rights of ownership over it; nevertheless, he could continue to oversee the endowed property in his position as nāẓir of the waqf and derive his income from it. In short, there was no change in the de facto relationship between the property and its “ex-owner” before and after the endowment was made. Therefore, the self-benefiting waqf can be seen as a way of retaining possession of one’s estate against any eventuality, be it a sudden political upheaval, sudden death by natural disasters, the outbreak of war, political intrigue, or other situations in which the subsequent confiscation of property could have occurred at any given moment.

42 43 44 45

Waqf deed, Cairo, wa, 679 jadīd. Waqf deed, Cairo, wa, 670 jadīd; Igarashi, The waqf-endowment strategy 41–42. Waqf deed, Cairo, wa, 901 qadīm 1–36. Waqf deed, Cairo, wa, 188 jadīd.

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vi In conclusion, although the legitimacy of self-benefiting waqfs is debatable under Islamic law, in reality, this practice became widespread in the late Mamluk period, no doubt because it was a way by which the endower could benefit most directly from his waqf. The results of this paper are in agreement with the views of al-Balāṭunusī, a Shafiʿi scholar in the late Mamluk period. He commented on the contemporary situation of waqf s, as follows: [A large number of mamluk military men and others] strive [to] make the corrupt [rulers] and the ignorant [ʿulamāʾ] believe that their aims are good, and then attain [their purpose of] obtain[ing] it (i.e., state property) from the Bayt al-Māl under the pretext of purchase or the like. Then, they endow a part [of the property] or all of it as waqf for a mausoleum, a Ṣūfī convent, a stronghold, or the like, for the purpose of retaining their possession over the property with a judicial decision that [this is] the waqf for it. [Although] they dedicated the property to good deeds ( jihāt albirr), as a rule, they endow a part of it, or a major part of it, as waqf [dedicated] to themselves or their descendants, or they [make] the provision that the administratorship (naẓar) of the waqf [is given] to themselves and [then to] their descendants. They state that their purpose and goal is to get close to God (al-taqarrub ilā Allāh), but God knows their [real] intentions: that is, they used the waqf as a means of attaining [material] benefit in this world (ḥawz al-dunyā) for themselves and their descendants.46 Theoretically, the waqf is an “endowment,” which implies the relinquishing of ownership over endowed assets. However, as we have seen, the self-benefiting waqf was a means of holding and safeguarding assets: the wāqif retained possession of the endowed assets and even added assets at later stages in time. This is just one aspect of the multifaceted functions of the waqf system.

46

Al-Balāṭunusī, Taḥrīr al-maqāl 289–290.

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Bibliography Abū Ghāzī, ʿI.B.al-D., Taṭawwur al-ḥiyāza al-zirāʿiyya fī Miṣr zaman al-mamālīk al-jarākisa: Dirāsa fī bayʿ amlāk bayt al-māl, Cairo 2000. Abū Zahra, M., Muḥāḍarāt fī al-waqf, Cairo 2005. Amīn, M.M., Al-Awqāf wa-l-ḥayāt al-ijtimāʿiyya fī Miṣr 648–923a.h./1250–1517a.d., Cairo 1980. al-Balāṭunusī, M., Taḥrīr al-maqāl fīmā yaḥill wa-yaḥrum min bayt al-māl, ed. F. alṢabbāgh, al-Manṣūra 1989. Cahen, C., Réflexions sur le Waqf ancien, in si 14 (1961), 37–57. Darrāj, A., (ed.), Ḥujjat waqf al-Ashraf Barsbāy, Cairo 1963. Garcin, J.C. and M.A. Taher, Enquete sur le financement d’un waqf égyptien du xve siècle: Les comptes de Jawhār al-Lālā, in jesho 38/3 (1995), 262–304. Ibn Khaldūn, ʿA., Muqaddimat Ibn Khaldūn, ed. M. Quatremère, 3 vols., Paris 1858. Ibn Khaldūn, ʿA., The Muqaddimah, trans. F. Rosenthal, 3 vols., Princeton 1967. Ibn Taghrībirdī, Y., al-Manhal al-ṣāfī wa-l-mustawfī baʿda al-wāfī, ed. M. Amīn, 12 vols., Cairo 1985–2006. Ibn Taghrībirdī, Y., Ḥawādith al-duhūr fī madā al-ayyām wa-l-shuhūr, ed. W. Popper, 4 vols., Berkeley 1930–1942. Ibrāhīm, ʿA.L., Wathīqat waqf Masrūr b. ʿAbdallāh al-Shiblī al-Jamdār: Dirāsa wa nashr wa-taḥqīq, in Majallat Kulliyyat al-Ādāb, Jāmiʿat al-Qāhira 21/2 (1959), 133– 173. Ibrāhīm, ʿA.L., Wathīqat al-Amīr Ākhūr Kabīr Qarāqujā al-Ḥasanī, in Majallat Kulliyyat al-Ādāb Jāmiʿat al-Qāhira 18/2 (1956), 183–251. Igarashi, D., The Establishment and development of al-Dīwān al-Mufrad: Its background and implications, in msr 10/1 (2006), 117–140. Igarashi, D., Land tenure, fiscal policy, and imperial power in medieval Syro-Egypt, Chicago 2015. Igarashi, D., The private property and awqāf of the Circassian Mamluk sultans: The case of Barqūq, in Orient 43 (2008), 167–196. Igarashi, D., Religious endowments of the Mamluk Amir Qijmas al-Ishaqi: A preliminary study, in eds. U. Vermeulen, K. D’hulster et al., Egypt and Syria in the Fatimid, Ayyubid, and Mamluk eras (10th–15th centuries) viii, Leuven 2016, 419–427. Igarashi, D., The waqf-endowment strategy of a Mamluk military man: The contexts, motives, and purposes of the endowments of Qijmās al-Isḥāqī (d. 1487), in bsoas 82/1 (2019), 25–53. Lev, Y., Charity, endowments, and charitable institutions in medieval Islam, Gainesville 2005. al-Maqrīzī, A., al-Mawāʿiẓ wa-l-Iʿtibār fī dhikr al-khiṭaṭ wa-l-āthār, ed. A. Sayyid, 5 vols., London, 2002–2004.

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Martel-Thoumian, B., The sale of office and its economic consequences during the rule of the last Circassians (872–922/1468–1516), in msr 9/2 (2005), 49–83. Mayer, L., (ed.), The building of Qāytbāy as described in his endowment deed, London 1938. al-Miṣrī, R.Y., al-Awqāf: Fiqhan wa iqtiṣādan, Damascus 1999. Miura, T., Administrative networks in the Mamlūk period: Taxation, legal execution, and bribery, in Sato, T. (ed.), Islamic urbanism in human history: Political power and social networks, London-New York 1997, 39–75. Mortel, R.T., Grand dawādār and governor of Jedda, in Arabica 43/3 (1996), 437–456. al-Nawawī, Y., Rawḍat al-ṭālibīn wa-ʿumdat al-muftīn, ed. Z. al-Shāwīs, 12 vols., Damascus-Beirut 1985. Peters, R., waḳf, i, in Classical Islamic law, ei2 xi, 61. Petry, C.F., Protectors or praetorians?: The last Mamlūk sultans and Egypt’s waning as a great power, Albany 1994. Petry, C.F., Fractionalized estates in a centralized regime: The holdings of al-Ashraf Qāytbāy and Qānṣūh al-Ghawrī according to their waqf deeds, in jesho 41/1 (1998), 96–117. Petry, C.F., Waqf as an instrument of investment in the Mamluk sultanate: Security vs. profit?, in T. Miura and J.E. Philips (eds.), Slave elites in the Middle East and Africa: A comparative study, London-New York 2000, 99–115. al-Qaḥṭānī, R.S.R. (ed.), Awqāf al-Sulṭān al-Ashraf Shaʿbān ʿalā al-Ḥaramayn, 2nd. ed., Riyadh 2005. Reinfandt, L., Religious endowments and succession to rule: The career of a sultan’s son in the fifteenth century, in msr 6 (2002), 51–62. Reinfandt, L., Mamlukische Sultansstiftungen des 9./15. Jahrhunderts: Nach den Urkunden der Stifter al-Ašraf Īnāl und al-Muʾayyad Aḥmad Ibn Īnāl, Berlin 2003. al-Sakhāwī, M., al-Ḍawʾ al-lāmiʿ li-ahl al-qarn al-tāsiʿ, 12 vols., Cairo 1934–1937. al-Ṣayrafī, ʿA., Inbāʾ al-haṣr bi-abnāʾ al-ʿaṣr, ed. Ḥ. Ḥabashī, Cairo 1970. al-Ṣayrafī, ʿA., Nuzhat al-nufūs wa-l-abdān fī tawārīkh al-zamān, ed. Ḥ. Ḥabashī, Cairo, 4 vols., 1970–1994. al-Subkī, ʿA., Fatāwā al-Subkī, ed. Ḥ. al-Qudsī, 2 vols., Beirut 1992. al-Ṭarābulusī, I.M., al-Isʿāf fī aḥkām al-awqāf, Cairo 2006. ʿUthmān, M.ʿA.al-S. (ed.), Wathīqat waqf Jamāl al-Dīn Yūsuf al-Ustādār: Dirāsa taʾrīkhiyya athariyya wathāʾiqiyya, Alexandria 1983. Waqf deed, Cairo, Dār al-Wathāʾiq al-Qawmiyya 16/101. Waqf deed, Cairo, Dār al-Wathāʾiq al-Qawmiyya 16/104. Waqf deed, Cairo, Dār al-Wathāʾiq al-Qawmiyya 17/109. Waqf deed, Cairo, Dār al-Wathāʾiq al-Qawmiyya 20/121. Waqf deed, Cairo, Dār al-Wathāʾiq al-Qawmiyya 20/122. Waqf deed, Cairo, Dār al-Wathāʾiq al-Qawmiyya 21/130.

waqf as a means of securing financial assets Waqf deed, Cairo, Dār al-Wathāʾiq al-Qawmiyya 21/134. Waqf deed, Cairo, Dār al-Wathāʾiq al-Qawmiyya 23/152. Waqf deed, Cairo, Dār al-Wathāʾiq al-Qawmiyya 25/162. Waqf deed, Cairo, Dār al-Wathāʾiq al-Qawmiyya 27/175. Waqf deed, Cairo, Dār al-Wathāʾiq al-Qawmiyya, 31/198. Waqf deed, Cairo, Dār al-Wathāʾiq al-Qawmiyya 32/201. Waqf deed, Cairo, Dār al-Wathāʾiq al-Qawmiyya 38/241. Waqf deed, Cairo, Dār al-Wathāʾiq al-Qawmiyya 39/247. Waqf deed, Cairo, Dār al-Wathāʾiq al-Qawmiyya 40/252. Waqf deed, Cairo, Dār al-Wathāʾiq al-Qawmiyya 40/253. Waqf deed, Cairo, Dār al-Wathāʾiq al-Qawmiyya 40/256. Waqf deed, Cairo, Dār al-Wathāʾiq al-Qawmiyya 41/265. Waqf deed, Cairo, Wizārat al-Awqāf 68 jadīd. Waqf deed, Cairo, Wizārat al-Awqāf 71 jadīd. Waqf deed, Cairo, Wizārat al-Awqāf 188 jadīd. Waqf deed, Cairo, Wizārat al-Awqāf 191 jadīd. Waqf deed, Cairo, Wizārat al-Awqāf 450 jadīd. Waqf deed, Cairo, Wizārat al-Awqāf 571 jadīd. Waqf deed, Cairo, Wizārat al-Awqāf 670 jadīd. Waqf deed, Cairo, Wizārat al-Awqāf 672 jadīd. Waqf deed, Cairo, Wizārat al-Awqāf 674 jadīd. Waqf deed, Cairo, Wizārat al-Awqāf 679 jadīd. Waqf deed, Cairo, Wizārat al-Awqāf 685 jadīd. Waqf deed, Cairo, Wizārat al-Awqāf 691 jadīd. Waqf deed, Cairo, Wizārat al-Awqāf 714 jadīd. Waqf deed, Cairo, Wizārat al-Awqāf 901 qadīm. Waqf deed, Cairo, Wizārat al-Awqāf 1018 qadīm. Waqf deed, Cairo, Wizārat al-Awqāf 1143 qadīm.

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part 5 Communication Systems

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chapter 12

Handlist of Stations of the Ayyubid and Mamluk Communication Systems Kurt Franz

1

Introduction1

The communication systems of the Ayyubid and Mamluk governments together form one of the most significant and extensive spatial organizations of the Near East in premodern times. Consisting of a pigeon post (al-ḥamām al-rasāʾilī, etc.) of late Zengid origin, an optical signaling system (manāwir) apparently established by the Ayyubids, and a system of horseback courier mail (barīd) created by the Mamluk sultan Baybars, the aggregate length of the communication lines spanned a minimum of 12,300 km of routes even only as the pigeon flies. Their extremities being as far apart as the Sudanese Red Sea coast, southeastern Anatolia, and the middle Euphrates, they before long connected more than 250 stations, most of which were erected precisely for that purpose as functional buildings. The communications that linked Cairo to the provincial centers and borderlands ran across rural areas, steppes, and deserts, and allowed news, documents, and later also passengers travel with high velocity throughout. This had the effect of moving all sorts of related territories politically closer to the capital: the empire became territorially more contiguous and increasingly subject to central control by the sultan. The features of the communication systems were manifold. Materially, they produced station buildings, pigeon places and signal installations, routes, bridges, the post riders’ official insignia and special attire, the dispatches proper, and their containers. The involved parties included mobile and stationary staff, local contractors, military-administrative supervisors, chancery secretaries, the sultan, and, of course, horses and carrier pigeons, but also mules to convey pigeons. Abstract features were also comprised: administrative and legal institutions, place names, professional ethics (particularly of the mounted couriers), rep1 Note on Romanization: In order not to obscure the original face of Arabic place names ending in either of the two glyphs of the letter Alif, I adopt the Library of Congress’s rule (and optional dmg rule) that Alif mamdūda (‫ ا َ)ء‬is transcribed as ā(ʾ), while Alif maqṣūra ‫ ى‬is ٰ represented by á.

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resentations in scholarly literature and belles lettres, and gradually an architectural style. In a way, even ordinary people were associated with these systems as participating observers on the wayside and shareholders in a culture that embraced the instruments of governmental communication. Seeing what magnitude, complexity, and perpetuity these three achieved during the Ayyubid and (early) Mamluk periods, they have rightly been addressed as “systems.” What was specifically systemic about them, too, was the internal interdependence of each: as they consisted likewise of a few main lines of communication that radiated from Cairo and only in the (Syrian) provinces branched out to secondary and tertiary centers, they worked properly only if each and every of the stations was effective. In principle, there were no alternative routes to switch to2—a fact one ought to keep in mind when using the term “networks.” And yet we learn nothing from the sources of any interruption ever having occurred! Two reasons for this appear: First, the absence of interference of local actors with the barīd and the other systems, although these were fully exposed to the public and unprotected, and despite the Syrian Bedouin time and again being unruly. This fact is intriguing with regard to the region’s political, military, and social history. For the time being, it is, however, not our concern. Second, the infrastructures were purposefully planned bodies, centralized and coherent right from the start, which moreover proved a tendency to merge into one. These characteristics—planning, centralization, and coherence—are entirely exceptional among the region’s infrastructures that otherwise come to mind for comparison. Certainly, some were wider and richer: in the religious and educational field, for instance, mosques and madrasas, mausolea, and Sufi lodges formed a vast built and institutional infrastructure; it was underpinned by one of cleared tracks, wells, cisterns, road inns, and forts on the roads that lead to them. Nevertheless, a vital difference lies in the fact that the latter basically derived from local interests or an individual’s initiative—driving forces which remained organizationally diffuse despite potential embedding in overarching socioreligious developments such as the flowering of Sufism. Even the facilities built up along roads leading to places of pilgrimage, including not-

2 A special exception is the two mail routes between Cairo and Alexandria, the ṭarīq al-wusṭá via Manūf (section 3, no. 143), and the ṭarīq al-ḥājir (al-ākhidha ʿalá al-barr) via al-Ṭarrāna (no. 227) (al-ʿUmarī, Taʿrīf 271–272; Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ xiv, 375–376; Khalīl b. Shāhīn, Zubda 118–119); and also those between Jīnīn and Damascus via Arbad (no. 11) or Ṣafad (no. 194) (Taʿrīf 276, 277, 279, 289; Ṣubḥ xiv, 379, 380, 382; Zubda 119–120). A more network-like character came into being only in the Syrian steppe and the northeast and only during the mid- and late eighth/fourteenth century.

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ably the hajj roads, were a patchwork commissioned by changing sponsors in an infrequent way. Also, one may conceive that the building of fortifications resulted in a specific infrastructure, and indeed the objective of such activities, being as it is to impact strategic conditions, is comparable to the uses of the mail. However, the construction of castles, etc. depended as much on mutable military requirements as on the enthusiasm of individual rulers and governors to engage in it. This said, these infrastructures may likewise be characterized as gradually emergent and diverse. In contrast, the Ayyubid and Mamluk communication systems were tools in the hands of the ruler that not only targeted integrative spatial organizations but were also perpetually maintained by central administration. In particular, the medieval authors who deal with the barīd vie with one another in praising the willfulness with which it was created by Sultan Baybars (in 658/1260), the great investment that was made in its establishment, and the immediate and lasting success it yielded in the transmission of intelligence and effective governance.3 It is this systematic nature of the three communication systems and their actual geospatial arrangement that waits to be conceived in an adequate way, i.e., systematic in itself and expressed in definite geographic terms. Therefore, it is the main aim of the present article to take stock for the first time of the places related to any of the three systems, whether named in literary sources or emerging from architectural and epigraphic evidence. For that purpose, I shall establish a comprehensive list, by today’s standards, of the stations’ localities, which includes position coordinates. Only with the help of such basic geo-data can the systems’ setting on the ground be made tangible in its entirety. This way, I intend the handlist to serve as a tool to facilitate further research in the communication systems’ history, geography, archaeology, and architecture. The study of the period’s governmental communication systems was brilliantly initiated, after some eighteenth- to early twentieth-century attention to the subject,4 by Jean Sauvaget’s very widely received study La poste aux chevaux dans l’empire des Mamelouks (1941).5 It was this book that became

3 Al-ʿUmarī, Taʿrīf 269; al-Anṣārī, Tafrīj 12–13, 15, tr. 47, 50; Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ i, 114–116; xv, 370, 371; al-Saḥmāwī, Thaghr i, 335. 4 Notably, the translation of the book of Ṣabbāgh (ca. 1775–1816) on the pigeon post by de Sacy (La colombe); comments on the barīd and ḥamām services by Quatremère in his partial translation of al-Maqrīzī’s Sulūk (ii/2, 91–92, note 34, 115–120, note 49); paraphrase and analysis of parts of Khalīl b. Shāhīn’s Zubda by R. Hartmann (Geographische Nachrichten), and annotated partial translation by the same scholar of al-ʿUmarī’s Taʿrīf (Politische Geographie 429–430). 5 See also Sauvaget’s slightly preceding two-part article Caravansérails syriens du Moyen-Âge.

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seminal, although roughly half a century earlier, an employee of the Egyptian Mail, one Nuʿmān Afandī Anṭūn, had already published a monograph on postal systems that also dealt with the Mamluk barīd.6 That book, however, had gone unnoticed by Western scholarship, and later the same happened to two other Arabic-language studies: the master’s thesis of Naẓīr Ḥassān Saʿdāwī, a graduate of Cairo University, published in 1953,7 and the 1992 book of Yūsuf Aḥmad al-Shīrāwī.8 Now, the previous two decades have seen the emergence of considerable scholarship on governmental communication systems in Western languages. Four major monographs have been published on the subject, highlighting systemic aspects in various contexts. Didier Gazagnadou’s doctoral thesis of 1994 exposed the technology of the horseback courier mail as a means of exercising political power that also exemplifies the trans-Eurasian transfer of administrative technology, from China via the Muslim lands to Europe.9 Focusing, in contrast, on lexicography, semantics, and the literary reflections of the barīd, Manfred Ullmann’s impeccable study of 1997 proved the barīd’s great appeal to littérateurs of both the Islamic early and middle periods, and thus the widespread contemporary acknowledgment of its civilizational relevance.10 The scholarly preoccupation with the courier mail was for the first time counterbalanced by Youssef Ragheb when he presented in 2002 his massive general portrayal of the pigeon post in Islamic history.11 The focus returned to the barīd with Adam Silverstein’s 2007 comparative exposition of Islamic postal systems, which places the knowledge attained since Sauvaget’s study in diachronic perspective.12 While these contributions share the objective of widening the horizons of study through contextualizing the phenomena under question, either in large temporal or geographical regards, Sauvaget was also concerned with envisaging these systems as built infrastructures that threaded concrete places along particular routes and with exploring their materiality. A resident of Damascus during the Mandate period and member of the Institut français de Damas, he

6 7 8

9 10 11 12

Anṭūn, al-Ṭāʾir al-farīd. I could not get hold of it. Saʿdāwī, Niẓām al-barīd. Al-Shīrāwī, Ittiṣālāt. I only had access to a copy of his sketch maps. Little attention has also been paid to the chapter on the Mamluk barīd in Dvorník, Origins of intelligence services 225–235. Gazagnadou, La poste à relais. See also his related Les postes à relais de chevaux. Ullmann, Zur Geschichte des Wortes barīd “Post.” Ragheb, Messagers volants. See also idem, Transmission des nouvelles. Silverstein, Postal systems. For his previous contributions on the Abbasid mail and the etymology of barīd, see the bibliography therein.

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was able to make the effort to trace the barīd on the ground, localize stations, analyze their architecture, draw plans of some of them, and sketch the first approximate maps of its network of routes.13 As an understandable restriction of that one-man enterprise, which yielded also two companion articles,14 he dealt exclusively with stations and routes that then were inside the borders of the French mandate, that is, today’s Syria and Lebanon. His sketch maps give a general idea of the networks’ extent but, like the text, specify only the most important nodal points and do not support exact localization of the majority of stations. Neither are the drawings geo-referenced nor is the course of route sections on the ground regularly specified.15 Some 15 years later, William Popper prepared a general list of road stations in the Mamluk period. It is of limited use for the present purpose since it mixes barīd stations with road inns and notable waypoints of other sorts, moreover, waiving the source evidence of each.16 It may therefore not be pointless to remark that this article considers road inns only if linked to the governmental communication systems.17

13

14 15

16 17

Sketch maps of the barīd: Sauvaget, Poste 24, fig. 1, 25, fig. 2, 55, fig. 10, 57, fig. 11, 68, fig. 18, 74, fig. 20; of the ḥamām and manāwir: ibid. 38, fig. 6. The map Palestine under the Mamluks, authored by Avi-Yonah (in Atlas of Israel, section ix/11), correctly covers the barīd routes, though not every station, in Palestine, Transjordan, and the Golan between Ghazza, *Dhibyān, and Urayniba. The sketch map in Dvorník, Origins of intelligence services 232, covers the routes of all three communication systems, though incompletely and incorrectly. The map in Walker’s Ayyubid and Mamluk Jordan (in Atlas of Jordan 185–187) tackles the barīd route between Cairo and al-Karak. A volume by Jirjis and Amīn (Tārīkh al-barīd fī Miṣr, not seen) has two (sketch) maps, which were redrawn by Saʿdāwī (Niẓām al-barīd, at the end; cf. 13 ult.). One is on the Egyptian barīd “in the Arab period,” relating, however, specifically to the time of the Mamluks, the other is on the Mamluks’ pigeon post; both are faulty. Two sketch maps of the Mamluk pigeon post have been prepared by Ragheb (Messagers volants 337–338). They indicate stations, not routes, and are incomplete; the number of stations plotted (46) does not comply with the figure indicated on 32 (72); on the other hand, Tabūk, Ayla (al-ʿAqaba), al-Raqqa, Sīs, and other places are included without mention in the text and so without argument why these are classified as stations. The sketch maps of the three systems by Shīrāwī (Ittiṣālāt 83–85, maps 8–10) are entirely unsatisfying for their imprecision, incompleteness, and lack of labeling. Sauvaget, Caravansérails; and idem, Un relais du barîd mamelouk. But note the rough adaptation to the terrain in the sketch maps on route sections in Lebanon (Sauvaget, Poste 68, fig. 18) and especially the crossing of the Jordan River (ibid. 74, fig. 20). Popper, Egypt and Syria under the Circassian sultans i, 45–54. The basic difference between khāns and barīd stations is discussed by Tavernari, Caravansérails et réseaux routiers, PhD diss., 137, 158, 394–398, 401. I am grateful to the author for making the study available to me.

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In the recent two decades, the archaeological and architectural approach has proven more and more fruitful as caravanserais and the network character of their interconnections have become an ever-stronger point of interest. The state of the art is now defined by Katia Cytryn-Silverman’s architectural and historical study of medieval road inns in the Syrian lands.18 Her survey includes a gazetteer with extensive chronicle and epigraphic documentation of 23 stations situated in Israel and adjacent territories, of which nine also relate to the governmental communication systems.19 Earlier, Andrew Petersen’s gazetteer of buildings in Muslim Palestine, in fact confined to the territory of Israel, covered a wider range of structures, of which nine held stations, but he does not focus on this function of theirs.20 The doctoral thesis of Cinzia Tavernari on the road inns of historical Syria, including its northern stretches, offers further beneficial information.21 Nonetheless, a number of limitations in our present knowledge may be noted. While several barīd stations have been studied in detail, so far which particular part of any given structure fulfilled the function of a station and how it was arranged has been ignored. Moreover, only one pigeon post station, and none of the signaling installations, has been determined materially.22 Also, research on the material side of the communication systems suffers a major drawback from the fact that, today, stations and routes are dispersed over ten countries and territories: Egypt, Syria, Israel, the Gaza Strip, the West Bank, Lebanon, and Jordan in the first place and, to a lesser degree, also Turkey, Iraq, and Sudan—a scattering that hampers a comprehensive approach, especially at a time when many borders are nearly impermeable. Lastly, a whole host of stations existed that are only known from textual sources, whereas a handful only show up from material remains while going unmentioned in the texts. Accordingly, heterogeneous evidence is a strong incentive for researchers into the systems’ materiality to take existing textual indications into account, while historians need to embrace what archaeology and the history of architecture

18 19 20 21 22

Cytryn-Silverman, Road inns, also containing a general section on the barīd (59b–61b). Ibid. on Baysān (new), Bayt Dāris, Jīnīn, Jubb Yūsuf, al-Majāmiʿ, Qāqūn, al-Salqa (Khān Yūnus), al-Ṭīra, and Yāsūr. Petersen, Gazetteer i: on Baysān (new), Bayt Jibrīn, Ḥiṭṭīn, Jubb Yūsuf, Ludd, al-Majāmiʿ, Qāqūn, Ṣafad, and al-Ṭīra. Tavernari, Caravansérails. See also idem, From the caravanserai to the road. Dörner and Goell, Arsameia am Nymphaios [i], 321–322, 324–325, pls. 78–79, plan 12 (Dörner). The plates are reprinted in Ragheb’s Messagers volants 35, figs. 1a–c. See also ibid. 37–38. On al-Kakhtā in general, see Dörner and Naumann, Forschungen in Kommagene 70–86 with pls. 9/2, 10–13, 23 (Naumann).

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provide. Lastly, the share of the Egyptian route sections and stations in the networks so far is underrated. Part of this is certainly explained by the fact that the massive rebuilding of provincial towns and the ensuing loss of Ayyubid and Mamluk structures has stripped scholars of a starting point like the one in Syria. At the same time, there has been no Egyptian Sauvaget.23 To remedy some of the mentioned lacunae, the present handlist can serve as a starting point, no more, in that it identifies and localizes the places that are to be considered stations in future analyses. It does not indulge in discussing them at length since that aim can only be accomplished through a detailed historical gazetteer of monograph length, such as I did not have the leisure to embark on. The handlist character of the following paper entails that the identification and localization of a station is only explicated when actually indispensable for its being included in the list at all. Therefore, basic annotation is provided only for those localities that cannot be traced in textual sources but are supplied on other grounds, or when a station name refers to two discrete sites that require distinction. It is also annotated when a reported station name is obscure or misleading and needs to be replaced by a conjectural or emended name, or when a modern name needs to be supplied. Another objective that cannot be achieved here is the detailed mapping of the stations and a reconstruction of how routes were embedded in the terrain (particularly regarding the barīd and manāwir systems), including indications on the certainty of each. I hope to publish maps that respond to this task before long.24 In the following section, the pertinent sources will be reviewed, with a focus on their interdependence and the temporal position of each in relation to the development of governmental communications. In the third and main section, I shall then establish the body of localities that positively held stations of one, or several, of the Ayyubid and/or Mamluk communication systems (table 12.1, stations nos. 1–257). In the fourth section, variants and corruptions of relevant place names will be distinguished, followed, in the fifth section, by a discussion of those statements on places that give the impression of a station but in fact must be taken out (miscellaneous localities M1–M20). In the sixth section, I

23 24

On the Egyptian mail and pigeon post, see at least Wiet, Les communications en Égypte 252–259, 263–264. In Franz, Beduinische Gruppen ii (forthcoming). On the Ayyubid and Mamluk communication systems in the context of nomad-sedentary relations, see idem, The Ayyubid and Mamluk revaluation of the hinterland 136–138, 140; idem, The castle and the country 366– 368.

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will argue that the existence of several more stations for which we have neither textual nor material evidence is nevertheless conceivable, though not certain (table 12.2, possible stations P1–P13). It will then be possible, in the seventh section, to assess the scale and scope of the stock of stations despite its obscurities and lacunae. I admit that the below handlist, like any tabular record, is not exactly what one would call an enthralling read. But it has a perfectly spatial nature to it, which can be brought to speak when mapped out. The article is therefore supplemented by online files that allow the present geo-data to be visualized in an earth browser and also to plot maps for custom purposes from the spreadsheets (see last section).

