Templar

by Paul Doherty

  The lords of the council could not resist such a plea. The decision was made and a compromise reached. In November 1098 the army marched deeper into Syria, intent on taking Marrat en Numan a vital fortress controlling the routes further south. Marrat was a well-fortified town dominated by its blue-domed mosque on a great hill which stared out as the Army of God camped down amongst the olive groves beyond the city walls. The Franks set up their tents and bothies, covered with desiccated vine twine for protection, then watched and waited. Marrat was certainly well defended, with its formidable curtain wall, towers and deep dry moat. The Turks were not fearful; they had beaten off previous forays by the Franks and they thought this would be no different. The entire population of the city crowded along the battlements, cursing the Franks, railing at their cowardice and festooning inverted crosses over the walls. This provoked the desired response. The Army of God immediately attacked, bridging the dry moat and setting up flimsy ladders against the walls. These were easily destroyed, and the Franks withdrew and settled down to lay siege.

  November gave way to December. Cold, hard rain rotted their tents, drenching depleted food stocks. The Franks, Eleanor included, were forced out into the fields, grubbing and scratching to find grains of wheat, barely, lentil or any other vegetable. Peter Bartholomew came into his own. Posing as a new John the Baptist, he accused the Army of God of countless filthy sins: murder, pillage, theft, rape and adultery; these, he argued, were the true cause of their present misfortunes. He urged that they purify their souls through the sacraments, prayer and the giving of alms. His comrades agreed, then swiftly turned to more practical matters.

  The walls of Marrat were too thick to be battered, so the besiegers could either go over them or under. The Franks first tried the latter. They filled in part of the dry moat and their sappers crossed, only to be met by boulders, darts, bundles of fire, even pots of lime and hives full of angry bees. The sappers retreated and the Franks thought again. Raymond of Toulouse, assisted by the Portal of the Temple, ordered his troops into the nearby olive groves. Wood was swiftly hewed and a massive siege tower built which could be rolled forward on four great wheels. On the top Everard the Hunter, Raymond of Toulouse’s chief verderer, armed with his horn, directed the knights who, in full armour, pushed the tower towards the wall. At its base sappers crept forward to tunnel under the wall to weaken that section. The Turks met this with catapult shots and sheets of fire. The knights on top of the tower responded by hurling lances, clubs and boulders as well as great hooks on iron chains to circle the battlements and so drag the tower closer. Behind them a long line of white-vestmented priests beseeched God to help the tower wreak bloody havoc on their enemies. Meanwhile, on the other side of the town, another phalanx of knights crossed the ditch, laid siege ladders against the walls and stormed up. The Turks panicked, drawing men away from the attacking tower. This edged closer, part of the wall collapsed and the Franks poured into the city just as darkness fell. The Frankish leaders ordered a pause, reluctant to engage in night fighting. The poor, however, starving and furious, led by Tarfur and his Ribalds, swept through Marrat pillaging and killing to their hearts’ content. Bohemond, who had also agreed to accompany Raymond, offered to accept the surrender of some of the city leaders, ordering them to assemble in a certain place for their own protection. However, as dawn broke and the leaders became aware that wholesale plundering had already begun, Bohemond had the Turkish leaders stripped of their possessions. Some were executed and the survivors hurried back to Antioch to be sold as slaves.

  Marrat fell victim to general sack and pillage. No quarter was given. To walk the streets was to tread on a carpet of corpses. The Turks fled to caves beneath the ground but the Franks pursued them, pouring in sulphur and fire to kill them before going down themselves to search for any plunder. The Turks fought desperately, some even committing suicide rather than surrender. Marrat fell, and as Peter Bartholomew trumpeted, ‘What a fall!’ Once again the Frankish leaders met to quarrel over who owned what. Meanwhile the rest of the army were reduced to desperate means as food supplies swiftly disappeared. The corpses of Turks had been ripped open to search for coins and gems they might have swallowed. Now rumours were rife that some Franks, tormented by the madness of starvation, were cutting pieces of flesh from the buttocks of these dead Turks which they cooked and ate, even devouring them in their frenzy before they were sufficiently roasted. Other rumours claimed that Turkish corpses, dumped in the nearby swamps, were being dragged out in order to satisfy the excruciating pangs of hunger. Yet still the leaders quarrelled. Eleanor, Simeon and Theodore survived on strips of tough goat flesh and thick soups concocted from various plants and seeds, whilst Hugh and Godefroi led out foraging parties though with little success.

