The Story of the Crusades
by E. M. Wilmot-Buxton · English · Gutenberg #47780 · 410,873 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: The Story of the Crusades
Author: E. M. Wilmot-Buxton
Illustrator: Morris Meredith Williams
Release date: December 25, 2014 [eBook #47780]
Most recently updated: October 24, 2024
Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STORY OF THE CRUSADES ***
[Frontispiece: _The First Crusaders in Sight of Jerusalem_]
THE STORY OF
THE CRUSADES
BY
E. M. WILMOT-BUXTON
F.R.Hist.S.
AUTHOR OF
'BRITAIN LONG AGO' 'THE BOOK OF RUSTEM'
'TOLD BY THE NORTHMEN' ETC.
GEORGE G. HARRAP & CO. LTD.
LONDON BOMBAY SYDNEY
_First published December 1910_
_by_ GEORGE G. HARRAP & CO.
_39-4l Parker Street, Kingsway, London, W.C.2
Reprinted September 1913
Reprinted in the present series:
March 1912; May 1914; January 1919; March 1924;
January 1927; November 1927; July 1930_
_Printed in Great Britain by Turnbull & Spears, Edinburgh_
Contents
I. The Story of Mohammed the Prophet
II. Mohammed as Conqueror
III. The Spread of Islam
IV. The Rise of Chivalry
V. The Story of Peter the Hermit
VI. The Story of the Emperor Alexios and the First Crusade
VII. The Siege of Antioch
VIII. The Holy City is won
IX. Bernard of Clairvaux and the Second Crusade
X. The Loss of Jerusalem
XI. The Story of the Third Crusade
XII. The Adventures of Richard Lion-Heart
XIII. The Story of Dandolo, the Blind Doge
XIV. The Forsaking of the High Enterprise
XV. The Story of the Latin Empire of Constantinople
XVI. The Story of the Children's Crusade
XVII. The Emperor Frederick and the Sixth Crusade
XVIII. The Story of the Seventh Crusade
XIX. The Crusade of St Louis
XX. The Story of the Fall of Acre
XXI. The Story of the Fall of Constantinople
XXII. The Effect of the Crusades
List of Books Consulted
Index of Proper Names
Illustrations
The First Crusaders in Sight of Jerusalem . . . _Frontispiece_
The Vision of Mohammed
Pilgrims of the Eleventh Century journeying to the Holy City
The Preaching of Peter the Hermit
Duke Godfrey marching through Hungary
Robert of Normandy at Dorylæum
The Storming of Jerusalem
King Louis surrounded by the Turks
Richard and Philip at the Siege of Acre
Richard of England utterly defeats the Army of Saladin
The Fleet of the Fifth Crusade sets Sail from Venice
The Children crossing the Alps
John of Brienne attacking the River Tower
The Landing of St Louis in Egypt
The Last Fight of William Longsword
The Fall of Acre
Map of the Crusades
{9}
The Story of the Crusades
CHAPTER I
The Story of Mohammed the Prophet
_A poor shepherd people roaming unnoticed in the deserts of Arabia: a
Hero-Prophet sent down to them with a word they could believe: See! the
unnoticed becomes world-notable, the small has grown world-great_.
CARLYLE: _Hero as Prophet_.
The two hundred years which cover, roughly speaking, the actual period
of the Holy War, are crammed with an interest that never grows dim.
Gallant figures, noble knights, generous foes, valiant women, eager
children, follow one another through these centuries, and form a
pageant the colour and romance of which can never fade, for the
circumstances were in themselves unique. The two great religious
forces of the world--Christianity and Islam, the Cross and the
Crescent--were at grips with one another, and for the first time the
stately East, with its suggestion of mystery, was face to face with the
brilliant West, wherein the civilisation and organisation of Rome were
at last prevailing over the chaos of the Dark Ages.
A very special kind of interest, moreover, belongs to {10} the story of
the Crusades in that the motive of the wars was the desire to rescue
from the hands of unbelievers
_Those holy fields
Over whose acres walked those blessed feet
Which, fourteen hundred year before, were nailed
For our advantage on the bitter cross._
But we shall see, as we read the story, that this was only a part of
the real motive power which inspired and sustained the Holy War.
Even if the land of Palestine and the Holy City, Jerusalem, had never
fallen into the hands of the Saracens, some such war was inevitable.
The East was knocking at the doors of the West with no uncertain sound.
An extraordinary force had come into existence during the four
centuries that immediately preceded the First Crusade, which threatened
to dominate the whole of the Western world. It was a religious
force--always stronger and more effective than any other; and it was
only repelled with the greatest difficulty by Christendom, inspired,
not so much by the motive of religion, as by that curious mixture of
romance and adventurous design which we call chivalry.
Let us try, then, first of all, to get some idea of these Men of the
East, the Mohammedans or Saracens, who managed to keep Europe in a
state of constant turmoil for upwards of five centuries, and to do that
we must go back to the latter years of the sixth century after Christ.
About fifty miles from the shores of the Red Sea stands the city of
Mecca, one of the few important towns to be found on the fringe of the
great sandy desert of Arabia. During hundreds of years Mecca had been
the venerated bourne of pilgrims, for, embedded in the walls {11} of
the sacred building known as the Kaaba, was the "pure white stone,"
said to have fallen from heaven on the day that Adam and Eve took their
sorrowful way from the gates of Paradise.
The Arabs, or Saracens, of these early days were closely connected with
their neighbours, the Jews of Palestine, and claimed the same descent
from Abraham through Ishmael, the outcast son. They believed in the
existence of God, whom, to some extent, they worshipped, under the name
of Allah. But they were deeply interested in nature-worship: the sun,
moon, and stars were their deities. They bowed down before the "pure
white stone" in the Kaaba, now from its frequent handling rather black
than white. They peopled the whole realm of nature--oceans, rivers,
mountains, caves--with spirits good and evil, called "jinns" or genii,
made, not of clay, like mortal men, but of pure flame of fire.
Once upon a time these jinns were said to have lived in heaven, and to
have worshipped the Lord of Hosts; but having rebelled, under the
leadership of Iblis, against Allah, they were cast forth, and descended
to the earth, where they became sometimes a pest and annoyance to men,
and sometimes their servants.
Many legends concerning these spirits are to be found in the Koran, the
sacred book of the Mohammedans. One of these tells how the jinns were
wont to roam round about the gates of heaven, peeping and listening and
catching here and there a little of the converse of the angels. But
these were only isolated words, or disjointed phrases; and the
mischievous jinns, hoping that evil would come of these odds and ends
of conversation separated from their context, whispered them
industriously in the ears of the sons of men. These the {12} latter,
always eager to know more of the Unseen World, readily accepted, and
invariably put a wrong interpretation upon them. Hence arose
superstition, black magic, false prophecies, evil omens, and all such
things as had in them the germ of truth, but had been misunderstood and
misapplied.
From the midst of this imaginative and nature-worshipping people there
arose the prophet who was to found one of the most powerful religious
sects in the world.
In the year 570 A.D., in the city of Mecca, a boy child came to the
young mother Amina, to comfort her in her widowhood for the husband who
had died a few weeks before. Tradition has been active regarding the
cradle of this child, the young Mohammed. He is said to have exclaimed
at the moment of birth, "Allah is great! There is no God but Allah,
and I am His prophet."
That same day an earthquake was reported to have overturned the
gorgeous palace of Persia; a wild camel was seen in a vision to be
overthrown by a slender Arab horse; and Iblis, the evil spirit, leader
of the malignant jinns, was cast into the depths of ocean.
What is actually known about the matter is that the babe was presented
to his tribe on the seventh day after his birth, and was named
Mohammed, the "Praised One," in prophetic allusion to his future fame.
For the first five years of his life, according to Arabian custom, the
child was sent to a foster-mother in the mountains that he might grow
up sturdy and healthy. Soon after the end of that period, his mother
died, and he was left to the care of his uncle, Abu Talib, a wealthy
trader, who was so fond and proud of his nephew that he let the boy
accompany him on many of his long caravan {13} journeys to Yemen or
Syria. Thus the young Mohammed became intimately acquainted with all
sorts and conditions of men. He had no books, but he was an eager
listener to the poems recited by the bards in the market-place of each
great town. He quickly absorbed the legends and superstitions of his
country, formed his own opinion about the idol-worship practised by
many of the Arab tribes, and was present on a great historic occasion,
when an oath was taken by his tribe in alliance with others, to be the
champions of the weak and the avengers of the oppressed. Moreover,
since his own home was at Mecca, the "Fair of all Arabia," the centre
of trade for India, Syria, Egypt, and Italy, the boy had plenty of
chances of acquiring that knowledge of the world which subsequently
served him in good stead as a leader of men.
He grew up a silent, thoughtful youth, loved and respected by his
companions, who named him El Amin, the "Faithful One." He was notable
too for his good looks, for his bright dark eyes, clear brown skin, and
for a curious black vein that swelled between his eyebrows when he was
moved to anger. He had wide opportunities for thought and meditation,
since, as was the case with most Arabs, his occupation was for years
that of a shepherd on the hillsides of his native city. Eventually, at
his uncle's wish, he became camel-driver and conductor of the caravan
of a certain rich widow named Kadija. The long journey to Syria was
undertaken with success, and on his return the widow Kadija looked upon
the young man of twenty-five with eyes of favour. She imagined she saw
two angels shielding him with their wings from the scorching sunshine,
and, taking this for an indication that he was under the special
protection of {14} Allah, sent her sister to him, according to a common
custom of Arabia, to intimate her willingness to be his bride.
So the poor camel-driver became the husband of the wealthy Kadija, and
a very happy marriage it turned out to be. Six children came to
gladden the peaceful home, of whom the youngest, Fatima, was to play a
part in future history. To all appearances these were years of calm
existence, almost of stagnation, for Mohammed; but all the time the
inner life of the man was growing, expanding, throwing out fresh
tentacles of thought and inquiry, as he brooded upon the condition, and
especially upon the religious condition, of his fellow-countrymen. For
the Arabs of his day were a degenerate race, much given to drinking and
gaming and evil passions. They thought nothing of burying their
girl-children alive after birth, as unworthy to be brought up. They
had no heroic ideals, and their religion was becoming more and more
vague and shadowy where it was not given over entirely to the worship
of idols.
It was the Arab custom to keep the month Ramadan as a kind of Lent, in
fasting, in seclusion and meditation; and Mohammed, during that period,
was wont to retire to a cave in a mountain near Mecca, sometimes with
Kadija, sometimes quite alone. There he was overtaken on one occasion
by strange trances and visions in which uttered weird prophetic
sentences. He subsequently confided to Kadija, who was with him at
that time, that he had made the Great Discovery; that all these idols,
and sacred stones, and empty phrases of religion were nothing--nothing
at all. "That God is great, and that there is nothing else great. He
is Reality. Wooden idols are not real; but He is real--He made us and
{15} protects us; hence _We must submit to Allah, and strive after
righteousness_." This was to be the keynote of the faith to be known
as _Islam_.
After this revelation had come to him, Mohammed continued his life of
thought and meditation for some time, until he was nearly forty years
of age. He may have spoken of his conviction to his friends, but he
does not seem to have gained much sympathy, and rather he appears to
have earned the reputation of a dreamer. But about the year 610, as he
was wandering over the wild hillsides, the clear call came, as it is
bound to come to the humble, listening soul. He had lain down to sleep
when, in a vision, he heard three times his name repeated, and the
third time saw the angel Gabriel--in whose existence both Arabs and
Jews believed--who spoke to him and bade him
_Cry! in the name of Allah!
In the name of Allah,
Who hath created man._
At first Mohammed was much disturbed by this message, which he did not
clearly understand. He feared he was under the influence of magic, and
was filled with dread of falling into the hands of jinns. After a
visit to his home, he again sought the mountain, intending in his
harassed state of mind to put an end to his life. Each time he
attempted this, something restrained him, and as he sat at length in
despair upon the ground wrapped in his cloak, the angel once more
appeared, saying--
_O thou that art covered,
Arise and preach,
And magnify Allah!
Purify thy garments,_
{16}
_Shun all evils,
Grant not money on usury,
Wait patiently for Allah.
When the trump shall blow shall be distress for unbelievers._
From that time the vocation of Mohammed was clear. He was to go forth
and preach to a nation of idolaters that there was one God, and only
one, who might claim their worship. Never again did he hesitate, nor,
on the other hand, did he begin his work in haste. He still sojourned
among the mountains, where he was visited by his uncle, Abu Talib, and
by the little son of the latter, a boy called Ali.
"What calls you here, Mohammed?" asked the puzzled Abu, "and what
religion do you now profess?"
Said Mohammed: "I profess the religion of Allah, of His angels and His
prophets, the religion of Abraham. Allah has commissioned me to preach
this to men, and to urge them to embrace it. Nought would be more
worthy of thee, O my uncle, than to adopt the true faith, and to help
me to spread it."
But Abu Talib replied: "Son of my brother, I can never forsake the
faith of my fathers; but if thou art attacked, I will defend thee."
Then to his young son Ali he continued: "Hesitate not to follow any
advice he giveth thee, for Mohammed will never lead thee into any wrong
way."
The first attempts of Mohammed to begin his work of conversion met with
small success. We have good authority for the proverb that "a prophet
has no honour in his own country," and in Mohammed's case his task was
made supremely difficult by the fact that Mecca would no longer be the
goal of thousands of pilgrims every year if the Arabs were to give up
the worship {17} of the idols of the Kaaba, which numbered, exclusive
of the "pure white stone" itself, some three hundred and sixty-five
images. Now the whole prosperity of the city depended upon the caravan
trade brought by these pilgrims, as well as on the profits made out of
providing food and shelter for such vast numbers. Realising this,
Mohammed made no attempt at a public proclamation of the new faith for
the first three years, but contented himself with training two or three
converts to be his helpers in the future.
His faithful wife Kadija was with him heart and soul, and to her, first
of all, he disclosed the details which the angel had revealed to him in
a vision, as to the particular acts of ritual, forms of prayer, and
actual doctrine which _Islam_, as their faith was called, demanded of
its followers. The essential fact of this religion was a belief in
Allah as the one true God, in a future life of happiness or misery
after death, and in Mohammed himself as the Prophet of Allah, whom they
were bound to obey. It was essentially a practical faith, however,
and, in addition to prayer five times a day, the Islamite or _Moslem_
must give alms to the poor, be perfectly honest in weighing and
measuring, be absolutely truthful, and keep strictly to all agreements
made. Many minor details were afterwards added to these, and the whole
were gradually written down in the _Koran_, the sacred book of Islam.
This, of course, was not done till many years later, when Mohammed had
drawn up a moral and social code which he hoped would reform the whole
world. In the meantime he had a hard struggle before him.
One of his first followers was the child Ali, who, though but eleven
years old, became his constant companion in his lonely rambles, and
eagerly received his {18} instructions. A freed slave, and Abu Bekr, a
man of official rank, enthusiastic for the new faith, were his next
converts. In vain did Mohammed call together the members of his tribe,
saying unto them--
"Never has an Arab offered to his people such precious things as I now
present to you--happiness in this life, and joys for ever in the next.
Allah has bidden me call men to Him--Who will join me in the sacred
work and become my brother?"
Deep silence followed this appeal, broken only by the high, childish
voice of little Ali, who cried out--
"I, Prophet of Allah, I will join you!"
Quite seriously Mohammed received the offer, saying to the assembled
throng, "Behold my brother, my _Kalif_! Listen to him. Obey his
commands."
Soon after this appeal to his own tribe, a spirit of active opposition
arose among the men of Mecca, so much so that the chief men came to Abu
Talib and warned him that if he did not prevail upon Mohammed to hold
his peace and give up these new doctrines, they would take up arms
against him and his supporters. Much alarmed at this protest, Abu
Talib implored his nephew to keep his new-formed faith to himself. But
Mohammed answered, "O my uncle, even if the sun should descend on my
right hand and the moon on my left to fight against me, ordering me to
hold my peace or perish, I would not waver from my purpose."
Then, thinking that the friend he loved so well was about to desert
him, he turned away and wept. But the old Abu, touched to the heart,
cried out, "Come back, O my nephew! Preach whatever doctrine thou
wilt. I swear to thee that not for a moment will I desert thy side."
{19}
Opposition soon took the form of misrepresentation. The enemies of
Mohammed would lie in wait for the pilgrims going up to the Kaaba and
warn them to beware of a dangerous magician, whose charms sowed discord
in the household, dividing husband and wife, parent and child. But
this had the natural effect of making strangers much more curious about
Mohammed than they would otherwise have been. They made their own
inquiries, and though few converts were the result, the reputation of
the Prophet, in a more or less misleading form, was gradually spread by
them throughout the length and breadth of Arabia.
Meantime, Mohammed himself was the object of open insult in the streets
of Mecca, as well as of actual violence. One effect of this, however,
was to bring over to his side another uncle, Hamza by name who had been
one of his fiercest opponents. Hearing of some new outrage, he
hastened to the Kaaba and stood forth openly as the champion of the
Prophet.
"_I_ am of the new religion! Return _that_, if you dare!" he cried,
dealing a vigorous blow at one of the angry and astonished assembly.
They drew back in awe, and Hamza, the "Lion of Allah," became one of
the most ardent followers of Islam.
The tide of persecution, however, was not stayed, and at length
Mohammed, unable to protect his followers from the violence he was
willing to endure himself, persuaded them to take refuge in Abyssinia,
under the protection of the Christian king.
Furious at this, the men of Mecca placed Mohammed and his whole family
under a ban for three long years, during which the Faithful nearly
perished of hunger, for no man might buy of them or sell to them or
have {20} any kind of intercourse with them. This ban was removed at
the end of three years, but then a worse blow fell upon the Prophet.
Kadija, his faithful, loving wife, and Abu Talib, his friend and
protector, both died. The death of Abu led to a renewal of
persecution; very few fresh converts were made; failure met him on
every side. The only ray of light in this period of gloom was the
discovery that twelve pilgrims journeying from the distant city of
Medina had already become followers of Islam from what they had heard
of the new faith as taught by Mohammed. These men he gladly instructed
more fully, and sent them back as missionaries to their own city.
In the midst of his depression and disheartened forebodings for the
future, Mohammed was vouchsafed a marvellous vision or dream.
"Awake, thou that sleepest!" cried a voice like a silver trumpet, and
there appeared to him an angel of wonderful brightness, who bade him
mount the winged steed, _Borak_, the Lightning, and ascend to the
Temple at Jerusalem. Thence by a ladder of light, Mohammed rose to the
first heaven, made of pure silver, and lighted by stars suspended by
chains of gold. There he was embraced as the chief of prophets by
Adam, the first created man.
[Illustration: _The Vision of Mohammed_]
Thence he proceeded to the second heaven, which was of steel, and there
he was greeted by Noah. The third heaven, where Joseph met him, was
brilliant with precious stones. There too sat the Angel of Death,
writing down the names of all who were to be born, and blotting out the
names of those whose time had come to die. In the fourth heaven Aaron
showed to him the Angel of Vengeance, in whose hands was a fiery {23}
spear. In the fifth Moses spoke with him and wept to see one who was
going to lead to Paradise more of the Chosen People than he, their
prophet. In the sixth, of marvellous brightness, Abraham occupied
chief place; and Mohammed was even allowed to penetrate further to the
seventh heaven, where Allah, His glory veiled, gave him instructions as
to the doctrines of Islam, and bade him command his followers to utter
fifty prayers a day.
When the Prophet returned to Moses, the latter pointed out that the
number was too much to expect of Arabs, and bade him ask Allah to
reduce it. In answer to his supplications, Allah said at first that
forty prayers would be satisfactory, but Mohammed pleaded earnestly for
further relief, and at last the number was fixed at five, at which it
remains to this day. "Allahu akbar--Prayer is better than sleep!
There is no God but Allah! He giveth life and He dieth not! O thou
bountiful! Thy mercy ceaseth not! My sins are great, greater is Thy
mercy! I praise His perfection! Allahu akbar!"
Still, five times a day, the peculiar cry of the "mullah" is heard from
the tower of prayer, giving the signal for the follower of Islam to
turn towards Mecca, throw himself on his face, and utter the prescribed
words.
Much inspired by this wonderful dream, Mohammed was further encouraged
by the news that seventy men of Medina had joined the ranks of Islam
and were about to meet him on the hillside beyond Mecca, with intent to
induce him, if possible, to take up his future abode in their city,
leaving his birthplace to its fate. There, under the dark midnight
sky, these men bound {24} themselves to worship Allah only, to obey the
Prophet, and to fight in defence of him and his followers.
"And what will be our reward?" asked one.
"Paradise!" replied Mohammed briefly.
And then the oath was sworn; while the Prophet, on his side, promised
to live and die with his new converts when the time was ripe.
