Sustaining traditionalism and deterring heresy, Nur al-Din stands out as a patron and innovator seeking to banish obscurity from copies of the Quran. Copying was a highly specialised activity demanding great skill, fine material – that is, papyrus – and wealthy patrons. Classic Kufic Qurans show plainly that their makers, both patrons and calligraphers, were more interested in creating high works of art to honour God than in providing easily readable texts.
Abbasid reformers were impatient with the obscurities of Kufic, however beautiful, and sought a script whose meaning was plain and which could be read simply by any literate. They wished to eliminate the Ismaili distinction between the surface meaning of the Quran (zahir) and its deeper meaning (batin). Texts, which required a specialist interpreter to explain the true meaning to the uninitiated, lent themselves to exposition of alleged hidden secrets within the Quran to be unveiled to their initiates by specialists in the Shiite movement. Nur al-Din checked obscurities by using a plain, legible cursive script for the Quran derived originally from the Maghrib and used widely for administrative documents. The process was aided by the Abbasid caliphate’s practice of making cheaper paper from rags. By using the cursive in public inscriptions, Nur al-Din was also putting down a marker – it was a visible change from the style of earlier inscriptions and designed to inform the public that, where it prevailed, power had shifted and the religious reforms of the Abbasid caliphate had taken over.
Nur al-Din sustained the long Islamic tradition of generosity in founding public buildings and making provision for the sick. A hospital in Aleppo founded in 1150 offers an example of high-calibre woodwork marquetry in its double doors with geometric patterns in some contrast to the beautiful but mysterious floriated Kufic. Here again a more austere, clearcut style largely supplanted the efflorescence of the older tradition. Kufic, however, was not completely eliminated – it was there in the most beautiful of all works issuing from Nur al-Din’s patronage, the now lost mihrab in his mosque in the Aleppo citadel. The minbar for the al-Aqsa mosque, destroyed in 1968, is well recorded and has been remade: it was one of the greatest masterpieces of Islamic woodwork, with a richness and variety of geometric patterns and vegetal ornament.
Muqarnas had a part to play in conveying to the observer the atomistic nature of the universe of the Abbasid orthodoxy. Muqarnas vaulting, sometimes referred to as honeycomb or cubic vaulting, is purely decorative; it floats, as it were, reflecting the fragmented and perishable nature of the universe, held up by the will of the creator, without whom everything would collapse. A multitude of cubes inside a dome have a visual effect of impermanence; if associated with windows, they may also suggest the radiance of a mass of stars in the heavens. The eye flickers from one cube to another. There is nothing fortuitous here: the technique conveys what is commonly referred to as an occasionalist theology, mirroring in stone, brick and stucco a continuous process of ‘annihilation and re-creation’ by God of the atoms making up the universe, modifying the hemispherical dome of early Islamic architecture so as to conceal the squinches and ribs and all visible supports in the interest of the impression of impermanence, as understood by the theologians of the Sunni revival of the eleventh and twelfth centuries. God’s will dictates immediately and directly everything in His universe. The architecture, the cursive script and, to a lesser extent, the trend in geometric patterns of decoration reflect the doctrinal position of the Baghdad caliphate, its belief in God’s relation to His universe and its opposition to the Ismaili heresy. Nur al-Din stands squarely in this tradition and it is no surprise to find excellent examples of muqarnas vaulting early and late in his career, in a portal of the hospital he built in 1154 at Damascus and in the mausoleum he designed for himself in the same city in 1168.
The Drive for Egypt
The Fatimid caliphate was in decadence. In 1160 powerbrokers in Egypt had lighted on the expedient of choosing the eleven-year-old al-Adid as caliph, with all the associated Fatimid powers and attributes. Surrounded by the magnificence of the caliphal palace in Cairo, his foot kissed, his decisions having God’s approval, al-Adid was in practice the plaything of any contender with sufficient military power. In his gift was the office of vizier, with its high claims to authority under the caliph, including military power and the duty to protect judges and scholars, conveyed in such phrases as ‘sultan of the armies, friend of the community and glory of the dynasty, protector of the qadis of Islam and chief protagonist of believers’.
