Kerbogha remained in his tent playing at chess after a black flag hoisted from the highest tower of Antioch gave notice that the Franks would sally forth, such was the contempt he felt. But when he saw them outside the walls he sent for Mirdalin, a noble celebrated for courage. Did you not tell me, Kerbogha asked, that the Franks were few in number and afraid to fight?
I did not say so, Mirdalin replied. But I will consider them and tell you if we may defeat them.
When Mirdalin saw how they advanced in serried lines, foot soldiers preceding the knights, commanded by the counts of Normandy and Flanders and other brave lords, when he had observed them he returned to Kerbogha. These Franks may be killed, he said, but I do not think they can be put to flight.
Kerbogha asked if they could be driven back.
They will not yield, Mirdalin replied.
Kerbogha notified an emir that if light burned at the head of the Turkish army he should sound trumpets and retreat.
Amid a shower of arrows and clashing swords this battle was joined. Mules brayed, camels grumbled. Down from the hills rode dead Christians bearing white standards who uttered no battle cry, astride white destriers, preceded by Mercurius and Demetrius and Saint George. Then the Franks knew they would triumph. And the Turks, understanding that they could not prevail, set fire to the grass, which was a signal to flee. Thus the siege of Antioch was broken, the devil’s army scattered.
Mahometans, too, behold resurrected knights at perilous times, albeit they wear the pagan color of martyrdom, green. Similarly, as Christians wear amulets around their necks beseeching the help of our Lord, so do unbelievers wear amulets addressed to Allah. Moreover, both copy sacred verse on parchment. Yet afterward the heathen washes ink from his parchment and drinks blackened water, expecting thereby to consecrate himself, which is false and abominable.
What of Kerbogha? Amply provided with warriors, why should he give up the field? Because he endeavored to contend against God. And the Lord discerning his arrogance, observing his pomp, crushed Kerbogha.
Franks who inspected his vast pavilion were overcome by amazement since it was constructed like a castle with ramparts and turrets, with sumptuous silk furnishing. In the midst they found his private quarters while partitions extended like rays of the sun, forming miniature streets with sleeping places that resembled hostels sufficient to accommodate two thousand men. Colorful rugs, splendid saddles, and other costly items were discovered along with grain, wine, sheep, butter, camels, and good horses. Also, many women had been left behind. According to Fulcher de Chartres, pilgrims did not abuse these women save to pierce their bellies with lances.
Bishop Adhémar, riven with plague, died at the kalends of August. Charitable, tolerant, modest, shrewd, wise in strategy, courageous, he ascended peacefully to the Lord. Such sorrow engaged the Christian host that few were able to comprehend their grief. Lord Bohemond vowed to carry the husk of this saintly bishop as far as Jerusalem, but after some argument he was laid to rest in the trench where the lance was found. Now by the helm of goodness does God Almighty rule, thus on the second night Bishop Adhémar was observed in the private chapel of Count Raymond standing next to Saint Andrew and Jesus Christ. The bishop was heard to speak.
Most gravely did I sin, for when the lance was discovered I withheld approval. For this I was led down into hell and punished. See how my beard and the side of my face are burnt. My soul writhed among flames from the hour it departed my weak body until my body was given to dust. There was I clothed in the garment you see, for when I received the order of the episcopate I bestowed it upon a poor man. And though the heat of Gehenna raged and ministers of Tartarus did their worst, no harm could they do beneath it. And nothing has been so precious to me as this candle that my companions offered, which restored me while I suffered in hell. Bohemond who is prince of Otranto would carry my body to Jerusalem, but let him not disturb me, for the blood of the Lord who accompanies me is there. And should Prince Bohemond doubt what I say, let him uncover my tomb that he may see my head and my face scorched. And let not my brothers on earth grieve that I am done with life since I shall dwell among you and prompt you better than hitherto. Bear in mind the castigations of hell. Serve God who redeems you from these and other evils. So much does the Savior grant all who embrace His precepts. Keep what remains of this candle in the morning and give a cloak of mine to the church of Saint Andrew.
