The ways in which different medieval cultures justified war, theorized about war, and developed different customs that shaped the conduct of warfare varied widely. While the many “cultures of war” that emerged in the medieval world shared some basic characteristics, what is more broadly comparable are the processes or dynamics that shaped military cultures around the world. This chapter will explore, comparatively and as globally as the evidence allows, those dynamics and the cultural patterns they produced. It will argue that cultures of war emerged from a series of intersections between ideas about war on the one hand, and the various contexts within which wars happened – geographic, socioeconomic, and political – on the other. These intersections shaped cultures of war at the broadest level, and more specifically complicated the development of justifications of war, theories about war and its uses, and the customs that influenced the conduct of warfare within individual cultures.

The defining feature of Western warfare in this period was knighthood. This was not because horseback warfare was in any way new in the Frankish lands, or even because the technology of the equipment and use of cavalry had changed in any radical sense, though it is generally assumed that the stirrup appeared as a feature of cavalry equipment at some time in the ninth or tenth century, thus allowing the saddle to become a more effective fighting platform. But the stirrup did not by any means create the knight. What the knight represented was a new social phenomenon which grew progressively more important as generations passed and read new meanings into the status and potential of knighthood.

Over a span of three and a half centuries (1200–1550) Japan experienced profound transformations in the institutions, ideals, and methods of war. Originally a limited, clearly defined and extraordinary event, warfare became an endemic and encompassing element of life in the mid sixteenth century. Earlier, small bands of mounted warriors, skilled in archery, arrived in camp and departed as they saw fit, for no institutional mechanisms existed for them to supply themselves or their followers with food and materials of war. By the sixteenth century, however, powerful magnates (daimyō) were capable of supplying and maintaining large armies, numbering in the thousands, largely composed of pike-wielding foot soldiers.

The inhabitants of seventh-century Arabia mobilized for warfare in a manner new to that region of the Near East: the effort fell, albeit gradually, under central authority.1 Arabia had long been a highly variegated cultural zone, encompassing the Syrian Desert, southern Mesopotamia, and the Arabian Peninsula. Acting in tandem, largely nomadic tribal forces accepted the leadership of sedentary townsmen, the great number of whom belonged to the Quraysh, an influential tribe of two towns of the Hejaz region, Mecca and Medina. If Yemen and south Arabia had long known the rule of kings, and, hence, more formal military organization, only now did the central and northern stretches of the Peninsula and southern Syria experience what can thereby be considered as early state formation. The effort was driven by an equally untested set of ethical and spiritual teachings. A charismatic figure, Muḥammad ibn ʿAbdallāh (570–632), preached a strict monotheism; these teachings served as the seedbed of what would soon be known as Islam.

In popular perceptions, the later Middle Ages loom large as the apogee of medieval chivalry, epitomised by the foundation of chivalric orders, such as the Order of the Garter, by instructional texts such as the Livre de Chevalerie of Geoffroi de Charny, and by the chronicles of Jean Froissart (c.1337–c.1405), written

Before c.600, Western European military forces were recognisably descended from the last western Roman armies, as can quickly be demonstrated. Late Roman troops had sometimes been paid via the delegation of fiscal revenues and, as earlier, received allotments of land on retirement.1 Their hereditary service,2 furthermore, exempted them from certain taxes. In the fourth and fifth centuries a series of military identities evolved, based around oppositions to traditional civic Roman ideals. These turned on ideas of barbarism, enhanced by possibly increased recruitment beyond the frontiers and greater opportunities for non-Roman soldiers to rise to higher command.3 As the territory effectively governed from Ravenna, the imperial capital, shrank during the fifth century, and with it the available taxation and recruiting bases, the enlistment, and political pre-eminence, of warriors from outside the empire grew further.4

The Fourth Crusade (1199–1204), culminating in the sack of Constantinople and the conquest of most of the Byzantine empire, is a textbook example of a noble plan gone awry. The original intent was to attack the Ayyubids in Egypt, but along the way financial and other considerations diverted the French and Venetian crusaders to Constantinople where they restored the deposed emperor Isaac II Angelos (r.1185–95, 1203–4) to power. According to an earlier agreement, Isaac was to provide the crusaders with military and financial aid, but fiscal problems within the empire made this impossible. As time passed, anti-Latin sentiment within the city led to a palace coup which overthrew Isaac. The crusaders then seized the city and the empire itself. The Fourth Crusade and the subsequent Latin conquest intensified the anarchy that already existed within the provinces, providing the grace blow to an empire which had become increasingly fragmented to the point of disintegration.

The Crusades have always been a focus of historical attention. William of Tyre (c.1130–86) wrote a great history of the crusades in Latin which was so well received that in the early thirteenth century it was translated into French and extended in many versions to cover the period after 1186. The French version was so popular that the Renaissance scholar, Francesco Pipino, unaware of the original, translated it back into Latin, while Caxton produced an English version in the fifteenth century.1 Many of the earlier crusader chronicles, notably Robert the Monk’s account of the First Crusade, were also very popular in the Middle Ages and were edited very early in the age of print, notably in the great collection by Jacques Bongars in 1611.2 In modern times the crusades have always been a contentious subject, as President George Bush discovered when he referred to a ‘crusade against terrorism’ shortly after 9/11.

