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The Origins of the Hispano-Ottoman 'Peace' of the 1570S and 1580S

The Origins of the Hispano-Ottoman 'Peace' of the 1570S and 1580S

From the ridiculous to the sublime: the origins of the Hispano- Ottoman ‘peace’ of the and

Professor M. J. Rodríguez-Salgado, The School of Economics and Political Sciences Budapest, 2012

Periods of war are often, paradoxically, a time when enemies have more frequent contact. This was certainly the case in the 1570s. The war required both sides to pay for any scrap of information, making even the greatest king beholden to the lowliest and most disreputable spy. Battles led to mass exchanges of captives. At Lepanto in 1571 thousands of ottomans were taken; the capture of La Goleta by the ottoman-corsair forces under Euldj Ali resulted in large numbers of Christian captives being sent east. Its recovery by the hispano-italian troops of Philip II in 1573 led to mass movements the other way, before its fall in 1574 to Euldj Ali’s forces redressed the balance and added to the flow of human misery. Captivity provided an unwelcome but often valuable opportunity to get to know the enemy, and it led to the creation of networks to ransom, rescue and succour captives, opening doors to a two- way traffic. Often, high-ranking captives were used by both sides to test the waters for peace negotiations. Peace was born from the ashes of war. The Ottoman Grand Vizir, Mehmet Sokolli, identified three peace initiatives originating from Philip II in the 1570s which involved captives: the missions of Jaime Losada, Giovanni Bareli and don Martín de Acuña. Bareli was a of St John of , Losada and Acuña were fairly high-ranking military commanders in Philip II’s forces. It is striking, however, that at least two of these so-called peace envoys - Bareli and Acuña - had persuaded Philip II to fund their plans to destroy the arsenal in . That was the primary reason they had returned to the Ottoman capital. Losada had been sent to secure the defection of the leading naval commander of the Ottoman state, Euldj Ali. How could peace have arisen from such deliberate acts of war? Well over half a century ago, Fernand Braudel attempted to trace the history of the Hispano-Ottoman peace, which he believed had transformed the Mediterranean. Instead of the usual wealth of documents and formal embassies, he found major lAcuñae in the records and the intrusion of non-diplomatic personnel. It appeared ‘that used, for her diplomatic initiatives in the East, her army of spies and hired ruffians who had contacts with the twilight world of the renegades.’ It was a world of ‘renegades hoping to be received back into grace, former captives claiming to be experts on the Levant, Greeks ‘who must always be watched’, (as a Spanish report puts it) of Malta, Albanians, imperial envoys; and their interlocutors; , Germans like Doctor Solomon Ashkenazi, dragomans like Horembey: in the no- mans-land between two civilizations, it was this strange army not always officially recognized by its employers which handled diplomatic matters.’ Yet Braudel retained a sharp sense of the niceties of diplomacy and drew a distinction between an ‘intelligence agent’ and ‘a negotiator’. Braudel did not explain why or how this curious situation had arisen. He set succeeding generations a challenge: ahe put it when discussing ‘the Bareli affair’, the topic ‘offers and opportunity for some more detective work’. That is precisely what I set out to do many years ago. This paper is a result of those investigations. Lack of space and time account for the fact that I will focus on the early stages of the negotiations between Philip II and Murad III.

1 II PRECURSORS OF PEACE? Bareli’s mission in 1569-70 was to destroy the arsenal in Istanbul and to coordinate a massive Greek revolt. It was a costly and dismal failure and we still do not how the Grand Vizir came to deal with him or why he should count his exchanges with this adventurer as a peace initiative. Perhaps he was just lying so as to make the point that Philip II had desired peace for a long time. It could also be the case of mistaken identity: the Grand Vizir did not name Bareli, but merely alluded to a Knight of Malta. He might have been thinking of other contacts that had taken place during the summer of 1573 which do reflect a desire to explore peace although they originated not in the royal court in Madrid, but at the initiative of the king’s half brother and leading naval commander, Don Juan. Don Juan dispatched four officials to Istanbul, one of whom, Antonio Avellano, we will encounter again later. They were sent to escort the son of Ali Pacha, the ottoman admiral at Lepanto, whom don Juan gallantly returned without ransom. According to the French ambassador while these envoys were in Istanbul they bribed Turkish officials and proposed peace talks which lasted during 1573 and 1574. The Grand Vizir, Mehmed Sokolli, confirmed these contacts and said they would require Philip II to abide by the usual diplomatic norms and pay annual tribute to the . They had also demanded he hand over parts of Sicily as the price of peace. Braudel fused this initiative with contemporaneous negotiations in Istanbul by Jewish merchants from Turin and by the duke of Savoy and the republic of Lucca, all of whom sough preferential trading agreemets with the . He appreciated, that there was no firm evidence that Philip II was engaged in serious peace negotiations but pointed out that when Murad III succeeded to the sultanate, the viceroy of Naples, cardinal Granvelle, argued in favour of making peace overtures. The viceroys of Naples and Sicily had a special role to play in such relations, being expected to advice the Spanish king on policy and operational matters since they governed on his behalf lands that were closest to the Ottoman empire and were most frequently attacked by Muslims. This also gave them the opportunity to launch independent initiatives. That is how Jaime Losada came to be in Istanbul. Early in 1575 the viceroy of Sicily, the duke of Terranova, sent him on a rescue mission for some of the remaining captives from the fort of La Goletta. Losada arrived in May and went straight to Euldj Ali whom he knew well. He had been taken captive along with his galley by Euldj Ali many years previously and had been his captive. But their relations were cordial. After his rescue he had been sent back by Philip II to entice the corsair leader to defect. Euldj Ali refused. As he put it, he had got everything that he wanted. He had considerable respect for Losada, and kept himself informed of his activities. He knew, for example, that Losada had commanded the galleys of Sicily during the war, and had become one of the highest-ranking officials of Philip II’s naval forces. Yet he received Losada warmly and took charge of his accommodation in Istanbul, securing an audience for him with the Grand Vizir. Losada was, as most envoys were, on a multiple mission. First, and the only part to be made public, he was there to rescue captives. Second, and secretly, he had orders to test Euldj Ali’s resolve once again, and try to bring about his defection. Thirdly, he was to find out as much information as possible about the sultan and his forces and evaluate the propensity of the enemy for war or peace. At the receiving end, the envoys were accepted on several levels too. Both Euldj Ali and the Grand Vizir, Mehmed Sokolli, expected him to give them details of the whereabouts of