Having spoken, Bishop Adhémar vanished. And when those in the chapel looked to where Lord Jesus stood they perceived an unwonted splendor.
Some argue this was diabolic work, saying Bartholomew cast a spell, for he is known to have taken offense at those who mocked him. Yet are we not privy to divine intervention? Bohemond demonstrated the sharpness of his knife by slicing a taper in half, only to see the unlit half miraculously light itself. How could such marvels obtain if not from the hand of God?
Withal, have we not met charlatans? Mountebanks who daub their foreheads blue or green with fruit juice and call themselves subject to heavenly supervision. Consider the abbot who burnt a cross on his body and claimed an angel put it there, flaunting his stigma before Antioch, who got himself named archbishop of Caesarea. Or those who shout with praise if clouds pile up to the likeness of sheep and bearded prophets. Or an old hag trailed by a white goose that waddled toward the altar at Cambrai, hence talk leapt quick as lightning that our Lord directed a goose to liberate the Holy City. Thus would pretenders lower our dignity as Christians.
How often are limbs, toes, portions, ungodly bones foisted on the credulous? How many fraudulent bargains sealed? Bishop Odo of Bayeux longed for the corpse of Saint Experius, paying one hundred pounds to the sacristan of the church that owned it. What did the sacristan do but dig up the carcass of a peasant called Experius. Now the bishop demanded an oath to prove he was buying the saint, to which the sacristan replied that he would swear these were the bones of Experius. As to his sanctity, the sacristan went on, I could not swear, Your Grace, since many who receive the title of saint are less than holy. By this cunning argument he assuaged the bishop’s doubt. Thus did peasant bones make their way to the altar of God. Or the bishop of Amiens who would house the bones of Saint Firmin in a new reliquary but found no letter nor anything to certify the wizened corpse. Still he would write on a lead plate that here lay Firmin the martyr. Enough. Enough. Let charlatans be punished for harmful inventions of the heart.
Eight months and a day did these Franks besiege Antioch, after which they themselves were shut up inside by Kerbogha for three unhappy weeks. After his defeat they rested five months and as the kalends of November approached they had not moved toward Jerusalem. Some in the army grew restless. Why, they asked their companions, do we not proceed toward the Holy Sepulcher? If the barons prove reluctant to lead us, then must we choose a valiant knight we trust. Is it the will of God that so many armed men should loiter? Let those who cherish the revenue of Antioch pocket it. Let us take the journey upon which we embarked. Let those who treasure Antioch flourish inside its walls, as those who recently held it plunged head downward to hell.
Now the high barons agreed it was time to march. They agreed to convene at the church of Saint Peter on the kalends of November whence all should depart for Jerusalem, the Holy City for which they hungered, toward which they had traveled so far. The duke of Lorraine while en route to Antioch with twelve knights was assaulted by a host of pagans. Yet these twelve acquitted themselves without fear, knowing they would prove victorious because their number equaled the number of apostles. Our Lord awarded them thirty dead, as many captive, while others fled howling to the swamp and drowned. Hence the duke of Lorraine proudly entered Antioch with captive Turks bearing the severed heads of comrades, a welcome sight.
When all were assembled at the church of Saint Peter they consulted. Some who had gained castles in this region, or collected revenue, wished to know what should be done with Antioch. If we depart and the Turks reclaim it, they said, things will be worse than befor
e. Some proposed that Antioch be given to Bohemond who was brave and wise, whose name inspired terror among the Saracens. Others, including Count Raymond, objected. So now these barons raised such discord contradicting one another they almost came to blows. The question of Antioch remained in dispute, but at length they settled upon a day to continue the pilgrimage. Jerusalem lay ten days south, although some said if they did not repent their ways this march would take ten years.
Is it not true that visions breed quicker than mice? The ghost of Saint George addressed a priest, Peter Desiderius, bidding him enter the church of Saint Leontius, saying he would find within it the relics of four saints that he should carry to Jerusalem. John Chrysostom. Cyprian. Omechios. Leontius.