2

Sources

A. The corpus of stations derives first of all from Arabic literary sources. With few exceptions, they are preserved in four lists of stations that each form part of an administrative manual of the eight/fourteenth or ninth/fifteenth century. These are: Taʿrīf = Shihāb al-Dīn Aḥmad Ibn Faḍl Allāh al-ʿUmarī (d. 749/1349), al-Taʿrīf bil-muṣṭalaḥ al-sharīf, ed. al-Durūbī 269–282 (barīd), 283–284 (ḥamām), 288– 289 (manāwir). Cf. ed. Cairo 187–196, 197, 200–201; ed. Shams al-Dīn 242–253, 254–255, 259–261; tr. in R. Hartmann, Politische Geographie 480–499, 500–501, 504– 506. Ṣubḥ = Shihāb al-Dīn Aḥmad al-Qalqashandī (d. 821/1418), Ṣubḥ al-aʿshá fī ṣināʿat al-inshāʾ i, 118–119 (ḥamām); xvi, 373–385 (barīd), 392–394 (ḥamām), 398–399 (manāwir). Cf. partial tr. Gaudefroy-Demombynes, Syrie 242–249, 253–254, 258–260. Zubda = Khalīl b. Shāhīn al-Ẓāhirī (d. 872/1468), Zubdat kashf al-mamālik fī bayān al-ṭuruq wa-l-masālik, ed. Ravaisse 117 (ḥamām), 118–120 (barīd). Cf. ed. al-Manṣūr 98–99, 100–102; partial tr. Quatremère in al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk tr. ii/2, 91–92, note 34; tr. de Venture de Paradis, rev. Gaulmier 197–198, 199– 202; tabular summary in de Volney, Voyage 178, 179–180; synopsis of Ravaisse, de Volney, and the Taʿrīf, only covering Syria, in R. Hartmann, Geographische Nachrichten 70–87. Qalāʾid = Najm al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī (fl. 868/1463–1464), Qalāʾid al-jumān fī muṣṭalaḥ mukātabat ahl al-zamān, British Library, Ms. or. 3625, as quoted in Sprenger, Post- und Reiserouten 9–10, note 1 (barīd).

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Clearly, the most ancient list, the one in the Taʿrīf, is also the most reliable one.25 Written between 743/1342 (or rather 744/1343) and 746/1345,26 it portrays the communication systems at a time when they had just reached the stage of their greatest expansion and were fully operational. Hence the author, previously acting as an official in the chancery of Sultan al-Nāṣir Muḥammad in Cairo and then (until 743/1343) in Damascus, was the only one to have an easy grasp of the composition of the systems, whereas later authors could only look back at them after they had started to decline or ceased to exist. Also, he benefited from being the scion of a dynasty of secretaries, the Banū Faḍl Allāh, who, from the time of Baybars, held eminent positions in the Mamluk administration, including the barīd. In particular, his uncle Sharaf al-Dīn Abū Muḥammad ʿAbd al-Wahhāb (d. 717/1317) was the barīd’s founding administrator. Hence, not only did Shihāb al-Dīn have the valuable family tradition of the Banū Faḍl Allāh at his disposal, but he achieved a position in the chancery, too, which got him professionally involved in the communication systems, it being one of his duties to read out correspondence to the sultan.27 Thus equipped, he was qualified to report authoritatively both on the communication systems’ contemporary state and their beginnings. On the other hand, the manuscript transmission of his book is such that it must be used cautiously. The textual witnesses are divided into at least four groups.28 To varying degrees, they hold numerous variant spellings of place names, including obvious copy errors, so that no single manuscript or edition can be relied on alone. R. Hartmann based his translation into German of the parts relevant to us on the uncritical Cairo edition (which in turn was based on Cairo ms. 57 adab), stating that his collation of it with five manuscripts “hat im Ganzen die Brauchbarkeit des Drucks ergeben.”29 His rich annotations and two related articles30 contain a wealth of correct emendations of place names, and partly also localizations. The Cairo print was reedited by M.Ḥ. Shams al-Dīn with no resort to any of the manuscripts. Both have been displaced by the two-volume crit-

25

26 27 28 29 30

Source reviews are provided by R. Hartmann, Geographische Nachrichten 2–7, 68–69; idem, Politische Geographie 7–12; Gaudefroy-Demombynes, Syrie i–vi; Sauvaget, Poste 2– 5; Silverstein, Postal systems 166–167. Al-Droubi, Critical edition 44–45. On his biography and the Banū Faḍl Allāh, see R. Hartmann, Politische Geographie 1–5; Rice, Miniature 856–858. Al-Droubi, Critical edition 82–90. R. Hartmann, Politische Geographie 11. R. Hartmann, Die Straße von Damaskus nach Kairo 665–702; idem, Katja und el-Dschifâr 373–377.

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ical edition of 1992 by Samīr al-Durūbī. It starts from Leipzig ms. 659,31 which R. Hartmann called “trefflich,” but draws as well on twelve more manuscripts, of which Hartmann had used but four. The critical edition provides the necessary textual basis for research. At the same time, the editor’s commentary on stations and routes has hardly added anything to the early twentieth-century investigations mentioned and left open the toponymic and geographic issues that have remained since then. Most of them will be clarified below in notes on the tables. The second extensive list, in the elder al-Qalqashandī’s Ṣubḥ, was written until 814/141232 (i.e., a bit more than a decade after Timur’s invasion of Syria, which medieval Arab writers considered the reason for the system’s decay). Silverstein has plausibly argued that the downswing resulted from neglect by the Mamluks.33 According to constant references in this list, it depends throughout on the Taʿrīf, and there is no indication that any additional literary material is used. However, some place names are omitted, notably those that are already obscure in the model, while on the other hand a number of stations is additionally introduced (see section 7), which also regards omissions and additions by the following sources. In another place, the Ṣubḥ deals with the communication systems in the wider context of intelligence, notably the quṣṣād (couriers) and ʿuyūn/ jawāsīs (spies), noting, however, only a couple of stations and routes, all of which also appear in the said list.34 The list in Khalīl b. Shāhīn’s Zubda, although written only in the time of Sultan Jaqmaq (r. 842–857/1438–1453),35 presents knowledge that is independent from the Taʿrīf and Ṣubḥ.36 It is, however, as Hartmann has repeatedly noted,37 compiled in an incomplete and moreover injudicious way with many corrupt forms of place names that all in all does not betray particular familiarity with the subject. On the other hand, several stations that the previous authors did not know are indicated in creditable ways. In stating that the barīd had under-

31 32 33 34 35

36 37

See Vollers, Katalog 59–60. Bosworth, al-Ḳalḳashandī, in ei2 iv, 510a. Silverstein, Postal systems 184–185. The imputation of Timur in this respect is also repeated by the newly published Thaghr of al-Saḥmāwī i, 335–336. Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ i, 114–128, including some stations of the pigeon post (118) and the signaling system (127–128). Khalīl b. Shāhīn, Zubda 67; R. Hartmann, Geographische Nachrichten 3. On the work and its manuscripts, see ibid. 3, 4–5. Sauvaget allows for its creation until 1468 (ah 872–873) (Poste 2). The uncritical edition by al-Manṣūr is ignorant of any of these issues. R. Hartmann, Geographische Nachrichten 5–7; idem, Politische Geographie 8. See also below, section 7. Esp. R. Hartmann, Geographische Nachrichten 68.

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gone a lasting decline during the time of al-Muʾayyad Shaykh (r. 815–824/1412– 1421),38 the author makes it clear that his list mirrors a late, but still bustling phase, so probably in the second half of the eighth/fourteenth century. In contrast to the previous lists, the optical signaling system is ignored. Fourth, the son of al-Qalqashandī, Najm al-Dīn, broaches the barīd in his unpublished Qalāʾid al-jumān (which I have not seen). The relevant passage was included by Sprenger as a footnote in his Post- und Reiserouten. Authored in 868/1463–146439 and recycling the title of one of the elder al-Qalqashandī’s books, it is tempting to suppose that the list is derived from the Ṣubḥ. Amounting to a mere 26 lines that have not been studied so far, its dependency is, however, not easy to gauge. Meanwhile, the fact that it shares the spelling of the station name “Baghrāṣ” with the Taʿrīf (see table 12.1, no. 21), in contrast to his father’s “Baghrās,” seems to suggest that the older work is authoritative.40 Besides these four lists, Gaudefroy-Demombynes pointed to an unfinished and acephalous work preserved in Paris (Ms. arabe 4439) of miscellaneous content, including political history, geography, and a letter manual for chancery scribes. According to an added title on the manuscript, it was long known as al-Maqṣad al-rafīʿ by one Bahāʾ al-Dīn Muḥammad b. Luṭf Allāh b. ʿUbayd Allāh al-ʿUmarī al-Khālidī.41 Though it has recently been identified, and for the first time published, by A.M. Anas as the work of Shams al-Dīn Muḥammad al-Saḥmāwī (d. 868/1464), entitled al-Thaghr al-bāsim fī ṣināʿat al-kātib wa-lkātim.42 It deals with the communication systems at a time when they had already seriously declined and states that mail stations lay waste with neither horse nor man in them.43 The pigeon post is even more a matter of the past,44

38 39 40

41

42

43 44

Khalīl b. Shāhīn, Zubda 120; cf. 117. Sprenger, Post- und Reiserouten 9, note 1. Al-ʿUmarī, Taʿrīf 281; Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ xiv, 384; Najm al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Qalāʾid, as quoted in Sprenger, Post- und Reiserouten 9–10, note 1, 10. The usual scholarly spelling is now that of the Ṣubḥ (e.g., Cahen, Baghrās, in ei2, i, 909b–910a). De Slane, Catalogue 708a, no. 4439 (a.f. 1573); Gaudefroy-Demombynes, Syrie v–vi; Sauvaget, Poste 3. Added title on fol. 2r and also 1r, 1v: al-Maqṣad al-rafīʿ al-munshāʾ al-ḥāwī (Gaudefroy-Demombynes: al-Hādī) ilá (de Slane: ʿalá) ṣināʿat al-inshāʾ. The catalogue also uses dīwān al-inshāʾ (at the beginning of the preserved text) for another makeshift title. It may be, adds Gaudefroy-Demombynes, that this is the same al-Maqṣad al-rafīʿ to which Ḥajjī Khalīfa (d. 1067/1657) refers. In the relevant place (Kashf al-ẓunūn ii, col. 1806), however, only a book title is stated. See the editor’s preface, 17–20. On the author, see ibid. 11–16, esp. 15–16, with reference to the Thaghr in another place in Ḥajjī Khalīfa’s Kashf (i, col. 521) and two biographies of al-Saḥmāwī. Al-Saḥmāwī, Thaghr i, 334–336, quoting 336. See also the index s.v. (ii, 1010a). Ibid. 342–344.

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and the optical signaling system is omitted. It is therefore understandable that the author, expressly drawing on the Taʿrīf, is satisfied with laying out part of the history and basic functioning of the mail and pigeon post systems, whereas he abstains from indicating particular stations and routes. It may be noted that two contemporary Western sources, the anonymous Devise des chemins de Babiloine (of 1306–1307)45 and Marino Sanudo Torsello’s Secreta fidelium crucis (of 1307–1321),46 reflect most of the station names occurring between Cairo and Ghazza. They apparently lean on Arabic sources47 yet shed no new light on the matter. B. Many other literary sources illustrate the operation of the barīd and sometimes the ḥamām systems. In particular, the barīd rider, as Manfred Ullmann has shown, early on became a figure in adab writings, which flourished throughout the Ayyubid and Mamluk periods. Nevertheless, the corpus of station names as supplied by the said administrative manuals is only very little supplemented. The travelogue of Ibn Baṭṭūṭa (completed 756/1357) mentions a pigeon post station that previously had gone unnoticed: Jabala on the Syrian coast (no. 92).48 Additional installations in what is today Lebanon are referred to by Ṣāliḥ b. Yaḥyá, one of the Buḥturid (Druse) amirs of the Gharb area and the author of a chronicle of this dynasty, entitled Taʾrīkh Bayrūt (ends 857/1453). He is the first to inform us that an optical signal line with five relays (nos. 32, 37, 189, 201, 246) operated between Beirut and Damascus during the post-Crusader period.49 Other sources that deal significantly with the communication systems, however, are not interested in disclosing more station names than just the most obvious ones. This is particularly regrettable, first, in the case of al-Anṣārī whose war manual (written between 801/1399 and 815/1412) is enthusiastic about all three communication systems.50 Regarding the Mamluk-period line of optical signals, he nevertheless simply points to the extremes (i.e., the Euphrates and Ghazza [no. 71]) whence the pigeon post continues to Cairo;51 among mail stations, mention is made only of Cairo, Alexandria, Dimyāṭ, Qūṣ

45 46 47 48 49 50 51

Devise 241–243. Date according to Irwin, How many miles to Babylon? Sanudo, Liber secretorum fidelium crucis 261–262, tr. 415–416. See R. Hartmann, Straße 688–689, with a synopsis of the relevant parts of the Taʿrīf (ed. Cairo), Zubda, Qalāʾid, Devise; and Sanudo’s Liber secretorum fidelium crucis. Ibn Baṭṭūṭa, Riḥla i, 179, tr. i, 113. Ṣāliḥ b. Yaḥyá, Taʾrīkh Bayrūt 35. Al-Anṣārī, Tafrīj 12–15, tr. 46–50. Ibid. 13, tr. 47.

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(where the camel is taken to reach Uswān and ʿAydhāb), al-Shām (i.e., Damascus), Aleppo, and “the rest of the Syrian possessions until it was connected with the Euphrates.”52 All of this is entirely secondary to either the Taʿrīf or the Ṣubḥ. It may be noted that two lost specialized writings on the pigeon post may, too, have mentioned particular stations: a work of unknown title by Abū lḤasan b. Mulāʿib al-Fawāris al-Baghdādī, dedicated to the ʿAbbasid caliph anNāṣir li-Dīn Allāh (r. 575–622/1180–1225),53 and the Tamāʾim al-ḥamāʾim of the judge Abū l-Faḍl Muḥyī al-Dīn ʿAbdallāh b. ʿAbd al-Ẓāhir al-Saʿdī (d. 692/1293).54 C. Several stations have escaped the books. Instead, architectural and epigraphic findings led Sauvaget to identify four more mail stations: khān al-sabīl (no. 119), the later so-called Khān al-Shaʿr (no. 120), al-Manākhir (no. 140), and Sarāqib (no. 207). Fifth, the history of Syria’s political administration gave him reason to make the safe assumption that Ḥiṣn al-Akrād (no. 81), provincial capital from 669/1271 to 688/1289, ought to be included in the list of mail stations, too. Another of Sauvaget’s identifications will be discussed below, with some reservation, as a possibility (the now so-called Khān al-ʿAsal, P5).

3

Stations

The below handlist (table 12.1) records those geographic places that held a station of any of the said three governmental communication systems, whether used continuously or for a limited period of time. The bulk of stations appear from the textual sources and carry a place name. Generically, pigeonries are referred to as markaz (literally “position, location”), markaz al-baṭāʾiq (ditto “of notepads”), maṭār (“take-off place”), masraḥ (“release point”), or burj (“tower”);55 the places of the horseback courier mail are also termed markaz; and the beacons of the optical signaling system are marked as nār (“fire, light”)

52 53 54

55

Ibid. 15, tr. 50. The Ayyubids are but hinted at (14, tr. 49). Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ xiv, 390–391. Al-ʿUmarī, Taʿrīf 283, and Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ xvi, 390: al-Fāḍil Muḥyī al-Dīn b. ʿAbd al-Ẓāhir; Khalīl b. Shāhīn, Zubda 117: al-Fāḍil Muḥyī al-Dīn ʿAbd al-Ẓāhir; al-Saḥmāwī, Thaghr i, 343: Muḥyī al-Dīn b. ʿAbd al-Ẓāhir; Ḥajjī Khalīfa, Kashf i, col. 483: Muḥyī al-Dīn (three dots) b. ʿAbd al-Ẓāhir. The above form of the name is derived from R. Hartmann, Politische Geographie 500, note 5; and Brockelmann, Geschichte der arabischen Litteratur2 i, 319. See Ragheb, Messagers volants 32.

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or munawwir (“lighting place”), or, in the plural only, as manāwir (“lighthouses”) or aʿlām nārī (“light signals”). Since the designation of relevant installations is diverse, we need to be precise about what a station is and what it is not if we are to use the umbrella term “station.” The Taʿrīf reveals the proper notion when mentioning the post rider’s halt at al-ʿIṭna: it is stressed that the stop there is not made at a station (wa-laysa bi-hā markaz) but at “a khān where bread, shoes, and horseshoes are distributed as [a] charitable gift.”56 So there is a positively technical understanding according to which a station is defined, not just as a maintained stopping place but rather as a facility designed for the courier mail in particular—in other words: an official facility that is run by some state authority.57 It is in this sense that we hereafter may pool the facilities of all three systems alike under the caption of “station.” The Taʿrīf ’s reservation about the public road inn at al-ʿIṭna also tells us that we may trust, as a rule of thumb, that the lists are indeed lists of stations, which is why the use of markaz and equivalent generic terms is by and large dispensable. The authors indeed take pains to make it clear when an exception from the rule occurs. The Taʿrīf thus also cares to state that Ḥabwa (no. 73), in the northern Sinai, was a Bedouin campsite instead of a markaz, apparently meaning that it did not hold a built structure. We nevertheless may include it as a particular variety in our understanding of stations, for the halt there belonged to a route section whose maintenance Baybars had commissioned by dint of a treaty with the local Bedouin and Türkmens.58 That much said on stations, it is, however, important to keep in mind that the handlist does not intend to register place names but unique localities. It follows that when a name shows up with a station that shifted from one locality to another, two entries are made (e.g., for the old and the new station at Baysān, nos. 38 and 39; likewise nos. 64 and 65; 208 and 209; but cf. no. 170). Three places that are derived from a summary source statement, with no proper place name noted, appear at the end of the list (nos. 255–257). Besides, as said before, five stations go unmentioned in the literary sources but have previously been identified on architectural, epigraphic, or historical grounds (nos. 81, 119, 120, 140, 207). All these places may confidently be considered stations.

56

57 58

Al-ʿUmarī, Taʿrīf 279; Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ xiv, 381. If nevertheless al-ʿIṭna appears in the handlist (no. 91), this is because of the signaling post there. For related statements, see M19 and the paragraph following M20. Which is not to deny the well-known phenomenon that many barīd stations later absorbed functions for the general public, too. Al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk i/2, 481, tr. i/1, 189–190.

handlist of stations, ayyubid-mamluk communication systems

309

After a station is identified through the sources, its precise localization on the ground in terms of geographic coordinates is a different, and often even more consuming, task. The limits of this one article have made me confine myself to the results of my localizing efforts and expatiate on them only in select cases. The underlying process of localization usually combined six sorts of resources: indications in existing research literature, printed historical maps,59 digitized and mostly geo-referenced printed maps,60 the toponymic and geographic database of the GEOnet Names Server,61 satellite imagery offered online in particular through Google Earth and Bing Maps, and personal ground knowledge. These instruments allow us to spot many of the isolated barīd stations if these have been preserved to this day. Preservation was much favored when a station also operated as a public road inn. For the purposes of the present handlist, it was adequate to note geographic positions by arc seconds (″), with no fractions allowed. As a square of 1″ side length measures in the Middle Eastern region ca. 30.0×30.9m (latitude/longitude), the maximum inaccuracy of any positioning is 21.5m. For comparison, the side length of one of the smallest freestanding barīd station, at Bālis (no. 26), is ca. 20 m.62 Moreover, almost every one of the named populated places that held a station can be localized. Small settlements that, to the best of my knowledge,

59

60

61

62

Notably the atlas of Cornu (Atlas du monde arabo-islamique) and various sheets of the Tübinger Atlas des Vorderen Orients, such as Halm’s Ägypten unter den Fāṭimiden (sheet B vii 13). Most important, Jacotin’s Carte topographique de l’Égypte (1:100,000) in his Atlas géographique to the Description de l’ Égypte; the maps of the Soviet General Staff of Egypt (1:200,000, 1:500,000), Israel and Palestine (1:50,000, 1:200,000), Jordan (1:100,000), and Syria (1:100,000); moreover the Egyptian sheets of the Tactical pilotage chart series (1:500,000); the Egyptian sheets of the U.S. Army Map Service series North Africa (P502, 1:250,000) and its Jordan series (K737, 1:50,000); the two-sheet Israeli map of Israel and Palestine (1:250,000); the French mandate-period maps of Lebanon (1:50,000) and the Levant (1:200,000); the German Reichswehr booty map of the previous; the national Syrian follow up-series; as well as the national map of Lebanon (1:100,000). The bibliography specifies those of which are particularly referred to in the notes. See also below, notes 139, 169. First and foremost, the country files provided by the GEOnet names server (gns) of the U.S. National Geospatial-Intelligence Agency as downloaded in 2005 from http://earth​ ‑info.nga.mil/gns/html/namefiles.htm (now at http://geonames.nga.mil/gns/html/). Sample datasets were revised online during 2013 at http://geonames.nga.mil/ggmagaz (now at http://geonames.nga.mil/namesgaz/), which yielded little improvement. All gns data have been checked, and in many cases specified, with Google Earth, and some with Bing Maps. The results of this regularly surpass the original gns data. Sauvaget, Poste 62, fig. 14.

310

franz

do not contain an apparent station building are indicated by the coordinates of their present-day geographic centers. In these cases, inaccuracy is hardly more than a hundred meters. On the other hand, with regard to towns that then covered an extensive area and since have possibly grown far beyond their medieval limits, it is usually the castle which is taken as the most likely station locality. The harvest for the other communication systems is very poor: only one concrete pigeonry (no. 110) and one place of a beacon (no. 63) are so far known. A specific problem arises when one settled place is reported to hold several stations. As this article starts from a historian’s point of view and cannot delve into on-site issues that require archaeological and architectural investigation, it shall suffice provisionally to assume that stations appearing under the same place name did in fact group together so that they are found in the handlist under the same entry. Some exemplary specifications are made in the notes on Damascus (no. 63) and Cairo (no. 164) though. The nature of signaling installations necessitates that they are sought in elevated places, and attempts at reconstructing visual connections between reported stations—with the help of a virtual three-dimensional Earth viewer—can often reach at least at an approximate localization, for instance concerning ʿAqabat al-Barīd (no. 6). Finally, some words on tables 12.1 and 12.2 are due. Information is arranged thus: col. 1. Station number. Allocated for referencing purposes. col. 2. Station name or descriptor. In the main, this is a station’s place name as stated in the respective principal source (col. 12). Basically, ungrammatical forms in the underlying edition are retained (thus Bīr al-Bayḍāʾ, no. 45, and Qabr al-Wāyilī, no. 161). In the case of corruption, the entry is, however, made under a more reliable form, marked by an asterisk (*) and annotated. For instance, the principal reference to station no. 160 is in the Taʿrīf, but its “Laghrān” is substituted by “*Nuʿarān” as the Zubda rightly has it.63 Occasionally, the spelling in Yāqūt’s Muʿjam al-buldān (e.g., “*Niqinnis,” no. 159) or a scholarly emendation (e.g., “*al-Ḥayr,” no. 78) is most appropriate. Besides, some stations are indicated in the sources by a descriptive statement. Such clauses are given in italics, with any included place name that can serve as a catchword in the first place. Entries are in alphabetical order in the letter-byletter method, whence “Bayt al-Fār” precedes “Bayt Dāris,” etc. For stations that

63

See the note to no. 160.

handlist of stations, ayyubid-mamluk communication systems

311

have no textual evidence to them, modern names are supplied in square brackets. As already stated, anonymous stations come last. cols. 3–5. System affiliation. A place may have held stations of more than one communication system at a time. It is basically assumed that ḥamām and barīd facilities mentioned under the same place name were in fact housed in one complex, while signaling installations under that name were mostly in a separate elevated place. col. 6. Certainty of localization. See above on the issue of accuracy. Here, three qualities are distinguished: certain, approximate, and hypothetical localizations. cols. 7–10. Site position. Latitude north and longitude east are stated both in the arc degree, minute, and second format (dms, without unit symbols) and by decimal degrees (dd). Approximate and hypothetical localizations (col. 6) are italicized. col. 11. Territory of the political body to which the station’s site belongs today. Two-digit abbreviations conform to the iso 3166-1 alpha-2 standard (exception for iso’s State of Palestine, the two parts of which are here discretely referred to). col. 12. Principal source. This is the first occurrence of the relevant station and place name in any of the lists, though mostly the Taʿrīf. Key: b ḥ ḥ? m m? s.n. * [] . + ? ??

Station of the horseback courier mail (barīd) Station of the pigeon post (ḥamām) Presumable station of the pigeon post Station of the optical signaling system (manāwir) Presumable station of the optical signaling system sine nomine, without name Conjectural form or emended name Modern name deest or unknown Localization certain Localization approximate Localization hypothetical

312

franz

eg gz il iq jo lb sd sy tr we

Egypt Gaza Strip Israel Iraq Jordan Lebanon Sudan Syria Turkey West Bank

Kh Q R S Ṣ T tb Z zf

al-Maqrīzī, Khiṭaṭ Najm al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Qalāʾid Ibn Baṭṭūṭa, Riḥla al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ al-ʿUmarī, Taʿrīf Ṣāliḥ b. Yaḥyá, Taʾrīkh Bayrūt Khalīl b. Shāhīn, Zubda Baybars al-Manṣūrī, Zubdat al-fikra

4

Variants and Corruptions

The positive result of the present handlist (table 12.1) builds, however, on negative findings, too. To take stock of the communication systems primarily on a textual basis also requires us to distinguish between variants and corruptions of place names and to discard erroneous statements about stations, all of which would inflate the list. This section is devoted to these sorts of information. As we know, the vast majority of stations are already contained in the Taʿrīf ’s list. This is explained by the already mentioned fact that it was produced precisely at the time when the governmental communication infrastructure had just reached its peak before it soon began to decline. With regard to the later lists depending on it, some material is omitted and a number of items are added (see section 7), but generally the lists are characterized by the variation of station names, which is often enough a deterioration and occasionally appears with redundancy, displacement, and misleading clauses. This is also true of the list in the Zubda, which is the only one that is independent of both the Taʿrīf and the Ṣubḥ, but shows little understanding of the matter. Generally, these

65

b b b b

+ + + +

361103N 310728N 320619N 364601N

365032E 334802E 345548E 354733E

365526E 351942E 360622E 354714E 415852E 352425E 304425E 361936E 321520E 383410E 355050E

Sic, al-ʿUmarī, Taʿrīf, ed. Cairo 193, and ed. al-Durūbī 278. Variants: idem, ed. Shams alDīn 250; Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ xiv, 381; Najm al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Qalāʾid 10: ‫ ;اياد‬Khalīl b. Shāhīn, Zubda 119: ‫ابعد‬. Now Ābād. See [Sūriya], 1:200,000, sheet alLādhiqiyya–Ḥamāh/Lattaquié–Hama (1977). Cf. Dussaud, Topographie historique, map x (B2): ʿAbad. See also below under Amār/Imār (M16). See also below, section 7.

. . . .

355517N 365918N 323731N 322609N 342747N 322904N 282050N 343946N 304908N 343900N 323330N

64

. . . .

+ + + ?? + + + ?? ? + +

Arḥāb al-ʿArīsh al-ʿAwjāʾ Āyās

b b b . . . b b b b b

12 13 14 15

. . . m m m . . . m m 36.184167 31.124444 32.105278 36.766944

35.921389 36.988333 32.625278 32.435833 34.463056 32.484444 28.347222 34.662778 30.818889 34.643056 32.558333

Longitude Latitude dms dd

ḥ? . ḥ . . . . . . . ḥ

Certainty Latitude dms

*Abād64 Adana Adhriʿāt jabal ʿAjlūn ʿĀna ʿAqabat al-Barīd Aqlawsanā Aqmār al-ʿĀqūla Arak/manẓarat Arak65 Arbad/ jabal Arbad

barīd

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

manāwir

ḥamām

Name or descriptor

No.

table 12.1 Stations of the Ayyubid and Mamluk governmental communication systems

36.842222 33.800556 34.93 35.7925

36.923889 35.328333 36.106111 35.787222 41.981111 35.406945 30.740278 36.326667 32.255556 38.569444 35.847222 sy eg il tr

sy tr sy jo iq il, we eg lb eg sy jo

T 278 Q 10 T 280, 283 T 289 T 288 T 289 T 270 T 280 T 273 T 279, 288 T 276, 277, 283, 289 T 281 T 274 T 276 T 281

Longitude Territory Principal dd source

handlist of stations, ayyubid-mamluk communication systems

313

68

b b b b

+ + + +

362215N 285520N 362537N 374037N

373115E 305905E 361332E 375147E

362925E 352122E 372318E

See also below under Kīmān Qifṭ (M7). The lists just indicate the barīd station at ʿAyn Tāb, while Baybars al-Manṣūrī (Zubdat alfikra 200 s.a. 680 [1281 ce]) shows that at least once the pigeon post reached the town (“ʿAyntāb”). Ragheb ranks it the destination of a secondary line from Aleppo (Messagers volants 34 with 46, note 83, and 44, note 42). It is, however, not beyond doubt that ʿAyn Tāb was part of the official pigeon post. The lists know only of a barīd station at Baghrāṣ (Frankish Gaston, now Bakras Kalesi). According to Baybars al-Manṣūrī (Zubdat al-fikra 200 s.a. 680 [1281 ce]), the town also received messenger pigeons, as did al-Darbasāk (P3) and al-Rāwandān (P11). Like ʿAyn Tāb, Ragheb classifies them as destinations of secondary lines from Aleppo (Messagers volants 34 with 46, note 83, and 44, note 42). Their absence from the lists and the temporary nature of the Mamluk presence in these places suggest that they were not served on a regular basis. This is why al-Darbasāk and al-Rāwandān, which were not part of any other communication system, are listed below with the possible additional stations.

. . . .

221950N 323258N 370354N

66 67

. . ḥ? ḥ

+ + +

al-Bāb Babā Baghrāṣ68 Bahasná

. b b

19 20 21 22

. . . 36.370833 28.922222 36.426879 37.676944

22.330556 32.549444 37.065

Longitude Latitude dms dd

ḥ . ḥ?

