On Names, Places, Dates, and Transcriptions

Although they used both Catalan and Aragonese spellings for their names, throughout this book, I refer to and number the kings of the Crown of Aragon according to the Catalan tradition, e.g., Pere II rather than Pedro III, to avoid confusion with the names of the Castilian kings. Similarly, for the sake of simplicity, place names of towns are rendered according to the standard modern forms. Countries and regions are given in their modern English usage.

Records from the chancery registers of the Archive of the Crown of Aragon are dated according the Incarnation calendar. I have regularized these dates to the Common Era calendar. In the case that the year remains ambiguous, I have noted the less likely date in brackets, e.g., 1283 [1284]. Similarly, dates according to the Islamic calendar have been converted to the Common Era calendar. In notes, both Islamic and Common Era dates are given when relevant, e.g., 681/1283.

All Arabic, Latin, and Romance documents were consulted directly, and all transcriptions are my own unless otherwise specified. Wherever possible, I have tried to acknowledge existing transcriptions or editions of documents, particularly when they led me to additional sources. In transcribing Latin, Catalan, Castilian, and Aragonese, the original capitalization, spelling, and punctuation have been preserved. Ligatures and macrons have been silently expanded. The transliteration of Arabic follows the standards of the International Journal of Middle Eastern Studies. The following notations are used: [. . .] = illegible; = uncertain reading; [text] = interpolation; \text/ = superscript; /text\ = subscript; //text// = redacted. In the case of illegible text, the periods indicate the estimated number of illegible characters.

Introduction: A Mercenary Logic

Ahandful of documents, scattered about the chancery registers of the Archive of the Crown of Aragon, tell of a remarkable journey: Sometime around April 1285, five Muslim horsemen crossed from the Islamic kingdom of Granada into the realms of the Christian Crown of Aragon. Their arrival should have raised an alarm. Bands of Muslim cavalry—whom the Aragonese called jenets—crossed this frontier in times of war and peace, wreaking havoc.¹ Their incursions were violent and swift. Raiders would arrive suddenly, driving panicked villagers into town walls, ransacking homes, taking captives for ransom, and burning fields. For two decades, these same soldiers had supported massive rebellions among the Crown’s Muslim population—the Mudéjares.² On this occasion, however, they did not inspire terror. The five jenets—famous for their prowess on horses—rode mules that they had borrowed from a Jew in Granada. When they reached the border of Valencia, they produced letters of safe conduct, Latin documents coupled with Arabic translations that they presented to local officials, who then seized their swords, making them the least likely of marauders.³

Riding mules, unarmed, and from here confined to public roads, the jenets found themselves under the laws of the Crown of Aragon and the watchful eyes of royal officials, but they carried on, riding northeast (map 1).⁴ The soldiers next appeared in the city of Valencia, where they met with the local Mudéjar leader who had facilitated their recruitment.⁵ Some days after, the jenets stayed in the town of Vilafranca, north of Valencia, where a local Christian official would later write a letter to the king, grumbling that these Muslim travelers had borrowed fifteen solidi from him and failed to settle their tabs before leaving town, an incident that foreshadowed many more moments of tension to come.⁶ Finally, they arrived at the base of the Pyrenees, at a mountain pass called Coll de Panissars near the border with France. These five horsemen had traveled some two hundred miles, tracing the hypotenuse of the realms of the Crown of Aragon. But where were they going, and why? A few lines, haphazardly copied by a royal scribe into the chancery registers, tell us that the jenets were given an audience with the Aragonese king, Pere II (r. 1276–1285). They record that Pere showered these soldiers with gifts, including sumptuous cloth and decorative saddles. What inspired this gift giving? In his own words, in a letter addressed to his ambassador in Granada, King Pere explained that these jenets—representatives of a captain named “Çahim Abennaquem”—had agreed to enter the Crown’s service.

It is the nature of archival research, however, that one can follow a narrative thread like this, stitched across several folios, and at the next turn of the page find it abruptly and agonizingly cut. From here, the registers reveal nothing more about the five jenets riding mules.

