Piracy: An Early History
Background
In the registers of time, the narrative of Piracy extends beyond the ken of three millennia, yet its veritable chronicle hinges on the precise interpretation of the term “Pirate”. This concept was first noted in the epics of Homer, The Iliad, and The Odyssey. For ages, however, the delineation of Piracy remained obscured in ambiguity.
In Ancient Greece, two terms were prevalent: leistes and peirates. The former, a term permeating Homer’s opus and the literature of the Greek Classical epoch, signifies “booty” or “plunder,” denoting an armed marauder. This archetype is similar to the English “bandit” or “Pirate”. Conversely, peirates, deriving from peira — meaning “trial” or “endeavor” — evolved into “brigand,” and in due course, the word “Pirate” emerged to denote specifically those who commit maritime armed robbery; this evolvement is credited to the Roman historian Polybius, circa 140 BCE.
Years later, Plutarch, a Greek historian writing circa 100 CE, offered the earliest unambiguous definition, describing Pirates as assailants without lawful authority, targeting not only ships but also coastal settlements. Then, centuries later, the word “Piracy” in the English tongue became replete with varied connotations; its application, however, is a relatively recent phenomenon. Some interpretations bear no distinct significance. For instance, Norse seafarers of the 9th and 11th centuries CE were not deemed Pirates but were known as “Danes” or “Vikings”. And throughout England’s medieval period, “Pirate” was synonymous with “sea thieves”. Overall, the XVIII century CE witnessed the consolidation of the contemporary understanding of Piracy, portraying Pirates as “outlaws” subject to execution even by non-military persons. Interestingly, the genesis of international law connects with anti-Pirate legislation, reflecting the transnational nature of their deeds.
References to Pirates in ancient literature and epigraphy do exist, albeit enigmatic. The term πειρατής was applied broadly; the English “Pirate” and the German Seerauber imply maritime activity, while the Greek term originally denoted “one who attempts something” (from πειράω) and expanded to encompass any robber, whether by land or sea. Complicating matters further is the oft-lacking detail about the acts or history of individuals thus labeled.
Alas, the remnants of antiquity offer but a cursory glimpse into the realm of Piracy. The accounts of Piratical escapades predominantly survive as personal anecdotes, while information on the Hellenistic military and naval operations is scarce, comprising only a handful of individuals and roles. Historical narrators, often generations removed from the events they recount, did not seek to scrutinize the role of Pirates for posterity, resulting in the inconsistent and imprecise usage of “Pirate”. Nevertheless, a perusal of existing records suggests notable social and occupational fluidity in the third century BCE.
Throughout antiquity, it is imperative to note the blurred lines distinguishing the Pirate from the mercenary. In the third century BCE, the employment of mercenaries was a common stratagem amongst various dominions, yet historical records suggest a perplexing conflation of the roles of Pirate and mercenary. This is inferred from instances where an individual, dubbed a “Pirate,” mirrors the function of a soldier, whether mercenary or otherwise. The appellation “Pirate” perhaps reflects upon their antecedent deeds, be they known or obscured in the mists of history. This observation, however, does not insinuate that every mercenary was once a Pirate, nor that every Pirate assumed the mantle of a mercenary. Indeed, Piracy existed as a distinct pursuit.
The Pirates of yore in the ancient Mediterranean were not the archetypical renegades, devoid of national allegiance and adversaries of civilization, as often portrayed in modern narratives. Instead, they were frequently instruments of governmental schemes, pawns in the grand chessboard of international politics, and providers of slaves to both opulent individuals and state apparatuses. As briefly mentioned earlier, during times of conflict, even governments did not hesitate to engage in Piratical ventures. Some of the era’s most notorious Pirates were, in fact, military and political chieftains. The famed Cilician Pirates, for instance, could be swayed by lucre, as evidenced by their alliance with Mithridates VI (r. 120–63 BCE) in his campaign against Rome.