  On the Feast of the Epiphany 1099, Hugh showed his hand openly. Through his brethren, as he now called them, he organised a general assembly. The Army of God massed before the gates of Marrat surrounded by a ring of flaming bonfires. For an hour Hugh, his voice strident, harangued them, arguing that they should leave Marrat immediately for Jerusalem. The Bishop of Orange had recently died, and if there were no other leaders, he, Hugh de Payens, would take them south. However, he still wished their leaders to accompany them. If there was no Marrat, there would be no quarrelling, so they must destroy the city. The rank and file roared their approval and went on an orgy of destruction. Houses, mosques and temples were fired. The walls were weakened, the defences razed. Count Raymond hurried from his quarters to see the effects of such destruction. He had, at least publicly, a change of heart. Marrat, he promised, would be devastated and left deserted, whilst he, barefoot, clad only in a pilgrim’s gown, would lead them south to Jerusalem.

  Part 9

  Arqa: The Feast of St Godric, 21 May 1099

  Fulget crucis mysterium.

  (The mystery of the cross blazes forth.)

  Venantius Fortunatus, ‘Hymn In Honour of the Cross’

  ‘I have loved O Lord the beauty of thy house and the place where thy glory dwelleth.’ The Army of God sang these verses as they poured down the hill past crumbling buildings towards the land of Christ’s birth. The Christians of the locality, stirred up by Syrian monks from their small monastery around the Church of the Virgin, snatched up crucifixes and Ave beads to greet them. The Franks camped in a village only a few miles from Arqa. The army, now about twenty thousand souls, were jubilant, none more so, Eleanor wrote in her chronicle, than Hugh and Godefroi, who, once again, had forced the great lords to act. The Portal of the Temple, the leaders of the Jerusalemites, were now a power in the land. Jerusalem had to be taken swiftly. The Holy City had recently been seized by a new force dispatched by the Caliph of Cairo, the leader of the Fatimid sect of the Turks. He had sent his troops across Sinai to occupy Jerusalem, but the Army of God did not care. The Turks, whatever their name or origin, would be defeated. Jerusalem would be taken. They had to march swiftly. Now was the season when they could snatch crops from the ground, grain from the fields before the sun grew too hot and the earth became parched. Now was the time to march. Thousands of them had left Marrat, following the coast road. They went on foot, spears and packs on their shoulders, without baggage or carts; behind them trailed loaded camels and ox carts, but such things were not important. Jerusalem was their prize.

  The hope of a swift march on the Holy City had been cherished by all when they left Marrat in February. At first Count Raymond and the other leaders seemed to have learned their lesson. Heaven now smiled on their venture. They entered southern Syria, part of ancient Canaan so the wise ones claimed, a land flowing with milk and honey especially during springtime. A countryside of deep purple hills and rolling grasslands, cut by ochre-coloured ploughland. Squat whitewashed cottages, with canvas and matting across their doorways and windows, nestled amongst black basalt rocks covered with golden-brown lichen. A land richly endowed with the plump silver-grey olive, shady tamarisk, blooming oleander, juniper and wild myrtle. Flowers of vivid hue ca
ught the eye. Cloud shadows raced across the countryside where lavender-coloured rocks gave way to beds of primroses. Cool, fresh breezes ruffled the lush grass and brought the fragrance of cedar groves and dark pine, which also provided good shelter against the sun. At night the moon shone the pure yellow of primrose. At daybreak the sky became a festival of fast-changing colours. A rich land where cattle, sheep and goat browsed as thick as bees. A strange land too, dotted with ghost cities, ruins from ancient times, their crumbling walls and vaulting gateways still guarded by evil-looking creatures carved out of stone. As they travelled further south, the Franks glimpsed the distant cap of the Mountain of Snow and stared wonderingly up at the lowering blue skies against which stretched the black stems of palm trees with their fan-like branches. Streams, springs and wells gushed in abundance. Water wheels clacked and the sweet smoke of cooking fires, rather than the acrid fumes of burning homes, teased nostrils and throats already pleased by the fragrance of acacia and azalea.