Certainty Latitude dms

ʿAydhāb66 ʿAyn Jālūt ʿAyn Tāb67

barīd

16 17 18

manāwir

ḥamām

Name or descriptor

No.

table 12.1 Stations of the Ayyubid and Mamluk governmental communication systems (cont.)

37.520833 30.984722 36.225516 37.863056

36.490278 35.356111 37.388333 sy eg tr tr

eg, sd il tr

T 283 T 276 T 280, 281; zf 200 T 278 T 270 T 281; zf 200 T 281, 283

Longitude Territory Principal dd source

314 franz

. . m .

. m . m b b . b

b . b b

b b b b . b b .

? + ? +

+ + + +

+ + + + ?? ?? + ?

304826N 335350N 335310N 322954N

353929N 335004N 364516N 343050N

340022N 263127N 353028N 355911N 303326N 322926N 294139N 333333N

313938E 353015E 353142E 353013E

361542E 354605E 361209E 375626E

361217E 314423E 360515E 380657E 312703E 355247E 311445E 361820E

30.807222 33.897222 33.886111 32.498333

35.658056 33.834444 36.754444 34.513889

34.006111 26.524167 35.507778 35.986389 30.557222 32.490556 29.694167 33.559167

Longitude Latitude dms dd

Station prior to a shift in the barīd route east of Jīnīn (no. 99) prompted by the governor of Damascus Alṭunbughā al-Nāṣirī (741–742/1340–1341). On this measure, see al-ʿUmarī, Taʿrīf 277, and Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ xiv, 380. In these, see also 255 and 393, respectively; also Khalīl b. Shāhīn, Zubda 117, 119. It may safely be assumed that the site of

. ḥ . ḥ

. . . .

. . . . . . . m

Certainty Latitude dms

69

35 36 37 38

31 32 33 34

ḥ . . . ḥ . . .

barīd

Baʿlabakk Balasbūra Balāṭunus Bālis Banī ʿUbayd al-Baradiyya Barnasht al-jabal al-muṭall ʿalá Barza Barzūya/Burzayh jabal Bawārish Bāyās al-Bayḍāʾ/manẓarat al-Bayḍāʾ Baynūna Bayrūt ẓāhir Bayrūt Baysān (old)69

manāwir

23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30

ḥamām

Name or descriptor

No.

table 12.1 Stations of the Ayyubid and Mamluk governmental communication systems (cont.)

31.660556 35.504167 35.528333 35.503611

36.261667 35.768056 36.2025 37.940556

36.204722 31.739722 36.0875 38.115833 31.450833 35.879722 31.245833 36.305556

eg lb lb il

sy lb tr sy

lb eg sy sy eg jo eg sy

Z 119 T 279 tb 35 T 276, 283

T 282 tb 35 T 281 T 279, 288

T 279, 283 T 271 T 282 T 281 Z 117 Z 120 Z 118 T 289

Longitude Territory Principal dd source

handlist of stations, ayyubid-mamluk communication systems

315

71

70

ḥ? . .

Baysān (new)70 Bayt al-Fār Bayt Dāris/Bayt Dāras71

39 40 41

. . .

manāwir

. b b

barīd

+ ?? +

323047N 365152N 314324N

Certainty Latitude dms 352948E 372326E 344058E

32.513056 36.864444 31.723333

Longitude Latitude dms dd

the old station was within the built-up area of Baysān, here represented by the Crusader castle (Le Bessan/Bethsan, today Bet Shean). Al-ʿUmarī, Taʿrīf 276, 277, 283; Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ xiv, 380, 393; Khalīl b. Shāhīn, Zubda 119, 117. The eligible new station locality is the road inn later referred to as Khān al-Aḥmar. It was built in 708/1308 at some 2km to the northeast of the old Baysān station and is now on the outskirts of Bet Shean. See the previous note and Sauvaget, Poste, 73, note 293, 74, fig. 20; idem, Caravansérails ii, 3–4; Petersen, Gazetteer 115a–117a; CytrynSilverman, Road inns 11ab, no. 2, 85a–88b, no. 1, etc., 183 seqq., pls. ii/3, vi/1, viii/6–7, ix/5, 197–202, figs. 1.1.1–1.6.2; rcéa xiv, 22–23, no. 5235. Al-Maqrīzī refers to it in one place as Khān Salār (Mawāʿiẓ iv, 609; see also Mayer, Name 96, note 1). It is not clear whether the Baysān pigeon post station was indeed shifted here. Sic, al-ʿUmarī, Taʿrīf, ed. al-Durūbī 276. Variants: idem, ed. Cairo 191, and Khalīl b. Shāhīn, Zubda 119: Bayt Darās; Taʿrīf, ed. Shams al-Dīn 247: Bayt Dārās; Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ xiv, 379: Bayt Dāris/Bayt Dāras and locally Tadāris; Najm al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Qalāʾid 9: ‫يد راس‬. R. Hartmann, Politische Geographie 489, note 1, relies on the Taʿrīf ’s manuscripts and hence favors “Bayt Dāris.” Now Bayt Dārās/Bet Daras (‫)בית דראס‬ or Tadāris. See Cytryn-Silverman, Road inns 96ab, no. 4, etc.

ḥamām

Name or descriptor

No.

table 12.1 Stations of the Ayyubid and Mamluk governmental communication systems (cont.)

35.496667 37.390556 34.682778

il sy il

T 276, 277, 283 T 280 T 276

Longitude Territory Principal dd source

316 franz

b b b b b b b b b b . b b b b

? ? ? ? + + + + + + ?? + + + ??

301808N 310504N 304755N 312218N 351708N 351100N 261400N 335605N 341528N 315943N 343610N 283624N 310215N 312502N 371213N

312608E 333719E 320718E 341908E 372745E 355700E 320000E 360905E 364617E 354741E 382448E 304803E 302822E 342105E 372827E

345341E 313400E 375846E

Al-ʿUmarī, Taʿrīf, ed. Cairo 191, ed. Shams al-Dīn 247, and ed. al-Durūbī 275: Bayt Jibrīl. However, Yāqūt’s “Bayt Jibrīn” is preferable (Muʿjam al-buldān i, 776). Now Bet Guvrin. See Cytryn-Silverman, Road inns 7b–8a, no. 3, etc.

. . . . . . . . . . m . . . .

313630N 302500N 370154N

72

. . . . . . . . . . . . ḥ . .

+ + +

Bīr al-Bayḍāʾ Biʾr al-Qāḍī Biʾr Ghazī Biʾr Ṭurunṭāy Bughaydīd Bulunyās al-Bulyana Būrā Burayj al-ʿAṭash al-Burj al-Abyaḍ manẓarat al-Buwayb Dahrūṭ Damanhūr al-Waḥsh al-Dārūm Dayr Kūn

b b b

45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59

. . m 30.302222 31.084444 30.798611 31.371667 35.285556 35.183333 26.233333 33.934722 34.257778 31.995278 34.602778 28.606667 31.0375 31.417222 37.203611

31.608333 30.416667 37.031667

Longitude Latitude dms dd

. ḥ ḥ

Certainty Latitude dms

*Bayt Jibrīn72 Bilbays/Bulbays/Bilbīs al-Bīra

barīd

42 43 44

manāwir

ḥamām

Name or descriptor

No.

table 12.1 Stations of the Ayyubid and Mamluk governmental communication systems (cont.)

31.435556 33.621944 32.121667 34.318889 37.4625 35.95 32.0 36.151389 36.771389 35.794722 38.413333 30.800833 30.472778 34.351389 37.474167

34.894722 31.566667 37.979444 eg eg eg gz sy sy eg lb sy jo sy eg eg gz tr

il eg tr

T 275 T 272, 283 T 278, 279, 280, 283, 288 T 272 T 274 T 273 T 275 T 280 T 281 T 271 Z 120 T 278 T 280 T 288 T 270 T 272 Ṣ xiv, 378 Z 120

Longitude Territory Principal dd source

handlist of stations, ayyubid-mamluk communication systems

317

75

74

. . m

b b b

b

+ + +

+

313007N 325416N 333042N

273331N

354637E 360925E 361808E

304828E

31.501944 32.904444 33.511667

27.558611

Longitude Latitude dms dd

Al-ʿUmarī, Taʿrīf ed. Shams al-Dīn 243: Dharwat Sarbām. Variants: idem, ed. Cairo 188, and ed. al-Durūbī 270: Dharwat Sar(a)yām (the latter also offers variants in notes 18 and 19); Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ xiv, 373: Dhirwat Sarbām; Khalīl b. Shāhīn, Zubda 118: Dayrūṭ al-Sharīf. Yāqūt, Muʿjam al-buldān ii, 570: Darwat Sarabām. See R. Hartmann, Politische Geographie 482, note 1, whose rendering is followed above, and al-Droubi, Critical edition 266. Now Dayrūṭ al-Sharīf. Al-ʿUmarī, Taʿrīf 280: Dībāj; Khalīl b. Shāhīn, Zubda 120: Dibyān. In contrast to R. Hartmann, (Politische Geographie 497, note 4) who favors “Dībān,” Yāqūt’s spelling “Dhibyān” (Muʿjam al-buldān ii, 717) is preferable since it provides the lectio difficilior of both the initial consonant (especially since it is unlikely that dh could have resulted from a phonetic shift from d) and the position of letter yāʾ. Now Dhībān. Coordinates refer to the citadel, which in all likelihood held the barīd station. The pigeon post may already have been distributed over a plurality of facilities, similar to the arrangement in Cairo (see note to no. 164). The signaling installation, however, was on top of

. . ḥ

.

Certainty Latitude dms

73

61 62 63

.

barīd

Dharwat Sarabām/Dharwat alSharīf73 *Dhibyān74 al-Dillī/Raʾs al-Māʾ Dimashq75

manāwir

60

ḥamām

Name or descriptor

No.

table 12.1 Stations of the Ayyubid and Mamluk governmental communication systems (cont.)

35.776944 36.156944 36.302222

30.807778

jo sy sy

eg

T 280 T 277 T 275, 276, 278, 279, 280, 283, 289

T 270

Longitude Territory Principal dd source

318 franz

77

76

ḥ ḥ . . . . . ḥ . .

Dimyāṭ (old)76 Dimyāṭ (new)77 Faḥma jabal Faḥma Fāraskūr Ghabāghib al-Ghasūla Ghazza al-Ghurābī Ḥabwa

64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73

. . . m . . . m? . .

manāwir

. b b . b b b b b b

barīd

+ + + ? + + + + ? ?

312900N 312510N 322257N 322253N 311951N 331055N 342442N 313015N 305524N 305356N

Certainty Latitude dms 314940E 314854E 351047E 351006E 314258E 361326E 364533E 342750E 323435E 322410E

31.483333 31.419444 32.3825 32.381389 31.330833 33.181944 34.411667 31.504167 30.923333 30.898889

Longitude Latitude dms dd

maʾdhanat al-ʿArūs (al-ʿUmarī, Taʿrīf 289; Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ xiv, 399), i.e., the northern minaret of the Umayyad Mosque. On the functional overlap of minarets and beacons in general, see R. Hartmann, Manāra = Minaret 220–223; idem, Minaret und Leuchtturm. Al-ʿUmarī, Taʿrīf 283, and Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ xiv, 392 and 117, list the pigeon post station of Dimyāṭ with no comment. Since, however, the Mamluks had inherited that communication system from the Ayyubids, and since Ayyubid-period Dimyāṭ was destroyed by the Mamluks in 648/1250–1251 (due to its occupation by the Crusaders under King Louis ix the year before), deserted and refounded in a separate place, it is necessary to identify the station of old Dimyāṭ independently from that of the new site. Pigeon post and barīd station in the new town, which was established 7km south-southeast of deserted old Dimyāṭ.

ḥamām

Name or descriptor

No.

table 12.1 Stations of the Ayyubid and Mamluk governmental communication systems (cont.)

31.827778 31.815 35.179722 35.168333 31.716111 36.223889 36.759167 34.463889 32.576389 32.402778

eg eg we we eg sy sy gz eg eg

T 283 T 269, 272, 283 T 276 T 289 Z 119 T 278 T 278, 279, 280 T 275, 283 T 274 T 274

Longitude Territory Principal dd source

handlist of stations, ayyubid-mamluk communication systems

319

Al-ʿUmarī, Taʿrīf 279, and Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ xiv, 381: ‫ ;الحسير‬ibid. 399: alḤayr. Now Qaṣr al-Ḥayr al-Gharbī. See R. Hartmann, Geographische Nachrichten 77; idem, Politische Geographie 494, note 4; Sauvaget, Poste 31–34. Al-ʿUmarī, Taʿrīf 288, and Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ xiv, 399: ‫حفير اسد الدين‬. Now Qaṣr al-Ḥayr al-Sharqī. Sauvaget, Poste 92–93. Not in the lists. Identified as station by Sauvaget, Poste 25, fig. 2, 26 with note 115. See also below under al-Kawm al-Aḥmar (M2).

78

80 81

79

. . . . .

. . . . .

b b b b b

+ + + ? +

+ + + + 344525N 324828N 260105N 334844N 314802N

350812N 342229N 350426N 344325N 361740E 352711E 321645E 353804E 354832E

364458E 372627E 390416E 364252E

342915E 353605E 370945E

Ḥiṣn al-Akrād80 Ḥiṭṭīn Hū81 al-Ḥuṣayn Ḥusbān

b b . b

313012N 310321N 361158N

81 82 83 84 85

m? m m m?

? + +

ḥ . . ḥ

. b b

34.756944 32.807778 26.018056 33.812222 31.800556

35.136667 34.374722 35.073889 34.723611

31.503333 31.055833 36.199444

Longitude Latitude dms dd

Ḥamāh *al-Ḥayr78 *Ḥayr Asad al-Dīn79 Ḥimṣ

m . m?

Certainty Latitude dms

77 78 79 80

. . ḥ

barīd

Ḥadab Ghazza al-Ḥafar Ḥalab

manāwir

74 75 76

ḥamām

Name or descriptor

No.

table 12.1 Stations of the Ayyubid and Mamluk governmental communication systems (cont.)

36.294444 35.453056 32.279167 35.634444 35.808889

36.749444 37.6075 39.071111 36.714444

34.4875 35.601389 37.1625

sy il eg lb jo

sy sy sy sy

gz jo sy

T 289 Z 119 T 278, 280, 281, 283 T 278, T 279, 288 T 288 T 278, 279, 280, 284 See note. T 276 T 271 T 279 T 280

Longitude Territory Principal dd source

320 franz

.

b

. . b b b b b b b . ??

+ + + + + + + + + ? 372646N

335055N 352140N 355349N 360455N 325320N 312150N 262006N 301320N 322744N 322750N 380948E

364560E 355520E 382852E 373050E 360235E 350825E 315342E 305815E 351802E 351556E

381217E 363602E 364610E 360249E 295408E

Sic, al-ʿUmarī, Taʿrīf, ed. Shams al-Dīn 280, and Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ xiv, 382. Variant: Taʿrīf, ed. Cairo 194, and ed. al-Durūbī 280: al-Khuṣṣ. See Yāqūt, Muʿjam albuldān ii, 275: al-Ḥuṣṣ, in the area of Ḥimṣ; 449: al-Khuṣṣ, close to al-Qādisiyya.

.

m . . . . . . . . m

353101N 334623N 354653N 343151N 311200N

82

101

. ḥ . . . . . . ḥ .

?? + + + +

al-ʿIṭna/al-ʿAṭna Jabala Jaʿbar al-Jabbūl al-Jāmiʿ Janbā Jarjā Jazīrat al-Qiṭṭ Jīnīn al-jabal al-maʿrūf biqaryat Jīnīn Jisr al-Ḥajar

b b b b b

91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100

. . . . .

37.446111

33.848611 35.361111 35.896944 36.081944 32.888889 31.363889 26.335 30.222222 32.462222 32.463889

35.516944 33.773056 35.781389 34.530833 31.2

Longitude Latitude dms dd

. . . . ḥ

Certainty Latitude dms

al-Ḥuṣṣ82 al-iftirāq Inqirātā ʿIrqā/ʿArqā al-Iskandariyya

barīd

86 87 88 89 90

manāwir

ḥamām

Name or descriptor

No.

table 12.1 Stations of the Ayyubid and Mamluk governmental communication systems (cont.)

38.163333

36.766667 35.922222 38.481111 37.513889 36.043056 35.140278 31.895 30.970833 35.300556 35.265556

38.204722 36.600556 36.769444 36.046944 29.902222

tr

sy sy sy sy sy we eg eg we we

sy sy sy lb eg

T 281

T 280 T 278 T 278 T 280 T 269, 271, 272, 283 T 289 R i, 178 T 280, 281 T 281 T 277 T 275 T 271 T 272 T 276, 283, 289 T 298

Longitude Territory Principal dd source

handlist of stations, ayyubid-mamluk communication systems

321

84

+ + + + + ?? + + +

313742N 300031N 333230N 325509N 335610N 344155N 352624N 350228N 375654N

343608E 311244E 353504E 353213E 365332E 411010E 363853E 360458E 383914E

Sic, al-ʿUmarī, Taʿrīf, ed. Cairo, 191, and ed. al-Durūbī, 275. Variants: idem, ed. Shams alDīn, 247: al-Jīnīn; Khalīl b. Shāhīn, Zubda, 119: Jīnīn; Najm al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Qalāʾid, 9: ‫الخز ينب‬. Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ (xiv, 379) leaves a blank. Now al-Jiyya/Gea (‫)גיאה‬. See Clermont-Ganneau, review of Ravaisse’s edition of the Zubda, 340, note 3; R. Hartmann, Geographische Nachrichten 73; idem, Straße 692; idem, Politische Geographie 488, note 10 (al-Jiyyatayn); Popper, Systematic notes i, 48 (ditto); Avi-Yonah, map ix/11 (al-Jaytīn). Al-ʿUmarī, Taʿrīf, 278, and Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ, xiv, 381: Ṭarābulus. Variant: Khalīl b. Shāhīn, Zubda 119: Jarābulus. Identical with Kafarṭāb (Yāqūt, Muʿjam al-buldān iv, 289–290), the Capharda of the Crusaders (Greek Kaphardápolis, whence erroneous “Jarābulus”), now Khān Shaykhūn. Sauvaget, Poste 90 with note 343.

b b b b b . b b b

83

. . . . m m . . .

31.628333 30.008611 33.541667 32.919167 33.936111 34.698633 35.44 35.041111 37.948333

Longitude Latitude dms dd

. . . . . . . . ḥ

Certainty Latitude dms

al-Jītīn83 al-Jīza Jizzīn Jubb Yūsuf Julayjil al-Jurf *Kafarṭāb84 al-Kahf al-Kakhtā

barīd

102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110

manāwir

ḥamām

Name or descriptor

No.

table 12.1 Stations of the Ayyubid and Mamluk governmental communication systems (cont.)

34.602222 31.212222 35.584444 35.536944 36.892222 41.169444 36.648056 36.082778 38.653889

il eg lb il sy iq sy sy sy

T 275 T 270, 272 T 279 Z 120 T 279, 288 T 288 T 278 T 282 T 281

Longitude Territory Principal dd source

322 franz

86

?? + + + + + + +

364953N 310050N 335100N 375619N 350012N 361152N 313129N 334722N

380101E 354205E 355535E 385909E 400900E 404235E 350639E 363417E

Sic, Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī Ṣubḥ, xiv, 383. Variant: Najm al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Qalāʾid 10: ‫كلناير‬. Not identified. One possible halfway position between al-Sājūr und alBīra, if on the Euphrates, is at Jarābulus/Karkamış, and there is at least a partial similarity between ‫ )كلناير( كلناس‬and ‫جرابلس‬. If so, this would suggest that the list in the Qalāʾid was modeled after that of the Ṣubḥ (to say nothing of the author’s familiarity with his father’s oeuvre). This is moreover plausible because three more station names (al-Dārūm, Khān al-ʿArūs, Khān Lājīn) can only be drawn from the Ṣubḥ as they are absent from the other lists. “Al-Khābūr” was identified with mediaeval ʿArabān (modern-day Tall ʿAjāja/ʿAjāja Gharbiyya) by Ilisch, Artuqidenherrschaft 200. The place was settled at least to the late seventh/thirteenth century as it was plundered by the Mongols in 697/1297–1298 (Krawulsky, Īrān 428, note 2; Mahmoud et al., Tell ʿAǧāǧa/Šadikanni 1982 165). See also Yāqūt, Muʿjam al-buldān iii, 632–633 s.v. ʿArabān.

b b b b b b b b

85

. . . . m . . .

36.831389 31.180556 33.85 37.938611 35.003333 36.197778 31.524722 33.789444

Longitude Latitude dms dd

. ḥ . ḥ? . . ḥ .

Certainty Latitude dms

Kalnās85 al-Karak Karak Nūḥ Karkar Kawāthil al-Khābūr/*ʿArabān86 al-Khalīl Khān al-ʿArūs

barīd

111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118

manāwir

ḥamām

Name or descriptor

No.

table 12.1 Stations of the Ayyubid and Mamluk governmental communication systems (cont.)

38.016944 35.701389 35.926389 38.985833 40.111667 40.709722 35.110833 36.571389

tr jo lb sy sy sy we sy

Ṣ xiv, 383 T 275, 280 T 279 Q 10 T 279, 288 T 280 T 275, 283 Ṣ xiv, 381

Longitude Territory Principal dd source

handlist of stations, ayyubid-mamluk communication systems

323

89

88

+ ? + + +

354522N 360350N 333758N 333539N 301305N

364518E 375913E 363025E 360324E 312132E

Not in the lists. Identified as a station by Sauvaget, Poste 63–67, 91, pl. vi; idem, Carvansérails ii, 10–12, no. 15, with figs. 7 and 20–25, to be addressed, according to the inscription, as khān al-sabīl or Khān Manjak. It is now still called Khān al-Sabīl or rather Khān al-Subul as in the map [Sūriya], sheet al-Lādhiqiyya–Ḥamāh/Lattaquié–Hama (1977). Some refer to it under the name Inqirātā, which is not helpful since that is a settlement which before lent its name to another station (no. 88), which this khān replaced. Also, that settlement (spelled “Inqirāṭá” in the said map) is closer to that previous station (5km) than to this one (7 km). See also R. Hartmann, Zur Geschichte der Mamlūkenpost col. 268. Not in the lists. West-northwest of the lost town of Bālis and present-day Maskana. See Sauvaget, Poste 61–62, pl. iii, nos. 3–4; Cytryn-Silverman, Road inns 64b, 195, pl. xiv/ 5. Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ xiv, 376: al-qarya al-mustajadda bi-jiwār al-Khānqāh al-Nāṣiriyya. It is already mentioned in al-ʿUmarī, Taʿrīf 272, though only as a place in proximity to the then station of Siryāqaws (no. 215). Now al-Khānka.

b b b b b

87

. . . . .

35.75611 36.063889 33.632778 33.594167 30.218056

Longitude Latitude dms dd

. . . . .

Certainty Latitude dms

khān al-sabīl87 [Khān al-Shaʿr]88 Khān Lājīn Khān Maysalūn bi-jiwār al-Khānqāh al-Nāṣiriyya89

barīd

119 120 121 122 123

manāwir

ḥamām

Name or descriptor

No.

table 12.1 Stations of the Ayyubid and Mamluk governmental communication systems (cont.)

36.757222 37.986944 36.506944 36.056667 31.358889

sy sy sy sy eg

See note. See note. Ṣ xiv, 381 T 279 Ṣ xiv, 376

Longitude Territory Principal dd source

324 franz

.

. m b

b .

b b b

+

+ +

+ + +

382515N

323727N 320502N

310613N 353855N 304826N

382152E

353349E 345732E

301016E 364047E 305737E

370241E 335715E 314710E 360009E 413414E 361402E 361120E 354700E 363915E 345359E

I follow Sauvaget’s argument that Khān Tūmān was not, in contrast to the source, a station of the pigeon post, but of the barīd (Poste 91–92). The modern spelling of the place name is Khān Ṭūmān.

.

. .

. m? .

360653N 310940N 303936N 345823N 343638N 331957N 330048N 353100N 352138N 315711N

90

139

137 138

. ḥ .

+ + + + ?? + ?? + + +

Lūqīn al-Maʿarra al-Maḥalla/Maḥallat al-Marḥūm al-Majāmiʿ dhurwat al-jabal almuṣāqib li-Majdal Yābā Malaṭya

b b b b . b . b b b

134 135 136

. . . . m . m . . .

38.420833

32.624167 32.083889

31.103611 35.648611 30.807222

36.114722 31.161111 30.66 34.973056 34.610556 33.325556 33.013333 35.516667 35.360556 31.953956

Longitude Latitude dms dd

. . . . . . . . . ḥ

Certainty Latitude dms

Khān Tūmān90 al-Kharrūba al-Khaṭṭāra al-Khawābī Khirbat al-Rūm al-Kuswa tall qaryat al-Kutayyiba al-Lādhiqiyya Laṭmīn Ludd

barīd

124 125 126 127 128 129 130 131 132 133

manāwir

ḥamām

Name or descriptor

No.

table 12.1 Stations of the Ayyubid and Mamluk governmental communication systems (cont.)

38.364444

35.563611 34.958889

30.171111 36.679722 30.960278

37.044722 33.954167 31.786111 36.0025 41.570556 36.242778 36.188889 35.783333 36.654167 34.899722

tr

il il

eg sy eg

sy eg eg sy iq sy sy sy sy il

Q 10

T 276 T 289

Z 117 T 274 T 273 T 282 T 288 T 278 T 289 T 281, 282 T 278 T 276, 283; Ṣ xiv, 393 T 272 T 278, 283 T 271

Longitude Territory Principal dd source

handlist of stations, ayyubid-mamluk communication systems

325

92

+ + ?? + + + + + + + + + +

315333N 271840N 332015N 302800N 264200N 350400N 371845N 371931N 340213N 350358N 313420N 293140N 280535N

360428E 305810E 361639E 305600E 313600E 355322E 404404E 374005E 370035E 362035E 344106E 311507E 304540E

Not in the lists. East of Amman. See Sauvaget, Poste 58–59, 76 with note 296, pl. iii, based on Brünnow and von Domaszewski, Provincia Arabia ii, 192–195, map i. For exact localization of the site, see the aerial photography taken in 2009 and available online in the Aerial photography archive in the Middle East at http://www.flickr.com/search/?q=el‑manakhir. Khalīl b. Shāhīn, Zubda 120: ‫قونا‬. Now Yarımca. Identified by Cahen, Syrie du nord 119 (Yarimdja, Marzbān fortress), and map. See also Krawulsky, Īrān 449 and map 2 (Marzbān River).

b b . b b b b b b b b b b

91

. . m . . . . . . . . . .

31.8925 27.311111 33.3375 30.466667 26.7 35.066667 37.3125 37.325278 34.036944 35.06611 31.572222 29.527778 28.093056

Longitude Latitude dms dd

. . . ḥ . . . . . . . . .

Certainty Latitude dms

[al-Manākhir]91 Manfalūṭ al-Māniʿ Manūf al-Marāgha/al-Marāʾigh Maraqiyya Māridīn *Marzubān92 al-Maṣnaʿ Miṣyāf Mulāqis Munyat al-Qāʾid Munyat Ibn Khaṣīb

barīd

140 141 142 143 144 145 146 147 148 149 150 151 152

manāwir

ḥamām

Name or descriptor

No.

table 12.1 Stations of the Ayyubid and Mamluk governmental communication systems (cont.)

36.074444 30.969444 36.2775 30.933333 31.6 35.884444 40.734444 37.668056 37.009722 36.343056 34.685 31.251944 30.761111

jo eg sy eg eg lb tr tr sy sy il eg eg

See note. T 271 T 289 T 271 T 271 T 281 Q 10 Z 120 T 279 T 280, 282 T 275 T 269 T 270

Longitude Territory Principal dd source

326 franz

95

94

+ ? + ? + + ?? + + ? +

332154N 310128N 321308N 321344N 305227N 323752N 313745N 330142N 304307N 343325N 350544N

360620E 330513E 351333E 351628E 305008E 352058E 354604E 354115E 315404E 363111E 360930E

Al-ʿUmarī, Taʿrīf 279; Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ xiv, 382: Burayj al-Fulūs; Khalīl b. Shāhīn, Zubda 120: al-Burayj (treated as if distinct from “al-Qulūs”). The name was emended by R. Hartmann, Politische Geographie 494, note 12. Dussaud disapproves of this, but with no argument (Topographie historique 314, note 1). Khalīl b. Shāhīn, Zubda 120: ‫قنبس‬. This is the Niqinnis of Yāqūt, Muʿjam al-buldān iv, 806, as pointed out by Clermont-Ganneau, Receuil ii, 183. See also R. Hartmann, Straße 497, note 3. Its hypothetical location, halfway between Ḥusbān and *Dhibyān/Dībān, is 9km south of Mādabā. Khalīl b. Shāhīn, Zubda 120: Nuʿarān/Naʿrān. Variant: al-ʿUmarī, Taʿrīf, 279, and Shihāb alDīn al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ xiv, 382: Laghrān. The reading “Nuʿarān” is confirmed by R. Hartmann, Geographische Nachrichten 79. Popper, Systematic notes i, 49, 50: Nuʿrān/Naʿrān.

b b . . b b b b b b b

93

. . . m . . . . . . .

33.365 31.024444 32.218889 32.228889 30.874167 32.631111 31.629167 33.028333 30.718611 34.556944 35.095556

Longitude Latitude dms dd

. . ḥ . . . . . . . .

Certainty Latitude dms

*Murayj al-Fulūs93 al-Muṭṭaylib Nābulus aṭrāf aʿmāl Nābulus al-Naḥrīriyya Nayn *Niqinnis94 *Nuʿarān95 Qabr al-Wāyilī Qadas al-Qadmūs/al-Qudmūs

barīd

153 154 155 156 157 158 159 160 161 162 163

manāwir

ḥamām

Name or descriptor

No.

table 12.1 Stations of the Ayyubid and Mamluk governmental communication systems (cont.)

