5

Latin Christian Uses of Developing Knowledge of Nubia and Ethiopia

Unlike the more fragmentary source situation for how Dotawo and Bǝg^wǝna/Ethiopia responded to the establishment of the Latin Christian Crusader States and the aftermath of their fall, Latin Christian sources are much more illuminating of the roles of Nubia and Ethiopia in Latin Christian discourse. Following on from the earlier chapter regarding the potential sources of knowledge, it is important to emphasise that not only did knowledge and news disseminate naturally in centres of exchange, but they were also specifically managed by individuals for a variety of reasons, such as for personal gain or self-preservation.¹ The Latin Christian management of knowledge regarding Nubia and Ethiopia swiftly began to be harnessed to inform certain goals. The networks of knowledge which flourished throughout the wider Mediterranean did not merely develop Latin Christian geographic knowledge of Christian Africa just to be chronicled for passing interest. Almost immediately, the continual accumulation of knowledge, especially regarding Nubia, became of increasing interest to the Latin papacy and to a lesser extent secular rulers, who soon sought to utilise this ever-growing corpus of new information for geopolitical aims. Specifically, the information gathered from the twelfth century formed the basis for two key increasing focuses of Latin Europe from the thirteenth century: preaching and military strategy. It was not coincidental that Nubia, and later Ethiopia, became increasingly influential in Latin Christian discourse following the fall of Jerusalem in 1187 and the need of Latin Christendom to reassert its influence in the Holy Land via desires to engage with a neighbouring regional powerful Christian ally.

Preaching

The perceived errors of Eastern Christians, as deemed by the Latin Christians, had been a common feature in the texts of the Latin Christians following the latter’s arrival in the Holy Land. At first, the primary focus was on Syrians, Armenians, and Greeks before the greater diversity of Eastern Christianity began to be recognised in Latin Christian texts by the end of the twelfth century. Eastern Christians increasingly became an important Latin papal focus throughout the twelfth century, arguably embodied by the evolving language of the first four Lateran Councils (1123–1215) which came to distinguish between ‘Christians’ (Christiani) and ‘Catholics’ (Catholici) between the first and fourth councils to adapt to an ever-growing Orbis Christianorum in the eyes of the Latin Christians.² As more and more separate Christian denominations became acknowledged in Latin Christian texts, it was not long before issues of preaching and conversions came to the forefront of Latin Christian discourse regarding the ‘East’ from the early thirteenth century. Jacques of Vitry, the Latin bishop of Acre between 1214 and 1229, was the most notable of the early thirteenth-century writers who discussed the perceived errors of the Eastern Christians in detail. Jacques’ primary focus was on his perceived ignorance of Eastern Christians towards scripture and how Western clerics had a pastoral duty to reconcile these differences.³ In relation to the Christian Africans, in his Historia Orientalis (completed. c. 1224), Jacques did not mention Ethiopians by name, but he did discuss Nubians (Christians from Nubia) amongst his discussion on the Jacobites more generally, as well as those more broadly from the ‘parts of greater “Ethiopia”’ (magnam Ethiopie partem) and in ‘all regions until “India”’ (omnes regiones usque in Indiam).⁴ To Jacques, the African Christians were amongst the many Eastern Christian groups who had to be reconciled to the Latin rite. Indeed, the topic of the ‘errors’ of Nubian Christianity, for example, remained an important feature of Latin Christian texts throughout the thirteenth and into the early fourteenth century.⁵ In turn, before long, both Nubia and Ethiopia became the focus of Latin Christian preachers.

Throughout the thirteenth century, the papal bull Cum hora undecima was repeatedly reissued following its redeclaration by Innocent IV (r. 1243–54) in 1245 – it was originally declared in 1235 by Pope Gregory IX (r. 1227–41). The bull listed a host of target Eastern nations to which Latin Christian friars were to travel to preach Latin Catholicism. Both the lands of the Nubians (Nubianorum) and ‘Ethiopians’ (Ethyoporum – though this would appear to mean [north-east] Africans in general) – were listed.⁶ Simultaneously to the reissuing of Cum hora undecima by Innocent IV, a separate bull, Cum simus super, was also issued in 1245, which emphasised church unity, albeit under the primacy of Rome. Unlike the former, however, the latter only addressed the Nubians in its long list of Eastern Christians without any mention of Ethiopia or ‘Ethiopia’, whether Abyssinia or north-east Africa more generally.⁷ It would appear that Ethiopia remained a largely distant kingdom in the eyes of the Latin Christians at first, emphasising the fact that the earlier Latin Christian focus was centred on Nubia. Soon after, a bull issued to the Dominicans in 1253 listed the Nubians (Nubianorum) and ‘Ethiopians’ (Ethyopum – again [north-east] Africans more generally) as targeted realms in which to preach.⁸ These proclamations began a period between the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries which witnessed attempts at integrating both Nubia and Ethiopia into the Latin Orbis Christianus with varying results.⁹

Most commonly, the Franciscan (founded 1209) and Dominican (founded 1216) Orders conducted much of the preaching. Both are more famed for their operations in Asia, but they did also conduct missionary activity in Africa too.¹⁰ The success of many of these ventures, both in their outcomes and their practicality, has often been questioned, especially when compared to the narrative of the orders in Asia. Before turning to the question of their preaching success, the fundamental question remains: would preachers have been able to travel to either Nubia or Ethiopia? Most direct references to Latin Christians appearing in either Nubia or Ethiopia only date from the fourteenth century, yet earlier attempts were certainly possible despite the relatively late creation of the African jurisdiction of the Societas Fratrum Peregrinantium in 1349. The travels of Roger of Howden in the Red Sea region in the late twelfth century, whilst not a preacher, would indicate that the ability to travel was not necessarily a hindrance. For example, Roger had arrived at ʿAidhāb after traversing the well-used Qūṣ-ʿAidhāb desert road following his initial journey up the Nile from Alexandria.¹¹ The ability for Latin Christians to travel in and beyond Egypt should not be seen as being limited to only the major centres of Alexandria and Cairo during the crusading period. Navigating by the stars to traverse African deserts – in broader ‘Ethiopia’ (Ethiopie) – was certainly a tool used by Latin Christians, as noted in the early thirteenth century by Gervase of Tilbury (fl. c.1209–14) and specifically mentioned by Angelo da Spoleto on his journey to Cairo in 1303–4, for instance.¹² Even without any specific navigational training, the employment of guides was always a possibility. The case of Beneseg, which we will soon come to, is testament that Latin Christians could reach the Nubian capital during this period.

The fact that Latin Christians attempted to reach Nubia and Ethiopia has not particularly been in doubt. Instead, the doubt has come in modern historiography over whether any preachers actually reached the African kingdoms, particularly prior to the onset of the fifteenth century. Taking a positivist outlook, Marshall Baldwin has argued that successful missions should not necessarily be dismissed given the increased references to both Nubia and ‘Ethiopia’ in papal missionary letters as intended targets.¹³ Indeed, Jean Richard specifically suggested that the creation of the jurisdiction of Africa for the Societas Fratrum Peregrinantium in 1349 would have likely further nurtured contacts with Ethiopia decades before the arrival of the 1402 Ethiopian embassy to Venice.¹⁴ Here I would also add the nurturing of contact with Nubia, too. This may have been the case regarding the news reaching the King of Aragon of a Minorite friar who had ‘lived many years in the realm of Prester John’ being hosted in the Kingdom of Navarre and Aragon in 1391. Ethiopian sources suggest that the early fifteenth-century embassies were launched following acquiring information about Latin Europe from ‘Franks’ in Ethiopia, which resulted in the arrival of the 1402 embassy to Venice led by the Florentine Antonio Bartoli, so it remains possible that the Minorite friar had actually resided in Nubia.¹⁵ It would otherwise be somewhat surprising if an active Latin friar in Ethiopia had not similarly been questioned much earlier into Däwit II’s reign, which had begun in c. 1379, to inspire the sending of an earlier embassy than that of Bartoli. A resident friar would surely have expressed the knowledge that Däwit sought – namely, in relation to relics located in Latin Europe – many years before if he had been known to have been in Däwit’s land during the early years of his reign. Unless, of course, the friar resided there prior to c. 1379. In the case of the Societas Fratrum Peregrinantium it has not, however, been asked whether the creation of this jurisdiction was the cause or effect of possible successful missions reaching either Nubia or Ethiopia. Certainly, the Latin Christian knowledge of Dotawo’s capital of Dongola (Ducala) no later than 1282 by Ristoro d’Arezzo highlights that relevant geographical knowledge was in circulation to facilitate targeted travels.¹⁶ Moreover, the increasing focus on Nubia in Latin Christian discourse more generally would suggest the existence of a whole realm of uncodified knowledge which accompanied the very limited surviving textual discussions, or even passing notice, of specific locations within the region such as found in d’Arezzo’s text. Once again, Nubian and Ethiopian evidence is too limited and largely ignores or does not attest to pre-fifteenth-century exchanges within their respective kingdoms to offer further light on the matter.

Evidence of the early successes of Latin Christian preaching in Africa is limited. However, closer ties between the Latin Church and the Eastern Churches were seemingly being fostered during the 1230s and 40s, largely due to the efforts of the Dominican Provincial Prior, Philip, who appears to have established Jerusalem as the base of his mission.¹⁷ In 1237, Philip wrote to Pope Gregory IX about his attempts at facilitating similar unity with the other Eastern patriarchs akin to that which had been developing with the Jacobite Patriarch, Ignatius II (1222–52). The Coptic Patriarch Kyril III ibn Laqlaq (r. 1235–43) was described as having jurisdiction over ‘minor India’, Ethiopia (Nubia), ‘Libya’ (Libia), and Egypt; of which it was stated that the Ethiopes and ‘Libyans’ (Libii) were not subject to the rule of the Muslims.¹⁸ The ‘Ethiopians’ and ‘Libyans’ in question presumably referred to Nubians and Ethiopians, though no further clarity is provided. Building on what King Amalric had already known by 1173, additional material, such as a late-thirteenth-century document now located in the Escorial which lists the Abastini amongst the Copti, Nubi, and Indiani as those under the jurisdiction of the Coptic patriarch, emphasises that the structure of the African Church was well-known to the Latin Christians by this point.¹⁹ Confirmation of Nubia’s independence from the Muslims would prove to be particularly important to the Latin Christians in the following decades. Church unity was both potentially religiously and politically advantageous if Philip were to be successful.

Kyril, however, was primarily concerned with consolidating his office’s power following his succession after the Coptic See’s vacancy since 1216 and was not overly concerned with offers from the Latin Christians.²⁰ One notable event actually threatened to undo any positive strides between the churches. During Kyril’s patriarchate, Ethiopia was in need of a new abun to lead the Ethiopian Church, yet Kyril was reluctant to send one as was customary. According to the contemporary continuation of the History of the Patriarchs, he feared that sending a new abun would enable Ethiopia to become more ‘Greek’ (روم Rūm), which would lead them to becoming disobedient to both him and the sultan.²¹ Kyril’s proclamation may not necessarily be viewed as reflecting any possible connection between Ethiopians and ‘Greeks’, however, as this was often an allegation against those who were perceived to be heretical to the Coptic tradition.²² Moreover, Kyril’s reluctance to send a new abun also ensured the support of the sultan for Kyril and his actions, as it aimed to maintain the Egyptian position to manipulate such matters for their own political motivations too. In any case, this quarrel led to an Ethiopian, an otherwise unknown metropolitan named Thomas, appearing in the Holy Land sometime between 1237–9 or 1241–2 wanting to be consecrated by the Jacobite Patriarch Ignatius III David of Antioch, despite that ability being solely reserved for the Coptic patriarch.²³ This conflict between the Eastern Churches was not welcomed by senior Latin Christians in Jerusalem, notably the Templars and Hospitallers, who were outraged at Ignatius’ actions as it threatened the power balance in the Holy Land. It was important to the Latin Christians to not anger the Coptic patriarch by creating tensions with the recently installed Coptic bishop in Jerusalem (from 1237), as he had the potential ability to influence the Egyptian sultan against the Latin Christians.²⁴ After all, the Latin Christian presence in Jerusalem was delicately balanced following its brief recapture between 1241 and 1244 after a decade of the city being reclaimed by the Latin Christians between 1229 and 1239 as a result of the truce of the Sixth Crusade. The swift response by the Latin authorities against Ignatius highlights the ambition of maintaining important positive relations with the Coptic patriarch, not least to act as a favourable intermediary with the Egyptian sultan. As such, Latin Christian engagement during this period with the Coptic patriarch appears to have centred on the notion of self-preservation, rather than in hope of facilitating contact with either Nubia or Ethiopia. However, did any hope for Latin Christian engagement with either Nubia or Ethiopia have to rely on the favour of the Coptic patriarch?