Peter Desiderius did not fully believe the specter, entreating God if it were false or true. But at this Saint George threatened him and said he must do as he was told or things would go ill for him and his lord, the count of Die. Much affrighted, the priest went scurrying to chaplain Raymond d’Agiles, who consulted the bishop of Orange, Count Raymond, and others. So they proceeded to the church where they lighted candles to God, praying mightily. And next morning they discovered a chest stuffed with bones. Yet no one could guess who these bones were. The priest of Saint Leontius wanted to keep them, whereupon Raymond d’Agiles said if the saint wished to go with the army to Jerusalem he ought to disclose his name. If not, he should be content with his niche in Antioch. For, said Raymond, why burden ourselves with strange bones?
No voice being heard, the relics were bound up in cloth.
That night a youth of surpassing radiance came to visit Peter Desiderius and inquired angrily why his relics were not set aside with others.
Who art thou? Peter asked.
Dost not thou know? the youth demanded. Dost not know who bears the standard of this army?
Saint George, Peter replied.
I am he. Now set aside my bones with the rest. And close by thou wilt find in a small ampule twelve drops of the blood of Saint Tecla the martyr, which likewise must go to Jerusalem.
Peter did as he was instructed and afterward chanted mass.
Is not our Savior an irrefutable fountain whose munificence enriches all? Gerbault de Lille obtained from a monastery in Greece one arm of a saint. Robert the Fleming in Apulia acquired numerous holy bones. Ilger Bogod in Jerusalem was privileged to see a tangle of hair the Virgin clawed from her head while mourning. And in ancient times a king of Britons by name Quilius got for himself a length of rope that bound our Lord to the whipping post, a bit of the scourge that furrowed His body, thorns from the Crown, a splinter from the Cross, a shred of the garment His mother wore while giving birth. Thus do they benefit who truly believe.
Anon, the living host marched from Antioch. But what followed? Tafurs. That is to say in our language Trudennes, those who skulk and wander about killing time. Jackals. Vagabonds. Dregs of Gaul. Sluts. Ribalds. Clapperclaws. Brigands. Who could describe such offal? Breeches undone, leaking ulcers, reeking of Paris gutters, born with a need for poverty. Weeds and grass they munched. For a crust of bread they would hold a bridle, carry a log. Leather they chewed, gobbled roots, sucked raindrops out of rock. Mice they relished, clubbed bony dogs to death, trotted with flaming eyes toward putrid mounds of camel flesh. Pagan burials they searched for corpses that they strung up in the wind to dry, pounded rotten bodies with flails, thrust moldy arms and legs into bubbling cauldrons, claimed the meat of a Turk superior to pork. So sang the minstrel Robert le Pèlerin. Barefoot did these Tafurs march, pouches slung at their necks by plaited cords, menacing with pointed sticks, jaw bones, mattocks, never a lance or sword but common daggers. Unpaid, looking to no reward save the benediction of our Savior, a chance to sleep in heaven. Like mangy lions they attacked the infidel, overturned ballistas, hurled stones, boasted Le Roi Tafur as king, some Norman petty noble who traded sword and breastplate for scythe and sackcloth. Indigence to this chuff seemed godly. And did their grimy sovereign meet a vassal parading in filched robes, straightway was he drummed out of the wretched kingdom.
Twenty leagues from Antioch stood Maarat al-Numan whose citizens were haughty because in times past they had killed or enslaved numerous Christians. God’s army bivouacked among the olive groves and set to work constructing huts roofed with grapevine and branches. They built hurdles, rams, siege engines. Each day at sundown they looked up at Turks climbing a hill toward a mosque on the summit. Here the pagans would assemble for evening worship, persisting at wicked misbelief, led astray by ignorance, by obdurate depravity.
These Turks cursed the living army of God, vilified the barons. They dangled crosses outside the wall to infuriate Jerusalemfarers. When scaling ladders were placed against the wall they let down iron hooks to catch any who set foot on a ladder and drag him up where he would be stabbed with curved knives, yateghans, or slashed to death with scimitars. The knights climbed timidly because the ladders were fragile, so they were repulsed. Many in the host despaired, thinking they would starve before escaping this accursed land. Some turned homeward. Others trudged through the fields, pausing to search out beans, roots, grains of wheat.