2 Christian fleets and Philip II’s intentions, as well as to answer questions relating to what he had observed on his journey. They too wanted to gauge whether Philip II was inclined to peace or planned further hostilities. Mehmed Sokolli held two meetings with Losada, one at least in the presence of a ‘Dragoman from Granada’. The Grand Vizir stressed the desirability of peace, and his perception that the king of Spain needed to be at peace with the ’Gran Señor’. Losada responded that he believed Philip II would listen to proposals for a truce from which long-term amity might result between the two monarchs. He assured Ottoman officials that the Spanish king would welcome an approach from them. In response, both Mehmed Sokolli and Euldj Ali stressed that the Porte (doorway) to the sultan was always open, and that if the King of Spain wished to enter, they would not close it. Although these exchanges were conducted on general, almost abstract terms, they did not prevent the communication of essential information. They established that both monarchs were willing to consider peace and that neither side wanted to initiate the process. This was crucial as it was a matter of honour. Peace talks were always requested or initiated by the weaker party. The Ottoman officials invited Losada to press Philip II to follow the path of the Emperor and , both of whom had peace with the sultan and paid annual tributes. Losada let it be known that this was inappropriate since Philip II was a much greater ruler than them, and did not need peace in the way that both the emperor and Venice needed the sultan. It was clear that negotiations would challenge both sides, but particularly Ottoman diplomacy, since relations with all Christians at the time were grounded on their acknowledgement of the superior status of the sultan. When Losada reported back, he stressed that the Ottomans had the means and a sufficiently powerful navy to strike further blows against Philip II, but that dearth, financial problems, the impending conflict with Persia and the sultan’s character inclined them to peace. It was evident both sides would benefit from a truce, but neither was sufficiently desperate to make major concessions and begin the process. This was not the main reason why the negotiations failed to prosper, however. Losada’s thorough and balanced report was finished on 10 1575 after his return to Sicily, but he died shortly afterwards. The difficulty in this type of negotiation was that it depended on the individual selected to mediate. Braudel picked up on the Losada mission, which has been recently studied by Emilio Sola, but here the trail towards peace went cold for the Frenchman. What happened between then and the summer of 1577 when don Martín de Acuña returned from the Ottoman capital with Murad III's offer of a five year truce was unfathomable. Note that he expected a linear progression to peace. In its absence and having failed to find documentation, Braudel was reduced to speculation: ‘Perhaps he had arrived at an opportune moment'. Undoubtedly so. Peace negotiations prosper only in such moments, but he was wrong to expect the process to be systematic or incremental.

III. THE 'PEACE' OF 1577 In the summer of 1576 a memorandum from the Spanish nobleman, don Martín de Acuña, was discussed by Philip II’s councillors. It outlined a number of hostile measures that they might take against the Ottoman sultan. After lengthy discussions with the chief royal secretary, Antonio Perez, the paper was forwarded to the king, with a recommendation to accept Acuña's offer to go to Istanbul and burn down the dockyards, galleys, stores and munition stores. Acuña claimed to have convinced a number of renegade naval captains to help. He confidently predicted that

3 he could (God willing, of course) cause the destruction of 'so many people, officials and munitions' that despite 'the extraordinarily great power' of the Turks, they would not be able to recover 'in a long time, and with God's help, will not have [the power] to do anything'. Philip II approved the scheme and told his ministers: ‘it would be good to attempt this, do whatever you can to facilitate it’. Acuña's plan was both desirable and plausible. Desirable because by 1576 the war had stalled with neither side able to inflict a decisive defeat on the other. Philip II had imposed a state bankruptcy in 1575 and was still fighting rebels in the and engaged in the civil wars in . He had neither the means nor the inclination to mount a major campaign against the Ottomans. Low-cost expeditions such as that proposed by Acuña were welcome. The plan was plausible because, as noted earlier, it was an old and accepted idea. Many, like Bareli, had failed, but there had been partial successes when a few ships in the Ottoman navy had either been destroyed or brought over to Christian lands. The Venetian arsenal had burnt down on one occasion. One of the gunpowder stores in Constantinople had been destroyed in 1574, whether by design or accident. As in a lottery, small gains persuaded them to keep going in the hope that one day they would hit the jackpot. The fact that the plan had been proposed by Don Martín de Acuña also made it more plausible. He was a nobleman with high-ranking relatives who held important posts at court and in the empire. A second son, he had been forced to choose between a career in the church and the military. Having studied theology and humanities in the university of Alcala, he then opted for a military career. He was among the soldiers captured by the Turks in La Goletta in 1574 and sent to Istanbul. His status and powerful connections ensured his release. He was a free man by 23 1575, but he chose to remain in Istanbul for another six weeks to learn more about the enemy, and to try out his hand at the lucrative and attractive (if dangerous) trade of the foreign informer. He sent some ‘avisos’ or news reports to Philip II and returned to Naples confidently presenting himself as an expert on all matters relating to the Ottomans and the Mediterranean. Despite the brevity of his residence, he claimed he had unmasked several dangerous spies, and sent the king warnings and partial descriptions of these men. It sufficed to establish his claim and reputation. When, after his return to Spain, a man suspected of spying was apprehended in Madrid, Acuña was allowed to question him. He promptly declared that the suspect was none other than the dangerous spy he had warned the government of earlier. In retrospect his ‘warnings’ appear as mere echoes of rumours and ideas he had picked up in Istanbul, but the very fact that others had alluded to the same information gave them substance. Whether the man was a spy or not, Acuña’s positive ‘identification’ reinforced his credentials. He also claimed that he had been selected y Joseph Micas, the famous court Jew of Istanbul, to impart secret information to the Spanish . In addition, he offered an array of suggestions for how to undermine or destroy Ottoman power – very likely, claim Marcos and Carnicer, picked up from his conversations with people such as Antonio Avellan, who also impressed upon him the desire of the Ottomans for peace. Acuña's assessment of the Ottomans was taken seriously, and he particularly impressed the royal secretary Antonio Perez, a man much given to secrets and plots. Out of the various suggestions, Perez was taken with the plot to destroy the Turkish arsenal. Acuña declared that he had made preliminary preparations and only needed the king to provide him with money to purchase the combustibles and to bribe various renegade captains. Perez urged the king to accept this and Philip II duly did, although