1. The Crown of Aragon (ca. 1300). Courtesy Dick Gilbreath, Gyula Pauer Center for Cartography and GIS, University of Kentucky.

An Inner Solidarity

These were not the first or only jenets.

Over the course of the late thirteenth and fourteenth centuries—as they subdued, expelled, and enslaved Muslim populations—the Christian kings of the Crown of Aragon recruited thousands of foreign Muslim soldiers from al-Andalus (Muslim Iberia) and North Africa.⁷ Across hundreds of Latin, Romance, and Arabic accounts, letters, court cases, spy reports, and diplomatic agreements, the jenets appear in far-flung battlefields across the Mediterranean as well as in the royal court, where they served as members of the king’s entourage, his bodyguards, his diplomats, and even his entertainment. Put simply, this book seeks to explain how and why the Christian Aragonese kings and Muslim jenets came into an alliance with one another. It uses their relationship not only to offer a novel perspective on interactions between Muslims and Christians in the Middle Ages but also to rethink the study of religion more broadly.

The jenets immediately provoke the kinds of questions that have consumed scholarship on medieval Iberia since the nineteenth century: Was this a world of religious boundaries or democratic frontiers? When and how did religion shape or limit interaction? When did it lead to violence? These types of questions attempt to locate religion within complex interaction, to discover when and why it mattered. They have been and remain anxious questions because they were and are inextricable from contemporary concerns about the relationship of religion to politics and the sources of religious violence. This book argues that they are also the wrong kinds of questions because they already hold their own answers.

Despite an abundance of surviving records and the provocative questions that they elicit, the jenets have received surprisingly scant scholarly attention. They are absent from general histories of medieval Iberia.⁸ And in the handful of previous studies of these soldiers, there has been no agreement about who they even were.⁹ Why the jenets have been more or less ignored is inextricable from how historians have approached them—or indeed, parallel figures such as Christian soldiers in the service of medieval Muslim rulers.¹⁰ Particular methodological and philosophical assumptions have contributed to the marginalization and misunderstanding of these men.

With respect to methodology, although these Muslim and Christian soldiers crossed political and linguistic boundaries, scholars have hesitated to do the same. Earlier studies of these soldiers have employed either Latin and Romance sources, focusing on Christian Iberia, or Arabic sources, focusing on al-Andalus and North Africa. The result is that significant connections and continuities have fallen into the divide. This scholarly dyspraxia, as if the right and left hands are ignorant of one another, has only reinforced the artificial divisions between the study of Christianity and that of Islam.¹¹ In this respect, recent efforts within Mediterranean studies to overcome such divisions are welcome. A new generation of scholars has profitably combined the study of Latin, Romance, Arabic, and Hebrew texts in order to reveal new histories and overturn old biases.

With respect to philosophy, over the past century, across deeply opposing methods, there has also been a surprising consensus about the motivations of these boundary-crossing soldiers. For Spanish liberals, writing in the early twentieth century, these Christian and Muslim soldiers were heroes who had cast off the chains of religious delusion. For their Catholic, conservative opponents, these soldiers were traitors who had undermined Spain’s essential religious and national spirit. These opposing positions were part and parcel of the bitter “convivencia” debates.¹² Superficially, these were historical debates about the coexistence of Christians, Muslims, and Jews in medieval Iberia, but more fundamentally, they were moral disputes about the value of tolerance in modern Spain. More recent and far more temperate cultural historians have sought to distance themselves from and circumvent these earlier polemics. Instead, they have seen these soldiers as evidence for the essential malleability of religious identities. Nevertheless, these different paths have led all these scholars to much the same outlook. All have seen these soldiers as driven by secular rather than religious motivations, by rational self-interest rather than abstract belief—in short, by a rather mercenary logic.