  The inhabitants were friendly, eager to trade; many of them were Syrian Christians belonging to strange covens such as the Copts or Maronites. The news of the Army of God’s great victories, the deeds of these ferocious iron men had preceded them; word of the defeats of Ridwan, Yaghi Siyan and Khebogha swept before the Army of God like a herald. Hugh, now speaking as vox populi, urged Count Raymond to treat with local rulers and show benevolence to all. Such diplomacy worked: the Emir of Shazir greeted them amicably, as did the ruler of Homs. On the Feast of the Purification of Mary, the army occupied the deserted town of Raphania, with its gardens full of vegetables and houses crammed with provisions. They rested there and took council. They could journey inland and lay siege to the sprawling city of Damascus, or continue to strike south-west along the coast. Hugh persuaded Count Raymond to adopt the latter course, arguing that the coastal route was easier, and they would also be able to maintain closer communication with cogs bearing provisions, which would accompany them on their march. Where possible, Hugh insisted, they must avoid battle and hardship. Count Raymond agreed. The Army of God marched down the coast of the Middle Sea. They faced some opposition. Turkish patrols from various isolated fortresses attacked the stragglers until the Portal of the Temple took action. They withdrew from the order of march and hid, watching the stragglers of the army go limping by. The Turks attacked, only to be furiously ambushed by Hugh’s brotherhood, who circled them and utterly annihilated them.

  Count Raymond continued his march. He seized certain hill forts and eventually decided to lay siege to the great fortress of Arqa. He hoped that if this fell it might attract back Bohemond, Godfrey of Bouillon and Robert of Flanders, who had not joined his march south. He believed Arqa could be taken easily. He was wrong. The Turkish defenders displayed superb bravery, engaging in ferocious forays against the Franks. Savage duels took place between the huge catapults of the city and those brought south by the Army of God. Pots of fire, bundles of flaming wood, pitch and brimstone were loosed to explode in a fiery blaze against the tents and huts of the besiegers. Raymond of Toulouse still believed the city could be taken and decided to teach the Turks of the area that he was to be feared. Hugh and Godefroi argued against this, but the count was adamant. He threatened the great ruler of nearby Tripoli by sending a raiding party to seize the neighbouring port of Tortosa. The ruler of Tripoli was suitably impressed and handed over a string of horses and ten thousand gold bezants. Godfrey of Bouillon and Robert of Flanders heard of this and hurried south to join Raymond, who had to use his new-found wealth not only to pay the warlike Tancred, who’d deserted his uncle Bohemond, but also to reward Godfrey and Robert.

  One trouble followed another. Arqa refused to fall. News arrived that the Emperor Alexius had written instructing Count Raymond not to move any further south until he joined the army for the final march on Jerusalem. Peter Bartholomew, ever under Raymond’s wing, emerged with more decrees as to how the Army of God should purge itself anew. Deep resentment festered. Fierce discussion took place. Representations were made that they had left Marrat with one aim, to march directly on Jerusalem, yet once again were delaying. Hugh and Godefroi discussed all this when they gathered for a special council meeting in Theodore’s tent. Alberic and Norbert, gaunt-faced and zealous-eyed, later joined them, as did Beltran.

  It was a balmy night, as Eleanor later reflected, one on which she and Theodore were accustomed to walk out of the camp to savour the thick, heavy smells of early summer away from the raw stench of camp fires, cooking pots, latrines, and the pervasive reek of filthy clothes on dirty bodies. Theodore was swiftly replacing Hugh as Eleanor’s confidant. He did not lecture but persuaded her to talk, and she did, more frankly and honestly than in any shriving pew. Theodore encouraged her to discuss the past. Eleanor realised how the haunting death of her drunken, violent husband had receded during her journey. Sometimes weeks passed without her thinking of it. Now, however, as Theodore paid court and they drew closer to Jerusalem after all the horrors of the campaign, Eleanor recalled the past. She spoke about the changes she’d undergone, the growing distance between herself and Hugh, the coolness of Godefroi, and how she had eventually found peace from her own scruples. She’d become firmly convinced that her husband had brought his own death on himself. If she was guilty in any way, then she had certainly purged such guilt. After all, how had she provoked her husband’s raging fury, his foul mouth and violent ways? Moreover, what was his death compared to the thousands of innocents massacred on either side in this so-called Holy War? In the end, the journey east had not been what Eleanor had even remotely expected. Yet she was here because she was here and there was no turning back. True, the journey’s end was in sight, but how would Jerusalem make her, or anybody else, more human or holy? If anything, she confessed to Theodore, the pilgrimage had purged her soul of so much rubbish. If they reached Jerusalem, if she survived, she would have no more part in the pursuit of visions; she would begin again, build her own world and shelter in it as securely as any nun would in her cell.