36.105556 33.086944 35.259167 35.274444 30.835556 35.349444 35.767778 35.6875 31.901111 36.519722 36.158333

sy eg we we eg il jo sy eg sy sy

T 279 T 274 T 283 T 289 T 272 T 276 Z 120 T 279 T 273 T 279 T 282

Longitude Territory Principal dd source

handlist of stations, ayyubid-mamluk communication systems

327

97

96

ḥ . . ḥ ḥ ḥ . .

ḥ

ḥamām

. . m m m? m . .

.

manāwir

b b . b b b b b

b

barīd

+ + ?? + + + + +

+ 371618N 301059N 345220N 322134N 340903N 341608N 342605N 335530N

375017E 311219E 404834E 345944E 364452E 370436E 363410E 364150E

37.271667 30.183056 34.872222 32.359444 34.150833 34.268889 34.434722 33.925

30.029444

Longitude Latitude dms dd

300146N’ 311541E’

Certainty Latitude dms

The citadel certainly was the original hub of the pigeon post, too. At latest under midninth/fifteenth-century conditions, several pigeonries operated that were located extra muros. Al-Maqrīzī specifies the various installations in the Cairo area including, e.g., the pigeonry of Munyat ʿUqba bi-l-Jīza (now Mīt ʿUqba in Giza) (Mawāʿiẓ iii, 747–748, tr. in idem, Sulūk ii/2, 119, note). See also Ragheb, Messagers volants 33 with 45, note 58. This is not the modern town of the same name, but the twin settlements Ḥawwārīn and Mahīn, in particular the former, 16km west of present-day al-Qaryatayn. Yāqūt, Muʿjam albuldān ii, 355 s.v. Ḥuwwārīn; iii, 170 s.v. Sanīr; iv, 78 s.v. al-Qaryatān; M. Hartmann, Beiträge i, 140.

al-Qāhira/Qalʿat alJabal/al-Qalʿa96 Qalʿat al-Muslimīn Qalyūb al-Qanāṭir Qāqūn Qārā al-Qaryatayn97 al-Qaṣab al-Qasṭal

164

165 166 167 168 169 170 171 172

Name or descriptor

No.

table 12.1 Stations of the Ayyubid and Mamluk governmental communication systems (cont.)

37.838056 31.205278 40.809444 34.995556 36.747778 37.076667 36.569444 36.697222

31.261389 tr eg iq il sy sy sy sy

eg

T 269, 270, 272, 283, 288 T 281, 284 T 271 T 288 T 276, 283, 289 T 278, 283 T 279, 283, 289 T 278, 279, 280 T 278

Longitude Territory Principal dd source

328 franz

99

98

. . . . . . .

. . . m

manāwir

b b b b b b b

b b b b

barīd

+ ? + ? + + +

+ + + + 314634N 320940N 255455N 305016N 333504N 323614E 334416N

314917N 305731N 355923N 350433N

Certainty Latitude dms

351342E 354706E 324553E 321315E 362618E 353653N 363623E

344640E 324452E 370259E 394029E 31.776111 32.161111 25.915278 30.837778 33.584444 32.603333 33.737778

31.821389 30.958611 35.989724 35.075833

Longitude Latitude dms dd

Sic, al-ʿUmarī, Taʿrīf, ed. Cairo 191, and ed. al-Durūbī 275; Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ xiv, 379. Variants: idem, ed. Shams al-Dīn 247: Qaṭra; Najm al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Qalāʾid 9: Qaṭrā. The lists mention only a barīd station. According to Ragheb, the place also held a pigeonry, which was the first of three that comprised the original line from Damascus to Ḥimṣ; the subsequent stations in the direction of Ḥimṣ were al-Manākh (P6) and al-Nabk (P9). All of them are said to have soon been put out of service in favor of the communication via Qārā (no. 169) (Messagers volants 30 with 43, note 9). As Ragheb, however, does not give source references, this is not acceptable. Below, al-Manākh and al-Nabk are thus rated possible additional stations only.

ḥ . ḥ . ḥ? . .

. ḥ . ḥ

Qaṭrá98 Qaṭyā Qinnasrīn Qubāqib/manẓarat Qubāqib al-Quds al-Sharīf al-Qunayya Qūṣ al-Quṣayr (Sinai) al-Quṣayr (Syria)99 al-Quṣayr al-Muʿīnī al-Quṭayyifa

173 174 175 176

177 178 179 180 181 182 183

ḥamām

Name or descriptor

No.

table 12.1 Stations of the Ayyubid and Mamluk governmental communication systems (cont.)

35.228333 35.785 32.764722 32.220833 36.438333 35.614722 36.606389

34.777778 32.747778 37.049722 39.674722 we jo eg eg sy jo sy

il eg sy sy

T 283 T 280 T 269, 271, 283 T 273 T 278 T 277 T 278

T 275 T 274, 283 T 278 T 279, 283, 288

Longitude Territory Principal dd source

handlist of stations, ayyubid-mamluk communication systems

329

101

b b . b b b b b b b b b

+ + + + + + + + + ?? + ??

315532N 365100N 335118N 345545N 311610N 370904N 350215N 325805N 310200N 312350N 304330N 363917N

345230E 400404E 353550E 364404E 354418E 384734E 361801E 352943E 352800E 354549E 313810E 375122E

374141E 341534E 402525E

Khalīl b. Shāhīn, Zubda 120: ‫عر بان‬. Now Araban. Cahen, Syrie du nord 119–120, note 20. See also Cornu, Atlas 21b, sheet ii. Al-ʿUmarī, Taʿrīf 280, and Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ xiv, 383: ‫اكر ية‬. This is the al-Rubba of Yāqūt, Muʿjam al-buldān ii, 752. Now al-Rabba. R. Hartmann, Politische Geographie 497, note 5.

. . m . . . . . . . . .

372532N 311713N 350018N

100

ḥ? . . . . . . ḥ ḥ . . .

+ + +

al-Ramla Raʾs al-ʿAyn Raʾs Bayrūt al-ʿAtīqa al-Rastan *al-Rubba101 al-Ruhā al-Ruṣāfa Ṣafad al-Ṣāfiya al-Ṣafra al-Saʿīdiyya al-Sājūr

b b b

187 188 189 190 191 192 193 194 195 196 197 198

. . m 31.925556 36.85 33.855 34.929167 31.269444 37.151111 35.0375 32.968056 31.033333 31.397222 30.575 36.654722

37.425556 31.286944 35.005

Longitude Latitude dms dd

. . ḥ

Certainty Latitude dms

*Raʿbān100 Rafaḥ al-Raḥba

barīd

184 185 186

manāwir

ḥamām

Name or descriptor

No.

table 12.1 Stations of the Ayyubid and Mamluk governmental communication systems (cont.)

34.875 40.066667 35.597222 36.734444 35.738333 38.792778 36.300278 35.495278 35.466667 35.763611 31.636111 37.856111

37.694722 34.259444 40.423611 il sy lb sy jo tr sy il jo jo eg sy

tr gz sy

Z 120 T 275 T 278, 279, 283, 288 Q9 T 280 tb 35 T 278 T 280 Q 10 T 282 T 276, 279, 283 T 275 Z 120 T 273 T 278

Longitude Territory Principal dd source

330 franz

105 106

104

103

+ + ? + + + + + + ? ?

350045N 304649N 333159N 312040N 324938N 362600N 330415N 363544N 355158N 310237N 310000N

370310E 315912E 361626E 341810E 360936E 371500E 361102E 371955E 364820E 331545E 331545E

The lists note a barīd station only. Under the year 792 (1390), al-Maqrīzī (Sulūk iii/2, 720) and al-Ṣayrafī (Nuzhat al-nufūs i, 309) report a pigeon post line to Salamya. Ragheb deems it the destination of a secondary line from Ḥamāh (no. 77) or Ḥimṣ (no. 80), or both (Messagers volants 34 with 46, note 81). Najm al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Qalāʾid 9: ‫سمسكيز‬. Now al-Shaykh Miskīn. R. Hartmann Straße, 693; Dussaud, Topographie historique 344, map ii (A2). Not in the lists. Identified as a station by Sauvaget, Poste 91; idem, Caravansérails ii, 12–13, no. 16. Conjectural name. See the following note. This station replaced an older anonymous one, bringing the barīd closer to the CairoGhazza road (al-ʿUmarī, Taʿrīf 274; Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ xiv, 378). This

b b . b b b b b b b b

102

. . m . . . . . . . .

35.0125 30.780278 33.533056 31.344444 32.827222 36.433333 33.070833 36.595556 35.866111 31.043611 31.0

Longitude Latitude dms dd

ḥ? ḥ? . . . . ḥ . . . .

Certainty Latitude dms

Salamya102 al-Ṣāliḥiyya jabal al-Ṣāliḥiyya al-Salqa *Samsakīn103 al-Samūqa al-Ṣanamayn Sandarā Sarāqib104 *al-Sawwāda (old)105 al-Sawwāda (new)106

barīd

199 200 201 202 203 204 205 206 207 208 209

manāwir

ḥamām

Name or descriptor

No.

table 12.1 Stations of the Ayyubid and Mamluk governmental communication systems (cont.)

37.052778 31.986667 36.273889 34.302778 36.16 37.25 36.183889 37.331944 36.805556 33.2625 33.2625

sy eg sy gz sy sy sy sy sy eg eg

T 280; zf 200 T 273, 283 tb 35 T 275 Q9 T 280 T 277, 283 T 280 See note. T 274 T 274

Longitude Territory Principal dd source

handlist of stations, ayyubid-mamluk communication systems

331

ḥ . ḥ

ḥ . . . . . . . ḥ . ḥ ḥ

ḥamām

. . .

. . . . . . . . m . . .

manāwir

b b b

b b b b b b b b b b . b

barīd

+ + +

+ + + + + + + ? + + + + 324405N 265431N 342600N

333338N 343225N 343744N 303153N 353545N 301159N 372702N 310015N 345300N 352200N 295800N 343346N

Certainty Latitude dms

360407E 312558E 355040E

352214E 364428E 360616E 353339E 360330E 311920E 354859E 325438E 385200E 374715E 323300E 381526E 32.734722 26.908611 34.433333

33.560556 34.540278 34.628889 30.531389 35.595833 30.199722 37.450556 31.004167 34.883333 35.366667 29.966667 34.562778

Longitude Latitude dms dd

implies that the station would not have been displaced far in its east-west direction, but only shifted slightly in its north-south direction, and that the name “al-Sawwāda” (or alSawāda) shifted, too. See R. Hartmann, Straße 691; Sauvaget, Poste 69, note 282.

Ṣaydāʾ Shamsīn al-Shaʿrāʾ al-Shawbak Ṣihyawn Siryāqaws Sīs Ṣubayḥat Nakhlat Maʿn al-Sukhna Sūriyā al-Suways Tadmur/manẓarat Tadmur Ṭafas Ṭamā/Ṭimā Ṭarābulus

210 211 212 213 214 215 216 217 218 219 220 221

222 223 224

Name or descriptor

No.

table 12.1 Stations of the Ayyubid and Mamluk governmental communication systems (cont.)

36.068611 31.432778 35.844444

35.370556 36.741111 36.104444 35.560833 36.058333 31.322222 35.816389 32.910556 38.866667 37.7875 32.55 38.257222 sy eg lb

lb sy lb jo sy eg tr eg sy sy eg sy

T 277, 280, 283 T 271 T 278, 279, 280, 281, 282

T 279 T 278 T 280 Z 119 T 282 T 272 Q 10 T 274 T 279, 283, 288 T 280 T 283 T 279, 283, 288

Longitude Territory Principal dd source

332 franz

110

109

108

107

m . . . m .

. . . . m

manāwir

. b b b . b

b . b b b

barīd

? + + ?? + +

+ ?? + + + 334219N 321358N 361555N 305722N 323829N 351038N

365504N 341311N 302607N 323615N 323230N

Certainty Latitude dms

363344E 345701E 363909E 303910E 355931E 360722E

345353E 360128E 305015E 352638E 354301E 33.705278 32.232778 36.265278 30.956111 32.641389 35.177222

36.917778 34.219722 30.435278 32.604167 32.541667

Longitude Latitude dms dd

Najm al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Qalāʾid 10: Ṭarṭūs. The station’s position beyond Adana makes it clear that this cannot refer to Ṭarṭūs in Syria but means Tarsus in Turkey. Sic, Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ xiv, 380, 399. Variant: al-ʿUmarī, Taʿrīf 276, 277, 289: Ṭayyiba. There is no mountain next to Ṭayyibat Ism. Instead, the town is situated on the highest point between two deeply incised wadis, being in itself a “mountain” place suitable for the signaling installation. Sic, al-ʿUmarī, Taʿrīf, ed. Shams al-Dīn 253, and Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ xiv, 385. Variant: Taʿrīf, ed. Cairo 196, and ed. al-Durūbī 282: al-Qulayʿa. See R. Hartmann, Politische Geographie 499, note 6.

. . . . . .

. ḥ . . .

*Ṭarasūs107 Tarbala al-Ṭarrāna al-Ṭayyiba Ṭayyibat Ism108/ jabal Ṭayyibat Ism109 Thaniyyat al-ʿUqāb al-Ṭīra Tīzīn al-Turkumāniyya al-Ṭurra al-ʿUllayqa110

225 226 227 228 229

230 231 232 233 234 235

ḥamām

Name or descriptor

No.

table 12.1 Stations of the Ayyubid and Mamluk governmental communication systems (cont.)

36.562222 34.950278 36.6525 30.652778 35.991944 36.122778

34.898056 36.024444 30.8375 35.443889 35.716944 sy il sy eg sy sy

tr lb eg il jo

T 289 T 276 T 281 Z 119 T 289 T 282

Q 10 Z 117 T 272 Q9 T 276, 277, 289

Longitude Territory Principal dd source

handlist of stations, ayyubid-mamluk communication systems

333

.

b

b b b b b b . b b b . b b b b b b +

+ + + ? + + ?? + + ? ? + + + + + + 292844N

331055N 310520N 274632N 300947N 240502N 271058N 344703N 291735N 301905N 310346N 334045N 362840N 314556N 334330N 323400N 311305N 304615N 311300E

355321E 313803E 304812E 312030E 325330E 311058E 411235E 310734E 305428E 332626E 360115E 362721E 344452E 360555E 354642E 340640E 303814E 29.478889

33.181944 31.088889 27.775556 30.163056 24.083889 27.182778 34.784167 29.293056 30.318056 31.062778 33.679167 36.477778 31.765556 33.725 32.566667 31.218056 30.770833

Longitude Latitude dms dd

Sic, Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ xiv, 373. Variant: al-ʿUmarī, Taʿrīf 243: Zāwiyat Ḥusayn.

.

. . . . . . m . . . m . m . . . .

Certainty Latitude dms

111

253

. ḥ . . ḥ . . . . ḥ . . . . . . .

barīd

Urayniba Ushmūm al-Rummān al-Ushmūnayn al-ʿUshsh Uswān Usyūṭ Wādī al-Ḥaykal Wanā Wardān al-Warrāda jabal Yabūs Yaghrā Yāsūr al-Zabadānī Zaḥar al-Zaʿqa Zāwiyat Mubārak/ Inbārak Zāwiyat Umm Ḥusayn111

manāwir

236 237 238 239 240 241 242 243 244 245 246 247 248 249 250 251 252

ḥamām

Name or descriptor

No.

table 12.1 Stations of the Ayyubid and Mamluk governmental communication systems (cont.)

31.216667

35.889167 31.634167 30.803333 31.341667 32.891667 31.182778 41.209722 31.126111 30.907778 33.440556 36.020833 36.455833 34.747778 36.098611 35.778333 34.111111 30.637222 eg

sy eg eg eg eg eg iq eg eg eg lb tr il sy jo eg eg

T 270

T 279 T 272 T 270 T 272 T 269, 271, 283 T 271 T 288 T 270 T 272 T 274, 283 tb 35 T 281 T 276, 289 T 279 T 276, 277 T 275 T 272

Longitude Territory Principal dd source

334 franz

115

114

113

+ ?? ?? ??

334903N 310358N 305429N 304258N

355041E 354145E 354205E 353741E

Sic, al-ʿUmarī, Taʿrīf, ed. Cairo 194, and Ṣāliḥ b. Yaḥyá, Taʾrīkh Bayrūt, 35 (not in Cheikho’s editions; the omission was supplemented by Sauvaget, Corrections 68). Variant: al-ʿUmarī, Taʿrīf, ed. Shams al-Dīn 243, and ed. al-Durūbī 279, and also Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ xiv, 382: ‫ز بدان‬. See also Sauvaget, Poste 95. Zibdul/Zebdol has now grown together with Shatawra/Chtoura. Nos. 255–257: wa-min Karak (sic) ilá al-Shawbak thalāthat marākiz (Khalīl b. Shāhīn, Zubda 119). The northernmost of these stations may be identical with today’s al-Mazār al-Janūbī, 13km south of al-Karak, which is a suitable point for a junction with the route from Ghazza. See the previous note. Hypothetical location at less than two-thirds the way between no. 255 and al-Shawbak, because the crossing of Wādī al-Ḥaṣāh involves more effort than the remaining stages. See above, note 113. Hypothetical location halfway between no. 256 and al-Shawbak since the terrain of both legs is hardly dynamic. It is also a suitable diversion point in the direction of Buṣayra.

b b b b

112

. . . .

33.8175 31.066111 30.908056 30.716111

Longitude Latitude dms dd

. . . .

Certainty Latitude dms

Zibdul112 s.n.113 s.n.114 s.n.115

barīd

254 255 256 257

manāwir

ḥamām

Name or descriptor

No.

table 12.1 Stations of the Ayyubid and Mamluk governmental communication systems (cont.)

35.844722 35.695833 35.701389 35.628056

lb jo jo jo

T 279 Z 119 Z 119 Z 119

Longitude Territory Principal dd source

handlist of stations, ayyubid-mamluk communication systems

335

336

franz

shortcomings increase the number of available place names so that one is at risk of overestimating the array of discrete eligible localities. R. Hartmann, Gaudefroy-Demombynes, and Sauvaget noted most of these pitfalls, but the lack of page concordance between the source texts makes it cumbersome to relate their emendations and rejections to each other. Moreover, a few misspellings have escaped their attention, notably the Qalāʾid’s ‫سعابا‬ (read *[Jisr] Sanja) for “Jisr al-Ḥajar” and ‫ الحٮا‬for “al-Kakhtā.” It thus remains to collect and present in one place the station names that vary from the Taʿrīf and partly are corrupt or otherwise misleading. The following synopsis is intended to help quick orientation, while annotation must be left to a more extensive study than the present one. In each case, the spelling found in the late source comes first, followed by that of the Taʿrīf in brackets. (For newly added items, see section 7.) Ṣubḥ xiv, 373: Zāwiyat Umm Ḥusayn (Zāwiyat Ḥusayn), Munyat Banī Khaṣīb (Munyat Ibn Khaṣīb); 374: Balasbūra/Balazbūra (Balasbūra), al-Bulyana/al-Bulyanā (al-Bulyana); 375: Zāwiyat Mubārak/Ṭaylās/Inbārak (Zāwiyat Mubārak/ Inbārak); 376: Manūf al-ʿUlyā (Manūf), al-Maḥalla/al-Maḥalla al-Kubrá/Maḥallat al-Marḥūm (al-Maḥalla/Maḥallat al-Marḥūm), Biʾr al-Bayḍāʾ (Bīr al-Bayḍāʾ); 377: ‫( بىءر عقرى‬Biʾr Ghazī), al-Kharrūba/al-Shahhāra (al-Kharrūba); 379: Bayt Dāris/Bayt Dāras/Tadāris (Bayt Dāris/Bayt Dāras); 380: Tibnīn (Nayn); 381: ‫اياد‬ (*Abād); 380: Ṭayyibat Ism (Ṭayyiba), Burayj al-ʿAṭash/‫( البزيج‬Burayj al-ʿAṭash); 382: ‫( ز بدان‬Zibdul), jazīrat Ṣaydāʾ (Jizzīn and Ṣaydāʾ); 384: Baghrās (Baghrāṣ); 399: bi-dhurwat al-jabal al-muṣāqib li-Majdal Bābā (… Majdal Yābā). Zubda 117: Manūf al-ʿUlyá (Manūf), Qalʿat al-Rūm (Qalʿat al-Muslimīn), ‫طفين‬ (Ṭafas), Bahasnā (Bahasná); 117, 119: Ushmūn al-Rummān (Ushmūm al-Rummām); 117, 118, 119: Thaghr Dimyāṭ (Dimyāṭ), Thaghr al-Iskandariyya (al-Iskandariyya); 118: ‫( سياتم‬Babā thumma), Dahrūt (Dahrūṭ), Dayrūṭ al-Sharīf (Dharwat Sarabām/Dharwat al-Sharīf), Balansūn (Balasbūra), al-Nahrāriyya (al-Nahrīriyya); 119: Damanhūr (Damanhūr al-Waḥsh), al-Saʿdiyya (al-Saʿīdiyya), Maʿn (Ṣubayḥat Nakhlat Maʿn), Bulāqis (Mulāqis), Ḥabrūn (al-Khalīl), Samsīn (Shamsīn), Jarābulus (Ṭarābulus/*Kafarṭāb), ‫*( ابعد‬Abād), ‫( بيت برة‬al-Sājūr), al-Qarnayn (al-Qaryatayn), ‫( كر بد‬Arak),116 ‫( قبقب‬Qubāqib); 120: Kawāmil (al116

Cf. Khalīl b. Shāhīn, Zubda, ed. al-Manṣūr 101: ‫كر يد‬. Transcribed as “Kerbe” (de Volney, Voyage 180), “Kerbed” (Zubda, tr. Venture de Paradis, rev. Gaulmier 202), and “Kerend” (tr. Quatremère in his French version of al-Maqrīzī’s Sulūk ii/2, 92, note). Quatremère indeed notes the form ‫كرند‬, and he also varies in other places (ibid. ii/2, 91–92, note) from the edition referred to in this article: al-Khafar (instead of al-Ḥafar), Baytūna (Baynūna), al-

handlist of stations, ayyubid-mamluk communication systems

337

Kawāthil), al-Burayj and al-Qulūs (Murayj al-Fulūs), al-Urayniba (Urayniba), ‫( حر ين‬Jizzīn), al-ʿAshrāʾ/al-ʿUshrāʾ (al-Shaʿrāʾ), al-ʿIrqāʾ/al-ʿArqāʾ (ʿIrqā/ʿArqā), ‫( القطيبة‬al-Qunayya), Dibyān (Dībāj), al-Ṣughra (al-Ṣafra), Istidrā (Sandarā), Bahasnā (Bahasná). Qalāʾid 9: ‫( خانٯات عقرس‬al-Khānqāh al-Nāṣiriyya and al-ʿUshsh), al-Bīr al-Bayḍāʾ (Bīr al-Bayḍāʾ), Qabr al-Wālī (Qabr al-Wāyilī), Bīr Ghazī (Biʾr Ghazī), Maʿn (Ṣubayḥat Nakhlat Maʿn), Bīr al-Qāḍī (Biʾr al-Qāḍī), Salʿa (al-Salqa), ‫الخز ينب‬ (al-Jītīn), ‫( يد راس‬Bayt Dāris/Bayt Dāras), Qaṭrā (Qaṭrá), al-Ṭīr (al-Ṭīra), Qāqūl (Qāqūn), Taḥma (Faḥma), al-Jisr (al-Majāmiʿ, with Jisr Sāma), Zaḥar al-ʿAqaba (Zaḥar), Ṭafash (Ṭafas), ‫( الصميط‬al-Ṣanamayn), Ghayāghib (Ghabāghib); 10: Khān al-Wālī (Khān Lājīn), ‫( ابريج‬Burayj al-ʿAtash), Samsīn (Shamsīn), ʿAyn alQirāyā (Inqirātā), ‫( قيسر ين‬Qinnasrīn), ‫( سعابا‬Jisr al-Ḥajar), ‫( الحٮا‬al-Kakhtā), ‫رسن‬ (Tīzīn), Bāb al-Malik (Bāyās), Ṭarṭūs (Ṭarasūs), Nālis (Bālis), Ḥaʿbar (Jaʿbar).

5

Miscellaneous Localities

There still remain a couple of station names in the lists that cannot be reduced to variant spellings. These are place names of two kinds: the first pertain to places which do not comply with the said notion of a station in that they obviously did not contain an official state-run and regularly manned facility.117 Above, the example of al-ʿIṭna (no. 91) has already shown that an author could make it his concern to distinguish a nonofficial installation. Usually, however, the listing of places is done in a concise and often rhythmic way, which makes readers run the risk of letting any indicated place pass for a station. It has therefore been necessary to remove from the handlist of stations those places that qualify rather as waypoints of other sorts. The second kind of place names collected in the following are obscure names, which either do not pertain to any conceivable geographic place or are even downright erroneous and insubstantial. Items of both kinds are arranged so as to fit the itineraries and their sequence in the Taʿrīf, being indexed with M numbers (Miscellaneous).

117

Maʿarrā (al-Maʿarra), al-Ṣafar (al-Ṣafra); moreover, his reading of the Zubda concurs with the Taʿrīf on Dahrūṭ, whereas Ravaisse’s edition differs from it (see above). Disparities between the two scholars are unexpected since Quatremère’s sole source is also Ravaisse’s principal one (Paris, Ms. arabe 17241 [a.f. 695]). Exceptions to this principle are those stations operated by Bedouin contractors in northern Sinai, from al-Saʿīdiyya to al-Kharrūba (al-ʿUmarī, Taʿrīf 272–273; Shihāb al-Dīn alQalqashandī, Ṣubḥ xiv 378), and the clandestine signaling posts from ʿĀna to al-Qanāṭir (Taʿrīf 288; Ṣubḥ xiv 398–399).

338

franz

M1. al-Manhá (Egypt).118 The Zubda lists this place on the Upper Nile route between Dayrūṭ al-Sharīf (Dharwat Sarabām, no. 60) and Manfalūṭ (no. 141) with no comment, thus implying that it is, like them, a barīd station. As R. Hartmann has already noted, this is a misrepresentation.119 Both previous lists state that Dharwat Sarabām is the point where the Baḥr al-Manhá/al-Khalīj alYūsufī branches off from the Nile (its principal side channel that waters the Fayyūm).120 It may be noted that the name al-Manhá strangely occurs in a Syrian context, too (M14). M2. al-Kawm al-Aḥmar.121 An alleged barīd station of the Zubda between Hū (no. 83) and Khān al-Daranbā (M3). However, both previous lists specify it merely as a place in the vicinity of Hū, namely the point where the cultivated land is truncated by a sandy area (see M3).122 This obviously refers to the situation at that almost rectangular bend in the course of the Nile at Hū, which makes the traveler coming from the north view the desert in front of him as a barrier. Heinz Halm explicitly identifies al-Kawm al-Aḥmar, a sultanic iqṭāʿ, with the town of Hū.123 M3. Khān al-Daranbā.124 Listed in the Zubda between al-Kawm al-Aḥmar (M2) and Qūṣ (no. 179), this place also appears to be a barīd station. Like the preceding item, it is derived from some older list, but it lacks the specification, which is found in the Taʿrīf and the Ṣubḥ,125 indicating that this place just marks the end of the said sandy area. Hartmann has already pointed out the misleading effect of this omission and also the distortion of the place name, which properly reads khāniq Dandarā, the “narrow [of the Nile Valley] at Dandarā” (ca. 40km east of Hū).126 This place and the previous one should be deleted from Popper’s list of stations.127 M4. al-Hijra/al-Hajra.128 The route south of Qūṣ (no. 179) in the direction of Uswān (no. 240) was an extension of the barīd network that had to be covered

118 119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128

Khalīl b. Shāhīn, Zubda 118. R. Hartmann, Politische Geographie 482, note 3. Al-ʿUmarī, Taʿrīf 271; Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ xiv, 373. See also Yāqūt, Muʿjam al-buldān ii, 570–571 s.v. Darwat Sar(a)bām. Khalīl b. Shāhīn, Zubda 118. Al-ʿUmarī, Taʿrīf 271; Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ xiv, 374. See R. Hartmann, Politische Geographie 483, note 6. Halm, Ägypten i, 20, 22, 24, note 19, 27, 72, map 4. Khalīl b. Shāhīn, Zubda 118. Al-ʿUmarī, Taʿrīf 271; Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ xvi, 374. R. Hartmann, Politische Geographie 483, note 9. Popper, Systematic notes i, 46. Khalīl b. Shāhīn, Zubda 118. Transcribed as “Hedjré” (de Volney, Voyage 179), “al-Hadjrah”

handlist of stations, ayyubid-mamluk communication systems

339

on camel-back.129 The use of camels is a cogent marker of irregular route sections which were not run by state authorities, all the more as the Mamluk couriers took pride in their horsemanship while leaving the use of camels (with a sense of contempt, it seems) to the Bedouin.130 Moreover, it is only the Zubda that mentions al-Hijra, and also the last halt before Uswān, i.e., ‫( ايدوا‬M5), a stretch of the route that otherwise is entirely obscure. Neither al-Hijra nor that second halt can be identified. It seems they were ordinary road inns where courier riders stopped, as did everybody else, like in the aforementioned case of al-ʿIṭna. Given that the roughly 250km between Qūṣ and Uswān were divided into three legs, of which the last counted double (wa-qīla annahu barīdān), the location/position of al-Hijr may be sought some 80 km upstream of Qūṣ, to the north of Isnā (Esna), but definitely on the left bank of the Nile. M5. ‫ايدوا‬.131 See al-Hijra (M4). An unidentified place, de Volney and Gaulmier transcribe its name as Edoua.132 If, according to the said division of the distance between Qūṣ and Uswān, this halt was close to the halfway point or a little further on, it suggests that this place would have been to the north of (or at?) Udfū (Edfu). M6. A destination in the Bilād al-Nūba.133 Couriers of the barīd service went beyond Uswān (no. 240) into Nubia, but no halts are named, and the switch from horse to camel that took place in Qūṣ (no. 179) will have characterized the couriers’ further travel in this direction, too. In all probability, the terminus was Tungul (Arabic Dumqula/Dunqulā, now Old Dongola), the capital city of the Christian kingdom of Dōtawo (Makoúria, al-Muqurra). A vassal of the Mamluk Empire from 674/1276, the country got a Muslim king in 715/1315 and subsequently underwent Arabization and Islamization, but it remained external to the Mamluk Empire134 and thus also to the state-run postal network. M7. Kīmān Qifṭ.135 Qūṣ (no. 179) was also the starting point of an extension route to ʿAydhāb and Sawākin (M11) in the areas of the Beja people on the coast

129 130 131 132 133 134 135

(Quatremère in al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk, tr. ii/2, 91, note), and “Higré” (Zubda, tr. de Paradis and Gaulmier 201). Al-ʿUmarī, Taʿrīf 271; Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ xiv, 374. Gazagnadou claims that dromedaries were used, too (La poste à relais 65, 66, 67), but no source evidence is adduced to support this. Khalīl b. Shāhīn, Zubda 118. Transcribed as “Edoua” (de Volney, Voyage 179; Zubda, tr. de Paradis and Gaulmier 201) and “Idoua” (Quatremère, al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk, tr. ii, 91, note). Khalīl b. Shāhīn, Zubda, tr. de Volney 179a, tr. Gaulmier 201. Al-ʿUmarī, Taʿrīf 271; Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ xiv, 373, 374. Macmichael, A history of the Arabs in the Sudan i, 179–188; Ḥasan, The Arabs and the Sudan 106–123; Welsby, The medieval kingdoms of Nubia 242–255. Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ xiv, 374.