In contemporary imaginings, Pirates are often envisioned in the likeness of flamboyant characters such as Jack Sparrow, inspired by the cinematic movie series Pirates of the Caribbean, or the dramatis personae of the television series Black Sails. These depictions draw inspiration from the legendary figures of the so-called Golden Age of Piracy (1650–1730 CE) and the ensuing War on Piracy (circa 1716–1726 CE). In particular, Black Sails harks back to the literary creations of the Scottish scribe Robert Louis Stevenson (lived 1850–1894 CE). Yet, these modern renditions bear scant resemblance to the ancient Mediterranean Pirates, who were often crews engaged in the service of governments or military factions, undertaking tasks such as the capture, transport, and sale of humans into slavery. Nevertheless, among their ranks were those who pursued Piracy solely for personal gain and avarice.
Genesis
And now, venturing into the earliest chronicles of Piracy, where the Mediterranean Sea was the cradle of this ancient marauding practice, the Amarna Letters — a cache of diplomatic missives from the 14th century BCE — reveal intriguing dialogues between monarchs of the Near East and Egypt. Among these documents, one designated as EA 38, recounts an accusation by the Egyptian Pharaoh Akhenaten. He reproaches the sovereign of Alasiya (present-day Cyprus) for abetting Pirates from the region of Lukka (situated in Asia Minor), who were assailing his coastal settlements. The Alasiyan ruler vehemently denied any complicity with the marauders targeting Egyptian harbors, lamenting his own plight as a fellow sufferer of the Lukka incursions:
“Say to the king of Egypt, my brother: Message of the king of Alashiya, your brother. For me all goes well, and for you may all go well. For your household, your chief wives, your sons, your horses, your chariots, among your numerous troops, in your country, among your magnates, may all go very well.
Why, my brother, do you say such a thing to me: ‘Does my brother not know this?’
As far as I am concerned, I have done nothing of the sort. Indeed, men of Lukka, year by year, seize villages in my own country.
My brother, you say to me: ‘Men from your country were with them.’
My brother, I myself do not know that they were with them. If men from my country were (with them), send (them back) and I will act as I see fit. You yourself do not know men from my country. They would not do such a thing. But if men from my country did do this, then you yourself do as you see fit.
Now, my brother, since you have not sent back my messenger, for this tablet it is the king’s brother (i.e., as messenger). Let him write. Your messengers must tell me what I am to do. Furthermore, which ancestors of yours did such a thing to my ancestors? So no, my brother, do not be concerned.”
Amarna Tablet EA 38, aka “The Hand of Nergal”
Regrettably, the specific verbiage of the accusation laid upon the pharaoh, prompting this defensive rejoinder from the Alasiyan sovereign, eludes our grasp. Nevertheless, historical chronicles illuminate the Lukka, a lesser-known cohort referenced in sundry Hittite manuscripts. From these vestiges of antiquity, one deduces the Lukka to be a malevolent fraternity of marauders and Corsairs, their abode situated in the bosom of Lycia. Located in the southern stretch of Anatolia, this locale bestowed upon the Lukka an opportune gateway to the Mediterranean, strategically positioning them in proximate reach of Cyprus and other coastal citadels that graced the Mediterranean’s shores.
The Mediterranean, in essence, characterized by its labyrinth of coves and bays, offered an ideal haven for Pirates. This enclosed sea, peppered with numerous islets, forced vessels to navigate perilously close to the shore, rendering them susceptible to Pirate raids. The Lukka, presiding over their indistinct territory in the Lukka Lands, are probably the antecedents of the Lycians, notorious for their Piratical exploits. The extant records confirm their habitual engagement in Piracy, their oscillating allegiance with the Hittites, and their potential inclusion in the confederation known as the Sea Peoples. Yet, beyond these fragments, the full breadth of their narrative remains hidden in the fogs of antiquity.
On a side note, Strabo’s account of Lycia in the context of Piracy is a fascinating blend of geographical description and historical narrative. After delineating the coastal boundaries of regions adjacent to Lycia, including Rhodes, Pamphylia, and Cilicia Tracheia, Strabo shifts his focus to the mountainous, yet harbor-rich Lycian coast, extending 1720 stadia (271 km or 168 mi). Lycia, as described by Strabo, is similar in topography to Pamphylia and Cilicia Tracheia. However, a clear contrast in the inhabitants’ disposition is highlighted. While Pamphylians and Cilicians notoriously engaged in Piracy, using their well-suited coasts for Pirate harbors and markets for their plunder, the Lycians, on the other hand, maintained a reputation for good citizenship and legal adherence. Despite the Pamphylians’ dominance in naval affairs, extending as far as Italy, Lycians remained steadfastly honorable, unswayed by the lure of illicit gains.