The meeting had, however, been watched by spies, who reported all to
the men of Mecca; and a new persecution arose, so bitter that most of
the "Faithful," as the followers of Mohammed came to be called, fled at
once to Medina. Mohammed himself remained, hoping that thus he might
turn the wrath of the idolaters upon himself and protect the flight of
his children.
Presently, however, came information that forty men, one from each
tribe, had sworn together to take his life; and forthwith Mohammed with
Abu Bekr, his devoted friend, departed one dark night and shook off the
dust of Mecca from his feet. Danger was so near that they dared not
take the path to Medina, but made their way to a mountain, on whose
rocky summit they found a small cave into which they crept at dawn of
day.
Knowing what the end of the pursuit would mean, Abu began to lose
nerve, and asked, "What if our pursuers should find our cave? We are
but two."
"We are three," was the calm reply: "Allah is with us!"
Legend says that the pursuers actually approached the mouth of the cave
and were about to investigate it. But in the early hours of the day
Allah had caused a tree to grow up before it, a spider to weave its web
across it, and a wild pigeon, most timid of birds, to lay {25} eggs in
a nest made in the branches; and the searchers, seeing these things,
declared it impossible that any one could be within. A faithful friend
provided them in secret with food and milk, and on the third night they
began the journey to Medina.
"He is come! He is come!" cried the Faithful in Medina, flocking to
meet the wayworn travellers as they entered the city.
And thus a new chapter was opened in the history of Islam.
{26}
CHAPTER II
Mohammed as Conqueror
_He is come to ope
The purple testament of bleeding war._
SHAKESPEARE: _Richard II._
The year which marked Mohammed's triumphant entry into Medina is known
in the Mohammedan world as the _Hegira_, and counts as the Year One in
their calendar--the year from which all others are reckoned. For the
first time the faith of Islam was preached openly, and the claim of
Mohammed to be merely _one_ of the "prophets" gave place to a demand
for acknowledgment as the chief of all, a demand calculated to arouse
the antagonism of all other existing forms of religion. The other
important development of his teaching at this time was that all
faithful Moslems--the followers of the Prophet--must entirely abstain
from the use of intoxicating drink.
Moreover, though at first Mohammed (possibly to please the Jews in
Medina) had commanded that at the hour of prayer every Moslem should
turn his face towards Jerusalem, in course of time, when he began to
see the impossibility of uniting the Jewish believers with those of
Islam, he suddenly, after the usual prostration, turned towards the
Temple at Mecca. From that moment down to the present day the Moslem,
wherever {27} he is, follows this example at the fivefold hour of
prayer.
At Medina, Mohammed married the young girl Ayesha, and, as permitted by
the Moslem faith, soon brought other wives to the simply built house by
the mosque which he and his converts were building just outside the
city. Yet, though a man of fifty-three, the Prophet by no means
intended to pass the rest of his life in ease and domestic comfort. He
had been forced by violence to flee from Mecca. He now conceived it
his duty to make himself master of his native city by means of the
sword.
The sons of the desert are born fighters, and whether his motive was to
enforce the Moslem faith at the peril of the sword, or merely to assert
his personal rights, the fact remains that he had no difficulty
whatever in rallying to his standard a small though most enthusiastic
army.
An attempt to seize a rich caravan belonging to a merchant of Mecca was
the signal for battle. The forces of Mecca, hastily gathered, went out
against the Moslem host, and, after hard fighting, were dispersed.
There was joy in Medina when the "swift dromedary" of the Prophet
appeared at the house of prayer and the news was made known; but in
Mecca was bitter hatred and woe, fitly expressed in the grim words of
the wife of the slain leader of the caravan: "Not till ye again wage
war against Mohammed and his fellows shall tears flow from my eyes! If
tears would wash away grief, I would now weep, even as ye; but with me
it is not so!"
From that time Mohammed gave up all pretence of winning converts by
peaceable methods; {28} henceforth he was to live and die a man of the
sword. Deterioration of character was a more or less natural outcome
of this change. It may have been necessary to invent visions in order
to convince the ignorant people of Medina that their victory was due,
not to their own strength, but to the aid of the angels of Allah, who
would always fight upon their side; but we cannot say the same of the
applause, given openly by Mohammed in the mosque, to the cold-blooded
murderer of a woman who had composed some verses throwing doubt upon
the right of the Prophet to glory in the death of the men of his own
tribe. Nor was this the only instance of revenge and cruelty. It was
but too clear that Mohammed, from a calm and peaceful prophet, had been
transformed into a warlike chieftain, bent on subduing all others to
his will. When Mecca declared battle, he went out to the field, clad
in full armour, sword in hand. At first all went well with the
Moslems. Then Mohammed was struck in the mouth and cheek, and a cry
went up, "The Prophet is slain! Where is now the promise of Allah?"
Their cry was drowned in the triumphant shouts of the men of Mecca,
"War hath its revenge; Allah is for us--not for you!"
The day was lost; and it needed all the Prophet's ingenuity to account
for it satisfactorily to those whom he had so often assured of the
certain protection of Allah. From that time possibly dates the belief
of the Moslems that he who dies in battle against the unbeliever is so
certain of the joys of Paradise that it is the survivor rather than the
slain who should be pitied.
Meantime, before the contest with Mecca could be {29} finally settled,
Mohammed undertook to crush, once for all, the Jewish power in Arabia.
It seems strange that there should have been such hostility between
Jews and Moslems, seeing that both claimed the God of Abraham as the
object of their worship; but this was now lost sight of in view of the
natural refusal of the former to acknowledge Mohammed as the chief of
all prophets, and his sacred book, the Koran, as superior to their
"Book of the Law," the Old Testament. By dint of persecuting those who
dwelt within the walls of Medina, and of besieging their cities
elsewhere, Mohammed compelled the Jews to migrate to Syria, leaving
their abandoned lands and cities to him. The event finds special
mention in the Koran.
"Allah it is who drove out the People of the Book, _(the Jews_), who
believed not, to join the former exiles. Ye thought not they would go
forth; verily, _they_ thought that their fortresses would defend them
against Allah; but Allah came upon them from a quarter unexpected and
covered their hearts with dread."
Soon after this event, Ali, his faithful nephew, was still more closely
united with Mohammed by his marriage with Fatima, the Prophet's
daughter; and thus he of whom Mohammed was wont to say, "I am the city
of wisdom, but Ali is its door," was joined to one of the "four perfect
women" spoken of by the Prophet.
It was now six years since Mohammed had left Mecca, during which time
he had never ceased to yearn and plan for his triumphant return. The
Kaaba, save for its idols, was sacred to him as the home of the worship
of Allah, and his heart was bitter within him when he reflected that he
and his followers had been so long forbidden the yearly pilgrimage
thither. So he {30} determined to put the temper of the Meccans to the
test by making a pilgrimage, with a sufficient number of followers to
resist any aggressive act of hostility. As they approached the sacred
borders, the camel of Mohammed refused to go further. "The creature is
obstinate and weary," said the Moslems. "Not so," answered Mohammed,
"the hand of Allah restrains her. If the Meccans make any demand of me
this day, I will grant it. Let the caravan halt." "There is no water
here," they cried in dismay, "how shall we halt?" But Mohammed ordered
that a dried-up well should be opened, and at once water bubbled up to
the surface.
Still more surprised were the Moslems, all of whom were burning to
fight, when they found the Prophet quietly accepting the terms offered
by the men of Mecca, when they promised to permit future pilgrimages,
though they would not allow him to enter the city on that occasion.
Once recognised by his own birthplace, Mohammed determined to bring
about his most ambitious project, and to summon all the kingdoms of the
earth to acknowledge Islam.
He even had a signet-ring engraved with the words "Mohammed, the
Apostle of Allah," and, in a spirit of sublime self-confidence, sent it
to the King of Persia, to the Byzantine Emperor Heraclius, and to the
rulers of Syria, Abyssinia, and Egypt. Nothing came of it, of course,
and meantime the earlier desire of his heart had been gratified. The
pilgrimage to Mecca had been undertaken in safety, and the Prophet had
worshipped after the manner of Islam within the very walls of the
sacred Kaaba.
That same year saw the Moslems on the march against {31} the forces of
Rome herself. One of the Prophet's envoys had been put to death by the
Christian chieftain of a Syrian tribe, which was under Roman rule; and
the little Moslem army at once set out from Medina to avenge him.
Little did Mohammed know of the Roman military power when he sent forth
his men with such high words of courage. The Moslem troops advanced,
crying "Paradise! how fair is thy resting-place! Cold is the water
there and sweet the shade! Rome! Rome! The hour of thy woe draweth
nigh! When we close with her, we shall hurl her to the dust."
Instead of this, a discomfited rabble made their way back to Medina in
hot haste, to be received with cries of "Oh, runaways! Do ye indeed
flee before the enemy when fighting for Allah?"
Nor did the conquest of several wandering desert tribes soothe the
wounded pride of the Prophet. He could only be consoled by his next
project of making himself master of Mecca, the Holy City, itself. He
was strong enough now to put ten thousand of his followers in the
field, and with these, after a rapid and secret march, he encamped on
the hills above the city, where his ten thousand twinkling watch-fires
could strike terror into the hearts of the inhabitants. That night a
chieftain of the men of Mecca, going forth in the darkness to
reconnoitre the enemy, was captured and brought before the Prophet.
Threatened with death, he agreed to embrace the faith of Islam, and was
forthwith sent back to his city with this message:--
"Every Meccan who is found in thy dwelling; all who take refuge in the
Kaaba; and whosoever shutteth the door of his own house upon his
family, shall be safe: haste thee home!"
{32}
The army followed hard upon his heels, fearing treachery; but the
new-made convert kept faith; and when they entered Mecca, it was like a
city of the dead.
The first act of Mohammed was to destroy the idols in the Kaaba, and to
sound the call for prayer from its summit. But except in the case of a
few rebellious spirits, no blood was shed, and no cruelty shown to
those who had once been his persecutors. The chiefs of the Meccans
indeed came before him, fearing the worst; and of them he asked, "What
can you expect at my hands?"
"Mercy, O generous brother," they answered.
"Be it so; ye are free!" was the Prophet's reply.
"Thus, after an exile of seven years, the fugitive missionary was
enthroned as the Prince and Prophet of his native country."[1]
[1] Gibbon.
In the years that followed his triumphant possession of Mecca, all the
tribes and cities from the Euphrates to the head of the Red Sea
submitted to Mohammed, who thus became the founder of a new empire as
well as of a new religion. Many of these tribes were Christian, and to
them the Prophet always showed the utmost kindness and toleration for
their worship. As the enemies of the hated Jews they had a special
claim on his favour; and it was no doubt to his own advantage to be on
good terms with a religion destined to be the most powerful in the
world.
During the last four years of his life the strength of the Prophet
began to flag under the incessant demands made upon it. He was now
over sixty years of age, and, just as he was proposing to undertake a
new raid {33} into Roman territory, he was attacked by a high fever.
Recovering for a time, he appeared once more in the mosque at the time
of prayer. Returning to his couch, his great and increasing weakness
warned him that the end was near.
"O God, pardon my sins!" he faltered. "Yes--I come--among my
fellow-citizens on high."
Thus he died, in the tenth year after the Hegira.
{34}
CHAPTER III
The Spread of Islam
_Swift and resistless through the land he passed,
Like that bold Greek who did the East subdue,
And made to battles such heroic haste
As if on wings of victory he flew._
DRYDEN: _On Cromwell._
Of those sovereigns visited by the envoys of Mohammed and bidden to
give their allegiance to the Prophet, was Khosru, King of Persia, who,
in utter disdain of such a demand, tore the letter to pieces.
"Beware, O king," said the messenger as he departed, "for in the days
to come your kingdom shall be treated as you have treated the written
words of the Prophet."
The idea of an unknown sect from an Arabian desert attacking the power
of the "Great King" seemed preposterous to those who heard, for Persia
was then at the height of one of her spasmodic periods of success.
Some eighteen years before the envoy of Islam appeared at his court the
king had covered his empire with glory by the capture of Jerusalem (611
A.D.), then in the hands of Rome, and inhabited chiefly by Christians.
On this occasion the Jews throughout Palestine rose on his behalf with
the object of exterminating the Christians, ninety {35} thousand of
whom are said to have perished. "Every Christian church was
demolished, that of the Holy Sepulchre was the object of furious
hatred; the stately building of Helena and Constantine was abandoned to
the flames; the devout offerings of three hundred years were rifled in
one sacrilegious day."[1] Fortunately for future ages, the great
church, built by the pious Helena over the place where the body of
Christ had lain, was not entirely destroyed; but--a worse blow still to
the Christian inhabitants--the True Cross was taken from its sacred
hiding place and carried Into Persia.
[1] Milman.
Egypt had also fallen into the hands of the conquering Khosru, when at
length Heraclius, the Emperor of the East, "slumbering on the throne of
Constantinople," awoke, drove the Persian from Syria and Egypt,
restored the ruined churches of Jerusalem, and brought back in triumph
the Cross to the Holy City.
The preceding year had seen the fall of Khosru, and peace concluded
between the Empires of Rome and Persia; eight years later Jerusalem was
in the hands of the Saracens (637 A.D.).
The years intervening between this event and the death of Mohammed had
been utilised by the sons of Islam in making a series of conquests,
which seem well-nigh miraculous. We can indeed only account for them
by the fact that the contest was between a race of fighters, stirred by
their new faith to a perfect frenzy of enthusiasm, and the remnants of
Empires far gone in decay.
Yet, even so, there was no light task. Chaldaea and Babylonia, perhaps
the most ancient empires in the world, fell before the sword of Islam
only after a long {36} and terrible struggle. The bloodshed on both
sides was appalling, but the ever-increasing numbers of Moslems were
always providing fresh recruits, eager to win victory or Paradise.
Even when they were less numerous than their enemies, they more than
made up for it by the determination and obstinacy of their attacks.
Emboldened by this success, the Saracens flung themselves upon the
Empire of Persia. Three months after the great battle of Cadesia, the
"white palace" of Khosru was in their hands, and the remnants of the
Persian hosts had fled before them.
The story of Harmozan, the Prince of Susa, Persia's most important
city, shows the craft of the native Persian, and the binding nature of
the Islamite promise. Brought before Omar the Caliph of Islam,
stripped of his gorgeous robes, bullied and insulted, Harmozan
complained of intolerable thirst. They brought him a cup of water,
which he eyed askance.
"What ails the man?" cried Omar. "I fear, my lord, lest I be killed
even as I drink," confessed Harmozan. "Be of good courage," replied
the Caliph, "your life is safe till you have drunk the water."
Instantly the crafty ruler dashed the cup to the ground, and when Omar
would have avenged his deceit, the bystanders promptly reminded him
that the word of a Moslem is as sacred as an oath. Harmozan was
liberated, and became speedily a convert to a religion which taught so
well how to "keep faith."
While these conquests were being made in the East, the forces of Omar
had been making equal progress in the West.
Palestine was their destination, and Damascus, that {37} famous city,
the centre of immense trade, their first prey.
From thence they advanced upon Jerusalem, taking town after town on the
way. A siege of four months convinced the Christian Patriarch that it
was hopeless to hold out longer. All he now demanded was that Omar
himself should come to take possession, on the ground that it was
written in the sacred book of the Jews that the city should one day
fall into the hands of a king having but four letters in his name.
In Arabia the word "Omar" fulfilled this condition, and forthwith the
Caliph arrived, in the plainest garb, riding upon a camel, and bearing
with him his pouch of grain and dates and his skin of water.
To meet him came the chieftains he had sent out two years before, clad
in the rich cloths of Damascus.
"Is it thus ye come before me?" cried Omar in disgust, throwing a
handful of sand in their faces. Dismayed for a moment, they
recollected themselves, and, opening their gorgeous robes, revealed the
armour beneath.
"Enough!" cried the Caliph. "Go forward!"
The terms arranged were by no means harsh, though clearly marking the
inferior position of the conquered Christians. No crosses were to be
shown, nor church bells rung in the street. A Christian must rise and
stand in the presence of a Moslem. The latter might practise his
religion and use his church undisturbed; but the great mosque of Omar
was to rise over the ruined altar of the temple and over the sacred
stone upon which the patriarch Jacob had once rested his head.
Strange as it may seem, the two races settled down side by side in
peace and friendship. Both acknowledged {38} the holiness of the
Israelites of old, whose bones lay buried in the neighbourhood of the
Holy City. Within its walls the Mohammedans treated with respect, if
not with reverence, the worship of Him whom they regarded as a prophet
not far inferior to their own. Thus four centuries rolled quietly
away, until the old distinction between conquerors and conquered had
almost ceased to exist, and pilgrims from all parts of Christendom were
welcomed by Christian and Moslem alike.
Meantime the forces of Islam threatened to overrun the greater part of
the known world. The Saracens "rode masters of the sea," throughout
the Greek archipelago; their sway was recognised towards the East up to
the sources of the Euphrates and Tigris, to the North they had spread
over Asia Minor deep to the very walls of Constantinople, the seat of
the Eastern Empire.
Egypt was conquered by Amrou, one of the most famous generals of the
Caliph Omar. With Egypt fell Alexandria, a city renowned for its
learning, and especially for its magnificent library, through the
civilised world.
"I have taken," Amrou told the Caliph, "the great city of the West. It
contains four thousand palaces, four thousand baths, four hundred
theatres or places of amusement, twelve thousand shops for the sale of
vegetable food, and forty thousand tributary Jews. The town has been
subdued by force of arms, without treaty or capitulation, and the
Moslems are impatient to seize the fruits of their victory."
Fortunately for the inhabitants, who were the last to be referred to,
Omar would not allow slaughter or pillage. But if the tale be true,
the fate of the famous library of Alexandria shows very clearly the
narrow limits of Saracen culture in those days.
{39}
A learned scholar of the city, who had won the liking and respect of
Amrou, entreated that the library might be given over to him, as the
Moslems would have no use for it. The question was referred to Omar,
who replied, "If these writings of the Greeks agree with the Book of
God, they are useless, and need not be preserved; if they disagree,
they are harmful, and should be destroyed." And forthwith the priceless
volumes were committed to the flames.
Six years later (647 A.D.) the warrior Othman accomplished the conquest
of Northern Africa; and a little more than sixty years later, a small
expedition of Saracens crossed the Straits of Gibraltar and set foot in
Spain. Their leader, Tarif, gave his name to the place (Tarifa) where
he landed, and likewise to the "tariff" or "duty" levied upon the
vessels which passed through the straits.
At Xeres they were met by Roderick, the "last of the Goths," who was
killed, and whose army was put to flight by the forces of the Saracens,
or Moors as they were called after their settlement in Mauretania or
Morocco, just across the straits. But the conquest of Spain by the
Moors, teeming as it is with romantic interest, is too long to be
related here, and we must retrace our steps to the East.
By the end of the first half of the eighth century, and only a little
over a hundred years after Mohammed's death, the Saracens had brought
their career of conquest almost to an end, and were firmly established
as "the most potent and absolute monarchs of the globe." One
determined attempt, indeed, was made during the latter half of the
century to take Constantinople, the capital of the Eastern Empire. A
battle was fought beneath the {40} walls of the city, and the Saracens
were victorious; but they were prevailed upon to retire on the promise
of an immense yearly tribute.
The beginning of the ninth century saw the Eastern and Western worlds
ruled respectively by those two famous monarchs of history and romance,
Haroun-Al-Raschid and Charlemagne. The first is familiar to most of us
through the enchanting pages of the _Arabian Nights_, but history
unfortunately gives us a darker portrait of the renowned Caliph,
painting him as a jealous and selfish tyrant. He was, however, a
patron of literature and of art, which distinguishes him from his
predecessors, who were merely warriors. He could fight, too, on
occasion, both with tongue and sword. A new Emperor of Constantinople
chose to refuse the tribute promised by the late Empress in these words.
"Nicephorus, King of the Greeks, to Haroun, King of the Arabs.
"The late Queen was too humble; she submitted to pay tribute to you,
though she should have exacted twice as much from you. A man speaks to
you now; therefore send back the tribute you have received, otherwise
the sword shall be umpire between me and thee."
The Caliph replied in unmistakable terms--
"In the name of Allah, most merciful!"
"Haroun-al-Raschid, Commander of the Faithful, to Nicephorus, the Roman
dog.
"I have read thy letter, O thou son of an unbelieving mother! Thou
shalt not hear, but thou shalt see my reply."
[Illustration: _Pilgrims of the XIth Century journeying to the Holy
City_]
Forthwith a huge force crossed over into the domains {43} of
Nicephorus, and only the promise to pay the tribute twice, instead of
once a year, induced the Caliph to withdraw his forces.