Regarding either Nubia or Ethiopia, the earliest Latin Christian reference to a successful mission appears in a letter sent by Pope Clement IV (r. 1265–8) in 1267 to the Dominicans in relation to preaching in the lands of the Aethiopum (meaning the region of north-east Africa) and Nubians (Nubianorum), amongst others. The letter directed them to utilise the knowledge of Brother Vasinpace who was said to have travelled to these places previously.²⁵ No other evidence attests to, or casts doubt on, Vasinpace’s successful travels, with Jean Richard accepting Clement’s claim outright.²⁶ Further missions were planned. In September 1288, Nicholas IV sent a letter to brothers preaching in the terras infidelium, in both non-Christian and Christian lands, who were not subject to the pope. The missionaries were urged ‘to convert and unite them to the Christian faith, receive and baptise them, and add them as children to the prevailing Church’ (converti ad unitatem christiane fidei cupientes, recipere, baptizare et aggregare ecclesie filiis valeatis).²⁷ Furthermore, in July 1289, Nicholas IV sent letters to each of the patriarchs, bishops, and ‘other prelates’ of the Jacobites, Nestorians, Georgians, Armenians, the archiepiscopo Ethiopiae, and episcopis et aliis Ethiopiae praelatis praising the Christian world whilst alluding to a sense of ecumenicalism.²⁸ This ecumenical desire by the Latin Christians is further compounded in additional letters sent in 1289 to the people of ‘Ethiopia’ (populo Ethiopiae), the emperor of ‘Ethiopia’ (imperatori Ethiopiae), all the Nestorian peoples, Demetry, king of Georgiae, and David, king of Yberorum, seeking a Christian union.²⁹ Any lack of Latin Christian engagement with Nubia was certainly not through lack of trying or desire. By the latter decades of the thirteenth century, there was a concerted Latin Christian effort to engage with Nubia and, to a lesser extent initially, Ethiopia.

The fourteenth century witnessed an increased vigour for Latin Christian preaching in Nubia. John of Montecorvino was said to have travelled to ‘Ethiopia’ during his preaching in India sometime around 1305/6 as a result of supposedly being requested by ‘Ethiopians’. It is unknown who exactly these supposed ‘Ethiopians’ were if, indeed, this was not a rhetorical ploy by John to overstate his preaching successes.³⁰ A decade later, eight Dominicans were said to have left Egypt to preach in the lands of the Aetiopes (Nubia) and the Abissinos in 1316, possibly in connection with the arrival of the Nubian ‘Ethiopian’ embassy between 1300 until an unknown date after 1314 to be discussed in the next chapter. The Dominican mission does not appear in any Nubian or Ethiopian sources and is only known through later Latin Christian sources, which has led some historians to question its validity, though wider contextual evidence lends support to it.³¹ The successful arrival of this mission is unknown, yet it is perhaps notable that by the following year, the Christian ourou had been replaced with a Muslim – Ourou David II’s (r. c. 1268–c. 76) nephew, Baršanbū – by the Mamlūks who himself was usurped within the year by the Kanz al-Dawla Abū ʿAbd Allāh Muḥammad, during a period which also witnessed the cathedral of Dongola converted into a mosque.³² It remains possible that these events are related, if not directly linked. When exactly the missionaries arrived is unknown, but in late 1329, Pope John XXII (r. 1316–34) sent a letter to the ‘magnificent Emperor of “Ethiopia”’ (Magnifico viro Imperatori Aethiopum), possibly upon hearing of the succession of the Christian ourou Siti, which appears to praise the otherwise unnamed ruler for his treatment of some preachers, presumably those who had left earlier in 1316.³³ The Kanz al-Dawla still claimed rulership over Dongola in 1333 but the date of Siti’s succession remains unclear as he is attested from at least 1331. There would appear to have been yet another period of contestation over the Dotawon throne. Whilst no direct connection can be established, it is particularly notable that Pope John was the same pope who had received Marino Sanudo’s crusade treatise, which highlighted the military importance of the Nubians, which will be discussed later in this chapter.

There is one tantalising inscription which has been uncovered at the church at Banganarti, across from the capital of Dotawo, Dongola. Dated to between c. 1250 and c. 1350, the graffito is written in Provençal and attests to nothing more than an otherwise unknown Beneseg’s presence in Dotawo during the period of the Dominican mission.³⁴ The graffito is located in the chapel of Archangel Raphael. It is unclear as to what or who the graffito is precisely aimed at but if it was directed at the Archangel, it would fit with the role of the Archangel as being the protector of pilgrims, if Beneseg was even one.³⁵ The placement of the graffito also provides circumstantial evidence for a possible Dominican background of either Beneseg or if he was a companion to the main group. The graffito is neatly placed amongst the surrounding Greek and Old Nubian graffiti, which suggests an active respectful desire to not write over those left by others. Such understanding of the texts would imply that Beneseg or his companions either understood these languages in some capacity or, at least, respected the other graffiti. In relation to the 1316 mission, it is noteworthy that the preachers were Dominicans who, by order of their General Chapter since 1236, were required to learn the languages of the peoples that they preached to, thus providing them with such possible linguistic knowledge which would explain the thoughtful placement of the graffito.³⁶ Regrettably, evidence for Latin Christian learning of African languages prior to their systematic study from the sixteenth century is extremely limited, despite certain logical conclusions which can be derived as a result of consistent engagement and interaction, especially in the Holy Land. Whilst inconclusive, was Beneseg in some way connected to the Dominican mission?

The 1316 mission’s ultimate success appears to have resulted in the ordaining of Bishop Tivoli as bishop of Dongola in 1330, at least as far as the Latin Christians were concerned.³⁷ There is no other evidence for Tivoli’s tenure or even that he took up residence in Nubia other than a note by Francisco Álvarez in the early sixteenth century who stated that it was because of the death of a bishop from Rome (presumably to be linked to Tivoli) in Nubia and the subsequent restriction imposed by Mamlūk Egypt on Nubia against receiving another Latin bishop which caused the loss of Christianity in Nubia by his time.³⁸ The residence of Bishop Tivoli remains contested in scholarship. For example, Carlo Conti Rossini rejected the bishop’s presence outright, whilst John Phillips has suggested that it was a confusion for Bishop Bartolomeo da Podio of Maragha in Iran. Neither of which, however, acknowledge Álvarez’s statement.³⁹ Bishop Tivoli certainly became symbolic in the later decades of the Portuguese presence in Ethiopia. According to the Spanish Dominican Luis de Urreta in 1611, Tivoli had also founded a monastery in Tǝgray in northern Ethiopia.⁴⁰ There is no contemporary evidence at all for this. If anything, such a claim only serves to attest to the historicity of Bishop Tivoli’s residence in Nubia for any claim of his apparent actions in Ethiopia to have had any credibility. Luis de Urreta’s own authorial motives are important. His account was specifically written with the intention to highlight the earlier Dominican presence in Ethiopia before the arrival of the now dominant Jesuits so that the Dominicans could gain increased favour as the ‘original’ preachers in Ethiopia. His association between Tivoli and Ethiopia otherwise holds no historical merit.

Evidence for how far these Latin Christian missions were successful in their aims or even their capabilities may remain circumstantial and debatable. However, it is clear that the Latin Christians certainly had the intention to engage with the Christians of north-east Africa. In terms of Ethiopia, however, it remained secondary to Nubia, and there is no evidence, circumstantial or otherwise, of Latin Christian preachers arriving in Ethiopia during the period in question without an anachronistic misunderstanding of ‘Ethiopia’ in the Latin Christian sources despite their otherwise intended desires. Whilst Ethiopia was not completely ignored as a destination for the Latin Christians, it would appear to have remained a desire rather than a reality. The contrasting results of the 1316 Dominican mission to Nubia and Ethiopia would seemingly attest to this. Preaching was not merely limited to reconciling the theological differences between different Christians with the Latin Christian rite either. Every attempt at reaching out to Nubia, and to the lesser extent Ethiopia, by the Latin Christians continued to increase Mamlūk wariness of the possibility of a Nubian-Latin Christian alliance. Even though the potential success of engagements as a result of preaching may not necessarily appear connected to military endeavours, their results and feasibility added to the hopes of the Latin Christians. Even before preaching expanded in the second half of the thirteenth century, Latin Christian military desires for Nubia had been circulating. The missions only served to strengthen these desires.

The Latin Christian Need for Military Aid

From the earliest years of the Crusader States, the Latin Christians were in need of constant military support from Western Europe. As this did not always prove fruitful, increasingly, Eastern Christians, most notably the Byzantines, began to be considered as potential allies as the twelfth century wore on. Christian Africans took a slower trajectory in Latin Christian military discourse despite rumours of both Nubian and ‘Abyssinian’ power from the early thirteenth century. It was only towards the end of the century, however, that the Nubians became the first of the two to be considered as potential allies by the Latin Christians. Certain Eastern Christians were wary of provoking the Fāṭimids if they were seen to be actively cooperating with the Latin Christians, particularly in areas closer to Egypt. This was explicitly recorded in relation to Baldwin I’s (r. 1100–18) expedition to the Red Sea in 1116, for instance, where he was said to have been persuaded not to travel to St. Catherine’s monastery in Sinai by its resident monks, who most, if not all, were Eastern Christians, out of fear of angering the Fāṭimids as it was only four days’ march from there to Cairo.⁴¹ The presence of Baldwin may have been perceived as an active threat to the Fāṭimids with the monks being viewed as collaborators, which they actively wanted to avoid.

It is not clear whether the early twelfth-century Latin Christian relationship with the Red Sea was the cause or result of initial developing knowledge. Even though King Baldwin I extended the Kingdom of Jerusalem towards the Red Sea in the latter years of his reign, only Fulcher of Chartres of the early crusade writers makes any notice of the geography of the Red Sea and the Indian Ocean. Following the chronicling of Baldwin’s expedition, Fulcher made a brief tract on the Red Sea but with no knowledge that can be viewed as particularly novel beyond what can be gleaned from classical sources, offering no detail on the sea’s major ports, for instance.⁴² Indeed, according to Albert of Aachen, King Baldwin I only became acquainted with St. Catherine’s Monastery at Sinai as a result of his expedition to the Red Sea in 1116.⁴³ The building of the castles at Montréal and Li Vaux Moise, the first entirely new fortresses built by the Latin Christians since their arrival, would suggest that they felt their engagement with the Red Sea was, or would become, important.⁴⁴ Moreover, the Latin Christian presence and settlement in the Petra region between Jerusalem and the Red Sea during the twelfth century would further portray a Kingdom of Jerusalem that was very attuned to its surroundings and the potential avenues to wealth via the trade routes to the south.⁴⁵ The Latin Christian presence on the island of Jazīrat Firʿawn near Aqaba, known to the Latin Christians as Ile de Graye, is the most direct evidence of at least some Latin Christian interest in the sea, even if what interest this may have been is not overtly clear in the surviving sources. The Latin Christian presence had a terminus ante quem of 1171 when the island was conquered by Ṣalāḥ ad-Dīn, though the date of its establishment remains debatable. Traditionally, scholarship has dated the Latin Christian presence at Ile de Graye to be contemporaneous with the building of Montréal and Li Vaux Moise (from 1116). However, Hans Eberhard Mayer has dated this presence to not before 1134 on account of an apparent reference to a Fāṭimid governor at Aqaba in a firmān from the Fāṭimid caliph al-Ḥāfiẓ to the monks at Sinai in that year.⁴⁶ Denys Pringle has urged further caution and dated to the presence to not before 1154 owing to al-ʾIdrīsī’s reference of that year to the island being populated and controlled by Arabs.⁴⁷ It is possible that Ile de Graye co-existed with the Muslim port of Aqaba, located 15 km apart, but it would otherwise appear likely that the Latin fortress was built in the 1160s during the multiple Latin Christian expeditions to Egypt. Archaeology has yet to provide significant proof of a more specific date either. Simply, the scale of an established Latin Christian presence on the shores of the Red Sea during the twelfth century remains an open question.

Beyond the question of the Latin Christian military presence at Ile de Graye, there is suggestive evidence of their engagement with Red Sea trade more broadly. Despite limited sources attesting directly to Latin Christian involvement in the Red Sea trade, increasing engagement can be arguably witnessed in the appearance of the mentioning of the key port of ʿAidhāb in some Latin Christian texts in the second half of the twelfth century.⁴⁸ Certainly, Roger of Howden travelled to ʿAidhāb during his travels in the latter third of the twelfth century.⁴⁹ How expansive the Latin Christian engagement with the Red Sea trade was is currently difficult to determine based on current evidence, as other important ports do not appear in Latin Christian texts for at least another two centuries.⁵⁰ Nevertheless, the increased Fāṭimid interest in the Red Sea from the beginning of the twelfth century suggests a wariness over the developing competition between Egypt and the newly established Crusader States over Red Sea trade, especially on account of its economic importance to Egypt for funding any maintained war effort.⁵¹ Whatever the case, it would appear that any Latin Christian engagement with the Red Sea remained relatively confined to the sea’s northern half. This would appear to be suggested by the fact that the origins of goods which were acquired indirectly from East Africa – such as rock crystal, which was used in churches for decoration throughout Latin Christendom – did not produce similar documenting of more southerly ports.⁵² This more northerly focus may also explain the initial Latin Christian interest in Nubia, rather than Ethiopia. Ethiopia’s key port of Sawākin, which is roughly 370 km directly south of ʿAidhāb, for instance, is not noted during this early period in any surviving text penned by a Latin Christian. The focus on ʿAidhāb is particularly notable when we consider Reynald of Châtillon’s Red Sea ‘raid’ of 1182–3, to be discussed later in this chapter, which specifically targeted the port.

