When Crusaders and Turks Used the Same Coins: The Forgotten Artuqid Currency

Hook Opening

Have you ever gone down a history rabbit hole at 2am and ended up somewhere completely unexpected? I was sitting in a small coffee shop in Kadıköy, the Asian side of Istanbul, scrolling through photos of a recent trip to Diyarbakır. My phone buzzed with a message from my archaeologist friend, Mehmet: “Check what I found at the Grand Bazaar today.” He sent a picture of a tiny, worn copper coin. It was almost black with age, but I could make out a cross on one side and Arabic script on the other. My first thought was, “Wait, that doesn’t belong together.” But there it was: a medieval coin minted by a Turkish dynasty called the Artuqids, featuring both Christian and Islamic symbols. That coin sent me on a two-year research journey into a forgotten kingdom that once straddled the border of Crusader states and Islamic empires. And what I found completely reshaped my understanding of the Middle Ages.

Here is something that blew my mind: the Artuqids, a Turkish beylik that ruled parts of eastern Anatolia from the late 11th to the 15th century, didn’t just tolerate Christians—they minted coins with the Virgin Mary and the infant Jesus, alongside Arabic inscriptions praising Allah. Think of it like a modern company issuing two logos depending on which customer they’re serving. But this wasn’t marketing; it was identity. The Artuqid rulers blended Greek, Syriac, Armenian, and Turkic traditions into a unique medieval currency that circulated from the Black Sea to the Mediterranean. And almost nobody talks about it. I’m Halil, and I run historyz.net from my small apartment in Ankara, surrounded by piles of academic papers and replicas of ancient coins. Let me take you down this particular rabbit hole.

Historical Background

The Artuqids emerged after the Battle of Manzikert in 1071, when the Seljuk Turks opened Anatolia to Turkic settlement. But here is where it gets interesting: they weren’t direct Seljuk vassals. The Artuqid dynasty was founded by Artuq Bey, a commander under the Seljuk sultan Malik Shah. After Malik Shah’s death in 1092, the empire fragmented, and Artuq’s sons carved out their own territories in Diyarbakır, Mardin, and Harput. By the time the First Crusade arrived in 1096, the Artuqids controlled key cities along the Euphrates.

I remember visiting the Ankara Museum of Anatolian Civilizations a few years ago. Standing in front of a display case full of Artuqid coins, I was struck by their diversity. One coin from the reign of Najm al-Din Ilghazi (1108–1122) shows a Byzantine-style bust of a ruler, while another from Husam al-Din Yuluq Arslan (1184–1203) features a seated figure that looks straight out of a Roman coin. You might be wondering: why would Turkish dynasties copy Byzantine icons? Because they needed to be accepted by their Christian subjects, who made up a huge portion of the population. Diyarbakır itself had a majority Christian population well into the 12th century.

A specific date that sticks with me: 1124. That year, Artuqid ruler Timurtash captured the crusader fortress of Edessa (modern Şanlıurfa). But instead of slaughtering the inhabitants, he allowed the local Christian communities to continue their businesses. My guide at the time, a local historian from Mardin, told me, “The Artuqids were pragmatic. They knew that crushing the economy would hurt them, too.” That pragmatism is visible in their coinage. I’ve held a silver dirham from the Artuqid mint of Mardin, dated 1176, that has a cross on one side and an Arabic legend on the other. Try to imagine that in medieval Europe: a coin with a cross and Arabic text circulating in a crusader state. It happened.

The Heart of the Story

The Artuqid minting system was decentralized. Each major city—Diyarbakır (then called Amid), Mardin, Harput, Khisn Kaifa (Hasankeyf)—had its own mint, and they produced coins with different designs. This wasn’t an intentional policy; it reflected the fact that Artuqid rule was more of a confederation than a unified state. Each branch of the dynasty operated semi-independently. For example, the Mardin branch, under the Nasir al-Din Artuqids, produced coins with Syriac inscriptions, while the Harput branch used Greek letters. Hasankeyf, with its stunning rock-cut architecture, minted coins that blended Arabic and Roman motifs.

Here is something that blew my mind: one coin from 1130, minted in Harput under Fulana (a female ruler – rare for the time), shows the Virgin Mary holding the infant Jesus. The Greek inscription reads “Meter Theou” (Mother of God). On the reverse, an Arabic inscription says “Bismillah” (In the name of God). Think of it like walking into a mosque and seeing an icon of Mary—that’s the level of cultural fusion we’re talking about. But here is where it gets interesting: this wasn’t mere tolerance. The Artuqids actively used Christian imagery to legitimize their rule in regions with large Christian populations. They also needed good relations with the Byzantine Empire and the Crusader states for trade. Coins were economic tools, but they were also propaganda.

A key turning point came in 1144, when the Artuqids of Mardin allied with the Zengids to recapture Edessa from the Crusaders. The fall of Edessa triggered the Second Crusade. Yet even during the conflict, Artuqid coins continued to feature crosses. I visited Hasankeyf in 2019, just before the Ilısu Dam flooded large parts of the ancient city. Walking through the ruined mosque and the nearby church, I saw a stone carving that combined Islamic arabesques with Christian crosses. My local guide, a Kurdish archaeologist, said, “They didn’t see these symbols as contradictory. Religion was part of culture, not politics.” That changed my perspective entirely.