This conclusion is not a coincidence. It has not persisted because it is empirically correct, but, rather, it points to an inner solidarity between these seemingly opposed approaches: a shared secular bias. By secularism, I mean not the liberal doctrine but more fundamentally the assumption that religion and politics are distinct, separate, and competing forces.¹³ To put this differently, secularism is not an intellectual position but rather an intellectual background that underwrites certain self-satisfying accounts of history.¹⁴ Through this bias, the cultural history of religious interaction remains unwittingly bound to the very polemics it hopes to overcome.¹⁵ It remains bound to the value of tolerance. Across this book and particularly, in the epilogue, I discuss the nature and consequences of this implicit secularism, but for the moment, my point is simply this: Why could religious beliefs not have motivated the jenets? The preemptory exclusion of religion represents a significant analytical foreclosure.

If we can only imagine the jenets as motivated by politics as opposed to religion, then perhaps, our understanding of “politics” and “religion” needs some adjustment. In the late medieval Mediterranean, multiple conceptions of the relationship between divine and human authority, between theology and law, circulated within and across Christian and Islamic contexts. As the case of the jenets will demonstrate, these ideas overlapped to such a degree that to say Christians and Muslims met in the medieval Mediterranean begs the question. Christianity and Islam were already inextricably intertwined there. Abandoning stable conceptions of politics and religion does not mean casting one’s hands up in surrender, collapsing into relativism or confusion. Instead, it enables and has enabled more capacious and faithful versions of analysis.¹⁶ When we remove these tired lenses, the history of the jenets comes into focus.

Imperial Desire

The dynastic union between the counts of Barcelona and the kings of Aragon in the twelfth century began the process of transforming a loose assemblage of archaic counties and administrative units into the centralized confederation that would eventually be called the Crown of Aragon and become a Mediterranean empire (map 2). The medieval kingdoms of Aragon and Catalonia occupied the diverse terrain of northeastern Iberia, extending from the high Pyrenees southward to fertile Ebro Valley in Aragon and the coast of Catalonia. From these shores, a thriving merchant class shipped wine, wood, wool, and other wares across the middle sea. Taking advantage of their economic and demographic strength, as well as the political disorder in al-Andalus, the first “count-kings” pushed their borders southward and aggressively settled new lands. Their efforts at unifying these disparate realms, however, were less than successful. In promulgating a new law code, the Usatges of Barcelona, Ramon Berenguer IV (r. 1131–1162) spoke of himself in Roman imperial terms, as “Prince (princeps),” and claimed for himself absolute jurisdiction. Such grandiose rhetoric provoked tensions both at home and abroad, tensions that foreshadowed the events of the following century. On the one hand, these kings faced resistance from powerful Aragonese and Catalan noblemen. As they would when later confronting the alliance of the Crown with the jenets in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, these noblemen blended complaints of overreaching royal authority with accusations of Islamophilia (and indeed, of Philo-Judaism).¹⁷ On the other hand, this magniloquence heightened competition with the French and Castilian kings. In a subtle but telling indicator of an emerging anti-Frankish sentiment, after 1180, the Aragonese began to date their charters according to the year of the incarnation rather than the regnal year of France. More than by ambition, however, the Aragonese kings survived this early period through bonds of personal loyalty.¹⁸

2. The Aragonese Empire (ca. 1300). Courtesy Dick Gilbreath, Gyula Pauer Center for Cartography and GIS, University of Kentucky.

The vague imperial aspirations of the twelfth-century Aragonese kings found their concrete manifestation in the thirteenth century. The decisive turning point came with the reign of King Jaume I (r. 1213–1276). Over the course of four decades, Jaume managed to double the size of his kingdoms, expanding further southward and into the sea. His conquests began in the Balearic Islands, where he seized Mallorca and Ibiza in the 1230s, thus bringing the Crown of Aragon further into the Mediterranean. In 1238, Jaume conquered Islamic Valencia, a fertile agriculture plain shielded by mountains. This sudden expansion presented new challenges. For instance, it brought large Muslim and Arabic-speaking communities under the control of the Crown of Aragon. In Valencia, the subject Muslim population, the Mudéjares, far outnumbered Christians, a fact that has made this kingdom the subject of intense interest for scholars of religious interaction. Attempts to pacify these Muslim communities would continue for centuries. But these new conquests also offered an opportunity for political experimentation, inspired not only by the earlier Usatges but also by the revival of Romanist legal traditions across Europe in this period. In parallel with French and Castilian kings, Jaume implemented a series of legal, fiscal, and administrative reforms that imagined the king as the ultimate source of the law and granted him a decisionistic power.¹⁹

