The Siege of Jerusalem: Crusade and Conquest in 1099
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cance of this reservation lay in Count Raymond’s insistence that he watch over the most important military fortifi cation in the city: David’s Tower.1
Weary knights took up their stations around the walls of the city before cleaning and sheathing their swords. Th
eir duty to their lords kept them from
joining with the crowds below and participating in the tumult of feasting and drinking. In the meantime the princes bathed, dressed themselves in fresh clothes, and with bare feet gathered once more to undertake a pious tour of the Holy City, guided by the local Christian clergy. Under the cool evening sky, the procession was in strange contrast to the fervour of the day’s fi ghting and subsequent massacre. It was as though the torsos and human parts littering the streets were invisible. As the revered sites were approached, these hardened crusaders fell to their knees and, full of emotion, kissed the ground. Th ey were
particularly humble as they returned to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, for the Christian citizens of Jerusalem now emerged from the churches they had sheltered in to surround the victors, bearing crosses and relics of saints.
A spirit of devotion and contrition swelled up among even the most iron-hearted of the crusaders: many confessed their sins and took vows never to repeat them. Th
e more devout believed that through this walk and the comple-
tion of their pilgrimage they were guaranteed entry to heaven. Many knights gave generously in alms so that the old and sick of the city were catered for.
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Th
en the bishops and priests celebrated mass and in giving thanks to God they conveyed their belief that all those who had died during the course of the pilgrimage were temporarily called from their enjoyment of eternal bless-edness to join the survivors in the fulfi lment of their vows. In particular, Adhémar, the papal legate, was thought to be present among them. Th ere were
those who swore they saw the bishop of Le Puy on the walls of Jerusalem leading the critical breakthrough. With the comforting notion that all their fallen comrades were sharing in the sense of completion and heavenly reward, the ceremonies continued late into the night, with great shouts of praise and collective rejoicing. 2
Th
ere was one surprising feature of the scene – surprising as far as the princely leaders of the crusade were concerned – and that was the veneration in which the local Christians held Peter the Hermit. Aft er God, it was to Peter that they gave thanks for the restoration of Jerusalem to Christian rule. Th e
Christian citizens of Jerusalem constantly thronged around the hermit, showering him with gift s and treated him like a living saint, someone through whom the Lord had demonstrably made His will known. Ever since the catastrophic defeat of the People’s Crusade at Civitot Peter’s role as a leading fi gure on the crusade had been eclipsed by the more disciplined princely armies. He had maintained a residual infl uence with the non-combatants, but had nothing like the status that was now being accorded to him.
As the knights glanced at each other with some bemusement, the explanation for this enthusiasm became clearer. Several years before the beginning of the crusade Peter had been in Jerusalem and, distressed by the hardship suff ered by visiting pilgrims, had promised local Christian clergy that he would take a letter from the Patriarch back to the west and arouse their co-religionists to come and redress the injustices that were being infl icted upon them. Aft er a meeting with the Patriarch, Peter had vowed to use all his eloquence on behalf of the Christians of Jerusalem. From their perspective it seemed that he had succeeded spectacularly. Th
ey knew nothing of the failure of Peter’s army and
little of the decisive role of Pope Urban II in organizing the more eff ective contingents of the crusade. In the eyes of the local Christians now gathered to welcome the warriors and pilgrims from the west it was the diminutive, somewhat embarrassed preacher, who was prime mover in this miracle. 3
Aft er the celebratory prayers and singing had fi nally died away, the conquerors of Jerusalem made their way to their new homes, where their servants had obtained all they needed by way of food, drink and luxurious furnishings.
During the night, as the revelry in the west of the city diminished, Count Raymond fulfi lled his agreement with Ift ikhār. Th
e Provençal army allowed
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the Muslim general to slip out of the city safely with a sizeable number of his soldiers and their families as well as a few citizens who had escaped the slaughter; an escort of Christian knights having been assigned to protect them on the journey as far as Ascalon. In return, the count occupied David’s Tower with a tremendous feeling of satisfaction. So long as these defences were in his hands, it would be hard for any other prince to become ruler of the city.