4 he had doubts about its feasibility. He sensibly pointed out that it was unlikely they could purchase the necessary explosives without being discovered by the enemy. As we will note later, he felt he had little to lose and much to gain if it ever succeeded, even in part Acuña was assigned a one-off payment of 200 escudos and a monthly subsidy of 40 escudos and promised that he would be given the reward he had demanded if he succeeded: a coveted habit of the military order of . To provide him with an adequate cover, Acuña set off ostensibly on a mission to rescue Christian captives, including some of his own family and friends. It proved an ideal way for him to raise funds. Many were persuaded by his claims to have contacts in high places and promises for a speedy release of their menfolk. The king sent him to Naples and ordered the viceroy, who normally took charge of such missions, to provide a further 3,000 ducats for the purchase of materials and bribes. A soon as he arrived in Naples, Acuña demanded more - nearly 5000 escudos. His manner as much as his excessive demands alienated the viceroy, the marquis of Mondéjar, who told the king he should not entrust any mission to ‘a man of such little weight’, indeed ‘a great conman, who had cheated in a thousand ways just to get money’. The influential ambassador in , don Juan de Zuñiga had an equally scathing views, describing Acuña as ‘a great villain’. It was utterly improper, he argued, to use him for any official business. Doubtless these negative opinions from respected sources made an impact on Philip II. Stung by the criticisms of both the man and the mission, he coolly responded that he too had serious doubts, ‘however, given the nature of the business in hand, and the fact that he was risking his own life, it seemed to us that the one who had most to lose was him’. Sadly for Braudel, who picked up on some of these details, he did not go on to unravel Acuña’s actrivities. What happened next is worthy of an opera libretto. In Naples, Acuña encountered two men he knew from Istanbul: Giovanni Margliani, a Milanese noble and soldier in Philip II’s armies, who had also been a captive in Istanbul and only recently released; and Bartolome Bruti, an Albanian noble based in Istanbul who sometimes worked for Venice, and who specialised in ransoming captives both in Christendom and in Ottoman lands. In the 1570s he had been sent to on several missions to rescue important Ottoman captives. He had befriended Margliani while the latter was in Istanbul, and Margliani repaid his help by facilitiating Bruti’s mission in Rome to rescue captives. He also secured an audience for Bruti with key figures such as don Juan. Bruti was not the only Albanian noble to be involved in this affair, or with whom Margliani had good relations. Among others, they relied on the services of the 'senor de Dulis' to shelter and guide Philip II’s spies and envoys across Ottoman territory. For now, we take leave of Margliani, who will reappear later in this account, and allow Bruti to take centre stage. The Albanian's expertise and contacts in Istanbul made him extremely valuable to Acuña, who proposed that he should accompany him - which is not to say that he either liked or trusted the man. Referring in sweeping terms to the many Venetians, Greeks and Albanians with whom Philip II had dealings, Acuña commented disdainfully that it was a shame ‘we have to trust such knaves, but they have just what we lack: knowledge of the language and of the routes.’ Pressed by both Acuña and the viceroy to help with the murderous mission in Istanbul, Bruti initially agreed to go, but then withdrew. It could be that his initial assent was a ruse to obtain information of Acuña’s mission. If so, he succeeded admirably. But his withdrawal made Acuña angry and vindictive, and he called on

5 the viceroy to imprison Bruti. Enervated by both men, the viceroy decided that Bruti was worth investigating. Under interrogation, Bruti declared claimed to be a Venetian spy who had been sent to Italy by the Jewish merchant and Ottoman official, Joseph Micas, who wanted to seize lands under Turkish control and defect if Philip II was willing to support and protect him. After a little more persuasion, Bruti admitted this was a lie and revealed his real mission: to persuade Philip II to restore Mehmed Bey to power in Algiers. Mehmed Bey, a son of the previous 'king' of Algiers, Ali Pasha. and an Ottoman princess, had briefly been beylerbeg of Algiers but was then recalled to Istanbul. Disgruntled by the sultan’s failure to abide by his promise to send him back to Algiers, Mehmet Bey was even more unhappy when told he had been given a governorship in the Balkans. He offered to serve Philip II as the Hafsis of Tunis had done in exchange for protection. Mehmed claimed to have the loyalty of a large part of the ottoman navy who would defect with him if only Philip II could advance him the large quantities needed to bribe them and organise the campaign. Bruti made it known that he was determined to go directly to Spain to carry out his mission and would not return to Istanbul with Acuña. Having been forced to reveal his secret, Bruti took the opportunity to disparage both Acuña and his plan. He argued that it was guaranteed to fail on all counts. As an expert in negotiating ransoms, he knew it required time and patience to succeed, and Acuña had assured everyone – in Spain and now in Naples, where he was taking further commissions - that he could achieve the release of captives in a short time. He would certainly have to act very rapidly if he was to combine these negotiations with setting fire to the arsenal, as he would have to leave suddenly if he succeeded in causing even a fraction of the destruction he proposed. Bruti condemned that part of the plan too, for number of reasons. First, because the purchase of incendiary materials would immediately alert the Ottoman authorities of the plot. There were Ottoman spies in Naples and the authorities would be alert to any treasonable behaviour by foreigners in Istanbul. Second, because Acuña could not arrive before the fleet was out of dry dock. A major fire, argued Bruti, could only be arranged in a dark, misty, December night when the galleys were in the arsenal unarmed and tightly packed together. At best, he estimated, Acuña would arrive in Istanbul in early - he got there on the 24th – and by then the fleet would mostly be riding on the water, closely guarded, with workmen on board day and night preparing it to sail. All this might be true – and it sounds sensible – but we must bear in mind that Bruti did not want the Ottoman fleet harmed. The success of Mehmed Bey’s plot depended on seizing a substantial part of the fleet and taking it to Algiers. Moreover, as Bruti confessed later, he was afraid that if an attempt was made against the fleet while he was in Christian territories, it might look as if he had organised it and fled. Once they knew enough of each other’s missions to realise that they were pursuing totally contrary agendas, Bruti and Acuña fell to mutual accusations and condemnations, confusing Philip II and his officials with their contradictory assessments. Eventually, and doubtless as a means of getting information, Bruti allowed one of his owns servants to accompany Acuña to Istanbul. The Spanish authorities decided to keep Bruti and Acuña apart by summoning Bruti to Spain. Philip II and his councillors discussed and approved of Mehmed Bey’s plan to seize Algiers and agreed to support him. Left to his own devices, Acuña gathered a group of some ten men, among them a Greek priest whom Pedro Lance (or Lanza) recommended to him. Acuña was full of praise for Lance, a Greek