Although this process of bureaucratization has been seen as evidence of secularization—of the turning away from theological and charismatic and toward legal and rational justifications for power—for Jaume and his immediate successors, Pere II, Alfons II (r. 1285–1291), and Jaume II (r. 1291–1327), these reforms were understood differently.²⁰ They reflected a deeper and enduring effort to cast themselves as divinely authorized rulers, as the heirs of the Holy Roman emperors, above all Frederick II (r. 1220–1250). Frederick, in turn, had drawn influence from Christian and Islamic imperial courts around the Mediterranean. Thus, the Aragonese kings adopted the trappings and traditions of Frederick’s court, including his employment of a Muslim royal guard. The jenets, in other words, were a central part of this imperial posture and performance of divinely inspired authority.

The Aragonese kings’ ambition to style themselves as Holy Roman emperors also materialized in the decision to capture the island kingdom of Sicily in 1285, the seat of Frederick’s court, thereby gaining control over much of the central and western Mediterranean. Over the following century, Sardinia and Corsica were also brought under their sway. The Crown of Aragon thus became a Mediterranean empire.

While the chronicler Ramon Muntaner (d. 1336) considered the Aragonese kings “sovereigns (sobirans) over all the kings of the world and princes, whether of Christians or Saracens,” I employ the term “sovereignty” to describe their aspirations to supremacy, underscored because these aspirations were challenged on every side.²¹ The claim to sovereignty and unimpeded authority not only obscured an irreducible context of competition but also the very practice of Aragonese royal power. For example, the Aragonese conquest of Sicily led to two centuries of furious struggle with the Angevins, what David Abulafia has felicitously called the “Two Hundred Years’ War.”²² The authoritarian impulses of the Aragonese also drew the ire of the popes as well as of the French and Castilian kings, who considered themselves more worthy of the imperial title. These aspirations brought Pere II into open war with France and Castile, and, later, they would bring Pere III (r. 1336–1387) into a protracted and debilitating conflict with Castile, the so-called “War of the Two Peters” (1356–1375). As in the twelfth century, Aragonese and Catalan noblemen rose to challenge their kings in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. In 1283, 1286, 1301, and 1347 confederations of noblemen and municipalities, called Unions, revolted in order to assert their customary rights against the Aragonese kings’ claims to supreme authority, forcing these kings repeatedly to capitulate, to surrender their sovereignty. These internal and external conflicts over the expansion of Aragonese royal power form the broader context for the alliance between the Crown of Aragon and the Muslim jenets. From the reign of Pere II to that of Pere III, across a century, every Aragonese ruler employed jenets in his courts and armies, in battles against external and internal enemies, against the French, the Castilians, and the Unions.

Who were these soldiers and where did they come from? The evidence for the jenets comes principally from the chancery registers in the Archive of the Crown of Aragon. These documents are summaries of royal correspondence and orders, a product of the administrative reforms begun by King Jaume I. The registers place two major obstacles before any study of the jenets. First, these mostly uncatalogued records constitute one of the largest medieval archives in the world. For the reign of King Alfons III (r. 1327–1336) alone, there are 1,240 registers, each holding thousands of documents. Second, beyond the overwhelming quantity of documentation, the nature of the evidence concerning the jenets is partial and fragmentary. Across hundreds of pay registers, dispatch and requisition orders, letters, reports, and court cases that refer to jenets, the royal officials of the Crown of Aragon say little to nothing about the origin or organization of these soldiers.

A full account of the Crown of Aragon’s relationship with the jenets therefore demands a different approach, a view from the south. If imperial desires drew the Aragonese kings into the Mediterranean, then they also drew them into the affairs of North Africa. Thus, we need to tell the story again, beginning on the other side of the sea. In the same period that the Aragonese kings were consolidating their authority over the territories of northeastern Spain, North Africa and al-Andalus underwent radical transformation as a result of the collapse of the Almohad Caliphate (1121–1269) (map 3).