The Latin Christian presence at Aqaba, no matter how brief, and their engagement with the Red Sea trade is significant when viewed alongside the activity of Nubians and Ethiopians in the Red Sea. For example, ʿAidhāb is noted as the principal terminus for traders from the two ‘Ethiopias’ trading between the Red Sea and Alexandria in the thirteenth-century Old French continuation of William of Tyre, which likely reflected much earlier knowledge.⁵³ Moreover, Ethiopia was recorded in the early thirteenth century by the German pilgrim Thietmar as being an active component of the Red Sea trade.⁵⁴ It would have been extraordinarily unlikely that Latin Christians avoided all interaction with Nubians and Ethiopians in the wider Red Sea region. Ethiopian or Nubian traffic through Aqaba would be notable given the Latin Christian presence there during part of the twelfth century for fostering interactions. For instance, Nubian and Ethiopian pilgrimage routes to the Holy Land have been presumed to have been undertaken primarily along the Nile, especially as Red Sea routes are attested much later in sources, but this may also have included a Red Sea route via ʿAidhāb throughout the period in question here. Certainly, ʿAidhāb was of enough importance to warrant its sacking by ourou David II in 1272, and it is noteworthy that later sources state that many inhabitants of ʿAidhāb fled to Dongola after it was sacked by the Mamlūk sultan Barsbay in 1426, possibly reflecting the connections built through trade and pilgrimage.⁵⁵ Indeed, the archaeological evidence from the monastery of Apa Dioscuros indicating the expansion of the facilities for accommodating pilgrims in Lower Nubia in the eleventh century would actually indicate an increasing number of Nubian pilgrims at least travelling north of the kingdom during the period in question who would likely have taken both Red Sea and Nilotic routes.⁵⁶ In the case of Ethiopians, there is similarly little contemporary evidence for their use of a Red Sea route for pilgrimage. However, two ʾAksumite coins dating to the late seventh or early eighth centuries found at Aqaba and later Ethiopian sources revealing to the Venetian Alessandro Zorzi in the early sixteenth century that pilgrims travelled to the Holy Land using a sea route between Sawākin and Sinai – presumably via Aqaba (the itinerary only states a ‘castle by the sea’ (castel a marina) called Coser, presumably reflecting an understanding of the generic Gəʿəz qaṣr/qəṣr, ‘fortress’) – would suggest a case for an overall continual use of this route.⁵⁷ An Ethiopian inscription left in the Wādī Ḥajjaj in eastern Sinai by one ʾAgaton, a monk from the otherwise unknown monastery of Däbrä Manz (?), which has been dated to before the seventh century, is further suggestive of an historic pilgrimage route via the peninsula which most likely operated through the Aqaban Peninsula.⁵⁸ It is no coincidence that Latin Christian engagement with the Red Sea, both economically and militarily, also coincided with early developing interest in the military prowess of Nubia and Ethiopia.

Importantly, this military interest was the focus of writers who were both resident in the Holy Land or had travelled there and also those who had not left Western Europe. The latter is of particular note as it would indicate that this information was actively sought. This appears to have been the case in the universal Chronica (wr. finished c. 1174) of the Benedictine Cluniac monk Richard of Poitiers. In his text, the following passage appears:

Regarding the King of Morocco, who is called the King of Assyria, and the King of Bugie, and the King of Numidia, and of Libya and of Cyrene, and the King of Ethiopum we have rarely heard so few things that we are almost completely unaware of what is happening there.… This is because Christianity has been expelled from those lands by the false teaching of Muḥammad and [so] those people have cut themselves off from the Roman Empire and from the Christian faith.… Similarly we know very little about the Sultan of Persia because his land is very distant, and is cut off from us by religion and language, though they do say that there are Christian kings beyond the lands of the Medes and Persians and the Macedonians [who their people call bishops and kings] … [who] strongly attack the pagan nations in those parts whose fame has reached all the way to us. We have also heard that the King of Georgia and the King of Nubianorum do the same.… This was the state of human affairs in the year of the Incarnate Word 1172.⁵⁹

The king of ‘Ethiopia’ should be seen as a generic description for an African Muslim ruler with no relation to the highland Christian kingdom. The King of Nubia, however, is clearly presented as a warring ruler who was fighting a Christian fight which had become known far beyond the region. Whether this king was just heard to have been fighting Egypt or with other regional powers is unclear. In any case, the dating of 1172 is significant for reflecting upon the development of Nubia in Latin Christian discourse. Richard began writing his Chronica in 1156 with a dedication to Peter the Venerable, thus suggesting that the text was developed over a c. 18-year period. However, information regarding Nubia was only provided in a narrow two-year period towards the end of the text, as Nubia does not appear in relation to any events prior to 1172. Not only does the passage arguably reflect growing Latin Christian interest in Nubia by Richard’s active decision to insert the narrative, but it could also possibly specifically reflect the contemporary state of affairs surrounding the events of Tūrānshāh’s raid of 1172–3, especially if, as Abū Šāma (wr. c. 1240s) noted, the raid was in retaliation for a Nubian attack at Aswan.⁶⁰ Whether the noting of the Nubian king’s conflicts against ‘pagans’ was reflecting specific knowledge of events or was a general description, he was clearly portrayed in a position of strength.

More importantly for the relevance of Richard’s writing process, although information regarding Nubia likely travelled to Latin Europe earlier than the 1170s to supplement the cartographical information found in Hugh of St. Victor’s c. 1130 Descriptio, Richard was the first to project this knowledge as evidence of Nubian power in the known surviving Latin Christian corpus. This can be seen as an active decision by Richard as not only was the information received late in the production of his work but also his listed sources – Isidore, Theodolfus, Josephus, Hegesippus, Eutropius, Titus Livy, Suetonius, Aimoinus, Justinus, Freculphus, Orosius, Anastasius, Anneus Florus, Gregory, Bede, Ado, Gildas, Paul the monk, and ‘of a few others’ (et quorumdam aliorum) – would not have provided the framework for reflecting the contemporary power of Christian Nubia, as none of these writers were contemporary themselves.⁶¹ Dominique Iogna-Prat has argued that the extension of Richard’s work would not have been out of character for Peter the Venerable’s own fear of the confrontation with Islam against a disunited church, particularly with the text focusing on Islam’s geographical advancement towards Christian realms.⁶² It is possible, therefore, that Richard actively sought such information regarding the strength of Christian Nubia in support of the motivations behind his chronicle, suggesting that the insertion of the passage including Nubia’s king was not by accident. Whether Richard sought or passively received such information is uncertain, but it does highlight how the knowledge networks of the East were disseminating contemporary knowledge of north-east Africa far and wide amongst Latin Christians and how this informed Latin Christian discourse towards the wider Holy Land/Egypt region.

Nubia was not alone in being recorded as a strong regional power in the latter half of the twelfth century. There is also at least one first-hand Latin Christian account of tensions in the wider region regarding Ethiopia. A text attributed to Roger of Howden places him active in the Red Sea in the final third of the twelfth century where he reported information that he had heard. Interestingly, contrary to the focus on Nubia, Roger’s text is a rare example of an early focus on Ethiopia. Notably, Roger correctly identified Ethiopia’s contemporary continual tensions with Aden, whose ruler he called Melec Sanar (malik of Sana’a), and, more intriguingly, identified Ethiopia’s (Abitis: his understanding of Ḥabaš) ruler as King John long before any associations with the kingdom and Prester John.⁶³ As no ruler went by that name, the most likely explanation would appear to be that Roger mistook the Gəʿəz word ğan (ጃን, ‘majesty’) for the Venetian personal name Gian (or Zane) during interactions with Ethiopians at some point on his journey. Indeed, this possible origin for the name of the later Prester John was proposed by Constantin Marinescu a century ago.⁶⁴ This period is also notable for Ethiopian regional conflict, particularly towards the Red Sea, as illustrated by a land grant by the twelfth-century ḥaḍe Ṭanṭawǝdǝm to the church at Ura Mäsqäl in Tǝgray, which alludes to his victories over nearby Muslims, presumably in locations towards the Red Sea.⁶⁵ Even into the thirteenth century, Ethiopia made another rare appearance in the Latin Christian corpus in this vain. For instance, the pilgrim Thietmar noted during his pilgrimage between 1217 and 1218 how the Issini frequently fought against the Egyptians and that its ruler was able to march on Cairo and remove every brick if he so wished – though this was likely a conflation with contemporary rumours of Nubia.⁶⁶ Despite this, however, Latin Christian interest in, or even knowledge of, Ethiopia remained secondary to Nubia.

Little else appears of note in the Latin Christian sources for the remainder of the twelfth century, including regarding the supposed ‘raid’ of Reynald of Châtillon on ʿAidhāb in 1182–3. Motives for the expedition are unclear, as almost all testimonies to the event are by Muslim writers who emphasised the threat posed by the ability of the Latin Christians to reach Mecca. In comparison, the event is only described in two short lines in the late twelfth-century Chronicle of Ernoul, which merely noted that the event happened but without explanation and that nothing more was known of its participants.⁶⁷ The expedition has traditionally been viewed as a raid due to modern opinion of Reynald which has emphasised his independent nature and his likeliness to be a threat to both the Crusader States and to Muslims simultaneously.⁶⁸ However, Reynald has equally been deemed to have committed himself to the Crusader cause for the remaining years of his life following his release from captivity in Aleppo in 1176.⁶⁹ The expedition itself is considered a failure considering the lack of Latin Christian attention paid to documenting it. Yet, did the ‘raid’ fail? Importantly, if viewed as part of a wider plan, such as to divert Ṣalāḥ ad-Dīn’s attentions away from Syria, the expedition could even be said to have been somewhat of a success, as it successfully did distract Ṣalāḥ ad-Dīn from any further advances for the following two years as he tried and failed to capture Reynald.⁷⁰ Similar attention paid to Arabia by Reynald would suggest a concerted interest in the region.⁷¹ If this was the case, viewing the expedition as part of a wider Latin Christian strategy, or even the specific endeavours of Reynald, begs the question of the role of Latin Christian knowledge of the Red Sea. It is more than likely that the focus on ʿAidhāb was not accidental and can even be suggested to have directly correlated with burgeoning Latin Christian knowledge of Nubia and Ethiopia.⁷² Regrettably, no contemporary African sources survive to reveal either a Nubian or Ethiopian perspective on what they knew of the activities of the Latin Christians in the Red Sea.

Muslim sources explicitly mention that Reynald’s fleet attacked ʿAidhāb, yet this poses the question of where this actually was. Exploratory fieldwork by David and Andrew Peacock has not found a viable port at ʿAidhāb other than at Halaib, 20 km to its south.⁷³ If this was the case, it remains unclear whether the Latin Christians arrived at the port or at the town. Moreover, even the framing of the fleet as an aggressor may be problematic in light of the one-sided surviving evidence. Any conflict at ʿAidhāb may have been secondary and not the original intention. For example, the fleet may have arrived looking to enquire about the port’s access to gold with relations only turning sour possibly after some form of internal conflict. Since the 1170s, Egypt had begun to debase its gold coins as a gold crisis affected the economy, which Amar Baadj has specifically connected to Ṣalāḥ ad-Dīn’s early aggressive politics towards Nubia, its principal gold market after the Fāṭimid loss of North Africa.⁷⁴ William of Tyre was certainly amongst contemporaries to note the importance of the gold trade to Egypt, and the numismatic evidence would also suggest that the Latin Christians were well-aware of the gold crisis as the fineness of gold coins from the Crusader States decreased during this time due to disruptions in gold supply.⁷⁵ The Latin Christians certainly had a material and political motive to attack important ports, but why did they choose ʿAidhāb? Any Latin Christian involvement in the Red Sea trade would likely have fostered knowledge of the African coast. For instance, it was widely known by Red Sea navigators that the Arabian shoals were much more difficult to navigate than those on the African side of the sea, thus making ʿAidhāb a premeditated and more easily navigable ‘target’.⁷⁶ The lack of an ‘attack’ on other significant ports such as Sawākin and Bāḍiʿ would suggest that the Latin Christian engagement with ʿAidhāb, in whatever form it took, was premeditated and built on developing knowledge of the region.