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of the Red Sea. The route first touched Kīmān Qifṭ (“The Garbage Mounds of Qifṭ”), apparently on the southern outskirts of Qifṭ, some 11 km to the northnortheast of Qūṣ. From there, caravans moved from water place to water place, of which the Ṣubḥ names three. Obviously, no governmental installations were available when crossing the Egyptian Desert (see also M10) and following thereafter the coastline. Instead, couriers obviously depended on the caravan traffic operated by local camel-breeding groups, as will have been the case with the journey into Nubia (M6). Ibn Jubayr states clearly that there is no alternative to camel transport,136 and the Zubda declares that there are no official stations of the mail (laysa bi-burud sulṭāniyya) on the way to those southernmost destinations.137 This holds good for the following localities (M8–M11) also. If ʿAydhāb nevertheless shows up in the handlist (no. 16), this is because of its pigeon post station. M8. *al-Laqīṭa.138 After Kīmān Qifṭ (M7), the next stop was at this spring, one marḥala (here, ca. 35km) to the south-south-east of it. Situated at the divergence of the roads to the Red Sea ports of al-Quṣayr and ʿAydhāb, it is known under this name to the present day.139 No population or installation whatsoever is reported of this place. M9. al-Darīḥ.140 A spring between *al-Laqīṭa (M8) and Ḥumaythira (M10), not localized. It may be remarked that the obscurity of this spring provides the only occasion that any of the lists refers to a place that is entirely off the route:141 the Ṣubḥ says that al-Darīḥ is close to Maʿdin al-Zumurrud, that is, the famous Emerald Mine.142 For parties traveling between *al-Laqīṭa and Ḥumaythira, it would have been nonsensical to actually go to the mining area (otherwise equally referred to, in the plural, as Maʿādin Zumurrud), but at least some trodden paths that lead off to it would have been beneficial for orientation on the ground. However, the reasons why the place made it into the list, 136 137 138

139

140 141

142

Ibn Jubayr, Riḥla 66, tr. i, 74. Khalīl b. Shāhīn, Zubda 118. Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ xiv, 374: ‫ليطة‬. See Ibn Jubayr, Riḥla 66, tr. i, 74: Maḥaṭṭ al-Laqīṭa. Position: 255300N, 330700E. Al-Laqīṭa is also the name of a well in the Najd at the foot of Jabal Ajaʾ (Yāqūt, Muʿjam al-buldān iv, 363; cf. i, 765; iv, 470). Jacotin, Carte topographique de l’ Égypte pl. 5: ‫الجيطة‬/La Guitta; Gottberg, Karawanenstraße 511 and map, pl. ii: el-Lagita; Soviet map Arabskaya Respublika Egipet, sheet G36-xxii ėl’-Lakeĭta, 1972; GEOnet names server, feature -290475: Al Luqayţah/El Laqeita/ Lageita. Position: 255300N, 330700E. Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ xiv, 374. Places that are named because of their close proximity to the route are al-Kawm al-Aḥmar (M2) and what is called “Khān al-Daranbā” (M3). Reference to a landscape feature is made only once, i.e., to the qāṭiʿ al-Mūjib, the deep incision of the Wādī al-Mūjib that cuts across the barīd route from Damascus to al-Karak (Khalīl b. Shāhīn, Zubda 120). Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ xiv 375.

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it seems, are its antiquity and imaginative potential. Being the famous origin of the second-best medical and magical precious gems,143 remote and all the more awe-inspiring,144 the Emerald Mine(s) granted an opportunity for lending the list a touch of timelessness, too favorable for an author of literary formation to let it pass unused. M10. Ḥumaythira.145 This waypoint on a supplementary route of the barīd (see M7), and potentially the pigeon post connection to ʿAydhāb (no. 16), was a known spring and at the same time the burial place of the revered Sufi Abū l-Ḥasan al-Shādhilī, who died there in 656/1258 en route to Mecca (hence the recent place name Shaykh al-Shādhilī). The annual commemoration of his mawlid that eventually sprang up there became a general convention of the widespread Shādhilī order and now also serves as the major festival of the nomadic population between the Nile Valley and the Red Sea. A periodic inflow of visitors will certainly have been favorable to the emergence of at least some perennial settlement. So, if we were to assume any permanent Mamluk presence on the way to ʿAydhāb, Ḥumaythira’s water resources and religious prominence made it the most eligible place for it. Vital to this is the question whether pilgrimage started already during the period when governmental communications in the area were still thriving. The Moroccan traveler al-Tujībī, who stopped there in 696/1297, praises the place for its miraculous water and the fulfillment of prayers said by the grave, but he notes neither any population nor structure.146 Ibn Baṭṭūṭa’s narrative of his first halt at the place, going to ʿAydhāb in 726/1326, revolves around the brackish well and a pest of hyenas; respectful mention is made of the shaykh’s grave (qabr), while any hint of a settlement or annual pilgrimage is absent.147 No more is said on the occasion of his reported second stopover, coming from ʿAydhāb in 733/1332, when the traveling party rested next to the grave.148 On the other hand, the funerary stele of al-Shādhilī, preserved in place, is indicative of the construction of a mausoleum and the previous onset of pilgrimage. Denis Gril reads the stele’s date

143 144 145 146 147 148

Al-Qaddumi, Zumurrud, in ei2 ix, 569b–571a. See the extracts in Quatremère, Mémoires ii, 173–180 (Mémoires sur la mine d’émeraudes). Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ xiv, 375. Position: 241203N, 343809E. Al-Tujībī al-Sabtī, Mustafād 203–204 (spelling as well “Ḥumaythirā”). Ibn Baṭṭūṭa, Riḥla i, 39–40, 109 (spelling “Ḥumaythirā”), tr. i, 24, 68. Ibid. ii, 253 (tr. ii, 414, is misleading in that “sanctuary” might evoke the idea of a built structure whereas the text again reads qabr). His reported third journey between Cairo and ʿAydhāb, in 749/1348 (ibid. iv, 324, tr. iv, 920), has no specific itinerary to it. On the two travelers’ visits there, see Gril, Stèle funéraire, 504. Ibn Baṭṭūṭa’s second visit to the tomb is there incorrectly dated to the year of the pilgrimage that preceded it.

342

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as “in the year 7[..].”149 This suggests an eighth/fourteenth-century development; however, one that was posterior to the visits paid by Ibn Baṭṭūṭa. The eligible period of time for building (and settlement) activities there already draws to a close after roughly three decades. As Jean-Claude Garcin has shown, the nomadic Banū Kanz of the Upper Nile Valley turned against the Mamluks and destabilized the area from 767/1365–1366 onwards, which prompted the degradation of traffic to ʿAydhāb and the decline of that town; a severe drought striking Upper Egypt in 776/1374–1375 and other calamities dealt further blows to traffic on regional routes so that later Egyptian trade with the Red Sea and alḤijāz was directed away from the southern port towns of al-Quṣayr and ʿAydhāb to al-Ṭūr in the Sinai; the last mention of the road to ʿAydhāb dates to around 1390ce.150 In sum, any permanent Mamluk presence at Ḥumaythira would at earliest be conceivable more than six decades after the establishment of the barīd. It would then have been restricted to a period of little more than three decades, and it would moreover have coincided with a state of the governmental communication systems when only little expansion still took place in Syria and none for certain in Egypt. It is therefore improbable that a regular station was in operation at Ḥumaythira. M11. Sawākin.151 That town (Western name: Suakin) was the extreme point reached by postal couriers in the areas of the Beja people, starting from Qūṣ (no. 179) by camel as well. The Mamluk realm at no time extended beyond ʿAydhāb, from where the route is still some 400 km to Sawākin. So the couriers served the Mamluks’ external communication, and the nature of dispatches to and from certainly was diplomatic rather than administrative. All that can be conceived is that couriers traveled only occasionally and depended on local means of transport, similar to the cases of Nubia (M6) and Qaysāriyya (M19). M12. al-Zuwayr.152 This is listed in the Zubda between Janbā (no. 96) and al-Ṣāfiya (no. 195) as if it were equally a barīd station, but R. Hartmann identifies it as the pass of al-Zuwayra, which links the Judaean Mountains to the southern part of the Dead Sea.153 The pass area still fulfills this function today in that it takes the Israeli Highway 31 from Hebron (al-Khalīl, no. 117) via its vertex near ʿArad down to Neve Zohar on the lake shore. Hartmann also suggests that the place of al-Zuwayr is the (Roman) castellum at the lower end of the

149 150 151 152 153

Gril, Stèle funéraire 507. Garcin, Qūṣ 420–422; idem, Ḳūṣ, in ei2 v, 515ab; idem, al-Ṣaʿīd: 1. History, in ei2 viii, 865a. Al-ʿUmarī, Taʿrīf 271; Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ xiv, 373, 374. Khalīl b. Shāhīn, Zubda 119. R. Hartmann, Geographische Nachrichten 73.

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pass, known in around 1900 as Qaṣr al-Zuwayra (al-Takhta) and today as Metsad Zohar.154 Gustaf Dalman, on whom he relies in that, has gone so far as to claim that the castle played a role in securing the mail and pigeon post routes which ran via al-Ṣāfiya.155 There is, however, no clue that this ancient place was ever used during the Muslim period. It seems more appropriate to conclude that the name “al-Zuwayr” either refers to the pass in general or, according to a general naming habit,156 to the beginning of the downward incline (i.e., the area of ʿArad).157 M13. Zarʿayn.158 Geographically speaking, this village in Mamluk Palestine (now Zarʿīn/Yizreel) is situated on the old postal route that had linked Jīnīn (11km to the south, no. 99) to Nayn (8km to the north, no. 158) and thus to Ṣafad (no. 194). Yet mention of it is only made when it comes to the shift of another route, between Baysān and Arbad, under the governor of Damascus Alṭunbughā al-Nāṣirī (741–742/1340–1341) from its previous course across the ford of the Jordan east of Baysān to a more convenient and less dangerous route via the bridge called Jisr Sāma at al-Majāmiʿ (no. 137).159 For the first kilometers from Jīnīn, courier riders took the road that went in the direction of Ṣafad. Then, Zarʿayn marks the point where they needed to branch off from it for alMajāmiʿ.160 The only known Mamluk-period building activities at Zarʿayn are the restoration of a mosque and a tower during the reign of Baybars, which was previous to the said shift in routing.161 Moreover, that novel route reached the newly established station of ʿAyn Jālūt (no. 17) after only 4 km from Zarʿayn,

154 155

156

157

158

159 160 161

R. Hartmann, Politische Geographie 488, note 8. The note also signals the manuscript variant “al-Zuwayrā.” Dalman, Topographische Notizen 261–262, note 2. Dalman’s idea in turn relies on Robinson and Smith classifying the fort as “Saracenic” (Biblical researches i, 104). Position: 310904N, 352047E. As a rule, any point labeled ʿaqaba or naqb is a pass’s saddle point. This is attested, for instance, by the signaling installation at ʿAqabat al-Barīd looking out in the directions of Nābulus (see below, P4) and the Jordan Valley. See Robinson and Smith, Biblical researches i, 103–105. Al-Zuwayra also appears as a mere mountain pass in the map Palestine under the Crusaders by Prawer and Benvenisti (in Atlas of Israel, section ix/10). Al-ʿUmarī, Taʿrīf 276, and Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ xiv, 380: Dharʿayn. Variant: Khalīl b. Shāhīn, Zubda 119: Zarʿayn. The latter is also the preferred reading of R. Hartmann (Politische Geographie 490, note 3), based on manuscripts of the Taʿrīf. Position: 323345N, 351920E. See the notes on the old and new station of Baysān (nos. 38, 39). See Avi-Yonah, map ix/11A (Zirʿīn). Cf. Pringle, Secular buildings 56b, no. 116 (Jezreel); Petersen, Gazetteer 322a–323b, no. 164 (Zirʿīn).

344

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a total of 15km from Jīnīn, meaning that no intermediary halt at Zarʿayn was necessary. Functionally and chronologically, Zarʿayn belongs to that new route on which the diversion makes it a significant waypoint, no more. M14. al-Manhá (Syria).162 The Qalāʾid suggests a barīd station of that name on the route to Aleppo between Ḥamāh (no. 77) and one Jubb al-Biʾr (M15) before reaching ʿAyn al-Qirāyā (read: Inqirātā, no. 88). Both al-Manhá and Jubb al-Biʾr are obscure. Seeing that the couriers’ way to Aleppo as we know it followed a well-established routing, which was also observed with necessity by traders and travelers, the Qalāʾid’s information does not seem reliable. Moreover, the name in question seems to be reminiscent of the Egyptian alManhá (M1). M15. Jubb al-Biʾr. Obscure (see M14). As jubb “well, cistern” is largely equivalent to biʾr, the name is near tautological and thus suggests corruption. There is a theoretical possibility, no more, that it reflects the station name “Jubb Yūsuf” (no. 105). M16. Amār/Imār.163 The Zubda names this station on the barīd route to Aleppo between *Abād (no. 1) and Qinnasrīn (no. 175). As those are less than 14km away from each other, the establishment of an additional station in between is, however, not plausible. Also, no local place name suggests itself for explanation. At the same time, it is noticeable that the name of the preceding station, which reads ‫ اباد‬in the Taʿrīf and ‫ اياد‬in the Ṣubḥ,164 is given in the Zubda quite differently as ‫ابعد‬. As said before, the author relied on another source, and he possibly derived from it a corrupt spelling that included the letter ‫ع‬. This would, however, leave the appearance of Amār/Imār enigmatic. On the other hand, we need not go so far as to assume that the author was entirely ignorant of the Taʿrīf and the Ṣubḥ. It may be that he misunderstood the diverse information before him, taking alternative basic spellings—‫ اٮاد‬and some other form with ‫—ع‬for distinct place names (i.e., ‫ امار‬and ‫)ابعد‬. M17. ʿAyn Bazāl.165 This and also the next place were on the Mesopotamian barīd route that connected (Qalʿat) Jaʿbar (no. 93) in the Euphrates Valley to al-Khābūr (no. 116), the latter marking both the river and a settlement (identifiable with ʿArabān, now Tall Ajāja/ʿAjāja Gharbiyya).166 The Bazāl spring is

162 163

164 165 166

Najm al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Qalāʾid 10. Khalīl b. Shāhīn, Zubda 119. Transcribed as “Emâr” (de Volney, Voyage 179), “Amâr” (Quatremère, al-Maqrīzī, Sulūk, tr. ii/2, 92, note 34), and “Emar” (Zubda, tr. de Paradis and Gaulmier 202). Al-ʿUmarī, Taʿrīf 278; Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ xiv, 381. See also note to no. 1. Sic, al-ʿUmarī, Taʿrīf 280. Variant: Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī Ṣubḥ xiv, 382: ʿAyn Badhāl. On al-Khābūr/*ʿArabān, see the note to no. 116.

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otherwise unknown, and it seems it was an unpopulated water place. Its hypothetical position between the Euphrates Valley and Ṣahlān (M18) can, however, be gleaned from the following entry.167 M18. Ṣahlān.168 This is identifiable with a drawing well registered on twentieth-century maps of Syria.169 Like the previous halt, it is a mere water place rather than a maintained station. Its position and relation to the next station, al-Khābūr (at 37km, no. 116), suggests that the crossing of the Mesopotamian plain between the Euphrates and al-Khābūr valleys was done in the area of their closest approximation. The eligible point for exiting the Euphrates Valley is thus the narrow at Zenobia/Ḥalabiyya, as already suggested by Sauvaget’s sketch.170 M19. Qaysāriyya.171 Sauvaget assumed temporary barīd lines to this town and also to Daranda (M20, 175km to the east),172 presumably because the Taʿrīf alludes to Mamluk control of these areas, which he tags together by the term Bilād al-Durūb, “Land of the Mountain Passes.” In contrast, it is a matter of fact that, during most of the period of the barīd’s operation, Central Anatolia around what now is Kayseri was under Mongol rule. Only in 675/1277 did Baybars seize it for a very short term. Apparently, the Taʿrīf ’s statement is made in an all too ahistorical and nonchalant manner. Of course, messengers will occasionally have reached the two towns, but the Zubda clearly states that the way from Bahasná (no. 22) to Qaysāriyya amounts to seven legs (six stops), all of which are nongovernmental (sabʿat burud laysa bi-sulṭāniyya).173

167 168 169

170 171 172 173

Hypothetical position: ca. 354735N, 400030E. Al-ʿUmarī, Taʿrīf 280; Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ xiv, 382. Approximate position: 355400N, 403118E. Musil, The middle Euphrates 85, and attached map of Southern Mesopotamia (a3): Sehlân, a well. The locality is however misplaced by 27km to the south-southwest. Cf. [Carte de reconnaissance], 1:200,000, sheet Deir-ez Zor, 1927: Bir Zaelan; [Syrian], 1:200,000, sheet 11, Ed Deir, 1940: Bir Sahlan; [Levant], 1:200,000, sheet Deïr-ez-Zor/Dayr al-Zawr, 1945: Bîr Sahlâne/Biʾr Saḥlān. It is not in the Syrian edition, [Sūriya], sheet Dayr al-Zawr, 1976. However, a synopsis of the various map editions allows us to identify the relative position of five local wells (Sahlâne/Saḥlān, abou Fahas/Abū Faḥaṣ/Abū Fās, Rayâne/Rayyān/Rakyān, Mestoûr/Mastūr, and Ghazīl) and to infer from their topology the hypothetical absolute position of the well in question. It is hence at ca. 355400N, 403118E. Sauvaget, Poste 57, fig. 11. Sic, al-ʿUmarī, Taʿrīf 281; and Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ xiv, 384. Variant: Khalīl b. Shāhīn, Zubda 120: al-Qaysāriyya. Sauvaget, Poste 56, 57, fig. 11: temporary barīd destination. Khalīl b. Shāhīn, Zubda 120: Bahasnā, al-Qaysāriyya.

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M20. Daranda.174 See M19. What is more, the Mamluk conquest of Eastern Anatolia around Malaṭya (no. 139, now Battalgazi) and the establishment of a barīd route there (of which no station is mentioned after Karkar, no. 114), according to the Qalāʾid, obviously did not include an extension to Daranda (now Darende). Its absence from the list in that source is all the more significant as the direct distance between the two towns is only about 100 km, most of which could have been covered conveniently when following the Euphrates and Tohma valleys. Besides the seven nongovernmental stages on the way to al-Qaysāriyya (M19) just mentioned, a further three stages of that kind (two stops) reportedly occurred between ʿAyn Tāb (no. 18) and Qalʿat al-Muslimīn (no. 165).175 This statement in the Zubda is curious enough as this section of the route was clearly in the interior of the Mamluk realm after the latter was conquered in 691/1292. Correspondingly, there must have been several halts between Karkar (no. 114) and Malaṭya (no. 139) since the distance is 70km as the pigeon flies, but at least twice as much upstream the meandering Euphrates or across the Taurus. If this is taken together with the fact that the Qalāʾid counts five stations from Aleppo (no. 76) to Malaṭya, of which Karkar comes last before the terminus, it follows that any further stopping points were nongovernmental ones, too. It may be that the same holds true for the pigeon post line between the burj al-Fayyūm in al-Barqiyya, an eastern suburb of Cairo, and Madīnat alFayyūm. It was run privately by the Ayyubid amir Fakhr al-Dīn ʿUthmān b. Qizil but, according to Ragheb, may have been absorbed by the governmental service after his death in 629/1232.176 However this may be, we have no reason to assume that it was continued in the Mamluk period. Ragheb assumes the existence of two pigeon post stations in present-day Syria called “Ishʿār” and “Walāt,” to be reached by secondary lines from Ṭafas (no. 222).177 Yet the Taʿrīf and, in the crucial place, also the Ṣubḥ read, admittedly in unwieldy style: mithla min Baysān ilá Adhriʿāt wa-min Ṭafas ilayhā liishʿār wa-ilá al-wulāh,178 which in fact means: “for instance from Bay-

174 175 176

177 178

Al-ʿUmarī, Taʿrīf 281; Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ xiv, 384. Sauvaget, Poste 56, 57, fig. 11: temporary barīd destination. Khalīl b. Shāhīn, Zubda 120. Al-Maqrīzī, Khiṭaṭ iii, 747, tr. in idem, Sulūk, tr. ii/2, 118, note, and by Casanova, Citadelle du Caire 596–597. Already referred to by Ragheb, Messagers volants 19 with 25, notes 53–55, 32, 33 with 45, note 52, 38 with 47, note 134. Ibid. 34 with 45, note 67. Al-ʿUmarī, Taʿrīf 283. Cf. Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ xiv, 393 (mithla min Baysān

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sān to Adhriʿāt and from Ṭafas to the same place in order to inform the principal officers.”179 It may also be noted that Sauvaget accepted the Central Anatolian town of Diwrikī180 (now Divriği, 108km north of historical Malaṭya) as a barīd station. This stipulation is not reasoned, and I have not found source evidence in support of it. Lastly, it goes without saying that in-depth enquiry into particular route sections is likely to yield further places related to the barīd, especially on an archaeological basis. For instance, Katia Cytryn-Silverman and Jeffrey A. Blakely have argued that the barīd from Ghazza to Bayt Jibrīn (nos. 71, 42) took basically the same path as the Roman-Byzantine road that ran past Bayt Ḥānūn, Dimra, Najd, Simsim, and Burayr, through Mulāqis (no. 150), ʿAjlān, and al-Sukkariyya, and lastly past the mound of Biblical Lachish (modern Tall al-Duwayr).181 There is, however, no evidence that these were more than just waypoints. Especially the charitable road inn built 10km east of Mulāqis at al-Sukkariyya, probably in 717/1317,182 is too close to that station to have become, as the authors suggest, an additional post catering to the barīd riders.

6

Possible Additional Stations

Having removed the referenced places that are not acceptable as stations, it will now be argued that there is reason to consider adding 13 other places to the handlist of stations. As they cannot be ascertained, they are listed separately (table 12.2) and indexed with the leading capital letter P (Possibles). P1. Abū Qubays. According to the chronicle of Baybars al-Manṣūrī, the pigeon post also reached Abū Qubays and Shayzar (P12).183 As has been argued in the case of the assumed pigeonries at ʿAyn Tāb (no. 18) and Baghrāṣ (no. 21), applying also to al-Darbasāk (P3) and al-Rāwandān (P11), Abū Qubays and Shayzar are considered possible additional stations only. P2. al-Barallus. According to al-Maqrīzī, al-Barallus and Rashīd (P10) were reached by pigeon post from Būlāq in 768/1366. The absence of al-Barallus and

179 180 181 182 183

ilá Adhriʿāt maqarr wilāyat al-wulāh bi-l-ṣafqa al-qibliyya wa-min Ṭafas ilayhā li-ishʿār wailá al-wulāh). Translated into German by R. Hartmann, Politische Geographie 500. Sauvaget, Poste 56, 57, fig. 11. Cytryn-Silverman and Blakely, The khān at al-Sukkariyya 202, fig. 1, 207b. Ibid. 222b. Baybars al-Manṣūrī, Zubdat al-fikra 200 s.a. 680 (1281ce). See also Ragheb, Messagers volants 34 with 46, note 82, and 44, note 42.

Name or descriptor

Abū Qubays al-Barallus al-Darbasāk jibāl Ibzīq [Khān al-ʿAsal] al-Manākh Mudawwarat Jamīl? al-Muḥdatha al-Nabk Rashīd al-Rāwandān Shayzar al-Ṣubayba

No.

P1 P2 P3 P4 P5 P6 P7 P8 P9 P10 P11 P12 P13

ḥ? ḥ? ḥ? . . ḥ? ḥ ḥ? ḥ? ḥ? ḥ? ḥ? ḥ?

ḥamām

table 12.2 Possible additional stations

. . . m? . . . . . . . . .

manāwir

. . . . b? . . . . . . . .

barīd

+ ? + ? + ?? ?? ?? + + + + +

351408N 313458N 363154N 322234N 361009N . 305022N . 340130N 312416N 365223N 351603N 331510N

Certainty Latitude dms 361952E 305846E 362153E 352306E 370223E . 315724E . 364342E 302459E 370314E 363400E 354253E

35.235556 31.582778 36.531667 32.376111 36.169167 . 30.839444 . 34.025 31.404444 36.873056 35.2675 33.252778

Longitude Latitude dms dd 36.331111 30.979444 36.364722 35.385 37.039722 . 31.956667 . 36.728333 30.416389 37.053889 36.566667 35.714722

sy eg tr we sy sy eg sy sy eg tr sy sy

zf 200 S iii/1, 133 zf 200 T 289 See below. See note 99. See below. See below. See note 99. S iii/1, 133 zf 200 zf 200 Kh ii, 232

Longitude Territory Principal dd source

348 franz

handlist of stations, ayyubid-mamluk communication systems

349

Rashīd from the lists of stations, the singularity of the said chronicle evidence, and also its late date, make it likely they were but occasionally served. Ragheb moreover interprets that they allowed Alexandria (no. 90) to connect to (new) Dimyāṭ (no. 65) across the Nile Delta, with no detour via Cairo,184 but this, however, is hypothetical. P3. al-Darbasāk. The previously Frankish castle of Trapesac (today’s Terbezek Kalesi). See Baghrāṣ (no. 21). P4. Jibāl Ibzīq. When dealing with the chain of optical signals across Palestine, the Taʿrīf mentions the post on ʿAqabat al-Barīd, the “Pass of the Mail” over Mount Gilboa: from there, one can view the outlying parts of the districts of Nābulus in the mountains of Ibzīq.185 This name has persisted to the present day, and the area has direct lines of sight with both the Pass of the Mail and the mountains above that town. However, the Taʿrīf is silent on whether there was a signaling installation on top of the Ibzīq and about any onward link to Nābulus. In contrast, the account is outspoken about the signaling line to Jīnīn, then Faḥma, Qāqūn, etc. Moreover, it is said that if the signal is raised on the height of Qāqūn, it can be seen on the outskirts of the districts of Nābulus. Here, the use of the formula wa-turá, which regularly indicates a signaling installation, makes it clear that Nābulus was connected to Qāqūn. Direct visual contact with it is indeed possible from the mountains that surround the town to the north and south. The second part of the usual formula—waturfaʿu (al-nār)—is, however, absent. It seems to be reserved for those stations that constituted the backbone of the signaling system, not a mere local line. In comparison to the rather articulate inclusion of the Nābulus area (aṭrāf aʿmāl Nābulus, no. 156) in the system from the direction of Qāqūn, the role of the Ibzīq mountains is not determined. It may well have been one of the reportedly many lines that branched out locally from the trunk line. If so, it is significant that no onward signaling from jibāl Ibzīq to the Nābulus area proper is mentioned. P5. [Khān al-ʿAsal]. Sauvaget has argued that the distance between the barīd stations of Aleppo and Arḥāb (no. 12, in the direction of Cilicia) is much too long not to assume that another station was intercalated, especially in view of the difficult rocky terrain there. This additional station he sought in the road inn that bears the modern name Khān al-ʿAsal,186 situated 11 km westsouthwest of Aleppo and 18km east-southeast of Arḥāb. The older of two gate

184 185 186

See also ibid. 33 with 44, note 42, and 45, note 59. Al-ʿUmarī, Taʿrīf 289; Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ xiv, 399. See Sauvaget, Poste 95, note 367; idem, Caravansérails ii, 6–7, no. 11, with figs. 12–14; CytrynSilverman, Road inns 12b, no. 5, etc.