Sometime after 1120, the Berber religious scholar Ibn Tūmart (ca. 1080–1130) claimed for himself the title of al-Mahdī, the divinely guided one, and began preaching in the vernacular to the tribes of southern Morocco.²³ This was the beginning of the last of three successive revolutions that swept across North Africa, each led by a Muslim prophet appealing to the Berber population, each opposed to the one before. Blending Sunnī and Shī‘ī theological and mystical traditions, Ibn Tūmart espoused a seemingly simple monotheism, one that emphasized the unity (tawḥīd) of divinity and criticized what he perceived to be the anthropomorphist or polytheist tendencies of the prevailing Muslim orthodoxies of North Africa. His followers took the name the Almohads (al-Muwaḥḥidūn), meaning the “Unitarians.” Their revolution began in the High Atlas at Tīnmallal (Tīnmal), but it was only after Ibn Tūmart’s death that the Almohad armies found success beyond these mountains. By 1159, the Almohads held the North African coast from Tripoli to the Atlantic, and by 1172, they held all of al-Andalus.

3. The Almohad Caliphate (1214). Courtesy Dick Gilbreath, Gyula Pauer Center for Cartography and GIS, University of Kentucky.

Within the historiography of medieval Iberia, the arrival of the Almohads has often been viewed as a step in the wrong direction, a moment at which a world of secular tolerance and cultural efflorescence gave way to blind religious intolerance and violent oppression. Amira K. Bennison and Maribel Fierro have recently challenged this view.²⁴ First, they have reevaluated the Almohads’ restrictive policies toward Christians and Jews within Ibn Tūmart’s efforts to reform Islam, his claim to have restored an authentic and universal monotheism for all believers. Second, they have emphasized the influence of the Almohad rationalist political theology upon European rulers from Frederick II to Alfonso X of Castile. The full understanding of the history of jenets both hinges upon and extends the significance of these insights.

The territorial and ideological strength of the Almohads, however, did not hold. At the Battle of Las Navas de Tolosa (1212), the typically fractious Christian kingdoms of the Iberian Peninsula united to deliver the Almohads a crushing defeat. The caliph narrowly avoided capture. The tapestry that covered his royal tent remains on display as a trophy at the Abbey of Las Huelgas, near Burgos. Although the enthusiasm for crusading quickly dissipated, the Almohad caliphs had already begun to lose authority throughout their empire. In the following decades, after a series of civil wars, the regions of al-Andalus threw off their allegiance. The Almohad ruler of Valencia, Abū Zayd, the last Andalusī governor loyal to the caliphs, turned to King Jaume I for assistance against rebels only to find himself and his lands subject to the Crown of Aragon. In North Africa, three successor states rose up: the Ḥafṣids at Tunis, who claimed to be the successors of the Almohads, the ‘Abd al-Wādids at Tlemcen, and the Marīnids at Fez, the last of whom dealt the final blow to the Almohads at Marrakesh in 1269 (map 4).

4. The western Mediterranean (ca. 1300). Courtesy Dick Gilbreath, Gyula Pauer Center for Cartography and GIS, University of Kentucky.

The Latin, Arabic, and Romance diplomatic correspondence in the Archive of the Crown of Aragon not only reveals extensive interactions between the Aragonese kings and each of these successor states but also brings to light a critical, triangular tension. The Ḥafṣids, once tributaries of the Hohenstaufens, soon became the target of Aragonese predation. Kings Alfons II and Jaume II invoked the legacy of Frederick II to claim authority over Tunis. The Marīnids, by contrast, who carried forward a militant messianism, posed a threat to the Crown of Aragon. Like the Almohads before them, these Berber rulers crossed the Strait of Gibraltar for the sake of jihād in order to aid the Muslims of al-Andalus. In addition to several large-scale invasions, the Marīnids also permanently settled a contingent of holy warriors, known as al-Ghuzāh al-Mujāhidūn, composed of Arab and Berber troops from across North Africa and commanded by three Marīnid princes, on borders of the lands of the Crown of Aragon and Castile in 1262. From this moment until their dissolution at the end of the fourteenth century, the Ghuzāh remained a powerful and independent force on the Iberian Peninsula.

