by John France
78 AA, 342–3, 350–1.
79 William of Apulia, 11. 1110. See also M. Mathieu, ‘Une source négligée de la bataille de Mantzikert: Les “Gesta Roberti Wiscardi” de Guillaume d’Apulie’, Byzantion, 20 (1950), 89–103. On the Normans in Byzantium see above p. 153, n. 34.
80 Alexiad, p. 341; Hagenmeyer, Kreuzzugsbriefe, p. 145.
81 AA, 328–9; GF, p. 18 does not mention Stephen of Blois; Hagenmeyer, Kreuzzugsbriefe, p. 145.
82 FC, p. 85; GF, p. 18; RA, p. 45; AA, 328–9; RC, 620–1; on losses amongst the stragglers see below p. 181, n. 104; Nesbitt, ‘Rate of march’, 178–80.
83 RA, p. 45; he later, p. 49, tells us that St Symeon Port was ten miles from Antioch – it is actually twenty-seven kilometres.
84 Bibliothèque Nationale 5131A, in which Raymond’s account is conflated with that of Fulcher, also represents a conflation of traditions of his own work. The life of Adhémar in the Chronicon monasterii sancti Petri Aniciensis, which is known separately as Gesta Adhemari Episcopi Podiensis Hierosolymitana, RHC Oc. 5. 354–5, refers to this battle as taking place ‘in campo florido’. This work is most certainly based on Raymond’s, but I think it was written close to the time with other recollections added, and the story that the battle was fought ‘in a flowered field’ may be one of them. It is unfortunate that the editors of Raymond of Aguilers in RHC Oc, 3. 240 capitalised the name without making clear its derivation. The latest edition by Hill and Hill, p. 45 n. 4 gives only a cryptic note; AA, 329–30.
85 GF, p. 18; RA, p. 45; Hagenmeyer, Kreuzzugsbriefe, p. 161.
86 Nesbitt, ‘Rate of march’, pp. 173–4, 178–80.
87 Hagenmeyer, Chronologie 169, p. 85; Runciman 1. 186, n. 1.
88 AA, 328–9; RC, 621; WT, p. 129; Runciman, 1. 186, n. 1 has an ingenious reconstruction of the battle.
89 On which see D. French, Roman Roads and Milestones of Asia Minor: Fasc. 1. The Pilgrims’ Road, British Institute of Archaeology at Ankara Monograph No. 3, British Archaeological Reports, International Series 105 (Oxford, 1981).
90 I would like to thank Dr David French, Director of the British Institute of Archaeology at Ankara, who told me of the existence of this road. He is currently writing an article on the routes of the crusades and very generously explained his ideas to me.
91 WT, 129; GF, p. 20.
92 Ibn al-Qalanisi, Damascus Chronicle of the Crusades, extracts ed. and tr. H. A. R. Gibb (London, 1967) [hereafter cited as Damacus Chronicle of the Crusades], pp. 41–2.
93 FC, p. 84; GF, p. 20; AA, 565; Ekkehard, p. 31; These forces may have been detached elements of a much larger allied force formed by Ridwan of Aleppo, the Danishmend Malik Ghazi and Karajan of Harran. The full size of their army which finally defeated the Franks, whose army probably started 50,000 strong, at Mersivan is unknown but the long harassment which preceded the final attack suggests that it was even smaller than the Western force.
94 Vryonis, Hellenism, pp. 123–5; on numbers see above pp. 157–8.
95 FC, pp. 83–4; RC, 621.
96 GF, p. 21; FC, p. 86.
97 FC, p. 85; GF, p. 19.
98 FC, pp. 85–6; AA, 329–30; RC, 622–3.
99 FC, p. 86; AA, 329–30; RC, 622–23; RA, p. 45.
100 GF, p. 20.
101 GF, p. 19.
102 AA, 331.
103 RA, p. 46; AA, 331.
104 AA, 330, 323; FG, p. 86; RA, p. 45.
105 GF, 19, 21; FC, p. 85; AA, 328–9.
106 AA, 330 implies that Godfrey was in command of the main force but this reflects his general prejudice in favour of his hero.
107 Attaliates quoted by Kaegi, ‘Archery’ p. 103.
108 GF, p. 23; for the rest it is authors who follow him who mention it: Tudebode, p. 30; HBS, 184; RM, 767.
109 FC, p. 87; AA, 333.
110 GF, p. 21.
111 GF, pp. 19–20.
112 GF, pp. 23–4; Tritton, ‘Anonymous Syriac Chronicler’, p. 70.
113 W. M. Ramsay, The Historical Geography of Asia Minor, Royal Geographical Society Supplementary Papers, 4 (London, 1890), pp. 212–13; K. Belke et al, eds., Tabula Imperii Byzantini, 5 vols. (Vienna, 1977–84), 4. 94.