350

franz

inscriptions states that it was built in 744/1343.187 Sauvaget, who regarded the architecture as perfectly fourteenth-century, infers from these circumstances that the renovation was in fact the true founding act, whereas the predecessor was only a clearing with no real buildings (“carrière abandonnée qui n’avait fait l’ objet d’aucun aménagement spécial”).188 The postal route between Aleppo and Mount Amanus was set up in 666/1268189 after the Knights Templar had abandoned, due to the fall of Antioch, the castle of Gaston/Gastun (Baghrāṣ, no. 21, now Bakras Kalesi), which shielded the Syrian Gates (Baylān, slightly to the south of what is now Belen Geçidi) there.190 The other stations along the route are Arḥāb, which has remains of a fourteenth-century khān,191 Tīzīn (no. 232, now Oğulpınar), with remains of a fourteenth- or fifteenth-century khān,192 and Yaghrā (no. 247), the position of which is not sufficiently clear.193 So as the route was not equipped at an early date with functional buildings, it apparently was a neglected section of the barīd. A chronological coincidence may be noted: al-ʿUmarī wrote the Taʿrīf after the khān’s construction took place. As he nevertheless ignores it, it appears that topicality was not his main objective when compiling his list of stations. However, the place name did not enter any of the subsequent lists, either. We therefore lack a reliable basis to decide whether the halting place that became Khān al-ʿAsal was ever a postal station in the technical sense. Interestingly, the later gate inscription, of 774/1372,194 has on either side a medallion depicting a horse and a rider,195 and it

187 188 189 190 191 192 193

194 195

Mayer, Saracenic heraldry 169; rcéa xv, 236, no. 5971; Cytryn-Silverman, Road inns 12b, no. 5. Sauvaget, review of Mayer’s Saracenic heraldry 277a. Sauvaget, Poste 26. See Cahen, Syrie du nord index 731a; idem, Baghrās, in ei2 i, 909b–910a. See Sauvaget, Caravansérails ii, 16, no. 23, and fig. 32. See ibid. 16, no. 24. It was on the fringes of the swamp called al-ʿAmq that surrounded Buḥayrat Yaghrā (now dry) to the north. Ibn Shaddād, Waṣf li-shimāl Sūriya 305, tr. 263. See also maps i, ii and iv of Eddé-Terrasse’s translation; Dussaud, Topographie historique 436–437; Sauvaget, Poste 96; Jacquot, Antioche i, 169–170, with sketch map, placing Yaghrā either southeast of today’s Muratpaşa or in Kala/Kamberlikaya. The first place is more suited to an expedient barīd route. However, the post of Yaghrā should not be confused with the undated road inn in the hills ca. 6 km northeast of the village of Gölbaşı referred to by Sauvaget as “Zengiyé” (Caravansérails ii, 16, no. 25; Soviet map Turtsiya, 1:100,000, sheet J-37–122 Afrin, 1969, repr. 1991), as that is certainly out of the way to Tīzīn. Herzfeld, Matériaux pt. ii, i/2, 346–347, no. 194, and vol. of plates, pl. cxlviia. Ibid. i/2, 346, no. 194, fig. 106 (based on the drawing by Sobernheim of a photograph by von Oppenheim; see also Müller, Karawanserai 1, fig. 1, 12; Cytryn-Silverman, Road inns 191, pl. x/1–2), and ii, pl. cxlviia (the underlying photograph); rcéa xvii, 198, no. 744,010.

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351

may be asked whether these represent barīd messengers. As there is, however, no comparable imagery from any of the known station buildings, no cogent interpretation is possible. The blazons’ late date may equally suggest that they are a piece of reminiscent fancy. P6. al-Manākh. See the Syrian al-Quṣayr (no. 181 with note 99). P7. [*Mudawwarat Jamīl?]. This is the station that must have preceded the pigeon post station of al-Ṣāliḥiyya (no. 200),196 which is situated on the western fringes of the Nile Delta before the Sinai is entered. The latter settlement was founded only in 644/1246 by Sultan al-Ṣāliḥ Najm al-Dīn Ayyūb,197 whence its name. That was a mere three years before the Mamluks’ rise to power, but the Ayyubid pigeon post in general was older than that.198 Al-Ṣāliḥiyya occupies a middle position between Bilbays and Qaṭyā, situated 57 km from the first and 76km from the latter as the pigeon flies. In the Nile Delta and the cultivated areas of Syria, these were average distances. As mentioned before, a small number of legs seem to have been markedly longer, but this may be explained by the fact that the listing of pigeon post stations was avowedly incomplete (see section 7). Anyhow, as none of these reached the 133 km of route that an uninterrupted Bilbays-to-Qaṭyā connection would have measured, we may leave this unlikely possibility aside. It is therefore necessary to assume that the area halfway between these towns had held a pigeon post station even before alṢāliḥ’s foundation, which was then abandoned in favor of new al-Ṣāliḥiyya. For a possible location of that initial station, the nearby Fatimid-period settlement of Mudawwarat Jamīl (now ʿIzbat al-Jamāliyya) comes into consideration. Situated 7km to the northwest of al-Ṣāliḥiyya, it is at a distance of 60 and 77km from the neighboring stations.199 P8. al-Muḥdatha. An unidentified ruined pre-Mamluk khān, according to Ragheb, it received a pigeonry when Baybars first established the pigeon post. Like al-Manākh (P6), al-Nabk (P9) and the Syrian al-Quṣayr (no. 181), it was soon put out of service.200

196 197 198

199 200

Al-ʿUmarī, Taʿrīf 283; Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ xiv, 392; Khalīl b. Shāhīn, Zubda 117. Al-Maqrīzī, Khiṭaṭ i, 500; Ibn al-Jīʿān, Tuḥfa 19, noted by R. Hartmann, Straße 686, and idem, Politische Geographie 486, note 4. Nūr al-Dīn b. Zengī (r. 541–569/1146–1174) is claimed to have revived the pigeon post after a period when it was defunct (al-ʿUmarī, Taʿrīf 283; Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ xiv, 190; Khalīl b. Shāhīn, Zubda 117), whereas Sauvaget points out that the use of carrier pigeons never completely abated (Poste 36). On that place, see Halm’s map Ägypten unter den Fāṭimiden; idem, Ägypten ii, 658, map 38. Ragheb, Messagers volants 30 with 43, note 10.

352

franz

P9. al-Nabk. See al-Quṣayr (no. 181 with note 99). P10. Rashīd. See al-Barallus (P2). P11. al-Rāwandān. The previously Frankish castle of Ravendel (now Revanda Kalesi). See Baghrāṣ (no. 21). P12. Shayzar. See Abū Qubays (P1). P13. al-Ṣubayba. Mentioned by al-Maqrīzī, as Ragheb points out, this is probably the destination of another secondary line of the pigeon post from Damascus.201 Again, its absence from the lists suggests that it operated only temporarily. Moreover, other secondary pigeon post lines, the destinations of which are not documented, radiated from Bahasná into the temporarily conquered areas in the Taurus.202

7

Scale and Scope of the Record

Now that we have examined the stock of established stations, the question arises: how good is the lists’ connection to reality and hence what is their character? To assess this, it is critical to understand whether the known stock exhausts the entirety of communication routes and stations. If it is not comprehensive, by how much will the systems’ erstwhile range have exceeded the stock before us? Al-ʿUmarī points out four times that his enumeration of barīd stations is complete.203 Concerning the pigeon post, the same is at first insinuated through the very similar way it is treated. However, four points can be made to disprove the comprehensiveness of the Taʿrīf ’s list. 1. The author of the Taʿrīf himself was careful to make it clear, when it comes to the pigeon post, that he merely covered the trunk lines while not taking into account the local branches that were everywhere: carrier pigeons fly “from each of these stations to the most important adjacent points, for instance (my emphasis) from Baysān to Adhriʿāt and from Ṭafas to the same

201 202 203

Al-Maqrīzī, Khiṭaṭ iii, 749, tr. in idem, Sulūk, tr. ii/2, 120, note. See also Ragheb, Messagers volants 34 with 45, note 74, and 44, note 42. Al-ʿUmarī, Taʿrīf 283; Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ xiv, 394. See also Ragheb, Messagers volants 34 with 47, note 86. Al-ʿUmarī, Taʿrīf 280: fa-hādha jumlat marākiz Dimashq ilá kull jiha, ditto 281 regarding Aleppo, 282 for Tripoli, and ibid. in general: wa-bi-tamām dhikr dhālika tamma dhikr jamīʿ marākiz al-barīd bi-l-mamālik al-maḥrūsa.

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353

place in order to inform the principal officers.”204 The Ṣubḥ repeats this, similarly leaving those other stations unmentioned.205 Even the trunk lines do not seem to have been recorded exhaustively. Several legs are twice as long as most others, covering more than 100km instead of an average 40–50 km. It is reasonable to assume that there were a number of intermediary stations that did not enter the records.206 Moreover, the Taʿrīf makes no claim at all to completeness regarding signaling installations. Instead, it states explicitly that many signaling routes branched off the trunk line ( jāddat al-ṭarīq) in all directions.207 It hence seems particularly safe to assume that installations were located at least in those five places between Damascus and Aleppo that certainly held mail and pigeon post stations: Qārā (no. 169), Ḥimṣ (no. 80), Ḥamāh (no. 77), al-Maʿarra (no. 135), and Aleppo (no. 76). 2. Another objection to the Taʿrīf ’s claim to comprehensiveness results from the listing of additional stations in the subsequent sources. Most of this later information relates to the mail system. The Taʿrīf lists a total of 211 station localities. In comparison, the Ṣubḥ names 201 station localities, including five additions to the Taʿrīf (for all additions, see below), while twelve previously listed items are straightforwardly omitted and three places, in which the Taʿrīf makes the sole mention of particular stations, show a blank space in the manuscript underlying the edition.208 The Zubda has 151 station localities, including 20 additions. It omits 80 items of the Taʿrīf, but at the same time retains five that the Ṣubḥ ignores while knowing none of its additions. This suggests that the Zubda depends on the Taʿrīf. The list in the Qalāʾid is rudimentary but, however, counts 82 station localities that represent 83 items (since two original ones are

204

205 206

207 208

Ibid. 283–284 (see section 5 with notes 178–179). R. Hartmann’s rendering of the closing sentence on the pigeon post—“Damit […] vollständig angeführt”—is overdone (Politische Geographie 501). The Arabic text (284) simply reads wa-bi-hādha tamma dhikr marākiz alḥamām fī sāʾir al-mamālik al-islāmiyya. Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ xiv, 394. Gaudefroy-Demombynes (Syrie 254) detected no stress on completeness in it. Among the typical distances, one of the larger ones is, e.g., that between Damascus and al-Ṣanamayn (50 km). In contrast, there reportedly were direct links between Tripolis and Jabala (104km), al-Warrāda and Ghazza (108 km), Tripoli and Nablus (110km), Damascus and al-Qaryatayn (110 km), the latter and Tadmur (113km), Aleppo and al-Bīra (118km), and between the Mountain Castle and al-Suways (124km). Each of these seven distances suggests that at least one relay station was ignored. Al-ʿUmarī, Taʿrīf 289; Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ xiv, 400. Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ xiv, 379 (*al-Jītīn, edited text: Jīnīn) and 383 (*Dhibyān, literally Dībāj; *al-Rubba, literally ‫)اكر ية‬. There are two more blanks—xiv, 379 (Ludd and Bayt Dāris) and 380 (Ḥiṭṭīn)—but the relevant items are not entirely omitted, as they each show in other places.

354

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merged),209 including ten additions to all previous lists, while it falls short of the Taʿrīf by 144 omitted localities. The repetition of the Ṣubḥ’s five additions, however defectively, indicates that the author rather drew from that work of his father than on the Taʿrīf. Recalling the fact that the Mamluk governmental communication systems were almost completely established at the time when the Taʿrīf was written, it is evident that the majority of later additions are not due to an actual growth of the systems but arise from the choice of the later authors to improve the material before them. Moreover, Ibn Baṭṭūṭa adds one station locality, and Ṣāliḥ b. Yaḥyá adds five. The stations mentioned in addition to the Taʿrīf are, in chronological order of the sources, as follows: Riḥla Jabala. (1 item) Ṣubḥ xiv, 376: al-Khānqāh al-Nāṣiriyya;210 378: al-Dārūm; 381: Khān Lājīn, Khān al-ʿArūs; 383: Kalnās. (5 items) Zubda 117: Banī ʿUbayd, Khān Tūmān, Tarbala; 118: Barnasht; 119: al-Turkumāniyya, Baynūna, Fāraskūr, al-Ḥafar, three anonymous stations south of al-Karak, al-Shawbak; 120: Jubb Yūsuf, Būrā, al-Baradiyya, ‫قنبس‬/*Niqinnis, al-Ṣafra, Dayr Kūn, ‫قونا‬/*Marzubān, ‫عر بان‬/*Raʿbān. (20 items) Qalāʾid 9: al-Ramla, ‫سمسكيز‬/*Samsakīn, al-Ṭayyiba; 10: al-Ruhā, Māridīn, Karkar, Malaṭya, Sīs, Adana, Ṭarṭūs/*Ṭarasūs. (10 items; besides: ‫[ خانٯات عقرس‬al-Khānqāh al-Nāṣiriyya and al-ʿUshsh], al-Dārūm, Khān Lājīn, Khān al-ʿArūs, ‫[ كلناير‬Kalnās], see Ṣubḥ) Taʾrīkh Bayrūt 35: ẓāhir Bayrūt, Raʾs Bayrūt al-ʿAtīqa, jabal Bawārish, jabal Yabūs, jabal al-Ṣāliḥiyya. (5 items) In total, supplementary literary information on stations counts 41 items, thus amounting to almost a sixth of the original set. Given this obvious increase, it is now more important than before to understand whether the relevant stations came into being only after the Taʿrīf was written or whether they just escaped its author’s attention. Fortunately, the chronologies of the sources and the com209 210

Najm al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Qalāʾid 9: ‫( خانٯات عقرس‬actually al-Khānqāh al-Nāṣiriyya and al-ʿUshsh, nos. 123, 239). Already mentioned in al-ʿUmarī, Taʿrīf 272, though not as a station but a place close to that of Siryāqaws.

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355

munication systems’ development are acceptably telling. Ibn Baṭṭūṭa’s Riḥla was completed roughly within a decade of the Taʿrīf, so his first-time mention of the pigeon post station of Jabala (no. 92) in all likelihood does not mirror a recent innovation. Three out of the five stations added by the Ṣubḥ, all of them belonging to the mail, definitely operated already before the composition of the Taʿrīf. In two of the three cases this is proven by building inscriptions,211 while the same is at least likely with the remaining two stations.212 The Zubda provides 20 items in excess to the previous lists, primarily mail stations, but also two stations of the pigeon post, namely Banī ʿUbayd (no. 27) and Tarbala (no. 226). Most of these additions are insufficiently localized and have no chronological details, so that the Zubda’s novelties are difficult to rate. Among the few that pertain to known places at all, two are situated on routes set up by Baybars.213 Another one would have come into existence subsequent to the expulsion of the Crusaders from the area of Ṣafad (no. 194) by Baybars, so probably not too long after that year (i.e., 664/1266).214 The list in the Qalāʾid, which offers ten additional stations, all part of the mail system, is the most modified

211

212

213

214

Khān al-ʿArūs (no. 118) goes back to 577/1181–1182 (rcéa ix, 115, no. 3368). It will still have been in use because its successor, the station at al-iftirāq (no. 87), belongs to the mideighth/fourteenth century (Sauvaget, Poste 61). Khān Lājīn (no. 121) dates from 690/1291 (Sauvaget, Caravansérails ii, 1–3, no. 8, and rcéa xiii, 98–100, no. 4946, referred to under the modern name “Khān ʿAyyāsh;” see also Sauvaget, Poste 70, fig. 19, pl. iv, 89). The khānqāh (no. 123) that replaced the station of Siryāqaws (no. 215; Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ xiv, 376; cf. ʿUmarī, Taʿrīf 272) was named after Sultan al-Nāṣir Muḥammad (d. 741/ 1341) and therefore was in place when the Taʿrīf was written. The age of the station in al-Dārūm (no. 58; Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ xiv, 378) is not determined, but as it lies on the Cairo-to-Damascus route, roughly halfway between al-Salqa (no. 202) and Ghazza (no. 71), it may have been established when, or not long after, al-Salqa replaced Biʾr Ṭurunṭāy (no. 48; Khalīl b. Shāhīn, Taʿrīf 275). Kalnās (no. 111), if that reading is permissible, is on the route betweeen Aleppo and al-Bīra, which came into being under Baybars (Sauvaget, Poste 26). Khān Tūmān (no. 124) was a well-established road inn founded during the Ayyubid period (Creswell, Two khâns at Khân Ṭûmân 134, 137–139; Sauvaget, Caravansérails [i], 52–53, no. 4, and figs. 5, 20; idem, Poste 91–92, 67, note 278; cf. idem, Caravansérails ii, 14–15, and fig. 26). Al-Shawbak (no. 213) will have been included in the barīd still under Baybars (see idem, Poste 25, fig. 2) and presumably was linked first of all to al-Karak (not Ghazza). If so, it was established at the earliest in 659/1261, i.e., two years after the seizure of al-Shawbak. It is, however, curious that this station is only mentioned by the Zubda. Jubb Yūsuf (no. 105) lay on the road to Damascus, which posed an attractive alternative to the original route (via Baysān) because it is less steep and crosses the Jordan at a less dangerous point, the Ford of Jacob (Makhāḍat al-Aḥzān). The road inn there is secondary, possibly dating from the eighth/fourteenth century, but a ninth/fifteenth-century origin cannot be excluded (Cytryn-Silverman, Road inns 115a, 117ab).

356

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one, if seen in relation to its modest total of 82 items.215 Although many of the reported station names are faulty and the list as a whole is injudiciously written, all ten additions refer to known places and seven of them are well in line with political chronology; they illustrate the expansion of the barīd into northern Mesopotamia and Armenian Cilicia,216 territories acquired by the Mamluks during the 710s/1310s and 740s/1340s, respectively.217 One addition indicates a shift in routing during roughly the same period.218 Lastly, the Taʾrīkh Bayrūt refers to a chain of optical signals between Beirut and Damascus in the postCrusader period. The place names are reliable in that they suffice to reconstruct a series of direct visual contacts that indeed can link the two cities.219 It thus appears that the majority of the supplementary information refers to stations that belong to the early stages of the Mamluk communication systems but were ignored by the Taʿrīf. Consequently, on the one hand the possibility that an even greater number of stations did not make it into the records at all cannot be ignored. On the other hand, it shows that the later authors did not entirely depend on their respective model lists when putting their own ones together but accounted for further information. As no other literary models for these are available, we must assume that they derive from other origins, be it administrative knowledge (in the cases of the Ṣubḥ, Zubda, and Qalāʾid) or local transmission (with the Taʾrīkh Bayrūt).

215 216 217 218

219

‫( خانٯات عقرس‬see section 4). Al-Ruhā (no. 192), Māridīn (no. 146), Karkar (no. 114), Malaṭya (no. 139), Sīs (no. 216), Adana (no. 2), Ṭarṭūs/*Ṭarasūs (no. 225). See Sauvaget, Poste 56. The position of *Samsakīn (no. 203) between Ṭafash (Ṭafas; no. 222) and Dillī/Raʾs al-Māʾ (no. 62) implies that the crossing of the Ḥawrān, which had previously been shifted from there some 10 km east to al-Jāmiʿ, was referred back to the original route, with *Samsakīn as a new station (while the continued mention of al-Dillī/Raʾs al-Māʾ may be anachronistic). Such a new shift would basically fit in the fourth phase of the barīd’s development, similar to the improvement of the routing between Jīnīn and Arbad during the governorate of Alṭunbughā (741–742/1340–1341), on which see the notes on the old and new Baysān stations (nos. 38, 39). Raʾs Bayrūt al-ʿAtīqa (no. 189) is identified by the editors of the Taʾrīkh Bayrūt (35, note 3) in what is now Dayr al-Qalʿa, close (by 2 km in south-southwestern direction) to present-day Bayt Mirī (Beit Mery). The jabal Bawārish (no. 32) appears to be the mountain massif next to present-day Bawārij (Bouarej) on the eastern slope of Mount Lebanon (ibid. note 4). See also GEOnet Names Server, feature -805602. The jabal Yabūs (no. 246) is presumably the massif next to present-day Kafar Yabūs. See Yāqūt, Muʿjam al-buldān i, 895 s.v. Tawlaʿ; iv, 1007 s.v. Yabūs; Ṣāliḥ b. Yaḥyá, Taʾrīkh Bayrūt 35, note 5; GEOnet names server, feature -2544135. The jabal al-Ṣāliḥiyya (no. 201), named after the northwestern suburb of Damascus, is to be identified with the ridge towering over the city, now Jabal Qāsiyūn. Taʾrīkh Bayrūt 35, note 6.

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Also, there is an incongruity in the sources regarding the range of the signaling system. According to the lists of the Taʿrīf and the Ṣubḥ, Ḥadab Ghazza (no. 74) was the terminus of optical news transmission from the Euphrates, and news was forwarded from Ghazza to Cairo by carrier pigeons and couriers on horseback.220 In another place, however, the Ṣubḥ specifies twice that the chain of signals reached as far as a point near Bilbays (no. 43)—i.e., before the town, so northeast of it—and moreover that only from there was news communicated to Cairo by those other means.221 In a way, the Ṣubḥ’s double treatment of the subject suggests that substantial and enhanced information is offered and that the incongruity of the statements is founded in reality. Possibly, the two passages of text refer to different stages in the system’s development. This may reveal either an expansion or a reduction in the line of signals toward Cairo. Given the settling of the Mongol-Mamluk conflict in 723/1323, which meant that the immediate conveyance of news from the Euphrates lost much of its importance, it is more appropriate to assume that the signaling system underwent a reduction. It follows that another five to ten signaling posts would have existed, presumably coinciding with the most important stations of the mail and pigeon post such as Qaṭyā, al-Ṣāliḥiyya, and al-Warrāda (nos. 174, 200, 245). 3. The given lists of signaling stations prove incomplete, too, when an attempt is made to retrace visual contacts with the help of a virtual earth viewer that includes a three-dimensional elevation model (here, Google Earth). At the same time, a number of stations, which are reported to be directly linked, turn out to have no intervisibility. For instance, signaling between Arak (no. 10, altitude 465m a.s.l.) and al-Sukhna (no. 218, 485 m) along the direct line is prevented by elevations that rise up to 660m. As a consequence, an intermediary installation, or several, must be hypothesized. This is awkward because the places that are eligible for circumventing a particular obstacle are usually far too numerous to achieve any certainty. 4. As mentioned before, architectural and epigraphic evidence suggests that five places of which all lists are ignorant held mail stations, too (see section 2, C.).

220

221

Khalīl b. Shāhīn, Taʿrīf 289; Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ xiv, 399. Of course, the signal arriving on top of the Ḥadab Ghazza was forwarded to the town itself so that we need to assume in turn a signaling installation there, too. Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ i, 127–128: fa-ammā al-manāwir […] kāna bayna al-Furāt bi-ākhir al-mamālik al-shāmiyya wa-ilá qarīb min Bilbīs min aʿmāl al-diyār almiṣriyya […] wa-hākadhā ḥattá yantahī al-wuqūd ilá al-makān al-ladhī bi-l-qurb min Bilbīs fī yawm aw baʿḍ yawm fa-yursalu biṭāqatuhu ʿalá ajniḥat al-ḥamām bi-l-iʿlām bi-dhālika.

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In view of the setting up of the handlist, the incompleteness of information on signaling installations has a facilitating effect. As one cannot be sure about their totality, the issue of the localization of the ones listed must be detached from the issue of whether the surface allows visual contact between those said to be adjacent to each other. At the present stage of knowledge, all that can be done is to assume provisionally that an installation that is listed under the name of a known settled place actually was in this very place. Accordingly, for example, manẓarat Arak is entered in the handlist together with the barīd station that was in the village of Arak (no. 10; the same applies also to nos. 11, 34, 44, 63, 78, 106, 115, 168, 170, 176, 186, 218, 229, 248.) An exception, however, needs to be made when a distinct elevated locality suggests itself strikingly. Thus, manẓarat Tadmur (no. 221) will be sought up on Qalʿat Shīrkūh (later Qalʿat Ibn Maʿn), which towers over the town and was the local center of Mamluk power, rather than down in Tadmur itself. Likewise, those signaling installations the sources locate on the jabal, tall, or ḥadab of a certain settled place are entered in the handlist independently from any homonymous mail station, if the local relief allows that elevation to be identified unequivocally (nos. 37, 67, 74, 100, 156, 189, 201). Jabal Ṭayyibat Ism forms an exceptional case (see notes to no. 229), and jabal ʿAjlūn is indeterminate (no. 4). To sum up, it is clear that al-ʿUmarī’s claim of exhausting the range of barīd stations is unwarranted and that his portrayals of the ḥamām and manāwir systems are far from comprehensive. The same is true of the more recent authors’ lists. Meanwhile, it is interesting that the list in the Ṣubḥ is also characterized by the intention to record the stock of stations comprehensively, and an effort is even made to be more precise than the predecessor. Thus, place names are completed (for instance, Ṭayyibat Ism, no. 229; Zāwiyat Umm Ḥusayn, no. 253), and parallel names in the local parlance are supplied (Bayt Dāris, etc., locally Tadāris, no. 41; Zāwiyat Mubārak, locally Inbārak, no. 252). At the same time, errors keep within very narrow limits222 or are mere slips of the pen that may be scribal errors rather than those of the author (such as Majdal Bābā instead of Majdal Yābā, no. 138). On the other hand, none of the added specifications is helpful to localization beyond the Taʿrīf. Coming back to the factual incomprehensiveness of the 257 localities collected in the present handlist, the question arises by how much would the actual historic body of stations have been larger? If all concrete suggestions made only in the course of this article are added together, some two dozen further 222

Maḥallat al-Marḥūm (no. 136) is confused in Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qalqashandī’s Ṣubḥ with al-Maḥalla al-Kubrá while that name refers to Maḥallat al-Sharqiyyūn; Nayn (no. 158) is confused with Tibnīn, etc. (see section 4).

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additional stations would accrue, belonging above all to the pigeon post and the optical signaling system. Proceeding from this, it must be assumed that the actual number of unrecorded installations will have been even higher. In contrast, the mail, being styled by the authors as the governmental communication system par excellence, was diligently recorded; the networks of stations reveal no major blanks and are thus largely plausible. Therefore, the chance of future discoveries is largest with regard to secondary or tertiary sections of the networks. In principle, a whole range of possibilities is disclosed by Donald S. Richard’s convincing argument—drawn from Ḥaram documents—that Jerusalem (no. 177) was linked to the barīd (though not necessarily in a continuous way),223 and the short dead-end route to Adhriʿāt (no. 3) suggests the same. Moreover, Ragheb has collected dispersed evidence, mostly from chronical sources, of a handful of secondary stations of the pigeon post system, some of which I have accepted for the list of possible stations.224 Keeping in mind the uncertainty regarding such subsidiary (and ephemeral?) branches, it can, however, be stated that the scale of the stock of known primary stations is but little deficient. Also, the record of the barīd stations seems to be almost complete.

8

Conclusion

It has been the aim of this article to take stock for the first time of the entirety of localities that held any of the stations of the Ayyubid and Mamluk communication systems. Analysis of the four preserved Arabic lists of stations, all of them contemporary or near-contemporary to the systems’ period of operation, and a few pieces of information from other sources, has resulted in a handlist I claim is comprehensive according to the current state of knowledge. It identifies 257 station localities, including a number of particular cases: three pairs of localities are referred to in the sources under three identical names due to the fact that stations were relocated; three anonymous stations of unknown position are listed after a summary source statement; five localities for which there is no textual evidence are included for architectural, epigraphic, or historical reasons according to previous research. After all, the figures that forgoing authors have provided appear to be too low. Sauvaget noted, in an almost hidden place, a total figure of 168 mail stations,225 which has been accepted by Gazagnadou 223 224 225

Richards, The Mamluk barīd 205a–209b. Ragheb, Messagers volants 44, note 42, cf. 33–34 and the relevant notes. Sauvaget, Poste 50, note 213.

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in one place, but estimated almost 200 in another226 (the other systems have hitherto not been numbered). Obviously, the systems’ range was considerably larger than believed so far, and they covered the region more tightly than suspected. As has been argued in the beginning, analysis better focuses on localities than stations so that collocations become visible and the systems’ overlaps can be assessed in concrete terms. The results corroborate this approach: in those 257 localities, altogether 315 stations of any individual system operated for sure: 51 stations of the pigeon post, 40 signaling installations, and 224 mail stations (all figures understood incrementally over time). Forty-five localities fulfilled a double or triple function: in eight of them there were all three sorts of stations, while 37 held two (ḥamām and barīd: 30; manāwir and barīd: seven; no exclusive collocation of ḥamām and manāwir). Meanwhile, 205 or more than four-fifths of all localities served just one of the systems (ḥamām: 7; manāwir: 25; barīd: 173). It must be noted that even these figures result from a cautious count since they do not include those presumable additional station functions, which, in table 12.1, are marked ḥ? and m?, respectively (which would increase the total of 315 by another nine plus six station functions). Also, those 13 localities that are in principle worth being discussed as stations (P1–P13) have been disregarded for the count, and 20 pertinent statements in the sources (M1– M20) have also been discarded. Lastly, at the end of sections five to seven, I have raised the hypothetical possibility of, at least, some two dozen more stations, notably of the signaling system and pigeon post. As regards the certainty of geographic positioning, about a fifth of the handlist’s items could not be determined securely, precisely 52 out of 257. Of these, 24 remain impossible to localize, while the position of 28 can be narrowed down at least within a range of a few kilometers due to their proximity to neighboring stations that are known and sometimes due to the local ground surface. The possibility of finding out more about these places seems dim, so far. At the same time, concerns of a more relational character suggest themselves: arguing the identity and on-site situation of stations in greater detail; reconstructing and mapping routings of the mail on the ground; better understanding the systems’ chronology, relatedness, and convergence, including their subsidiary branching out; and conceptualizing, with all due caution, the systems’ embedding in, and impact on, local society.

226

Gazagnadou, La poste à relais 72: 77 stations in Syria, 91 in Egypt; cf. 73: a total of almost 200.

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What can finally be inferred from the present results regarding the significance of the medieval station lists as material for further study? They prove that the Ayyubid and (early) Mamluk governmental communication systems together formed a most eminent spatial organization that moreover betrays a level of planning, centralization, and coherence that is unparalleled in Near Eastern Islamic history. Putting the distinctive geospatial nature of these systems on display, the lists open up the opportunity for significantly more spatial analysis than has so far been tackled. As caution has led me to take, for the purposes of this article, a conservative approach to what can be accepted as a station locality, chances are that further investigation would reveal a still larger network of places and stations, including more collocations. In that, it is vital to embrace the governmental communications’ systemic character across the region, and diverse evidence needs to be balanced—governmental stations and public road inns, preserved and lost structures, identified and approximately localized or unknown places. Hence, any joint effort that interrelates the study of textual sources, material remains, landscapes, and historical geography, seems particularly promising.