6 who had settled in Otranto and become a ‘fixer’ for Philip II, arranging the journeys of the king’s agents and spies to and from the Ottoman empire. He too will reappear later not to praise, but to condemn Acuña. From Otranto, Acuña (disguised as a Greek merchant) and his men travelled to Corfu, and thence to an unknown point in the coast, proceeding overland to Istanbul. He entered the Ottoman capital around 24 February – it is typical of Acuña that he gives three dates for his arrival 23, 24 and 25 - with only three companions. He immediately contacted Aurelio de Santa Cruz (alias Bautista Ferraro), chief of a spy ring that served Philip II. Aurelio and his brother Juan (Giovanni) were Venetian merchants who settled in Istanbul in 1552. A few years later Aurelio joined Philip II's secret information network and took charge of the spy ring around 1570. He received an annual pension from the king and occasional additional payments. As head of the network he had been issued formal letters of accreditation signed and sealed by Philip II to enable him to recruit other spies. Among other active members of his spy ring at this juncture was a Dragoman of the sultan, Hurren Bey, an Italian renegade. We don't know if Santa Cruz was aware that Acuña had earlier accused him of being a double agent. Cardinal Granvelle had early suspected the same. In the absence of conclusive proof or better informers, Philip II had retained his services. There were serious problems from the moment Acuña set foot in Istanbul. Acuña complained that his arrival was not as secret as he had hoped. Given his propensity to talk and the fact that he was in a party of ten men travelling through the Ottoman empire, it is somewhat surprising that he should have thought his arrival would go unnoticed. According to Acuña's testimony, Santa Cruz immediately set to work on the plot, assiduously seeking the necessary materials to set fire to the arsenal and preparing the way for the defection of renegades. Acuña complained that he had not wanted this, preferring to do his own procurement rather than pay the ostensibly inflated prices Santa Cruz charged. As this information comes from Acuña’s accounts which required him to do some ‘creative accounting’ to explain the inexplicable disappearance of large sums of the king’s money, we should be wary of taking his comments at face value. The haste and determination with which he took over the mission reflects the shock that Santa Cruz had when Acuña arrived with three well-known spies for company. They would immediately attract the attention of the Ottoman authorities, so he insisted that Acuña must separate from these men, whom he secreted into a safe house with strict instructions not to leave the premises. Three days later, one of these dubious characters left the house and by sunset he was in an Ottoman prison. Soon, the authorities had a partial confession and his two companions joined him in jail. Whether the man betrayed himself or was betrayed - a Greek spy and the Venetian ambassador are two possible candidates – is immaterial. The whole mission was now in danger and all participants faced the prospect of arrest. As soon as they learnt the news, Acuña and Santa Cruz met. It was angry, charged and deeply emotional encounter, at least for Santa Cruz. He wept and bewailed the fate of his wife and innocent children, whom he was convinced would suffer greatly once he was taken. He blamed Acuña’s lack of secrecy and common sense. He was convinced that he had only hours to live - or at least of freedom – and that the whole spy ring was in danger. The crisis brought out the best in this resourceful and unprincipled Venetian. He suddenly recalled the meeting between the Grand Vizir and Jaime Losada. Losada had been forced to find an interpreter to accompany him to the meeting, and had asked Santa Cruz to find a suitable person. The spymaster had done so and through his man, had obtained full details of the

7 discussions. What he recalled in particular was that Mehmed Sokolli had commented that Philip II alone of all the major Christian princes had never sent an embassy to the sultan to seek peace or a truce, and that Losada had offered to raise the matter with Philip II, promising to return quickly with an answer. Santa Cruz knew that Losada had died before he could do this. Quick-witted and resolute, he proposed that Acuña pose as a secret envoy sent by the king to pursue this peace initiative. He could say that because of the delay, the king had wanted first to investigate covertly whether the Grand Vizir was still in favour of negotiations. The idea was sound but Acuña did not have the necessary accreditation from the king to guarantee that he was a genuine envoy. The only document he had with the royal signature and seal was a letter of accreditation addressed to the Grand Jew, who was to have played a key role in helping him secure the release of captives. They found a forger and turned the letter of accreditation to the Grand Jew into one for the Grand Vizir. They enlisted a Christian slave, who turned out to be a nephew of cardinal Justiniano, to ‘translate’ the forged document. At least that is what the sources state. I believe that he was engaged not to translate but to write the envelope and whatever was added to the accreditation in the appropriate hand. This would have been the most visible and recognisable aspect of the royal document beside the signature and seal. Unfortunately for the conspirators, when he returned to Italy in 1577, having been ransomed by his illustrious family, he boasted of his part in the deception. Once the news was known in Venice it travelled fast both to Madrid and to Istanbul. Another key player in the tragi-comedy was Hurren Bey. His illegal and treasonable activities would be exposed if Acuña was caught, so he agreed to act as the go-between. He informed the Grand Vizir that Acuña had come to him and declared his secret mission, and he secured an audience for him with Mehmet. Santa Cruz provided Acuña with appropriate clothing for the occasion, with Hurren Bey acting as Dragoman. Acuña played his part so convincingly that Mehmed was, it would seem, utterly duped. It is certainly possible. A noble, an experienced courtier as well as an experienced soldier, Acuña was a successful conman, blessed as so many of his kind, with tremendous self-belief and the capacity to take people in. Mehmed Pasha welcomed him, and ordered that he should be accommodated in the house of Hurrem Bey so that further meetings could take place in reasonable secrecy. There he remained between 12 and 24 . The usually well-informed Venetian, French and Imperial embassies took time before they detected his presence and learnt something of his mission. Their reliance on rumours led to confusion among historians later. It was their reports that alerted Braudel to his presence and the conclusion of an agreement. He commented: ‘after all his indiscretion, disreputable acquaintances and lack of scruples may have served him well.’ The negotiations were concluded very swiftly indeed, for obvious reasons: if there was to be peace, then there was no point to committing scarce financial resources in the preparation of the navy and sending reinforcements to exposed positions. By 18 March a draft agreement for a truce had been drawn up and translated. Acuña was entrusted to deliver it to Philip II along with a letter from the Grand Vizir in which he welcomed the king’s decision to initiate peace talks and inviting him to send a formal embassy. Ironically, the draft agreement attributed this happy outcome to God: ‘The highest and unknowable Lord inspired and enlightened the hearts of these two emperors, the greatest powers in the world’ was how it started. In a triumphant letter to the king, in which he emphasised the desire of the Ottomans for peace, Acuña revealed only a few of the basic facts about the crisis that

8 had brought this about, and the forging of a letter of accreditation. He focused, as well he might, on the unexpected and happy conclusion of the talks and promised to reveal all verbally when he returned to court. Naturally, he left out all compromising details regarding his journey and time in Istanbul and what he had said to his hosts. Mehmed and Hurren Bey claimed that Acuña made substantial offers on Philip II's behalf: 60,000 escudos for Mehmed, an annual pension for Hurren Bey of 2,000 escudos, and other substantial gifts and favours. He also gave an undertaking that Philip II would send a formal embassy, fully expecting that he would return as ambassador. Before he left, Acuña wisely demanded the release of his three ‘companions’, stating that he had hired them to guide him to Istanbul without knowing their reputation. Was Mehmed duped or was he the puppet master? He was a man of extraordinary experience. He had survived countless plots and served several . There is little doubt, however, that with massive financial problems, deep divisions in government, and above all, impending war with Persia, there was everything to be said for neutralising the Mediterranean front, where they had clearly reached stalemate. The Ottomans were well informed of Philip II’s problems, and were therefore aware of his need for peace. They must have reckoned that there was a chance he would respond favourably and they could claim he had initiated the process. Even if Acuña was lying, there was no danger in his return to Christendom. Acuña fled Istanbul on 27 March 1577 without having rescued a soul - besides himself. On his way back he dispatched a series of exultant letters. He wrote to the viceroy of Naples, Mondéjar, that he would soon hear ‘the happiest, most miraculous news that he has ever heard in his life’. He informed the king that the Turks had promised not to attack that year as proof of their good faith and desire for peace. He demanded to be admitted to the Order of Santiago and further rewards. From Naples, where he stayed between 20 and 27th 1577, he boasted to the king that he had also engineered the burning of one galleon and some other ships in the arsenal. By the time Philip II received this letter, he was growing suspicious of Acuña’s inflated claims, as can be seen by his comment: ‘it would be a good thing if it is true, but I doubt it’. Not long after, a different version of this accident reached the viceroy of Naples who duly passed on the information to the king in 1577. By the time Acuña left for Spain, all Naples knew what he had done - or claimed to have done. Soon, all Italy knew. The lack of secrecy enraged the viceroy, who was further angered when he realised that Acuña had gambled and lost a substantial part of the 3,000 ducats provided for the mission from Neapolitan taxes. He is, Mondéjar declared to the king, ‘one of the most disreputable ever to have come to Italy’. Criticisms began to arrive in Madrid from other Christian states, especially the papacy, that Philip II had acted without informing his allies. It did not occur to them that Philip II was as surprised as they were by the news. The beginning of peace negotiations between great powers was always done in the greatest secrecy, that is one of the reasons for using informal diplomacy and the kind of people who live in a ‘twilight world’, who can cross borders (almost) unseen and unnoticed. Acuña was temperamentally incapable of keeping the secret. The more publicity it got, the more his reputation was enhanced. He was determined not to be pre-empted. He must have known that Antonio de Avellan was about to return – he did in the spring of 1577. Avellan’s multiple mission included yet another attempt to secure Euldj Ali’s defection and the gathering of information. He failed to move Euldj Ali but proposed destroying the arsenal in Istanbul and securing the defection of several naval commanders. He had made contact with five leading commanders of

