Никола Бенин
Several years
ago, when the Directors of the British Schools at Athens and Rome, Dr Cathy
Morgan and Dr Christopher Smith, considered ways of strengthening the links
between their two institutions, they decided to inaugurate a collaborative
venture. The aim was to bring together scholars working in their respective
areas of interest to stimulate new research in regions shared by both Greece
and Italy, whether in the distant eras BCE or during more recent historical periods.
My proposal of
a topic focused on the Adriatic seemed to generate considerable potential, both
as a threshold for those travelling to Byzantium in the East and as a point of
entry to northern Italy and transalpine Europe for those coming to the West. It
is a great pleasure to welcome the book that results from this investigation.
Resembling a vast inland fjord, the Adriatic consists of three basins, the
northern, central and southern one at the Straits of Otranto that leads into
the Ionian Sea and on to the Mediterranean.
At its
narrowest points, both north and south, it can be comfortably sailed in the
summer with a fair wind on a long day, between eleven and twelve hours. As a
thoroughfare, most north-south routes hug the Adriatic shores, which present
major differences. On the Italian side, the western edge has long sandy beaches
that traditionally did not provide much safe mooring, and its small natural
harbours were inadequate for larger fleets. Julius Caesar’s construction of a
much larger port at Classe on the east, matched by another at Misenum on the
west, provided naval bases for the two Roman fleets attached to the eastern and
western basins of the Mediterranean.
From Classe,
established sea routes linked Ravenna and the Po Valley to Aquileia in the
north, to Pula (Pola) in Istria directly opposite and further south to Split
(Salona). As Bari and Otranto became more active ports in southern Italy they
provided comparable links to Durrés (Dyrrachion) and Zadar (Zara) and to the
major islands of Corfu (Kerkyra) and Kephalenia and Zakynthos in the Ionian
Sea. In Late Antiquity the western coast belonged to the Roman world and was
closely related to its hinterland by the Roman road system.
In contrast,
the eastern Adriatic is deeply indented and fragmented by numerous islands
scattered along its Istrian, Croatian and Dalmatian coastline, with many
harbours, hidden pirate bases and small independent communities. The dominant
line of the Dinaric Alps that descend to the sea in karst cliffs along several
inlets also isolated coastal regions from their hinterland. With much less
stable land links to the mainland powers of the interior, inhabitants of the
eastern coasts naturally looked seaward for their contacts and mariners and
seafaring merchants practised a cabotage or carrying trade under sail between
centres rather than using land transport.
Yet this geographical setting could be transformed, as when Narses, the Byzantine military commander, in 551 employed local people to build pontoon bridges across the many river indents around the northern head of the Adriatic that normally made it impossible to march an army along this route. As a result, he surprised the Goths when his forces appeared on the coastal road from Aquileia.
While the
northern and southern parts of the Adriatic present equally striking
differences, a sense of the maritime corridor’s unity in linking the provinces
of Venetia and Histria with Epiros and Sicily was very clear to those who made
ancient maps such as the Tabula Peutigeriana as well as the first portulan maps
centuries later. This suggested additional reasons for examining the role of
the Adriatic and activity within it from the crucial transitional period of the
sixth to eighth centuries and on through the Middle Ages into the fifteenth
century. Across this long chronological span, the papers collected in this
volume demonstrate how the Adriatic served as such a significant link between
West and East.
My own interest
in the Adriatic stemmed from an exploration of the role of Ravenna in linking
Constantinople to the West, as it did between 540 and 751 when it was ruled by
the ‘Queen City’, capital of the eastern half of the Roman empire. In addition,
from 402 Ravenna had served as the sedes regiae, the ruling city of the western
Roman world and had developed a serious administrative capacity centred on the
imperial court, which became in turn the court of the Gothic kings and then of
the Byzantine exarchs appointed as governors by Constantinople. With all the
trappings of a governmental hub, the city had attracted many ambitious young
men and women to find employment and make a career, an advantageous marriage
and a fortune. Ravenna was thus distinctly different from ancient Rome, which
became a city almost entirely dominated by its bishops, who oversaw its
Christian role.
In addition,
through its port at Classe, Ravenna was intimately connected with the east
Mediterranean. From Constantinople it received asteady stream of career
diplomats and military commanders, who also brought news of new artistic
fashions, architectural schemes, theological debates and scientific and
philosophical developments.
From Cyprus it
imported portable ovens (clibani); from the east Mediterranean amphorae used as
acoustic measures in church domes; from Gaza and the Aegean sweet wines - also
carried in amphorae - and from Alexandria, its writing material, papyrus, wheat
and dates probably stored in baskets of woven palm fronds, as well as Eastern
spices, glass, china and silks that entered the Mediterranean world via Egypt.
Ravenna was
also well connected with the West, importing all manner of ceramic vessels with
distinct functions from Carthage, the centre of African Red Slip ware, as well
as grain and the famous fish paste, garum, which flavoured so many Late Antique
dishes from places in the western Mediterranean like Carthagena. The church of
Ravenna had profitable estates in Sicily, which provided grain, olive oil and
wine and much of this imported grain appears to have been sold on to other
distributors in northern Italy.