Note on Supplementary Materials Three supplements to this article have been archived at https://doi.org/10.6084/​ m9.figshare.16882045 The file Franz_Handlist_Tables.xls makes the above tables 12.1 and 12.2 and also additional tables S1–S3 available as spreadsheets, the latter ones indicating the routes of each governmental communication system and their minimum distances as the pigeon flies. The same is also offered as earth browser data in the file Franz_Handlist_View.kml. It allows the reader to view stations connected through direct lines so that the respective networks are represented, if not through their routings on the ground then at least in a schematic way. For specifications, see Franz_Handlist_ReadMe.pdf.

Acknowledgments I thank Martin Grosch for his unswerving collaboration on localizing stations in maps and satellite imagery. My thanks go also to Stefania Scollo, Susanne Polek, and David Carl, who helped check coordinates and generate the graphic geo-data of the supplementary materials, and to Leigh Chipman for her great copy-editing of the draft and valuable final assistance.

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Index Abād 313, 336 ʿAbd al-Bāsiṭ b. Khalīl b. Shāhīn al-Ẓāhirī 41, 64 ʿAbd al-Wahhāb, Sharaf al-Dīn Abū Muḥammad 303 Abkhazian (Abāẓā/ Abāzā/Abazā) 65 Abū Ghāzī, ʿImād 228 Abū al-Ḥasan al-Shādhilī, Sufi Shaykh 341 Abū Qubays 347, 352 Abū Qūra 67 Abū Shāma, ʿAbd al-Rahmān b. Ismāʿīl alMaqdisī 126 Acre, ʿAkka, ʿAkko 6, 40, 41 ʿāda 170, 177, 184, 247 Adana 313, 333, 354, 356 Aden 49, 223 Adhriʿāt 313, 346, 347, 352, 359 Aḥmad b. Ibrāhīm b. Muḥammad 51 Aḥmad (al-Muʾayyad) b. Īnāl (al-Ashraf) 279 al-ajlāb (sing. julbān) 19 ʿAjlān 236, 358, 313 Ajlūn 236 aʿlām nārī 308 ʿalāma (signature) 160, 187, 191, 193 Alan 65, 72, 80, 80n, 81, 82, 86, 94, 102, 103 ʿAllāʾ al-Ḥiṣnī 51 Alṭun Khujā al-Ibrāhīmī al-Ẓāhirī 104 Aleppo (Ḥalab) 45, 51, 79, 83, 96, 97, 106, 140, 182, 183, 189, 237, 239, 263, 285, 302, 307, 314, 320, 344, 345, 346, 349, 350, 352, 353, 355 Alexandria (al-Iskandariyya) 5, 19, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 47, 49, 152, 158, 160, 172, 178, 183, 193, 194, 195, 196, 223, 283, 296, 306, 321, 336, 349 ʿAlī b. Mūsā b. Ibrāhīm 51 ʿAllāʾ al-Ḥiṣnī 51 Aljaybughā al-Sulṭānī 107 Āl Malik 27, 28, 29, 30 Alṭunbughā 66, 67, 315 Alṭunbughā Abū Qūra 67 Alṭunbughā al-Dimashqī b. al-Qawwās 67 Alṭunbughā al-Faqīh al-Iyāsī al-Ẓāhirī 66 Alṭunbughā al-Ḥalabī al-Ashrafī 67 Alṭunbughā al-Ḥasanī 67, 105

Alṭunbughā al-Jūbānī al-Yalbughāwī 67 Alṭunbughā a-Khalīlī al-Khāṣṣakī 67, 105 Alṭunbughā al-Marqabī al-Muʾayyadī 65, 68 Alṭunbughā al-Mihmandār 66, 67 Alṭunbughā min ʿAbd al-Wāḥid al-Ẓāhirī 67 Alṭunbughā al-Muʾayyadī Shaykh 65 Alṭunbughā al-Muḥammadī 67 Alṭunbughā al-Nāṣirī 315, 343 Alṭunbughā al-Qurmushī al-Ẓāhirī 67 Alṭunbughā Shādī al-Yalbughāwī 105 Alṭunbughā al-Sharīfī al-Nāṣirī 67 Alṭunbughā al-Sulṭānī 67 Alṭunbughā Ustādār Jantamur 67 Alṭunbughā al-Ẓāhirī al-Laffāf 67 alzām 145 amān 46, 47 Amār, Imār 313, 344 amlāk mushtaraka 244 amīr ākhūr 183, 279, 283, 285 amīr majlis 108, 183 amīr silāḥ 111, 183, 285 Amitai, Reuvan 62, 87, 88, 90, 91 ʿāmma 145, 249 al-ʿAmq 350 ʿĀna 313, 337 Anatolia 7, 120, 270, 295, 345, 346 Anatolian Turkmens 65, 66, 83, 95, 106 ʿAnbar al-Sāqī al-ʿAzīzī al-Ṭawāshī 86 Andronicus ii Palaeologus 50 Antioch 350 Aq Khujā al-Aḥmadī al-Ẓāhirī 104 Āq Qoyunlū (White Sheep) 7 Āq Sunqur 30, 93 al-ʿAqaba 299, 343 ʿAqabat al-Barīd 310, 313, 343, 349 Aqbughā al-Aḥmadī al-Yalbughāwī al-Jalab 81 Aqbughā al-Maḥmūdī al-Ashqar 110 Aqbughā al-Rammāḥ al-Ẓarīf al-Bajāsī 81 Aqbughā al-Ṭūlūtamurī al-Ẓāhirī 81 Aqmār 313 al-ʿĀqūla 313 Aqūsh al-Afram 73, 74, 79, 90 Aqūsh al-Ashrafī Burnāq 77 Aqūsh al-Burlī al-ʿAzīzī 76 Aqūsh al-Fārisī 76

372 Aqūsh al-Ghutmī 76 Aqūsh al-Iftikhārī al-Shiblī 72, 77 Aqūsh al-Manṣūrī al-Ḥamawī 76 Aqūsh al-Manṣūrī al-Raḥbī 77 Aqūsh al Maṭrūḥī 71 Aqūsh al-Mawṣilī Namīla 77 Aqūsh al-Qibjaqī al-Ṣāliḥī 76 Aqūsh al-Quṭbī al-Yūnīnī 77 Aqūsh al-Rūmī al-Manṣūrī 77 Aqūsh Ṣāḥib Ḥamāt 96 Aqūsh al-Shihābī al-Silāḥdār 76 Aqūsh al-Ṭawāshī Rashīd 97 Aqṭuwān al-Ḥājibī 72 Arak 313, 336, 357, 358 Arbad 296, 313, 343, 356 Arghūn al-Dawādar 109, 237 Arghūn Shāh Amīr Majlis 108, 109, 110 Arghūn Taghri Birdī 110 Arḥāb 313, 349, 350 Arikmās 31, 284 al-ʿArīsh 313 Armenia (Armenians) 27, 28, 65, 70, 80, 95 Armenian Cilicia 356 Aruj Khujā b. Lājīn 99 Āṣ al-Manṣūrī 81 Aṣanbāy 270 Asanbughā 92 Asanbughā al-Maḥmūdī 106 Asandmaur al-Isʿardī 110 Asandmur Kurjī al-Manṣūrī 72 Ashtor, Eliyahu 214, 217, 223, 225, 226 Asia Asia Minor 3, 39, 51, 52 Central Asia 2, 106, 119, 227 East Asia 223, 225 South Asia 212, 223 West Asia 120, 124 Atābek, Atābak al-ʿasākir 19, 141, 285 Aūjāqiyya 80, 86 ʿawām 249 awbāsh 249 al-ʿAwjāʾ 313 awlād al-nās 278 al-awqāf al-ʿāmma 245 Ayalon, David 4, 59, 60, 60n, 61, 119, 121, 121n, 122, 123, 124, 124n, 125, 126, 127, 128, 129, 129n, 130, 131, 131n, 132, 133, 134, 135 Āyās 313 Aybak al-Rūmī 90

index Aydakī 35 Aydamur al-Sanāʾī al-Kurjī 72 ʿAydhāb 307, 314, 339, 340, 341, 342 Aydughdī al-ʿAzīzī 79 Ayla 299 ʿAyn al-Qirāyā 337, 344 ʿAyn Bazāl 344 ʿAyn Jālūt 314, 343 ʿAyn Tāb 314, 346, 347 al-ʿAynī al-ʿAyntābī, Badr al-Dīn Maḥmūd 30, 33, 69, 140, 222, 269 Aytamish 148, 152 Aytamush al-Bajāsī 99 Ayyūb, Najm al-Dīn 122, 355 Ayyubid(s) 10, 44, 45, 120, 122, 123, 127, 133, 135, 185, 226, 258, 259, 260, 263, 295, 296, 297, 299, 301, 306, 313–335, 346, 351, 355, 359, 361 Al-Azhar Mosque (Cairo) 287 Baalbek Baʿlabakk, Baʿlbek 236, 285 Bāb al-Naṣr 28 Babā 314, 336 al-Bayḍāʾ 310, 315, 317, 336 Baghrāṣ 305, 314, 336, 347, 349, 350, 352 Bahādur 78, 80, 81, 82, 83, 84, 85, 92, 93, 99 Bahādur al-Dimashqī 93 Bahādur Āṣ al-Manṣūrī 81, 82 Bahādur al-Bahāʾī al-Ẓāhirī 94 Bahādur Ḥalāwa al-Aūjāqī al-Nāṣirī 93 Bahādur b. Sunqur al-Bashtakī 93 Bahādur al-Jamālī 93 Bahādur al-Jarkasī 93 Bahādur al-Manjakī 93 Bahādur al-Manṣūrī al-ʿAjamī 83, 85 Bahādur min Yashbak al-Ẓāhirī 93 Bahādur al-Muḥammadī 94 Bahādur Raʾs Nawba 82, 85 Bahādur al-Sālimī al-Ẓāhirī 94 Bahādur al-Sanjarī 85 Bahādur al-Shihābī al-Yalbughāwī 93 Bahādur al-ʿUmarī al-Nāṣirī 94 Bahādur al-Yaḥyāwī al-Nāṣirī 94 Bahasná 96, 314, 336, 337, 345, 352 Baḥr al-Manhá 338 Baḥriyya 7, 125 Baklamish al-ʿAlāʾī al-Muʾadhī 96 Baktamur 80, 82, 84 Baktamur al-Abūbakrī al-Manṣūrī 80, 83

index Baktamur al-ʿAlāʾī al-Manṣūrī 84 Baktamur Jilliq al-Nāṣirī 110, 111 Baktamur al-Manṣūrī al-Jūkāndār 84, 138, 140 Baktāsh al-Fakhrī, Badr al-Dīn 141 Baktūt 80, 82, 84 Baktūt al-ʿAlāʾī 83, 84 Baktūt al-Fattāḥ 84, 145 Baktūt al-Qarmānī al-Manṣūrī 84 Balabān 72, 80, 82, 83, 84, 85, 92, 99 Balabān al-Bunduqdārī 85 Balabān al-Jūkandār al-Manṣūrī 83, 85 Balabān al-Bunduqdārī 83, 85 Balabān al-Jūkandār al-Manṣūrī 83, 85, 102 Balabān al-Kurjī 72 Balabān al-Manṣūrī al-Ṭabbākhī 85 Balabān al-Rūsī 82, 83, 85 Balabān al-Tatarī al-Manṣūrī 82, 85 Balasbūra 315, 336 Balāṭunus 315 Baktamur 80, 82, 84 Baktamur al-Abūbakrī al-Manṣūrī 84 Baktamur al-ʿAlāʾī al-Manṣūrī 84 Baktamur (al-Manṣūrī) al-Jūkāndār 84, 138, 139, 140, 141, 142, 143, 144, 145, 147, 148, 149, 150, 151, 152, 153 Baktamur Jilliq al-Nāṣirī 110 Baktāsh al-Fakhrī 76, 77, 84, 102, 141 Baktūt al-ʿAlāʾī 80, 82, 82n, 83, 84 Baktūt al-Fattāḥ 84 Baktūt al-Qarmānī al-Manṣūrī 84 Balabān al-Bunduqdārī 82, 85 Balabān al-Jūkandār al-Manṣūrī 82, 85 Balabān al-Kurjī 72 Balabān al-Manṣūrī al-Ṭabbākhī 85 Balabān al-Rūsī 82 Balabān al-Tatarī al-Manṣūrī 85 Balabān al-Tatarī 82 Balasbūra 315, 336 Balāṭunus 315 Bālis 81, 309, 315, 324, 337 ballīqa (bullayka) pl. balālīq 1, 17, 23 al-Banādiqa Venetians 44, 49 Banī ʿUbayd 315, 354, 355 Bāniyas, Bānās River 239, 245 Bānās (Bāniyas) 239, 245 Banī ʿUbayd 315, 354, 355 Banū Faḍl Allāh 303 Banū Kanz 342

373 Barada River (Damascus) 238, 239, 242, 245 al-Baradiyya 315, 354 al-Barallus 347, 348, 352 Barīd 11, 300, 301, 302, 303, 304, 305, 306, 307, 308, 310, 312, 313, 315, 318, 322, 323, 333, 335, 342, 343, 344, 345, 346, 348, 349, 350, 351, 353, 354, 355, 356, 360, 362, 363, 364 Barqūq (al-Ẓāhir) 4, 9, 10, 17, 32, 33, 49, 61, 62, 67, 71, 75, 76, 82, 86, 94, 95, 96, 98, 99, 100, 101, 102, 103, 105, 106, 107, 108, 109, 110, 112, 127, 128, 130, 171, 178, 267, 269, 279, 283 Barsbāy (al-Ashraf) 29, 34, 51, 75, 97, 98, 101, 279, 282 Batkhāṣ or Badkhāṣ a-Manṣūrī 149, 150, 151 Bawārij (Bouarej) 356 Bāy Khujā al-Ḥasanī 108 Bāy Khujā al-Ẓāhirī 104, 108 Bāyās 315, 337 Bāyazīr 95 Baybars 2, 5, 71, 73, 92, 95, 99, 102, 103 Baybars (al-Ẓāhir) 5, 18, 40, 51, 72, 74, 79, 88, 89, 99, 102, 122, 152, 236, 245, 236, 245, 258, 272, 295, 297, 303, 308, 343, 345, 347, 351, 355 Baybars al-ʿAdīmī 75 Baybars al-Aḥmadī 75 Baybrs al-ʿAlamī 75 Bybars al-Ashrafī Barsbāy 75 Baybars al-Dimashqī b. al-Qawwās 67 Baybars al-Ghawrī’s cousin (min ʿAbd alKarīm) 76 Baybars b. ʿAlī b. Muḥammad b. Baybars 76 Baybars al-Jāshnakīr (al-Muẓffar) 18, 74, 75, 86, 89, 90, 92, 103, 140, 141, 142, 143, 144, 145, 146, 148, 150, 151, 152 Baybars min ʿAbd al-Karīm 76 Baybars al-Nāṣirī (Ṭaqṣū) 74 Baybars al-Qaymarī al-Ẓāhirī 74 Baybars al-Rajabī al-Ashrafī 75 Baybars al-Rashīdī 74 Baybars al-Tājī 75 Baybars al-Tumantamurī 75 Baybars al-Ẓāhirī al-Atābak 76 al-Bayḍāʾ 315 see also Manẓarat al-Bayḍāʾ Bāyezīd i 52 Baynūna 315, 336, 354

374 Bayram al-ʿAlāʾī 104 Baysān 300, 308, 315, 316, 343, 346, 352, 355, 356 Bayt Dāris 300, 310, 316, 317, 336, 337, 353, 358 Bayt al-Fār 317, 351, 357 Bayt Ḥānūn 347 Bayt Jibrīn 304, 321, 351 bayt al-māl 28, 29, 243, 277, 282, 288 Beirut 41, 42, 306, 356 Beja 339, 342 Bilād al-Durūb 345 Bilbays 317, 351, 357 Bīr al-Bayḍāʾ 310, 315, 317, 336, 337 al-Bīra 317, 323, 353, 355 Bīriyā 147 al-Birzālī, Muḥammad b. Yūsuf 72, 237 Black Death 204, 256 al-Buḥayra (Province Egypt) 258 Būlāq (Cairo) 29, 259, 260, 262, 263, 264, 265, 267, 269, 271, 347 Būlāq al-Takrūrī (Cairo) 260, 262 bullayq, ballīq pl. balālīq 1, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 23 bullayqa 18, 19 Bulunyās 317, 336 al-Bulyana 317, 336 Būrā 317, 354 Būrī al-Silāḥdār 81 burj 73, 90, 92, 102, 103, 311 al-Burj al-Abyaḍ 317 Burj al-Fayyūm 346 Burjiyya (regiment) 61, 66, 72, 74, 75, 77, 78, 79, 80, 82, 84, 85, 86, 89, 90, 92, 102, 103 Burnāq al-Ashrafī 77 Bursa 51 Būza 29 Byrne, Eugene H. Byrne 45 Byzantine Empire, Byzantine(s) 3, 38, 39, 45, 50, 52, 65, 83, 95, 347 Byzantine 45, 50, 52 Cairo 138, 148, 150, 158, 175, 185, 193, 194, 223, 235, 236, 255, 256, 257, 258, 259, 260, 261, 262, 263, 264, 265, 267, 268, 269, 270, 271, 272, 273, 282, 284, 285, 287, 296, 298, 299, 303, 305, 306, 310, 313, 316, 318, 324, 329, 331, 333, 335, 336, 349, 355, 357

index Caravansérails 297, 299, 316, 331 Castellum (Roman) 346 Chapoutot-Remady, Mounira 60 Christian Kingdom of Mokorëria (alMuqurra) 339 Cilicia 349, 356 Cinzia Tavernari 300 Constantinople 5, 38, 41, 44, 93 Crimea 40, 45 Cyprus (also Cypriot) 40, 47, 100, 214 Crusaders 28, 40, 48, 319, 322, 343, 355 Dahrūṭ 321 Damanhūr al-Waḥsh 317 Damascus, Dimashq 2, 7, 9, 26, 29, 30, 33, 45, 46, 47, 48, 110, 142, 148, 175, 181, 182, 183, 235, 236, 237, 239, 240, 241, 244, 245, 246, 247, 248, 249, 250, 263, 285, 296, 298, 303, 306, 307, 310, 315, 329, 339, 343, 352, 353, 355, 356 Damietta (Dimyāṭ) 41, 42, 44, 49, 169, 319, 336, 349 Damurdāsh 67, 96 Damurdāsh al-Muḥammadī 96 Dandarā 338 daqq ḥarbī 143 Dār al-Fuqarāʾ 247 Dār al-Ḥarb 38 Daranda (Darende) 346, 349, 350 Dāras 316 Darbasāk 314, 347, 348, 349 al-Darīḥ 340 al-Dārūm 317, 323, 354, 355 Dasht-i Qipchaq 66, 70 dawādār 4, 103, 126, 127, 128, 131, 132, 134, 135 al-Dawla al-Turkiyya, Dawlat al-Atrāk 104, 126, 127, 128, 131, 132, 134, 135 Dawlat al-Jarākisa 103 Dawlāt Khujā al-Ẓāhirī 104 Dayr al-Qalʿa 356 Dayr Kūn 317, 354 Dayrūṭ al-Sharīf 319, 336 Dead Sea 342 Devshirme 132 Dharwat Sarabām, Dharwat al-Sharīf 318, 336 Dhibyān 299, 318, 327, 353 Dhimma, ahl al-Dhimma 47 Dhū al-Qādir 7

375

index Dhurwat al-Jabal (Majdal Yābā) 325, 336 al-Dillī, Raʾs al-Māʾ 318, 356 Dimra 347 Dimyāṭ 311, 323, 349 dirham mina lʾ-fulūs 7, 229, 260, 264 Divriği 347 al-dīwān, the chancery 160, 166 dīwān al-inshāʾ 38, 305 al-Dīwān al-Mufrad 277 Diwrikī (now Divriği) 347 Dolfin, Lorenzo 158 Dunqulā (Arabic Dumqula) 339 al-Duwayr 347 Eddé, Anne-Marie 45 Edoua 339 Egyptian Desert 340 Emerald Mine 340, 341 Euphrates 243, 295, 306, 307, 323, 344, 345, 346, 357 Euphrates Valley 348, 349 Evliyā Chelebi 50 faddān, feddān 213, 229 Faḥma 319, 337, 349 Fakhr al-Dīn ʿUthmān b. Qizil 346 al-Falakī, Saʿīd b. Sahl b. Muḥammad 249 faqīh pl. fuqahāʾ 29 faqīr pl. fuqarāʾ 29 Faraj b. Barqūq (al-Nāṣir) 9, 17, 32, 33, 35, 64, 66, 106, 107, 110, 111, 128, 195, 283 Faranjī pl. Firanj (Ifranj) 3, 39, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 49, 53, 67, 93, 176 Fāraskūr 319, 354 Fāris al-Ṭawāshī 100 fasād 20 fatwā pl. fatāwā 240, 243, 281 al-Fayyūm (Madīnat) 260, 346 al-Fija Village 238 fitna 141 Frank, Franks 45, 46, 49, 50, 52, 65n, 71, 79, 93, 93n, 95, 100 Frankish Castle of Ravendel 352 Frankish Castle of Trapesac 349 Frankish Gaston 314 fulūs 230 Fulūs Judud 228 Fulūs Qadīm 228

funduq 44, 45, 46 Fusṭāṭ (Old Cairo) 26, 255 Garcin, Jean-Claude 60, 342 Gaston (Gastun) Castle of 350 Gaudefroy-Demombynes, M. 305, 336 Genoa 6, 40 Georgian(s), Kurj 65, 72, 73, 77, 245 Ghabāghib 319, 337 al-Ghasūla 319 Ghawghā 249 Ghāzān, the Ilkhānid 140 Ghazza (Gaza) 140, 146, 299, 306, 319, 331, 335, 347, 353, 355, 357 Ghūṭa 237, 241, 244 Goitein, S.D. 222 Golan 299 Golden Horde 39, 66, 70, 89, 107, 109 gukh 223 Haarmann, U. 110, 130 al-Ḥabb al-Ifranjī 49 Ḥabwa 308, 319 Ḥadab 320, 358 Ḥadab Ghazza 320, 357 Ḥadīth 51 al-Ḥafar 320, 336, 354 Ḥājī (al-Muẓaffar) 262 Ḥājib 30, 107, 108, 112 Ḥājib al-Ḥujjāb 111, 183, 270, 285 Ḥājj 27, 28, 29, 89, 140, 297 Ḥalab see Aleppo Ḥamāh, Ḥamāt 313, 320, 324, 331, 344, 353 ḥamām 295, 297, 299, 306, 311, 358, 360 Ḥaram 167, 173, 185, 186, 359 Hartmann, R. 303, 304, 336, 338, 342 Ḥasan (al-Nāṣir) 67, 94, 109, 112, 265 Ḥasan b. ʿAbd Allāh al-Ṭarābulusī 160, 194, 280 Ḥasan b. ʿAlī b. Sunqur b. Ghurulū 78 Ḥasan b. Naṣr Allāh 160, 172, 193, 194, 196 Ḥasan Khujā al-Jamālī al-Ẓāhirī 104 ḥasaniyya 263 Ḥaṭaṭ 96 Ḥawrān 356 al-Ḥayr 310, 320 Ḥayr Asad al-Dīn 320 Ḥazmān 95

376 Hebron (al-Khalīl) 149, 342 hijāʾ 18 Ḥijar Māʾ 241 al-Ḥijāz, Hejaz 227, 228 al-Hijr 338 al-Hijra, al-Hajra 338, 339 Ḥikr 247 al-Ḥillī, Ṣafī al-Dīn al-Ḥillī 23 Ḥimṣ 142, 331, 353 Hiṣn al-Akrād 307, 320 Ḥiṭṭīn 300, 320, 353 Ḥubuk 96 Ḥumaythira 340, 341, 342 Ḥusayniyya 28 al-Ḥuṣayn 320 Ḥusbān 320, 327 al-Ḥuṣṣ 321 Ibn al-ʿAmīd, Jirjis 126, 127, 130 Ibn ʿAsākir, ʿAlī b. al-Ḥasan 237, 238 Ibn Baṭṭūṭa, Muḥammad 237, 306, 312, 342, 354 Ibn Dāniyāl, Muḥammad 1, 2, 23 Ibn Duqmāq, Ibrāhīm b. Muḥammad 80, 127 Ibn al-Dawādārī, Abū Bakr b. ʻAbdallāh b. Aybak 41, 130, 151 Ibn Furfūr, Shihāb al-Dīn 31 Ibn al-Furāt, Muḥammad b. ʿAbd al-Raḥīm 73, 75, 93, 96, 130 Ibn Ḥabīb al-Ḥalabī, al-Ḥasan b. ʿUmar 130, 132 Ibn Ḥajar al-ʿAsqalānī, Alī b. Muḥammad 205, 227 Ibn Iyās, Muḥammad b. Aḥmad 49, 52, 100, 127, 130 Ibn al-Jayʿān (Ibn al-Jīʿān), Muḥammad b. Yaḥyá b. Shākir 11, 284 Ibn Khaldūn, ʿAbd ar-Raḥmān b. Muḥammad 67, 127, 278 Ibn Mammātī, Asʿad b. al-Muhadhdhab 213 Ibn Qāḍī Shuhba, Abū Bakr b. Aḥmad 127, 130 Ibn al-Qalqashandī, Najm al-Dīn b. Shihāb al-Dīn 135, 181, 182, 184, 189, 190, 192, 305, 312 Ibn Ṣaṣrā, Muḥammad b. Muḥammad 45, 46 Ibn al-Shaddād, Muḥammad b. ʿAlī 237

index Ibn Taghrī Birdī, Yūsuf Abū al-Maḥāsin 12, 27, 30, 65, 68, 69, 130 Ibn Ṭawq, Aḥmad 241 Ibn Ṭūlūn al-Sāliḥī, Aḥmad 34, 35, 46, 51 Ibn Ṭūlūn Mosque 28 ibtidāʾāt 192 Ibzīq 348, 349 iḍāfat milk 244 iḍāfat takhṣīṣ 244 al-Iftirāq 321, 355 Ifranj 3, 39, 42, 43, 53 see also Franjī iḥyāʾ al-amwāt 243 Ilkhanate 83, 84, 85 Ilkhans 70, 72, 80, 88, 89 Ikhwāniyya pl. Ikhwāniyyāt 5, 157, 178, 179, 180, 181, 182, 186, 192, 193 Īnāl 19 Īnāl (al-Ashraf) 19, 20, 97, 98, 279, 284 Ināl al-Yūsufī 86 India (Indian) 44, 49, 112, 213, 223, 227, 228, 230 Indian Ocean 52, 227, 228 Inqirātā 321, 324, 337, 344 iqtāʿ pl. iqtāʿāt 8, 29, 259, 338 Iraq 7, 245, 300, 312 Irbil 72, 77 irdabb 260 ʿIrqā, ʿArqā 321, 337 isʿāf 238 Ishʿār 346, 347 Ismāʿīl (al-Ṣāliḥ) 27, 109, 112 Isnā (Esna) 339 al-ʿIṭna 308, 321, 337, 339 Iyās, Iyāz 99, 100 Iyās al-Anṭākī 100 Iyās al-Fārisī al-Qubruṣī 100 Iyās Jurbāsh al-Sayfī 100 Iyās al-Jurjāwī 100 Iyās al-Kamishbughāwī 100 Iyās al-Muḥammadī al-Nāṣirī 100 Iyās al-Shaʾmī al-Ashrafī al-Sāqī 100 Iyās Yakhshibāy al-Sayfī 100 Iyaz 99, 100 Iyāz al-Nāṣirī 86 Iyāz al-Ṣāliḥī 72 Iyāz al-Silāḥdār al-Nāṣirī 86, 100 ʿIzbat al-Jamāliyya 351

index Jabal ʿAjlūn 313, 358 Jabal Bawārish 315, 354, 356 Jabal Faḥma 319 Jabal Faḥma 319 Jabal Qaryat Jīnīn 325 Jabal Qāsiyūn 356 Jabal al-Ṣāliḥiyya 331, 354, 356 Jabal Ṭayyibat Ism 333, 336, 358 Jabal Yabūs 335, 354, 356 Jabala 40, 306, 321, 353, 354, 355 Jaʿbar 321, 337, 344 al-Jabbūl 325 Jāddat al-Ṭarīq 353 Jahārikas al-Khalīlī 267, 270, 271 jamdār 78, 86 jamdāriyya 80 al-Jāmiʿ 321, 356 Janbā 321, 342 jāndār, amīr Jāndār 139, 140, 142, 145, 146, 176 Jānibak 69, 95, 282 Jānibak Nāʾib Jidda 282 Jaqmaq (al-Ẓāhir) 19, 34, 66, 74, 93, 97, 98, 284, 304 Jarjā 321 Jarkas 73 Jarkas Muṣāriʿ 93, 94 jāshankīr 74, 75, 82, 84, 86, 89 Jāshankīriyya 80 Jawābāt 192 jawāsīs 304 al-Jazīra Island (Cairo) 263 Jazīrat al-Qiṭṭ 321 Jeddah 49 Jerusalem 144, 149, 173, 282, 359 Jibāl Ibzīq 348, 349 Jīnīn 296, 300, 315, 321, 323, 343, 344, 349, 353, 356 al-jins, jinsiyyah, jinsīya (race) 60, 62, 64, 65, 67, 68, 69, 70, 72, 73, 75, 76, 77, 80, 82, 89, 93, 94, 96, 97, 98, 100, 104, 106, 108, 109, 112 Jisr al-Ḥajar 321, 336 Jisr Sāma 337, 343 al-Jītīn 322, 337, 353 al-Jīza (Cairo) 258, 262, 263, 265, 266, 267 al-Jīza Province (Egypt) 258, 262, 263, 265, 266, 267, 322 Jizzīn 322, 336, 337 Jordan 299, 300, 309, 312, 343, 355