ʿAidhāb’s connections with Nubia may be of note here. ʿAidhāb was known to be a route of twelfth-century Fāṭimid trade to Nubia, whilst the traders from the two ‘Ethiopias’ (Ethiopes), noted by the continuation of William of Tyre, trading in pepper (poivre), spices (espices), ointments (oignemenz), electuaries (lectuaires), precious stones (pierres precieuses), silks (dras de soie), and other many things (pluseurs choses) between ʿAidhāb and Alexandria were most likely Nubians.⁷⁷ The extent of the political authority of Dotawo towards the Red Sea is not fully known. Yet, the inconsistent description of the local rule at ʿAidhāb by Muslim writers may suggest a more direct Nubian role with the port. During his travels through the port in 1183, Ibn Jubayr described ʿAidhāb as having its own sultan and that its population were apparently Muslim Beja (اابجه: al-Bujah).⁷⁸ Significantly, some contemporary Muslim writers actually associate the Beja with Nubians, whilst others distinguished the two, as well as the Ethiopians, to suggest that they were three independent kingdoms, with others noting that they were in fact Christian.⁷⁹ With this confusion in the texts, it remains possible that Ibn Jubayr’s ‘sultan’ may have been a Nubian eparch or even a lesser Nubian political official who was viewed to have a lot of local power surrounding ʿAidhāb, despite his claim that the ‘sultan’ occasionally met the Egyptian governor to pledge obedience to him. Nubian evidence remains elusive but ourou David II’s attack on the port in 1272 may have been the result of the loss of Nubian influence over the port over the following century. Furthermore, in relation to the gold crisis of the 1170s, it was also said by Muslim writers that the important ʿAllaqī gold mines situated between ʿAidhāb and the Egyptian-Nubian border at the First Cataract were in the country of the Beja, which, given other confusions, could readily have been misconstrued as belonging to Nubia.⁸⁰ ʿAidhāb may not have been a wholly random focus of Reynald’s fleet after all. Too little is known about the expedition to take this suggestion much further, but it would appear clear that the fleet was the result of Reynald’s focus on the wider region and the combination of his personal ambition and wider Latin Christian knowledge.⁸¹ The expedition was much more than a fleet consisting of wandering rogues or even necessarily intent on sacking Mecca as Muslim writers feared. What, then, were they doing, and could it have had something to do with burgeoning knowledge of Nubia? Currently, evidence is inconclusive. Whatever the case, it would appear that the Latin Christians were not ignorant of the situation in north-east Africa and what it could mean for their regional interests.

Incorporating Nubia into Crusader Strategy from the Thirteenth Century

Moving into the thirteenth century, Latin Christians became much more explicit about the potential importance of Nubia for their regional strategy. Nubia’s most obvious benefit to the Latin Christians was its position in relation to Egypt. However, when major crusading expeditions were directed towards Egypt from the Fifth Crusade (1217–21), there was no clear evidence of any Latin Christian attempts at collaboration. This was despite the growing knowledge of Nubia’s regional prowess and Latin Christian planning in relation to Egypt for the crusade. For example, Pope Innocent III (r. 1198–1216) communicated several times with the Melkite patriarch of Alexandria, Nicholas I (r. 1210–43), prior to 1217, including inviting him to attend the Fourth Lateran Council in 1215), yet consistent relations with the Coptic patriarch, John VI (r. 1189–1216), remained elusive. Communication between the Latin papacy and Nicholas survived the failed crusade, but the Coptic See remained vacant between 1216 and 1235, restricting relations with the broader Coptic Church, and, most importantly, with the potential ecclesiastical link to the Nubians (or Ethiopians). The absence of clear interactions with the Copts in the planning of the crusade helps to explain the character of the circulating myth of the Nubian king during the siege of Damietta. As Benjamin Weber has suggested, it may have been the case that the Latin Christians were purposefully introduced to Nubian power by Copts during the Fifth Crusade.⁸² The papacy was seemingly ignorant of this narrative prior to the crusade. In which case, such reasoning would also suggest that information regarding Nubia circulating in the twelfth and early thirteenth centuries remained largely too decentralised, which inhibited its use in large-scale crusade planning. The Coptic Church did seemingly hold the key in the earlier period for facilitating official interactions between the Latin Christians and the Nubians, though it appears that Copts, at least those in positions of authority, largely did not want to have been party to anything that could destabilise their position in Egypt with their Muslim rulers. Furthermore, even when the Coptic See had a patriarch in later decades, there is no evidence of Latin Christian attempts to engage with Nubia, or even Ethiopia, prior to the next crusade to specifically target Egypt, the Seventh Crusade (1248–54) led by King Louis IX, which mostly repeated the itinerary of the Fifth Crusade. Instead, it took some time for Latin Christians to attempt to bypass the Coptic See and discuss Nubia directly.

Nubia may even have been intentionally ignored in the planning of the Fifth Crusade; importantly before the circulation of the Damietta myth of the Nubian king. Arnold of Lübeck has been argued by Volker Scior to have been on a mission to accumulate knowledge of Egypt and neighbouring regions in his Chronica specifically for Fifth Crusade planning. Yet, in relation to Nubia, Arnold only repeated Bernard of Strasbourg’s brief remark of it being a Christian kingdom 20 days distance south of Egypt whose people were uncultured (incultus) and the land wild (silvestris).⁸³ Certainly, the collecting of information for the success of the crusade had been of particular importance to Innocent III who, prior to his premature death, was acutely concerned with having council from ‘prudent men’ (prudentum virorum) in the crusade’s planning, as evidenced in his 1213 papal bull Quia Maior originally calling for the Fifth Crusade.⁸⁴ If Arnold was collecting information, however, Nubia was not deemed to be important prior to the crusade. Indeed, Nubia may even have avoided focus because of the legacy of Latin Christian knowledge of Tūrānšāh’s raid into Nubia in 1172–3. The identification of Nubia as one of Ṣalāḥ ad-Dīn’s four brothers, along with Abesiam (Ethiopia), Leemen (Yemen), and Mauros (Libya or North Africa?), first by Ralph of Diceto (d. 1202), the Archdeacon of Middlesex, is possibly reflective of this knowledge of Nubia’s perceived subjugation.⁸⁵ The motif of Ṣalāḥ ad-Dīn’s brother’s was repeated in the following decades by the likes of Roger of Wendover, in his Flores historiarum (c. 1235), and Matthew Paris, in his Chronica majora (wr. c. 1240s–50s), indicating that the narrative remained prominent.⁸⁶ Equally, Uri Zvi Shachar has argued that the circulation of knowledge regarding Tūrānšāh’s raid into Nubia can be witnessed in the thirteenth-century Estoires d’Outremer, an Old French quasi-historical narration of events up to 1229 related to the broader William of Tyre textual traditions.⁸⁷ Such narratives only served to further emphasise the image of a conquered Nubia in Latin Christian discourse in the first half of the thirteenth century which may have quelled initial enquiry into Nubia’s military capabilities.

Even the appearance of the Damietta myth during the Fifth Crusade regarding the powerful Nubian king, who was said would rise up and scatter the bones of the Prophet Muḥammad in Mecca, did not result in Latin Christians actively seeking to ascertain more information about the kingdom in the hope of facilitating collaboration. This was despite this same myth’s broader narrative having apparently correctly predicted the terror of Ṣalāḥ ad-Dīn and foretold that if Damietta was captured and the Nubian king appeared, it would lead to the exaltation of Christianity and the defeat of the Muslims.⁸⁸ Similarly, news of the Byzantine emperor’s respectful conduct towards the Nubian ‘king’ in front of the Fourth Crusaders in 1202, as witnessed by Robert of Clari (wr. c. 1216), did not seemingly spur interests. There is little further embellishment in Robert’s text to over-exaggerate any power of the ‘king’ himself, but importantly he displays a Nubian ‘king’ who was universally respected across Christendom.⁸⁹ These narratives of a powerful and influential Nubian king appear to have been isolated to each crusade and did not provide the foundation for widespread Latin Christian military interest in Nubia. Notwithstanding the limiting factors of the overall weakening position of the Crusader States during the thirteenth century and the politics of Latin Europe, concerted Latin Christian efforts with a Nubian interest did not initially materialise. It is likely uncoincidental that Nubians begin to more widely appear as an explicit military focus in Latin Christian discourse only after the era of preaching had begun in the middle of the century.

It was Pope Gregory X (r. 1271–6) who was the first Latin pope to oversee a strategy of seeking unity between Latin and Eastern Christians, which also included the Mongols, against the Mamlūks.⁹⁰ The possible association of Nubia with the Second Council of Lyons in 1274, as posited by Giovanni Vantini, certainly would have reflected Gregory’s wider military policy, as well as the importance of preaching interactions noted earlier.⁹¹ However, any direct evidence of this connection remains circumstantial. Regrettably, Gregory’s short reign prohibited the exploration of his policy further, thus limiting the creation of tangible evidence. The quick succession of Gregory’s successors – there was immediately four popes in four years until Martin IV (r. 1281–5), and no pope had a reign longer than four years until Boniface VIII (r. 1294–1303) – limited desires to continue Gregory’s efforts. Importantly, events in the Holy Land during the latter decades of the thirteenth century, intensified by the fall of Acre in 1291 and the end of the Crusader States, forced the Latin Christians to continually adapt their crusading approach between self-preservation, territorial consolidation, and hopeful expansion.⁹² Most of all, the fall of Acre expanded the geographical scope of crusading and its arenas as the Latin Christians were once again, for the first time since the arrival of the First Crusade, operating in a region with no settled military presence in the Holy Land.93 Crusading targets and the proposed means to achieve success were continually diversified. Increased attention towards Nubia was just one of the ways this change materialised.

One of the clearest and most explicit ways this was witnessed was in the changing nature of crusade treatises. These texts devised ways for a crusade to succeed and were presented to popes and secular leaders during the latter thirteenth and early fourteenth centuries.⁹⁴ Most crusade treatises do not discuss Eastern Christians at all, let alone foster any desires to explore potential collaboration with Africans. Indeed, some treatises, such as Fidenzo of Padua’s Liber recuperationis Terre Sancte (1274), describe the Jacobitarum, along with other Eastern groups, as cowardly and that they were no help for any fight because they were ‘not a war-like people’ (non sunt bellicosi).⁹⁵ Specifically in relation to Nubians, it is likely that Fidenzo included Nubians in his depiction of the Jacobites given the influence of Jacques of Vitry in his text, who specifically grouped the Nubians in his own discussion of the Jacobites in his Historia Orientalis, as previously noted. The early crusade treatises did not overly concern themselves with the Nubians. For instance, William of Tripoli only briefly noted that Nubia (Ethiopia) was south of Egypt and had always been Christian in his 1273 Tractatus de statu Saracenorum.⁹⁶ Yet, William refrained from any further discussion of the kingdom or provided any thoughts on potential cooperation. Reasons for the initial lack of interest in Nubia in such treatises may be twofold. Firstly, the early texts reflect Latin Christian strategy prior to the fall of Acre before any real military interest in the Nubians in such treatises was shown. Alternatively, this apparent disinterest may actually be suggestive of well-informed Latin Christian authors who were well-acquainted with knowledge of certain events which would have limited contemporary belief in the capabilities of Nubia. For example, Burchard of Mount Sion stated that he saw the King of Ethyopie (Nubia) being held captive in Cairo during his travels in c. 1283.⁹⁷ Ourou David II was indeed being held captive by the Mamlūks following the fallout of the Mamlūk-backed installation of his nephew Shekanda (also known as Mashkouda) in 1276. The witnessing of David by Burchard is notable if we accept Jonathan Rubin’s view that, based on an extended edition of Burchard’s text, Burchard was in fact actually relaying information to Latin Europe whilst operating as an envoy to the sultan.⁹⁸ Knowledge of the turbulent politics of the 1270s and 1280s would not have filled Latin Christians with much hope that the Nubians would or could have been much help. It would also seem uncoincidental that Mamlūk rulers tried to portray their dominance over Nubia in correspondence with Latin Christian rulers. For example, the Mamlūk Sultan Qalāwūn described himself as the ‘Sultan of the Nubians’, which he specifically described as ‘the [former] land of King David’ in a treaty with Alfonso III of Aragon in 1290. This does not appear to have been mere diplomatic rhetoric either. Of the other territories ascribed to Qalāwūn, such as Egypt, Damascus, Aleppo, Jerusalem, Mecca, Yemen, and the Ḥijāz, in addition to being the sultan of all Muslims and the ‘king of all the East’, none necessarily overstated Mamlūk’s geographic reach with the exception of reference to Nubia.⁹⁹ Latin Christians were being fed a particularly weakened image of Nubia and for good reason: it was an Egyptian fear of a potential Nubian-Latin Christian alliance. For instance, according to the ‘Ethiopian’ informants who informed the Ystoria Ethyopie of Giovanni da Carignano (wr. 1314–29), the Mamlūks used all their forces to prevent any Latin Christians going to ‘Ethiopia’ and any ‘Ethiopians’ reaching Latin Europe out of fear that an alliance would prosper and destroy them.¹⁰⁰ That is not to say that there was a dramatic increase in crusade treatises which concerned Nubia in the immediate decades, however. Even into the fourteenth century, treatises, such as the Hospitaller treatise La devise des chemins de Babiloine (1307), which centre on a strategy against Egypt, do not mention the Nubians – or Ethiopians for that matter – at all.

