Chapter XXIII: Dreaming of Alexander
The backdrop of the Roman-Persian Wars entail an important new epoch in the history of the Near East, and the conflict brewing between, in all honesty, a moderate easterly power (Rome) and an emergent power (Persia) nonetheless sat between the two principle powers in the region—a depleted Turkish kingdom and a the static hegemonic power of Mamluk Egypt. Of course, the latter two had just fought a bitter war over the contested areas of Syria, and were in need of economic, social, and military recovery. So, the tidal forces coming to the fore between the two powers that disintegrated the last of the nomadic confederacies was a welcome service to the despots along the Nile and the foothills of Anatolia.
The eastward drift of the Roman Empire, during the reign of John, also seems to be a phenomena that, nonetheless, had dire consequences for the future of the imperium. Although chronologically prior to the Italian Wars, the western expanses of the empire were still hemmed in by Hungary and Austria to the north, the Turkish Balkans, and Italy to the more immediate west. Thus, it naturally made sense to turn east against the declining nomadic confederacies that slivered the boundaries of the Caucasus Mountains and an emergent Persia. Plus, John—perhaps in his own delusions—always saw “eastward” glory. Indeed, the history of Roman imperial expansion was one in which eastern campaigns, first against the Greeks, the diadochi successors to Alexander—principally Egypt, and the never ending struggle against the Persians always offered more honor and glory than the western conflicts with the sub-civilized barbarians. Indeed, ever since the defeat of Carthage, the gold-studded eyes of the Romans always looked east for a requiem of glory, prestige, and honor.
In this sense, John, despite being a Christian, was still encapsulated by the ancient metaphysics of the Greeks, especially Pythagoras. The cyclical notion of metaphysics that was, by now, already overturned in the Latin West, still captured the imagination of the eastern peoples. The struggle of opposites, it seems, would continue without end. Even if one civilization, if you permit me to say, would fall, another would simply arise in its place and the conflict would begin anew. For, after Roman conquest of the Near East, and the fall of Persia through Mohammedan conquest, the Mohammedans simply replaced the Persians as the new enemies of Rome and the Western peoples occupying the stretches from the Thames, Iberian Plateau, to the walls of Constantinople. The titanic, eternal struggle between east and west, or as it was captured in the imagination of John and the Romans despite themselves being an eastern power and culture in the eyes of the Latin West beyond the Balkans—seemed to feed energy and spirit into the young emperor who had no lapse of the glorious vision he had for himself.
Emperor John, dressed in Eastern Persian garb. This was a reflection of the long Roman glory-seeking tradition that could have been epitomized by the phrase, "Go east, young conqueror."
Of course, the Romans were now going up against a foe that was a combination of their two most famous adversaries—a Mohammedan Persian society that had mixed the elements of both cultures together into a new, emergent, and mighty entity. In addition, the Shi’ism of the Persians, in this age of millenarian fever, also added a deadly pietism to their zeal and ambitions. Let alone were fellow believers rendered heretics, they would have no mercy for those who had formerly been given revelatory knowledge of the Divine but had since lost their way.[1]
The contested fields of Mesopotamia had long since been a field of battlegrounds—and with the recent unearthing of the ancient civilizations between the great rivers, we have reason to believe that these civilizations never united and were under constant threat of attack throughout the ages.[2] The lush rivers and lands of this area had, ever since the first Agricultural Revolution nearly 10,000 years ago,[3] been the prize of the rise and fall of empires. In 1513, the war clouds were gathering once more over the fields of Mesopotamia.
There were, of course, logistic advantages and disadvantages for both sides. First, and most obvious, the Persians had direct lines of communication and travel into Mesopotamia, even if their territory—the foothills of Persia were tough to traverse. The full force of the Persian armies, roughly 40,000, could be assembled in reasonably quick fashion. By contrast, the Roman armies were spread out into their three principle theaters: Trebizond (ca. 8,000), Constantinople (ca. 10-12,000), and Greece (ca. 9-10,000). The logistics of having to traverse the seas to Asia Minor, then march down the hills and mountains of eastern Anatolia made communications, lines of supply, and open movement difficult. Yet, in this, there was also an advantage. The mountains and hills themselves provided for excellent defensive positions. The Romans had, for some time, been constructing a string of defenses around these perimeters in anticipation of such a conflict.
Indeed, the lack of formal territorial unification was a problem that John was keenly aware of, and that he was always attempting to rectify. The movement of the Roman armies was dependent upon its navy to transfer soldiers from Greece to Asia Minor. While the Romans, in the first decades of the sixteenth century, possessed the fifth largest fleet in the world—behind their more immediate Mediterranean competitors the Mamluks, the Roman fleet shouldn’t be mistaken for a grandiose display of power. Unlike the navies of the Kingdoms of France, Castile, or England, they possessed few heavy ships—mostly galleys. A large contingent of ships were modest transport vessels, unable to provide sustained naval fighting in pitched battle. Although, in this conflict with the Persians, the Romans had no fear of naval difficulty since the Persian ships were contained in the Indian Ocean.
Shah Abbas I, at center, in a battle against Roman soldiers during the initial invasion leading up to the Siege of Trebizond. At the Battles of Totz and Djevizlik, the Persian armies routed, in consecutive order, the Roman army of Trebizond and Armenia. The path was clear for Trebizond. Another Persian army invaded from Mesopotamia, all the while the Roman forces had to be mustered from Greece and Constantinople and transported east.
Thus, when the Persians invaded and laid siege to Trebizond, after defeating the Roman army in battle—the relief force was already underway. John, commanding the Imperial Army of 12,000, had landed just west of the city to re-assemble the remaining 5,000 men who had been repulsed from the fields of Trebizond earlier. On August 11, the Roman army numbering 17,000 strong faced the Persians of 20,000. Shah Abbas himself was leading the main Persian force, with a second having been sent south through Armenia. For John, the forthcoming battle mirrored that of Galerius’ confrontation at Satala in 298 A.D., where the fate of the Roman-Persian balance of power was to be decided now, as it was then.
[1] This is a contentious issue within Islamic theology. At least early in its history, Islam saw Judaism and Christianity as brothers of the same faith, and was not required to convert with the understanding that they had been contacted by God to follow their own laws and customs (The Mosaic Law for the Jews, the Gospels for the Greeks). The arrival of Mohammed to the Arabs was God’s revelatory contact with the Arab peoples, and in the old tradition of Abraham to Jesus, established a code for the Arabs to follow. This evolved over time, and the Muslims, primarily under the Umayyad, had come to see the abandonment of the original precepts given unto the Jews and “Christians”, and that God, through Mohammed, inaugurated the final revelation with the Muslims themselves. Over time, this belief created the dhimmi class—those of the Christian and Jewish faith who would not submit to the precepts of Islam, but live under the guidance of the Sharia Law, under the prescription of paying taxes. Others had further revised this idea to allow for attacks on those who had abandoned, in essence, their own faith, and as such, were no longer counted among the community of believers.
[2] In keeping with the turn of the century feel, this is a deliberate reference to the Mesopotamians. It is also true that, apart from the later Babylonians, the Sumerians were never able to unify Mesopotamia and were not only in constant warfare with each other, but faced constant threats from the Steppe nomads who often raided their lands and cities on a regular basis. This constant state of fear and war is what many Sumerian religious scholars believe to be the reason for the rather dark, and bleak religion of the Mesopotamian civilizations. Hence why the Hebrews often said that the Babylonians worshiped “demons.”
[3] Reference to the Neolithic Revolution.