To us, however, the most interesting incident of his reign is the link
that was forged between East and West when the great Haroun courteously
received the ambassadors of Charlemagne at his court in Bagdad. He may
have been prompted only by a desire to obtain the Great Emperor of the
West as his ally against the Emperor of the Eastern Empire, but there
seems little doubt that Haroun actually sent to Charlemagne the keys of
the Holy Places at Jerusalem, declaring that the city belonged first
and foremost to the Champion of Christendom.
Charlemagne did not hesitate to avail himself of this generosity.
Fifty years later, a monk of Brittany, named Bernard the Wise,
described how he was lodged at the hospital of the most glorious
Emperor Charles, wherein are received all pilgrims who speak Latin, and
who come for a religious reason. There, too, he discovered the fine
library founded by Charlemagne close by, in the Church of the Blessed
Virgin. He speaks in high terms of the relations existing between
Christians and Moslems, both at Jerusalem and in Egypt.
"The Christians and Pagans," he says, "have there such peace between
them that, if I should go a journey, and in this journey my camel or
ass which carried my burdens should die, and I should leave everything
there without a guard, and go to the next town to get another, on my
return I should find all my property untouched."
Thus, in peace and security, the long stream of pilgrims from the West
flowed towards the Holy City until the beginning of the eleventh
century. Then came, {44} quite suddenly, a terrible interval of
persecution. The reigning Caliph, El Hakim, became, as he grew up, a
fierce and fanatical madman. Inflamed, it is said, by the report of
the Jews, who warned him that unless he put a stop to the crowds of
pilgrims he would soon find himself without a kingdom, he instituted a
fierce persecution of the Christians, and commanded that the Church of
the Holy Sepulchre should be destroyed. Another furious outburst was
directed against the Jews themselves, as well as the Christians. Many
were killed, and many of their churches laid low.
Just before his end a fit of remorse seized El Hakim, and he commanded
that the churches of the Christians should be restored. Before he
could again change his mind, he was assassinated by command of his own
sister, as being a dangerous madman.
A brief interval of toleration followed, which was but the lull before
the storm; for an outbreak of terrible persecution was to come, an
outbreak which was the immediate cause of the First Crusade.
{45}
CHAPTER IV
The Rise of Chivalry
_A knight there was, and that a worthy man,
That fro the tyme that he first began
To riden out, he loved chivalrie,
Trouthe and honour, freedom and curteisie._
CHAUCER: _The Prologue._
During the interval of comparative peace that followed the downfall of
the mad Caliph Hakim, a new spirit of religious devotion began to
awaken in Christendom.
This was, to a large extent, a reaction from a truly "dark age"--the
period which immediately preceded the end of the tenth century. Famine
and pestilence had devastated Europe, and had resulted in absolute
demoralisation of the population. Travellers went their way in fear
not only of robbery, but of a far worse fate. It was whispered that
men, women and children had been waylaid in forest depths, torn to
pieces, and devoured alive by human wild beasts. The Church, in her
efforts to bring about a better state of things, resorted to counsels
of despair, and began to preach, in every part of Christendom, that the
end of the world was at hand, and that the appointed time was the
thousandth year after the birth of Christ.
The result was an outburst of intense religious {46} excitement which
did much to check the progress of evil and outrage. It had a practical
outcome, too, as is seen in that curious institution known as the Truce
of God. In joining this, every knight took an oath not to commit
sacrilege; to treat all travellers with respect; to "keep the peace"
during the sacred days of each week--that is, from Wednesday evening to
Monday morning; not to fight for purposes of private revenge, and
always to defend and keep sacred the persons of women. Here we have
clearly the foundation of that spirit of chivalry which plays such a
prominent part in the Story of the Crusades.
The appointed time for the end of the world came and went, but the
spirit of devotion remained. A new interest was awakened in the scenes
of the life-work of the Saviour, and crowds of pilgrims, young and old,
of all ranks and professions, hastened to undertake the long and
toilsome journey to the Holy Land.
Many of these suffered under the persecution of Hakim; and even after
his time, though no active measures were taken against them, they were
not received with the favour shown in former days. But this only added
zest to the enterprise. To visit the Church of the Holy Tomb, and to
return and build a church in his own land, became the ambition of every
man of wealth and high rank; while the poor palmer, with his staff and
hat decorated with palm sprigs or cockle-shells, became a well-known
figure upon the roads of every country in Europe.
Says a writer of that day, "At the time there begun to flow towards the
Holy Sepulchre so great a multitude as, ere this, no man could have
hoped for. First of all went the poorer folk, then men of middle rank,
{47} and lastly, very many kings and counts, marquises and bishops;
aye, and a thing that had never happened before, many women bent their
steps in the same direction."
Things were made a little easier for them by the conversion of the Huns
to Christianity; for this enabled the pilgrims to pass along the land
route through Hungary instead of crossing the Mediterranean and
travelling through Egypt.
Robert the Magnificent, the father of William, the future "Conqueror,"
was among these eleventh century pilgrims, and he, like many another,
died before he could return home.
Sweyn, the eldest and worst of the sons of Godwin, was another; and
Eldred, Bishop of York in the days of William the Conqueror, made the
little realm of England famous at Jerusalem by his gift before the Holy
Sepulchre of a wonderful golden chalice.
Side by side with this spirit of religious zeal there grew up and
developed that remarkable body of sentiment and custom known as
chivalry.
Chivalry has been described as the "whole duty of a gentleman"; and
when we realise the condition of barbarism, brutality, and vice out of
which even Western Christendom was only just emerging in the eleventh
century, we can see how important was the work it had to do. Religion,
Honour, Courtesy--those were the three watchwords of the knight of
chivalry, and they covered a wide area of conduct.
The education of a knight began at the age of seven, and commenced with
the personal service, which was regarded in those days as a privilege.
The small boy was proud to hold the wine-cup behind the chair of {48}
his lord, or his stirrup when he rode on horseback. For the next seven
years, though much of his time was spent in waiting upon the ladies of
the household, who taught him reading, writing, music, and the laws of
chivalry, he also learnt the duties of a squire--how to hunt and hawk,
and to look after the kennels and the stables. At the age of fourteen
the boy might be called a squire, when his duty, in addition to those
mentioned, would be to carve for his lord at table, tasting the food
first himself for fear of poison; and also, of course, to attend upon
him at all times. Thus he had to arm him for battle, to see that his
weapons were in perfect condition, to fight by his side, and to lie
before his door while he slept.
When the squire had mastered all his duties and obligations, he had
then to "win his spurs," that is, to perform some deed of valour that
should prove him worthy of knighthood.
The ceremony of girding on his armour was largely a religious one. The
whole of the previous night was spent by him on his knees with his
sword held upright between his hands, before the altar upon which his
armour was laid. Thus he dedicated himself by prayer and fasting to
the service of God, and on the morrow was solemnly consecrated by the
Church to his high office, before the armour was actually buckled on.
This last part of the ceremony was the privilege of some fair damsel,
to whom the knight was bound to give devotion and respect. "To do the
pleasure of ladies was his chief solace and the mainspring of his
service."
Another of the features of chivalry was that of "brotherhood-in-arms,"
by which two knights vowed {49} eternal faith and love to one another.
They dressed alike, wore similar armour, prayed together, supported
each other in battle and in any kind of quarrel, and had the same
friends and enemies.
That their devotion to the rules of chivalry was a very real thing is
proved over and over again by the conduct of the knights who took part
in the Crusades. It is well expressed by Tristan, in one of the most
famous romances of the chivalric age. As he lay dying, he said to his
squire, "I take leave of chivalry which I have so much loved and
honoured. Alas! my sword, what wilt thou do now? Wilt thou hear,
Sagremor, the most shameful word that ever passed the lips of Tristan?
I am conquered. I give thee my arms, I give thee my chivalry."
It took many a long year to bring to perfection this great institution,
with all its rules and regulations, and chivalry was but in its infancy
when the First Crusade began. The two movements developed together,
and many a chivalric lesson was learnt by the knights of Christendom
from the Moslems of the East. Perhaps, however, one of the most marked
effects of the Crusades upon this greatest of mediæval institutions was
the welding together of the various nations of Europe in a common
knighthood, bound by the same rules and codes of honour, and fighting
for the same cause.
"All wars and brigandage came to an end. The Crusade, like the rain,
stilled the wind."
Out of this combination of the spirit of chivalry, with that of the
Crusades themselves, sprang certain military orders, which play a very
prominent part in the history of the time.
{50}
The first of these was known as the Order of the Knights Hospitallers.
About the middle of the eleventh century a guest-house or "hospital,"
where pilgrims could be entertained, was established by a company of
Italian merchants, in connection with the Church of St Mary, opposite
that of the Holy Sepulchre, in Jerusalem. This hospital, dedicated to
St John, was managed by Benedictine monks, under one called the
"Guardian of the Redeemer's Poor." When the First Crusade was over,
its hero, Godfrey of Boulogne, visited the place and found that these
good monks had devoted themselves during the siege of Jerusalem to the
care of the sick and wounded Christians, giving them the best of all
they possessed, and living themselves in the utmost poverty. Godfrey
at once endowed the Hospital of St John with lands and money, and set
up one Gerard as its first Grand Master. A new and splendid church was
built for the monks, and a habit or dress was prescribed for their use,
consisting of a black robe with a cross of eight points in white linen
upon it--the famous Maltese Cross of later days.
Early in the twelfth century, this company of priests and holy laymen
was changed by its second Grand Master into a military order, bound to
carry on the same kind of charitable work in tending the sick and
wounded, but specially to defend the Holy Sepulchre by force of arms.
Many of this order of "Brothers" had been originally knights who had
retired from the world and taken religious vows; hence it was said that
the changes merely "gave back to the brethren the arms that they had
quitted." These were now distinguished from the rest by a red surcoat
with the white cross worn over armour.
{51}
Except for the obligation of fighting the vows were not changed, and
these Knights Hospitallers owed the same allegiance to the three-fold
laws of obedience, chastity, and poverty as ordinary monks. The
brethren were to be the "servants of the poor"; no member could call
anything his own; he might not marry; he could use arms only against
the Saracen; but he was independent of any authority save that of the
Pope.
This Order became immensely popular; in the thirteenth century it
numbered fifteen thousand knights, many of them drawn from the noblest
houses of Christendom; and it is much to its credit that, at a time
when chivalry had become little more than a name, it upheld the old
traditions even when it had been driven from Palestine, and forced to
find a new home for itself at Rhodes. Driven from thence in the
sixteenth century, the Knights of St John were settled by the Emperor
Charles V. at Malta, where they remained until the days of the French
Revolution.
The Order of the Knights Templars was founded early in the twelfth
century by Baldwin, then King of Jerusalem, as a "perpetual sacred
soldiery," whose special object was to defend the Holy Sepulchre and
the passes infested by brigands which led the pilgrims to Jerusalem.
Their headquarters was a building granted them by Baldwin, close to the
temple on Mt. Moriah. War was their first and most important business,
though they were bound by their rule to a certain amount of prayer and
fasting. The latter was, however, easily relaxed, and "to drink like a
Templar" became a proverb.
In every battle of the Holy War these two Orders took a prominent part;
the post of honour on the {52} right being claimed by the Templars,
that on the left by the Hospitallers. Unlike most other knights, the
Templars wore long beards, and from their dress of white, with a large
red cross upon it, they gained the title of the Red-Cross Knights.
You will, no doubt, remember that Spenser's knight in the first book of
the Faery Queene was of that order.
_And on his breast a bloudy cross he bore
In dear remembrance of his dying lord._
Their banner was half black, half white; "fair and favourable to the
friends of Christ, black and terrible to His foes."
These Knights Templars, by their arrogance and independence, made for
themselves many enemies, and early in the fourteenth century they were
strongly opposed by Philip of France. By this time they were
established in various parts of Europe, and one of their most powerful
"houses" was the building known as the "Temple" in Paris, the members
of which openly defied the authority of the king.
With some difficulty the consent of a weak Pope was obtained for their
destruction. On a given day, when the Grand Master and most of his
knights were staying in France, every Templar in the country was
seized, imprisoned, and tortured until he had confessed crimes, many of
which he probably had never imagined in his wildest moments. More than
five hundred were burnt alive, as a preliminary to the Order being
declared extinct. Whether the Templars deserved their terrible fate
may well be a matter of doubt, though public opinion, in their own day,
was decidedly against them. It is generally considered that Philip's
treatment of {53} an order, the members of which had again and again
laid down their lives for the cause of God, ranks as one of the
blackest crimes of history.
There is a legend to the effect that on each anniversary of the
suppression of the Order, the heads of seven of the martyred Templars
rise from their graves to meet a phantom figure clad in the red-cross
mantle. The latter cries three times, "Who shall now defend the Holy
Temple? Who shall free the Sepulchre of the Lord?"
And the seven heads make mournful reply, "None! The Temple is
destroyed."
The Temple Church, in London, was originally built for the English
branch of this great Order, the members of which in England, as well as
in Spain and Germany, were almost all acquitted of the charges brought
against them.
But we must now return to the period prior to the foundation of these
two great Orders, with which are associated most of the gallant deeds
of the Holy War.
{54}
CHAPTER V
The Story of Peter the Hermit
_Great troops of people travelled thitherward
Both day and night, of each degree and place
But Jew returned, having 'scaped hard
With hateful beggary or foul disgrace._
SPENSER: _Faery Queene._
Some twenty years after the death of Hakim, the countries round about
the Holy Land began to be harassed by a new and terrible foe. From
far-off Turkestan had migrated a fierce fighting tribe, the descendants
of one Seljuk, and known to history as the Seljukian Turks. Wherever
they went they conquered, until half-way through the eleventh century,
their leader drove out the Saracen rulers of Bagdad and made himself
Caliph.
His successor was converted to Islam, and with added power, swept over
Asia Minor and settled in the city of Nicæa, in threatening proximity
to Constantinople.
This invasion was the more terrible in that it brought in its train a
relapse to barbarism, for these Turks were barbarians, hordes of
robbers and brigands, who cared for nothing but plunder and violence.
Alexios, the weak Emperor of the Eastern Empire, quailed at their
approach, and looked on in terror at the spectacle of Christian
churches destroyed and Christian {55} children sold into slavery. But
he appealed in vain for aid to the kingdom of the West. To unite
Western Christendom against a far-off foe was a task beyond the powers
of the tottering Empire of the East.
That inspiration, however, was at hand. In 1076, the Seljukian Turks
conquered Jerusalem, and at once began a reign of terror for Christian
inhabitants and pilgrims. The Patriarch, or Bishop of Jerusalem, was
dragged through the street by his white hair, and flung into a dungeon,
until his people could gather a sum sufficient to pay his ransom. The
holiest sacrament of the Church was profaned by the barbarians, who
invaded the buildings and insisted upon sharing in the rite. Pilgrims
were stripped and beaten on the roads and passes that led to the Holy
City; many suffered martyrdom as they knelt before the Holy Tomb. Out
of seven thousand who set out from Germany in one year, only two
thousand returned to tell a tale of cruel murder and outrage. The
marvel is that such a terrible state of things was allowed to exist so
long, without anything being done to remedy it. Pope Gregory VII.
(Hildebrand) did indeed gather an army in the latter part of the
eleventh century, but his energy was dissipated in the hopeless task of
asserting the power of the Pope over the Emperor, and his army was
eventually dispersed.
Robert Guiscard, the Norman, actually crossed the sea with his troops
in 1081, when death overtook him; and for a time the unhappy pilgrims
seemed to be left to their fate. Then suddenly was heard a "voice
calling in the wilderness," the voice of one who was to be the herald
of the First Crusade.
The story goes that a certain poor hermit named Peter, a native of the
French city of Amiens, set out to {56} go to Jerusalem in the year
1098. He had, like every one else, heard of the horrors he might be
called upon to endure, but pushed on, undeterred, until, possibly
because of his poverty, he arrived safely within the Holy City. He
found the condition of things even worse than he expected. The very
stones of the great church were stained with the blood of the martyrs;
the cries of tortured women rang in his ears; the patriarch Simeon
confessed that he had lost heart and was little better than a slave in
the Moslem's hands. It was clear that the Emperor of the East, their
proper protector, would never act up to his responsibilities. To whom,
then, could they look for aid?
"The nations of the West shall take up arms in your cause," cried the
dauntless Peter, and he forthwith promised to visit the Pope and obtain
his help and sympathy on his return journey, if the Patriarch would
give him letters to the Church of Rome.
That night, says the legend, Peter meant to spend in watching at the
tomb of the Saviour, and there he fell asleep. And as he slept, the
figure of the Redeemer stood before him, and with hand outstretched,
bade him hasten to fulfil his great task, saying, "So shalt thou make
known the woes of My people, and rouse the faithful to cleanse the Holy
Places from the infidel; for through danger and trial of every kind
shall the elect now enter the gates of Paradise."
With these words ringing in his ears, the Hermit at once hurried to the
coast and sailed for Italy. He came before Pope Urban II. at the very
time when the envoys of the Emperor of Constantinople were knocking
very hard at the doors of Rome. Urban therefore did not hesitate to
bless the enterprise of Peter, and to {57} bid him go forth and preach
a Crusade in his own way.
To induce kings, princes, and nobles, to leave their lands and go to
fight in a cause from which they could gain no apparent profit, needed
considerable time, and Urban himself undertook the difficult task. But
he was wise enough to see that the peculiar power of Peter the Hermit
could be used in stirring up the ordinary people, the simple-minded and
the poor, to take up arms for the cause of Christ. So, as a writer of
his own time puts it, "The hermit set out, from whence I know not, but
we saw him passing through the towns and villages, preaching
everywhere, and the people surrounding him in crowds, loading him with
offerings and celebrating his sanctity with such great praises that I
never remember such honour bestowed on any one."
Throughout Italy and France and along the banks of the Rhine journeyed
the strange inspired figure, with head and feet bare, his thin frame
wrapped in a coarse cloak, holding before him a great crucifix as he
rode upon an ass.
"He preached to innumerable crowds in the churches, the streets and the
highways; the Hermit entered with equal confidence the palace and the
cottage; and the people were impetuously moved by his call to
repentance and to arms. When he painted the sufferings of the natives
and pilgrims of Palestine, every heart was melted to compassion; every
breast glowed with indignation when he challenged the warriors of the
age to defend their brethren and rescue their Saviour."[1]
[1] Gibbon.
While Southern Europe was thus being stirred to enthusiasm by being
brought into personal contact with {58} one who had seen for himself
the woes of the Holy Land, Pope Urban had already called a council to
consider the matter in a practical form. At this Council of Placentia,
however, the chief part of the attention of those present was drawn to
the representations of the Greek Emperor, on whose behalf ambassadors
pleaded the cause of the city of Constantinople. If that city fell
before the threatened onslaught of the Turks, they said, Christianity
must perish for ever in the East, and nothing but a narrow stretch of
sea kept the Moslems from the gates of the capital city of the Eastern
Empire.
At these words the deepest sympathy was expressed, but it was suggested
that the best way of succouring the threatened city was to draw off the
attention of the Turks by an attack upon Palestine itself. This was
just what Urban desired. A definite march upon Jerusalem would fire
the imaginations of men of all ranks far more than an attempt to defend
Constantinople before it was actually besieged. The old jealousy
between the Eastern and Western Empire had to be reckoned with; and the
Emperor Alexios was no heroic figure to stand for the Cause of Christ.
The whole question, was, therefore, deferred until the autumn of 1095,
when a Council was summoned at Clermont in France.
That dull November day witnessed a most striking scene. The vast open
square in front of the Cathedral was crammed with people of all classes
drawn from all quarters by the rumour that the subject of a Crusade
would be discussed. From the great western door, immediately after
High Mass, emerged the figure of the Pope, and a number of bishops and
cardinals, dressed in vestments glowing with colour, followed him upon
the high scaffold covered with red cloth.
[Illustration: _The Preaching of Peter the Hermit_]
{61}
With cross outstretched in his left hand, the Pope held up his right to
command attention, and then began to speak. "Who can preserve the
force of that eloquence?" says one who stood by, and heard him point
out that the Turks, having pushed their way to the edge of the Western
World, and even then holding parts of Spain and Sicily, must now be
driven forth from that holiest place, where Christianity alone had a
right to enter.
Turning to the knights who stood by, leaning upon their swords, Urban
addressed them in words of fire.
"Were they spending their days in empty quarrels, shearing their
brethren like sheep? Let them go forth and fight boldly for the Cause
of God. Christ himself would be their leader as, more valiant than the
Israelites of old, they fought for their Jerusalem. A goodly thing
would it be for them to die in that city, where Christ for them laid
down His life. Let them, as valiant knights, descendants of
unconquered sires, remember the vigour of their ancestors and go forth
to conquer or to die."
