Vanished Kingdoms: The Rise and Fall of States and Nations (35 page)

Jaime I’s realms presented a kaleidoscope of languages, religions and cultures. The religious spectrum stretched from ultra-fervent Catholicism to Judaism and Islam. The urban culture of the great cities was worlds apart from the life of Pyrenean pastoral communities, and nothing impressed so strongly as the dynamism of medieval Barcelona. The old city, overlooking the port, was dominated by the cathedral or
seu
of Santa Eulalia and by the densely inhabited public quarter, the Barri Gótic. On one side stood the ancient but none-too-imposing
Palau Reial
, the residence of the counts, and on the other side, the
Call
or ‘Jewish Quarter’. A tangle of narrow streets, where the
Ramblas
was yet to be built, ran down to the waterfront, or rather to a sandy beach. In the time of Jaime I, the city, though already a bustling metropolis, lacked many of its later adornments. At the northern end, the
Lonja
, seat of the Consulado del Mar and resort of foreign merchants, occupied a temporary building. At the southern end, the
Drassanes
or Royal Dockyard, a spectacle of ant-like activity, was in the early stages of its expansion. The imposing palaces of the
Generalitat
and of the
Ajuntament
, where municipal assemblies would be held, were a dream of the future. Behind the docks, the church of Santa Maria del Pi served the city guilds, while the Hospital de la Santa Creu housed a medical complex. Around them, to landward, ran the unbroken line of the city walls. In front of them, a mass of merchant ships and military galleys rode at anchor, or rested on the open beach.
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Anyone who saw Barcelona would have understood that increasing naval power underpinned the increasing wealth and strength of the state. The
Drassanes
in Barcelona’s port was but the visible base of an expanding network. The policy of constructing a permanent royal fleet is attributed to the Conqueror’s father, Pedro II, who dreamed of a
regne dins el mar
, ‘a kingdom in the sea’. But it demanded long-term commitment, and huge resources in money, men and materials. The chosen weapon was the seagoing galley powered by a combination of sail and oar, the latest variant on ancient Greek biremes and triremes. When the oars kicked in, these galleys could show a devastating turn of speed. The largest of them were driven by 100 or even 150 oars, each oar manned by two or three rowers. Each carried a bow-mounted battering ram, an arsenal of catapults for attack, and a strong company of crossbowmen for self-defence.
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Sea battles were a regular occurrence. One in particular stuck in the memory of a popular chronicler:

And when the galleys of En Conrado Lansa saw the ten galleys coming, they left the place. And the Saracens, who saw them shouted in their Saracen language ‘Aur, Aur’: and they came [on] with great vigour. And the galleys of En Conrado Lansa formed in a circle, and all four collected together and held council. And En Conrado Lansa said to them: ‘You, my Lords, know that the favour of God is with the Lord King of Aragon and you know how many victories he has had over Saracens… Therefore I pray you all that you remember the power of God and of Our Lady Saint Mary, and the Holy Catholic Faith, and the honour of the Lord King and of the city of Valencia and of all the Kingdom; and that, roped together as we are, we attack resolutely, and that, on this day, we do so much that we be spoken of forever.’

And all began to shout: ‘Let us attack them! Let us attack them! They will all be ours!’… And with that he ordered trumpets and [drums] to be sounded, and with great shouts they began a vehement attack. And the four galleys, most beautifully, and without any clamour, went to the attack in the midst of the ten galleys and there the battle was most grievous and it lasted from the morning until the hour of vespers, and no one dared to eat or drink.

But Our Lord the true God and His blessed Mother, from Whom come all favours, and the good luck of the Lord King of Aragon, gave the victory to our men, in such manner that all the galleys were defeated and the men killed or taken… [And so,] with great honour and triumph, they returned to Valencia with the galleys which they brought there, and with many Saracen captives who had hidden below deck, of whom they had much profit.
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In the chronicler’s eyes, it was evidently a sin for Saracens to hold Christian slaves, but not for Christians to enslave Saracens.