The Tang dynasty (618–907) went into steep decline as a result of the Huang Chao Rebellion (874–84). The imperial government and the emperor himself became the tools of regional warlords, each maneuvering for his own power in an increasingly uncertain political and military milieu. These struggles were played out in the final decades of the Tang dynasty and beyond, lasting until the mid-point of the tenth century, when the various factions and power groupings of the late Tang had become so enervated by constant warfare and the deaths of the principal players that a new generation of ambitious power-seekers rose to the top. Steppe influence remained important in these conflicts and indeed, from the retrospective standpoint of the Jurchen Jin dynasty (1115–1234) and then the Mongol Yuan dynasty (1272–1368), the intervening control of north China by the Chinese Song dynasty (960–1279) almost seems to be the exception rather than the rule.

According to the Mongol imperial ideology, when the Mongols fought with neighboring nations, they not only expanded their empire by conquest but also fulfilled the heavenly task of establishing order throughout the world by subordinating it to Chinggis khan (r.1206–27) and his successors. Therefore, the Mongols demanded the subordination to their empire of all peoples without exception, regardless of whether they were nomadic or sedentary. To be at peace with the Mongols meant unquestioning obedience to them, and other nations could not hope for peace without the official recognition of this subordination.

The Americas constitute one of the most topographically diverse and environmentally heterogeneous regions of the world, and each of these dimensions, and a host of social, economic, political, and cultural variables, necessarily serve to define the nature of war and society in the American hemisphere. In the two centuries anticipating Columbian contact with the New World in 1492, the Americas were largely dominated by the rise and fall of hundreds of kingdoms and warring polities, and the emergence of two powerful, albeit militaristically distinctive, imperial traditions – one Mesoamerican, the other Peruvian. Each evolved from a pattern of military statecraft and conquest interaction that coalesced in the highlands of each region in the period extending from 1300 to 1500 ce. While the Andean highlands of Peru and Bolivia were the crucibles of a centuries-old tradition of empire building, questions regarding the extent to which Mesoamerican empires fully and completely consolidated their gains as hegemonic imperial formations remain.

In the Northern Seas we may take as our starting point ships of the type probably used by the Anglo-Saxons in their invasions of the British Isles from the early fifth century.1 The double-ended, long oak ship excavated at Nydam Moss on the island of Als in the Baltic Sea, southern Denmark, is dated to c.310–20 ce. It was originally around 25 m long, 4.3 m in the beam amidships, around 1.35 m deep in the hull amidships, rising to around 2.25 m at the bow and stern. It was an open rowing boat, clinker built, hull first, with only a bottom plank and five strakes per side. The strakes, which were single planks carved from whole trees, were fastened to each other with iron nails clenched through square iron washers. Cleats were left on the inside of the carved strakes roughly every 1.25 m and ribs cut from naturally curved branches were lashed to them later. Fifteen thole pins for oars were lashed to the top strakes or gunwales on either side. A large quarter rudder was found at one end. There is no evidence that the ship carried a mast or sail, and it appears to have been purely a rowing boat.

The end of the thirteenth century and the early decades of the fourteenth century witnessed the end of Southeast Asia’s classical period, that age when the empires of Pagan (Burma), Angkor (Cambodia), Dai Viet (northern Vietnam), and Sri Vijaya (in the Malay Archipelago) thrived and introduced the region’s religions, political models, and cultural standards. The thirteenth-century invasions of Mongol armies coming out of Yuan China encouraged, but did not cause, the collapse of most of these states, although changes in the application of the Chinese tribute system may have played a substantial role in the fall of Sri Vijaya. On the mainland, however, Mongol intervention was merely disruptive and did not represent meaningful conquest. Instead, administrative weaknesses and trade dislocation contributed to political fragmentation followed by internecine war among the myriad successor states. This fighting would only end with the reemergence of large-scale empires from the middle to the end of the sixteenth century. The period between 1300 and 1540 thus represented a phase of near constant warfare, due both to the multiplicity of competing polities and the administrative weaknesses that worked against sustained political centralization. By the end of the period, the formation of new empires established the political terrain for warfare in the centuries to come.

Examination of the art of war among the nomad peoples of the steppe could easily lead to archetypes. Indeed, the sustained similarities between the different descriptions that have survived, from the Xiongnu to the Mongols, are certainly very strong: the type of weapon, the tactic of the ‘Parthian shot’, the small horses, the decimal organisation of the army – over a long period these various elements have contributed to a unified pattern of nomadic warfare. Yet despite these undoubtedly important points of resemblance, the analysis should not be limited to them by ignoring developmental variations and interaction with different contexts and societies. One way to resolve this impasse is to identify the historically coherent periods individually within this continuum, and to restrict sources to this specific group of periods. The Turkish period is one such historical era: the expanses of the steppe were indeed unified during the second half of the sixth century, part of the framework of the trans-Asiatic Turkish empire and its tremendous prestige. At its heart, and then at the heart of the political organisations which it inspired and which succeeded it, we can imagine the existence of political and social lines of transmission which influenced military practices in this geographical zone as a whole. Sooner or later, all the later nomad empires were its descendants; the accent here will therefore fall on military life, in order to tease out the specific characteristics of the Turkish period from the archetype, without recourse to Xiongnu or Mongol sources. But elements of comparison with the Uighur empire which followed it in Mongolia, the Khazar empire which followed it in the western steppes, and finally the Khitan empire which dominated the extreme east from the tenth century, are identified.