This appeal stirred the multitude to its depths.
"DEUS VULT! DEUS VULT!"[2] went up to heaven in one great roar of
voices, and the cry was at once seized upon by Urban.
[2] It is the will of God! It is the will of God!
"Let these words be your war-cry," he exclaimed. "When you attack the
enemy, let the words resound from every side, 'God wills it.' Go forth
then; many sufferings will be yours, but you may redeem your souls at
the expense of your bodies. Rid God's sanctuary of the wicked; expel
the robbers; bring in the holy souls. These things I command, and for
their carrying out I fix the end of next spring. If you have rich {62}
possessions here, you are promised better ones in the Holy Land. Those
who die will enter the mansions of heaven, while the living shall
behold the sepulchre of their Lord. Ye are soldiers of the Cross; wear
then on your breasts, or on your shoulders, the blood-red sign of Him
who died for the salvation of your souls. Wear it as a token that His
help will never fail you; wear it as a pledge of a vow which can never
be recalled."
Another mighty burst of applause followed these words.
Crowds of bishops and knights at once pressed forward to take the red
cross badges which had been prepared, and Adhemar, Bishop of Puy, the
first to do so, was at once appointed as spiritual head of the
expedition, with Raymond, Count of Toulouse, as its military leader.
In the months that followed, all Southern Europe rang with the sounds
of riveting armour and of forging steel. The actual departure of the
Crusaders had been finally appointed for the August of 1090, but this
was not early enough for the fervent spirits who had been already
stirred to the depths by Peter the Hermit.
In the month of March, without preparation or provision for the
journey, a vast concourse of some sixty thousand men and women turned
their faces to the East, with Peter as their leader. As a writer of
the time says, "Lands were deserted of their labourers; houses of their
inhabitants; even whole cities migrated. You might see the husband
departing with his wife, yea, with all his family, you would smile to
see the whole household laden on a waggon, about to proceed on their
journey. The road was too narrow for the passengers, the paths too
hedged-in for the travellers, so thickly were they thronged by endless
multitudes."
{63}
About fifteen thousand pilgrims, mostly French, assembled in this way
at Cologne, about Easter 1096; and finding Peter unwilling to start
before the German contingent had come up, they set off under a leader
known as Walter the Penniless, and made for Constantinople. To do this
they had to pass through Hungary, a wild and barren tract, the people
of which had only lately been converted to Christianity; and here the
rough discipline which Walter, by mere force of character, had managed
to impose upon the horde that followed him, entirely broke down. Food
being denied them, the pilgrims began to plunder. The Hungarians at
once took up arms, and soon scattered the so-called troops in all
directions. Hundreds took refuge in a church, which was promptly
fired, and most of those within were burnt to death. Only a few
thousand managed to hide in the woods and so escape; and this poor
remnant, being collected with pain and difficulty by Walter the
Penniless, made their way to Constantinople and put themselves under
the protection of the Emperor until Peter should arrive.
Meantime, the Hermit had started, with a German following of about
forty thousand people. Amongst these were quite a large number of
women and children, many of whom doubtless did their part by cheering
and helping their men-folk on the long road. But the hardships of the
way told heavily on them, many fell out and lingered behind, beseeching
the men to wait for them. Long forced marches were an impossibility,
and a disorderly progress was made, in spite of the fact that they had
more provisions and more money than their predecessors on the road.
At length they came to the spot where so many of {64} Walter's
followers had lost their lives. The place was but too well marked out
by the weapons and crosses of the pilgrims which now adorned the walls
and houses of the neighbouring town. In a wild outburst of fury, the
mob threw itself upon the inhabitants, all unsuspecting as they were,
and massacred them by the thousand. Enraged at this treatment of his
people, the Hungarian King came down upon them with his forces, just as
the pilgrims were endeavouring to cross the river into Bulgaria, and
many perished before they could escape.
Once again, in crossing through Bulgaria, the undisciplined host came
to blows with their fellow-Christians living in those lands. In vain
did Peter represent that valuable lives, time and money was being
wasted. About ten thousand lost their lives. Peter himself barely
escaped to a wood, where he wandered about all night in misery,
thinking that all his host was slain. Next day, however, he managed to
collect about seven thousand, and as he marched on, other refugees
joined him, until at length he found himself at the head of about half
the force with which he had set out. Famished and gaunt, having lost
nearly all the women and children, as well as food, clothes and money,
Peter hurried them on till at length quite exhausted, they reached the
walls of Constantinople.
Here they found the remnant of the army of Walter the Penniless, who
had, from the first, kept his men under better control than had the
Hermit. It was only too clear, however, that neither army was in a fit
state to carry on a difficult warfare with the fighting Turks. The
Emperor Alexios, therefore, persuaded them to rest and recruit until
the organised Crusading Army should appear, {65} meantime giving them
all they could require, and treating them with the greatest kindness.
But it seemed as though a curse, instead of a blessing, rested upon
these forerunners of the First Crusade.
The pilgrims became quite unruly, burnt the houses of their hosts,
stripped the lead from some of the churches and actually tried to sell
it to the inhabitants of the city. The Greeks naturally turned against
their ill-mannered guests, and Alexios, dreading the consequences,
persuaded Peter to take them with him over the Bosphorus into Asia
Minor.
Thankful for his aid in transporting them, Peter got his men across the
strait, but, all too soon after they had encamped on the other side, a
fresh quarrel broke out between the followers of Walter and those of
Peter. Utterly unable to control his own men, Peter threw up his task
and retired to Constantinople alone.
Freed from all pretence of control, and mad with the knowledge that
they were free, about ten thousand of these pilgrims began to plunder
the neighbouring country, and finally made their way under the very
walls of Nicæa, where the Turks were encamped. Here, under the daring
leadership of one Reinaldo, they actually took a fortress, and, when
the Turkish Sultan advanced against them from Nicæa, left a good part
of their army to defend it while the rest came face to face with the
troops of Islam.
Needless to say, the pilgrims were hopelessly defeated; only their
leaders and a handful of men escaped to the fortress, but even here
there was no safety for them. The Sultan did not even trouble to
besiege it. He merely starved them out until they were forced to
yield. {66} The end of the story is a dismal one, seeing to what end
the pilgrims had pledged themselves. Offered the alternative of death
or Islam, by far the greater number accepted the latter, and the few
faithful were slain before their eyes.
A cruel trap was laid for that section of the army which had stayed
behind with Walter the Penniless. The Turks, whose troops were now
harassing the Christian camp, caused a rumour to be spread that
Reinaldo and his men had taken possession of Nicæa. At once the camp
rose like one man and demanded a share in the plunder. In vain Walter
warned, entreated, threatened; heedless of his warning, the infatuated
pilgrims rushed towards the city, unhindered, until they found
themselves in the midst of a large plain before the walls. Then, all
at once the troops of the Sultan David flung themselves upon them from
every side. Helpless they fell, with Walter in their midst. About
three thousand managed to escape, and fled back to Constantinople, the
rest of that vast host either perished on the field or were brutally
massacred afterwards by their conquerors.
Knowing nothing of the awful failure of their predecessors, a third
army, led by a German priest named Gotschalk, advanced as far as
Hungary. There the story almost repeats itself. The people of Hungary
refused to let them pass through; and their king, panic-stricken at
their appearance, captured them by a cruel trick. Calling them to his
presence, he told them that his people only opposed them because they
came in hostile fashion; but if they would lay down their arms, they
should be protected during their passage through his country, and have
their weapons restored on the {67} frontier. This the unhappy pilgrims
did, to be immediately massacred by the Hungarians.
Twice again we hear of the setting out of lawless troops, bent even
more openly on plunder than their predecessors, and twice again we hear
of the Danube running red with the blood of those slain by the hosts of
Carloman of Hungary.
Nothing, of course, could have been hoped from such undisciplined
hordes; but perhaps they served the purpose, at the cost of a quarter
of a million lives, of warning the more thoughtful Crusaders of the
dangers of the way, and, of the need of absolute control and able
guidance.
And thus, "the chaff being winnowed with the fan out of God's store,
the good grain began to appear."
{68}
CHAPTER VI
The Story of the Emperor Alexios
and the First Crusade
_Nought is more honourable to a knight
Nor battle doth become brave chivalry
Than to defend the feeble in their right
And wrong redress in such as wend awry
While those great Heroes glory got thereby._
SPENSER: _Faery Queene._
In the August of 1096, the first great army of the Crusaders began to
move towards the East, under the command of Godfrey of Boulogne,
together with his brothers Eustace and Baldwin.
This Godfrey, leader of the Teuton host, is thus described by one of
his own day: "He was of a beautiful countenance, tall of stature,
agreeable in his discourse, of excellent morals, and at the same time
so gentle that he seemed better fitted for the monk than for the
knight. But when his enemies appeared before him, and the combat was
at hand, his soul became filled with a mighty daring; like a lion, he
feared not for his own person; and what shield, what buckler, could
withstand the fall of his sword?"
Four other armies set out after him in due course, travelling by land
to Constantinople; for, in those days, not even the stoutest general
could face the {69} horrors of a sea-voyage in the untrustworthy
vessels of the Mediterranean shore.
Marching through Europe in perfect order, Godfrey's troops met their
first check on the borders of Hungary. Here they not only found the
track marked out by the bodies of those who had perished in the
previous year, but a distinct air of hostility was seen in the attitude
of the people. Knowing nothing of the actual facts, Godfrey cautiously
arranged for a meeting with King Carloman. Matters were explained on
both sides and a mutual arrangement was made by which Godfrey's troops
were allowed to pass through Hungary buying food as they went, while
Baldwin, the brother of Godfrey, with his wife and children remained
behind as hostages until the Crusaders should arrive at the further
boundary--the River Save.
"So, day by day, in silence and peace, with equal measure and just
sale, did the duke and his people pass through the realms of Hungary."
Once within the Emperor's domains, one would have thought the Crusaders
on safe ground. But this was by no means the case. The second army of
the Crusaders, which started almost at the same time as the first, was
led by the brother of the French King, Hugh of Vermandois, a headstrong
and self-willed prince. He chose, together with Robert of Normandy,
son of the Conqueror, and some less important leaders, to make his own
way through Italy in disorderly fashion; and after leaving in that
pleasant land many of his followers with Duke Robert, he embarked at
Bari for the East. A tempest cast him on the Austrian coast, which was
under the Emperor's rule. Hugh at once despatched four and twenty
knights dressed {70} in golden armour to demand a fitting reception for
himself and his followers; and was answered by the arrival of an armed
escort, which led him as a prisoner before the Governor. There was
some excuse for the conduct of Alexios, extraordinary as it seems; for,
so far, the hordes of so-called Crusaders had brought such desolation
and destruction upon his land that he had come to the conclusion that
the Turks, at this time apparently inactive, were safer neighbours than
the troops of Christendom. But Alexios was as wily as he was timid.
After a short imprisonment, Hugh was brought to Constantinople and
treated as the honoured guest of the Emperor--treated indeed so well
that he fell a victim to his host's perfidious charm, did homage to
him, and promised to persuade the other chieftains to follow his
example.
This was the state of affairs when Godfrey of Boulogne appeared on the
plains of Thrace, and hearing of the imprisonment of Count Hugh, he
sent at once a peremptory message to demand his release. This demand
met with absolute refusal, upon which Godfrey promptly gave orders to
ravage the surrounding country.
Immediately alarmed, as usual, by the prospect of armed conflict,
Alexios implored Godfrey to desist and to meet him in friendly
conference at Constantinople. To this Godfrey agreed, and was met by
Hugh himself outside the city walls. The latter sang the praises of
the Emperor with enthusiasm, but Godfrey was still on his guard. A
warning had reached him from some French merchants living in the city
that treachery was meditated; and he therefore refused either to enter
within the walls or to partake of the rich food which the Emperor sent
to the camp.
[Illustration: _Duke Godfrey marching through Hungary_]
{73}
Then Alexios vainly tried to persuade the Crusader to settle his army
for the winter in the luxurious quarters of the Greek nobles across the
Bosphorus, where they would act as a buffer between Constantinople and
hostile forces from the East, at the same time removing themselves to a
safe distance from the city.
This also Godfrey refused; and the alarm of the Emperor grew into panic
when he realised that the army of another Crusader, Bohemond, his
ancient enemy, who had already established a claim upon a large part of
his Empire, was fast nearing his boundaries. It was absolutely
necessary to make friends with Godfrey before the arrival of the
dreaded Bohemond. As there seemed a possibility of the Crusaders, in
their wrath at the refusal of supplies, attacking the city itself, a
compact was made. Godfrey had no desire to use up his strength in
fighting fellow-Christians, and readily accepted the Emperor's terms.
The son of Alexios was sent as hostage to his camp, and the leaders, on
their side, swore fealty to the Emperor for the time they were obliged
to remain on his borders, and forthwith entered the city in peace and
security.
But Alexios was still consumed with secret terror of the vast host
which had swarmed into his land; and, on the pretext of an insufficient
food supply, he managed to persuade Godfrey, after a brief sojourn, to
transport his troops across the Bosphorus. With his usual craft, he
then arranged that the vessels which had taken them over should
immediately return.
Meantime the dreaded arrival of Bohemond, Prince of Tarentum, had
actually taken place. A weak attempt was made to drive him back by
force; but this was quickly overcome, and when Bohemond {74} sent the
prisoners taken in the conflict back to the Emperor with an indignant
and reproachful message, the wily Alexios promptly disowned all
knowledge of the affair, professed the most affectionate regard for his
ancient enemy, and sent him a pressing invitation to visit the capital
city.
Now Bohemond was of a very different nature from the simple and upright
Godfrey of Boulogne. He was an excellent leader, bold and skilful in
warfare, but his character was warped by a mean, designing, and crafty
spirit which entirely incapacitated him from playing a heroic part.
When met by Godfrey in Constantinople and informed by him of the terms
made with Alexios, he declared at first that nothing in heaven or on
earth should induce him to swear fealty to his former foe. The Emperor
ceased to press the matter, and merely treated him with more than
ordinary magnificence of hospitality. Then, as though by chance, the
Count was one day taken by an officer to a great room in the palace,
crammed with costly jewels, ornaments of gold and silver, rich silks
and brocades. The man's weak point had been observed too well. "What
conquests might not be made if I possessed such a treasure!" cried
Bohemond.
"It is your own!" replied the officer. The promise of an independent
lordship near Antioch completed the bribe, and Count Bohemond was no
longer to be feared.
[Illustration: Map of the Crusades]
Of very different stuff was Raymond, Count of Toulouse, the first to
volunteer but the last of the Crusading chiefs actually to set out for
the East. He was now over fifty years of age, and, declaring that that
was the last journey he should ever make, he {77} determined to be well
prepared. With the idea of choosing a route as yet untried by his
predecessors, Raymond took his way through Lombardy into the desolate
country of Dalmatia and Slavonia.
"It was already winter," says a writer of the time, "when Raymond's men
were toiling over the barren mountains of Dalmatia, where for three
weeks we saw neither beast nor bird. For almost forty days did we
struggle on through mists so thick that we could actually feel them,
and brush them aside with a motion of the hand." The weak, the sick,
and the old suffered terribly from the attacks of the wild natives upon
their rear; the bareness of the country gave no chance of even
purchasing food, much less of foraging. It was with intense relief
that they entered the Emperor's domains, "for here," writes one of the
travellers, "we believed that we were in our own country; for we
thought that Alexios and his followers were our brothers-in-arms."
In this belief the troops of Raymond found themselves mistaken, for
they were harassed on all sides by the Emperor's soldiers. Alexios, as
usual, disclaimed all responsibility, and begged the Count to hasten to
Constantinople. There, to his disgust, the old warrior found that
Godfrey, Bohemond, and the other leaders had all taken the oath of
fealty, and were very anxious that he should follow their example.
This Raymond emphatically refused to do. "Be it far from me," said he
to Alexios, "that I should take any lord for this way save Christ only,
for whose sake I have come hither. If thou art willing to take the
cross also, and accompany us to Jerusalem, I and my men and all that I
have will be at thy disposal."
Meantime came news to the Count that the army {78} he had left when he
accepted the call to Constantinople, had been attacked by the troops of
the perfidious Emperor, whose aim, possibly, was to frighten Raymond
into submission; but he had quite mistaken his man. Furious at this
treachery, Raymond called upon his colleagues to join him in an attack
upon the capital. But here he met with unexpected opposition.
Bohemond, indeed, went so far as to threaten that if an open conflict
took place, he would be found on the side of the Emperor, and even
Godfrey urged most strongly that he should overlook everything rather
than weaken their cause by fighting against fellow-Christians.
Strangely enough, though Raymond accepted unwillingly the advice of
Godfrey, his upright character and vigorous simplicity seem to have won
the respect and affection of the Emperor more than all the rest. It is
true that Raymond refused steadfastly to pay him homage, "and for that
reason," says the chronicler, "the Emperor gave him few gifts"; but we
read in the record of the daughter of Alexios, who gives us a vivid
account of this period, "One of the Crusaders, Count Raymond, Alexios
loved in a special way, because of his wisdom, sincerity, and purity of
life; and also because he knew that he preferred honour and truth above
all things."
By this time such remnants of the army as had lingered in Italy under
Robert of Normandy, together with all that was left of the rabble led
by Peter the Hermit, had joined the main body of the Crusaders and were
ready to advance upon the Turkish stronghold of Nicæa.
The full array of the armies of the First Crusade, before they were
decimated by war and famine, must {79} have constituted a truly
overwhelming force. Their number must have been about six hundred
thousand; in the words of the daughter of Alexios, "all Europe was
loosened from its foundation and had hurled itself against Asia." The
horsemen wore coats of mail, with pear-shaped shields, each with its
own device, and carried a long spear and short sword or battle-axe.
The foot-soldiers bore the cross-bow or long-bow, with sword, lance,
and buckler. "They were covered," says a Saracen historian, "with
thick strong pieces of cloth fastened together with rings, so as to
resemble dense coats of mail."
Such was the appearance of the host which now marched upon the
stronghold of Nicæa to begin a siege which is memorable for the light
it throws upon the despicable character of the Emperor Alexios.
When the Crusaders first drew near to the city, says one of them, "the
Turks rushed to war, exultingly dragging with them the ropes wherewith
to bind us captive. But as many as descended from the hills remained
in our hands; and our men, cutting off their heads, flung them into the
city, a thing that wrought great terror among the Turks inside."
After this defeat the Sultan David deserted the city and hastened away
to rouse his countrymen to give active help at this crisis; and the
Crusaders, much encouraged, renewed the siege. The great obstacle to
success was the fact that the city was protected on the west by a lake,
which made it impossible to surround the walls. Aid was sought of
Alexios, who sent boats from which skilful archers poured their arrows
against the ramparts. It was evident that these must very shortly fall.
{80}
Knowing this to be the case, the Emperor sent a secret envoy to offer
the Turks better terms than could be expected from the Crusaders, if
they would give up the city to him.
Hence, just as the latter were preparing to make their last assault,
they saw, with a disappointed fury that can be imagined, the Imperial
flag floating from the citadel. The glory and the spoils of victory
were both with Alexios, and though he tried to smooth the matter over
by lavishing gifts upon the Crusaders, the feelings of the latter were
truly expressed by Count Raymond when he said, "Alexios has paid the
army in such wise, that, so long as ever he lives; the people will
curse him and declare him a traitor."
{81}
CHAPTER VII
The Siege of Antioch
_The faithful armies sang
"Hosanna to the Highest." ... Now storming fury rose
And clamour, arm on armour clashing brayed
Horrible discord._
MILTON: _Paradise Lost._
The city of Antioch, capital of Syria, towards which the faces of the
Crusaders were now set, was one of the most famous and beautiful cities
of the East. Behind it lay the rugged ranges of Lebanon; part of its
wide girdle of walls and turrets was washed by the river Orontes,
towards which sloped gardens fragrant with roses; and it was
intersected by a spacious street adorned with double' colonnades. But
it was yet more famous for its associations with St Peter, its first
bishop, and for having been the birthplace of St Chrysostom, "the
golden-mouthed" teacher of Eastern Christendom.
A few days after the march from Nicæa to Antioch had commenced, the
great army divided itself into two parts, one led by Raymond, Baldwin,
and Godfrey; the other by Bohemond, Tancred, and Robert of Normandy.
This division suited the plans of the Sultan David, who, since the fall
of Nicæa, had been watching operations from the surrounding heights.
{82}
No sooner was Bohemond's army seen to halt for rest and refreshment
beside a river, than, with a terrific uproar, thousands of Turks hurled
themselves upon them from the heights above. Hasty messages were sent
to summon the other army, and meantime the Crusaders fought with
desperate valour.
"Even the women were a stay to us, for they carried water for our
warriors to drink, and ever did they strengthen the fighters."
