According to Bishop Hugh, Prester John recently devastated a group of Muslims called the Samiards. After the most bloody three-day battle you can imagine—yes, worse than Gettysburg—Prester John emerged as the victor. He only had one goal now: march on the holy city of Jerusalem and take the rest of the Islamic world by force. This was exactly the sort of thing medieval popes liked to hear.
The Prester John revelation couldn’t have come at a better time, because Bishop Hugh also brought bad news with him. Edessa, an important Christian stronghold, had been captured by Muslim forces. The pope needed an ally, which probably explains why, despite any hard evidence, Eugenius listened to all those dubious rumors and immediately called for the Second Crusade to recapture Edessa.
crusades:
A bunch of Holy Wars fought for holy land.
Clearly, having the word “genius” in his name didn’t make the pope an Einstein.
He was convinced Prester John would soon be along to help in the fight, even though Bishop Hugh also mentioned how the great Prester John had been stopped from actually getting to Jerusalem by a river the first time around.
After defeating the Samiards, Prester John got outwitted by the Tigris. The river was so swollen that Prester John decided to wait for it to freeze over so he and his troops could cross it safely. He waited years for the river to ice over, but it never did. (Nobody could accuse John of being a genius, either.) In spite of all that, the pope believed John would be able to cross this time.
The Second Crusade didn’t end well for the Christians. As anyone with a frontal lobe could have predicted, Prester John was a no-show. After two years of sieges, the Crusaders still couldn’t recapture Edessa, and about the only thing they gained for their trouble was another crusade. Told you it didn’t go well.
For the next two decades, the rumors about Prester John stayed just that—rumors. Until 1165, when the most convenient letter in the world showed up. It was from Prester John himself, and it was addressed to Byzantine Emperor Manuel I Comnenus.
Prester John was still around, and he still wanted to stomp on all non-Christians. Addressing Manuel I, he asked the emperor to call him just John. Even though seventy-two (there’s that suspicious number again—see chapter 1) kings in the area called him their king, Prester John didn’t want to seem mightier than the emperor. Just John would work just fine. And in case anyone thought Prester John wasn’t powerful because of that little mishap at the Tigris River, he indulged in some horn-tooting.
This is not going to end well.
The letter declared that he was the richest man in, over, or under the sun, and he had more style than Michael Jordan on or off the court. He had everything from magical plants to magical animals in his kingdom. Even the rocks had healing power. Nobody ever got in fights or was bored, probably because there were too many cool things to explore in his land of milk and honey and jewels. If anyone could number the stars in the sky or count the sands in the sea, then she could also calculate the extent of John’s power. It was a challenge nobody but Prester John could win.
The thought of all those riches and healing rocks had European Christians drooling worse than a rabid raccoon. It confirmed everything they thought about the exotic East. It was teeming with gold and all kinds of fantastical things. The lack of a definite location didn’t bother them. It just made it easier to imagine Prester John and his wealth anywhere they wanted, and right now they wanted him near Jerusalem.
The letter to the emperor quickly circulated throughout Europe, meaning copies of it got passed around. When the new pope, Alexander III, finally got his copy, he sent his personal physician, Master Philip, to see Prester John. It was the first time a pope sent an envoy to the Far East that didn’t include swords and death threats. Instead, he replied along the lines of, “Great, let’s get together, but just so you know, you should really stop bragging so much.” Popes don’t appreciate braggarts.
Philip left in 1177, but which way he went is a mystery. Maybe he knew it was a hopeless quest and took a lifelong vacation instead. Philip was never heard from again.
All of these boasts sound ridiculously made-up, but with about as much worldliness and geographical knowledge as an ant, medieval Europeans couldn’t contradict the claims. They really didn’t want to, either. They had another crusade to launch, and Prester John was going to help them win it.
He’s Just Not into You
Technically speaking, Prester John didn’t participate in the Fifth Crusade (1217–1221), but he was there in spirit. Christian Crusaders were told the mighty king already rampaged through the Muslim ranks farther east, and Christian leaders like Bishop Jacque de Vitry believed Prester John would race to join the slaughter in Egypt when he heard the buzz about the Fifth Crusade.
It’s anyone’s guess why the Crusaders thought that Prester John would actually show up this time. In an era when news spread about as quick as a snail stuck in glue, it’s pretty obvious that he wouldn’t make it in time, even if the letter wasn’t a fake (it was) and the great king existed (he didn’t).
But the Europeans really wanted to beat the snot out of the Muslims, and they were willing to entertain all kinds of delusions to keep their hope alive. Prester John was more than delusional propaganda—he was hope that Christians were out there in the East. He was that ratty, old security blanket we all used to carry around, except it would take centuries to let this one go.
Besides, in 1219, Europeans believed that monsters and unicorns lived behind the shrubs in their backyards, which really puts things in perspective. An immortal king doesn’t seem that strange any more. So, full of hope, the Europeans set off to yet another war.
Predictably, the Fifth Crusade went much like Second, which is to say poorly. Prester John never showed his immortal face. No word on what held him up this time.
