The Dream and the Tomb

by Robert Payne

  Raymond of Aguilers never had the slightest doubt that the true Lance had been found. Had he not seen it even before the earth had loosened its grip on it? He was confirmed in his belief that God spoke in signs and through visions and he was overwhelmed with joy. With this Lance Christ had been killed and with the help of this Lance the Crusaders would destroy the infidels who had taken possession of the Holy Sepulchre.

  On the following day Peter Bartholomew had another vision. St. Andrew and Christ both appeared to him, and on the foot of Christ he saw the fresh and bloody wounds left by the nails.

  The Holy Lance became the talisman of the Crusaders. Wrapped in rich brocade, and solemnly unwrapped for the benefit of those permitted to kiss it, it was shown on hundreds of occasions to the faithful. It was taken into battle in order to spur on the advance. The Count of Toulouse kept it in his private chapel, for it was the physical evidence of his authority, the demonstrable symbol of God’s willingness that he should lead the Crusade. It was both a religious and political weapon, not simply an object to be worshipped and put away. In the name of the Lance, the gift of Christ and St. Andrew, Peter Bartholomew continued to prophesy the course of the war and to recount the messages he received from Christ. The Lance would continue to speak through people long after Peter Bartholomew was dead.

  What the Lance said always reflected the position of the Count of Toulouse. It ordered the Crusaders to put away sin, to give alms to the Church, and to have faith in Christ’s power to trample the infidels underfoot. Leaf-shaped, of hammered iron, the Lance seemed in the eyes of the Provençals a living presence.

  Yet there were many, especially among the Normans, who did not believe in visions. Robert of Normandy’s chaplain, Arnulf of Chocques, accepted the vision, then denied it, then accepted it again. Bishop Adhémar, who lived only a few weeks after the lance was found, did not accept the visions that led to it. Peter Bartholomew, driven to fury by the doubters, announced that there was a simple way by which he could prove the truth of his visions. “I not only desire but I beg you to light a fire,” he said, “and I shall submit to the ordeal by fire with the Lance in my hands. If it is truly the Lord’s Lance, then I shall emerge unburned, but if it a false Lance I shall be consumed by the fire.”

  On April 8, 1099, at a time when the Christian army was on its way to Jerusalem, Peter Bartholomew took the ordeal by fire. It was Good Friday. Peter Bartholomew had fasted during the four previous days. At dawn, dry olive branches were gathered and stacked up until they formed two solid rows a foot apart. The height of the stacks was given as four feet and the length as thirteen feet. At midday a crowd of some sixty thousand persons watched the ordeal. Flames were shooting into the air when Raymond of Aguilers offered prayers, imploring God either to confirm the visions or deny them. The bishop of Albara gave Peter Bartholomew the Lance wrapped in embroidered cloth, and there was a moment of prayer before Peter Bartholomew, barefoot and wearing only a tunic, entered the small forest of burning olive wood. Since the logs were only four feet high, his head and shoulders could sometimes be seen through the flames. They observed that, when he was about halfway, he paused; afterward he explained that Jesus had come to him in the flames and said, “You shall not cross without wounds, but you shall not see hell.” Jesus had held his hands, and then let go. Thereupon Peter Bartholomew continued his journey.

  At last he emerged. He waved to the crowd, held the Lance high above his head, and screamed, “God help us!” It was observed that his tunic was unscorched, and so was the embroidered cloth wrapped around the Lance. The crowd surged around him, hoping to touch him or snatch a piece of the tunic, jostling him so roughly that he was in danger of being physically harmed, and in fact he suffered three or four gashes on his legs and a cracked spine. Later, when he was examined, it was discovered that his wounds were more serious than his burns.

  Even now the skeptics were not completely convinced, but there were many who believed that a man could not pass through the flames alive without God’s blessing. Less than two weeks later, on April 20, Peter Bartholomew died. Raymond of Aguilers was quite certain he died as a result of the wounds inflicted on him after he had passed through the fire. He was buried in the place where he had suffered his ordeal. The Holy Lance remained in the possession of the Count of Toulouse, and it accompanied him to Jerusalem.