The numbers of the foe were overwhelming, however, and only the courage
and energy of the leaders prevented a panic-stricken flight. The tact
of Robert of Normandy, who, at a critical moment, snatched off his
helmet and cheered on his men in the thick of the fight, is said to
have turned the scale of victory. Even then success seemed hopeless,
but just as evening drew rapidly on, the second army came upon the
scene. Seeing this, the Sultan fled, and many of his followers with
him, but he left behind so rich a spoil of gold, jewels, silks, and
other luxuries, that it was with difficulty the victors were induced to
leave the booty and resume their march without too much encumbrance.
Such was the first pitched battle between the Crescent and the Cross,
of which one of the combatants writes: "Had not the Lord been with us,
and sent us speedily another army, not one of our men would have
escaped."
And now the Crusaders were free to pass on to Antioch, though the march
thither probably cost them more lives than did that battle of Dorylæum.
[Illustration: _Robert of Normandy at Dorylæum_]
The heat of the desert wastes during the month of July left many
prostrate by the wayside, never to rise again. Terrible thirst
tormented them, and the sight of {85} a welcome stream was the signal
for such excesses of drinking that both men and horses died by hundreds.
It was almost impossible to obtain food, for the son of Sultan David
had marched before the Crusading host, destroying all supplies and
leaving the towns upon the track empty and famine-stricken.
At length the fertile district of Cilicia was reached, and relief was
obtained from these woes. But here arose those unfortunate dissensions
which were a lamentable feature both in this and later Crusades.
Meantime Tancred and Baldwin with a part of the army had pushed on to
Tarsus. This city, the birthplace of St Paul, though held by a small
band of Turks, was largely inhabited by Christians, who eagerly claimed
Tancred as their protector and lord. Just as the Turks were about to
surrender to him, the forces of Baldwin, who had been exploring
elsewhere, appeared on the distant heights, and being mistaken by the
Turks for their allies, encouraged them to delay giving up the city.
The arrival of the new-comer before the walls gave rise to a quarrel
with Tancred, the heat of which was only intensified by the discovery
that the unscrupulous Baldwin was busy intriguing with the inhabitants
with the object of winning their allegiance.
In disgust, Tancred, the weaker but more upright of the two, left him
to take possession of the city and marched to Messis. But thither,
too, the grasping Baldwin followed, and the sight of his tents pitched
beneath the walls was the signal for a conflict between the two hosts
of Crusaders which reflects little credit on either side.
Finally, since reconciliation was impossible, Baldwin gladly accepted
an invitation from the famous Armenian {86} city of Edessa to take up
its cause against the Turks. The prince adopted him as his son, and
was ill rewarded by a rebellion of his people in favour of the
new-comer, which soon cost their ruler his life. Thus, while the main
army was pressing on to Antioch, Baldwin, married to an Armenian
princess, was busy in establishing in Edessa the first Latin kingdom of
the East.
On October 21st, 1097, the host of the Crusaders at length encamped
around the walls of Antioch and made their preparations in anticipation
of an early victory. The gates, however, were blocked by huge masses
of rock from neighbouring quarries, and it seemed an easier task to
break the walls than to force the gates.
But both proved to be impossible, even with the aid of a new instrument
of war, a huge tower, the outcome of great toil and expense, which,
full of troops, was wheeled against one of the gateways. This proved a
failure before the showers of Turkish arrows, and was burnt to ashes as
it stood.
Three months of fruitless effort passed, and the host of the Crusaders
began to suffer from lack of food. They dared not venture far to look
for it, for the Turks were always on the watch, and no man could with
safety leave his post.
Finding, moreover, that the Crusaders generally got the worst of it
when the Turks made a sally from the city, the native Christians of the
country transferred the provisions they had been wont to bring to the
former, to those from whom they now believed they would reap the
greater advantage in the near future.
Then hope began to fail the besiegers, whose camp, owing to the heavy
rain, had now become a fever-haunted swamp. One or two of the
meaner-spirited leaders {87} tried to get quietly away with their
troops; even Peter the Hermit lost heart, and would have deserted the
host had he not been forcibly turned back by Tancred.
Meantime the Seljukian Turks had been expelled by the Saracens from
Jerusalem and Tyre, and the Caliph of the latter now sent envoys to the
leaders of the Crusade, of whose evil condition he had been informed,
to express his surprise that the Christians, while rightly warring
against the fierce Seljuks, should desire to attack Jerusalem also. He
promised, moreover, to extend his protection for a whole month to any
peaceable pilgrims who should wish to visit the Holy City, on condition
that the Crusaders would acknowledge his supremacy in Syria; and he
warned them that if they refused his terms his whole power would
forthwith be directed against them.
The Caliph's envoys expected to find the camp in sorry plight; but, to
their surprise, they were entertained in lordly fashion, and found
every sign of prosperity and plenty. They were sent back with an
absolute refusal to relinquish the right of Christendom over the whole
of Palestine, and quite in ignorance of the terrible straits in which
the army really stood, in spite of its outward appearance of
prosperity. It was true that when the enemy attacked them in the open,
the Crusaders were more than able to hold their own; it was the
hopeless inaction, the dread of disaffection in the camp, and the pangs
of actual famine that were sapping the courage of the besiegers; and
now the news that an immense army, led by the Sultan of Persia, was
coming to the relief of the city was the last and most crushing blow.
At this crisis, Bohemond, whose movements had for some time been full
of mystery, assembled the leaders {88} and asked for a solemn oath from
them that the man who succeeded in taking the city should be its future
ruler. Very unwillingly they gave their consent, upon which Bohemond
revealed the fact that he had for some time past been in communication
with an officer of the city guard, who was in the full confidence of
the governor, and could obtain possession of Antioch whenever he wished.
So, on the 2nd of June 1098, nearly six months after the beginning of
the siege, a little band of Crusaders quietly approached the gate of St
George and gave their signal. A rope ladder was silently lowered from
the top of the wall, up which Bohemond promptly sprang. But at the
summit he found himself alone; for in their distrust of him, the rest
had waited to see what would happen. The sight of his safe arrival
gave them confidence, and about sixty swarmed up the ladder, which then
broke. Those at the top, however, undeterred by their isolated
position on the walls of a hostile city, found their way in the
darkness to a gate, and broke it open. In rushed the invading army
with their battle-cry of "Deus vult! Deus vult!" and the city, taken
quite unawares, was soon in their hands.
The sun rose on the third day of June upon a city red with blood, the
governor of which had paid with his head for his courage in holding out
so long. Dawn also revealed the blood-red banner of Bohemond floating
from the highest tower. Only the citadel, by a strange oversight on
the conqueror's part, was still in the hands of a small body of Turks.
The news of the fall of Antioch gave rise to general alarm throughout
the East. The followers of Sultan David, their former foe, joined with
those of the Sultan of Persia against the Crusaders, and led by the
famous {89} general Kerboga, flung themselves against the walls of the
city. Flushed with success, the victors had overlooked the fact that
there was scarcely any food within the gates, and also they had allowed
their means of access to the Mediterranean ports to be cut off. Within
a few days the besiegers were the besieged and in far worse plight than
before. Many, even of the nobles, were seized with panic, and letting
themselves down by ropes from the walls, fled to the sea-coast. Even
Stephen of Chârtres, son-in-law of William the Conqueror, who, through
illness, had retired before the city fell, and who was now entreated to
return with his troops to its aid, lost his nerve when he looked down
from the hills upon the sea of tents that lay before the walls. Not
only did he rapidly retreat, but meeting the Emperor Alexios marching
with an army to aid the Crusaders, he actually prevailed upon the
latter, not at all against his will, to retire from the hopeless
conflict.
With foes outside the walls, and foes holding the citadel within, the
unfortunate host of Crusaders was indeed in evil case.
"We who remained," writes one, "could not hold out against the arms of
those within the castle, so we built a wall between ourselves and them,
and watched it day and night."
Despair led to loss of nerve and discipline; many of the soldiers
refused to bear arms or even leave their abodes, and had to be "burnt
out" by the orders of Bohemond. The destruction of a great part of the
city to which this inadvertently led, did not improve matters.
The situation was relieved at this apparently hopeless juncture in a
most remarkable manner. Into the midst of the council at which the
chiefs were hurriedly {90} considering what could best be done to
prevent further demoralisation, appeared a certain priest, Peter
Barthelemy, chaplain to Raymond of Toulouse, who declared unto them a
marvellous dream or vision. He had, he said, been carried in his sleep
by St Andrew to the Church of St Peter within the city, and had been
shown there the head of the lance which had pierced the sacred side of
the Saviour. This, the saint had told him, if borne at the head of the
army, was certain to bring them success.
Great was the power of religious faith in those days. Whether the
story was true, or merely a device to drive out panic and awaken
enthusiasm, matters not; the effect remains the same. Marching in
solemn procession to the Church of St Peter, they made excavations at
the spot indicated, at first with no success. Then as the dusk began
to fall, Peter the priest himself descended barefooted and dressed only
in a tunic, and after digging for some time, declared with a joyful
shout that the sacred relic was discovered.
"At last," says the historian, "seeing that we were fatigued, the young
man who had told us of the lance leapt into the pit, all ungirt as he
was, without shoes, and in his shirt. He adjured us to call upon God
to render us the lance for our comfort and our victory. At last the
Lord, moved by such devotion, showed us the lance. And I, who have
written these things, as soon as ever the blade appeared above ground,
greeted it with a kiss, nor can I tell how great joy and exultation
then filled the city."
Such was the effect of this discovery, that, in their certainty of
victory, the Crusading chiefs forthwith sent a message to Kerboga,
offering him a chance of {91} withdrawal before he was utterly
demolished. Peter the Hermit was the chosen ambassador, who, in spite
of the courteous hospitality with which he was received, so disgusted
the leaders of the host of Islam by his haughtiness and insolence, that
no such peaceful arrangement could be entertained. "So much the
better," said the rank and file, who were now as keen to fight as they
had before been to escape. And so, very early on a perfect June
morning, the army marched out through the rose-scented air in twelve
battalions, according to the number of the twelve apostles, led by
Bishop Adhemar with the Holy Lance held on high.
Some say that Kerboga was taken by surprise, others that he welcomed
the opportunity, long hoped for, of drawing them into the open plain,
and that he had planned to surround them from the rear, and cut them
off from the city. However that may have been, a desperate struggle
now began, which, from the overwhelming numbers of the foe, must in the
ordinary course have gone against the Crusaders, weakened as they were
by want of food. But it was the old story of the victory of mind over
matter.
When Adhemar, deserted by Godfrey and Tancred, who had been summoned to
the aid of Bohemond, hard pressed by David the Sultan, found himself
surrounded by the dark face of the infidel, the sight of the Holy Lance
moved his handful of followers to fight with such desperate valour,
that for a moment the foe fell back. Raising his eyes to the
encircling mountains, the Bishop saw, or thought he saw, three radiant
figures riding upon milk-white horses to their aid.
"Behold, soldiers, the succour that God has provided for you!" he
cried, and at once a shout went up from {92} all parts that St George,
St Theodore, and St Maurice had come to their help.
"Deus vult! Deus vult!" they cried, and Islam shrank before the
extraordinary enthusiasm of their attack.
The story of the battle is a monument to religious faith, and
illustrates in a wonderful way what miraculous deeds of valour can be
wrought under its influence.
Ere long the Turks fled in confusion to the mountains, leaving the
ground strewn with the bodies of the slain.
"But us the Lord multiplied," says he who tells the tale, "so that in
battle we were more than they, and returning to the city with great
joy, we praised and magnified God, who gave the victory to His people."
It is a pity that the sequel of the story fails to preserve this high
level of enthusiasm and devotion. Had it been possible to march
directly to Jerusalem, such might have been the case; but the burning
heat of summer forbade such a course. Left idle in Antioch, the
soldiers grew mutinous, and their leaders quarrelsome. Bohemond
excited jealousy by his conquests of neighbouring cities. Hugh of
Vermandois deserted with his troops and returned home. A pestilence,
caused by the thousands of unburied bodies of the slain, fastened upon
the Crusaders, and claimed amongst its victims the good Bishop Adhemar,
the first to take up the Cross in the Holy War.
Not till January 1099 did the army march out towards the South, leaving
Bohemond behind as Governor of Antioch.
It was upon this journey that Peter Barthelemy once more became
prominent by reason of many new visions and dreams. But his master,
Count Raymond, was unpopular at that time, and the occasion was seized
by his {93} opponents to accuse him indirectly of fraud in the matter
of the Holy Lance. Whether this was true it is impossible to say; but
it must be remembered that Peter himself never ceased to affirm his
sincerity, and confidently offered to go through the terrible Ordeal by
Fire in proof of the latter.
"Make me the biggest fire you can, and I will pass through the midst
with the Lord's Lance in my hand. If it be the Lord's Lance may I pass
through unharmed; if not, may I be burnt up."
A vast crowd of Crusaders gathered to witness the ordeal early on the
morning of Good Friday. Peter, clad only in his tunic, passed
fearlessly through the midst of two blazing piles of dead olive
branches, a foot apart from one another. "God aid him!" cried a
thousand throats, and when he emerged, apparently unhurt, a thousand
hands were stretched out to feel his limbs and flesh. For the moment
faith again seemed to have triumphed, and the followers of Raymond
rejoiced. But presently it was seen that the unhappy priest was in
terrible suffering, some say from burns, others from the too eager
handling he had received from the crowd. He died a few days later,
confident in his honesty to the last, and leaving those who had scoffed
and those who had believed exactly in the same frame of mind.
Yet this much attacked and possibly deluded priest had done an
important work; for, as far as we can see, the Holy War would have come
to an abrupt end during the latter part of that remarkable siege of
Antioch, had it not been for the almost miraculous spirit of zeal and
devotion aroused by his alleged discovery.
{94}
CHAPTER VIII
The Holy City is won
_Jerusalem, through the clear atmosphere, rising out of the deep
umbrageous valleys which surround it, is reflected in a fiery splendour
in the morning sunlight_. FARRAR: _Life of Christ_.
_Our feet shall stand within thy gates, O Jerusalem!_
PSALM cxxii.
It was with high hearts that the remnant of the crusading host, now
much reduced, took the road to the Holy City, the end of all their
endeavours. With little difficulty they made their way along the
smiling plain of the River Orontes, and then keeping close to the coast
line between the mountains of Libanus and the sea, passed through the
famous cities of Tyre, Sidon, and Joppa.
From the last of these they turned inland, and taking possession of the
little town of Ramleh, supposed to be the burial place of St George,
the patron saint of England, the leaders held a council to consider
their next movements.
Those who cared most for the mere worldly success of the undertaking
were now strongly of opinion that they should leave Jerusalem untouched
for the present, and attack the true centres of the power of Islam,
Babylon and Alexandria. Others reminded these men of the real object
of the Crusades, and asked scoffingly how they {95} hoped to seize
great and populous cities if they could not first capture the little
town of Jerusalem. The worldly-minded gave way, but consoled
themselves by capturing villages and farms on the route of march. The
rest, more serious minded, "set their faces steadfastly to go towards
Jerusalem." "And those to whom the Lord's command was dearer than lust
of gain, advanced with naked feet, sighing heavily for the disdain that
the others showed for the Lord's command."
Whilst resting at Emmaus at nightfall of June 6, 1099, a little band of
Christians living at Bethlehem crept into the camp and told the leaders
a doleful story of the cruelty and oppression of Islam. The
information that the birthplace of the Lord was near at hand quickened
every pulse. Sleep was forgotten, and a hurried march begun which
brought them in a few hours to the top of Mount Mizpeh, whence, with
swelling hearts, they watched the sun rise upon the sacred walls of the
Holy City.
"Jerusalem! Jerusalem!"
The cry, restrained and reverent, filled the morning air, as the great
host fell prostrate and kissed the hallowed soil.
By its natural position the city was exceedingly difficult to take by
assault, for it stood upon a rocky plateau, guarded by the two steep
valleys of Kedron and Hinnon.
It was, moreover, defended by about forty thousand picked Saracen
warriors--a band equal in number to that of the besiegers, but
possessing far greater advantages as to position and supplies.
With the utmost confidence, however, the Crusaders took up their posts.
Robert of Normandy being {96} stationed on the north, Godfrey of
Bouillon and Tancred on the west, while Count Raymond advanced to Mount
Sion on the south.
It was clear from the first assault that they had undertaken no light
task, and meantime the usual horrors of famine and thirst made their
appearance in the camp. There was little shade in that region; the
groves around had been cut down to provide wood for the "machines of
war," and the chief water supply--a spring which bubbled up every other
day--was soon choked by the corpses of men and beasts who had trodden
one another down in the wild attempt to obtain drink.
The springs further off had all been poisoned by the Saracens, and when
the supplies of fruit began to fail, it seemed as though the army would
never possess the strength to attack the city again.
A still worse calamity was the quarrelling which now broke out again
among the leaders. Tancred was bitterly censured for having set up his
banner over the Church of the Nativity at Bethlehem, Raymond for having
taken to himself the post of honour on the sacred Mount of Sion. The
rank and file, following the example of their chiefs, gave themselves
over to laxity, disobedience, and personal feuds.
Once again it was necessary to invigorate the faith of the Crusaders,
and accordingly Peter the Hermit declared that the dead Adhemar had
appeared to him with words of severe rebuke for the sins of the camp,
and the promise that the city should fall if the army would march
barefoot round it for the space of nine days. A council was summoned,
at which the noble Tancred was the first to make up a long-standing
quarrel with Count Raymond; a feeling of good-will and reconciliation
was spread {97} abroad; and it was determined to make a fresh attempt
in a spirit of more fervid religious zeal.
On the 12th of July 1099, while the Saracens were setting up crucifixes
upon the ramparts, and insulting their Christian foes by spitting and
throwing mud upon them, a solemn procession, fully armed, singing
psalms and litanies, made its way around the walls; and a sermon
preached from the Mount of Olives by Arnulf, the future Bishop of
Jerusalem, roused even the most despondent to do his best for the cause
of God.
On the next two days, Wednesday and Thursday, assaults were made, but
without much success. On the Friday the Crusaders, having been
reminded that it was the day of the Lord's Passion and Death, came to
the work with new vigour, "even the women and the children," writes the
historian, "were eager to do their part on that field."
But when Count Raymond fought on the south of the city it seemed as
though success was hopeless. His wooden tower, which protected the
archers, was burnt by the throwing of flaming oil from the walls, and
his men were driven into utter confusion. Suddenly, when retreat
seemed inevitable, a marvellous portent was seen. On the Mount of
Olives, on the further side of the city, appeared a knight in
glittering armour, waving a flaming sword over Jerusalem. The rumour
quickly spread that it was St George come to the aid of the Crusaders.
"Deus vult! Deus vult!" they shouted, and in the vigour of their
assault the outer wall was won.
The explanation of the occurrence was soon clear. At the further side
of the city the stone-slingers of Godfrey of Boulogne had at length
driven the Saracens from the {98} ramparts. Seizing and lowering the
drawbridge, and scrambling up the walls by scaling ladders, the Teuton
host, headed by Bernard of St Valery, leapt upon the battlements. A
certain unknown knight waved his sword in signal of victory from the
top of Mount Olives, and this had been the sign which put new heart
into Count Raymond's men.
At the very hour at which their Saviour breathed His dying words upon
the Cross, the red-cross standard was first seen to float over the
walls of the Holy City.
From the horrors of bloodshed that followed the capture of Jerusalem we
can but turn away in disgust.
"Such a slaughter of pagan folk had never been seen or heard of; none
know their number save God alone."
This wanton cruelty can indeed only be excused when we remember that it
was the firm belief of those days that "whosoever killeth an infidel
doeth God service."
After that scene of slaughter and violence the leaders of the Crusaders
walked, bareheaded and barefooted, dressed in long white mantles marked
with the red cross, to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre to offer thanks
for their success. Amongst them stood Peter the Hermit, the real
moving spirit of the Crusade, in spite of his mistaken zeal as a leader
of men.
It is said that many of the Christian inhabitants of the city
recognised him as the unknown pilgrim who had promised to rouse on
their behalf the nations of the west, and they clung to his raiment
with tears of gratitude. It is the last glimpse we have of that
enthusiastic personality, and we may be content to leave him there, at
the moment when his great aim had been accomplished.
[Illustration: _The Storming of Jerusalem_]
A week later a meeting of the chieftains was called to elect a king of
Jerusalem. None were eager to obtain a {101} post of honour so
difficult to maintain, and most were anxious to return to their own
dominions. The crown was first offered to Robert of Normandy, who,
"impelled by sloth or fear, refused it, and so aspersed his nobility
with an indelible stain." So writes an English chronicler of his day,
but it must be said in Robert's defence that, even as it was, he had
tarried too long to make good his claim to the kingdom of England
against his grasping brother Henry, and that his fair dukedom of
Normandy stood in immediate peril from the same cause.
Finally, by universal consent, the crown fell to the lot of Godfrey of
Boulogne, in many respects the noblest Crusader of them all. But he,
with characteristic modesty, refused to wear a crown of gold in the
place where his Lord had worn a crown of thorns, and so he was known
only by the title of the Defender of the Holy Sepulchre. Some say that
Count Raymond had previously been offered the position of king, and had
refused to take it, hoping possibly that he might obtain the honour
without the full responsibility. However this might be, we find him,
on Godfrey's acceptance, sulkily retiring to the Tower of David, which
stronghold had been seized from the Saracens by his men. At first he
refused to give it up, and when forced to do so, declared with childish
fury that he would go home at once.
Suddenly the intelligence that a vast army of Egyptians had gathered at
Ascalon recalled men from such foolish bickerings, and united them once
more for a time against the common foe. Although outnumbered by ten to
one, the Crusaders were again victorious, for the enemy, according to
the account of an eye-witness, seemed paralysed at the very sight of
the Christians, "not daring to rise up against us." But this victory
only served to {102} fan the flame of the constant feud between Godfrey
and Raymond. The latter had calmly accepted the allegiance of the
people of Ascalon on his own responsibility. Godfrey naturally claimed
the city as part of the kingdom of Jerusalem. Rumour accuses Raymond
of having given back the town to the Egyptians rather than let it pass
into the hands of Godfrey. He was scarcely pacified with the
governorship of Laodicea, which was handed over to him when the other
chieftains returned to Europe. Of those who had so gallantly turned
their faces towards the East, Godfrey and Tancred remained in
Jerusalem, Bohemond was ruler of Antioch, Baldwin of Edessa, Raymond of
Laodicea.
The reign of Godfrey, first King of Jerusalem in all but name, lasted
for barely one year. Gentlest of all the Crusaders, save where the
"infidels" were concerned, and noblest of the knights of the chivalry
of his age, he lived long enough to win the respect, if not the
affection, of even the Moslem population of his kingdom, and to settle
the latter upon a system scarcely differing from that of a feudal
over-lordship in France or England.
His end came after an expedition undertaken to aid Tancred further up
the coast. As he returned, he ate some fruit at Jaffa sent him by the
Saracen ruler of Cæsarea. Immediately afterwards he was seized by
sickness, and a rumour went round that the fruit had been poisoned.
His one anxiety was now to return to the Holy City he had loved, and
for which he had fought so well; and there he breathed his last in the
July of 1100, and was laid to rest in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre.
In spite of all the intrigues of the partisans of Bohemond, the
ambitious ruler of Antioch, the followers {103} of the late king would
have none but Baldwin, his brother, as his successor. The latter,
therefore, was brought from Edessa, and became the first king, in name
as well as in deed, of the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem.
Let us now glance for a moment at the fate of some of those whose
fortunes we have so far followed.
You will remember that among those who turned recreant before the siege
of Antioch was Stephen of Blois, son-in-law of the Conqueror. When he
returned to his wife Adela, she, with the blood of her father hot in
her veins, bade him return and fulfil his oath. About the same time
that he again turned his face to the East, a crowd of unruly Lombards,
more eager for mere adventure than for the cause of God, set out for
the Holy Land, and after a riotous sojourn at Constantinople, crossed
the Bosphorus. There they were joined by Count Stephen, who begged the
Emperor Alexios to furnish them with a guide to Jerusalem. The latter
at once offered them Count Raymond, of stormy memory, who was staying
at Constantinople at the time. With him came the news that Bohemond of
Antioch, over confident, had fallen into an ambush whilst on a foraging
expedition, and was a prisoner in the hands of the Saracens.
Association with Raymond for however brief a period most assuredly
resulted in a quarrel, and consequently there was a sharp difference of
opinion as to the most advantageous route.
The Lombards would go across Asia Minor, rescue Bohemond, and possibly
attack Bagdad, the centre of Moslem rule; whilst Count Stephen wished
to follow the original road by way of Antioch.
Raymond elected to side with the latter, and together {104} they set
off upon a journey in which they were harassed hour by hour by their
foes. The Lombards left without a guide, decided to follow in the
rear, and had decidedly the worst of it, many of them being cut down by
the Turks, who lay in ambush along the road. An engagement with the
latter went against the Christians, a panic ensued, and, in the midst
of the confusion, Raymond and his men rode off, and returned by sea to
Constantinople, leaving his companions to their fate. With the utmost
difficulty the remnant of the followers of the unfortunate Stephen made
their way in the same direction.
After the usual recriminations were over, Count Raymond found himself
next involved with Duke William of Aquitaine, who, with a great rabble
of followers, had been stirred up by the news of the taking of
Jerusalem, to seek high adventure in that quarter for himself. Other
smaller expeditions followed, and setting off from Constantinople, fell
straight into the hands of the Turks, who beset the track to the Holy
Land. Of all these so-called Crusaders, barely one thousand survived
to reach Antioch in the spring of 1102, and to make their way to
Jerusalem.
Meantime Count Bohemond, having escaped from his two years' captivity,
had not only resumed his position at Antioch, but had seized upon
Raymond's territory of Laodicea as well. He was now the open and
declared foe of Alexios of Constantinople, who had done his best to get
the count into his hands by paying a huge ransom--a ransom which
Bohemond himself had outbidden, and so won his freedom. Leaving
Tancred to rule for him in Antioch, Bohemond now sailed to France,
married the daughter of Philip I., with whose assistance he {105}
invaded the territory of the Emperor with a large army. Alexios, as
usual, gave in and bribed him into a pretence of alliance, but a year
later, when Bohemond had returned to Italy to gather fresh forces,
death put an end to his fiery hopes and ambitions.
Meanwhile, when Bohemond on his escape was once more ruler of Antioch,
Raymond, driven from Laodicea, had, as we have seen, joined the
so-called "Aquitainian Crusade" for a time, and then set himself to win
new territory by besieging the town of Tripoli. It is much to his
credit that though, as his historian puts it, "he might have lived in
abundance in his own land," he never ceased to fight while there was
land to be won for Christendom. It is difficult, however, to avoid the
suspicion that he was largely influenced by desire to serve his own
personal ambitious ends. With but three hundred companions, Raymond
attempted to carry on the siege of Tripoli; and there, an old and
worn-out man, he died by the shores on which he had fought for the past
six years.
The unfortunate Stephen of Blois had, meanwhile, wiped off the stain of
desertion by his death in battle on the side of King Baldwin, against
the Saracens; and Tancred, after holding Antioch for three years
subsequent to the death of Bohemond, as regent for his little son, died
of a wound received in a conflict with the Moslem foe.
Thus, by the year 1112, the only survivor in the East of that gallant
band of crusading chieftains was Baldwin, brother of Godfrey, now King
of Jerusalem.
In his reign were firmly established those great Orders of Knighthood,
the Knights Templars and the Hospitallers, and the whole "Kingdom of
Jerusalem" {106} was settled upon a stronger basis--a strength,
however, which was more apparent than real. Baldwin was a wise and
skilful ruler, showing little of that mean and treacherous spirit which
had distinguished his earlier career. He died in 1118, after a reign
of seventeen years.
{107}
CHAPTER IX
The Story of Bernard of Clairvaux
and the Second Crusade
_The rhythm of their feet,
The ineffable low beat
Of the vast throngs pacing slowly,
Floats on the sea of Time
Like a musical low chime
From a far Isle, mystic, holy._
L. MORRIS, _Marching._
The First Crusade, with all its errors and shortcomings, may yet be
counted as a success so far as the rescuing of Jerusalem from infidel
hands was concerned.
The Second Crusade is one of the great failures of history. Yet the
movement is associated with the name of one of the most notable
characters of his age, the monk Bernard of Clairvaux. Just as in the
First Crusade, the uneducated hermit, Peter, had appealed to the
popular feeling of Europe, and had stirred up the poor and ignorant to
do their best for the cause of God, so St Bernard, himself the son of a
noble house, made his appeal first to the wealthy, to the crowned heads
of Europe and the flower of their knighthood, and afterwards, by his
zeal, his self-denying life, and his religious {108} faith, to all
those amongst whom he had earned the reputation of a saint.
During the years in which Bernard, as Abbot of Clairvaux, was devoting
his energies to raising the standard of monastic life, affairs in the
East had taken a distinct turn for the worse. The Saracens had grown
stronger as the Christians grew more slack and careless. Baldwin III.,
a boy of thirteen, had come to the throne of Jerusalem two years before
the first preaching of the Second Crusade, and held the reins of
government with a weak and nerveless hand. A year after his accession,
the kingdom of Edessa, the first to be established by Western
Christendom in the East, had fallen into the clutches of the dreaded
Sultan Zeuzhi.
The loss of Edessa sounded a trumpet note of alarm to the West. The
hard-won success of the First Crusade was evidently trembling in the
balance. Something must be done to establish and settle Christian
dominion of the Holy Land upon a much firmer basis.
There were other motives at work as well. France, torn by the constant
quarrels between its feudal lords, who only united with one another in
order to defy their sovereign, could not be pacified save by some
pressing call to arms outside. But the immediate cause that led the
young French king Louis to take up the Cross was the feeling aroused
throughout the religious world of the West by one desperate deed.
He was attacking the rebel town of Vitry, which cost him so much
trouble to quell, that, in revenge, he not only destroyed the city, but
set fire to a great church in which over a thousand people had taken
refuge. The cries of the victims and the reproaches of his subjects
combined to rouse the conscience of the king, who vowed {109} to go on
a pilgrimage to Jerusalem as a penance for his crime.
It was the Easter of 1146. On the top of the hill that overshadows the
town of Vézelay, a wooden tower had been hastily raised, with a high
platform in front, on which sat the beautiful proud Queen Eleanor
amidst a bevy of her ladies, and the young king with the great cross
upon his tunic. Suddenly there appeared in the midst of the gallant
throng a thin pale-faced monk, eager and bright-eyed, followed by three
bishops of the Church. Presently a vast crowd, stretching far away to
the edge of the plain below the hill, was hanging breathlessly upon the
words of the famous Abbot of Clairvaux, as, quietly at first, and then
with the most eloquent persuasion, be bade them go forth to drive the
unbeliever from the Holy Land.
A roar of enthusiasm arose from the multitude before his words were
done.
"Crosses! Crosses!" cried the people; and when Bernard had flung to
them those which lay in a great heap by his side, he tore up his own
long robe to make them more.
The vast multitude dispersed, with the solemn pledge of Louis of France
that, after one year of preparation, the Second Crusade should march
towards the East.
But Bernard's aim was not yet accomplished. Conrad of Germany, whose
possessions in that land were threatened on every side, held back from
the Holy War. The monk followed him from place to place, persuading
and threatening him in vain.
At length Conrad promised to give a definite answer on a certain day,
and on that occasion, when the Emperor came to Mass, Bernard preached a
sermon in which he {110} described the Day of Judgment. There Conrad
was depicted trembling before the judgment-seat as he was called to
account for his great riches and power. "How have I, thy Lord, failed
in aught of My duty towards _thee_, O man?" asks his Master. In the
breathless pause that followed, the Emperor arose and cried aloud with
tears, "No longer will I be ungrateful. I will serve Christ and take
up His Cross whenever He shall call me!"
"Praise be to God!" shouted the assembled congregation, rising to their
feet, and before the service was ended, Bernard had marked the King
with the Cross, fastening upon his breast the sacred emblem torn from a
banner from the high altar.
In the wave of enthusiasm that now swept over France and Germany as St
Bernard went from town to town, preaching and exhorting, the women did
not stand aloof. Queen Eleanor herself prepared to accompany her
husband, Louis, and with her went a crowd of fair dames from France.
With Conrad, too, marched a troop of women, bearing shields and swords,
led by one known as the "golden-footed dame."
The German army started first and, save for floods by which some were
drowned, and lack of discipline which ruined more, reached
Constantinople in comparative safety. But here the behaviour of the
drunken German soldiers, who wantonly destroyed the beautiful pleasure
gardens of the city, and showed themselves utterly untrustworthy,
created serious ill-feeling between Conrad and the Greek Emperor
Manuel. The latter succeeded in inducing Conrad to transfer his army
across the Bosphorus, on the promise that he would provide them with
guides through Asia Minor; but he {111} had meantime determined
secretly to betray the armies of the West at the earliest opportunity.
The guides supplied by him were in the pay of the Turkish Sultan of
that region, and after leading the unhappy men by dangerous roads and
in wrong directions, finally brought them to a barren plain, without
food or water, bordered by hills amongst which lurked thousands of the
enemy. The guides then fled in the darkness, leaving the army to cope
with an enemy whose sudden attacks and equally sudden disappearances
among the rocky hills gave the Crusaders little chance of effective
retaliation. Wounded and dispirited, the unfortunate Conrad at length
turned back to Nicæa, his starting-place in Asia Minor, taking with him
barely one-tenth of the army which had started from Germany.
Meantime, the treacherous Manuel had taken measures beforehand with
regard to Louis. When the French armies reached his territory they
found every city closed against them. Even when provisions might be
bought, they were let down from the walls in baskets by the Greeks.
This unfriendly spirit was not disregarded by the French nobles and
clergy, some of whom urged their king to make war upon an Emperor whose
cities were not invulnerable, and who was said to be in league with the
Turks.
This, however, Louis steadfastly refused, and trusted that his
well-disciplined army would win the favour of the Emperor--a favour
that the Germans had certainly not deserved.
It seemed, indeed, as though this might happen, for when they drew near
the city, a fine procession came forth to meet the King, and to conduct
him with honour to the presence of the Emperor.
{112}
Before long "the two princes became as brothers." Manuel himself
displayed to Louis the magnificent buildings of his city, and described
to him the victorious march which Conrad, as he said, with his
assistance, had made through Asia Minor. He offered the same aid in
the way of guides to Louis, if he and his barons would pay the
customary homage.
With high hearts the French started for Nicæa, but they had not long
encamped in that place when some ragged and blood-stained fugitives
brought the news of the disaster to Conrad's troops. At once Louis
hastened to meet his brother sovereign; "weeping, they fell upon each
other's neck," and agreed henceforth to keep together and to aid one
another.
In dread of fresh attacks and more treachery, they turned from the
beaten track, and passing along the coast, came at length to Ephesus.
There a message reached them from Manuel, possibly repentant of his
former treachery, to the effect that their further way was blocked by a
huge army of Turks. Conrad, weak with wounds, then determined to
return for awhile to Constantinople, but, acting on his advice, Louis,
after staying to rest his troops and to let them spend their Christmas
in a fertile valley hard by, moved on over the frozen hills to the
River Meander, the opposite bank of which was lined with Turks. For
awhile both armies marched along the banks of the river in parallel
lines; then Louis discovered a ford, and thereupon made good his
passage and inflicted a great defeat upon the foe.
But a terrible obstacle now faced them some miles beyond Laodicea; they
found the way shut in by a steep range of hills "whose summit appeared
to touch the {113} heavens, whilst the torrent at its base seemed to
descend to hell."
Sent forward to secure the pass, Geoffrey de Rancogne struggled to the
top, but instead of taking possession of it, descended the further
slope, and, oblivious of the fact that the heights were thronged with
Turks, bade his men pitch their tents there. The main army, thinking
all was well, followed them to the summit of the narrow pass, where a
tremendous precipice skirted the track. Down rushed the foe upon them,
hurling them into the yawning depths. A large number of the Crusaders,
pilgrims, who were quite unarmed, blocked the way when Geoffrey strove
to return to the rescue; thousands of these were massacred, and Louis
himself only just managed to save his life by scrambling up to a high
rock, from whence his well-made armour defied the arrows of his
assailants. For a while they sought to drive him from his position,
but, not realising that he was the leader of the expedition, left him
at nightfall to his fate.
This awful disaster nearly ended the Second Crusade there and then.
Rage against Geoffrey de Rancogne for his error, and dismay at the
slaughter of their fellow-soldiers, put an end to discipline for the
time. It was only with the utmost difficulty that Louis was able to
conduct a remnant of the army to the post of Attaleia; the rest had
perished either by famine or by the constant attacks of the Turks upon
their line of march.
At the coast it was hoped that the troops might be taken to Antioch by
sea, and an attempt was made to arrange this with the Greeks who held
the fort. They, however, demanded an impossible sum for the three
days' voyage, and it was decided that the main army must go by land, in
charge of Greek guides, while {114} Louis and his barons crossed by
sea. First, however, the King bargained to pay a large sum if the
Greeks would receive into the city, and care for the large number of
sick and infirm pilgrims; and this was readily promised. There was no
reliance to be placed, however, upon the treacherous Greeks. Scarcely
had the king's ship set sail than they betrayed the whole band of sick
pilgrims into the hands of the Turks, and soon afterwards led the army
also into the midst of the hordes of the infidel. The helpless misery
of the victims touched the hearts even of the Turks, who pitied them
and gave them food, "and therefore," says the historian, "many of the
Christians forsook their own religion and went over to the Turks. O
kindness more cruel than Greek treachery! For, giving bread, they
stole the true faith.... God may indeed pardon the German Emperor,
through whose advice we met with such misfortunes, but shall He pardon
the Greeks, whose cruel craft slew so many in either army?"
Thus, by this twofold act of treachery, the Greeks, the representatives
of Eastern Christianity, practically put an end to the Second Crusade.
It was no triumphal entry that Louis of France made when, on reaching
Jerusalem, he passed through the streets behind priests and bishops,
who sang, "Blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord." He had
come empty-handed, for the bones of his troops were scattered on the
hills and plains of Asia Minor.
[Illustration: _King Louis surrounded by the Turks_]
At Jerusalem Louis found that Conrad, travelling from Constantinople by
water, had preceded him with a fairly numerous following. Feeling that
something must be done towards fulfilling the aim with which they had
set out, the two sovereigns joined with the young king, {117} Baldwin
of Jerusalem, in an attempt to besiege Damascus, still one of the most
important cities of the Holy Land.
To this siege came the famous Knights of the Hospital and the Temple,
and the combined troops fought with such success that the fall of the
city seemed certain. Moreover, since they were attacking it from a
quarter rich in orchards and springs, they had no fear of the
ever-dreaded famine that had wrought such havoc in the First Crusade.
Then once again discord brought disaster. Heated discussions arose as
to who should rule Damascus when it was taken, and the suggestion that
it should be given to the Count of Flanders at once gave offence to the
"barons of Palestine,"--those who had inherited the possessions of the
First Crusaders. They actually began to enter into negotiations with
the citizens of Damascus, and, playing the part of traitors, persuaded
Louis, Conrad, and Baldwin that they would find the walls weakest at
the farther side of the city. Falling into the trap, the three kings
moved their camp, and soon found themselves cut off from all supplies
of food and drink, and faced by hopelessly strong fortifications. So
they gave up in despair. Conrad, in deep disgust, returned to Europe
at once; Louis, after a short stay at Jerusalem, returned to France by
sea, with a few wretched followers, in place of the gallant army that
had marched forth barely a year before.
The utter failure of the Second Crusade--a failure which left countless
homes in Western Europe empty and desolate--struck a heavy blow at the
authority and popularity of Bernard of Clairvaux. He himself was not
slow to point out the cause.
"We have fallen on evil days," says he, "in which the {118} Lord,
provoked by our sins, has judged the world, with justice indeed, but
not with His wonted mercy. The sons of the Church have been overthrown
in the desert, slain with the sword or destroyed by famine," and he
goes on to say that this is due to allowing thieves and murderers to
take part in an attempt which only the faithful and holy soul should be
found worthy to make.
The chief result of the Crusade, as far as the Holy War itself was
concerned, was to weaken the position of the Christians in that region;
for as Fuller quaintly remarks, "The Turks, seeing one citie both bear
the brunt and batter the strength of both armies, began to conceive
that their own fear was their greatest enemy; and those swords of these
new pilgrimes which they dreaded in the sheath, they slighted when they
saw them drawn, and they shook off the awe which had formerly possessed
them of the strength of the Western Emperor."
{119}
CHAPTER X
The Loss of Jerusalem
_All Europe streaming to the mystic East:
Now on their sun-smit ranks
The dusky squadrons close in vulture-feast._
PALGRAVE: _Visions of England._
Most famous of the Sons of Islam who fought against Christendom is
Saladin, the Saracen general who made himself master of Egypt in the
days of Amalric, King of Jerusalem, and who was destined in the near
future to be the conqueror of the Holy City.
The time was ripe for such a conquest, for the little kingdom was torn
by the jealousy and strife of two deadly rivals, Raymond of Tripoli and
Guy of Lusignan.