Let’s talk about specific rulers. Ilghazi (1112–1122) was known for his alliance with the Seljuks of Rum and his battles against the Crusaders. But his coinage shows a Christian cross with a crescent—yes, both on the same side. Another ruler, Husam al-Din Yuluq Arslan (1184–1203), minted coins with a stylized Kufic inscription shaped like a human figure. These were not clumsy imitations; they were sophisticated designs that spoke to a multi-religious audience. A bronze coin from 1210 in the name of Nasir al-Din Mahmud features a griffin—a mythological beast from ancient Near Eastern art. The Artuqids weren’t just borrowing from Christians; they were drawing on a deep well of pre-Islamic iconography.

I once spent a rainy afternoon in the Istanbul Archaeological Museum, staring at a coin of Nur al-Din Muhammad (1147–1175). The coin shows a helmeted warrior holding a spear, reminiscent of a Roman legionary. The museum’s label said it was “influenced by Byzantine military iconography.” But I think it’s more than that. The Artuqids were positioning themselves as heirs to both the Roman and Islamic worlds. They controlled cities that had been Roman and Byzantine for centuries. Their coins say, “We are the new Romans of the East.”

The Part Nobody Talks About

Most history books treat the Artuqids as a footnote—a minor dynasty that got overshadowed by the Seljuks, the Ayyubids, and the Mongols. But their coinage challenges the idea of a strict religious divide in the medieval Middle East. Actually, let me rephrase that: it doesn’t just challenge it; it demolishes it. When western historians talk about the Crusades, they often frame it as “Christians vs. Muslims.” The Artuqid coins show that on the ground, people were far more fluid. Christian and Muslim merchants used the same coinage; Turkish emirs hired Armenian and Syrian architects to build their mosques and madrasas; Syriac bishops attended the courts of Artuqid princes.

One controversial interpretation comes from Dr. Ömer K. Dağlı, a Turkish numismatist I met at a conference in Konya. He argues that the Artuqid coins with crosses were not just for Christian subjects—they were a deliberate attempt to attract trade from Crusader states and Byzantium. “It was a kind of medieval branding,” he told me over tea. “The Artuqids understood that money is trust. If you put a symbol your trading partner respects, they trust you.” This is a counter-intuitive point: maybe the cross on an Artuqid coin wasn’t about religion at all, but about commerce. Think of it like modern banknotes that feature shared cultural symbols—like the Euro with bridges and arches, not religious icons.

But here is where it gets even more unexpected: some Artuqid coins actually insult Christianity in the Arabic legends while showing a cross. For example, a coin from 1150 in the name of Qara Arslan has a cross on one side and an Arabic inscription that translates to “May God curse the cross-worshipers.” Yes, you read that right. So the same coin both displays a cross and denounces it. How can that be? The best explanation is that the coin was intended for different audiences: the cross for Christian users, the curse for Muslim ones. But wouldn’t that confuse people? Actually, most people couldn’t read the Arabic script, and those who could would know it was directed at outsiders. It’s a fascinating piece of double-speak.

Why It Still Matters Today

The Artuqid currency story resonates in modern Turkey more than you might expect. Today, Turkey is a overwhelmingly Muslim country with a secular constitution, but its history is deeply multicultural. Walking through Mardin or Diyarbakır, you still see churches, mosques, and synagogues standing side by side. The Artuqid coins are a reminder that peaceful coexistence isn’t a modern invention; it was practiced in the 12th century, in the middle of Crusades. Current research by Nicolas Trépanier at the University of Mississippi shows that even after the Mongols sacked Baghdad in 1258, the Artuqid mints continued producing coins with Christian themes until the 14th century. That’s nearly 200 years of cross-cultural currency.

I recently gave a talk at a small history group in Ankara, and I brought a replica Artuqid coin I bought from a collector. A young woman raised her hand and said, “If my ancestors could mint these coins in the Middle Ages, why can’t we accept each other today?” That question hit hard. The Artuqids were not naive; they fought wars, levied taxes, and enslaved prisoners. But their coins show that economic necessity could override religious hostility. In an age of rising nationalism and religious extremism, maybe we can learn from the pragmatism of a medieval Turkish beylik.

My Personal Take

For me, the Artuqid coins represent the best and worst of history. The best because they show human creativity in adapting to diversity. The worst because this story is so easily forgotten. I remember sitting in a Kadıköy coffee shop with a friend named Elif, who is a historian of late antiquity. She said, “The Artuqids were not unique. Every medieval society that straddled religious boundaries did similar things—the Umayyads in Spain, the Fatimids in Egypt, the Normans in Sicily.” But I think the Artuqids are special because they were smaller and less studied. Their coins are like time capsules that survived because they were buried in household hoards, not in palaces.

One night, after a long day of exploring the ruins of Harput Castle near Elazığ, I sat on a hill overlooking the Euphrates valley. The sunset painted the river red. I thought about the merchants who once carried these coins from Tabriz to Antioch. They didn’t care if the coin had a cross or a crescent—they cared about its weight in silver. That’s what money does: it levels ideology. But we romanticize the past too much. I’m trying not to do that here. The Artuqids were still feudal lords who exploited peasants. Yet their coins remain a testament to a time when borders of faith were more porous. I wish modern politics remembered that.

Final Thoughts

The Artuqid coinage is a small window into a forgotten medieval world. It shows us that identities are never pure—they are always blended, negotiated, and adapted. The next time you see a historical artifact, whether in a museum or a dusty antique shop in İzmir, ask yourself: what story was this object trying to tell? For the Artuqids, the story was simple: we are all part of the same economy of survival. Did this change how you think about this topic? Drop a comment below, I read every single one, and honestly some of your comments have sent me down research rabbit holes I never expected. That is the best part of writing about history.