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December 12, 2020 - January 16, 2021
So widespread was slavery in the Mediterranean and the Arabic world that even today regular greetings reference human trafficking. All over Italy, when they meet, people say to each other, “schiavo,” from a Venetian dialect. “Ciao,” as it is more commonly spelt, does not mean “hello”; it means “I am your slave.”
While it stands today as a glorious vision of the past, the spark for Venice’s growth came from its willingness to sell future generations into captivity.
On 15 July 1099, Jerusalem fell to the knights of the First Crusade.
Templar knights—a particularly popular new order whose zealous mixture of military service, devotion and piety proved intoxicatingly glamorous.
The Crusade might be best remembered as a war of religion, but it was also a springboard for accruing serious wealth and power.
The sack of the city was so brutal that one modern scholar has written of a “lost generation” in the years that followed the Fourth Crusade as the Byzantine imperial apparatus was forced to regroup in Nicaea in Asia Minor.
From the very outset, men such as Bohemond had shown that the Crusades—which promised to defend Christendom, to do the Lord’s work and deliver salvation to the many who took the cross—could be hijacked for other purposes.
The Mongols cultivated such fears carefully, for the reality was that Genghis Khan used violence selectively and deliberately. The sack of one city was calculated to encourage others to submit peacefully and quickly; theatrically gruesome deaths were used to persuade other rulers that it was better to negotiate than to offer resistance.
The terror the Mongols aroused was reflected in the name by which they were soon being referred to: Tatars, a reference to Tartarus—the abyss of torment in classical mythology.
With other European monarchs similarly preoccupied, the Christian presence in the Holy Land finally came to an end: two centuries after the knights of the First Crusade had captured Jerusalem, the last footholds gave way. Sidon, Tyre, Beirut and Acre surrendered to the Mamlūks in 1291.
Before withdrawing, however, “they ordered corpses to be placed in catapults and lobbed into the city in the hope that the intolerable stench would kill everyone inside.” Rather than being overwhelmed by the smell, it was the highly contagious disease that caught hold. Unknowingly, the Mongols had turned to biological warfare to defeat their enemy.
“Don’t hurtle into marriage too soon,” advised Anna Bijns in a poem written in the Low Countries, for “one who earns her board and clothes shouldn’t scurry to suffer a man’s rod…Though wedlock I do not decry; unyoked is best! Happy the woman without a man!”
Finally, in 1453, the imperial capital fell, the capture of one of the greatest cities of Christendom a triumph for Islam, which was once again in the ascendant. In Rome, there were accounts of men crying and beating their chests when news came through that Constantinople had fallen, and of prayers being offered by the Pope for those trapped in the city. But Europe had done too little when it mattered; now it was too late.
In one Arabic manual written in the Mediterranean around this time, a chapter entitled “Prescriptions for increasing the dimensions of small members and for making them splendid” suggested rubbing a mixture of honey and ginger on to the private parts; the effect would be so powerful and produce such pleasure that the man’s sexual partner would “object to him getting off her again.”
Globalisation was no less problematic five centuries ago than it is today.
The great irony, then, was that although Europe experienced a glorious Golden Age, producing flourishing art and literature and leaps of scientific endeavour, it was forged by violence.
It was not for nothing that world war and the worst genocide in history had their origins and execution in Europe; these were the latest chapters in a long-running story of brutality and violence.
Only a European author could have concluded that the natural state of man was to be in a constant state of violence; and only a European author would have been right.
In the place of international commerce and high politics, Venice, Florence and Rome became stops on a tourist trail for the new rich. Although first referred to as the Grand Tour in 1670,
Experiences could be traumatic, as the merchant sailor Thomas Bowrey and his friends found out when they paid sixpence for a pint of “Bangha,” an infusion of cannabis, in India in the late seventeenth century: