by Paul Doherty
‘It’s like Antioch!’ someone shouted. ‘We cannot lay siege to the entire city, and where are our engines of war? There’s no wood!’
‘And where do we go?’ Beltran asked jumping to his feet. ‘North, south, east or west?’ His question provoked guffaws of laughter.
‘We wait!’ Hugh shouted back.‘If these walls are breached, we as a company have one place to reach, the Dome of the Rock. No other . . .’
His words were drowned by the bray of horns, the shrill of trumpets, men shouting and running. Eleanor scrambled to her feet as a dust-covered herald brandishing a crudely fashioned crucifix, his symbol of office, came running up.
‘We attack tomorrow,’ he announced.
‘Nonsense!’ Hugh retorted. ‘There are no—’
‘Our leaders,’ the man gasped, ‘rode up to view the city from the Mount of Olives. A hermit sheltering in a cave came out to greet them. He prophesied that if they attack at first light tomorrow and fight to the ninth hour, victory will be ours.’
Hugh and Godefroi tried to restrain the enthusiasm of their own followers, pointing out that the leaders simply wished to test the city defences. Beltran agreed with them, shouting questions about the whereabouts of scaling ladders, battering rams and towers.
‘Only one ladder is needed,’ the herald gasped. ‘Deus providebit – God will provide.’
The rest of the day and subsequent night were taken up with searching for wood. Tancred claimed he’d miraculously found some in a nearby cave, though everyone knew he had suffered a painful attack of dysentery and gone into the cave to relieve himself. Whatever its source, the carpenters became busy, using the poor light of candles and lantern horns to piece together ladders out of palm stems, soft poplar, tamarisk and the twisted wood of olive trees. By dawn, Tancred’s men were ready, massing directly between New Gate and St Stephen. Hugh and Godefroi, however, decided not to commit the Portal of the Temple but stood on the brow of a hill and watched the attack unfold.
The sun had almost risen, its glare lifting, as Tancred’s men formed a testudo, shields locked above their heads, and advanced, going down into the moat and up to attack the outer wall. They were immediately met by a lashing storm of arrows and missiles from the battlements. Saracen and Turkish archers leaned over the ramparts, bows extended. Here and there one of these figures, hit by a Frankish missile, slipped and toppled over, arms and legs splayed, to bounce against the wall before crashing to the ground. Banners curled and flapped. Plumes of black smoke from cauldrons of oil, boiling water and sticky pitch hovered like dark wraiths across the battlements. The war cries of both Frank and Turk drifted on the air. Eleanor always found it strange that both sides could be so earnest in their beliefs, though Theodore had informed her that what united the various factions of Islam, Turk, Saracen and Egyptian was the firm belief among them all that Jerusalem was Al Kuds, the Holy Place. The defenders along the battlements were determined to fight just as passionately as the Franks in defence of their sacred sites.
The air became riven with the blood-chilling whoosh of catapults and mangonels. The testudo, however, was now close against the outer wall. Godefroi and Hugh were talking excitedly. The defenders, because of the huddle of buildings so close to the wall, were limited in moving their engines of war backwards and forwards. So cramped was the space that the engineers were unable to calculate the narrow distance between the attackers and themselves. Accordingly the rain of missiles did little damage to the Franks but smashed into the already crumbling outer wall. This was quickly breached, and an entire section collapsed, provoking a great roar of triumph from both the attackers and those watching from the camp. Eleanor and her companions now had a clear view of what was happening. Tancred’s testudo reached the great inner wall only to be met by a hail of rocks, arrows, pots of fire and flaming bundles of pitch, an avalanche of deadly missiles. Nevertheless the testudo held firm. The great ladder was produced. Figures swiftly scaled its rungs, swords drawn, heads and faces protected by their great oval shields. For a few heartbeats Eleanor thought the walls would be stormed and taken. Black clouds of smoke swirled across, then, very faintly, the lonely sound of a hunting horn sounded the retreat. The testudo reformed, climbing back through the breach in the outer wall, the rearguard struggling to bring back their ladder.
‘Heaven help them,’ Simeon whispered to Eleanor. ‘Look, mistress-sister, I know what that is!’ The defenders were now hoisting up what looked like two great water pots on to the battlements. Instead of being tipped, however, these were carefully lowered and pointed at the struggling Franks retreating towards the outer wall. Black trails of smoke curled around the pots, which immediately spat out an arc of fire, an orangey-red sheet of flame that engulfed the retreating Franks, turning some of them into living torches. The screams were horrendous. Men ran back to help, only to be engulfed in more gushes of fire and a hail of missiles. Eleanor watched in horror as these figures jerked and danced until they collapsed. The horrid view was mercifully cloaked as Tancred’s men, smoke and dust swirling about them, struggled back through the gap in the outer wall.
‘Greek fire,’ Simeon declared. ‘Water and dirt cannot smother it; only vinegar.’
‘What was that? What was that?’ Hugh and Godefroi came bustling across, faces mirroring their conflicting moods: despair at the failure of Tancred’s attack coupled with open relief that they had not committed their own company.
‘Vinegar,’ Simeon declared. ‘Use vinegar and Greek fire can be doused.’
Theodore, overhearing this, agreed and joined in the vigorous discussion that ensued until Imogene’s cry drew their gaze back to the battlements. She was pointing further down to the Quadrangular Tower, the turrets of which rose black against the light blue sky. Three figures, women, their grey hair streaming in the wind, stood between the crenellations, supported by people standing behind them. They had their arms raised, fingers splayed, and although they could not hear a word, Eleanor and her companions realised they were chanting incantations and shouting curses. The figures, stark images against the light, looked sinister and threatening. They were already attracting the attention of Frankish bowmen, who loosed shaft after shaft, but the height and distance were too great.
‘Witches!’ Beltran explained. ‘They always accompany the Ethiopians. I’m surprised Iftikhar has used them.’
Eleanor stared at those grim figures, oblivious to the exclamations around her. Simeon tugged at her sleeve and indicated Tancred’s men, now hurrying up the hill carrying their wounded. One of these, Raimbold Creton, had actually reached the wall only to have his hand severed; this now lay beside his body on a makeshift stretcher. Eleanor was to witness even more gruesome scenes as the Army of God settle down to its siege. No more assaults were to be launched until siege engines were built, yet there was little wood on that dry plain. The leaders eventually decided to send their cattle, horses and other livestock back thirteen miles to the wooded hills and pastures they’d journeyed through. Soldiers were dispatched to guard these as well as to fell timber for the Franks to build their assault weapons. Food also ran low, but the greatest hardship was the lack of water in those arid hills.
At Siloam, Eleanor, dirt-caked and thirsty, braved the whipping arrows of enemy archers above Sion Gate to fill their precious waterskins. Theodore went scouting through the Kedron valley, but the river bed was rock dry and the cisterns all smashed. As the availability of Siloam became known, a general panic to reach the pool ensued before the leaders could stop it. Men and livestock raced, desperate for water; others pressed in carrying their sick. These pushed the first arrivals into the water, churning up the mud, and throngs hastened after them, beating aside the half-maddened livestock. In a few moments the pool became the centre of an ever-increasing angry mob. Men struggled to enter the water, fighting those trying to leave. The banks caved in under the trampling and turned the pool into a muddy mire. The strongest men forced their way through to the pure water by the rocks at the mout
h of the spring, whilst the sick and weak were only able to drink the polluted mess along its edges. Those unfortunate enough to gulp the muddy water swallowed leeches which, within a few hours, led to an agonising death. The leaders tried to intervene, imposing order and setting a guard as they furiously debated what to do next.
Eleanor could do nothing but shelter in her shabby tent, tongue swollen, lips cracked. Simeon relayed gossip about the growing desperation amongst the Army of God whilst continuing to insist that Eleanor write it all down in her chronicle. She was too exhausted to do anything but sprawl on her makeshift bed, one arm across her face, staring up at the stained goatskin covering. A hundred thousand had left the Frankish west; fewer than twenty thousand had reached this hideous plain before the grim, embattled walls of Jerusalem. Eleanor idly wondered about their first casualty, Robert the Reeve – what had truly happened there? And the Magus and the Fedawi? Had they all been swept away by the anger of God; were they, the remnant, to starve in full view of the Holy City or be crushed against its walls and massacred by the great host coming out of Egypt?
‘Great news.’ Theodore, covered in a fine sandy dust, wafting away the flies hovering in a black mass round his face, strode into the tent. He squatted down by the bed and grinned at her. Eleanor smiled back. Theodore, with his handsome face and persistent good humour whatever adversity threatened! Yet he’d also given Eleanor new fears, fresh terrors. She felt deeply for him and became highly anxious about news of any affray, ambush or sally. Would Theodore be hurt or, God forbid, even killed? And when those formidable city walls were stormed, would he survive the violent blood-letting? She often prayed that if Theodore were to die, she would die with him.
‘Good news,’ he repeated.
Eleanor apologised and drew herself up. Theodore cocked his head at the shouting and cheering that rang through the camp.
‘That’s the good news,’ he declared. ‘Twenty Genoese galleys put in at the ruined port of Jaffa and begged the Army of God for help. Of course our leaders were delighted. The fleet would provide a good supply of timber, perhaps more food and water. Two companies of knights and bowmen were dispatched down to the coast under Raymond Pilet. Enemy cavalry attacked them. Pilet and his men broke through and reached the ruined walls of Jaffa with enemy shields and cloaks draped over their saddles. The Genoese sailors greeted our men joyfully. They had been cruising up and down the coast for days, searching for any trace of the Army of God. Raymond told them about our hardships and the sailors immediately prepared a feast of bread, wine and cooked fish. Franks and Genoese sat down together to celebrate in the roofless hall of Jaffa Castle, lit by fires, candles and lantern horns. Platters were filled and emptied, goblets of wine passed round. They even brought in the watch from the ships to have their share of the feast.’ Theodore shrugged. ‘They celebrated too well. An Egyptian fleet far out at sea glimpsed the lights of their party and stole in to block the harbour mouth. When dawn broke, the Genoese hastened to their ships but found it futile to offer battle; all they could do was abandon their galleys and carry ashore a good part of their weapons and supplies. So that,’ Theodore gestured with his head, ‘is the good news. The Genoese have just entered the camp.’
At first Eleanor failed to see how it was good news. Matters continued to deteriorate. Each day when the sun rose the heat struck her tent, rousing her from a sweaty sleep after an uneasy night. Sharp winds gusted through the ravines and valleys, blowing clouds of dust from the deep hollows of the surrounding desert. Water continued to be scarce. Skins of foul water, brought in on camels, sold for high prices, whilst she and others had little release from the harsh grind of each day. Eyes were dust-reddened and throats silted, whilst the stench of dead animals hung heavy over the camp. Reports flowed in how the herds of livestock taken up into the hills were being attacked by Turks, who also hampered any efforts to find water. Men began to desert. They reached the river Jordan, bathed in it and gathered some reeds as a sign that they had completed their pilgrimage, yet where could they go? Turks roamed the countryside, and the port of Jaffa was firmly in their hands.
In the end Theodore’s assurances proved right. By the end of June the first timbers came down from the hills, dragged or wheeled on carts by mules and camels or carried on the backs of men. Godfrey of Bouillon marshalled the Genoese to help cut timbers and plait ropes for the catapults, keeping them busy with the mallets, spikes, nails and axes they’d brought from their ships. Godfrey’s engineer, Gaston de Béarn, was placed in overall command of the workmen, whilst the Genoese craftsman William Embriaco was assigned to Count Raymond of Toulouse. Everyone was given a task. Eleanor carried wood and prepared ropes. An array of dreadful siege weapons rose up in the camp like hideous creatures from the underworld. A massive battering ram with an iron head shielded by a wattle roof; huge catapults with twisting ropes and deep cups; numerous scaling ladders and a range of portable wattle screens behind which soldiers could approach the walls. Count Raymond moved his companies to the south opposite Sion Gate, and concentrated on filling the moat, announcing that if anyone brought three stones to cast into it they’d be given a penny. After three days and nights, a section of the moat was filled. More mantlets were organised. Each knight was to furnish two such screens and one ladder. The stone-throwers, powered by twisted ropes, were placed on wheels so they could be moved from point to point. Sows, or long sheds open at each end, were constructed so they could be pushed up to the wall to shield the sappers trying to break through.