The former was for living at peace with the Saracens, at least until
the coming of a new Crusade should drive the infidel from the borders
of the land. The latter, moved by causes far other than religious
enthusiasm, was eager to fight at once, hoping thus to obtain the upper
hand over his wretched young brother-in-law, Baldwin, the leper king.
With him was Reginald of Châtillon, who had spent long years in Saracen
dungeons, and was furiously eager for revenge.
The quarrel between Raymond and Guy and their adherents led directly to
the Fall of Jerusalem, but {120} in the meantime the details are full
of romantic interest.
A certain Gerard, a knight of France, who had come to the Holy Land
merely to make his fortune, desired to marry the Lady of Botron, a rich
ward of Raymond of Tripoli. But Raymond, as was frequently the case in
those feudal days, had his own profit to make by the marriage. He
scornfully rejected Gerard, and gave the lady to a wealthy Italian
merchant, who was glad to pay for his wife her weight in gold.
In great wrath, Gerard left Tripoli, joined the Knights Templars, and
in due course became Grand Master of the Order, and awaited his chance
for revenge. This came in 1186, when both the leper and his little son
were dead, and Raymond was known to be desirous of occupying the vacant
throne.
Hurriedly summoning Sibylla, wife of Guy of Lusignan, and sister of the
leper king, to Jerusalem, Gerard and Reginald of Châtillon caused the
gates to be shut and the walls guarded, so that none might come in or
out. But amongst those inside was a spy sent by the watchful Raymond,
who managed to get into the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, where he saw
Sibylla sitting with two crowns before her. One of these was handed to
her by the Patriarch of Jerusalem, who said, "Lady, you have been
proclaimed queen, but since you are a woman, it is good that you have a
man to help you in your rule. Take the crown you see before you and
give it to him who can best help you to govern your realm."
Then Sibylla beckoned to her husband, Guy, and placing the crown upon
his head as he knelt before her, said, "Sire, take this, for I know not
where I could bestow it better."
{121}
Then was Gerard, Grand Master of the Templars, heard to murmur, "This
crown is well worth the marriage of Botron."
Thus did Guy de Lusignan become King of Jerusalem, while Raymond of
Tripoli, checkmated for the time, could only refuse him his allegiance
and retire in sullen fury to his own city of Tiberias. Rumour indeed
whispered that he was on no unfriendly terms with Saladin himself. But
it was probably foresight as well as a sense of justice which roused
him to deep wrath when Reginald of Châtillon, in time of truce,
attacked a wealthy caravan passing from Damascus to Egypt, and
"dishonourably carried off the merchants as prisoners, together with
all their baggage."
"The taking of this caravan," says the chronicler, "was the ruin of
Jerusalem," for from that time dates the implacable hatred of Saladin
for those who held the city.
Meantime, urged on by Gerard, the Grand Master, Guy of Lusignan,
meanest and weakest of kings, sought to gratify his personal spite
against his former rival by besieging Tiberias, and was only prevented
by a warning that this might mean an open alliance between Saladin and
Raymond against himself.
Raymond's patriotism, however, was greater than his desire for revenge.
While absent from his own city with his troops, he heard that the
Saracens had crossed the Jordan, and were advancing upon the Holy City.
Hastening to Jerusalem, he at once put himself and his men at Guy's
disposal in face of this pressing danger.
Meantime Saladin, probably in wrath at this action of one whom he had
hoped to make his ally, began to besiege Tiberias; and a message
arrived in Jerusalem {122} from Raymond's wife, begging that an army
might be sent to her aid. A council was hurriedly summoned to see what
could be done to save the city; but Raymond, to the surprise of all,
was strongly of the opinion that Tiberias should be left to its fate.
"Sire," said he, "I would give you good advice if you would only trust
me." "Speak your mind and fear nothing," they replied, whereupon he
counselled them not to send troops out of Jerusalem, even if this
should mean the loss of his own fortress.
"If I lose wife, retainers and city," said he, "so be it; I will get
them back when I can; but I had rather see my city overthrown than the
whole land lost."
Though much astonished by such disinterested advice, the council agreed
to follow it, and so dispersed.
But at dead of night there came secretly to the King the mischief-maker
Gerard, bidding him "reject the counsel of this traitor count," and
hinting that Raymond's advice had been merely to further his own ends.
Guy de Lusignan was so much in the hands of the man who had made him
king that he dared not refuse to listen to him, and at daybreak the
order was given for the army to march out of Jerusalem in order to
relieve Tiberias.
In the terrible battle of Tiberias that followed, the portents were all
against the Crusaders.
"A fearful vision was seen by the King's chamberlain, who dreamed that
an eagle flew past the Christian army bearing seven darts in its
talons, and crying with a loud voice, "Woe to thee, Jerusalem."
On a mound outside Tiberias had been placed a portion of the True
Cross, and round this the army of Guy, unable to enter the city,
rallied again and again as they were {123} dispersed by the followers
of Saladin. But heat and thirst played as much havoc as did the enemy,
and at close of day, the sacred relic itself, together with the King
and Reginald of Châtillon, the truce-breaker, fell into the hands of
the infidel.
It is said that Reginald's head was struck off in the presence of
Saladin, and possibly by his hand, in revenge for his past perfidy.
Guy was thrown into prison, and Raymond, who had made good his escape,
died of grief at the loss of all that he had held most dear.
Within two months of this battle of Tiberias, Saladin was master of
every important stronghold in the land, save only Tyre and Jerusalem,
and these were closely besieged.
The Holy City was indeed in the most perilous condition, for there were
now no soldiers within the walls, and no leader to look to in all the
land, save only Balian of Ibelin, and he was at this time a fugitive,
who had sought protection within the walls of Tyre.
Bereft of a leader, the city had well-nigh lost hope, when Balian,
acting apparently in good faith, begged leave of Saladin to conduct his
wife and family within the walls of Jerusalem, promising that he
himself would stay there but one night, and then return to Tyre.
To this Saladin agreed; but when Balian was once inside the city, the
inhabitants refused to let him leave it again.
The patriarch Heraclius, indeed, assured him that he could not keep his
promise without committing grave sin, saying, "Great shame will it be
to you and to your sons after you if you leave the Holy City in this
perilous strait."
So Balian remained and did his best, with only two knights to aid him,
and little enough of food to feed the {124} multitudes who came in day
by day from the country round, and set up their tents in the streets of
the city.
"The priests and clerks," says Geoffrey de Vinsauf, "discharged the
duties of soldiers and fought bravely for the Lord's House ... but the
people, alike ignorant and timorous, flocked in numbers round the
patriarch and the queen, bitterly complaining and earnestly entreating
that they might make terms of peace with the Sultan as soon as
possible."
Even when the city was given up on condition that Saladin would accept
a ransom for the lives of the inhabitants, there came small consolation
to the unhappy people. For some thousands of them could pay no ransom
at all, and had nothing to hope for but the miseries of slavery.
When this fact was known, it called forth all that chivalry of the
infidel chieftains upon which the chroniclers love to dwell.
Saphadim, the brother of Saladin, and his right hand during the siege,
at once begged a thousand slaves as his share of the booty.
"For what purpose do you desire them?" asked Saladin.
"To do with them as I will," replied his brother, upon which the Sultan
smiled and granted his request.
As he expected, the unhappy captives were at once given their freedom.
Then the Patriarch and Balian, who had been treated with the utmost
courtesy, each begged for seven hundred souls; and when those were
granted, Saladin said, "My brother has given his alms; the bishop and
Balian theirs. Now will I give mine also."
{125}
With that he granted freedom to all aged folk within the city, "and
this was the alms that Saladin made."
Thus did Jerusalem fall once more into the hands of Islam, and the
Crescent shone again over the Holy City, in which for eighty-eight
years the Cross had reigned supreme.
{126}
CHAPTER XI
The Story of the Third Crusade
_A goodly golden chain wherewith yfere
The virtues linked are in lovely wise
And noble minds of yore allyed were
In brave pursuit of chivalrous emprise._
SPENSER: _Faery Queene._
The news of the fate of Jerusalem moved Western Europe to such horror
and dismay as had never before been known. Everywhere signs of
mourning were seen; a general fast was ordered, a fast which was kept
to some extent, at least, by some pious souls, until the Holy City was
recovered; and Pope Clement III. set himself to act the part of a St
Bernard by stirring the hearts of princes to take up the Cross in a
Third Crusade.
Of this Crusade it seemed at first as though the famous Emperor
Frederick Barbarossa was to be the leader, though Philip of France and
Henry II. of England were not long behind him in accepting the Cross.
In both France and England, too, the "Saladin-tax" became the
custom--each man paying a tithe, or tenth part of his income, for the
maintenance of the expedition. Everywhere the enthusiasm was so great,
that it was only necessary for a preacher to announce the Crusade as
his text to secure a vast and eager audience. It mattered {127}
nothing that his hearers did not even understand the language in which
he spoke--all alike were stirred to do their part to win back what the
First Crusaders, those heroes of romance, had fought for and won.
But Henry of England was too fully occupied with the treason of his
sons in his old age to do more than make promises of help, and at his
death, it was one of the latter, the famous Richard Lion-Heart, who
became the leader of the English Crusade, and finally of the whole
undertaking. The Emperor Frederick, however, would not wait for him,
nor for the French king, but hurried off on his toilsome journey at an
age when most men would be hoping for a period of fireside ease and
rest before the last long journey of all.
As usual the promises of the Greek Emperor, Isaac, were not to be
trusted, but the great army of Frederick Barbarossa struck such terror
into the hearts of Greek and Turk alike, that he was able to move
forward into Cilicia with little hindrance. But there, when bathing
his heated limbs in a little river among the hills, that mighty
Emperor, who had built up a famous Empire of the West, perished and
"came to a pitiful end."
The German host lost heart without their leader; many died through
famine, and of the remainder a small part reached Antioch and placed
themselves under the command of its prince, the rest going on to
Tripoli.
Meantime those two ill-assorted leaders, Richard of England and Philip
of France, had started on their way to the East. It was clearly
hopeless from the first that they would work together, for, while
Richard was proud, passionate, and irritable to a degree, Philip was
cold and crafty, and while Richard would eagerly make amends for an
injury done, and as readily forgive one {128} done to him, Philip
prided himself on never overlooking an affront. It was the quarrel of
these leaders, rather than the superiority of the armies of Islam, that
made the Third Crusade, as far as the taking of Jerusalem was
concerned, a complete failure.
They started, however, in apparent friendliness, and, with many pledges
of devotion, travelled together by a new route by way of Marseilles.
From thence Philip hurried on to Messina, in Sicily, but Richard's
Crusaders had deviated into Portugal to give help against the Moors,
and their impatient king set off alone in a small ship, coasting along
the shores of Italy, until his fleet had caught him up, when he
proceeded in great state to join Philip at Messina.
The Crusaders stayed in Sicily for six months, by no means in the
character of friendly guests. Tancred, king of the island, had forced
Joanna, the sister of Richard, to become his wife; and she appealed to
her brother against him. The latter promptly took up her cause, but,
with an eye to his own profit, offered to give her up if Tancred would
grant him a chair and table of solid gold which formed part of her
dowry. On Tancred's refusal, Richard at once attacked and took
Messina, which was only recovered by Tancred on payment of forty
thousand ounces of gold.
On the same March day that Philip at length sailed for the Holy Land,
Richard was betrothed to the beautiful Berengaria of Navarre, and some
ten days later set off with her and his sister for the same
destination. But within two days a furious storm arose, which threw
two of his ships upon the coast of Cyprus.
Says Richard of Devizes, "Almost all the men of both ships got away
alive to land, many of whom the hostile {129} Cypriote slew, some they
took captive, some, taking refuge in a certain church, were besieged.
The prince also of that island coming up, received for his share the
gold and the arms; and he caused the shore to be guarded by all the
armed force he could summon together, that he might not permit the
fleet that followed to approach, lest the King should take again what
had been thus stolen from him.... But God so willed that the cursed
people should receive the reward of their evil deeds by the hand of one
who would not spare. The third English ship, in which were the women,
rode out at sea and watched all things, to report the misfortune to the
king. A full report reached the King, who, obtaining no satisfaction
from the lord of the island, came in arms to the port. The King leaped
first from his galley and gave the first blow in the war, but before he
could strike a second, he had three thousand of his followers with him
striking away by his side.... The Cypriotes are vanquished, the city
is taken, and the lord of the island is himself taken and brought to
the King. He supplicates and obtains pardon; he offers homage to the
King, and it is received; and he swears, though unasked, that
henceforth he will hold the island of him as his liege lord, and will
open all the castles of the land to him."
That same night, while Isaac of Cyprus was plotting how to get rid of
his new-made bonds, Guy of Lusignan, the King of Jerusalem, who had
been released by Saladin on condition that he went into exile, landed
on the island to bring greeting to Richard. On the next day the
faithless Isaac fled. "The kings pursue him, the one by land, the
other by water, and he is besieged in the castle. Its walls are cast
down by engines hurling {130} huge stones; he, being overcome, promises
to surrender if only he might not be put into iron fetters.
"The King consented to the prayers of the supplicant, and caused silver
shackles to be made for him. The prince of the pirates being thus
taken, the King traversed the whole island; and the whole land was
subjected to him, just like England."
Before he left his new domain, Richard was married to Berengaria, his
betrothed, and set off with her to the Holy Land, accompanied by Guy of
Lusignan. Their destination was Acre, which, ever since Guy had been
convinced by the clergy that his oath to Saladin was of no binding
nature, had been besieged by him. When Richard arrived, this siege had
already lasted nearly two years, and to a more cautious eye the cause
of Guy of Lusignan would have appeared by no means hopeful. But there
were other motives at work. Conrad of Tyre had flatly refused to admit
Guy to his own city, now the only Christian stronghold in Palestine, on
the plea that God had appointed him its ruler and that he meant to
remain so. This laid the foundation of a fine feud between the two
princes; and the fact that Philip of France had taken up the cause of
Conrad was sufficient reason for Richard to ally himself with his rival.
"So," says Richard of Devizes, "King Richard came to the siege of Acre,
and was welcomed by the besiegers with as great joy as if it had been
Christ that had come again on earth to restore the kingdom of Israel.
The king of the French had arrived at Acre first, and was very highly
esteemed by the natives; but on Richard's arrival he became obscured
and without consideration, just as the moon is wont to relinquish her
lustre at the rising of the sun."
{131}
In further explanation of this, he tells us how a certain Henry, Count
of Champagne, who had now used up the whole of his store of provision
and money, came to his king, Philip of France, for relief. The latter,
trying to take a mean advantage, offered him a large sum if he would
give up his rights over Champagne; to which the Count replied, "I have
done what I could and what I ought; now I shall do what I am compelled
by necessity. I desired to fight for my king, but he would not accept
of me unless I gave up what is mine own; I will go to him who will
accept me, and who is more ready to give than to receive."
Richard received him with the utmost kindness and liberality, and his
men, "at the report of so great a largess, took King Richard to be
their general and lord; the Franks only who had followed their lord
remained with their poor king of the French."
This did not endear Richard any the more to Philip, but for a while
these private grudges were forgotten in the assault upon the walls of
Tyre.
"The King of the English, unused to delay," says Richard of Devizes,
"on the third day of his arrival at the siege, caused his wooden
fortress, which he had called 'Mate Grifon,' where it was made in
Sicily, to be built and set up; and before the dawn of the fourth day
the machine stood erect by the walls of Acre, and from its height
looked down upon the city lying beneath it, and there were thereon by
sunrise archers casting missiles without intermission upon the Turks."
While the Kings of England and France were thus engaged, Conrad and Guy
were once again at variance. With Philip's promise of support at his
back, Conrad now returned to Tyre and took no further part in the {132}
siege. The sultry heat of the plain then struck down both Philip and
Richard for awhile, but the recovery of the former led to an assault
which showed the Saracens they had little hope of holding out, and
Richard, determined not to be outdone, struggled back to the walls from
his sick-bed, and struck them another heavy blow. Four days later a
long procession of the citizens filed out from the gates, bearing a
flag of truce and offering to surrender the city. Richard was for
"letting the vanquished pay their heads for the ransom of their
bodies," but Philip, more politic as well as more thrifty, held out for
a ransom of two hundred pieces of gold, the restoration of the True
Cross which Saladin had seized at the Battle of Tiberias, and the
release of all Christian captives.
So the two years' siege came to an end, but not without a deed which
blackens the name of Richard and Philip for all time.
Saladin had delayed to furnish the ransom or to give up the relics of
the Cross; whereupon the King, who was in name the follower of Him who
taught His people to love their enemies, had two thousand seven hundred
prisoners led to the top of a hill from which all that went on could be
seen in Saladin's camp; and there, at a given signal, all these
innocent followers of Mohammed were cut down in cold blood. Almost at
the same time, by the orders of Philip, nearly as many victims suffered
on the walls of the city itself.
The taking of Acre was the signal for a violent quarrel between
Richard, Philip, and Leopold, Duke of Austria.
[Illustration: _Richard and Philip at the Siege of Acre_]
Richard Devizes tells the story thus. "The Duke of Austria, who was
also one of the ancient besiegers of Acre, followed the King of the
English as though he {135} would share in the possession of his
portion; and because his standard was borne before him, he was thought
to take to himself a part of the triumph. If not by the command, at
least with the consent of the offended King, the duke's standard was
cast down in the dirt, and to his reproach and ridicule, trampled under
foot. The duke, though grievously enraged against the King, concealed
his wrath for a time, and betook himself that night to his tent, which
was set up again, and afterwards as soon as he could, returned, full of
anger, to his own country."
Heedless of the fact that "this quarrel might drink blood another day,"
Richard next came into serious collision with Philip of France.
"A certain Conrad, Marquis of Montferrat, a smooth-faced man, had held
Tyre, which he had seized on many years ago, to whom the King of the
French sold all his captives alive, and promised the crown of the
kingdom of Jerusalem, which was not yet conquered. But the King of the
English withstood him, Philip, to the face."
"It is not proper," said he, "for a man of your reputation to bestow or
promise what is not yet obtained; and further, if the course of your
journey be Christ, when you have at length taken Jerusalem from the
hand of the enemy, you will, without delay or condition, restore the
kingdom to Guy, the lawful King of Jerusalem. For the rest, if you
recollect, you did not obtain Acre alone, so that neither should that
which is the property of two be dealt out by one hand."
"Oh, oh!" comments quaint Richard of Devizes, "how pure for a godly
throat! The marquis, bereft of his blissful hope, returns to Tyre, and
the King of the French, who had greatly desired to strengthen himself
against his envied ally by means of the marquis, now {136} fell off
daily, and this added to the continual irritation of his mind--that
even the scullion of the King of the English fared more sumptuously
than the cupbearer of the French. After some time, letters were forged
in the tent of the King of the French, by which, as if they had been
sent by his nobles out of France, the King was recalled to his own
country."
And so Philip of France, amid oaths and protestations of faith to
Richard, sailed for Europe. "How faithfully he kept his oath the whole
world knows. For directly he reached home, he stirred up the whole
land and threw Normandy into confusion. What need for further words!
Amid the curses of all, he departed, leaving his army at Acre."
{137}
CHAPTER XII
The Adventures of Richard Lion-Heart
_One who fought his fight has told the deeds
Of that gay passage through the midland sea
Cyprus and Sicily;
And how the Lion-Heart o'er the Moslem host
Triumphed in Ascalon
Or Acre, by the tideless Syrian coast._
PALGRAVE: _Visions of England._
Exactly two years after the siege of Acre had commenced, the army of
Richard, together with the Knights of the Temple and the Hospital, set
out to conquer the territory that lay between the mountains and the sea.
And "as the army marched along the sea-shore that was in its right, all
the while the Turks watched its movements from the heights on the
left." The progress of the Crusaders was therefore one long battle,
and it was further harassed by the natural difficulties of the road.
"That day," says Geoffrey de Vinsauf, an eye-witness of these things,
"the army moved forward with more than wonted caution, and stopped,
after a long march, impeded by the thickets and the tall and luxuriant
herbage, which struck them in the face. In these maritime parts there
were also a number of beasts of the forest, who leapt up between their
feet from the long grass and thick copses."
{138}
He tells us, moreover, of the touching device employed to stir the
hearts of the wearied soldiers, and to remind them of the aim of their
journey.
"It was the custom of the army each night before lying down to rest to
depute some one to stand in the middle of the camp and cry out with a
loud voice, 'Help! Help! for the Holy Sepulchre!' The rest of the
army took it up and repeated the words, and stretching their hands to
heaven, prayed for the mercy and assistance of God in the cause. Then
the herald himself repeated in a loud voice: 'Help! Help! for the Holy
Sepulchre!' and everyone repeated it after him a second and a third
time. The army," he adds naïvely, "appeared to be much refreshed by
crying out in this fashion."