The outcome of this power vacuum at the centre was a highly personalised struggle among, in the first place, local contenders for power and their followers, secondly, the Franks under a strong military leader, King Amalric of Jerusalem, and thirdly, Nur al-Din, operating under his best general, Asad al-Din Shirkuh. The vizierate could be competed for only by Muslims, which meant either one of the local contenders or Shirkuh; Franks, however, remained in the wings, available to be drawn in as allies while they pursued their own interests in obtaining tribute or land. The situation was still more complicated by the gulf between the Abbasid and the Fatimid caliphates: Nur al-Din and his generals in the long run sought the destruction of the heretical caliphate but they could not afford to show their hand as they fought and manoeuvred. Caution decreed that they had to proceed slowly in view of the interests which still clustered round the Fatimid caliphate. Shirkuh, for example, could only contend for the vizierate in the guise of a supporter of Shiite principles, a ‘protector of the qadis of Islam’, rather than as the agent of a leader determined to bring down the caliphate which energised and defended these qadis. Ethnic tensions and other divisions of belief complicated the scene still further: Sunnis within Egypt were potential supporters of a doctrinally sound intervening power, but Egyptians were often hostile to uncivilised Turks; Kurds were despised; under Fatimid rule Jews and Christians still occupied administrative posts of importance.
The Kurd Shirkuh, elderly, short, fat and disfigured by a cataract in one eye, was an improbable inspirer of men. His virtues were shown in action and, as with any successful general who won victories and looked after his troops, gained him a willing following among his Mamluks despite his oddities. He was a brave man with an understanding of terrain and tactical possibilities, well able to shift his forces rapidly to deceive the multitude of spies deployed by opponents. Nur al-Din backed him cautiously, aware of geographical difficulties for invaders of Egypt and the dangers of sandstorms and of fatigue for men and horses crossing desert territory. The Franks had benefited from Baldwin III’s capture of Ascalon in 1153 and had grown familiar with the routes and the terrain, making them more tricky opponents for the Muslims but they had to fear a squeeze on the Crusader States from two angles – Syria and Egypt.
Against Nur al-Din and Shirkuh stood one of the finest fighting kings Jerusalem had ever had, Amalric the son of Fulk and Melisende. The actions of Zangi and Nur al-Din had created a reservoir of need. Jerusalem had worked hard to feed poorer Christians in flight from their ancient city in the first crisis and harboured needy aristocrats who had lost their lands. Amalric was encouraged in his advances by the dissatisfaction of Edessan exiles and the possible danger they represented to his authority if not provided with substitute territories; and he was moved by the need of the elite in over-crowded lands to strike out and win new areas for expansion. He launched no fewer than five expeditions into Egypt. Open-minded about alliances if they served the central need of providing adequate forces to stand up to the Muslims, he was, for example, willing to accept a subordinate position to the Emperor Manuel Comnenus, if it brought Byzantine fighting strength, above all sea power, to his aid. William of Tyre knew him well, was uneasy about his theology but aware of his regular attendance at Mass and his devotion to his kingdom. A weakness lay in his liking for affairs with married women. In a vision St Bernard upbraided Amalric for his lechery but ended by blessing the fragment of the True Cross he wore round his neck. Amalric believed the relic saved his life in battle the next day.
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p; He made great progress in Egypt at various times but was unable to sustain his alliance with Byzantium, suffering from weaknesses in supply arrangements, and made a grave error on his fourth expedition in 1168 in burning Bilbais and massacring its inhabitants, turning Egyptians against him. He breached a truce and was forced to withdraw from Egypt in the face of a substantial army led by Shirkuh. It was a turning point for, although he made an attempt with Byzantine aid on Damietta in 1169, the balance of forces had moved against him. Overall, he won a great deal of tribute in various encounters but never made the conquest of land within Egypt for which he worked so hard.
Uncertainty concerning the vizierate within Egypt opened the way to Frankish interventions and also facilitated the drive of Nur al-Din and his men to take the caliphate. Shawar, the governor of Upper Egypt, had attained the vizierate in 1163, only to find himself displaced by his Arab chamberlain, Dirgham. Shawar appealed to Nur al-Din in Damascus, with a promise of great Egyptian grain revenues, and Nur al-Din, at first a little reluctantly, agreed to back him and send in Shirkuh. Shawar was an opportunist and not to be trusted, but in the tripartite battle over Egypt each participant feared giving an advantage to another. If Shirkuh did not intervene, would the Franks gain a dangerous advantage? Dirgham was killed in battle and Shawar, again vizier, promptly set about betraying Shirkuh and inviting in Amalric. In a unique episode Shawar, as vizier in 1167, had conducted two Frankish emissaries to the presence of the caliph to ratify a treaty. One of them, Hugh of Caesarea, had no idea of the majestic seclusion in which the caliph resided. Al-Adid sat on a golden throne behind curtains, only withdrawn after Shawar had prostrated himself three times. To ratify the treaty Hugh, ungloved, strode forward to shake hands in sturdy western style; unwillingly the caliph abandoned protocol and exposed his hand too. Two worlds collided.