The common consensus, however, was that the walls would have to be stormed rather than mined. The Franks placed their main hope in two fearsome siege towers built upon wheeled platforms that could be brought up against the walls. Each tower had three storeys. On the lowest were the men who pushed the tower forward; the middle storey, about as high as the level of the ramparts of Jerusalem, was for the armoured knights to cross to the wall; whilst on the upper level archers would cover the rush of the knights.
The defenders of Jerusalem watched intently and prepared their defences. They brought mangonels on to the walls to be in close firing range. They also took careful measures to protect those sections of the wall they thought would be threatened from bombardment by hanging over sacks of straw and ship ropes, thick and closely woven, to cushion the stone against attacks from the Frankish catapults. The Army of God, now fully intent on the capture of the city, demonstrated that no mercy would be shown. During one of their forays they captured a leading Muslim commander, treated him honourably but asked him to convert. When he refused, they took him out in front of the Tower of David, where he was decapitated by one of Godfrey’s knights. A few days later the Franks caught a spy coming up out of Egypt. They decided that if he wanted to enter the city then he should. Still alive, he was fastened to a catapult. He was too heavily weighted down and was not hurled far, but fell on sharp stones near the wall and broke his neck instantly.
The mood in the Frankish camp changed imperceptibly. The machines were ready, the formidable towers rising up; food and water was organised. Hopes rose, only to be dashed when Hugh and Godefroi brought news that the leaders were beginning to quarrel amongst themselves again. Objections had been raised against Tancred for hoisting his standard above Bethlehem, whilst the leaders were also debating about what was to be done when Jerusalem was taken. The clergy became involved, pointing out that Jerusalem was the Holy City and should have no king but Christ. Other titles were put forward: governor or regent. Hugh and Godefroi listened and took council with their own company. It was time for another vision. Peter Desiderius came forward. In a dream, he proclaimed before the council, his words spreading quickly through the camp, the saintly Adhémar of Le Puy had visited him and warned him that the Lord was not pleased. The army needed to purify itself. They must confess their sins, purge their guilt and bring themselves to a state of unity and grace before the assault was launched. Once again this vision was accepted. The common people thronged around the tents and pavilions of
their leaders, urging that this be so. An order went out. On 8 July 1099, priests and monks armed with crosses and the relics of saints would lead a procession of knights and every able-bodied man and woman before the walls of Jerusalem. Trumpets would be blown, standards brandished. Eleanor, Theodore and the rest marched with the Frankish host as it processed barefoot, singing hymns and raising crosses around the city. From the battlements the defenders mocked them, loosing stones and arrows, but the procession was completed. A fast was ordered and everyone went to a priest to have their sins shriven; even the great leaders clasped hands and swore eternal amity.
The attack would soon commence. To the south of the city Raymond of Toulouse moved his tower closer to the dry moat. In the north, Godfrey of Bouillon tried to mislead the defenders, who had been busy raising the level of the wall opposite the second soaring siege tower. Tancred, Hugh and Godefroi were sent out to spy, and returned to report how that section of the fortifications was almost impregnable. A sharp discussion took place. Theodore was present and he later gave the information to Eleanor, who included it in her chronicle. Godfrey of Bouillon realised that their great attack must not fail, so when night fell, he gave secret orders for the tower to be dismantled timber by timber. The separate parts would be carried a mile further along the wall to where the fortifications were lower and the ground more level. The same applied to the mantlets and stone-throwers. Under the cloak of darkness the great siege tower was literally stripped, dismantled storey by storey, the beams passed down to waiting soldiers. Silence was ordered. No candles or lanterns were lit, nor did they make use of oxen-pulled sledges, as the garrison might hear these and sally out. Progress was slow, but by dawn, the defenders of the city realised that their preparations to protect that section of the wall had failed: Godfrey of Bouillon had moved his entire attack a mile further south. Nevertheless, the stone-throwers and tower had to be rebuilt. More days passed. On the evening of 13 July, however, everything was ready. The order was given. At dawn the following morning, the Army of God would launch its all-out assault on the city of Jerusalem.