With dawn came a renewed bout of looting as those who had missed out from the day before scoured every possible hiding place. It was not long before the news of Ift ikhār’s escape spread through the city. Incensed with a sense of betrayal a Christian crowd gathered at the Dome of the Rock, where it was known that a group of pagans remained captive. In fact, 300 terrifi ed Muslim citizens had spent the night there, hoping that the banners of Tancred and Gaston would protect them. Perhaps they might have, but made furious by the fact their chief opponent had escaped them, the Christian mob were not to be restrained by the banners, even if they did belong to two of their more popular heroes. Grimly, the crusaders entered the building and set about the task of slaughter, decapitating men and women with their swords. Th
e surge of
citizens away from the stairs caused some to fall over the edge of the building and it was not long before other Muslims deliberately threw themselves to their deaths to avoid the blades of the implacable crowd. 4
As soon as Tancred learned that his prisoners were under attack he rushed to the Dome. But it was too late. Every single one of them was dead and blood coated the walls of the building. A ransom of three persons per 100 dinars was the conventional exchange in the region at this time; Tancred and Gaston had just lost a small fortune and it was no consolation that they already controlled a great wealth in silver and gems: when it came to booty there was no such thing as having too much. But storm as he might, Tancred found no sympathy from those responsible for the bloodshed, many of whom envied and resented his seizure of the wealth in the Dome. 5
While gangs of crusaders roamed the streets, the princes and the senior nobles of the crusade met at the al-Aqsā mosque – together with the Dome of the Rock considered by the Christians to be the Temple of Solomon – later that day with a view to deciding who should rule the city. A discordant note was immediately present among them in Tancred’s outrage at the disrespect shown to his banner and in the shouts of his critics in reply that Tancred had stolen wealth that rightfully belonged to the Church. In any case, before the leading warriors of the crusade could settle down to their political manoeuvring, the clergy intervened. As far as the crusading clergy were concerned, the rule of Jerusalem should be a matter for the church, not the laity. But rather than risk a
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direct rebuff from the knights by proposing that a Patriarch govern Jerusalem, the clergy postponed the issue by pointing out that they could not hold serious talks on the future while so many corpses and human remains lying in the streets and buildings threatened to bring plague down upon them all.
Already there was a distinct stench in the air and while corpses lay in piles throughout the whole city, the Temple in front of them was fi lled with a particularly large number of cadavers. A few Muslim or Jewish citizens had survived the massacre, having been captured in a house whose new occupant had shown them mercy. Th
ese survivors were now set to work hauling the bodies
out of the gates, tying them together in mounds as big as hou
ses, and setting fi re to them. Th
ere were pitifully few prisoners to do the work though and it
was clearly going to take far too long if it was left to them. Th e clergy therefore
decreed that as a penance for having committed murder, the Christian army was to move the bodies of the slain. Th
ere was precedence for this kind of
thinking. Aft er the battle of Hastings, the victors were enjoined to perform (or pay for) a year’s penance for every person they had slain. But at Hastings Christian had fought Christian. At Jerusalem no one felt particularly penitent for having killed pagans.
In a manner that was ominous for those clergy who hoped that the new ruler of Jerusalem would be one of their own number, the lay members of the Christian army simply disregarded the imposition of this penance. Instead the princes, by making funds available for the payment of a wage, solved the problem in their own fashion and recruited labourers from the poor. Th e issue
of cleaning up the city drew attention to a peculiar feature of the crusading army. During the course of the pilgrimage, even the lowliest member of the Christian forces had the status of a free person. No lord could simply command them to work, as though they were serfs back in Europe. 6
While the work of removing the corpses proceeded effi
ciently enough under
the stimulus of pay, the conquerors all enjoyed an unlimited supply of clean water and a great abundance of food. In the newly cleaned streets crowds of crusaders would gather to talk, enjoy their sense of achievement, and listen to the songs that were already being composed to celebrate their achievements.
An impromptu market came into being, where those who had been quick enough to claim well supplied houses brought their excess goods to swap with one another or sell. Th
ere was such a quantity of grain that even those who
had missed out on plunder and had to rely on alms or the stipend for moving bodies could aff ord to refresh themselves with all the food they could eat. Th e
humour of the Christian occupiers of Jerusalem rose as they fi lled their bellies and strolled around the sites of the famous city.
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Th
at this feeling of happiness could simultaneously coincide with a willingness to murder fellow human beings was evident aft er a meeting among the princes on the third day aft er the conquest of the city. Th
ere they decided that
given the prospect of a massive army coming up to the city from Egypt, they could not risk having any enemies within the city. Even though there were few enough Muslim and Jewish survivors, there were still too many for safety and the leaders of the Christian army decided a further bout of bloodshed would be necessary. A pitiful aft ernoon’s work saw those being held for ransom or for work as slaves butchered helplessly. By now the only Muslim or Jewish survivors of the sack of Jerusalem were those who had departed with Ift ikhār, those who had managed to escape the walls of the city in the confusion of events on the fi ft eenth of July, or those very fortunate indeed, in encountering a crusader willing to hide or disguise them. Th
at some Jewish civilians were later sold as
slaves by Tancred and ended up in Norman Italy, while others were ransomed by their co-religionists in Egypt, shows that there were some such prisoners in closely guarded houses, protected not by charitable feelings but a drive for wealth. Later, when it seemed that insuffi
cient ransoms would be paid for these
captives, Tancred had the least valuable of them beheaded. 7
In his desire to raise himself up a rank in power, Tancred had earned a great deal of resentment, especially with regard to his appropriation of such an enormous hoard of silver. A row broke out as Arnulf of Chocques launched an unexpected and vigorous attack on Tancred’s plundering of the Dome of the Rock (part of the Temple complex as the Christians saw it). Th e case presented by Arnulf to the leaders of the crusade was that although everyone was entitled to keep whatever property they had seized from non-Christians, the Temple was not to be included in the law of conquest because it was a venerated Christian site. Would they have tolerated the robbery of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre and the other Christian churches during the storming of the city?