Through a Mediterranean approach, this book makes two central arguments about the history of the jenets that confound secular expectations for religious interaction. First, in recruiting and employing Muslim soldiers, the Aragonese kings not only expressed pragmatism in the face of political crisis but also drew upon an ancient and evolving Mediterranean tradition, far deeper than that of the court of Frederick II, one that bound legal and theological conceptions of imperial authority to the servitude of religious others. This tradition ties the history of the jenets not only to the longer history of Christian soldiers in Muslim armies but also to the history of military slavery in the Islamic world. Rather than ignoring religious difference, the Crown of Aragon’s use of the jenets emphasized—often spectacularly so—their status as non-Christians. Put differently, the Crown of Aragon’s claims to divinely sanctioned authority and absolute jurisdiction found their clearest and perhaps only expression over and through the bodies of non-Christians, whom they saw as their personal possessions, their slaves.

Second, in their written agreements and negotiations with the Aragonese kings, the jenets justified and expressed their service through a tradition of jihād. Indeed, rather than free-wheeling soldiers-for-hire, as earlier studies have presumed, the Marīnid Ghuzāh, holy warriors who had and would continue to threaten the lands of the Crown of Aragon, were the principal source of the Aragonese jenets and their leaders. Across the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, the Crown of Aragon recruited jenets from Granada and North Africa and placed them under the command of the Ghuzāh leaders and soldiers in their lands. Moreover, the Aragonese kings agreed to and accepted limits on the use of these soldiers, limits by which, for example, Muslims could only fight Christians. Thus, far from marking the collapse of religious boundaries or the triumph of toleration, the relationship of the Aragonese kings to the jenets both depended upon and reproduced ideas of religious difference. This history forces us to reconsider the relationship between ideas of sovereignty, religion, and violence in the Middle Ages.

While these overlapping political and theological claims help to elucidate the logic that bound Christian kings and Muslim soldiers, they nevertheless also fall short, as David Nirenberg has recently argued, of a total explanation of the practice of royal power in the Middle Ages.²⁵ The Aragonese kings’ claims to sovereignty masked a context of competing claims to jurisdiction and authority by the French, the Castilians, the Papacy, their own subjects, and most strikingly, by the jenets themselves. Indeed, far from slaves, as the kings imagined them, or practical rationalists, as historians have imagined them, the jenets continued to see themselves as members of the Ghuzāh, holy warriors who rejected the Aragonese kings’ authority altogether. Significantly, however, none of these many challenges undermined the Crown of Aragon. The practice of Aragonese power differed from its lofty rhetoric and performances. Indeed, the Aragonese kings remained resilient in this period not through coercive violence or decision, which have been seen as constitutive features of political sovereignty, but rather through a politics of continual evasion and indecision.²⁶

* * *

Across six chapters, The Mercenary Mediterranean approaches the history of the jenets at a variety of scales and from multiple points of view, gradually shifting its perspective from that of the Aragonese kings to that of the jenets themselves. Chapter 1, “Etymologies and Etiologies,” begins where others have begun, in the Archive of the Crown of Aragon, in order to explain why a reliance on either Latin and Romance archival sources or Arabic chronicles can offer only a partial view of the jenets. Careful comparison of these seemingly incommensurate sources, however, unearths the unexpected source of these soldiers, members of a motley corps of North African cavalry, al-Ghuzāh al-Mujāhidūn, a band of holy warriors who entered the Iberian Peninsula for the purpose of defending Muslims. This fact raises the questions that frame the remainder of the book: How and why did the Aragonese kings rely on soldiers who had and would again threaten their lands to serve in their armies and, more stunningly, as their personal protectors? What was the logic that bound Christian kings and Muslim holy warriors?