After Prester John jilted them once again, you’d think the Europeans would’ve gotten the hint. He just wasn’t into them. Or maybe they would’ve zeroed in on the real reason—Prester John was a bonafide fake and the letter a very creative forgery—but they didn’t.
didn’t:
Even centuries later, in 1400, people were still asking Prester John to join the fight. Henry IV of England wrote him a note asking to crusade with him, like he might finally show up or something. They were always hopeful, if not always smart. Not surprisingly, Henry IV died before he got a reply from the famous priest-king.
Look Alive!
After the Fifth Crusade, hope rose again from the ashes, just like a phoenix Prester John claimed to have. It wouldn’t last long, though. Bishop Jacques de Vitry now heard that there was a ruler on the Asian plains who had mobilized against the Muslim infidels.
Foiled again! It’s just Genghis Khan.
Yes! This sounded a lot like Prester John’s M.O. The Europeans got extremely excited, and when Europeans got excited, invasions usually weren’t far off.
This time, though, they were the ones getting invaded. “Prester John” turned out to be just Genghis Khan trying his hand at world domination. When the Mongols started conquering European lands in 1237, no one believed the khan was Prester John anymore, despite their rhyming names. Maybe it was time to stop listening to gossipy bishops.
Marco Polo, known to travel a lot, tried to clear up all the confusion. He had lived with the Mongols since he was a teenager and according to him, there had been a priest who was also a king, and probably the one Europeans called Prester John (score!), but Genghis Khan had defeated and killed him already (boo!).
You’d think Marco Polo would have had some influence over the European Christians in terms of clearing up the mystery of Prester John, being that Polo was a famous travel writer and all, but apparently not. His account didn’t stop future writers in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries from keeping the search for the infamous priest-king alive. Some legends die hard—especially alluring ones about immortality and riches.
Thanks to another man who never existed, the legend of
Prester John continued to grow and spread. Sir John Mandeville—or at least someone using that pen name—wrote a travel book in the mid-fourteenth century gushing about Prester John’s imaginary kingdom filled with unbelievable sights. Horned cannibals lived there in peace with strange humans who cried instead of talked. Sir John also claimed that the kingdom had more gems and jewels than King Midas. According to Mandeville, even Prester John’s bed was made of gold and sapphires and had magical properties.
Breaking News!
If a news article came out today boasting about finding a magical land filled with headless cannibals, birds on fire, and the secret to immortality, we can safely assume that only a few people would be gullible enough to believe it. Even fewer would sell all their possessions and go searching for the place in question. But that’s not how life (and people) worked during the medieval era. Despite the lack of fantastical creatures roaming the European countryside, people didn’t doubt that they existed. Their prayer books, called Psalters, were filled with beautiful illustrations, and while most illuminated run-of-the-mill, daily-life activities, an odd creature always found its way onto the margins.
While the medieval mind was a fertile ground for creatures, the people of that era gained a lot of their ideas about the world from ancient writers. In their minds, if it was old, then it was gold, meaning it was authoritative. That means that if Pliny the Elder, famous Roman writer and military commander, said there were one-eyed people and fiery birds living on the edges of the known world (Africa or Asia), then there probably were.
Thanks to them, interest in monsters lasted and tons of bestiaries were produced. In tenth-century England, someone compiled a book called Wonders of the East, and it had loads of pictures of men with their heads in their chests. It makes you wonder: Did Prester John’s author take a peek at this book, or Pliny’s pages, before penning those letters?
“travel”:
Mandeville’s travels were what you call armchair travels. He made it all up from his nice cozy armchair, and stole from others when he got writer’s block.
Mandeville’s “travel” narrative sold pretty well, probably because the mystery author had more creativity than J. K. Rowling with all those creatures he made up.
The book was translated into many different languages and was considered one of the most popular non-religious books published during the medieval period. Thanks to Mandeville’s imagination, many explorers to the New World combed the land in search of hybrid humans, Prester John, and the Fountain of Youth.
On the Map
All that chatter was enough to start putting Prester John on the map. Mapmakers weren’t sure where he lived—only that he ruled over the Three Indies. Back then, the Three Indies could be anything to the south or east of Jerusalem, which is kind of a big area. It could include what we today call Africa, Asia, and the Americas.
Obviously, medieval Europeans didn’t have the first clue about geography, but the search for Prester John gave them the opportunity to learn. Prester John’s fingerprints are all over—either directly or indirectly—every exploration into Asia and Africa during the medieval period and even into the modern era.
The first maps with Prester John’s kingdom noted on them appeared in 1320. Then, for the next couple centuries, mapmakers switched gears and threw him and his kingdom in Africa, with a few rogue maps clinging to Asia. An atlas from 1606 gives Prester John a full-page spread and in a big-hearted gesture, granted 30 percent of Africa to the fake king.
Maybe the mapmaker was sipping on lead-laced wine when he made this oddly shaped African map.
In 1477, Geographia, a book by the famous ancient geographer Ptolemy, found its way to Europe. It had strange references to a place that sounded—if you crossed your eyes and squinted really hard—a lot like Prester John’s kingdom. Hallelujah! Confirmation, at last. Obviously, if a smart man like Ptolemy referenced Prester John’s kingdom centuries ago, it must have truly existed.