The Rise of Saladin
Within this confused arena of war, tribute-taking and diplomacy, one new force was quietly beginning its rise as Shirkuh noted talent in his nephew Yousuf ibn Ayyub. The young man became known to history as Saladin, by virtue of one of the titles of honour he was given, Salah al-Din, ‘uprightness of religion’ – latinised by his Frankish opponents as Saladinus. Instead of appointing one of his sons as aide-de-camp in the usual way, Shirkuh decided to take him on instead. Saladin had begun his career as police chief in Damascus, where his enemies said he raised revenues by taking a rake-off from prostitutes’ earnings, then showed courage and battle sense in an encounter between Amalric and Shirkuh at al-Babayn in 1167 and proved himself as a garrison commander in Alexandria, where Shirkuh left him commanding troops numbering no more than a thousand but in charge of a much larger population which had mixed feelings about Turks and was by no means to be relied on. Outside, cutting down orchards, setting up a watchtower to observe everything and pressing very hard, was a much larger besieging Frankish force. Blockade created hunger, but somehow, by a blend of diplomacy with the inhabitants and tight discipline over troops, Saladin lasted three months till Shirkuh came to relieve him. The experience left him with a lasting distaste for Egypt but nonetheless made his name as a resourceful general and manager of men. He never looked back.
Early in 1169, still believing he could negotiate with Shirkuh, Shawar was attacked and killed by Saladin and a Syrian. Shirkuh was accepted as vizier but in March succumbed to his overeating, following Juvenal’s recipe for a sudden end, by taking a hot bath after a heavy meal. There was again a vacancy for a vizier. Saladin played a cautious game, allowing rivals to counter each other’s claims, dropping hints, using a ‘silver-voiced’ Kurdish spokesman to promote his candidature, giving the impression that he would be manageable. He won. The caliph accepted him and Saladin soon showed his decisive power. He dealt with a eunuch’s plot to spearhead an Egyptian reaction against Syrians. In the story, which has a flavour of the Arabian Nights, the scheming eunuch aimed to call in the Franks, then stab Saladin in the back as he pulled troops out of Cairo to fight. So a beggar was sent out with a message to the Jerusalem Franks, but he was not a beggar. An apostate Jew, converted to Islam, spotted his fine new sandals and uncovered the trickery. The message never got through and it was the end of the beggar and of the eunuch. Saladin then turned on the uncontrollable black Sudanese troops, given to rioting and mugging travellers. They were numerous, but Saladin secured an immediate tactical advantage over them in Cairo by setting fire to the quarter where their women and children lived. They ran to their defence and were killed.
Supposed treasure in Egypt, the fertile (albeit variable) lands fed by the Nile, the commerce of the Delta and the weakness of the caliphate all drew military leaders into a game of winner-takes-all. Shawar had tried and failed. Shirkuh gave every sign he would go beyond his role as Nur al-Din’s general and stake out a major territory for himself. Nur al-Din did not overtly oppose him but began to hedge and consider placing Turks with him who could check his ambitions. Finally, the gifted and ambitious Saladin aroused his disquiet as well. Nur al-Din urged him to complete the task for which Shirkuh had originally been sent and abolish the Fatimid caliphate altogether.
Fortune favoured Saladin. He had a gift of friendship, not all of it simply an element in his skilfully crafted diplomacy, and he came to be in intimate and trusted contact with al-Adid. In 1171 the caliph, just short of twenty-one, died. It was said that he called for Saladin in his illness and he did not come. It may be so: presence in the caliphate palace at such a juncture could have been dangerous and Saladin still had his enemies. The end of the Fatimids passed off smoothly and in September 1171 the name of the Abbasid caliph was substituted for that of the last of the Fatimid caliphs, first in Fustat, to test the water, and then in Cairo. There was no uprising and no disturbance and so after 202 years the rival Shiite-orientated caliphate, that had once looked as if it was going to rule the world, passed into oblivion. The family of the last Fatimid caliph was sequestrated and the sexes kept apart, all under the eye of a eunuch faithful to Saladin. The women were soon freed but the men were kept in an honourable isolation until they died – on no account was the risk to be taken of the Alid line being continued.