Th
is was a dark moment for the Norman prince, who had already spent most of the fortune he had gained in rewarding his followers, paying off all his debts and recruiting another 40 knights: a major step forward in the pursuit of lordly power. It was an attack from an unexpected direction, because Arnulf of Chocques was a fellow Norman (chaplain to Robert of Normandy) and a good friend of the man Tancred had backed for the bishopric of Bethlehem: another Arnulf, bishop of Matera. Tancred and Arnulf of Matera had journeyed together on the crusade and this Arnulf had benefi ted from their relationship as a result of Tancred arriving fi rst at Bethlehem and off ering protection to the local Christians. Even though Arnulf of Matera could hardly read and was not
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much better educated than the commoners, he was off ered the Episcopal rule of the church of Bethlehem. But despite this alliance with Tancred, the two Arnulfs now had their own agenda based on the possibility of Arnulf of Chocques becoming patriarch of Jerusalem and therefore being able to give greater legitimacy to his friend as the bishop of Bethlehem than could any secular prince. One of the main obstacles to that glorious prospect was the hostility of the non-Norman clergy to Arnulf of Chocques and their belief that he was simply a creature of the Normans, particularly because he had led the faction that brought down the Provençal visionary Peter Bartholomew. By attacking Tancred, Arnulf of Chocques was displaying his willingness to put the needs of the Church before all factions. If this was not likely to overcome the deep antagonism between him and the Provençal clergy, it would at least make a very favourable impression on the important new constituency, the Christians of Jerusalem and its environs.
Taking on the Norman prince, however, was no easy prospect. As he had shown in matching words with the Byzantine Emperor, Tancred was capable of holding his own in highly tense verbal exchanges. He began his response skilfully, appealing to his fellow warriors with the point that he was no student of rhetoric, but rather his talents lay with sword and spear. From that perspective, the military one, his actions had been exemplary, for now silver, gold and gems that had lain idle were being put to use in raising an army. Th e overall
result of taking the silver from the Temple was a gain for the public good of the Christian cause and that was not to mention the alms given to the poor. All that was taken was now put in motion so that its productivity could grow, when the treasure had been stuck in the building it did not increase. 8
Tancred’s line of appeal could not use the argument that the Temple was a Muslim sacred place and not a Christian one. It was universally accepted that the building marked a location previously sacred to Christians. Perhaps aff ected by the knowledge that Muslims claimed Mohammed’s night time journey to heaven had begun at the now contested spot, Arnulf claimed it was the site at which the patriarch Jacob had seen a ladder touching the heavens with angels climbing up and down; a site at which the infant Christ had spoken; and at which the adolescent Christ had driven out the money changers.
From the perspective of Godfrey, this was a very unfortunate crisis and a diffi
cult one to resolve. Tancred was a popular fi gure and to fi nd against him would be to risk alienating the Normans at a time when their support was essential if Godfrey were to become ruler of the city. Moreover, Godfrey, as Tancred’s nominal overlord, had benefi ted from a share of the treasure. On the
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other hand, Godfrey could not risk the accusation of impiety by openly siding with Tancred in this debate. Military expediency was not grounds for despoil-ing the Church of wealth. A compromise would ha
ve to be reached.
Fortunately for those who wanted harmony in the Christian ranks, there was room for a compromise: Tancred would give back to the Church a tenth of the wealth he had obtained. Having proved himself as a militant champion of the rights of the Church and having been seen to make stirring speeches in that cause, Arnulf had achieved a great deal of his purpose simply by raising the issue. A tithe of Tancred’s plunder, 700 marks, was a handsome accretion of ready cash under the circumstances. For Tancred’s part, he was only too pleased to legitimize his retention of the rest of the silver, having been alarmed that he might lose very much more. Despite all his recent expenditure he was still able to donate such a sum to the Temple. To the great approval of all sides –
except those jealous of the growing power of the two fi gures concerned – the patriarch and the prince were publicly, and indeed personally, reconciled.9
On 22 July 1099, a week aft er the capture of Jerusalem, the princes and senior nobles fi nally met to resolve the question of who should rule the city.
Th
is had been a well-advertised meeting, the subject of much of the discussion in the streets by the lower social orders. But before the negotiations could begin, their meeting was interrupted by a delegation of the crusading clergy who insisted that it was wrong for the princes to dispose of the city as though it were their property. Th
is group of bishops and priests was not as impressive as it
might have been. For one thing it did not include Arnulf of Chocques and his friend Arnulf, bishop of Matera, who disassociated themselves from the current initiative. Th
ey were betting on the secular powers and having recently
reached an accord with the princes did not want to damage relations with the future ruler of the city.
Th
e papal legate, Adhémar, had commanded a great deal of respect among all the princely leaders of the crusade, not least because of his eff ective command of an important group of Provençal knights as well as his even-handedness in church matters. Aft er Adhémar had died, a victim of the plague that broke out in Antioch in the summer of 1098, there were few remaining clerical leaders with anything like his authority over the Christian army. Th