Nevertheless, what is most notable about the crusade treatises which do concern Nubia is that, despite their limited number, they feature in prominent treatises presented directly to the reigning pope. They were not inconsequential potential strategies. For example, William Adam, the French Dominican who wrote his De modo Sarracenos extirpandi in c. 1316–17 which was personally delivered to Cardinal Raymond William of Farges, nephew of the previous pope Clement V (r. 1305–14), exclaimed the importance of not forgetting Ethiopia and allowing it to be cut off from the memory of the Latin Christians.¹⁰¹ William claimed to have travelled to Ethiopia and preached there at some point during the 20 months that he had been in the Red Sea region.¹⁰² Specifically for military strategy, William noted how Ethiopia was said to be willing to aid in the blocking of trade in the Red Sea as part of his proposed plan to cut off Egypt from its source of wealth.¹⁰³ Nubia’s location and how it could affect Egypt was of particular interest to such strategies. William only describes his ‘true Ethiopia’ (verum Ethiopiam) as being west of the Red Sea, but it almost certainly was referring to Nubia.¹⁰⁴ The text shows no awareness of the ‘Ethiopian’ embassy to Western Europe in the early fourteenth century, which will be identified with the Nubians in the next chapter, though this may readily be explained by William’s travels and being absent from Latin Europe for some years. Notably, William also omitted much information regarding ‘Ethiopia’, which he deemed to be irrelevant for the purpose of his treatise. He wrote in his treatise that ‘I could tell marvellous things about Ethiopia and certain islands except that the material does not belong in a booklet of this sort and is not required by the brevity which I intend in this little work’.¹⁰⁵ What more William could have added during the oral presentation of his work to the cardinal, if requested, will never be known. William was not alone in this endeavour of detailing the potential military importance of Nubia either, with at least two other notable examples further detailing strategies surviving. Significantly, these additional two treatises were both directly given to their respective sitting popes: Het̕um of Corycus’ treatise delivered to Clement V in 1307 and Marino Sanudo Torsello’s to John XXII (r. 1316–34) in 1321.

Let us first begin with Het̕um of Corycus, an Armenian nobleman and monk. His work, La Flor des Estoires de la Terre d’Orient, was written in French (and later copied into Latin) during his time acting as an ambassador in France and was presented to Pope Clement V in 1307. Het̕um is known for his role in attempting to strengthen ties between Armenia, Latin Europe, and the Mongols, but his role concerning Nubia is seldom discussed.¹⁰⁶ Nubia (Nubie) first appears in his text with its mention as a Christian kingdom and that it lay 12 days south of Egypt through all desert and sand.¹⁰⁷ Unlike other brief notices, such as William Adam’s, however, Het̕um expands on Nubia’s potential importance to the success of enacting upon his treatise. Het̕um found it important to stress that Nubia would be able to occupy the Sultan of Egypt so that he could not move into Syria, enabling the Latin Christians to re-occupy and re-fortify the cities of the Holy Land to such a degree that they would not fall again.¹⁰⁸ Het̕um further directly stated to Clement,

Your Holy Father, you should write to the King of the Nubiens, who are Christians and were converted to the Christian faith by St. Thomas the Apostle in the land of Ethiope, so that they wage war against the sultan and his men. I greatly believe that these Nubiens, for the honour of Our Lord Jesus Christ and out of reverence to Your Holiness, would make war against the sultan and his men and would cause damage to their power, creating great trouble for the sultan and his men,

before then suggesting that messengers from Armenia could act as intermediaries.¹⁰⁹ Not only were the Nubians championed as a key player in the Latin Christian fight back against the Mamlūks, but Armenia was also apparently able to facilitate such cooperation. There is no evidence of knowledge of Old Nubian in Armenia or Armenian in Nubia to validate this statement, if, indeed, an intermediary language was not used instead. The probability that the role of Armenia may have been embellished to strengthen Armenia’s own importance in order to receive the aid it needed in its own survival against the Mamlūks cannot be understated, however. Nevertheless, the portrayal of Nubia in the text, whether truthful or embellished, cannot be dismissed. Moreover, despite Het̕um not mentioning the early fourteenth-century ‘Ethiopian’ embassy, his language is reminiscent of the language employed by Galvaneus de la Flamma’s (fl. before 1345) copying of Giovanni da Carignano’s tract (wr. 1314–29) about the embassy regarding the supposed Nubian ‘reverence’ (reverence) to the pope by Het̕um or their ‘ready obedience’ to him (paratus obedire).¹¹⁰ The absence of the embassy in Het̕um’s text can be readily explained by the dates. The embassy was only said to arrive at the papal court at Avignon in late 1312 or early 1313. Galvaneus’ rendition of Carignano’s report states that they only set out for Avignon when the King of Spain (Yspanie) had died, seemingly placing this sometime after the death of Ferdinand IV, king of Castile and León in late 1312, the closest death of any Spanish monarch to the embassy’s supposed date.¹¹¹ This would further suggest an explanation for Het̕um’s lack of notice of the embassy if it had not arrived at the papal court, which was also then still resident in Rome, not Avignon, for at least another five years following his submission of his text to Clement in 1307. In any case, Het̕um made a clear and forceful case for the importance of Nubia in any future Latin Christian crusading endeavour, which may have influenced the embassy’s decision to later travel to Avignon if this was following a papal request as encouraged by Het̕um.

This insistence to encourage the pope to be eager in facilitating military cooperation with Nubia was further emphasised by Marino Sanudo Torsello, a Venetian statesman and geographer who wrote the three books of his Liber Secretorum Fidelium Crucis between 1306 and 1321. Sanudo’s Nubia was noted to be in conflict with Egypt, which would make it an ideal potential ally, and was a key element of Sanudo’s proposed plan. Unlike Het̕um, Sanudo provides practical geographical information about Nubia, such as the fact that there were 140 miles between Cairo (Babylon) and Syene (on the border of Nubia) and then 240 further miles until Meroë, though this information was most likely gained from classical sources. He added that it took over 12 days to cross the desert between Egypt and Nubia, whilst suggesting that Nubia would be easier to reach via the Red Sea. For instance, he stated that the Eastern Desert of Egypt only took three days to traverse to reach Berenike – a late antique port directly east of Syene.¹¹² His text acknowledged the limitations of supplying any army coming from the south due to the deserts and scarcity of all things surrounding Egypt, which may have further supported the importance of engaging with the Nubians, who would have been used to such conditions.¹¹³ Sanudo further insinuated the economic role that Nubia would play following the mercantile importance of tolls in Egypt: ‘Since the above [tolls] are imposed all over Egypt, and as far as ‘Ethiopia’ (Aethiopiam) and India they are of immense use to the sultan, his people and his merchants’.¹¹⁴ This is later compounded in his treatise through the suggestion that if the Latin Christians could gain control of the Nile via Nubian aid, for if no ‘food or help [could] be brought from the upper Nile, from Aethiopia or anywhere else, so great will be the plight of the Egyptians. They will be compelled by extreme necessity to withdraw and give up the land because of famine’.¹¹⁵ Nubia had a significant role in this scheme, most clearly reflected by the explicit statement that successful cooperation with Nubia would result in the conquering of Egypt within four to five years.¹¹⁶

Sanudo’s Liber Secretorum was a further powerful case for Latin Christendom to reach out to Nubia. What makes the text even more revealing about the potential role that Nubia could employ was highlighted in the imagery accompanying the text, which similarly appears in both the manuscript given to Pope John XXII in 1321 and other contemporary copies. On the whole, images are largely absent in the manuscripts, but one striking example appears opposite to a discussion of Nubia. The image depicts what appears to be an idealised crusade on Egypt, with the Latin Christians arriving by sea and Nubians attacking the rear of the Egyptian army. The sharing of the same flags and banners by the Latin Christians and the Nubians would insinuate a role for the Nubians akin to crusading in all but name. At least in this case, Nubians may even be said to have been characterised as fellow ‘crusaders’. Given the lack of other images throughout the text, it would suggest that Sanudo was specifically highlighting this option to the pope.¹¹⁷ This particular image also offers a potential insight into Sanudo’s absence of any discussion regarding the supposed early fourteenth-century ‘Ethiopian’ embassy. This can be explained by the fact that, although Sanudo wrote the text of Books Two (wr. 1312–13) and Three (wr. 1319–21) of his Liber where the Nubians appear contemporarily to the arrival of the embassy at Avignon, he did not travel to Avignon until sometime in 1321 prior to presenting his work to Pope John XXII, suggesting that if the embassy was even still resident, any interaction would only have occurred post-completion. Sanudo had instead been primarily writing his work during residency in Italy and western Greece via additional stays in Rhodes, Alexandria, Armenia, Bruges, and other Hanseatic ports between Hamburg and Stettin.¹¹⁸ Crusade treatises were aimed at future plans and were not overly concerned with events that had happened, which would also explain the lack of reference to the embassy in Sanudo’s text.

It is particularly revealing that Ethiopia does not play any role in the text, although Habesse does appear on the accompanying world map at the end of the work.¹¹⁹ In fact, Ethiopia is not the focus of any contemporary crusade treatise. Sanudo’s, along with manuscript map provider Pietro Vesconte’s, geographical awareness clearly saw both African kingdoms separately, making Sanudo’s active decision to ignore Ethiopia even more striking. The overt focus was clearly on Nubia, which was presented as a key and viable potential ally. Despite its focus on Nubia, Sanudo’s treatise is further notable for its absence of any acknowledgement of contemporary Nubian politics, such as the installation of a Muslim ourou, Baršanbū, quickly followed by the Kanz al-Dawla Abū ʿAbd Allāh Muḥammad, in 1317, and the subsequent conversion of the cathedral at Dongola into a mosque, all of which were perhaps unknown to Sanudo. Both events in Latin Europe and in Nubia were certainly not conducive to any attempt to establish cooperation, whether it had been welcomed by Nubia or not. In any case, any joint crusade failed to materialise, though this was due to other affairs in Western Europe rather than specifically due to negative news of Nubian affairs limiting Latin Christian enthusiasm.¹²⁰ No major crusade expedition was launched during this decade despite one being called for at the Council of Vienne, which was convened in 1312. Nevertheless, Nubia did once again feature in another crusade treatise in 1332, albeit in much less detail and conviction.¹²¹ No crusade plans which involved Nubia, however, were ever invoked. For example, the crusade which was planned following Pierre de la Palud’s appointment as Patriarch of Jerusalem in 1329 and his failed negotiations with the Mamlūks did not consider utilising the treatises in relation to inspiring possible engagement with the Nubians.¹²² Even though later crusade plans did not feature Nubia, this may have been due to news of Nubia’s turn to Islam under Kanz al-Dawla. How quickly the Latin Christians became aware that this did not remain the case is unclear. Nevertheless, after the 1365 Alexandrian Crusade, no more crusades were aimed towards Egypt and Nubia lost almost all importance in Latin Christian strategy, which was ultimately further embedded by the opening of diplomacy with Ethiopia at the turn of the fifteenth century.

Unlike Nubia, Ethiopia avoided Latin Christian attention to their crusading schemes even despite the likes of Marco Polo portraying the scale of the ‘great province’ of Abasce in his Travels (wr. 1298).¹²³ The debate surrounding the validity of Polo’s descriptions is not necessarily important here, though his account of Ethiopia is accurate in terms of his apparent reference to Yagbe’ä Seyōn’s (r. 1285–94) regional conflicts. The significance of which would appear to explain why Polo actively chose to replace Nubia with Ethiopia in his recollections of regional African power based on his own first-hand or secondary information.¹²⁴ Moreover, both Ethiopian and Latin Christian rulers portrayed themselves as protectors of Eastern Christians, particularly those in Egypt, in the early fourteenth century.¹²⁵ Yet, this apparently shared role does not appear to have been acknowledged by either side during this period. All Latin Christian attentions were thoroughly fixated on Nubia. Even though Christian Dotawo remained a regional force at least until the turn of the sixteenth century – indeed, even showing signs of revival and expansion during the reign of Siti, the Christian ourou attested in the 1330s following the rule of the Kanz al-Dawla – Latin Christian interest in Nubia underwent a clear decline following Sanudo’s treatise and never regained the heights of its prior period of increased significance in Latin Christian discourse. What, then, did Dotawo and Ethiopia have to say about all this?

Notes

1. For an example of this management process in a different context, see G. Christ, ‘Beyond the Network – Connectors of Networks: Venetian Agents in Cairo and Venetian News Management’, in Everything Is on the Move, ed. Conermann, pp. 27–59.

2. N. P. Tanner, ed. and trans., Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, 2 vols. (London, 1990), pp. I:191–4 (Lateran I); 203–4 (Lateran II); 223–4 (Lateran III); 239–40 (Lateran IV) (text and trans.).

3. This focus on reconciliation was also present in Matthew Paris’ further reflections on the supposed errors of the Jacobites in the mid-thirteenth century based on Jacques’ work: Matthaei Parisiensis, Chronica majora, ed. H. R. Luard, 7 vols. (London, 1872–83), pp. III:400–3; A. Jotischky, ‘Penance and Reconciliation in the Crusader States: Matthew Paris, Jacques de Vitry and the Eastern Christians’, in Retribution, Repentance, and Reconciliation: Papers Read at the 2002 Summer Meeting and the 2003 Winter Meeting of the Ecclesiastical History Society, eds. K. M. Cooper and J. Gregory (Woodbridge, 2004), pp. 74–83.