377 Jordan River 299 TransJordan 9, 12, 13 Jūbān 107 Jūbān al-ʿUthmānī 107 Jūbān al-Ẓāhirī 107 Jubb al-Biʾr 344 Jubb Yūsuf 300, 322, 344, 354, 355 Jūkān, Polo 139 jūkandār 82, 83, 84, 85, 86, 102, 138, 139, 144, 147 jūkh 221, 222, 224 Julayjil 322 julbān pl. al-ajlāb (a Sultan’s Mamluk Household) 19 jumaqdāriyya 80 Junayna pl. Janānīn 240 al-Jurf 322 al-jusūr al-baladiyya 259 al-jusūr al-sulṭāniyya 259, 260 Kaʿba 22 Kafar Sūsiya 241 Kafar Yabūs 356 Kafarṭāb 322 Kaffa (Modern Feodosia) 40 al-Kahf 322 al-Kakhtā 300, 322, 336, 337 Kalnās 323, 354, 355 Kamishbughā 100, 107 Kamishbughā al-Jamālī 108 al-Karak, Kerak 11, 97, 185, 221, 222, 224, 300, 324, 335, 340, 354, 355 Karak Nūḥ 323 Karatāy 89 Karkar 323, 346, 354, 356 Kasbāy al-Shishmānī 98 kāshif pl. kushshāf 264 Kawāthil 323, 337 al-Kawm al-Aḥmar 320, 338, 340 Kayseri 345 al-Khābūr 323, 344, 345 al-Khalīj al-Yūsufī (Baḥr al-Manhá) 338 Khalīl b. Shāhīn, ʿAbd al-Bāsiṭ al-Ẓāhirī 12, 51, 64, 181, 297, 304, 312, 313, 315, 316, 318, 322 Khalīl Bāshā 66 khān 45, 173, 308 Khān al-Aḥmar 316 Khān al-ʿArūs 307, 323, 354, 355

378 Khān al-ʿAsal 307, 348, 349, 350 Khān al-Daranbā 338, 340 Khān Lājīn (Khān al-Wālī) 323, 324, 337, 354, 355 Khān Manjak 324 Khān al-Sabīl 307, 324 Khān Salār 316 Khān al-Shaʿr 307, 324 Khān Maysalūn 324 Khān Shaykhūn 322 Khān Tūmān 325, 354 Khān Yūnus 300 Khāniq Dandarā 338 al-Khānqāh al-Nāṣiriyya 337, 354 al-Khānqāh Sumaysaṭiyya (Shumayshaṭiyya) 249 kharāj 270 al-Kharrūba 325, 336, 337 khāṣṣakī pl. khāṣṣakiyya 29, 66, 83, 100, 108, 124, 283 al-Khaṭṭāra 325 al-Khawābī 325 al-Khayāl, Shadow plays 2 Khāyir Bak min Ḥasan Shāh 112 Khirbat al-Rūm 325 Khirbāṭī 72, 77, 78 Khizānat al-Bunūd (Cairo) 27 khushdāshiyya 59, 61, 62 Khushkaldī al-Faqīh al-Iyāsī al-Ẓāhirī 66 Khushkaldī al-Khalīlī al-Khāṣṣakī 66 Khushkaldī al-Qawāmī al-Nāṣirī 64, 65, 66 Khushqadam (al-Ẓāhirī) 33, 36, 98, 112, 281, 282, 285, 287 Kīmān Qifṭ 314, 339, 340 Kipchak 126 Kitbughā (al-ʿAdil) 61, 81–82, 84, 87–90, 141 Konya 52 Kunt, M. 132 Kurd, Kurds 87, 95, 98, 122, 125 Kurjī al-Ashrafī 80, 88, 90 Kurjī al-Maṭrūḥī 72, 77 al-kuswa (kiswa) 285, 325 Kuvendik al-Sāqī 88 Kuzul al-ʿAlāʾī 107 Labib, Subhi Y. 158, 159, 160 al-Lādhiqiyya (Latakiyya) 313, 324, 325 Laghrān 310 Lājīn al-ʿAyntābī 73

index Lājīn al-ʿImādī 73 Lājīn Jarkas 73 Lājīn al-Kabīr 71, 73 Lājīn al-Lālā Al-Ẓāhirī 66 Lājīn al-Muḥsinī 73 Lājīn (al-Manṣūr) 73, 89, 90, 139 Lājīn al-Manṣūrī 89 Lājīn al-Manṣūrī Zīrbāj 74 Lājīn al-Rashīdī 74 Lājīn al-Ustādār Al-Rūmī 69 Lājīn al-Ẓāhirī 98 al-Laqīṭa 340 Latakiyya see al-Lādhiqiyya Laṭmīn 325 Lebanon 299, 300, 306, 309, 312 Mount Lebanon 356 Levanoni, Amalia 62, 135 Lewis, Archibald 223 Lewis, Bernard 126 Little, Donald 60 Ludd 300, 325 Luʾluʾ 77 Lūqīn 325 Maʿādin al-Zumurrud 340 al-Maʿarra 325, 337, 353 madrasa pl. madāris 236, 278, 279, 286, 296 al-Maḥalla, Maḥallat al-Marḥūm 325, 336, 358 maḥḍar 235 maḥmil, maḥmal (Pilgrimage Caravan) 22, 30 al-Majāmiʿ 325, 337, 343 Majdal Bābā, Majdal Yābā 336, 358 Malaṭya 325, 346, 347, 356 al-Manāḥ 329, 348, 351 al-Manākhir 311, 330 manāwir 295, 299, 301, 308, 311, 357, 358, 360 Manāwir al-Manāḥ 329, 348, 351 Manbāba 260, 262 Manfalūṭ 326, 338 al-Manhá (Egypt) 338, 344, 348 al-Manhá (Syria) 348 al-Māniʿ 326 Manjak 83, 265 Manjak al-Yūsufī Rūmī 82, 83, 93 Manklībughā al-Nāṣirī 106

index Manklībughā al-Ṣalāḥī al-Ẓāhirī 106 Manklībughā al-ʿUthmānī 106 Manṣūriyya 61, 86, 87, 88, 90 Manūf 296, 326, 336 Manẓarat Arak 313, 358 Manẓarat al-Bayḍāʾ 315 Manẓarat al-Buwayb 317 Manẓarat Qubāqib 229, 336 Manẓarat Tadmur 332, 358 al-Maqrīzī, Aḥmad b. ʿAlī 12, 13, 26, 27, 28, 32, 33, 49, 50, 51, 52, 99, 104, 210, 217, 218, 219, 221, 222, 226, 230, 231, 234, 255, 258, 259, 260, 262, 269, 279, 301, 312, 316, 328, 347, 351, 352, 356 al-Maqs 30 al-Marāgha, al-Marāʾigh 326 Maraqiyya 326 marḥala 340 Māridīn 326, 354, 356 Marino Sanudo Torsello 306 markaz al-baṭāʾiq 307 marsūm, sultanic decree 43, 170, 173 marsūm muṭlaq 222 al-Maṣnaʿ 326 masraḥ 307 maṭār 307 Marzubān 326, 354 mawāliyā 17 mawlid 341 Māzī Ḥazmān 95 Mecca 22, 49, 140, 283, 341 Medina 52, 245, 281, 283 Mesopotamia 344, 345, 356 milk, milkiyya 238, 244, 277 Metsad Zohar 343 Michael viii Palaeologus 50 Minyat al-Shīrij (Cairo) 259, 260, 262, 263, 266, 271 al-Miqyās, Nilometer 262, 263, 265, 266, 267 Miṣr, Old Cairo or Fusṭāṭ 26, 144, 150 Miṣyāf 326, 330 mithāl 160, 167, 169, 175, 194 Mithqāl al-Jamālī al-Ṭawāshī al-Sāqī 86 miʾzar (headgear) 31 Mongol 2, 40, 45, 48, 60, 61, 62, 64, 65, 69, 70, 71, 72, 78, 80, 81, 82, 83, 84, 85, 87, 88, 89, 90, 91, 92, 95, 99, 140, 142, 349, 361 Mongol Ilkhans 70, 88, 89

379 Mount Amanus 354 Mount Casius 97 Mount Gilboa 349 Mount Lebanon 356 Mountain Castle 353 mubāḥ 246 mubāḥa 243 Mubārak al-Qābūnī, Shaykh 31, 36 Mudawwarat Jamīl 348, 351 Mufaḍḍal b. Abī al-Faḍāʾil 130 Mughulṭāy 80, 82, 84 Mughulṭāy al-Baghdādī 83, 84 Mughulṭāy al-Baʿlī 84 Mughulṭāy al-Masʿūdī 81, 82, 84 Mughulṭāy al-Taqwā al-Manṣūrī 81, 82, 84 al-Muḥdatha 348, 351 Muḥammad b. Qalawūn (al-Nāṣir) 5, 10, 17, 18, 26, 27, 28, 29, 62, 65, 66, 67, 69, 70, 71, 74, 79, 86, 87, 88, 89, 90, 91, 92, 93, 94, 100, 102, 138, 139, 141, 142, 143, 144, 145, 146, 148, 149, 150, 151, 152, 153, 259, 262, 263, 264, 266, 267, 275, 276, 307 Maḥmūd Zengī, Nūr al-Dīn 295, 351 al-Muʾayyad see Shaykh Mulāqis 326, 336, 347 Munyat al-Qāʾid 326 Munyat Ibn Khaṣīb 326, 336 Muqbil Amīr Ḥājib 112 Muqbil al-Rūmī 86, 112 Murayj al-Fulūs 327, 337 Mūsā b. al-Ṣāliḥ ʿAlī (Qalāwūnid) 150, 151 mustabḥar 214 muṭālaʿa pl. muṭālaʿāt 5, 167, 173, 174, 175, 176, 177, 178, 179, 183, 184, 185, 187, 188, 189, 192, 193 muṭribūn 237 al-Muṭṭaylib 327 muwākhī 89 muwashshaḥ 17 munshaʾah pl. munshaʾāt 7 muqaddam al-mamālīk 33 al-Nabk 329, 348, 351, 352 Nāblus, Nābulus 236, 327, 343, 349, 353 al-Naḥḥās, ʿAbd al-Qādir 35 al-Naḥrīriyya 327, 336 nāʾib pl. nuwwāb viceroy, deputy 174, 186, 189, 284 Nāʾib Ḥalab 96

380 Nāʾib al-Jazīra 73 Nāʾib Jidda 282 Nāʾib al-Karak 97 nāʾib kātib al-sirr 177 nāʾib al-salṭana 28, 31, 141, 148 Najd 342, 347 Naqb 343 naṣīḥ 142 al-Nāṣiriyya 324, 354 Nayn 327, 336, 343, 358 nāẓir (waqf ) 180, 245, 279, 287 Naẓīr Ḥassān Saʿdāwī 298, 299 nāẓir al-jaysh 180 nāẓir al-khāṣṣ 160, 178, 182, 183, 193 Neve Zohar 342 Nile River 236, 237 Nile Delta 349, 351 Nile Valley 338, 341 Upper Nile Valley 342 Niqinnis 310, 327, 354 nisba 31, 66, 72, 73, 75, 77, 83, 84, 85, 93, 95, 96, 104, 170, 194 niyāba 152 Nuʿarān 310, 327 Nubia 139, 339, 340, 342, 343 Nūghāy al-Qibjāqī 89 Nuʿmān Afandī Anṭūn 298 Oğulpinar 350 Oirat 61, 81, 87, 88, 89, 140, 141, 142 Old Dongola 339 Ottoman(s) 3, 8, 10, 30, 50, 51, 52, 66, 97, 120, 132, 231, 257, 270 Palestine 11, 12, 40, 149, 299, 300, 309, 311, 343, 349 Persia 50, 51, 222, 258 Petersen, Andrew 300 Petry, Carl 2, 279 Pisa 44, 157 Portuguese 42, 49, 50 Qabr al-Wāyilī 310, 327 Qadas 327 qāḍī pl. quḍḍāh 28, 31 Qāḍī al-Quḍāʾ 33, 34, 36 Qāḍī Ḥalab 79 qadīm al-hijra 76 al-Qadmūs, al-Qudmūs 327

index Qalʿat al-Jabal, al-Qalʿa (Cairo) 328 Qalʿat al-Muslimīn 328, 336, 346 Qalʿat Shīrkūh 358 Qalāwūn (al-Manṣūr) 6, 14, 26, 51, 61, 62, 65, 66, 69, 70, 71, 72, 73, 74, 75, 76, 77, 78, 79, 80, 81, 82, 83, 84, 85, 86, 87, 88, 92, 93, 95, 102, 109, 139, 144, 147, 149, 168, 258, 262, 308, 309 Qalāwūnid Dynasty 18, 124, 130 al-Qalqashandī, Aḥmad b. ʿAlī 122, 135, 168, 171, 174, 175, 177, 178, 179, 180, 181, 182, 183, 184, 185, 186, 191, 194, 204, 213, 223, 266, 305, 312, 323, 355 Qalyūb 332 qanā pl. qanawāt 239, 245, 247, 249 al-Qanawāt 247 al-Qanāṭir 328, 337 Qānṣawh al-Yahyāwī 31 Qānṣūh al-Ghawrī (al-Ashraf) 22, 49, 76, 270, 272, 278 see also Qānṣawh al-Ghawrī Qāqūn 300, 328, 337, 349 Qārā 328, 329, 353 Qarābughā 81, 82 Qarābughā al-Aḥmadī 81 Qarābughā al-Abūbakrī 82 Qarābughā al-ʿAlāʾī 82 Qarābughā al-Ashrafī 82 Qarābughā al-Asanbughāwī 82 Qarāqujā al-Ḥasanī 97, 279 Qarāsunqur al-Manṣūrī 74, 75, 90, 140 Qarqmās 19 see also Qurqamās al-Qaryatayn 328, 336, 353 al-Qaṣab 328 Qasāma 160, 167, 195 qaṣīda (ode) 17 Qaṣr al-Zuwayra 343 al-Qasṭal 328 qāṭiʿ al-Mūjib 340 qatīʿa 214 Qaṭrá 329, 337 Qaṭyā 329, 351 Qaṭyā, al-Ṣāliḥiyya 357 Qaymāz 75 qaysāriyya, covered market 45, 46, 236, 342, 345, 346 Qayṣariyya of Ibn al-Babī 46 Qayṣariyya of Ibn Dalam 46

index Qāytbāy (al-Ashraf) 75, 100, 222, 226, 278, 281, 282, 284 Qibjaq 64, 65, 76, 88 see also Kipchak Qibjaq al-Manṣūrī 65, 88 Qijmās 102 Qijmās al-Isḥāqī al-Ẓāhirī 102 Qijmās al-Manṣūrī al-Jūkandār 102 Qijmās al-Ẓāhirī 102 Qiná, water pipes 238 Qinnasrīn 329, 337, 344 Qubāqib, Manẓarat Qubāqib 329, 336 al-Quds al-Sharīf 329 Qumārī, Amir 28 qumāsh 222 al-Qunayya 329 Qurmushī al-Silāḥdār 81 Qurqamās 284, 287 Qurqamās min Arikmās min Walī al-Dīn 284 Qūṣ 307, 329, 338, 339, 340 al-Quṣayr 340, 342, 352 al-Quṣayr (Sinai) 329 al-Quṣayr (Syria) 329, 351 al-Quṣayr al-Muʿīnī 329 quṣṣād 304 al-Qusṭanṭiniyya 50 al-Quṭayyifa 329 Quṭlūbak 68, 88 Quṭlūbak al-Kabīr al-Manṣūrī 88, 89 Quṭlūbars al-ʿĀdilī 89 Quṭlubāy al-Maḥmūdī al-Ashrafī 68 Quṭuz (al-Muẓaffar) 79 Raʿbān 330, 354 Rafaḥ 330 Ragheb, Youssef 298, 299, 314, 328, 329, 331, 346, 349, 351, 352, 359 al-Raḥba 330 al-Ramla 330, 354 al-Ramlī, Khayr al-Dīn 241 al-Raqqa 299 raqṣa 18 Raʾs al-ʿAyn 330 Raʾs Bayrūt al-ʿAtīqa 330, 354, 356 raʾs nawba 83 Rashīd 42, 347, 348, 349, 352 al-Rastan 330 Ravendel Frankish Castle 352

381 Rawa 248 al-Rāwandān 347, 348, 352 al-Rawḍa Island (Cairo) 260, 262, 263, 266 Raymond, Andre 223 Red Sea 42, 295, 340, 341, 342 Revanda Kalesi 352 Rhodes 43 riqāʿ 167, 171, 176, 186, 187, 191 al-Rubba 330, 353 al-Ruhā 174, 330, 354, 356 Rūmī pl. Rūm, Arwām 3, 39, 52, 64, 65, 66, 67, 69, 70, 71, 72, 73, 74, 76, 77, 78, 79, 80, 86, 93, 94, 95, 96, 97, 98, 99, 100, 105, 108, 109, 110, 111, 112 al-Ruṣāfa 330 rusul al-Banādiqa 49 al-Ṣabbāgh, F 297 Ṣafad 33, 183, 236, 296, 300, 330, 343, 355 al-Ṣafadī, Khalīl b. Aybak 106, 127, 147, 149, 185, 249 al-Ṣāfiya 330, 342, 343 al-Ṣafra 330, 354 Ṣahlān 345 al-Saʿīd b. al-Ẓāhir Baybars 79, 342 al-Saʿīdiyya 330, 336, 337 al-Sājūr 323, 330, 336 Salāḥ al-Dīn, Yūsuf b. Ayyūb 238 Salamya 331 Salār al-Manṣūrī 87, 88, 89, 90, 139, 140, 141, 142, 143, 146, 148, 150, 152 al-Ṣāliḥ Ayyūb 72, 74, 76, 78 Ṣāliḥ b. Yaḥyá 306, 312, 354 al-Ṣāliḥiyya 331, 351, 357 al-Salqa 300, 331, 337, 355 Samarkand 94 al-Samūqa 331 Samsakīn 331, 354, 356 Samsīn see Shamsīn al-Ṣanamayn 331, 337, 353 Sandarā 331, 337 sanjaq pl. Sanājiq 140 Sanjar al-Kurjī 72 sāqī pl. suqāt 10, 86, 88, 100 Sāqiyah 241, 249 Sarāqib 307, 331 Ṣarkhad 141, 145 Sauvaget, Jean 298, 301, 304, 307, 331, 335, 336, 345, 347, 349, 350, 351, 359

382 al-Sawād (southern Iraq) 245 Sawākin 339, 342 al-Sawwāda 331, 332 Ṣaydāʾ 336 Serjeant, Robert B. 49 Shaʿbān (al-Ashraf) 67, 108, 279 Shaʿbān (al-Kāmil) 262, 263 Shādbak al-Jakamī 79 Shādī Khujā al-ʿUthmānī 104 Shaghur Canal (Damascus) 241, 247 al-Saḥmāwī, Shams al-Dīn Muḥammad 86, 175, 176, 185, 196, 305 al-Shām 9, 51, 237, 307, 311 Shamsīn (Samsīn) 332, 336 Shaqḥab 89, 142 al-Shaʿrāʾ 332, 337 sharaqī 214 Sharīʿa 2, 3, 25, 26, 239 al-Shawbak 331, 335, 354, 355 Shaykh (al-Muʾayyad) 5, 17, 21, 22, 65, 68, 101, 157, 166, 171, 188, 195, 305 Shayzar 347, 348, 352 shirb 246 shufʿa 240 sibākh 214 Sibṭ Ibn al-Jawzī 126 Sicily 40, 41, 44 ṣihrīj 147 Ṣihyawn 332 silāḥdār 73, 74, 76, 77, 78, 81, 83, 84, 86, 100 Ṣilāḥdāriyya 80 Simsim 347 Sinai 308, 328, 337, 342, 351 Siryāqaws 324, 332, 354 Sīs 332, 354, 356 Van Steenbergen, Jo 4, 60, 62, 123 Suakin 342 Ṣubayba, al-Ṣubayba 145, 146, 150, 152, 348, 352 Ṣubayḥat Nakhlat Maʿn 332, 336, 337 al-Subkī, ʿAlī b. ʿAbd al-Kāfī 47, 237, 240, 243, 281 Sudan 295, 300, 339 Sūdūn 68, 69, 95, 96, 101 Sūdūn al-Jalab 101 al-Sukhna 332, 357 al-Sukkariyya 347 Sunqur 93, 99 Sunqur al-Alfī al-Muẓaffarī al-Ẓāhirī 79

index Sunqur al-Ashqar al-Ṣāliḥī 78, 88 Sunqur al-Jamālī 78 Sunqur al-Jamālī ʿAzīzī 79 Sunqur al-Rūmī 78 Sunqur al-Rūmī al-Ḥanafī 79 Sunqur al-Rūmī al-Mustaʾmin 79 Sunqur al-Saʿdī 79 Sunqur-Shāh 146 Sunqur al-Takrītī Ustādār al-Saʿīd 79 Sunqur al-Ṭawīl al-Manṣūrī 79 Sunqur al-Zaradkāsh 20 Sunqur al-Zaynī al-Armanī 78 Sunqur al-Zaynī al-Jamālī 80 al-Suways 332, 353 al-Suyūṭī, ʿAbd al-Raḥmān b. Abī Bakr 126 Syria 1, 2, 8, 9, 12, 17, 18, 21, 29, 32, 40, 45, 47, 48, 51, 52, 103, 110, 119, 120, 126, 127, 131, 133, 135, 140, 141, 146, 148, 151, 157, 183, 184, 185, 236, 237, 261, 277, 278, 282, 296, 299, 300, 301, 304, 306, 307, 309, 312, 329, 333, 338, 342, 344, 345, 346, 350, 351 Ṭabardāriyya 87 Tabūk 299 Tadāris 316, 336, 358 Tadmur 332, 353, 358 Manẓarat Tadmur 332, 353 Ṭafash (Ṭafas) 332, 336, 337, 346, 347, 352, 356 Taghrī Birdī al-ʿAlāʾī al-Ashrafī 94, 97 Taghrī Birdī Amīr Silāḥ 111 Taghrī Birdī al-Armanī al-Manṣūrī 97 Taghrī Birdī al-Asharfī al-Zaradkāsh 97 Taghrī Birdī al-Baklamishī al-Muʾdhī 96 Taghrī Birdī al-Baydamurī 111 Taghrī Birdī al-Jalālī al-Muʾayyadī 97 Taghrī Birdī al-Julbānī 111 Taghrī Birdī b. Yūsuf al-Jundī 96 Taghrī Birdī min Aruj Ghāzī al-Ashrafī 98 Taghrī Birdī min Bashbughā al-Ẓāhirī 96 Taghrī Birdī min Bashbughā al-Ẓāhirī 96 Taghrī Birdī min ʿĪsā al-Ashrafī 98 Taghrī Birdī al-Qubrusī al-Ashrafī Nāʾib alKarak 97 Taghrī Birdī al-Qurdumī 96 Taghrī Birdī Ṣadaqa al-Ẓāhirī 95 Taghrī Birdī al-Sayfī Kasbāy 98 Taghrī Birdī al-Sayfī Lājīn 97, 98

index Taghrī Birdī al-Sayfī Qarāqujā 97 Taghrī Birdī Sīdī al-Ṣaghīr 96 Taghrī Birdī Ṭaṭar al-Shamsī al-Ẓāhirī 98 Taghrī Birdī al-Turkmānī 97 Taghrī Birmish 94 Taghrī Birmish al-Maḥmūdī al-Nāṣirī 96 Taghrī Birmish Nāʾib Ḥalab 96 Taghrī Birmish al-Sayfī Qarāqujā 97 ṭāʾifa 42, 43, 44, 65, 81, 87, 97, 167, 169 al-Takhta 343 Tall Ajāja (ʿAjāja) Gharbiyya 323, 344 Tall ʿAjjūl 140 Tall al-Duwayr 344 Tall Ḥisbān 9, 12, 13 Tall Qaryat al-Kutayyiba 325 Ṭamā, Ṭimā 332 Tankizbughā al-Ḥaṭaṭī 104 Ṭarābulus 322, 332, 336 Ṭarasūs (Ṭarṭūs) 333, 337, 354, 356 Tarbala 333, 354, 355 al-Ṭarrāna 296, 333 Taṣarruf 142, 245 Tatar, Ṭaṭar (Mongols) 65, 66, 68, 69, 70, 71, 72, 73, 80, 81, 82, 83, 84, 85, 86, 91, 92, 93, 95, 97, 98, 102, 104, 106, 107, 109, 111 Ṭaṭar al-Shamsī al-Ẓāhirī 98 Taurus 346, 352 Ṭaybughā al-Muḥḥamadī 81 Ṭaybughā Quwīn Bāshī al-Silāḥdār alMuḥammadī al-Nāṣirī 81 Ṭaybughā al-Majdī/al-Muḥammadī 81 Ṭaybughā al-Rūsī 81, 83 Ṭaybughā al-Tankizī 81 Ṭaybughā al-Turkī 81 Ṭaybughā al-Ṭawīl al-Ḥasanī al-Nāṣirī 81 Ṭayriyya Canal (Egypt) 258 al-Ṭayyiba 333, 354 Ṭayyibat Ism (Ṭayyiba) 336 Ṭayyibat, Jabal 333 Terbezek Kalesi 349 Thaghr of Alexandria 43, 167, 169, 305, 336 Thaghr Dimyāṭ (Dimyāṭ) 336 Thaniyyat al-ʿUqāb 333 Thawra River 239 Tīmūr (Tīmūrid) 7, 32, 106, 304 Ṭīna 42 al-Ṭīra 300, 333 Tīzīn 333, 337, 350 Tohma Valleys 346

383 Trapesac, Frankish Castle 349 Tripoli 28, 42, 140, 183, 194, 353 Tripolis 353 al-Tujībī, al-Sabtī, al-Qāsim b. Yūsuf 341 Tumān Tamur al-Ashaqtamurī 107 Tungul (Arabic Dumqula/Dunqulā) 339 Tuqṣubā al-Ẓāhirī 89 al-Ṭūr 342 Ṭurjī (Ṭughjī) 88, 109 Turkey 11, 300, 312, 333 Turkoman (Turkmān) 7, 96, 97 al-Turkumāniyya 333, 354 al-Ṭurra 333 Udfū (Edfu) 339 Ullmann, Manfred 298, 306 al-ʿUllayqa 333 Umm Dīnār Dam (Egypt) 258 ʿUmar b. al-Khattāb 244 al-ʿUmarī, Aḥmad b. Yaḥyā b. Faḍl Allāh 87, 149, 168, 180, 312, 324, 350, 352, 358 Umayyad Mosque (Damascus) 31, 239, 319 ʿunwān 173, 174, 177, 178 Upper Nile see Nile Urayniba 299, 334, 337 ʿurf 248 Ushmūm al-Rummān 334 al-Ushmūnayn 334 al-ʿUshsh 334 ustādār (manager of palace affairs) 67, 69, 74, 79, 139, 183, 279 Uswān 307, 334, 338, 339 Usyūṭ 334 ʿuyūn ahl al-adab 182 ʿuyūn ( jawāsīs) 308 Uzbak 102 Uzbak min Ṭuṭukh 279 Venice 1, 38, 43, 44, 45, 157, 158, 179, 195, 222 Venetians 5, 41, 43, 45, 46, 47, 48, 50, 171, 194, 195, 196, 222 Wādī al-Ḥaṣāh 335 Wādī al-Ḥaykal 334 Wādī Khāzindār 142 Wādī al-Mūjib 340 Wādī al-Taym 285 Wāfidiyya (Wāfidīyah) 70, 87, 88, 89, 90, 91

384 wālī pl. walāt (wulāh) 34, 35, 167, 194, 346, 347 walī al-ʿahd 181 wālī al-shurṭa 175 Wanā 334 waqf pl. awqāf 9, 10, 176, 241, 245, 249, 269, 277, 278, 279, 280, 281, 282, 283, 284, 285, 286, 287, 288 waqf ahlī, waqf dhurrī 277 waqfiyya pl. waqfiyyāt 9, 70, 87, 88, 89, 90, 91, 227 Wardān 334 Yadī Shāh al-ʿUthmānī 104 Yaghrā 334, 350 Yalbughā al-Bahāʾī al-Ẓāhirī 94 Yalbughā al-Balshūn al-Maḥmūdī 105 Yalbughā al-Jarkasī 94 Yalbughā al-Muḥammadī 94 Yalbughā al-Sālimī al-Ẓāhirī 94 Yalbughā al-ʿUmarī 67, 82, 93, 108 Yalbughā al-ʿUmarī al-Nāṣirī 94 Yalbughā al-Yaḥyāwī al-Nāṣirī 94 Yalbughā al-Ẓarīf Min Khujā ʿAlī 105 Yaʿqūb Shāh al-Ḥājib 108 Yashbak Anālī al-Muʾayyadī 101 Yashbak b. Azdamūr al-Ẓāhirī 101 Yashbak brother of al-Ashraf Barsbāy 101 Yashbak al-Jamālī 80, 101

index Yashbak min Jānibak al-Muʾayyadī 101 Yashbak min Salmān Shāh al-Muʾayyadī 101 Yashbak al-Shaʿbānī al-Ẓāhirī 101 Yashbak al-Sūdūnī al-Mushidd 101 Yashbak al-ʿUthmānī al-Ẓāhirī 101 Yāsūr 300, 334 Yemen 11, 49, 50, 51, 228 Yizreel 343 Yūsuf Aḥmad al-Shīrāwī 298 Yūsuf b. Kātib Jakam 80, 101 Yūsuf al-Ustādār Jamāl al-Dīn 283 al-Zabadānī village 238, 334 Zaḥar 334, 337 zajal pl. azjāl 17, 18, 23 al-Zaʿqa 334 Zarʿayn 343, 344 zardkhāna 139 ẓarīf pl. ẓurafāʾ 19 Zarʿīn (Yizreel) 343 Zawiya, Sufi hospice 32, 35 Zāwiyat Mubārak, Inbārak 334, 336, 358 Zāwiyat Umm Ḥusayn 334, 336, 358 Zengid 299 Zenobia (Ḥalabiyya) 345 Zheng, He 223 Zibdul 335, 336 ẓulm 20, 21, 49 al-Zuwayr (al-Zuwayra) 342, 343