At Philippopolis a company of Germans from Conrad’s army went to loiter in taverns and drank and made noise. A juggler who did not know their language sat down with them and paid his share and began to drink. Presently he drew out of his jacket a snake and set down a glass, laid the viper on top and began to perform conjuring tricks. But the Germans flew into a rage because his tricks did not satisfy them. They pounced on him and tore him apart. Or it may be the Germans accused him of sorcery, saying he had been hired to kill them with poison. This brought the governor of Philippopolis to investigate. Now the Germans, excited from wine and fury and thinking they would be punished for murdering the juggler, hurled themselves at the governor’s men. This brought other men with bows who killed several Germans and drove off the rest. But they came back freshly armed and set everything on fire.
At the money exchange near Constantinople some Fleming lost his wits before unimaginable wealth, seized what he could and rushed about shouting wildly for his comrades to do the same. Gold and silver trampled in the mud, screams of rage, tables upside down what with vendors and pilgrims running back and forth. The count of Flanders remanded this unruly soldier to King Louis, to be flogged with rods or burnt, as the sovereign chose. King Louis had him hanged in public. Further, everything stolen must be returned, delivered to the bishop of Langres. What could not be recovered the king himself would make up.
Some days afterward this army crossed the Arm of Saint George, invading Turkish land. Duke Frederick of Swabia, who was the emperor’s nephew and heir, came riding into camp and told what happened. Not much of Conrad’s turbulent host survived. They were swollen with hubris.
Beyond Laodicea on mountainous slopes fouled by German corpses the army of King Louis was assaulted. Turks high above them on a narrow pass shot arrows and sent tree trunks and stones rolling down to crush them. Sumpter beasts went mad with fright, pressed against one another, reared and plunged, fell screaming into the abyss. At every death the vile Turks rejoiced. Many pilgrims who left home and family for the sake of Jesus Christ found martyrdom at this snowy pass. Documents do not explain how it was that King Louis got separated from the imperial guard. However it came about, he attempted to climb a slope by clutching roots that God exposed to ensure his safety. Turks pursued him. Archers from a distance shot arrows at him. But he was protected from arrows by his cuirass and with his sword he cut off the hands of those who tried to capture him. Yet the valor of King Louis was not enough. His efforts bore dry fruit. After this defeat he relinquished command to Everard, third Master of the Temple, and made his way seaward to Attalia, whence he journeyed to Antioch. I have heard he got to Jerusalem where he stayed a while, long enough to celebrate Easter. At last, yielding to the importunity of Abbot Suger, he returned to France. So ended a wretched pilgrimage where once they had thought to subjugate Damascus. The vices of this army drew our Lord’s wrath, according to the bishop of Freysinghen. Yet another cleric, Geoffroi of Clairvaux, declared the result no less than favorable since this endeavor populated heaven with a throng of illustrious martyrs.
Some disparaged King Louis, saying he acted against the counsel of Prince Raymond of Antioch. They said he wished to humiliate Prince Raymond whose conduct toward the king’s wife provoked whispers. Thus we see how things that are one become several through the aims of human perversity.
As for Abbot Bernard who prophesied success, he addressed a letter to His Holiness Eugenius.
Most Holy Father, we have fallen upon grave times. The Lord, provoked by our sins, forgetful of His mercy, has laid low in the desert many of His children, cut down by the sword or depleted by famine. Therefore some call us immoderate. Yet I did not proceed like a man who questioned his goal, since I have acted with the authority of God as decreed by you. And the judgment of God is true indeed. Who does not know that? How, then, should anyone reprove what exceeds all comprehension? When Moses wished to lead his people out of Egypt, he promised them a better land. If he had not, would they have followed? He led them, but he did not lead them to the land he promised. Yet he acted at the Lord’s command. Who does not know that? How, then, should it fall incumbent upon me to justify what befell the host? Would anyone say that the fate of those lost in the desert was contrary to our Lord’s promise? These few matters I invoke, most Holy Father, since the perfect and ultimate apology for any man must be the testimony of his conscience.
God’s kingdom Outremer now manifestly decayed. The fruit of barons and high lords withered. With delight Saracens mocked the crumbling pediment of Christian enterprise, with impunity looked toward those whose names once had riven them with fright. Their boldness rose proportionately.