The caliphal palace now stood vacant. It was of extraordinary richness, reached through passages guarded by Ethiopians, with pavilions, fish pools, gardens, exotic birds and animals. But for all its magnificence, there was no money to be found, only horses and weapons. In 1174 an Ismaili was crucified by Saladin in the hope of getting to this missing treasure but he revealed nothing. Nothing was ever discovered, although the story was that many years later, in the days of the Mamluks, a store of money was found under a house at a gate of the eastern palace.
Meanwhile Saladin revealed how close he still stood to the barbaric, militaristic world of the professional mercenary, as he let his soldiers sell off loot and manuscripts from the magnificent caliphal library under the presidency of his eunuch. Bindings were torn off, quires scattered, then reassembled. Later he grew in stature, listened to scholars and treated with care a library that came into his hands in 1183, but he always lacked the intellectual breadth of Nur al-Din. He had something of the Bedouin in his nature and spent heavily, gaining recruits and rewarding family.
As Saladin’s superior, Nur al-Din could reasonably expect to cash in on the economic vitality of Egypt and receive tribute. He sent an accountant to investigate but still did not get what he wanted and grew suspicious. Nur al-Din had distractions. In 1170 another great earthquake damaged Muslim cities and castles compelling him to make a truce with the Franks and occupy himself with repairs. As Nur al-Din came down to attack Kerak and Shawbak, key fortresses of the Franks in desert terrain, Saladin came up from Cairo but, warned by his entourage of the danger that Nur al-Din could take advantage of the situation to destroy him, drew off. Ayyub in Cairo gave counsel to his son and urged caution against hotheads in Saladin’s council. Profess loyalty, he said. Tensions remained and Nur al-Din still questioned Saladin’s finances. Both Nur al-Din and Saladin mustered troops,
perhaps as much to prepare for bargaining as outright war. However the threat of civil war passed when Nur al-Din died after a polo match in 1174, leaving a young son, al-Salih.
Saladin was fortunate. Amalric succumbed to dysentery in the same year. It looked as though he had reached the top of the world and problems which had beset him for years were being dissipated by two fortunate deaths. Nur al-Din’s empire broke up and Saladin aimed to reunite it under his leadership. Damascus surrendered to him early on, yielding to persuasion rather than military force. Then he made a fatal mistake by assuming the role of regent in Aleppo and trying to take advantage of the youth of Nur al-Din’s eleven-year-old heir, but in a moving speech in the hippodrome in Aleppo the young al-Salih denounced him as a ‘wicked man, who repudiates my father’s goodness to him’. Saladin took all the Muslim territory and cities he could and extended his power to Yemen and even fought a battle in 1175 against a Zangid contingent. In pursuit of his objective, he married Nur al-Din’s widow (not the mother of al-Salih) in 1176 – with a surprising result. He fell in love with her and they remained a happy romantic couple.
Still, for years he acted as nothing other than a raw, self-seeking warlord. Only in 1183, after complicated manoeuvring and diplomacy and the death of al-Salih, could Saladin take Aleppo. By then he had grown in understanding and stature but still faced residual problems of recognition as a leader of Islam, stemming from both his Kurdish background and the obdurate resistance of Mosul and Aleppo to his regency. These were compounded after 1180 by the arrival of a new Abbasid caliph, the twenty-two-year-old al-Nasir, more decisive than his predecessor and highly sensitive to the possible proximity of Saladin-ruled lands to his own caliphal territories in Mesopotamia. At first the outward signs of recognition were available and Saladin received from the caliph a black satin robe with gold-embroidered sleeves, a black and gold turban and a jewelled necklace, and rode in these symbolic accoutrements through Damascus but the relationship went wrong two years later and never recovered. He was twice attacked by Assassins and had to redouble his security arrangements, a decision which reinforced his existing custom of carefully staging every move and gesture.
God's Armies Page 16