  Of all the relics that have been handed down from generation to generation—the Crown of Thorns, the Nails, the wood of the Holy Cross, the Holy Shroud, all the skulls of the saints to be found in the churches of Rome and the monasteries of Mount Athos, and all the vast assembly of relics dispersed throughout Europe after the sack of Constantinople in A.D. 1204—the Lance remains the only relic of whose discovery we know the exact moment. Whether true or false, for the Crusaders who believed in it, it provided a poignant justification for their march on Jerusalem. It was so small that one could hold it in one’s hand, and so large that it filled their imaginations. The Lance was God’s promise of victory.

  The Triumph

  ANTIOCH had fallen to the Crusaders on June 28, 1098, but six months passed before they were able to resume their march on Jerusalem. Those six months were spent in paralyzing quarrels among the princes, while the armies rested and accustomed themselves to life in the East. There were brothels in Antioch, and the soldiers frequented them. There were defense posts to be repaired, supplies and provisions had to be found, an orderly way of life had to be discovered. Bohemond still claimed Antioch as his own, and he quarreled with the Count of Toulouse over the possession of Maarat al-Numan, a recently captured stronghold. The troops, who were well aware of these princely quarrels, took matters in their own hands: they fell on the stronghold and demolished it.

  On January 13, 1099, the Count of Toulouse, having decided that the quarrels were depleting his energies and that too much time had been wasted, already set out for Jerusalem, leaving Bohemond behind to enjoy the luxuries of Antioch. The count saw himself destined to be the conqueror of Jerusalem. The march, though slow, was surprisingly easy. The emirs hastened to offer food to the great army, which would otherwise have trampled them to death. Spring came; the flowers were in bloom. As the Crusaders marched along the beautiful coastal road, they were in a frenzy of hope. Near Joppa, the modern Jaffa, the army turned inland, and began the ascent to Jerusalem.

  Now Jerusalem lay before them, her yellow walls shining in the hot summer sun, banners flying from her towers. Iftikhar ad-Daula, the governor of the city and the commander of the garrison forces, had placed Jerusalem in a posture of formidable strength. He had adequate armaments and provisions for a long siege and troops who were intensely loyal to him. Moreover, an Egyptian army was on the way. The wells around the city had been poisoned, and he had had all the flocks of sheep and goats on the neighboring hills rounded up and brought into the city. The thousands of Christians living in Jerusalem were expelled and sent into the Judaean wilderness. The Jews were permitted to remain, perhaps because they possessed stores that could be made available to the defenders. From his spies the governor learned that his own Arab and Nubian troops outnumbered the invaders, who seemed to be ill equipped to invest a city as large and as powerful as Jerusalem. He hoped the Egyptian army would arrive soon. Then the Crusading army would vanish from the face of the earth as though it had never existed.

  Iftikhar was a good general, capable of inspiring acts of heroism from his troops. He was also a careful and cautious general, who had made sure that he had ample supplies of water and food. He had ordered that the towers should be filled with bales of cotton and hay to strengthen them against bombardment. He acted coolly at all times and earned the admiration of the Crusaders.

  The siege began on the day the Crusaders reached the Mosque of the Prophet Samuel. From this hilltop, traditionally known to pilgrims as Montjoie, the Joyous Mountain, they could see the whole of Jerusalem lying before them. The day was June 7, 1099.

  The princes had pored over maps, and considered the reports of
their spies; in addition, they knew the lay of the land. Jerusalem was defended on three sides—the east, south, and west—by deep ravines; the north wall was easily accessible, and so was Mount Zion in the southwest corner. The Crusaders under Robert of Normandy took up their places facing the north wall, and those under the Count of Toulouse faced Mount Zion. Godfrey of Lorraine’s troops covered the northwest angle of the city as far down as the Jaffa Gate, while Robert of Flanders kept watch over the Damascus Gate. Jerusalem was not encircled; it was being besieged on two fronts. Yet, in a very real sense, the encirclement was complete, for all the land around Jerusalem belonged to the invaders and the city was isolated.