Nur al-Din raised a fearful army to pick apart the castles. He resolved to invest the fortress of Inab. This news brought Prince Raymond furiously out of Antioch with not enough men, but narratives from those days call Raymond a prince of impetuous courage who disdained advice. He encamped near the fountain of Murad and during the night was encircled. Next morning, when he saw how they must escape or be massacred in the hollow, Raymond ordered his knights to charge. But suddenly the wind blew dust in their eyes. Not many escaped. Raymond’s head was sliced off, preserved in a silver casket as was usual, and despatched to Baghdad. It is said the caliph exhibited Raymond’s head throughout the Muslim world to prove this formidable adversary would trouble them no more. His death occurred on the feast day of apostles Peter and Paul in the thirteenth year of his seigneury. What the Saracens left of him was carried sorrowfully to Antioch, entombed among his predecessors. Then the people of Antioch lost themselves to wretchedness and grief.
Before long Nur al-Din rode by the very walls of Antioch, pillaging, burning, insolent, looking to the death of Christians. He attacked the monastery of Saint Symeon high up in the mountains, after which he rode down to observe and contemplate the sea, which was a new experience. He immersed himself in salt water and exulted, studied by the men of his army. Next he confronted and took the fortress of Harim. Christians everywhere now yielded to helpless fright because the flower of Latin knighthood was delivered to the palm of a Turk. Who in the country roundabout would govern them, protect them?
Next came the sultan of Iconium leading a powerful column across Syria to threaten Christian strongholds. So the land was dazed, sick with apprehension. He laid siege to the castle of Turbessel. Count Joscelin persuaded the sultan to depart by freeing every Turkish captive and giving him twelve suits of armor. Many believe the pigeonhearted son of Lord Joscelin met a worthy end. One day en route to Antioch he turned aside to empty himself and while going about the business was captured by Turcomans who led him to Aleppo dressed with chains. They blinded him and there he languished nine years before giving up the ghost. Or it may be as the pagan Sibt relates, he went to meet some Turkish girl. Syriac narratives claim a Jew pointed him out. Others think the limb of a tree knocked him senseless. Whatever the fact, this Joscelin did not stand as high as his father’s belt.
Now, with Antioch and Edessa deprived of leadership in that summer of grace 1150, Christian Syria weakened.
Divine providence roused the Holy Land from fatal apathy. Three leagues south from Ascalon stood one of ancient Philistia’s five cities, Gaza, with splendid churches and marble homes. For centuries it stood proudly, but at length fell apart. On that hill the servants of Christ erected a fortress and garrisoned it with Templars. By doing so they threatened Egyptians to the south who were in the habit of victualing Ascalon. Hence, some faint equilibrium prevailed.
But the lash of the Lord is restless. In the year of our grace 1153 here came Baldwin III with all the siege engines he could muster, accompanied by knights of the Temple and Hospital, by great lords of the realm, by the archbishops of Tyre and Caesarea and Nazareth and the bishops of Acre and Bethlehem. This mighty host encamped along the circuit of walls and Lord Gérard de Sidon made ready to blockade the port with fifteen beaked ships. Citizens of Ascalon looked to defend themselves. Every night they marched aro
und the ramparts, which had been lighted bright as day since they put lamps with glass covers here and there.
One morning at sunrise after five months of bombardment a section of the wall came tumbling down with noise enough to rouse the army. Pilgrims seized their weapons and rushed joyously toward that place where fortune decreed they should enter. Bernard de Tremelay, Master of the Temple, got there first and occupied the breach so his people might have first chance at looting. Forty Templars pushed through, consumed by greed, but were hacked to pieces. And the Saracens patched the wall with great wood beams, dangled Templar bodies from ropes in full view, jeered, whistled, and boasted. This infuriated God’s servants who forgot all fear of death and hurled themselves against Ascalon until those inside could not mistake the terrible wrath of our Lord. Lamenting, groaning, they chose to surrender, at which a shout arose from the Christian host. Many wept, gave thanks, lifted up their hands and eyes to praise the Creator. Thenceforth, while His standard floated from the towers of Ascalon, that province of the Holy Land seemed secure. Had Turks in the north united with Babylonians in the south, how could Jerusalem survive?