9 the ottoman fleet, and two had promised to abscond with their galleys if Philip II would accept them into his service. The similarity of his proposals with those of Acuña, with whom he had discussed them, cannot fail to impress us. In truth, not all the publicity came from Acuña. In April 1577 the Venetian ambassador in Istanbul had picked up enough information to inform the Republic of the treaty. He decided to confront the Grand Vizir who played a game with him subsequently, sometimes confrming, sometimes denying that a truce was being negotiated. Acuña arrived at the Spanish court in late May or early June 1577 and by then Philip II's mistrust was such that he refused to receive him, delegating the task to his secretary Antonio Perez. Acuña presented the letters from Istanbul which were couched in very general terms. It is impossible to guess what he said, but it was understood by the Spanish court that the Ottomans had charged him with putting forward two proposals of peace. They later denied this. Since everyone involved in this process lied at one point or another, it is impossible to say who (if any of them) was telling the truth. What matters is that Philip II believed he had a choice between ‘a solemn suspension of hostilities’ ('una suspension de armas solemne') to last while both sides negotiated a full, long-term peace treaty; or a suspension of hostilities 'by dissimulation' (dissimulaçion) for two or three years only. Even as he organised special sessions of his council to discuss these terms, the king's suspicions of Acuña grew, stoked by the news he was receiving from Italy. On 2 July his ambassador in Venice reported comments by the imperial ambassador in Istanbul: ‘Don Martín de Acuña will doubtless be in Spain now giving an account of his deeds which hardly add to the reputation of the . He hid from honest men and revealed everything to renegades, fallen men, and other disreputable people. Even the street urchins knew about him and his secrets’. On 3 Philip II received the alarming news that Cardinal Justiani’s nephew had revealed his role in the forging of Acuña's letters. ‘This man has said too much’ was Philip II's terse holograph comment on the letter, adding: ‘it is imperative that no one else should read what he has said about don Martín’. Most business at Philip II's court moved at a slow pace. This was not due to inefficiency but to the complexity of governing a global empire with inadequate resources. The decision whether to go ahead with negotiations took a long time for many reasons. The timing was problematic. Sebastian of was determined to launch a war in North Africa, with full papal backing and the king was under enormous pressure to support his young nephew. As this war was against an ottoman- backed Muslim ruler, Philip II could not do this if he wanted peace with Murad III. The very notion of such a peace was highly controversial. Indeed it provoked such profound and bitter divisions among government officials that after lengthy discussions they would not come to a clear resolution. They expressed views for and against and refused to make any recommendations. Then there was the added problem of Acuña. He insisted that the Ottomans expected his return, but by now the revelations about his behaviour and character meant that he was not trusted. Complaints continued to reach the court about his gambling, his indiscretions and his dubious activities. The devastated and defrauded relatives of the captives whose money he had spent without even attempting a rescue appealed for justice and the return of funds. Not content with cheating fellow Christians, Acuña had also defrauded Muslims in Istanbul, offering to rescue their captives when he returned. This included an undertaking to rescue three of Mehmed Sokolli’s men. He had spent the money and had not rescued a soul. They were convinced he would be imprisoned for this if he were ever to return to Istanbul.

10 Aware of the rumours and the doubts already surfacing about him, Acuña wrote to Mehmed Sokolli on 9 July 1577 apologising for the delays and assuring him that Philip II had received Mehmet's letters and proposals ‘lovingly and benignly ... with great satisfaction and good will’. He promised a speedy response from the king as well as his own return to Istanbul in the near future. Perhaps this was his way of committing Philip II to it. If so, it failed. The delays and the publicity caused fear and consternation in the Ottoman court and put Santa Cruz in danger. Or so he said. What he did could also be interpreted as a cunning plot with Hurren Bey to ensure that they benefited directly from the initiation of the peace as this normally resulted in handsome rewards. They wanted Philip II to appreciate their crucial role in initiating the negotiations and did not trust Acuña to tell the truth. The only way was to speak to Philip II in person. Santa Cruz claimed that as time passed and nothing was heard from Acuña or Philip II, the sultan and Mehmed Bey became suspicious. Hurren Bey warned Santa Cruz of this and told him there was talk of initiating an investigation into Acuña and the spies that had come with him, and this would again put the entire spy network in danger. Once again, Santa Cruz claimed to have feared for his life, and in order to save himself and the others, he resorted to another set of forgeries. Using the credential letters he possessed with the king's seal and signature, he turned them into two new documents: one letter for Hurren Bey and another for Mehmet Bey, both ostensibly from Philip II. Having drafted these, he needed someone to translate them from Italian to Spanish. As before, they found a willing accomplice among one of the slaves of Euldj Ali. In these forged letters (dated 20 April 1577) Philip II thanked Mehmed and Hurren for the proposals of peace and the letters they had sent and confirmed that his willingness to begin peace negotiations. He informed them that Acuña had not been sent back to Istanbul due to illness. In the letter to Mehmed Sokolli it was stated that as the Spanish court had no direct experience of negotiating with the Ottomans, the king would be grateful if Mehmed would send him a Christian who was well versed in the ways of Ottoman court protocol and diplomacy as this would facilitate the negotiations. A safe-conduct for the envoys that Philip II would send to Istanbul was requested. Hurren Bey duly translated and read these letters to the Grand Vizir, who consulted him as to who should be sent. Hurren Bey suggested Aurelio de Santa Cruz and Mehmed accepted the recommendation. He responded to Philip II’s letter, thanking him and confirming the sultan's desire to negotiate peace. He added a warning that if Spain supported Sebastian’s invasion of North Africa, or attacked any of the Ottoman possessions and allies, war would be renewed. Santa Cruz immediately wrote to the king informing him of his mission, confirming the Ottoman offer of a truce and proposing himself as the ideal candidate to carry out the negotiations. He arrived in Naples in August 1577 and asked the viceroy to facilitate his journey to Madrid. He insisted that ‘this affair (the peace negotiations) was initiated and handled by me’. The marquis of Mondéjar thought all the characters that had been involved in the initiative were untrustworthy, and reiterated his criticisms of the king for using such men. Philip II responded tetchily that while he now agreed with Mondéjar’s judgement, until better men could be found they would have to continue using them. Mondéjar decided to retain Santa Cruz in Naples until he received explicit orders from Philip II allowing him to proceed, but forwarded the letters from the Ottoman court. These letters finally confirmed what Philip II had suspected for sometime, that letters had been forged in his name and had been presented to Turkish officials, creating the impression that he was suing for