4. Jacques de Vitry, Historia Orientalis, ed. and trans. Donnadieu, Ch. 76, pp. 304–11 (text and trans.).

5. For example, Oliver of Paderborn stated that these errors were the act of circumcision, the way they made the sign of the cross with one finger signifying the one nature of Christ, and the branding of the cross on their forehead, whereas Marino Sanudo, on the other hand, listed these errors as their act of circumcision, the way they made the sacrament of confession, and the act of their branding of a cross: Oliver of Paderborn, ‘Historia Damiatini’‚ ed. Hoogeweg, Ch. 62, 264 (text); Oliver of Paderborn, ‘The Capture of Damietta’, trans. Gavigan, pp. 118–19 (trans.); Marino Sanudo Torsello, Liber secretorum fidelium crucis super terrae sanctae (1611), ed. J. Bongars (Jerusalem, 1972), Book III Part VIII Ch. 4, pp. 184–6 (text); Marino Sanudo Torsello, The Book of the Secrets of the Faithful of the Cross: Liber Secretorum Fidelium Crucis, trans. P Lock (Farnham, 2011), pp. 293–5 (trans.). Sanudo does not explain the error of the sacrament, but it would seem to be similar to other Jacobites where they practiced direct confession to God whilst burning incense. Also see Liber Peregrinationis, ed. Monneret de Villard, Ch. 2, pp. 32–3, Ch. 5, pp. 59–60. Also: Niccolò da Poggibonsi, Libro d’oltramare, ed. Bacchi della Lega, Ch. 257, pp. II:210–11 (text); Niccolò da Poggibonsi, Voyage, trans. Bellorini and Hoade, pp. 126–7 (trans.).

6. Acta Honorii III (1216–1227) et Gregorii IX (1227–1241), ed. A. L. Tautu, vol. 3 (Vatican City, 1950), no.210, pp. 286–7. Innocent IV’s version became the standard reissued text: Acta Innocentii papae IV (1243–1254), eds. T. T. Haluscynskyj and M. M. Wojnar, vol. 4 (Vatican City, 1962), no.19, pp. 36–42: Dilectis filiis fratribus de Ordine Fratrum Minorum in terras Saracenorum, Paganorum, Graecorum, Bulgarorum, Cumanorum, Ethyoporum, Syrorum, Iberorum, Alanorum, Gazarorum, Gothorum, Zicorum, Ruthenorum, Jacobinorum, Nubianorum, Nestorinorum, Georgianorum, Armenorum, Indorum, Mesolitorum aliorum infidelium nationum Orientis seu quarum cunque aliarumque partium proficiscentibus. Each further reissue of the bull can be found in: Acta Alexandri (1254–1261), eds. T. T. Haluscynskyj and M. M. Wojnar, vol. 4.2 (Vatican City, 1966), no.38, 73; Acta Urbani IV, Clementis IV, Gregorii X (1261–1276), ed. A. L. Tautu, vol. 5.1 (Vatican City, 1953), no. 7, pp. 26–8; Acta Romanorum Pontificum ab Innocentio V ad Benedictum XI (1276–1304), eds. F. M. Delorme and A. L. Tautu, vol. 5.2 (Vatican City, 1954), no. 79, pp. 42–4, no. 110, pp. 184–5, no. 153, pp. 252–5.

7. Acta Innocentii papae IV, eds. Haluscynskyj and Wojnar, no. 21, pp. 48–9.

8. Acta Innocentii papae IV, eds. Haluscynskyj and Wojnar, no. 100, pp. 163–4.

9. B. Weber, ‘An Incomplete Integration into the Orbis Christianus: Relations and Misunderstandings Between the Papacy and Ethiopia (1237–1456)’, Medieval Encounters, 21 (2015), pp. 232–49; A. Simmons, ‘Desire, Myth, and Necessity: Latin Attempts at Integrating Nubians into the Orbis Christianorum of the Holy Land During the Twelfth to Fifteenth Centuries’, in Legacies of the Crusades: Proceedings of the Ninth Conference of the Society for the Study of the Crusades and the Latin East, Odense, 27 June–1 July 2016, vol. I, eds. K. V. Jensen and T. K. Nielsen (Turnhout, 2021), pp. 137–56. Similar distant attempts were also made in Asia: F. Schmieder, ‘Cum hora undecima: The Incorporation of Asia into the orbis Christianus’, in Christianizing Peoples and Converting Individuals, eds. G. Armstrong and I. N. Wood (Turnhout, 2000), pp. 259–65.

10. Both Franciscans and Dominicans preached in Africa: T. Somigli di San Detole, ed., Etiopia Francescana nei documenti dei secoli XVII e XVIII: Preceduti da cenni storici sulle relazioni con l’Etiopia durante i sec. XIV e XV, vol. 1 (Florence, 1928), pp. I.I:xi–xci; C. Conti Rossini, ‘Sulle Missioni domenicane in Etiopia nel secolo XIV’, Rendiconti della Reale Accademia dei Lincei, Classe di Scienze Morali, Storiche e Filologiche, 7.1 (1940), pp. 71–98; Richard, ‘Les premiers missionaires’. More generally, see A. Jotischky, ‘The Mendicants as Missionaries and Travellers in the Near East in the Thirteenth and Fourteenth Centuries’, in Eastward Bound, ed. Allen, pp. 88–106.

11. Du Yorkshire à l’Inde, ed. Gautier-Dalché, De Viis Maris, Ch. 11, pp. 215–16.

12. Gervase of Tilbury, Otia Imperialia, eds. and trans. Banks and Binns, Book I Ch. 5, pp. 42–3 (text and trans.); Golubovich, Bibliotheca, III:69.

13. M. W. Baldwin, ‘Missions to the East in the Thirteenth and Fourteenth Centuries’, in A History of the Crusades, eds. M. W. Baldwin, H. W. Hazard, K. M. Setton, R. L. Wolff, and N. P. Zacour, eds., 6 vols. (Madison, 1969–89), V:513.

14. Richard, ‘Les premiers missionnaires’, 329.

15. Documents per l’historia de la cultura catalana mig-eval, vol. I, ed. A. Rubió Y Lluch (Barcelona, 1908), 365. On the first Ethiopian embassy, see Krebs, Medieval Ethiopian Kingship, pp. 18–22.

16. There is also an accompanying toponym of Hirrina, said to be a city of Tiopi, but this would merely appear to be a reference to a settlement in one of the deserts (Latin: [h]arena, ‘sand’) surrouding Nubia: Ristoro d’Arezzo, ‘La composizione del mondo’, in MCAA 4.1, pp. 1065–6 (text and trans.).

17. B. Hamilton and A. Jotischky, Latin and Greek Monasticism in the Crusader States (Cambridge, 2020), pp. 283–5.

18. Matthaei Parisiensis, Chronica majora, ed. Luard, pp. III:396–9. This was contemporarily well-known across Latin Europe. For instance, the fact that the Ethiopes and Libii were not subject to the Muslims in relation to the jurisdiction of the Coptic Patriarch in 1237 also appears in the anonymous extension to the Annals of Cologne (wr. stopped 1238) and in the Chronica of Alberic of Trois-Fontaines (wr. c. 1241): ‘Annales Colonienses Maximi’, ed. K. Pertz, in MGH SS XVII, 846; Alberic of Trois-Fontaines, ‘Chronica’, ed. P. Scheffer-Boichorst, in MGH SS XXIII, 942.

19. RRH, no.500, pp. 131–2; Cerulli, Etiopi in Palestina, I:78.

20. See K. J. Werthmuller, Coptic Identity and Ayyubid Politics in Egypt 1218–1250 (Cairo, 2010), pp. 55–74.

21. HPEC III.II, 207.

22. Being too ‘Roman’ or ‘Greek’ was also a claim used in Ethiopia in theological or political disputes. For example, according to the gadl of the fourteenth-century saint Qawəsṭos, an otherwise unknown thirteenth-century Zagʷe ruler of Ethiopia named Baʾəmnat was said to have followed the Roman Catholic faith (the religion of Romē, ሮሜ). The accusation against Baʾəmnat was in response to a controversy regarding the observation of the Sabbath. The ‘Roman’ faith of Baʾəmnat was explicitly described as being the faith of the Romans as established by Pope Leo I (r.440–61), seemingly referring to the canons of the Council of Chalcedon in 451 and not in any way connected to contemporary Latin Christians: Hiruie Ermias, The Vita of Saint Qawəsṭos: A Fourteenth-Century Ethiopian Saint and Martyr (A New Critical Edition, Translation, and Commentary) (Hamburg, 2021), pp. 34 (text); 135 (trans.). A similar accusation, whether true or rhetoric, was also charged against the young aṣe ʾƎskəndər (r. 1478–94) by his opponents which coincided with the presence of Latin Christians at the Ethiopian court: Taddesse Tamrat, Church and State, pp. 290–2.

23. Bar Hebraeus, The Ecclesiastical Chronicle: An English Translation, trans. D. Wilmshurst (Piscataway, NJ, 2016), pp. 230–5 (text and trans.).

24. Hamilton, ‘The Crusades and North-East Africa’, 177.

25. Bullarium Ordinis Praedicatorum, ed. T. Ripoll, vol. 1 (Rome, 1729), 482.

26. Richard, ‘Les premiers missionnaires’, pp. 325–6.

27. Les registres de Nicholas IV (1288–92), ed. E. Langlois, 2 vols. (Paris, 1886–1905), I:no.611, pp. 120–1. The list of given nations are: terras Sarracenorum, Paganorum, Grecorum, Bulgarorum, Cumanorum, Ulacorum ubicumque existentium, Ethiopum, Syrorum, Iberorum, Alanorum, Gazarorum, Gothorum, Zirorum, Ruthenorum, Jacobitarum, Nubianorum, Nestorianorum, Georgianorum, Armenorum, Indorum, Moscelitorum, Tartarorum, Hungarorum Majoris Hungarie, christianorum captivatorum apud Tartaros, aliarumque exterarum nationum Orientis.

28. Les registres de Nicholas IV, ed. Langlois, I:nos.2218–27, pp. 391–2.

29. Les registres de Nicholas IV, ed. Langlois, I:nos.2234–39, 393.

30. A. Lechartain, ‘Jean de Monte Corvino et l’ambassade éthiopienne’, Revue d’histoire des missions, 10.1 (1933), pp. 122–7.

31. V. M. Fontana, Monumenta Dominicana (Rome, 1675), 172. For example, Andrew Kurt has cast doubt on the mission for the reason of the late sources: Kurt, ‘The Search for Prester John’, pp. 311–2n74.

32. For the background to this succession, see R. Seignobos, ‘Émir à Assouan, souverain à Dongola: rivalités de pouvoir et dynamiques familiales autour du règne nubien du Kanz al-Dawla Abū ʿAbd Allāh Muḥammad (1317–1331)

33. Annales Minorum Seu Trium Ordinum A S. Francisco Institutorum, ed. L. Wadding, vol. VII (Rome, 1733), no.15, pp. 102–3. The letter to the emperor also had additional praise for his ‘passionate zeal’ (votis zelemur ardentibus).

34. A. Łajtar and T. Płóciennik, ‘A Man from Provence on the Middle Nile in the Second Half of the Thirteenth/First Half of the Fourteenth Century. A Graffito in the Upper Church at Banganarti’, in Nubian Voices, eds. Łajtar and van der Vliet, pp. 95–120.

35. Łajtar and Płóciennik, ‘A Man from Provence’, 107.

36. Acta capitulorum generalium, ed. Reichert, vol. 1, 9.

37. G. Cavalieri, Galleria dei sommi pontefici, 4 vols. (Benevento, 1696), I:137.

38. Francisco Álvarez, Verdadeira, ed. de Albuquerque, Ch. 137, 168 (text); Francisco Álvarez, Prester John, trans. Beckingham and Huntingford, II:461 (trans.).

39. Conti Rossini, ‘Sulle Missioni domenicane’; J. R. S. Phillips, The Medieval Expansion of Europe (Oxford, 1998), 144.

40. Luis de Urreta, Historia de la sagrada orden de Predicadores en los remotos reynos de la Etiopia (Valencia, 1611), Ch. 4, pp. 41–9; M.-A. van den Oudenrijn, ‘L’Évêque dominicain Fr. Barthélemy, fondateur supposé don couvent dans le Tigré au 14e siècle’, RSE, 5 (1946), pp. 7–16.

41. Albert of Aachen, Historia Ierosolimitana, ed. and trans. Edgington, Book XII Ch. 21, pp. 858–9 (text and trans.).

42. Fulcheri Cartonensis, Historia, ed. Hagenmeyer, Book II Ch. 57, pp. 596–8 (text); Fulcher of Chartres, History, trans. Ryan with Fink, 216 (trans.).

43. Albert of Aachen, Historia Ierosolimitana, ed. and trans. Edgington, Book XII Ch. 21, pp. 856–9 (text and trans.).

44. S. B. Edgington, Baldwin I of Jerusalem (Routledge 2019), pp. 173–4.

45. See M. Al-Nasarat and A. A. Al-Maani, ‘Petra During the Crusader Period from the Evidence of Al-Wuayra Castle: A Review’, Mediterranean Archaeology and Archaeometry, 14.1 (2014), pp. 219–32; M. Sinibaldi, ‘Settlement in the Petra Region During the Crusader Period: A Summary of the Historical and Archaeological Evidence’, in Crusader Landscapes in the Medieval Levant: The Archaeology and History of the Latin East, eds. M. Sinibaldi, K. J. Lewis, B. Major, and J. A. Thompson (Cardiff, 2016), pp. 81–102; M. Sinibaldi, ‘The Crusader Lordship of Transjordan (1100–1189): Settlement Forms, Dynamics and Significance’, Levant, 54.1 (2022), pp. 124-54.