I was also
intrigued by the description of the Adriatic provided by an anonymous
cosmographer based in Ravenna around the year 700. Unlike other ancient
geographers who wrote a Mediterranean periplous (a journey around the entire
“Roman pond’) that started at the Pillars of Hercules and worked clockwise
around the sea, the anonymous cosmographer began in the city of his birth,
nobelissima Ravenna, moving down the western coast of the Adriatic, naming all
the ports and cities familiar to the Roman world.
He proceeded
through the Strait of Messina and followed the west coast of Italy around to
Gaul and Spain, across to Africa, east to Alexandria and thence to
Constantinople, moving anticlockwise. After a complete tour of the Black Sea,
his route returned to the Mediterranean to hug the coasts of Greece and finally
to enter the Adriatic from the south. In his report on the eastern coast from
Durrés (Dyrrachion) to Ravenna, a distance of 16,000 miles, he stated that
there were seventy-two cities and listed sixty-nine, many of them well known.
He included some inland centres as well as a large number of islands, many with
unfamiliar names such as Nisiris, Sarona and Malata, not recorded on ancient
maps, others whose names, he said, were not known.
In adding to
the lists of ports and centres familiar to Late Antique geographers, the
anonymous cosmographer provided a base for comparison with later periods when
different points became significant and new centres replaced older ones. It is,
nonetheless, striking that when Venice gained dominance over the Adriatic, it
was precisely along the eastern coastline that it sought to impose its rule,
often in the same key places that had been noted by the Ravenna scholar.
The
cosmographer’s considerable interest in the seventh- and eighthcentury Adriatic
suggested that a much broader exploration of the sea as a vital link between
Istria, Dalmatia, north-eastern Italy and the wider Mediterranean to the south
might be a useful collaborative project. My hope that it might lead to new ways
of investigating the unity or break-up of the Mediterranean world, theories
that had long dominated historical analysis, as well as the much revised
Pirenne thesis on the impact of Arab expansion in its trading patterns, is brilliantly
summarised in the opening chapter by Richard Hodges.
The project
also offered an opportunity to involve archaeologists who had been working in
Albania, Dalmatia and Croatia together with those from much better-known sites
in Italy and the east Mediterranean. This is demonstrated by the work of
Richard Hodges and Joanita Vroom from Butrint and case studies by Sauro Gelichi
on new settlements in the northern Adriatic, by Trpimir Vedri3 on Dalmatia and
by Jean-Marie Martin on Apulia. It promised a confrontation of older and more
recently elaborated theories of the rise of Venice and its role in the
Adriatic, addressed by Stefano Gasparri, Sauro Gelichi, Peter Frankopan and
Michael Angold.
It also raised
the issue of the Byzantine failure to defend Ravenna, which fell decisively
under Lombard control in 751 only to be conquered by the Franks, summoned by
Pope Stephen II, developments that profoundly altered the formation of western
Europe, as well as Constantinople’s determination to consolidate imperial
loyalty among the inhabitants of the eastern shores of the Adriatic and its
success in preserving influence in Apulia.
These aspects
are addressed by Francesco Borri in his study of the eclipse of Byzantium’s
imperial presence in the Adriatic, by Tom Brown in the development of Ravenna
and other cities post-751 and by Jean-Marie Martin for the development of
southern Italy. Here the use of seals, icons and coins by Pagona Papadopoulou,
Magdalena Skoblar and Trpimir Vedris add considerably to our grasp of the
material culture of the Adriatic.
Finally,
towards the end of the period under consideration, this project addressed
aspects of Venetian control over the Adriatic that demonstrated how Venice
gradually broke free from its loyalty to Constantinople and the ideal of
Christian unity was destroyed by the crusades, a process illuminated by Michael
Angold and Peter Frankopan. Given the replacement of the Byzantine imperial
capital by the Latin empire established after the Fourth Crusade, this
development had to be examined from several different angles.
Analysing the
evidence for Venetian activity in the eastern Adriatic, Oliver Jens Schmitt
corrects the national perspectives that dominated previous research, employing
the archive of Kortula, while Guillaume Saint-Guillain shows how the Venetians
recorded their own conquests, though the surviving documents are copies and
epitomes of original treaties. Christopher Wright looks at the changes in
Venetian participation in the crusading venture and Elisabeth Crouzet-Pavan
draws attention to some of the consequences of Venice’s ambitions in the
migration of Albanians and Dalmatians to the city.
The idea of a
conference that would unite the interests of both British Schools of Archaeology has now been realised in the
extremely interesting contributions to this volume. I would like to record my
special thanks to the Directors of the British Schools of Athens and Rome at
the time, to the British Academy for funding the project and to Kirsty Stewart,
who took on the major editorial role to bring the project into final form.
Above all, I salute Magdalena Skoblar, who developed it into a practical realisation
as the conference that took place in Rome in January 2015 and then persuaded
the contributors to deliver their work. Without her insistence and dedication,
the volume would never have found its printed form in such a fascinating
collection of papers.
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