  The first five days were spent in bringing up the carts laden with the separate pieces of siege engines, and with the search for provisions, and especially for water. Raymond of Aguilers, who accompanied the count’s forces at Mount Zion, describes how the men crowded around the Pool of Siloam at the foot of the hill. The fountain gushed every third day. This was one of those inexplicable things that could only be ascribed to the will of God. The soldiers were raging with thirst and when the fountain began to gush they jostled and fought with one another so violently that some fell into it, and so did the horses and cattle brought to the watering place. He continues:

  Those who were strong pushed and shoved their way in a deathly fashion through the pool, which was already choked with dead animals and men struggling for their lives, and in this way they reached the rocky mouth of the fountain, while those who were weaker were left behind in the filthy water. These weaker ones sprawled on the ground beside the pool with gaping mouths, their parched tongues making them speechless, while they stretched out their hands to beg water from the more fortunate ones.

  In the nearby fields horses, mules, cattle, sheep, and many other animals were standing, too weak to move. They shriveled and died of thirst, rotting where they stood, and they filled the air with the smell of death.

  So the days passed in deadening heat and choking dust, and strong winds rose full of the sun’s heat. There was little shade; all the trees around Jerusalem had been cut down. The Crusaders had to bring water from springs five or six miles away, and men paid small fortunes for a mouthful of water. The Saracens succeeded in ambushing some of the water-carriers.

  By June 12, when the armies were settling down, the princes made a pilgrimage to the Mount of Olives and here they encountered an old hermit who said, “If you will attack the city tomorrow to the ninth hour, the Lord will deliver it into your hands!”

  The princes were puzzled. The army was not yet ready for a general assault. The scaling ladders, the siege engines, and the wooden towers were not yet in place.

  “The siege machinery is not here,” the princes said.

  The hermit replied that the siege machinery had nothing to do with it.

  “God is all powerful,” he answered. “If He wills, you can scale the walls with a single ladder. He is on the side of those who work for the Truth.”

  The princes were so impressed with the hermit’s argument that they did exactly as he had ordered. They commanded a general assault with improvised siege engines and, according to Raymond of Aguilers, a few Crusaders succeeded in reaching the parapets and there was continuous fighting until the third hour. Raymond of Aguilers, who had faith in hermits and miracles, reported that the attack would have been successful if it had not been for the sloth and fear of the princes who called it off too soon.

  This reverse discouraged many of the soldiers, who went on foraging expeditions, searching for fodder and water for their horses, and food and water for themselves. At this moment the army became disorganized and a sortie by the defenders of Jerusalem might have destroyed the Crusaders preparing to attack along the north wall. The princes, however, regained command of their troops very quickly, announcing that there would be no further assaults until they had constructed more mangonels and siege engines. For all these they needed stout wooden timbers, but there was scarcely a tree left standing in the neighborhood of Jerusalem.

  Providentially there arrived on June 17 at Jaffa six ships laden with provisions and armaments together with the tackle, ropes, nails, iron bolts, and leather hides needed for the making of siege engines. The ships also carried some timber, but not enough for the Crusaders’ purpose. The Muslims were determined that these supplies should not reach the Crusader army and sent four hundred of their best Arab troops and two hundred Turks to Ramleh, a few miles inland on the road from Jaffa to Jerusalem. A certain Count Geldemar Carpenel, attached to Godfrey of Bouillon’s staff, was sent with twenty knights and fifty infantrymen to secure the passage of the supplies. It was quickly realized that this might not be a sufficiently large force. Raymond Pilet with fifty knights was sent after Count Carpenel, and later still another force was sent out, consisting of William of Sabran, who belonged to the army of the Count of Toulouse. On the plain of Ramleh there was a hard-fought battle between the Crusader forces and the Muslims. Six hundred Muslims confronted seventy Christians. Five knights were killed, all the archers died, and there were about thirty survivors when the Muslims saw a cloud of dust on the horizon. Fifty additional knights were coming to the rescue. The Muslims, fearing that they would be outnumbered, fled. The Christian troops went off to Jaffa to find that the sailors had unloaded the supplies but an Egyptian fleet was blockading the port. One of the English ships succeeded in slipping past the Egyptians at night, while the remaining ships were abandoned. The sailors accompanied the knights to Jerusalem with all their stores.