The conquest of Ascalon brought grief and fear to Egypt. Caliph al-Adil despatched troops to the mouth of the Nile and with this army went his grandson, Nasr. Because these Mahometans record events as do Franks or Scots or Alemanni or Lombards, albeit using letters few servants of God understand, the cruelty, intrigue, malice, and corruption of their lives has been preserved. The youth Nasr wearied of garrison life and returned to Cairo, whereupon al-Adil ordered him to rejoin the army. What did this rebellious youth do but get into the harem and stab his grandfather. Afterward, he showed his grandfather’s head on the point of a lance.
At first a wheel turns slowly, yet the angle grows steeper. Twenty trays of gold, thirty saddled mules, forty camels loaded with grain and other gifts did the next caliph bestow upon Nasr. It is said they would disguise themselves and slip out of the palace at night to mingle with common people.
You must visit me, said the youth to his royal patron. You must visit my home in the bazaar of sword-makers.
The caliph accepted. But all at once here came assassins out of hiding. It is related that Nasr himself threw his patron’s body into a vault beneath the house. And a black slave, Sa’d al-Daula, who witnessed the crime was put to death. Where is the light of this dark and heathen world?
Citizens howled for the death of Nasr but he escaped and fled along the Damascus road where Frankish troops caught him. Now, as wicked people do when caught, he repented his villainous life and wished to be reborn. Therefore, clanking with chains, he was instructed in the true faith of Jesus Christ and learned to write Roman letters. Nevertheless, when Cairo offered sixty thousand gold pieces for him the Franks accepted. Away went Nasr, stripped of dignity, locked in a cage on the hump of a camel. And no more did he get to Cairo than citizens tore him apart and chewed his flesh. What little remained they hung outside the Zawila Gate. Has the Prince of Demons conceived a more odious tribe?
Or as happened once in Aleppo when a mad prince ascended the throne. Alp Arslan, son of Ridwan, sixteen years of age and stuttering so much they called him the Mute. No more did he come to rule than he chopped off the heads of his brothers, various officers, counselors, servants, any he disliked. He led certain nobles to the citadel, to a trench in the cellar. How would you like it, he asked, how would you like it if right here I cut off your heads? Narrowly they escaped the sword, feigning amusement, assuring the mad king that he might do as he wished since they were loyal subjects. Thereafter all avoided him save the royal eunuch Loulou, which is to say Pearls. These infidels bestow sweet names upon eunuchs. Murjan, which means Coral. Fayruz, which is Turquoise. Kafur, meaning Camphor. Mithqal, which is Sequin. However that may be, Loulou considered the past and the future and one night strangled Alp Arslan. But what was his reward for killing the tyrant? As he wandered through the fields beyond Aleppo on a pleasant afternoon the men of his escort drew their bows. After the hare! they cried. After the hare! But this hare was Loulou and he struck the ground with his last breath, showing more bristles than some hedgehog. How could it profit such malignant spirits to gain the world, which straightway they must lose?
Now with Ascalon secure, Christian banners flying from turrets, King Baldwin in our year of enlightenment 1157 found himself persecuted by creditors. Turcoman shepherds pastured their flocks near Paneas and the king looked greedily upon these animals and gave orders to slay the shepherds. He gathered sheep and donkeys as well as many splendid horses. However, this brought Nur al-Din raging down out of the north to fall upon the king’s army near the Sea of Galilee and destroy it. King Baldwin himself escaped to Safed, but infidels delight in telling how Nur al-Din rode through Damascus displaying severed heads and Frankish captives. Christian knights on red camels rode through the streets, standards unfurled as though victorious but in truth were captive, the banners stained by Christian blood. Prisoners of high estate rode in seeming triumph through the city, behind them naked sergeants roped together, four, five, six, eight. Arab chronicles relate that Muslims danced, hooted, shouted insults, gesticulated, convinced that Allah punished these Franks. Archbishop William, disturbed by the king’s imperious act, wrote that our Lord visited upon him what he had visited upon peaceful shepherds.