Strabo then provides a detailed insight into the Lycian League, a federation of 23 cities, each with varying degrees of influence and responsibility. The cities are described in terms of their voting power and contribution to public charges, with notable cities including Xanthus, Patara, Pinara, Olympus, Myra, and Tlos. The Lycian League’s political structure was remarkably democratic and efficient, with a focus on electing officials, including a lyciarch, and establishing tribunals for justice administration.
Epistles from Rib-Addi
Within the vast collection of Amarna letters, another discourse of Piratical resonance surfaces from the ink of Rib-Addi, a regional potentate presiding over Byblos (aka Gubla). As we probe into the scrolls chronicling his correspondence with the pharaoh, an intriguing persona unfolds, and the weight of his words becomes apparent. Among the myriad letters unearthed at Amarna, Rib-Addi claims a significant share, composing 64 missives, constituting one-fifth of this archival trove.
The essence distilled from Rib-Addi’s letters portrays him as a querulous figure, a persistent complainer indicating his grievances with a monotonous tone. One cannot help but marvel at the presumed patience of Pharoah Akhenaten, a virtue seemingly requisite for sovereigns. Whether the pharaoh exhibited extraordinary forbearance or the immediacy of Rib-Addi’s predicament eroded his hesitancy to be persistently vexatious remains speculative. Despite Rib-Addi’s professed loyalty to Egypt and its indirect sway over Byblos and its environs, he embroiled himself in regional conflicts on multiple occasions. His principal adversary emerged in the form of Abdi-Ashirta, the ruler of Amurru, a burgeoning kingdom in southern Syria supposedly under Egyptian dominion. Abdi-Ashirta, harboring ambitions of regional ascendancy, found himself at odds with Rib-Addi, whose ceaseless entreaties sought the pharaoh’s intervention. These pleas, initially beseeching for soldiers and provisions, turned into urgent appeals for Egyptian influence to thwart an impending blockade set up by the enemy fleet.
Rib-Addi accused his foe of fomenting rebellion among Byblos’ denizens, dispatching assassins to threaten his life. The narrative evolved as the blockade took effect, with ships mobilized from Beirut, Tyre, and Sidon, the Levant’s key port cities. Rib-Addi implored Akhenaten to station emissaries in each city to forestall their naval assets from being wielded against him. Alas, these supplications went unanswered, and Rib-Addi lamented the blockade’s success, equating his plight to that of “a bird ensnared, besieged by the sons of Abdi-Ashirta by land and the people of Arvad by sea, day and night.”
The blockade’s culmination witnessed Simyra succumbing to famine, and Rib-Addi’s misfortunes extended to the loss of his ships. Despite the gravity of his situation, an element of irony surfaces when Rib-Addi, in one letter, quotes Akhenaten’s exasperated response: “Why do you keep on writing to me?”
Undeterred, Rib-Addi elucidates, “As for me, there is no city ruler behind me, and indeed, everyone is antagonistic to me.”
Amidst the Bronze Age commotion, Rib-Addi’s tribulations compounded; a letter revealed the demise of Tyre’s ruler and his kin, victims of a coup organized by Abdi-Ashirta. Hittite incursions loomed large, painting a bleak scene for Rib-Addi. Subsequent revelations, conveyed by Akhenaten, disclosed Rib-Addi’s exile from Byblos and his eventual execution at the hands of Abdi-Ashirta’s progeny, Aziru. In the denouement of Rib-Addi’s correspondence, the tempest in the eastern Mediterranean reached a peak. Mercenaries, enlisted by Abdi-Ashirta, became instruments of coercion, and Rib-Addi reported incursions by the Milim-people into Amurri, resulting in the demise of Abdi-Ashirta.
Thereafter, sea raiders emerged as a substantial threat, a concern underscored by Akhenaten’s prior encounter with Lukkan Pirates, implicating the King of Cyprus in their nefarious pursuits.
This tableau (Amarna Letter EA 362, aka “A Commissioner Murdered”) circa 1350 BCE, captures a juncture where maritime power exerted its influence not merely through trade but also through coercion and blockade, disrupting the very commerce it once facilitated.