46. H. E. Mayer, Die Kreuzfahrerherrschaft Montréal (Šōbak): Jordanien im 12. Jahrhundert (Wiesbaden, 1990), 54n90.

47. D. Pringle, ‘The Castles of Ayla (Al-Aqaba) in the Crusader, Ayyubid and Mamluk Periods’, in Egypt and Syria in the Fatimid, Ayyubid and Mamluk Eras, vol. 4, eds. U. Vermeulen and J. van Steenbergen (Leuven, 2005), pp. 334–7.

48. For example, Du Yorkshire à l’Inde, ed. Gautier-Dalché, De Viis Maris, Ch. 11, pp. 215–16; Willelmi Tyrensis Archiepiscopi, Chronicon, ed. Huygens, Book XIX Ch. 27, II:903 (text); William of Tyre, History, trans. Babcock and Krey, II:336 (trans.).

49. Du Yorkshire à l’Inde, ed. Gautier-Dalché, De Viis Maris, Ch. 11, 216.

50. For example, Mogadishu (Mogedaxo) and Zanzibar (Çanghibar) were famously first referred to by Marco Polo (c. 1298): Marco Polo, Description, eds. and trans. Moule and Pelliot, Chs 191–2, pp. I:428–34. Sofala (Sofrala), however, first appears on the map of Fra Mauro (c. 1450): Falchetta, Fra Mauro, *148, 211. Also as Soffala, *34, 187.

51. D. Bramoullé, ‘The Fatimids and the Red Sea (969–1171)’, in Navigated Spaces, Connected Places: Proceedings of the Red Sea Project V Held at the University of Exeter 16–19 September 2010, eds. D. A. Agius, J. P. Cooper, A. Trakadas, and C. Zazzaro (Oxford, 2012), pp. 127–36.

52. Latin Europeans knew how to manipulate the rock as early as the twelfth century without need for external manufacturing, which only served to increase the direct importation of rock crystal without the need to acquire manufactured crystal from Egypt. Yet, the documentation of its specific origin remained elusive: Theophilus Presbyter, De Diversis Artibus: The Various Arts, ed. and trans. C. R. Dodwell (London, 1961), pp. 168–71. On the origins of East African rock crystal, see M. Horton, N. Boivin, A. Crowther, B. Gaskell, C. Radimilahy, and H. Wright, ‘East Africa as a Source for Fatimid Rock Crystal: workshops from Kenya to Madagascar’, in Gemstones in the First Millennium AD: Mines, Trade, Workshops and Symbolism, eds. A. Hilgner, D. Quast, and S. Greiff (Mainz, 2017), pp. 103–18; S. Pradines, ‘Islamic Archaeology in the Comoros: The Swahili and the Rock Crystal Trade with the Abbasid and Fatimid Caliphates’, Journal of Islamic Archaeology, 6.1 (2019), pp. 109–35. For the use of rock crystal in Latin Christian churches, see H. R. Hahnloser and S. Brugger-Koch, Corpus der Hartsteinschliffe des 12.-15. Jahrhunderts (Berlin, 1985).

53. Guillaume de Tyr, ed. Paris, II:298–9.

54. U. Koppitz, ‘Magistri Thietmari Peregrenatio. Pilgerreise nach Palästina und auf den Sina in den Jahren 1217/1218ʼ, Concilium medii aevi. Zeitschrift für Geschichte, Kunst und Kultur des Mittelalters und der Frühen Neuzeit, 14 (2011), Ch. 17, 162 (text); Thietmar, ‘Pilgrimage (1217–18)’, in Pilgrimage to Jerusalem, trans. Pringle, 123 (trans.).

55. Contemporary sources are silent on the matter, but the fleeing to Dongola by the inhabitants of ʿAidhāb is first stated by Leo Africanus (Leo refers to ʿAidhāb as Zibid): ‘Descrittione dell’Africa, & delle cose notabili che iuo sono, per Giovan Lioni Africano’, in Primo volume delle nauigationi et viaggi nel qual si contiene la descrittione dell’Africa, et del paese del Prete Ianni, con varii viaggi, dal mar Rosso a Calicut & infin all’isole Molucche, dove nascono le Spetiere et la navigatione attorno il mondo: li nomi de gli auttori, et le nauigationi, et i viaggi piuparticolarmente si mostrano nel foglio seguente, ed. G. B. Ramusio (Venice, 1550), 87a (text); Leo Africanus, History and Description of Africa and of the Notable Things Therein Contained, trans. J. Pory [1600], ed. R. Brown, 3 vols. (London, 1896), III:837 (trans.). Fāṭimid officials are known to have traded with Nubia through ʿAidhāb – for example, J. M. Plumley, ‘The Christian Period at Qasr Ibrim: Some Notes on the MSS Finds’, in Nubia: Récentes Récherches: Actes du colloque international nubiologique au musée national de Varsovie, 19–22 juin 1972, ed. K. Michałowski (Warsaw, 1975), 106.

56. Obłuski, Monasteries and Monks of Nubia, pp. 18–19, 132, 183.

57. D. Whitcomb, Ayla: Art and Industry in the Islamic Port of Aqaba (Chicago, 1994), pp. 16–17; Crawford, ed., Ethiopian Itineraries, pp. 126–9 (text and trans.). In a letter to the commander of the papal army in 1515 during the early period of Portuguese expeditions into the Red Sea, Andrea Corsali, similarly, noted that Ethiopians travelled to Jerusalem via Sawākin: ‘Lettera d’Andrea Corsali Fiorentino allo illustrissimo signor duca Giuliano de Medici scritta in Cochin terra dell’India, nell’anno MDXV alli VI di Gennaio’, in Primo volume delle nauigationi et viaggi, ed. Ramusio, 195b.

58. É. Puech, ‘Une inscription éthiopienne ancienne au Sinaï (Wadi Ḥajjaj)’, Revue Biblique, 87.4 (1980), pp. 597–601.

59. De rege autem de Marroch, qui dicitur rex Asiriorum… et de rege Bugie et de rege Numidie et Libie et Cyrene et de Ethiopum tam rara et tam pauca audivimus, quod fere prorsus ignoremus, quid ibi agatur; ex quo enim christianitas de terra illa repulsa est propter errorem Mahumet, et gens illa incredula alienata est a nobis et ab imperio Romano pariter et fide christiana descriverunt… Similiter autem et de soldano Persidis propter terre longinquitatem et alienationem christianitatis et linguam pauca novimus; preter quod dicunt, ultra Persas et Medos et Macedones christianos reges esse, [qui etiam gentis illius pontifices dicuntur et reges]. Ita enim fama ad nos usque pervenit. Illi autem valde vexant gentiles [nationes] regionum illarum. Rex quoque de Avesguia et rex Nubianorum, sicut audivimus, hoc idem faciunt.… Is status erat rebus humanis anno ab incarnato Verbo 1172: Ricardi Pictaviensis, ‘Chronica’, Ex continuatione recensionum D et E, 84.

60. Abū Šāma, Al-Rawḍatayn, pp. II:160–2 (text); OSCN, pp. 367–70 (trans.).

61. Ricardi Pictaviensis, ‘Chronica’, Ex continuatione recensionum D et E, 77.

62. D. Iogna-Prat, Order and Exclusion: Cluny and Christendom Face Heresy, Judaism, and Islam (1000–1150), trans. G. R. Edwards (Ithaca, 2002), pp. 265–74, 356–7.

63. Du Yorkshire à l’Inde, ed. Gautier-Dalché, De Viis Maris, Ch. 11, pp. 216–17.

64. Marinescu, ‘Le prêtre Jean’, pp. 101–3.

65. Derat, L;énigme d;une dynastie sainte, pp. 263 (text), 268 (trans.); Du Yorkshire à l’Inde, ed. Gautier-Dalché, De Viis Maris, Ch. 11, pp. 216–17.

66. Koppitz, ‘Magistri Thietmari Peregrenatio’, Ch. 24, 170 (text); Thietmar, ‘Pilgrimage (1217–18)’, in Pilgrimage to Jerusalem, trans. Pringle, 130 (trans.).

67. Chronique d’Ernoul et de Bernard le Tresorier, ed. M. L. de Las Matrie (Paris, 1871), Ch. 7, pp. 69–70. On the ‘raid’, see D. Newbold, ‘The Crusaders in the Red Sea and the Sudan’, Sudan Notes and Records, 22.2 (1945), pp. 213–27; J. Prawer, Histoire du royaume latin de Jérusalem, trans. G. Nahon, 2 vols. (Paris, 1969–70), pp. I:612–16; B. Hamilton, The Leper King and His Heirs: Baldwin IV and the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem (New York, 2000), pp. 159–85; G. Leiser, ‘The Crusader Raid in the Red Sea in 578/1182–3’, Journal of the American Research Center in Cairo, 14 (1977), pp. 87–100; W. Facey, ‘Crusaders in the Red Sea: Renaud de Chatillon’s Raids of AD 1182–3’, in People of the Red Sea: Proceedings of the Red Sea Project II, Held in the British Museum, October 2004, ed. J. C. M. Starkey (Oxford, 2005), pp. 87–98; A. Mallett, ‘A Trip Down the Red Sea with Reynald of Châtillon’, JRAS Third Series, 18.2 (2008), pp. 141–53.

68. See P. Handyside, ‘Differing Views of Renaud de Châtillon’, in Deeds Done Beyond the Sea: Essays on William of Tyre, Cyprus and the Military Orders Presented to Peter Edbury, eds. S. B. Edgington and H. Nicholson (Farnham, 2014), pp. 43–52.

69. B. Hamilton, ‘The Elephant of Christ: Reynald of Châtillon’, Studies in Church History, 15 (1978), pp. 97–108; C. Hillenbrand, ‘The Imprisonment of Reynald of Châtillon’, in Texts, Documents and Artefacts: Islamic Studies in Honour of D. S. Richards, ed. C. F. Robinson (Leiden, 2003), pp. 98–101.

70. Hamilton, ‘Elephant of Christ’, 104; Mallett, ‘A Trip Down the Red Sea’.

71. N. Morton, The Crusader States and their Neighbours: A Military History (1099–1187) (Oxford, 2020), 173.

72. Further, see Simmons, ‘Red Sea Entanglement’.

73. D. P. S. Peacock and A. Peacock, ‘The Enigma of ‘Aydhab: A Medieval Islamic Port on the Red Sea Coast’, International Journal of Nautical Archaeology, 37.1 (2008), pp. 32–48.

74. Baadj, ‘The Political Context’; A. S. Baadj, Saladin, the Almohads and the Banū Ghāniya: The Contest for North Africa (12th and 13th Centuries) (Leiden, 2015), 97.

75. Willelmi Tyrensis Archiepiscopi, Chronicon, ed. Huygens, Book XXI Ch. 7, II:971 (text); William of Tyre, History, trans. Babcock and Krey, II:408 (trans.); A. A. Gordus and D. M. Metcalf, ‘Neutron Activation Analysis of the Gold Coinages of the Crusader States’, Metallurgy in Numismatics, 1 (1980), pp. 119–50; D. M. Metcalf, ‘Crusader Gold Bezants of the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem: Two Additional Sources of Information’, The Numismatic Chronicle, 160 (2000), pp. 203–18.

76. G. R. Tibbetts, ‘Arab Navigation in the Red Sea’, The Geographical Journal, 127.3 (1961), 325; Simmons, ‘Red Sea Entanglement’.

77. Plumley, ‘The Christian Period’, 106; Guillaume de Tyr, ed. Paris, pp. II:298–9.

78. Ibn Jubayr is rather disparaging of what he calls the Beja’s corrupt beliefs: Ibn Jubayr, Riḥlat Ibn Jubayr (Beirut, 1964), 65 (text); The Travels of Ibn Jubayr: A Medieval Journey from Cordoba to Jerusalem, trans. R. J. C. Broadhurst with an introduction by R. Irwin (London, 2020), 86 (trans.).

79. One such Muslim writer who described the Beja as Nubians was Abū Az-Zamaḫšarī (d. 1144): Abū Az-Zamaḫšarī, Az-Zamak̇ṡarīi Lexicon Geographicum: Cui titulus est: Kitāb al-jibāl wa al-amkina wa al-miyāh, eds. M. Salverda de Grave and T. G. J. Juynboll (Leiden, 1856), 22 (text); OSCN, 254 (trans.). Whilst Yāqūt al-Ḥamawī (d. 1228–9), for example, distinguished between the Nubians and the Beja, the latter of which were Christian (explicitly in relation to those at Sawākin) and resided on the Red Sea African coast east of the Nubians: F. Wüstenfeld, ed., Jacut’s geographisches Wörterbuch, 5 vols. (Leipzig, 1866–73), pp. III:182, IV:820 (text); OSCN, pp. 345–6 (trans.).