Certain it is that the King of Kings waxed furious with Frank and Saracen alike, furious at the conduct of His children. Throughout Syria the ground trembled. Watchtowers above the walls of Aleppo shook and fell apart. Beyrouth. Tripoli. Homs. Tyre. Buildings crumpled, thousands died. Citizens of Harran peered into a crevice and saw the ruins of some ancient city. A teacher in Hama left the school to relieve himself and got back to find every student dead. Munqidhites at Shaizar assembled for a royal circumcision when the earth cracked and the citadel fell inward. Of this dynasty no more than two survived, one a princess of Shaizar. The other was Ushama ibn Munquidh, author and diplomat, who chanced to be traveling. With great bitterness he wrote that death did not advance step by step, nor catch his people one by one, but in a wink their homes became their tombs. Blessed Saint Augustine teaches how God does not idly strike mountains, which are innocent, nor without purpose cause the ground to shake. God does so to signify His terrible wrath at sinners. Thus it behooves us, who are from birth choked by sin, to purge our souls of impurities and rivalries.
Now in those days Emperor Manuel was the wealthiest, most generous sovereign on earth. Whoever asked of him got one hundred silver marks. If counselors reproached him for such benefaction he would answer frankly. There are but two with the right to give, our Lord and I.
King Baldwin, seeing how it was, resolved to ally himself with the mighty house of Comnenus. He thought to ask for the hand of a Byzantine princess. Therefore he despatched two envoys who came back rejoicing. Manuel Comnenus had selected one of his nieces, Theodora, aged thirteen. The child was alleged to be tall and elegant, her skin compared to burnished gold. Presently she was delivered to Jerusalem roped with pearls, accompanied by an escort befitting the majestic house of Comnenus, bringing innumerable gems, fabulous carpets, spices, unguents. And no more did King Baldwin set eyes upon the child than he forsook other women, of whom there had been more than enough. So they were married.
In this way, Emperor Manuel became uncle to the king of Jerusalem through marriage.
Down from Constantinople to the land of Syria he rode in our year of grace 1159. Baldwin with his greatest lords hurried north to Antioch, whence he sent ambassadors to convey salutations in a most courteous fashion and to inquire if he should present himself. Being informed that he should do so, he set forth at once. He was met by two nobles of the highest rank, nephews of the emperor, who conducted him to the tent where Manuel Comnenus held court. It is said the emperor welcomed him graciously, gave him the kiss of peace, and seated Baldwin at his side, albeit on a throne less elevated than his own.
For ten days the monarchs discoursed pleasantly, after which Ba
ldwin returned to Antioch carrying twenty thousand gold nomisma as well as brocade, jewelry, fine silk, vases, and other gifts.
Anon, here was Manuel Comnenus with his vast army approaching the gates. King Baldwin emerged, attended by notables, followed by citizens. To the music of trumpets and drums Emperor Manuel passed through the gates and was escorted to the cathedral of Saint Peter through streets adorned with carpets, strewn with flowers. Then to the palace. He wore chain mail beneath his robes.
Emperor Manuel luxuriated at the baths and otherwise sampled the pleasures of Antioch for several days. Now he wished to go hunting. So on the day of our Lord’s Ascension these two monarchs with their attendants went riding toward the forest. But as they galloped across uneven ground King Baldwin’s horse stumbled and pitched him from the saddle. When he struck the earth he broke one arm. The emperor at once dismounted, knelt beside him and took up the duty of physician, ministering to the king as if he himself were a common leech. Seeing this, Greek courtiers stood amazed, dumb with shame, for it was unseemly that the most powerful sovereign in the world should disregard the majesty of his office. And when they had returned to Antioch the emperor visited the king each day to change poultices and ointments, displaying as much solicitude as if Baldwin were his son. Narratives agree that he took much pride in his skill at physic.
Shortly thereafter Manuel Comnenus returned to Constantinople. King Baldwin, troubled by discord and Saracen threats, returned to Jerusalem.
Queen Melisende, his mother, wasted from long suffering that no remedy could palliate, the wall of her flesh broken, ascended to celestial glory in the providential year 1161. She was entombed in the valley of Jehoshaphat, to the right as one descends toward the sepulcher of Blessed Mary. She rests in a stone crypt with iron gates. Close by is an altar where mass diurnally is celebrated for her soul, for the souls of all who trust in the Lord. King Baldwin lost himself in grief. For a long time he would not be comforted.
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