The Sea People
In the records of Mediterranean history, the Sea Peoples stand as a confederacy of diverse ethnicities, who unleashed their fury upon the region circa 1276–1178 BCE. Their nomenclature, a 19th-century appellation, was coined by the French Egyptologist Gaston Maspero around 1881 CE. The original self-designation of these marauders, if any, remains a mystery. Maspero’s term “Sea Peoples” arose from accounts depicting their assaults as originating from the sea, besieging coastal citadels. Our knowledge of them is primarily derived from the inscriptions of three Egyptian pharaohs who quelled their onslaught: Ramesses II (The Great, r. 1279–1213 BCE), his progeny Merenptah (r. 1213–1203 BCE), and Ramesses III (r. 1186–1155 BCE).
The Egyptian chronicles delineate these groups as the Akawasha, Denyen (Danuna), Lukka, Peleset, Dhardana, Shekelesh, Tjeker, Tursha (Teresh), and Weshesh. Of these, only the Lukka and the Peleset (Philistines) have been confidently identified in contemporary scholarship, with the Denyen likely hailing from the Cilician city of Adana, near Tarsus. Ramesses II’s inscriptions vividly describe their united onslaught, overwhelming lands with their martial prowess, as inscribed in his temple at Medinet Habu. Merenptah and Ramesses III augmented this narrative with the inclusion of Libyans in this formidable coalition.
Accordingly, the Sea Peoples wrought havoc upon Anatolia, then under Hittite dominion, precipitating the collapse of their empire. The final Hittite king of Ugarit, Ammurapi (r. 1215–1180 BCE), lamented in a missive to the Alasiyan king the ruin of his kingdom at their hands. These marauders are historically regarded as the inaugural major Pirates of the Mediterranean, notorious for the magnitude of their devastation. The origins and true identity of the Sea Peoples remain mysterious, nonetheless.
The reign of Ramesses III was particularly marked by his confrontations with these Pirates, also known as the Nine Bows. Their incursions into the Nile Delta were of such severity that Ramesses III undertook decisive action. A strong depiction of this battle, fought in 1190 BCE, adorns the walls of his mortuary temple at Thebes, showcasing archers and close combat, ending in the presumed defeat of the Sea Peoples. Their eventual vanquishment by Ramesses III in 1178 BCE led to their disappearance from historical records. They likely established or improved upon Pirate bases along the southern coast of Cilicia, in Crete, and elsewhere, laying the groundwork for future Piracy. Though they might have persisted under different monikers, their legacy is undeniable.
The Teresh, for instance, might be the progenitors of the Tyrrhenians, infamous to the extent that a 7th-century BCE hymn, erroneously attributed to Homer, recounts their audacious attempt to enslave the (idolatrized) Dionysus, only to be transformed into dolphins. Despite uncertain connections, the Tyrrhenians became synonymous with Piracy as early as the 7th century BCE, preceding their notoriety in the Roman era and association with the slave trade. This paradigm of Piracy — piloting nimble vessels, preying on defenseless ships, and raiding coastal settlements — did not necessarily need ancestral transmission; it was an evident strategy. Regardless of the Tyrrhenians’ true lineage, their infamy as Pirates was well-established, contributing significantly to the maritime lore of the Mediterranean.
On a side note, In Strabo’s geographical account, he begins by discussing Ostia, a maritime city of Latium. Ostia, founded by Ancus Martius, lacks a port due to silt accumulation from the Tiber River and its tributaries. Despite the danger, vessels anchor offshore and use lighters to unload cargo before navigating up the river to Rome, about 190 stadia away. The focus then shifts to Antium, another maritime city approximately 260 stadia (41 km or 25 mi) from Ostia. Unlike Ostia, Antium is situated on rocks and lacks a port. In Strabo’s time (64 BCE — 24 CE), Antium had transformed into a retreat for statesmen, replete with opulent residences for leisure and respite from political duties. However, its historical significance lies in its former engagement in Piracy. Even under Roman subjugation, Antium’s inhabitants colluded with Tyrrhenian Pirates.
This issue gained international attention when Alexander and then Demetrius, having captured many of these Pirates, sent them to Rome. Demetrius’ message highlighted the incongruity of a ruling power in Italy that both consecrated a temple to the Dioscuri, seen as saviors, and simultaneously sanctioned Piracy, particularly against Greece, the homeland of these revered divinities. This admonition led the Romans to cease their Piratical activities.