At length the preliminary skirmishes gave place to a pitched battle, of
which our eye-witness gives a spirited account.
"On the Saturday, the Eve of the Nativity of the Blessed Virgin Mary,
at earliest dawn, our men armed themselves with great care to receive
the Turks, who were known to have preceded their march, and whose
insolence nothing but a battle could check.... On that day the
Templars formed the first rank, and after them came in due order the
Bretons and men of Anjou; then followed King Guy with the men of
Poitou; in the fourth line were the Normans and English who had the
care of the royal standard; and last of all marched the Hospitallers:
this line was composed of chosen warriors, divided into companies.
"They kept together so closely that an apple, if thrown, would not have
fallen to the ground without touching a man or a horse; and the army
stretched from {139} the army of the Saracens to the seashore. There
you might have seen standards and ensigns of various forms, and hardy
warriors, fresh and full of spirits and well fitted for war.
"King Richard and the Duke of Burgundy, with a chosen retinue of
warriors, rode up and down, narrowly watching the position and manner
of the Turks, to correct anything in their own troops if they saw
occasion.
"It was now nearly nine o'clock, when there appeared a large body of
the Turks, ten thousand strong, coming down upon us at full charge, and
throwing darts and arrows, as fast as they could, while they mingled
their voices in one horrible yell.
"There followed after them an infernal race of men, of black colour....
With them also were the Saracens who live in the desert, called
Bedouins; they are a savage race of men, blacker than soot; they fight
on foot and carry a bow, quiver and round shield, and are a light and
active race.
"These men dauntlessly attacked our army. They came on with
irresistible charge, on horses swifter than eagles, and urged on like
lightning to attack our men; and as they advanced they raised a cloud
of dust, so that the sky was darkened. In front came certain of their
admirals, as was their duty, with clarions and trumpets; some had
horns, others had pipes and timbrels, gongs, cymbals and other
instruments, producing a horrible noise and clamour. This they did to
excite their spirits and courage, for the more violent the clamour
became the more bold were they for the fray."
So hot grew the contest, and such was the inconvenience suffered by the
Crusaders because of their narrow quarters between the foe and the sea,
that there {140} was nothing for it but to retreat. This of course
brought the full force of the attack upon the Hospitallers, "the more
so," says Geoffrey, "as they were unable to resist, but moved forward
with patience under their wounds, returning not even a word for the
blows which fell upon them, and advancing on their way because they
were not able to bear the weight of the contest.
"A cloud of dust obscured the air as our men marched on; and in
addition to the heat, they had an enemy pressing them in the rear,
insolent and rendered obstinate by the instigation of the devil. Still
the Christians proved good men, and secure in their unconquerable
spirit, kept constantly advancing, while the Turks threatened them
without ceasing in the rear; but their blows fells harmless upon the
defensive armour, and this caused the Turks to slacken in courage at
the failure of their attempts, and they began to murmur in
disappointment, crying out in their rage 'that our people were of iron
and would yield to no blow.'
"Then the Turks, about twenty thousand strong, rushed again upon our
men pell-mell, annoying them in every possible manner, when, as if
almost overcome by their savage fury, Brother Gamier, one of the
Hospitallers, suddenly exclaimed with a loud voice, 'O excellent St
George! Will you leave us to be thus put to confusion? The whole of
Christendom is now on the point of perishing, because it fears to
return a blow against this impious race.'"
The King, however, had determined that no charge should be made until
the army had, by retreat, obtained a better position for so doing. So,
even when the Grand Master of the Hospitallers went to him, and said,
"My lord the king, we are violently pressed by the enemy, {141} and are
in danger of eternal infamy, as if we did not dare to return their
blows. We are each of us losing our horses one after another, and why
should we bear with them any further?" The King replied, "Good Master,
it is you who must sustain their attack; no one could be everywhere at
once."
"On the Master returning, the Turks again made a fierce attack upon
them from the rear, and there was not a prince or count among them but
blushed with shame and said to each other, 'Why do we not charge them
at full gallop? Alas! Alas! we shall for ever deserve to be called
cowards, a thing which never happened to us before, for never has such
a disgrace befallen so great an army, even from the unbelievers.
Unless we defend ourselves by immediately charging the enemy, we shall
gain everlasting scandal, and so much the greater the longer we delay
to fight.'"
In spite of these protests, they had all come to the conclusion that
the King was right in not ordering them to charge till all were in a
more advantageous position, when "the success of the affair was
marred," says Geoffrey, "by two knights who were impatient of delay."
Fortunately, Richard, seeing the mistake in time, gave the order,
"Prepare to charge!" forthwith. "The sky grew black with the dust that
was raised in the confusion of that encounter. The Turks who had
purposely dismounted from their horses in order to take better aim at
our men with their darts and arrows, were slain on all sides in that
charge. King Richard, on seeing his army in motion and in encounter
with the Turks, flew rapidly on his horse through the Hospitallers who
had led the charge, and to whom he was bringing assistance with all his
retinue, and broke into the Turkish infantry, {142} who were astonished
at his blows and those of his men, and gave way to the right and to the
left."
A terrific fight ensued, ending in a triumph for the Crusaders in so
far that they had scattered the foe and were able to proceed upon their
march in safety.
In equally vivid phrase Geoffrey describes the anger of Saladin when
the news reached him of this defeat. Bitterly did he reproach and
deride his men, while his "admirals" listened with heads bowed down.
At last one bolder than the rest made answer, "Most sacred Sultan,
saving your Majesty, this charge is unjust, for we fought with all our
strength and did our best to destroy them. We met their fiercest
attacks, but it was of no avail. They are armed in impenetrable armour
which no weapon can pierce so that our blows fell as it were upon a
rock of flint. And further, there is one among their number superior
to any man we have ever seen; he always charges before the rest,
slaying and destroying our men. He is the first in every enterprise,
and is a most brave and excellent soldier; no one can resist him or
escape out of his hands. They call him _Melech Ric_ (King Richard).
Such a king as he seems born to command the whole earth; what then
could we do more against so formidable an enemy?"
Such is the description which Geoffrey, in his hero-worship, puts into
the mouth of the vanquished leaders of the Saracens, and Saladin, no
longer making light of the danger that threatened his realm, promptly
destroyed all his more important fortresses, such as Joppa and Ascalon,
for fear _Melech Ric_ should occupy them.
[Illustration: _Richard of England utterly defeats Saladin_]
Richard himself was now very anxious to get possession of Ascalon, and
to re-fortify the walls. But on this point opinions were divided. The
French were, as {145} usual, violently opposed to him, and wanted
rather to rebuild the fort of Joppa, "because it furnished a shorter
and easier route for pilgrims going to Jerusalem," and the feeling of
the multitude was with them.
"Foolish counsel; fatal obstinacy of those indolent men!" comments
Geoffrey. "By providing for their immediate comfort and to avoid
labour and expense, they did what they would afterwards repent of, for
had they then saved Ascalon from the Turks, the whole land would soon
have been clear of them. But the cry of the people prevailed, a
collection was made, and they immediately began to rebuild the towers,
and to clear out the moat of Joppa. The army remained there long,
enjoying ease and pleasure ... and the whole people became corrupted;
the zeal of pilgrimage waxed cold, and all their works of devotion were
neglected."
It was about this time that an adventure befel King Richard which
nearly put an end to his career as leader of the Third Crusade.
"About this time," says Geoffrey, "King Richard went out hawking with a
small escort, intending, if he saw any small body of Turks, to fall
upon them.
"Fatigued by his ride, he fell asleep, and a troop of the enemy rushed
suddenly upon him to make him prisoner. The King, awakened by the
noise, had barely time to mount his bay Cyprian horse, and his
attendants were still in the act of mounting, when the Turks came upon
them and tried to take him; but the King, drawing his sword, rushed
upon them, and they, pretending flight, drew him after them to a place
where there was another body of Turks in ambush. These started up with
speed, and surrounded the King in order to make him prisoner. The King
defended himself bravely, and the enemy drew {146} back, though he
would certainly have been captured if the Turks had known who he was.
"But in the midst of the conflict, one of the King's companions,
William de Pratelles, called out in the Saracen language that _he_ was
the "Melech," _i.e._ the King; and the Turks, believing what he said,
led him off captive to their own army.
"At the news of this action our army was alarmed, and seizing their
arms, came at full gallop to find the King, and when they met him
returning safe, he faced about and with them pursued the Turks, who had
carried off William de Pratelles thinking they had got the King. They
could not, however, overtake the fugitives, and King Richard, reserved
by the Divine Hand for greater things, returned to the camp, to the
great joy of his soldiers, who thanked God for his preservation, but
grieved for William de Pratelles, who loyally redeemed the King at the
price of his own liberty."
Richard was much blamed by some of his friends for his rashness on this
occasion. "But," says Geoffrey the hero-worshipper, "notwithstanding
these admonitions on the part of his best friends, the King's nature
still broke out; in all expeditions he was the first to advance and the
last to retreat; and he never failed, either by his own valour or the
Divine Aid, to bring back numbers of captives, or, if they resisted, to
put them to the sword."
When the fortress of Joppa had been rebuilt, Richard sent a
"distinguished embassy" to Saladin and Saphadim, his brother, to demand
the surrender of the Holy Land once more. This was to include the
whole kingdom of Syria, as well as tribute for Babylon, and to this
Saladin would not agree. At the same time he appeared to {147} deal
very reasonably with the embassy, sending back with them his brother
Saphadim, and offering through him to give up the kingdom of Jerusalem
"from the Jordan to the sea," on condition that the city Ascalon should
never be rebuilt. The account of the meeting of the two great
representatives of Christendom and Islam is very interesting, and the
more so because Richard never came face to face with the renowned
Saladin himself.
"When Saphadim came with this message to the King, Richard, who had
just been bled, would not converse with him on that day; but he was
supplied with every kind of delicacy for his table, and entertained in
the valley between the castles of the Temple and Jehoshaphat.
"The next day Saphadim sent a present of seven camels and a rich tent,
and coming into the King's presence, delivered Saladin's message, upon
which Richard determined to have patience for a time, that he might the
better make provision for the future. But, alas! he showed too little
prudence in not foreseeing the deceit with which they sought to
protract the time until the cities, castles and fortresses of that
country were destroyed.
"In short, Saphadim so cunningly beguiled the too credulous king, that
one would have thought they had contracted a mutual friendship; for the
King received Saphadim's gifts, and messengers were daily passing with
presents to the King, much to the annoyance of his friends. But
Saphadim pleaded that he wished to make peace between them, and the
King thought he was adopting a wise policy, by which the bounds of
Christianity would be enlarged, and a creditable peace concluded.
"When, however, the King discovered that the {148} promises of Saphadim
were mere words, he at once broke off the negotiations."
The Saracens said in after days that Richard's friendship with Saphadim
went so far that he offered him his sister Joanna in marriage; but that
Joanna herself refused with scorn to marry an infidel.
It was not until nearly the end of that year, when much time had been
lost, that the army of Richard once more turned its face towards
Jerusalem. The Templars however, tried to prevent the King from
attempting the siege of the Holy City, "lest, while they were besieging
Saladin and the garrison, the Turkish army which was outside among the
mountains, might attack our men by surprise, and so place them between
the attack of the garrison from within and the Turkish army from
without."
But Richard was sick and tired of inaction, and his army had been
lately much depressed by the miserable weather of winter.
The rain and the hail had killed many of their beasts of burden; storms
had torn up the pegs of the tents, drowned the horses and spoiled all
their biscuits and bacon. "Their clothes were dissolved by the wet,
and the men themselves suffered from the unwonted severity of the
climate."
"Under all those sufferings, their only consolation arose from their
zeal in the service of God, and a desire to finish their pilgrimage.
Even those who were sick in bed at Joppa were carried in litters, so
great was their wish to see Jerusalem."
But the weather grew worse, and at length the advice of the Templars,
experienced as they were in that climate, prevailed.
{149}
Most of the French went back to Joppa, and with much wrath on the part
of Richard and deep despondency on the part of his army, a march was
made instead upon the ruined town of Ascalon.
At the end of January, however, "the sky became brighter," and many of
the French were induced to return to Richard, and to help him to
rebuild the walls. But very soon the old quarrels broke out.
The Duke of Burgundy, finding himself without the means to pay his men,
asked King Richard to supply him with a large sum of money, as he had
done once before at Acre. When the King refused, on the ground that
his previous loan had never been repaid, the duke at once left Ascalon,
taking his army with him, and went back to Acre.
About the same time Conrad of Tyre gave mortal offence to Richard by
his refusal to come to help him to rebuild the city, and the King, in
his wrath, began to make fresh attempts at peace with Saladin, on the
plea that his foeman was of nobler mettle than his so-called allies.
Friendly overtures went so far that "on Palm Sunday, King Richard, amid
much splendour, girded with the belt of knighthood the son of Saphadim,
who had been sent to him for that purpose."
After Easter, came bad news from England to the King--news of the
treachery of his brother John, of the seizing of the revenues, and of
an empty treasury.
"And if," said the prior of Hereford who brought this news, "your
majesty does not take speedy counsel on these matters, and return home
with all haste and avenge our wrongs on the insurgents, it will fare
worse, and you will not be able to recover your kingdom without the
hazard of a war."
{150}
When these things were laid before the leaders of the army, as a reason
why Richard must speedily return to his own land, they unanimously
declared that something must be done to settle affairs in Palestine by
choosing a king, "one whom the army could follow and obey," and that if
this were not done "they would one and all depart from the land, for
they should not otherwise be able to guard against the enemy." The
choice was given them between Guy of Lusignan and Conrad of Tyre, and
to the secret disgust of Richard, they chose the latter, "as being much
better able to defend the country."
The King gave his consent, though with no good will, for the Marquis
Conrad was known to be in league with Saladin, who, on his part, was
inclined to treat with him against the advice of Saphadim, who would do
nothing "without King Richard's consent."
Conrad himself was delighted at the news that the crown was his if he
would but do his best against the foe, and his followers at Tyre
indulged, says Geoffrey, in a joy "the more unreasonable for being so
intemperate."
Then came a tragedy, swift and sudden. The marquis was returning one
day in a very cheerful and pleasant humour, from an entertainment given
by the Bishop of Beauvais, at which he had been a guest, and had
reached the Custom House of the city, when two young men, without
cloaks, suddenly rushed upon him, and having drawn their daggers,
stabbed him to the heart and ran off at full speed.
"The marquis instantly fell from his horse and rolled dying on the
ground; one of the murderers was slain directly, but the second took
shelter in a church, notwithstanding which he was captured and
condemned to be dragged through the city until life should be extinct.
{151}
"Now while the marquis was breathing his last, the attendants who were
about him, took him up in their arms, and carried him to the palace,
mourning and weeping inconsolably, the more so as their joy had been,
but now, so great. He enjoined his wife to attend carefully to the
preservation of the city of Tyre, and to resign it to no one, save King
Richard. Immediately afterwards he died, and was buried in the
Hospital amidst great mourning and lamentation.
Thus the cheering hopes of that desolate land were destroyed, and the
former gladness was turned into intense grief.
With great treachery the French now began to spread abroad a report
that Richard himself "had vilely brought about the death of the
marquis," an accusation for which there was no shadow of proof. Not
content with this, the French army, which lived in tents outside the
city sent orders to Queen Isabella, the wife of Conrad, "bidding her
place the city in their charge, without delay or opposition, for the
service of the King of France. But she, mindful of the dying words of
her lord, replied that when King Richard came to see her, she would
give it up to him and to none other, as there was no one who had
laboured so much to rescue the Holy Land from the hands of the Turks."
The French were very indignant at this reply, and while they were
attempting to gain possession of the city, Count Henry of Champagne,
the nephew of Richard, arrived unexpectedly on the scene.
"And when the people saw him among them, they forthwith chose him as
their prince, as if he had been sent by God; and began with much
earnestness to entreat him to accept the crown of the kingdom, without
{152} excuse or hesitation, and to marry the widow of the marquis, as
the kingdom was hers by right of inheritance." To this Richard
willingly agreed, and thus Henry became the nominal king of Jerusalem,
while the Holy City remained in the hands of Islam.
The sympathy of our chronicler Geoffrey is, however, entirely with the
deposed Guy of Lusignan, "who," says he "now dwelt within the kingdom
like a private man, not because he was undeserving, but for this only
reason--that he was simple-minded and unversed in political intrigue.
Thus then Guy became a king without a kingdom, until King Richard,
moved with pity for him, gave him the unconditional sovereignty of the
island of Cyprus."
Further news of the disturbed state of his own kingdom at home now
arrived for Richard, but, in spite of this, he was persuaded without
much difficulty to defer his return until the Easter of the following
year, by which time it was hoped that Jerusalem would have been taken.
This intelligence was proclaimed throughout the army by means of a
herald, "and when the army heard it, they were as delighted as a bird
at dawn of day, and all immediately set themselves in readiness,
packing up their luggage and preparing for the march."
After a few days journey, a halt was called until Count Henry could
join them with the rest of the army from Acre, and this delay enabled
Richard to seize a richly loaded caravan, an event which caused
something like a panic among the Turks. "Never," says one of them,
"did any news so trouble the Sultan."
But the English King was only too well aware of the real weakness of
his army, and when the soldiers urged him to march directly upon the
Holy City, he firmly refused.
"If it pleases you to proceed to Jerusalem," he said {153} to the other
leaders, "I will not desert you; I will be your comrade but not your
commander; I will follow, not lead you. Does not Saladin know all that
goes on in our camp? And do you think that our weak condition has
escaped his notice?"
This was the occasion of great discontent among the Crusaders. In vain
did the King propose to attack the power of Islam in Cairo or Damascus;
the French declared that they would march only against Jerusalem, from
which they were now but four miles distant. Quarrels arose among the
soldiers, some taking one side, some the other, and finally the army
retreated, in separate divisions and in a very depressed state, to
Joppa, and thence to Acre.
We may well believe that the heaviest heart in all that company was
that of the King himself. They tell us that in his pursuit of a party
of Turks near Emmaus, Richard found himself upon a hill from which he
could catch a glimpse of the Holy City in the distance. Turning away
his eyes, he cried out with tears that he was not worthy even to look
upon the spot which he had failed to wrest from the hand of the
infidel; and so he retraced his steps in sadness to the sea-shore.
The retreat of the army from Joppa was an opportunity not to be lost by
the astute Saladin. Whilst Richard was vainly trying to patch up a
truce with him from Acre, the Sultan swooped down on the unprotected
walls of Joppa and took the city after a five days' siege.
This news of the arrival of Saladin reached Acre just as Richard was
preparing to sail to his own land. He immediately set off with fifty
knights in two or three galleys and being detained by contrary winds,
reached the city only to find the banners of Saladin floating from
{154} the walls, and all the city save one tower in his hands. Dashing
through the waves to the shore, Richard led his little band to the
gates of the city, forced his way in, tore down the flag of Islam and
hoisted his own in its stead.
"Saladin, hearing of the King's arrival, and of his brilliant contest
with the Turks, of whom he had slain all who opposed him, was seized
with sudden fear, and like that timid animal the hare, put spurs to his
horse, and fled before his face."
Presently, however, it dawned upon him that instead of having been
attacked by a great army from Acre, he had been routed by a mere
handful of men, most of whom were now sleeping unprotected in camp.
"But a certain Genoese was led by the divine impulse to go out early in
the morning into the fields, where he was alarmed by the noise of men
and horses advancing, and returned speedily, but just had time to see
helmets reflecting back the light which now fell upon them. He
immediately rushed with speed into the camp, calling out "To arms! To
arms!"
The King was awakened by the noise, and leaping startled from his bed,
put on his coat of mail and summoned his men to the rescue.
During the battle that followed, in which Richard is said to have
performed almost incredible deeds of valour, Saphadim showed him an
example of generosity and courtesy.
The King had been unhorsed and was fighting desperately on foot when "a
Turk advanced towards him mounted on a prancing steed. He had been
sent by Saphadim, who now sent to the King as a token of his well known
honourable character, two noble horses, requesting him earnestly to
accept them and make use of {155} them, and if he returned safe and
sound out of that battle, to remember the gifts and to recompense it in
any way he pleased."
This was the last battle fought and the last victory won by Richard in
the Holy Land. He himself fell ill from the fatigue of that day, the
French refused to fight any more under his leadership, and England and
Normandy were clamouring for his return.
So he employed Saphadim, always kindly disposed towards him, to
intercede with Saladin for a truce; and this was finally agreed upon
for the space of three years, the Christians meantime holding Joppa and
Tyre, and all the land between; and all pilgrims having the right to
visit Jerusalem in safety.
But the Holy City remained yet in th
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