11 peace. He no longer believed either Acuña or Santa Cruz, and ordered an investigation into the whole affair, requesting a close analysis of all the letters sent by both men. On the cover of the translation of Mehmed Sokolli's letter to him, Philip II wrote: ‘it would be good to compare this with the copy that Aurelio brings. It is likely that he will have altered the contents of the original since that states that he has received a letter that I am supposed to have written, which must certainly be false. It is necessary to find out the origins of that letter. We will try to find the answers when Aurelio arrives here, and until then, do not allow don Martín or anyone else to discover any of this.’ In fact, he would not learn the exact contents of the forged letters until 1579 when Margliani sent him a copy of the letter to Hurrem Bey. The document has a note in the cover: ‘Warning! This is a forgery.’ Despite knowing that they were building on false, indeed fraudulent foundations, Philip II decided to proceed to negotiations of peace. These exchanges from Istanbul had proved beyond doubt the desire of the sultan to come to an agreement, even if it was not clear how they would settle the vital point of who had initiated the process. They must have realised that the confuison could also serve as face-saving obfuscation. In view of the hostility already apparent to the peace, Philip II chose what he believed to be the lesser option available: that is, to sign a secret treaty suspending hostilities for two or three years. Convinced that Acuña could not be trusted they continued the fiction that he was too ill to return and chose a trustworthy, indeed ideal candidate, to take his place - Giovanni Margliani. Margliani was briefed and dispatched from Madrid with orders to finalise the negotiations. Philip II had already decided they could get round the crucial issue of parity between the two sovereigns by using a devise he had adopted with the kings of France, whereby two copies of the treaty would be produced, one which had the sultan’s name first; in the other his own would precede. Margliani was not to go alone. Philip II's penchant for maintaining multiple initiatives at once is evident. He decided that Bruti's proposal to establish Mehmed Bey as king in Algiers was worth pursuing as well, so he decided to send Bruti back to Istanbul to continue those negotiations even as he pursued the path of peace, which was contrary to these hostile moves. Since Bruti would go back at much the same time as Margliani, it seemed sensible for him to accompany the new envoy. After much debate it was decided he would have to be told about the secret peace mission. The details were revealed to him and he agreed to help Margliani. Philip II also ordered Antonio Avellan to remain in Istanbul and to continue to develop contacts with renegade commanders in the ottoman fleet, thus laying the foundations for another attempt at destroying the ottoman navy in port if neither of the other two initiatives bore fruit. All this makes some sense when we realise not only that multiple initiatives were the norm, but that Philip II, while clearly preferring peace, was acutely aware of the advance age of the Grand Vizir on whom the whole peace project rested. Other vizirs and Euldj Ali had already expressed their opposition to the talks. What would happen if he died? - was the pertinent question the king posed to his counsellors. Better have other plans to undermine the sultan in place if the peace initiative did not prosper. Angered by the relentless criticisms from the marquis of Mondéjar on how he was handling relations with the Ottomans, Philip II decided on an extraordinary measure: he would not reveal Margliani’s real mission to his viceroy, but would order him to provide Margliani with whatever the envoy requested. When Bruti and Margliani arrived in Naples, they encountered Santa Cruz who was still detained there on the viceroy’s orders. For reasons that are not clear,

12 Bruti revealed everything to him. Margliani had already complained about his companion, describing the Albanian noble as ill-disposed and unable to keep secrets, but this revelation was akin to treason. His instinct was to go to the viceroy and ask to have Bruti imprisoned in Naples. If he did so, however, Margliani would be forced to disclose the mission to the viceroy. Unwilling to do this, he showed his capacity to adapt and make the best of circumstances. He informed Philip II of all that happened and explained that when confronted by Santa Cruz and asked point blank if what Bruti had said were true, he decided to admit it, and to enlist Santa Cruz. He made much of the role that the spymaster could play in the peace negotiations and the benefits that would accrue. Left with no other option, Santa Cruz agreed. Margliani alerted Hurren Bey of their impending arrival, and when he reached Istanbul on 14 December 1577 he immediately asked for an audience with the Grand Vizir. He did not receive a warm welcome. Both the Dragoman and Grand Vizir complained bitterly that this secret embassy was not what Acuña had promised. He had stated that Philip II was willing to enter into open negotiations for an enduring peace. Why then another secret mission? Acuña had assured them that full diplomatic relations would be established, with formal embassies, lavish presents, annual subsidies etc. according to Ottoman custom. Margliani was persistent and persuasive, however, emphasising Philip II’s determination to have peace. He made it clear that the king had been given to understand by Acuña that a secret agreement had been offered as one of two options. Their claim that they had been misled by Acuña worked against the Ottoman ministers now; they had to accept that Acuña could also have lied to Philip II. At first Mehmet Sokolli rejected the offer of 8,000 escudos arguing that he had been assured of 60,000 - Santa Cruz said he had been promised 30,000. But the gift served its purpose and was reluctantly accepted. Mollified, Mehmed continued the negotiations. After all it was on top of gifts to the value of 3- 4,000ducats and the annual pension of 8-10,000 ducats. Making much of the fact that Philip II lacked the knowledge and skill to ‘negotiate as the Venetians do’, Mehmed announced his decision to arm himself with patience and continue the discussions. He also warned of dire consequences for all involved if Philip II was misleading them and merely engaged in a charade to expose the ottoman sultan and dishonour him by showing he was willing to negotiate peace. The fear of losing reputation was real. The Ottomans found Margliani's arguments both forceful and convincing, since they were supported by tangible results. Philip II had not sent his navy against Ottoman lands in 1577 nor had he used the soldiers he had withdrawn from the against either the sultan or his allies in North Africa or the Balkans, as had been feared in Istanbul. Margliani argued that this was to show his good faith and desire to proceed to a formal agreement. To expedite the negotiations, Mehmed Sokolli appointed Hurren Bey and a Jewish physician, known variously as Doctor or Rabbi Solomon Natan Ashkernasi, to act as intermediaries. The physician could move unbtrusively between Mehmed and Margliani by posing as their doctor. Once involved, he hastened to write to Philip II, promising to do his utmost to bring about peace. There were frequent meetings between the Dragoman, the Doctor and Margliani. Bruti was almost immediately marginalised. Mehmed Sokolli constantly tried to intimidate and bully Margliani and launched frequent attacks on Philip II. He gloated over the many difficulties that the Spanish Monarchy faced. Periodically, he sent Margliani to negotiate with Eulj Ali, who was an increasingly aggressive and ardent advocate of further hostilities in the Mediterranean. But Margliani held his nerve. He understood what they were doing, and realised the brutal negotiating tactics had to be endured with patience. He