As we venture further into the chronicles of maritime lore, our attention shall now shift to the restless waters of the ancient Mediterranean, where Piracy flourished like a malignant vine, uncurbed by the hands of a singular, mighty naval power. Herein, we shall (briefly — the full details of this chapter can be read in my upcoming 700-page book, The Book of Pirates and Corsairs) behold the classical era, where the Hellenes, fragmented into myriad city-states, each sovereign and often embroiled in internecine strife, inadvertently nurtured the scourge of Piracy.
Drifting Along
The nefarious nexus between Piracy and the odious commerce of human bondage is remarkably stark. Mariners, even those of erstwhile reputable regard as the Phoenicians, succumbed to the siren call of this vile trade. They preyed upon unsuspecting souls in coastal hamlets, spiriting them away to distant markets. The remuneration for such human chattel was considerable — a robust male in the prime of life commanded a price of a thousand sesterces, whilst a female might fetch slightly less. Many of these unfortunates were victims of war, others trapped by debt or despair, selling themselves or their progeny. But, most tragically, many were simply caught in the merciless grasp of fortune, seized by Pirates who profited egregiously from their plight, their human cargo costing naught but the exertion of abduction.
This predilection for Piracy was not born in a vacuum but was the offspring of the unique geographical and economic fabric of the ancient Mediterranean. Its coasts, inhospitable for grand agriculture, hosted sparse settlements of modest means. Terrestrial trade was hindered by mountainous terrain and scant riverways, rendering the sea the prime conduit for commerce and travel. Here, fishing was the lifeline, endowing its people with seafaring prowess and knowledge of the tides. And since maritime thoroughfares were confined to the coastlines, vessels laden with riches traversed in predictable trajectories. The naukleroi (ship-owning merchantmen) crossed these well-trodden maritime paths, their vessels burdened with abundant cargo. Fishermen, witnessing these laden leviathans day upon day, found themselves tempted by the shimmer of untold wealth. Yet, when the bounties of the sea proved fickle, desperation drove those grappling with economic destitution to more promising ventures; and so, the lure of the sea turned to a darker calling: the risky yet potentially lucrative path of Piracy. In this crucible, Piracy became a grim, albeit charming alternative for survival, a shadow cast long and dark over Mediterranean waters.
These highwaymen of the waves, preying upon the well-trodden routes of the Mediterranean, took advantage of the Mediterranean’s inhospitable, craggy coasts, offering them secretive coves and inlets for swift assaults on unsuspecting vessels. Pirate havens sprang up amongst these rugged shores, their hidden sanctuaries a bane to traders and travelers alike. Nevertheless, the roots of these maritime marauders were steeped in the arts of land-based raids, striking not only at sea but also assailing coastal towns, daringly encroaching inland. This threat saw the earliest metropolises retreat inland, distancing themselves from the vulnerable coastlines. Yet the Pirates dared not venture too deep into the hinterlands, their prowess waning beyond the reach of the sea.
Contrasting the Egyptian pharaohs, who clashed with Pirates in grand battles, the Greeks faced a different manifestation of this scourge. The Hellenic world, entwined with the Mediterranean in commerce, faith, and war, saw its principal cities dotting the coasts and islands. Their colonial ambitions stretched from Anatolia to Sicily, even reaching the distant shores of Hispania. These settlements, reliant on the sea for sustenance and connection, found themselves perennially imperiled by Piracy.
Myriad attempts to quell these sea raiders met with naught but failure. Legend recounts King Minos of Crete, in the Minoan epoch, as the inaugural sovereign to muster a fleet against Piracy. It is said that Minos, seeking to swell his coffers, purged the seas of these brigands to the extent of his might. Yet, his legacy was forsaken by his progeny, as Crete descended into a notorious refuge for Pirates, particularly the city of Hieraphytna, by the 3rd century BCE. This Cretan bastion became a den of Pirates, menacing the Aegean and beyond. The archives of myth whisper that Minos’ efforts persisted until a cataclysmic tsunami, circa 1400 BCE, devastated his fleet, and the dark tide of Piracy surged forth anew.