  Although these stores were welcome, coming at a time when the Crusaders were losing heart, they were not enough to ensure a successful siege. Water and wood had to be found. A surprisingly large amount of wood was required to build the great towers that would be set against the walls of Jerusalem. New mangonels were needed. There was also a great need for scaling ladders, as many as possible. While expeditions to get wood went farther and farther afield the princes met, debated, quarreled, and sometimes came to the conclusion that it was better not to make decisions when there was so much disagreement. The clergy disputed Tancred’s claim to be lord of Bethlehem, which he had captured during a quick foray, leaving his banner waving over the Church of the Nativity as a sign of ownership. Some of the princes defended Tancred; the clergy remained adamant. In their eyes Bethlehem and its church were too holy to be under the jurisdiction of anyone except the pope. Similarly, when they discussed the future government of Jerusalem there were arguments about the title of its ruler. Should he be called King of Jerusalem? But if Christ himself had worn a crown of thorns, was it not a mockery of Christianity to grant to a mortal man a title that belonged to the Son of God? Popular feeling, backed by the clergy, insisted that no man was worthy to be called King of Jerusalem. This matter, too, was deferred.

  Although the siege engines and towers, the scaling ladders and mangonels, and all the other engines of war were being constructed at a rapid pace—the army turned into a vast carpentry shop—no decision about the date of the assault had been reached by the end of June. There was a sense of urgency; but there was also the conviction that there could be no failure of equipment; the great towers must be built solidly, and everybody in the army must know what was expected of him.

  Everyone was working to the point of exhaustion; something more was needed to spur them to even greater effort. What was really needed, in the eyes of Raymond of Aguilers and the Count of Toulouse and perhaps also in the eyes of the other princes, was a sure sign from God, like the discovery of the Holy Lance at Antioch.

  This came on the morning of July 6 when the priest Peter Desiderius, who was known to have had visions previously, announced that the dead Bishop Adhémar of Le Puy had come to him with a message addressed to all the Crusaders. (The bishop had died of high fever in August 1098.) The bishop urged them to free themselves from the filth of the world, put sin behind them, and walk barefoot around the walls of Jerusalem. If they did all these things, then at the end
of nine days, after a violent assault, the city would fall. If they did not, then God would increase their misfortunes.

  Since Bishop Adhémar had been, until his death, theoretically the commander of the Crusaders and the ultimate authority under the pope, his ghostly words held special force. A general assembly was called to consider the new commandment. It was agreed that the bishop had indeed spoken through Peter Desiderius and his commandment must be obeyed. Had not Christ humbled himself by entering Jerusalem on an ass? Therefore, the Christians must humble themselves in a similar manner: they must walk meekly in the sight of the Lord, imitating Christ.

  Two days later an extraordinary procession, led by priests carrying crosses and holy relics, and followed by knights and infantrymen, marched around the walls of Jerusalem. All were barefoot. Some of the soldiers brandished their weapons; the trumpeters blew on their trumpets; all were moved by the solemnity of the occasion. Raymond of Aguilers, who took part in the procession and later delivered a sermon addressed to the whole army on the Mount of Olives, remembered that it was very noisy and the Saracens on the walls amused themselves by erecting crosses on which they performed obscene acts. The crosses were supported on gibbets and could, therefore, be made to swing backward and forward when they were struck. The sight of the blasphemed crosses only stirred the Christians to firmer resolution.

  The march around the walls was both a penitential procession and the celebration of a triumph. From that morning, everyone seemed to know that Jerusalem would be conquered.