Just in case anybody still had doubts, though, two more letters surfaced from Prester John in 1500—one addressed to the emperor of Rome and the other to the king of France. It didn’t bother anybody that over three hundred years had passed since the first letter. After all, Prester John was immortal. Thanks to the newly invented printing press, the 1500 equivalent of going viral meant over one hundred copies of the bestselling letter circulated throughout Europe.
With new details about his kingdom, Prester John had Europe in a tizzy again. (Of course, more invasions weren’t far off, but Europeans now called them “explorations.”) The new letters painted a vivid picture and it was weird indeed. It described the exotic animals and bizarre humans in Prester John’s faraway land. In fact, Prester John’s kingdom now sounded suspiciously populated with Mandeville’s creations: men with their heads in their chests, Amazonian women, griffins, and phoenixes. Its Fountain of Youth could even turn bathers back to the stylish age of thirty-two.
All of these claims seem fantastical to us, but they weren’t so crazy at the time. The world was a big, scary place in the sixteenth century, and remember—monsters and unicorns were everywhere. There might be dragons in the Indies, but there might also be Prester John, at least according to some early explorers.
early explorers:
Jordan Catalani traveling in 1324 to India reported that both dragons and Prester John were probably in the Horn of Africa, which was considered part of the “Indies” at the time. He was the first to scoot the priest-king to Africa. Now, of course, everyone wanted the phony king in that vicinity.
It might have been a stretch, but the Europeans stretched so far, they were practically silly putty, and totally fine with that. That was especially true of the Portuguese, who started thinking to themselves, Man, we really have to find this guy.
A face only a mother can love.
Fool Me Once . . .
The Portuguese were Prester John “superfans.” They never gave up believing in his far-off kingdom. Because the Portuguese were constantly fighting with their Muslim neighbors, called the Moors, the idea of an invincible Christian ally looked as tantalizing as filling up on dessert before a dinner of brussels sprouts.
Because it turned out that Genghis Khan wasn’t Prester John, and because it would be really convenient for them, the Portuguese took to the idea of John in Africa like a hermit crab to a shell. Secretly, they sent ambassadors to find the famed king, and no one was more determined than Prince Henry the Navigator to discover the elusive kingdom.
Don’t be fooled by his name. While Prince Henry the Navigator did create an institute for astronomy, navigation, shipbuilding, and research, he never actually went on any of his own expeditions. Why risk his own life when he could pay other people to do it? In fact, he rarely left his home in Portugal, but that didn’t stop him from being obsessed with Prester John. He instructed all of his ship captains to not only tap into the goody bag of Africa (i.e., gold, ivory, and slaves), but to also search out their Christian ally, Prester John.
Even the current pope was taken in by the possibility of an alliance with Prester John. Pope Nicolas V issued a papal bull in 1455 calling on all Europeans to help Prince Henry in his quest to find Prester John. Then, Prince Henry died, and it was up to his nephew, King John II of Portugal, to find the mythical king.
King John II is known for a lot of things, like making Portugal powerful and sending out explorers to new lands practically every other day. Sadly, finding Prester John isn’t one of those things. His explorers did discover the Congo River, round the Cape of Good Hope, and travel to India, but they didn’t find the elusive priest-king. Instead, his explorers found morbidly hairy, yet extremely tiny humans living in trees in the heart of Africa.
That stoked their imaginations. If men could come in pint-sized, seriously hairy packages, maybe one-eyed men and birds on fire were somewhere out there too. (What they’d really found were monkeys, in case you were curious.)
So Close, Yet, So Far
Deep into the
fifteenth century, Europe was still hopeful about their odds of finding Prester John. They’d be poor gamblers, though. In 1492, a guy named Christopher Columbus decided to go all in.
He dreamed of getting to the East by sailing west and maybe finding some Prester John wonders along the way. He didn’t let little things get in the way of his dreams, like “no’s” from multiple monarchs or the facts. He relied on whatever sounded coolest to decide his trip, including legends and rumors. Columbus even admitted, “For the execution of the voyage to the Indies, I did not make use of intelligence, mathematics, or maps.”
But he did use books. (Although, they were really more like novels, which would be like using The Hunger Games as a survival guide.) Columbus’s library was full of ancient “histories” by Pliny and Plutarch that mixed fact and fiction in blender-like fashion.
Columbus doesn’t reference the Prester John legend directly in any of his letters or diaries, but he does frequently mention the works of Sir John Mandeville and Marco Polo. He even wrote sprawling notes in the margins next to their fantastical stories and used their travels as his guidebook. It’s no wonder Columbus had crazy ideas regarding what he might find when he blindly groped his way toward the New World.
When he finally got his “yes” from the king and queen of Spain to set sail for the Indies, his imagination kept him going. It also allowed him to believe manatees were mermaids and that he’d reached the Spice Islands of India, even though there were no spices, only confused natives in what were actually the islands of the Caribbean. He probably hoped to find Prester John among the natives, and take a dip or two in the Fountain of Youth.
Take a page out of Columbus’s book; just don’t expect to find India.
I’m telling you, man. There’s something off about these girls . . .
Famous Phonies Page 11