13 disarmed them by accepting their account of Philip II's difficulties, but countering it with a sharp assessment of the sultan's own problems. Once again, the negotiations were rapid because time was of the essence. If the Ottomans were to send a fleet to the Mediterranean they had to prepare it during the early part of the year so that it would sail in the spring. Given the limitations of this paper, I cannot not go into detail of the negotiations, which were intense and complex, and merit a separate paper. Here, I must focus on their successful conclusion. It was soon clear they could not complete a full treaty before the fleets needed to sail, so the negotiators agreed to make a temporary agreement to suspend hostilities while the negotiations continued. This was standard diplomatic practice. What was unusual was the method they chose. Mehmed Sokolli offered to sign a document committing the sultan to keep the peace if Margliani committed Philip II to do the same, as well as to send a proper embassy to Istanbul, with formally appointed ambassador, presents etc., within three months of the agreement reaching him. Margliani had no powers to commit himself or his king to such an agreement, but he knew the king needed a suspension and was committed to peace. Consequently, he offered to sign a document whereby he undertook that Philip II would not to send a fleet against the Ottomans if they made the same commitment. In the absence of anything else, he offered himself as a hostage for the king's good faith. This clearly impressed Mehmed Sokolli. He was used to braggards who promised the in exchange for freedom, not to someone who promised his freedom should a modest commitment not be fulfilled. On 7 February 1578 Hurren Bey and Dr Solomon brought Margliani the outline of a temporary accord: a mutual suspension of hostilities during 1578 but they insisted on appending to it a commitment on Philip's part to send a formal embassy. Certain details which could form the basis of a future peace and which made it the accord more like a formal truce were incorporated. For example, both sides included a list of allies who were to be included in the suspension. Since Philip II could not possibly send back his formal assent in time, they took Margliani’s bond. That is, he would lose his freedom and even his life if the king did not abide by it. Nevertheless, the sultan refused to sign any agreement that placed him at a disadvantage or suggested he was in any way inferior to the Spanish monarch. Given that Philip II could not put his signature to the agreement, he refused to sign it. Margliani argued that the situation was not comparable, given the distances involved, and demanded several times that the document be signed by Murad III. On encountering repeated and firm refusals, he then asked that Mehmed Sokolli should provide a formal commitment along the lines he himself had offered on behalf of his sovereign. At first Mehmed refused, then, under considerable pressure, he agreed to give a verbal commitment before finally agreeing to provide a letter that affirmed his commitment to advance peace and amity between Philip II and Murad III. He also added that unless Philip II sent a sufficiently high-ranking formal embassy to finalise the negotiations, there could be no peace. Aurelio de Santa Cruz did not find out until much later what sort of agreement had been worked out. When he did, he was highly critical. He argued that it was worthless. No one could have any security on that basis. He could not fathom why neither side had followed the perfectly well established diplomatic norms followed by the Ottoman sultans with the , with the and others. He was missing the point. Those agreements were made between a victorious and mighty Ottoman sultan and defeated and inferior Christian states.

14 They could not be used as a model for an accord between undefeated equals. Yet his criticisms are worth considering: was this a useless agreement, as well as a new diplomatic departure as he claimed? The answer to the first question is clear: the agreement was valid and held. Both sides would abide by it, and it became the basis of subsequent renewals and extensions. Perhaps this was not so much because of the form it took, which was flimsy by comparison to regular diplomatic contracts, but because it suited both sides to neutralise their conflict. The most formal treaty of eternal peace could not prosper without necessity compelling the signatories. To a degree, however, its success was due to the fact that it was an adaptation of existing, ostensibly informal, agreements for a suspension of hostilities most often used by commanders or governors, sometimes without knowledge of their sovereigns, and sometimes even against their wishes. The offer of hostages was normal in such circumstances. Later Margliani and Mehmed Sokolli added to this basic exchange a novel and additional element, attaching letters stating that they were acting in the full knowledge and with the authorisation of their respective monarchs. This showed an awareness on both sides of precisely the weakness that Santa Cruz had identified and strengthened the accord. The fact that the negotiations were primarily carried out through direct exchanges between Margliani – a fully accredited diplomat - and Mehmed Sokolli – the Grand Vizir - lent them some of the power and importance of formal diplomacy. The continuing secrecy and intervention of a renegade Dragoman and a Jew of foreign extraction shows, however, that they were something less than formal diplomatic activities. The Ottomans were unhappy however. For them it was a necessary but temporary measure, mainly prompted by the outbreak of hostilities with Persia. They were adamant from the outset, however, that for peace to take hold, it was imperative that Philip II overcame his opposition to open and official diplomatic exchanges. It was only in the 1580s that both sides came to the conclusion that these temporary accords were far more appealing than a formal treaty. Initially, in 1578, Philip II responded to Margliani's actions with a mixture of gratitude and relief and accepted the clear recommendation that a formal embassy would have to be sent, with the usual presents and pensions distributed, and he set about preparing it. He faced down the vehement opposition from his own subjects and councillors, justifying his decision by insisting that necessity compelled him to take this unpalatable measure ‘ I am most reluctant to take this step’, he argued, but ‘without it, I cannot see how I can go forward’. Interestingly, he drew considerable comfort and satisfaction from the messy and almost farcical origins of the peace negotiations. ‘It is apparent that Our Lord has set this in motion in the way that we know now, with little intervention on my part.’ In a providentialist age, both sides could happily conclude that only God could have turned something so insalubrious in its origins into a life-saving peace proposal. In the teeth of opposition, Philip II proceeded to appoint and instruct a full ambassador, secured the large sums of money required for a formal embassy and purchased the requisite gifts. Vehement hostility from the papacy and the punitive measures the imposed when he learnt of this caused the whole project to founder. Faced with the prospect of financial ruin as a result of papal action, and with his reputation damaged by papal accusations of being an infidel lover, Philip II reluctantly withdrew the embassy before it left Naples. But the secret, informal- formal exchange of commitments continued between the two monarchs well into the , bringing much-needed peace to the Mediterranean.