114 On Alexius’s campaign of 1098 see below pp. 299–302.
115 Ramsay, Historical Geography, pp. 199–221. For an outline of the ancient and Roman roads of the area see W. M. Calder and G. E. Bean, A Classical Map of Asia Minor (London, 1959) and the useful map with Gazeteer in Vryonis, Hellenism, pp. 14–15 and the comments pp. 30–3; D. French, ‘A study of Roman roads in Anatolia’, Anatolian Studies, 24 (1974), 143–9, ‘Roman road system in Asia Minor’, Aufstieg und Niedergang der Romischen Welt 2. 7. 2 (1980), 698–729; Roman Roads and Milestones of Asia Minor, Fase. 2: An Interim Collection of Milestones, Pts. 1–2, British Institute of Archaeology at Ankara, Monograph 9, British Archaeological Reports International Series 392 (i) and (ii) (Oxford, 1988), p. 540 and map, The Pilgrims’ Road, especially p. 130 and map; Belke, Tabula Imperii Byzantini, 2. 32.
116 FC, p. 87; GF, p. 23. It is possible that the valley of Malabranias is that of the Porsuk near Kütahya (ancient Cotiaeum) which is about four days march south of Eskişehir (Dorylaeum) for this, I am fairly certain, is the route they took.
117 AA, 341–2; FC, pp. 87–8; GF, p. 23.
118 FC, p. 87; AA, 341–2.
119 Even if they took the longest route, however, and allowing for delay as they heard of the enemy forces, Hagenmeyer’s chronology of this part of the journey is surely wrong. He suggests that after a two day march they arrived at the Çarasamba on the 20 August where they rested for two days, then arrived at Heraclea about 10 September. This means a march of between 140 and 170 kilometres over a period of twenty-one days. A daily march rate of seven or eight kilometres per day over these flat lands seems unduly slow. By contrast, Hagenmeyer suggests that the army left Heraclea about 14 September and reached Caeserea-in-Cappadocia (modern Kayseri) on 27 September, a daily rate of seventeen kilometres up into the mountains. We can never be precisely certain of any dates other than 4 July for the departure from the field of Doylaeum and 20 October for the arrival at the Iron Bridge outside Antioch. I would suggest, however, that they must surely have reached Heraclea by the end of August but that we must allow for a slower rate of march in the mountains. All such dates must be approximate but I suggest:
(C) = Hagenmeyer’s dates
Heraclea 31 August. (10 Sept)
Heraclea–Caeserea: 240 km
4–21 September, eighteen days march at 13/14 km per day
(14–27 September, 14 days march at 17 km per day)
Caeserea–Comana: 86 km
24–30 September, seven days march at 12 km per day
(end September–3 October, four days march at 21 km per day)
Comana–Göksun: 55 km
1–4 October, four days march at 12/13 km per day
(4–6 October, three days march at 17 km per day)
Göksun–Marasch: 80 km
7–14 October, eight days march at 10 km per day
(8–13 October, six days march at 13 km per day)
Marasch–Iron Bridge: 150 km
15–20 October, six days march at 25 km per day
(14–20 October, seven days march at 20 + km per day)
This dating tries to take account of geographical differences. It is acknowledged that distances and dates can only be approximate.
120 GF, p. 23.
121 French, ‘Roman road system’, 713, points to the lack of evidence about maintenance in the Byzantine period.
122 FC, p. 88.
123 C. Cahen, La Syrie du nord à l’époque des croisades (Paris, 1940) pp. 209–10 was much struck by the ‘vaste détour’ which the army took to reach Caeserea-in-Cappadocia and thought it was the result of an ‘intérêt essentiellement byzantin’ to seize this area which controlled routes to north and east. The point made here is that at this stage Byzantine and Crusader interests were very close and, perhaps for differen
t favoured this course of action. See above p. 187; GF, p. 23.
124 RA, p.64.
125 Vryonis, Hellenism, pp. 194–223; Alexiad, pp. 349–50.
126 Hagenmeyer, Kreuzzugsbriefe, p. 150; Cahen, Turkey, pp. 78–80.
127 Hagenmeyer, Chronologie, 188, pp. 97–8 suggested Comana but the most recent edition of the Gesta, p. 25 follows BD, 39; for Elbistan see Belke, Tabula Imperii ßyzantini, 2. 109–10. Dr David French thinks that ‘Plastencia’ may be somebody’s recollection of, quite literally, ‘a pleasant place’ whose name he had forgotten, transformed by Bauldry into a proper name. The case for Comana is that there was certainly a city there on the route and it is difficult to see where else could be intended. For the probable line of the road to Comana see French, Roman Roads and Milestones of Asia Minor, Fasc. 2. Pt. 2, p. 550 and map.
128 GF pp. 25–7; R. Dussaud, Topographie Historique de la Syrie Antique et Médiévale (Paris, 1927), pp. 163–7 identifies this area, and points out that as the Antiochenes held the Iron Bridge over the Orontes (on which see below pp. 206–8) that it must have been to the east of that river. As RA, p. 99, makes it clear that Rugia was relatively close to Albara and Ma’arra which can be identified, this is almost certainly correct. On the importance of this acquisition see below p. 224.
129 AA, 136–7; Boase, Armenia, p. 4.
130 AA, 358–61; RC, 639–41.
131 RC, 712.
132 This is the clear implication of Runciman 1. 197. Mayer, The Crusades, p. 48 remarks: ‘The two of them were almost certainly seeking their own personal gain’, while Riley-Smith, Idea of Crusading, p. 58, speaks of the two men breaking away from the main force.