  Theodore never disagreed. The pair of them took to riding away from the filth of the camp, the noise and rattle of the siege around Arqa. They’d gallop out into the countryside, searching for some whitewashed cottage with its animal pens, flower plots and vegetable gardens. Theodore would sit beside her on the grass and describe how his early life had been in such a place as this and how it had always been his dream to search it out again. Eleanor listened as the door to her past shut tight behind her. There would be no return to Compiègne. No more agonising over the death of her husband or sharing some heavenly vision with Hugh and Godefroi. Once Jerusalem was taken – if Jerusalem was taken – her vow would be fulfilled and a new path waited to be followed.

  Eleanor recalled her promise to herself when Hugh convened his meeting: her brother was now a power to be heard, a recognised leader, and he delivered his proclamation in authoritative, blunt words: Godfrey of Bouillon and Robert of Flanders had rejoined the Army of God, which was now a force about twenty thousand strong, at the very most. The siege of Arqa was draining resources and should be abandoned, whilst the Caliph of Cairo’s great army was marching to Jerusalem’s defence.

  ‘How do you know that?’ Beltran asked, blustering uninvited into the tent, Imogene trailing dolefully behind him. Eleanor studied her closely. Imogene was gaunt and thin-faced, not due to any deprivation, just because she and Beltran were now quarrelling incessantly, though over what, Eleanor could not discover.

  ‘How do I know that?’ Hugh retorted. ‘By an act of God. One of my brothers went out hawking; his falcon attacked a pigeon and, wounded, it fell. My brother found the pigeon carried a message in a small cylinder attached just above one of its claws.’

  ‘Never!’ Beltran scoffed.

  ‘Its true. I’ve heard the same,’ Theodore intervened. ‘The Turks have trained pigeons to carry messages over long distances.’

  ‘And the news?’ Alberic asked.

  ‘What I’ve told you. The message came
from one of the Caliph of Cairo’s fortresses in the south,’ Hugh replied. ‘The Egyptians are sending a great army to defend Jerusalem.’

  Only the crackling of the fire and the drifting sounds of the camp broke the silence.

  ‘This nonsense must stop.’ Godefroi clambered to his feet, hands outstretched. Eleanor hid her smile. Hugh had arranged this, even though he stood face all pious as any novice in his choir stall.

  ‘Our allegiance is to Count Raymond,’ Alberic offered.

  ‘Only to take Jerusalem,’ Norbert murmured.

  ‘If he will not go,’ Godefroi continued fiercely, ‘then we’ll withdraw our love and loyalty from him.’

  This was greeted by cries of approval.

  ‘But the lance,’ Norbert declared, ‘Count Raymond holds the Holy Lance and his prophet Peter Bartholomew sees that as a sign from heaven, direct approval by God of all Count Raymond does.’

  ‘But who said Peter Bartholomew is a prophet in Israel?’ Hugh asked menacingly. ‘Heaven can withdraw its favour and God His approval. Is that not true?’

  Over the next few days Hugh’s question was answered as Peter Bartholomew made the situation much worse. He was now experiencing new visions of Christ, St Peter and St Andrew, and the story he proclaimed was chilling. The Lord had instructed him how too many sinners sheltered in the Army of God and that these must be ruthlessly rooted out. Count Raymond of Toulouse should summon the entire army and have them lined up as if in battle. Peter Bartholomew would then miraculously discover the Franks arrayed in five ranks: those in the first three ranks would be the devoted followers of Christ, but the last two would include those polluted by the sins of adultery, fornication, pride, avarice and cowardice. Peter announced that the Lord had instructed him to oversee the immediate execution of all such sinners. Of course this was viewed as a direct threat. Count Raymond was already unpopular. The siege at Arqa was dragging on, the message from Alexius asked them to delay even further, and now this.