80. Wüstenfeld, ed., Jacut’s geographisches Wörterbuch, III:710 (text); OSCN, 345 (trans.).

81. Morton, Crusader States, 173.

82. B. Weber, ‘Damiette, 1220: La cinquième croisade et l’Apocalypse arabe de Pierre dans leur contexte nilotique’, Médiévales, 79 (2020), pp. 69–90.

83. Arnoldi, ‘Chronica Slavorum’, in MGH SS XXI, Book VII Ch. 8, 238 (text); Chronicle of Arnold of Lübeck, trans. Loud, 277 (trans.); V. Scior, ‘The Mediterranean in the High Middles Ages: Area of Unity or Diversity? Arnold of Lübeck’s Chronica Slavorum’, in Mobility and Travel in the Mediterranean from Antiquity to the Middle Ages, eds. R. Schlesier and U. Zellmann (Münster, 2004), pp. 114–15.

84. PL 216, pp. 817–21, quote on 818. See also: J. Vandeburie, ‘Dominus papa volens scire – Echoes of the Fourth Lateran Council’s Crusade and Mission Agenda in Thirteenth-Century Manuscripts’, in The Fourth Lateran Council and the Crusade Movement: The Impact of the Council of 1215 on Latin Christendom and the East, eds. J. L. Bird and D. J. Smith (Turnhout, 2018), pp. 311–15.

85. Radulfi de Diceto decani Lundoniensis opera historica. The Historical Works of Master Ralph de Diceto, Dean of London, ed. W. Stubbs, 2 vols. (London, 1876), II:82.

86. Roger of Wendover, Liber qui dicitur Flores Historiarum ab anno domini MCLIV annoque Henrici Anglorum regis secondi primo, ed. H. G. Hewlett, 3 vols. (London, 1886–9), I:179 (text); Roger of Wendover, Flowers of History: The History of England from the Descent of the Saxons to A.D. 1235, trans. J. A. Giles, 2 vols. (London, 1849), II:92 (trans.); Matthaei Parisiensis, Chronica majora, ed. Luard, II:361.

87. Shachar, ‘“Re-Orienting” Estoires d’Outremer’.

88. Oliver of Paderborn, ‘Historia Damiatini’, ed. Hoogeweg, Ch. 35, pp. 231–2 (text); Oliver of Paderborn, Capture of Damietta, trans. Gavigan, pp. 89–90 (trans.).

89. Robert of Clari, La Conquête, ed. and trans. Dufournet, Ch. 54, 130 (text); Robert of Clari, Conquest, trans. McNeal, pp. 79–80 (trans.).

90. See P. Baldwin, Pope Gregory X and the Crusades (Woodbridge, 2014).

91. Vantini, ‘Sur l’éventualité’.

92. For the later changing crusading approach, see M. Purcell, Papal Crusading Policy: The Chief Instruments of Papal Crusading Policy and Crusade to the Holy Land from the Final Loss of Jerusalem to the Fall of Acre, 1244–1291 (Leiden, 1975); N. Housley, The Avignon Papacy and the Crusades 1305–1378 (Oxford, 1986); S. Schein, Fideles Crucis: The Papacy, the West, and the Recovery of the Holy Land 1274–1314 (Oxford, 1991); N. Housley, The Later Crusades, 1274–1580: From Lyons to Alcazar (Oxford, 1992); A. Leopold, How to Recover the Holy Land: The Crusade Proposals of the Late Thirteenth and Early Fourteenth Centuries (Aldershot, 2000), B. Weber, Lutter contre les Turcs: Les formes nouvelles de la croisade pontificale au XV^e siècle (Rome, 2013).

93. A. Garcia Espada, ‘The Geographical Enlargement of the Crusade Theory After 1291. Its Subaltern Roots’, in Les projets de croisade: Géostratégie et diplomatie européenne du XIVe au XVIIe siècle, ed. J. Paviot (Toulouse, 2014), pp. 109–24.

94. See Schein, Fideles Crucis, pp. 87–91; Leopold, How to Recover, pp. 105–36. Schein utilised a list of 26 works dated between 1274 and 1314, whilst Leopold expanded his study to incorporate earlier and later texts which acted similarly to the principal treatises of Schein: Schein, Fideles Crucis, pp. 269–70; Leopold, How to Recover, pp. 8–45.

95. Fidenzio of Padua, ‘Liber recuperationis Terre Sancte ([1274] 1290–1291)’, in Projets de croisade (v. 1290–v. 1330), ed. J. Paviot (Paris, 2008), Ch. 9, 64.

96. William of Tripoli, ‘Tractatus de statu Saracenorum’, in William of Tripoli, Notitia de Machometo: De statu Sarracenorum, ed. P. Engels (Würzburg, 1992), Ch. 4, pp. 278–9 (text and trans.).

97. J. Basnage, Thesaurus monumentorum ecclesiasticorum et historicorum, sive, H. Canisii Lectiones antiquae, vol. 4 (Antwerp, 1725), 25; H. Omont, ‘Manuscrits de la bibliothèque de sir Thomas Phillipps récemment acquis pour la Bibliothèque nationale’, Bibliothèque de l’École des chartes, 64 (1903), 500.

98. J. Rubin, ‘Burchard of Mount Sion’s Descriptio Terrae Sanctae: A Newly Discovered Extended Version’, Crusades, 13 (2014), pp. 178–9.

99. Ibn ͑Abd al-Ẓāhir, Tašrīf al-ayyām wa-l-͑uṣūr fī sīrat al-Malik al-Manṣūr, ed. M. Kamil (Cairo, 1961), pp. 156–64 (text); H. Holt, Early Mamluk Diplomacy (1260–1290): Treaties of Baybars and Qalāwūn with Christian Rulers (Leiden, 1995), pp. 132–40 (trans.). The treaty was reissued between both parties’ successors, al-Ašraf Ḵalīl and James II, in 1293: al-Qalqašandī, Subḥ al-aʿšā fī ṣinaʿat al-inšāʾ, 14 vols. (Cairo, 1913–19), pp. XIV:63–70. On these treaties, see P. M. Holt, ‘The Mamluk Sultanate and Aragon: The Treaties of 689/1290 and 692/1293’, Tarikh, 2 (1992), pp. 105–18.

100. Bausi and Chiesa, ‘The Ystoria Ethyopie’, pp. 38–9 (text and trans.).

101. William Adam, How to Defeat the Saracens/Guillelmus Ade, Tractatus quomodo Sarraceni sunt expugnandi, ed. and trans. G. Constable (Washington, D.C., 2012), Ch. 5, 104–5 (text and trans.).

102. William Adam, Defeat, ed. and trans. Constable, Ch. 5, pp. 102–5 (text and trans.).

103. William Adam, Defeat, ed. and trans. Constable, Ch. 5, pp. 114–17 (text and trans.). On the importance of the Red Sea trade to the Mamlūks, see R. Irwin, The Middle East in the Middle Ages: The Early Mamluk Sultanate, 1250–1382 (Beckenham, 1986), pp. 37–61; J. Abu-Lughod, Before European Hegemony: The World System A.D. 1250–1350 (Oxford, 1989), pp. 212–47.

104. William Adam, Defeat, ed. and trans. Constable, Ch. 5, pp. 98–9 (text and trans.).

105. William Adam, Defeat, pp. 114–15 (text and trans.).

106. On Het̕um’s role as mediator between the Latin Christians and the Mongols, see, for example, A. Osipian, ‘Armenian Involvement in the Latin-Mongol Crusade: Uses of the Magi and Prester John in Constable Smbat’s Letter and Hayton of Corycus’s “Flos historiarum terre orientis”’, Medieval Encounters, 20.1 (2014), pp. 66–100.

107. Het̕um of Corycus, ‘La Flor des Estoires de la Terre d’Orient’, Ch. 10, 232.

108. Het̕um of Corycus, ‘La Flor des Estoires de la Terre d’Orient’, Ch. 16, pp. 239–40, Ch. 18, 241.

109. Encores, que la Vostre Sainte Paternitei vulle escrire au roi des Nubiens, qui sont Crestiens, e furent convertiz à la foi de Crist par monseignor saint Thomas l’apostle en la terre d’Ethiope, mandant que deüsent movoir guerre au soudan e à sa gent. E je croi fermement que les devant dis Nubiens, por l’oneur Nostre Seignor Jhesu Crist, e por reverence de la Vostre Saintetei, moveroient guerre au soudan e sa gent, e lur feroient ennui e damage, à lur poer; e ce seroit grant destorbement au soudan e à sa gent: Het̕um of Corycus, ‘La Flor des Estoires de la Terre d’Orient’, Ch. 23, 247.

110. Bausi and Chiesa, ‘The Ystoria Ethyopie’, pp. 20–1 (text and trans.).

111. Bausi and Chiesa, ‘The Ystoria Ethyopie’, pp. 30–3 (text and trans.).

112. Berenike had long since been abandoned since the sixth century, however. Marino Sanudo Torsello, Liber secretorum, ed. Bongars, Book III Part XIV Ch. 12, pp. 259–61 (text); Marino Sanudo Torsello, Book of Secrets, trans. Lock, pp. 413–15 (trans.).

113. Marino Sanudo Torsello, Liber secretorum, ed. Bongars, Book I Part V Ch. 2, 32, Book II Part I Ch. 3, 36, Book II Part III Ch. 4, 53 (text); Marino Sanudo Torsello, Book of Secrets, trans. Lock, pp. 65, 71, 97 (trans.).

114. Marino Sanudo Torsello, Liber secretorum, ed. Bongars, Book I Part I Ch. 4, 24 (text); Marino Sanudo Torsello, Book of Secrets, trans. Lock, 53 (trans.).

115. Marino Sanudo Torsello, Liber secretorum, ed. Bongars, Book II Part IV Ch. 27, 91 (text); Marino Sanudo Torsello, Book of Secrets, trans. Lock, 150 (trans.). Only a few years later in 1324, Jordanus of Severac reiterates this focus and even goes as far as to state that just two ships in the Indian Ocean would disrupt the Mamlūk trade: Annales Minorum Seu Trium Ordinum A S. Francisco Institutorum, ed. L. Wadding, vol. 3 (Rome, 1636), 256.

116. Marino Sanudo Torsello, Liber secretorum, ed. Bongars, Book II Part I Ch. 3, 36 (text); Marino Sanudo Torsello, Book of Secrets, trans. Lock, pp. 71–2 (trans.).

117. Not including the end maps and occasional margin decoration, there are arguably only six other comparably decorative images across 107 folios in the manuscript given to Pope John XXII: Vat.Lat. 2972, 7v, 11v, 14r, 68r, 93v, 94r. Most of the folios have little or no decoration at all. A version of the same image also appears in other contemporary copies, such as those held at the British Library (Add MS 27376, 8v), the Bodleian Library at the University of Oxford (MS Tanner 190, 22r), the Biblioteca Riccardiana in Florence (Ricc. 237, 15v), and the Bibliothèque Royale in Brussels (MS 9404–5, 18r), emphasising the importance of the image for the text’s readers.

118. Marino Sanudo Torsello, Book of Secrets, trans. Lock, 9.

119. This appears in all contemporary manuscripts, but to emphasise this point, this was true for the manuscript given to Pope John XXII: Vat.Lat. 2972, 113r.

120. E. Edson, ‘Reviving the Crusade: Sanudo’s Scheme and Vesconte’s Maps’, in Eastward Bound, ed. Allen, pp. 131–55. On the specific failure of Sanudo’s proposals, see C. J. Tyerman, ‘Marino Sanudo Torsello and the Lost Crusade: Lobbying in the Fourteenth Century’, Transactions of the Royal Historical Society, 32 (1982), pp. 57–73.

121. Pseudo-Brocardus, ‘Directorium ad Passagium Faciendum’, in RHC Doc. Arm. II, De tercio motivo ad passagium faciendum, 388.

122. J. Dunbabin, A Hound of God: Pierre de la Palud and the Fourteenth Century Church (Oxford, 1991), pp. 164–78.

123. On the appearance of Ethiopia in the text, see S. Tedeschi, ‘L’Abissinia nel libro di Marco Polo’, Africa, 25 (1981), pp. 361–83.

124. On examples of the debate, which mostly centre on discussions regarding his trip to China, see F. Wood, Did Marco Polo Go to China? (London, 1995); J. Larner, Marco Polo and the Discovery of the World (New Haven, 1999), esp. pp. 58–63; H. U. Vogel, Marco Polo Was in China: New Evidence from Currencies, Salts and Revenues (Leiden, 2013).

125. H. Lot, ‘Essai d’intervention de Charles le Bel en faveur des chrétiens d’Orient tenté avec le concours du pape Jean XXII’, Bibliothèque de l’ecole des Chartes, 36 (1875), pp. 588–600; G. Bratianu, ‘Le conseil du Roi Charles: essai sur l’internationale Chrétienne et les nationalités à la fin du Moyen Âge’, Revue Historique du Sud-Est Européen, 19 (1942), pp. 291–361; Wiet, ‘Les relations Égypto-Abyssines’, pp. 122–5; Loiseau, ‘The Ḥaṭī and the Sultan’, pp. 640–1.