15 IV, CONCLUSION The sorry end to such a promising beginning seems to underscore Braudel’s contention that Philip II’s diplomacy with the East was unique. This stemps from a problem of perspective and the fact that it is not normally appreciated that both sides were intent on proceding to a formal peace, with estblished embassies. Other essential features place these negotiations firmly within established contemporary norms. Habituated to a seemingly rigid diplomatic establishment, historians have concentrated on treaties and formal diplomatic exchanges and failed to grasp the important role played then and now by secret and ostensibly unofficial contacts with the enemy. Contacts that were official in all but name. That is, they were done on the initiative or with the knowledge either of the sovereign, or of leading ministers of one side or both. These contacts tended to multiply when war reached a stalemate or when one or both sides were nearing exhaustion. In a recent work on diplomatic contacts between the Spanish Monarchy and some of its Christian enemies I demonstrated that the kind of unofficial soundings we have detected in the case of the Muslim world, involving merchants, double agents, spies, exiled nobles, etc., were prevalent in the case of intra-Christian negotiations. In both, low-level or informal contacts preceded more formal negotiations and involved a similarly colourful cast of characters. Most of these contacts came to nothing, but they nevertheless continued to be used, and occasionally prompted complaints on the part of diplomats who were gradually turning diplomacy into a career with restricted entry and a cursus honorum. Notwithstanding the hostility of the growing numbers of career diplomats, monarchs continued to have recourse to such methods and to encourage them because they served important functions. These agents gathered information, tested the resolve of the enemy and almost invariably laid the foundations for formal negotiations. In order not to lose face or time or make a situation worse with an open breach of negotiations, formal contacts between sovereigns were restricted in this fashion until a sufficient basis for the process of peace had been laid which all but guaranteed a successful conclusion. In the case of the Hispano-Ottoman accord, the added confusion of forgeries and lies made the transition from irregular and informal to formal diplomacy more difficult, but it did eventually materialise. The failure of the peace was not due to faulty procedures or the people involved, but to the external and powerful opposition of the papacy. This brings me to the issue whether diplomatic relations between Christian and Muslim were impossible due to their incompatible religious ideologies. It is tempting to assume that peace negotiations between paladins of two opposing creeds at a time of heightened rhetorical and actual hostility are particularly difficult. In principle the religious divide is unbridgeable and both sides accept a duty to annihilate opponents. This certainly made diplomacy more problematic, largely because of the impact negotiations had on a sovereign’s reputation. But by the sixteenth century diplomacy was already well adapted to negotiations between hostile creeds and had a array of theoretical and pragmatic arguments to justify both war and peace. When opponents of the peace process with the Ottomans argued in 1578 that it was a novelty and utterly contrary to the traditions of the Spanish Monarchy, ministers in favour of the peace pointed out that Spain had made many peace treaties with Muslims in the past. In recent times, neither Charles V nor Philip II had hesitated ‘to send ambassadors to the ’ when necessity or pragmatic considerations dictated. Similar arguments appear to have shaped Ottoman policy.

16 There was already a sufficiently well developed concept of the needs of the state being superior to the pursuit of a pure, ideological position. If religion was not an insuperable barrier, what about culture and language? Linguistic differences did make things more difficult. Diplomacy is often a matter of coded and guarded statements and problems arise when negotiations go through multiple translations. Instructions drafted in Spanish were translated into Italian, which was the lingua franca of Mediterranean merchants, renegades and spies, as well as the language of many diplomats. Italian would then be turned into Ottoman Turkish and vice versa. Some linguistic difficulties reflected cultural differences. Spaniards and Italians referred to the Ottoman proposals as a ‘truce’ or a ‘suspension of arms’ (what we might now call suspension of hostilities or ceasefire; 'el negoçio de la tregua o suspension de armas'). Almost no one used the term ‘peace’. By contrast, the documentation emerging from the Ottomans habitually referred to 'peace' and was often rendered as 'pace e quiete' (peace and harmony). Margliani explained to Philip II that the Ottomans used peace ‘as the term “suspension of arms” does not exist in their language’. Since both were after the same result, however, these difficulties were accommodated by the drafting of different documents. A further variant is worth noting. Philip II’s counsellors habitually referred to the agreement with Murad III as a truce (‘tregua’) if they were in favour. A few used suspension or ceasefire to downplay its importance. They also drew a clear distinctions between this ‘truce’ and relations between the French and the Ottomans, which they labelled ‘friendship’ - 'amistad'. They believed that the motives behind seeking an accord further qualified and conditioned the relationship. The friendly relations (alliance) of the French and the Ottomans were contrasted with the pragmatic truce Philip II accepted which was merely a temporary suppression (as a result of necessity) of a fundamental state of hostility. Linguistic and political problems surfaced when Margliani and Mehmet decided in 1578 to exchange mutual promises that compromised their respective monarchs to be bound to the agreement made by their officials. Was the resulting accord a ‘treaty’, a ‘capitulation’ or something else? Both sides wanted to avoid such terminology while the accord remained unsigned by the monarchs because of the connotations it had. Thus Margliani described his written commitments with the neutral term 'escritura', literally, a text or a memorandum. Mehmed Sokolli expressed his commitments through the medium of a letter and so avoided the need to find a neutral term. Finally, it is worth returning to the point made at the start: how to account for the fact that peace initiatives should have arisen from a hostile mission. As this paper demonstrated, there was a prevailing belief that it required multiple initiatives before either hostilities or peace could succeed, and that both could and should be tried simultaneously. Envoys were habitually sent both to explore peace and to carry out acts of war. In 1576 the duke of Sessa advised Philip II to accept the offer from Hasan Aga, a renegade commander serving under Euldj Ali, to defect and seize Algiers commenting: ‘Your Majesty knows that before one event of this quality can succeed, many have to be attempted’. The king expressed a similar sentiment in the spring of 1577 when he insisted that they should continue with five different initiatives, four of which were hostile to Murad III, along with the burgeoning peace talks: ‘It is worth going forward with them all until we see whether there is a chance of any one of them succeeding. If we fail in one we might succeed with another.’ Fortunately for him, one did succeed, and it brought him what he most needed: peace.

17 A NOTE ON SOURCES: This paper is based on the primary documentation held in the Archivo General de Simancas. The secondary works cited are: F. Braudel. The Mediterranean and the Mediterranean World (2 vols, vol. II. Fontana Collins, London, 1973); Javier Marcos Rivas and Carlos Carnicer García, Espionaje y traición en el reinado de Felipe II. La historia del vallisoletano Martín de Acuña (Valladolid, 2001); Emilio Sola Castaño, Uchalí. El Calabrés Tiñoso, o el mito del corsairo muladí en la frontera (Alborán Bellaterra, Barcelona, 2010). M. J. Rodríguez-Salgado, Felipe II, el «Paladín de la Cristiandad» y la paz con el Turco (Colección síntesis, Universidad de Valladolid, 2004), and ibid., “«Ni cerrando ni abriendo la puerta». Las negociaciones de paz entre Felipe II e Isabel I, 1594-1598” in: A. Marcos Martín (ed.) Hacer Historia desde Simancas. Homenaje a José Luis Rodríguez de Diego (Junta de Castilla y León, 2011)

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