The Balearic Islands – in Roman times, the
Gymnesiae
– have been described as ‘a strategic imperative’ for Aragon. Lying some 100 miles off the coast of Catalonia, they commanded the coastal trade, the approaches to the Strait of Gibraltar, and the crossing to North Africa. They provided both the stepping stones for small-scale shipping and the grand harbours which could act as naval bases. Yet they had remained in Moorish hands long after the union of Catalonia and Aragon. To Catalan sailors, this infidel stronghold must have felt like a thorn in Christian flesh. In the mind of King Jaime, it presented the most urgent of challenges.

The conquest by Jaime I, which began in 1229, absorbed formidable logistical resources. The initial attack on Mallorca (the ‘Greater Island’) was led by a fleet of galleys towing armoured troop-transports, whose bows opened – like those of landing-craft on the Normandy beaches – to release waves of advancing infantry. The king himself wrote a description of the operations in the
Llibre dels Fets
:

One portion of the fleet was deployed at Cambrils, but the larger part, in which we found ourselves, was in the port of Salon and on the beach, and the remainder at Tarragona… We had 25 capital ships, 18 tarides, 12 galleys, and 100 buzas and galliots…

Bovet’s ship, in which Guillem de Montcada sailed, was to act as a guide, and had to carry a lantern as a light whilst Carro’s ship had the rearguard… I was in the galley of Montpellier towards the rear.

We set sail on Wednesday morning from Salon, with a land breeze… It was a wonderful sight… The whole sea appeared white with sails.

The hour of vespers came. And near the first watch, we overtook the ship of Guillem of Montcada… and we climbed up the lantern and hailed them… The crew responded that it was the King’s ship, and that we were welcome one hundred thousand times… And sailing by night and at the front of the fleet, we did not lower sail or change course, but let the galley run as fast as it could… There was a beautiful moon and breeze from the south-west, and we said that we could go to Pollença…
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Having ignored the bad weather forecast, and surviving a squall, during which he prayed to the Virgin Mary, the king landed safely. The troops disembarked without opposition. They then saw that they were not alone:

The Saracens were ranged before them with some five thousand footmen and two hundred horsemen. And Ramón de Montcada came and said that he would go to survey them, [adding] ‘Let no one come with me.’ And when he got near them, he called, [saying] ‘Let us attack, for they are nothing!’ And [Montcada] was the first to attack. And when the Christians came up to the Moors, at four lances’ length at most, the Moors turned tail and fled. But they were pursued with such speed that more than one thousand, five hundred Saracens died, as there was no desire to take prisoners. This done, our men returned to the seashore.
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Thus was the voyage to Mallorca and the first engagement completed. That evening, the bishop of Barcelona delivered a sermon: ‘Barons… take heed. Those who die in this task will do so in the name of Our Lord and will receive paradise, where they will have everlasting glory. And those who live will have honour and renown for all their lives and a good end in their deaths…’
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The main city of Madina was then besieged, and on its capitulation, the Almohad rulers submitted on condition that the population be spared. Madina’s harbour, renamed Ciutat de Mallorca (now Palma), could henceforth act as partner for Barcelona and deny all the adjacent waters to hostile shipping.

Menorca (the ‘Lesser Island’) was captured in 1231 by guile. Huge fires were built on the cliffs of Cap de Formentor on Mallorca, to create the illusion of a massive armed camp. The Menorcans surrendered without a fight, buying their survival as a vassal Islamic state with the promise of annual tribute. The twin islands of Evissa (now Ibiza) and Formentera were captured in 1235 by a private crusade of the archbishop of Tarragona. According to local legend, the ruling sheikh’s brother quarrelled with him over a woman in the harem, and told the besieging Catalans of a secret tunnel. The Arab mosques were torn down and replaced by Catholic churches.

Valencia, an ancient port and Roman settlement and the centre of the Moorish
tarifa
of Balansiya, now formed the focus of the king’s attention. Its conquest started slightly later than that of the Balearics, and the ongoing land battles were not completed until 1304. Aragonese forces were employed almost constantly for three generations in simultaneous campaigns in the Balearics and on the Valencian coast.