Our Lord observing His troubled children resolved to comfort them. In Count Raymond’s chapel the servant Bartholomew lay fast asleep when he awoke to find a man with a ripped tunic standing beside the chest of relics. Bartholomew, mistaking him for a thief, demanded to know what he wanted. But this was Saint Andrew, envoy of God, who replied that he manifested himself thus garbed to show how it profits a man to serve the Lord devoutly.
In this season and poor garb, said the apostle, have I come to Him.
At these words Bartholomew noticed a light more beautiful than anything. He dropped to the ground, terrified.
Thou didst fall easily, Saint Andrew said, and lifted him up.
It is so, Bartholomew replied.
In like manner do they fall who do not believe or who transgress the commandments of God, said the apostle. But if they cry out and are penitent they will be raised, even as I have raised thee. And as the fluid of thy body sinks into earth, so will He wipe away the sins of those crying out for grace. Tell me, how fares the army of God?
Bartholomew answered that the pilgrims were overcome by sadness, miserable, with bellies empty.
Do they not recall the perils from which He has delivered them? asked the saint. For when you were beaten and troubled before the gates of Antioch you cried out to the Lord. Your plea was heard in heaven and He gave you victory over your enemies. But now you offend God. Will caverns or mountains preserve you? Among you is murder, theft, rapine, injustice, adultery. Yet will the Lord out of compassion grant you the city you besiege.
In the morning when Bartholomew made this known to the bishop of Orange and to others they chanted prayers. They gave alms. Then they built more ladders and Count Raymond sent a wooden castle on wheels up against the wall. Inside this castle were several brave knights with Everard the Huntsman to sound his trumpet. Saracens tried to burn the castle with Greek fire but failed. They flung stones from catapults, threw javelins, slack lime, hives filled with bees. William de Montpellier and other knights inside the castle threw down stones at those on the ramparts, breaking their shields. Some toppled backward into the city. Priests and clerics meanwhile beseeched God to assist.
On the eleventh day of December, which was Saturday, in that year of our Lord 1098, Goufier de Lastours gained the top of the wall. The ladder cracked beneath him and the weight of those climbing after him, so these few by themselves confronted the enemy host. Saracens attacked with lances. At this several pilgrims lost their wits from terror and leapt off the wall to death. Those on the ground now undertook to sap the wall and when the pagans understood what was happening beneath their feet they turned and fled. This happened about the hour of vespers. Soon thereafter Maarat was taken.
Next day at dawn the Franks went looking for valuables but did not find as much as they expected. Neither did they see many infidels because thousand
s were hiding in caves underground. Accordingly the soldiers of Christ descended to explore these caves, thinking that must be where the treasure was hidden. Again they were disappointed. Hence they tortured every citizen they caught, demanding to know where the silver and gold was concealed. It is related that some of these people would lead the Franks to cisterns as if intending to disclose what they had hidden, but instead would leap into the depths. They did this to escape worse torture. Bohemond, thinking to gain their allegiance, told the Saracen leaders they should take their families and valuable possessions to a palace near the gate where he would defend them. But after a while he changed his mind. He took everything they had. Some of these important people he killed, others he despatched to Antioch where they could be sold into slavery. This was God’s will, a penalty exacted for the anguish His children had endured.
It is said that Bohemond’s knights took little part in the siege yet they obtained many captives and lodged themselves in the best houses, hence quarreling broke out between his soldiers and those of Count Raymond. Also, Bohemond had laughed aloud when the servant Bartholomew spoke of being visited by Saint Andrew. Therefore the army was riven with dissent. Soldiers complained and grew restive. Look you, said they to one another, the barons quarreled about Antioch, now they quarrel about Maarat. When will it please our leaders to continue the journey? Come, let us destroy the walls and put an end to this argument. The Gesta tells how these disgruntled Jerusalemfarers armed themselves with staves and clubs to dislodge the stones, how even those who were sick got up from their beds to help. The bishop of Albara ordered them to stop but they resumed work when he was gone. Those who lacked courage to work during the day would apply themselves at night. Meanwhile they had less and less to eat.
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