Since the 9th century BCE, Phoenician city-states, notably Tyre, began expanding their territories beyond the Levantine coast (which the Egyptians dubbed Djahi), establishing colonies to control vital resources and trade routes. One significant colony was at Kition in Cyprus, aimed at dominating the lucrative Cypriot copper trade and outmaneuvering Phoenician competitors. Tyre’s expansion extended to northern Africa, notably founding Carthage, as well as to Sicily, Sardinia, and Spain. This westward expansion was greatly aided by Tyre’s alliance with Assyria, allowing privileged access to harbors under Assyrian control, an advantage over other Phoenician states. This alliance with Assyria, however, came with conditions. A surviving, albeit fragmented, treaty between Esarhaddon of Assyria and Ba’alu of Tyre reveals that Tyre had to permit Assyrian involvement in its political decision-making. Assyrian influence was evident since the reign of Tiglath-pileser III, as shown by correspondence indicating Assyrian control over Tyrian and Sidonian trade, as well as access to Lebanese timber, strategically denying resources to the Philistines and Egyptians.
In return for tolerating Assyrian interference, Tyre and other Phoenician city-states received military support against their enemies. Notably, Sargon II assisted Tyre in 715 BCE against Ionian Pirates threatening its maritime network and later to reassert control over Cypriot vassals. These operations, conducted with the Tyrian fleet since Assyria lacked a navy, marked the Phoenicians’ initial foray into naval warfare, influencing their later military engagements in southern Babylonia during Sennacherib’s reign. This early experience in maritime conflict, particularly against Piracy, had lasting implications for the Phoenician and Assyrian empires.
As the Hellenic realm ascended in power and prestige, the growing trade across the Mediterranean inevitably summoned more sea brigands. Piracy, deeply ingrained in Greek culture and history, is not an unfamiliar theme in ancient lore. Indeed, the epic works of Homer not only acknowledge but seemingly glorify the deeds of these sea raiders. Within the verses of the Odyssey, Homer portrays Pirates as “bringers of harm,” yet there exists an underlying admittance of their appeal, born from the peril and profit of their ventures. In this ancient narrative, a clear delineation is drawn between the noble basileis, the “princes” of the Achaean lineage, and the Pirates. Despite the semblance of their deeds — voyages to foreign lands for plunder and conquest — the distinction lies in the fate apportioned by the Divine. Herein lies the essence: heroes and Pirates, both seafarers of fortune, yet separated by the caprices of the Divine.
Ionia
Throughout ancient history, the Ionians, renowned for their mastery of the seas, became formidable adversaries to the Assyrian Empire as early as the 8th century BCE. These skilled seafarers, bearing the mantle of Pirates and freebooters, vexed the coastal provinces of Assyria with their audacious raids. Their growing prowess at sea was not merely a scourge upon the Assyrian shores but a demonstration of their ascending influence in the records of regional power.
The year 698 BCE in particular marked a pivotal chapter in this age-old struggle, under the reign of King Sennacherib of Assyria. The Ionians, allying themselves with Kirua, a rebel chieftain in the land of Cilicia, rose in open revolt. This coalition of rebels and Ionian mariners possessed the mettle to seize strategic routes and withstand the mighty Assyrian forces. Sennacherib’s ensuing campaign in Cilicia, a land campaign of great magnitude, ended in a climactic battle amidst the mountainous terrain, leading to the subjugation and plunder of Tarsus. The campaign’s reverberations were felt even at sea, where the Ionian fleet faced destruction off the Cilician coast. This campaign underscored the Ionians’ strategic importance and their capacity to challenge the supremacy of Assyria.
Hence, the cultural and political ramifications of the Ionian involvement in Cilicia were profound. Though defeated and subsumed as captives into the heart of Nineveh, the Ionians’ influence permeated the region. Their presence, amidst a mélange of Hittite, Aramean, and Greek elements, enriched the cultural and demographic fabric of Cilicia. The Ionian captives, integrated into the Assyrian empire as artisans and laborers, inadvertently imparted their artistic and architectural sensibilities to their captors. This episode, a mosaic of power dynamics, cultural exchange, and migration, illuminated the complex interplay that shaped the ancient Near East.