The conquest of Valencia has traditionally been seen as Aragon’s contribution to the religious crusade against the Moors. Yet other motives can also be identified. By fighting the Moors, the Aragonese were also rebuffing the Castilians, who had lodged an earlier stake in the area. Furthermore, by winning new royal lands King Jaime was able to strengthen the Crown against the nobles. His careful management of colonization allowed him to create new estates and new sources of revenue from which the nobles could be excluded.

The campaign advanced in spasms. Much of the fighting was defensive. In the first phase, 1232–3, Aragon captured the districts of Morella, Burriana and Peñiscola. In 1237–8 Jaime I entered the ‘city of El Cid’ and formally created the Kingdom of Valencia. In the third phase, in 1243–5, the Aragonese drove on into districts claimed by the Castilians, and a line of demarcation had to be established. The onset of the fourth and final phase was delayed to 1296, and lasted for eight years. The Arbitration of Torrellas (1304), as later amended, assigned Alicante to Valencia and Murcia to Castile.

The colonization of the Kingdom of Valencia, as reflected in subsequent linguistic patterns, followed twin routes. The king brought large groups of Catalan settlers into the coastal strip, thereby deciding that the future Valencian language would be a dialect of Catalan. Noble adventurers, on the other hand, set up private holdings in the inland districts, bringing settlers in from Aragon. Their descendants still employ a form of speech that is close to Aragonese.
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Two issues loomed large. One was the fate of the Muslim Moors, the other the form of government. The Christian population of Valencia formed a distinct minority for many years to come, but the defeated Muslims were badly needed to work the land of the new territories. There could be no question of a general expulsion. Instead, Islam was tolerated subject to the political loyalty of local leaders. In this way, the
mudéjars
of Valencia came to represent a solid Muslim enclave within Christian Iberia.
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The government of the Kingdom of Valencia was modelled neither on Aragon nor on Catalonia. Kingship was permanently invested in the Crown of Aragon, but the
Furs de Valencia
or ‘Charters of Valencia’ were produced through a lengthy process of bargaining between the Crown and the local (Christian) community. In these negotiations, occupying much of the fourteenth century, the municipality of the city of Valencia played a prominent role. Once the
Furs
were established, Valencia’s power and wealth forged ahead. The wool trade supported extensive textile manufactories and underpinned the overseas commerce which made the city a worthy partner (and competitor) to Barcelona. The elegant
Lonja de la Seda
or ‘Silk Exchange’, which still stands, attests to the port’s far-flung contacts, and the
Taula de canvis
(‘table of exchange’) acted both as a bank and a stock exchange.
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One of the side effects of the conquest of Valencia was to strengthen Aragon’s hold on the inland province of Teruel that lies on the direct line between Zaragoza and Valencia. The intervening terrain is exceptionally hostile. The colonists’ trail was blocked by range after range of stony mountains – including the wonderfully named Sierras Universales. The winters are notably inclement. Even today, the roads are few and far between. The remoteness of Teruel had made it a favoured place of refuge for Iberian Jews.

The fame of medieval Teruel, however, is for ever associated with a tale of star-struck lovers, Diego and Isabela, who lived there in the thirteenth century. Their tomb still stands in the parish church (no matter that Boccaccio reports an almost identical tale from Florence). The Marcillas and the Segaras of Teruel resembled the Montagues and Capulets of Verona. The Seguras were wealthy; the Marcillas impoverished. So, when Diego Marcilla asked for Isabela Segura’s hand in marriage, her stern father told him that he had five years – and not a day longer! – to go away and make his fortune.

Five years passed, and Diego hadn’t returned. On the day after the deadline, Isabela was ordered to wed an elderly knight. During the wedding feast, a commotion was heard. Diego had arrived, laden with riches and longing for his lady. He had counted the five years from the day of his departure, not, like the Seguras, from the day of his dismissal. That night, Diego crept into Isabela’s bridal suite and begged for a kiss. ‘
Besame
,’ he pleaded, ‘
que me muero
’ (‘Kiss me, for I’m dying’). Isabela, remembering her vows, turned away, and Diego fell dead at her feet. So the wedding was followed by a funeral. Isabela bent over Diego’s bier, kissed him tenderly on the lips, and fell dead herself. The
amantes de Teruel
, separated in life, were united in death.
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