Chapter 2, “A Sovereign Crisis,” and chapter 3, “Sovereigns and Slaves,” work together to reveal the context and motivations for the Crown of Aragon’s decision to ally itself with its former enemies, the Marīnid Ghuzāh, and thus reconsider the narrative for the emergence of ideas of political sovereignty in the later Middle Ages. Following in the steps of two ambassadors on the first known mission to recruit jenets, chapter 2 argues that an emergency, prompted by the Aragonese conquest of Sicily, first led the Crown of Aragon to pursue a wider alliance with these soldiers. Chapter 3 traces earlier ways of accounting for the alliance between the jenets and the Aragonese kings: rational pragmatism and cultural accommodation, both of which suggest that something other than religious belief united these figures. In contrast to these views, it contends that the Aragonese kings’ alliance with jenets can be fully understood only within their political and theological claims to be the heirs to the Holy Roman emperors. The employment of the jenets drew upon the spectacular tradition of cameral servitude at the court of Frederick II, in which both Jews and Muslims were simultaneously spoken of in exceptional terms, as privileged agents and slaves of the emperor. In this context, claims to political sovereignty emerged not against religious authority but rather through legal and theological concepts that bound emperors and religious others. Rather than seeing the emergence of sovereignty as a uniquely Christian and European narrative, this history places religious interaction at its heart.

Chapter 4, “A Mercenary Economy,” extends this analysis into the wider scope of the medieval Mediterranean by examining the relationship of the Crown of Aragon to North Africa, regions that are too often studied apart. Through a study of Latin, Romance, and Arabic treaties as well as records of negotiation, this chapter connects the employment of the jenets to the more ancient service of Christian soldiers for the Muslim rulers of al-Andalus and North Africa. Together, Christian and Muslim rulers and soldiers developed norms and traditions for the use of foreign armies that respected religious and political boundaries. The intersection of these traditions also points to a deeper genealogy for the relationship of sovereign claims to “infidel” soldiers, namely the tradition of military slavery in the Islamic world. As such, the case of the jenets provides evidence for the transfer of certain imperial conceptions and practices from the Islamic to the Christian Mediterranean.

Chapter 5, “The Unpaid Debt,” provides an account of the lives of the jenets beyond the royal court and beyond ideas of privileged servitude. How did the Aragonese kings use these soldiers in practice? How did Christians view Muslim soldiers in the service of their kings? And how did the jenets, in turn, make their way through these foreign lands? This chapter begins with the jenets’ families, the women and children who accompanied them into the lands of the Crown of Aragon, and then examines the jenets’ encounters with local Christian officials and villagers. It turns finally to the relationship between the jenets, as foreign Muslims, and the Mudéjares, the subject Muslim population of the Crown of Aragon. This evidence points to the numerous challenges and threats to the kings’ and jenets’ claims to power and privilege. It reveals an irreducible context of indeterminacy, one of competing claims to law and legitimacy. On a local level, the effect of the Crown’s alliance with the jenets was to heighten tensions between Christians and Muslims. Far from being naïve or unaware of these challenges, the Aragonese kings turned this competition and disorder to their advantage.

Chapter 6, “The Worst Men in the World,” turns to the point of view of the jenets. The career of one fourteenth-century jenet commander, al-‘Abbās b. Raḥḥū, whose troops were called “the worst men in the world” by an Aragonese royal official, offers an opportunity to examine the motivations of these Muslim soldiers. Al-‘Abbās and his jenets understood their service to the Aragonese king on limited terms. More precisely, they saw their service not as a transgression but rather as an extension of their commitment to the Marīnid Ghuzāh, with whom their loyalty ultimately lay. This not only forces us to reconsider the meaning and practice of jihād in medieval al-Andalus and North Africa but also underscores the thinness of the Aragonese kings’ claim to sovereignty. The Aragonese kings depended upon soldiers who were not in fact their slaves or servants, empty ciphers for their will, but rather holy warriors, who denied their divinely sanctioned authority altogether.

In the light of these considerations of sovereignty, religion, and violence, the epilogue, “Medievalism and Secularism” returns to and explores more fully the origins and consequences of an implicit secular bias in the study of religious interaction in the Middle Ages and beyond.