The Hellenic perspective on Piracy persisted through the ages. Herodotus, in his chronicles, recounts tales of Ionian Greeks venturing to Egypt for plunder in the mid-seventh century BCE, later assimilating as mercenaries. His depiction of the Samian tyrant Polycrates in the 6th century BCE blurs the lines between organized warfare and Piracy, reiterating a broader ambiguity in ancient narratives. Nevertheless, the full-length narrative from Herodotus’ Histories goes as follows:
“…Of those who remained and fought, none were so rudely handled as the Chians, who displayed prodigies of valour, and disdained to play the part of cowards. They furnished to the common fleet, as I mentioned above, one hundred ships, having each of them forty armed citizens, and those picked men, on board; and when they saw the greater portion of the allies betraying the common cause, they for their part, scorning to imitate the base conduct of these traitors, although they were left almost alone and unsupported, a very few friends continuing to stand by them, notwithstanding went on with the fight, and ofttimes cut the line of the enemy, until at last, after they had taken very many of their adversaries’ ships, they ended by losing more than half of their own. Hereupon, with the remainder of their vessels, the Chians fled away to their own country.
As for such of their ships as were damaged and disabled, these, being pursued by the enemy, made straight for Mycale, where the crews ran them ashore, and abandoning them began their march along the continent. Happening in their way upon the territory of Ephesus, they essayed to cross it; but here a dire misfortune befell them. It was night, and the Ephesian women chanced to be engaged in celebrating the Thesmophoria — the previous calamity of the Chians had not been heard of — so when the Ephesians saw their country invaded by an armed band, they made no question of the new-comers being robbers who purposed to carry off their women; and accordingly they marched out against them in full force, and slew them all. Such were the misfortunes which befell them of Chios.
Dionysius, the Phocaean, when he perceived that all was lost, having first captured three ships from the enemy, himself took to flight. He would not, however, return to Phocaea, which he well knew must fall again, like the rest of Ionia, under the Persian yoke; but straightway, as he was, he set sail for Phoenicia, and there sunk a number of merchantmen, and gained a great booty; after which he directed his course to Sicily, where he established himself as a Corsair, and plundered the Carthaginians and Tyrrhenians, but did no harm to the Greeks…”
It is worth noting that in Strabo’s description of Sicilian cities along the strait, he mentions Messana, Tauromenium, Catana, and Syracuse. Between Catana and Syracuse lay the ruins of Naxos and Megara, positioned where rivers from Mount Ætna flow into the sea, providing suitable harbors. Nearby is the Xiphonia promontory. He also notes that Ephorus, writing in the tenth generation after the Trojan War, credits the founding of these earliest Greek cities in Sicily to those undeterred by the prevalent Piracy of the Tyrrhenians and the hostility of the local tribes. Prior explorers and settlers, intimidated by these dangers, refrained from even approaching the island for trade. This brief excerpt underscores the significant impact of Piracy on the early colonization and development of Sicilian cities in the ancient world.
Thucydides, in his account of the Peloponnesian War, alludes to Athens’ efforts to quell Piracy, not explicitly as a war strategy against Sparta, but as a broader policy. He extols the Corinthians for their anti-Piracy stance, lauding its benefits to trade and thus to the city’s wealth. To Thucydides, the Homeric heroes were akin to Pirates, their suppression essential in the rise of city-states like ancient Crete and Corinth. He celebrates the audacious raids of Pirates, both on the seas and against cities, underscoring the prevalence of Piracy in Greek life. Indeed, any citizen was free to go on maritime raids, the spoils of war theirs to claim, a practice not shunned even by those in high office.
However, this liberal stance toward Piracy was not indicative of unconditional tolerance. Greek city-states, constrained by their limited dominion and the sheer number of Pirates, struggled to effectively curb Piracy. Through the fifth and fourth centuries BCE, they employed various strategies, from small-scale campaigns and fleeting alliances against maritime banditry to establishing naval bases in perilous regions and providing armed escorts along crucial trade routes. Yet, these measures, fragmented and sporadic, could only temper, not extinguish, the persistent threat of Piracy in the Mediterranean.
That is as much as I’m willing to share from the first chapter of my forthcoming tome, The Book of Pirates and Corsairs: Part I: Ageless Seas of Infamy:
Most of the images used in this chapter were taken from Google Images.