133 FC, p. 89; GF, pp. 24–5; RC, p. 629.
134 AA, 340–2.
135 AA, 349–50, 347, 343–5.
136 AA, 342; E. A. Hanawalt, ‘Norman views of eastern Christendom: from the First Crusade to the Principality of Antioch’, in V. Goss and C. C. Bornstein, The Meeting of Two Worlds (Michigan, 1986), pp. 115–21, stresses Tancred’s pragmatic attitude to Eastern Christians.
137 RC, 634; AA, 345.
138 FC, p. 89.
139 FC, pp. 90–1; AA, 352–3; on Edessa see M. Amouroux-Mourad, Le Comté d’Edesse 1098–1150 (Paris, 1988) Chap. 1, ‘Fondation et Evolution du comté d’Edesse 1098–1150’, pp. 57–91; J. Laurent, ‘Des Grecs aux croisés; étude sur l’histoire d’Edesse 1071–98’, Byzantion, 1 (1924), 347–449. Tritton, ‘Anonymous Syriac Chronicle’, p. 70, says that Baldwin was sent by Godfrey who had been asked for help by Thoros.
140 Matthew, 37; Fulcher alone of the contemporary sources tries to pretend that Baldwin was not a party to the plot, pp. 91–2, and WT, 158–9 follows him; AA, 354–5.
141 Damascus Chronicle of the Crusades, pp. 42–3.
142 See above p. 133 n. 35.
143 See above, pp. 1–25 and below, pp. 310–11.
144 Matthew, 33; GF, 33, 37, 70, 48.
145 See below, pp. 261–2.
CHAPTER 7
The second enemy: the siege of Antioch
* * *
At Antioch the army of the First Crusade had arrived in the fractured borderlands of Islam – an area of acute political fragmentation where small political units proliferated. It is tempting to consider the victory an inevitable triumph of the unified and zealous crusaders over a disunited and poorly prepared Islam. It is true that some of the Islamic powers took little notice of the crusade and continued with their internecine conflicts. To later generations of Muslim writers, raised on the spirit of Holy War, this was shameful, but at the time it was to be expected because of political circumstances. However, too much scorn should not be poured on the Islamic powers of North Syria.1 The major cities of the area were a firm underpinning for its defence; the siege of Antioch would last nine months. Three major battles would be fought in efforts to lift the crusader siege and there were innumerable minor ones. For the crusaders it was a terrible struggle, a military epic indeed, the success of which was a more than adequate demonstration that their journey was the work of God.2 Political fragmentation in this area was real, but even so military resistance was considerable (see fig. 3).
North Syria lay far from Constantinople and it was not until the crusade was approaching Antioch that its ruler, Yaghisiyan, began to realise that his position was at stake. He has been appointed by Malik Shah to rule Antioch and a substantial part of the former lands of Philaretus in 1086–7 in what amounted to a check to the Shah’s brother, Tutush, who held Damascus and Jerusalem. With the death of Tutush in the war for the Sultanate against his nephew Berkyaruk (1094–1105), in 1095 his sons became rivals for power; Ridwan at Aleppo, where Tutush’s vizir Ibn-Badi held much power but was soon replaced by Janah-al-Dawlah, and Duqaq at Damascus, where the emir Sawitakin was at first influential. Ridwan of Aleppo (1095–1113) and Duqaq of Damascus (1095–1104) met in the battle of Qinnisrin on 22 March 1097 when victory for the former brought his restless governor of Antioch to heel, but Ridwan’s restless atabeg Janah-ad-Daulah was able to hold Homs against him. In this context Ridwan made an alliance of convenience with Fatimid Egypt which initiated his pro-Shi’ite policies.3 This process of fragmentation was greatly facilitated because Berkyaruk was deeply preoccupied with events in the east, and he relied on Kerbogah, atabeg of Mosul to watch events in the west.4 It was the preoccupation of the Seljuk Sultan, and his failure to dominate Syria, that gave free rein to the divisions which were endemic there. Kurds, Turks, Circassians, Arabs, Bedouin, all were very different peoples who were in no sense united by Islam, and they ruled over or alongside Armenian and Syrian Christians who were very numerous. And the land itself, with stretches of desert between fertile zones around major cities, favoured these divisions. The Great Seljuks had never succeeded in attaching Anatolia to their dominion despite the relative weakness of its divided Turkish clans, but they had imposed a precarious stability in Syria until the death of Tutush. The position of Ridwan of Aleppo, a Sunnite in a zone with a large Shi’ite population who negotiated with the Fatimids against his brother Duqaq and later allied with the Assassins, is indicative of the political complexities of the area.5 At the time of the arrival of the crusaders, he and Yaghisiyan were in alliance with Sokman of Diyār-Bakr, who, with his brother Il-Ghazi (the Artukids, the sons of Artuk who died in 1091) also, ruled Jerusalem as vassals of Duqaq of Damascus, against Abou’n Nedjim of Homs. Yaghisiyan promptly returned to Antioch, alienating both his allies, and set about expelling many Christians from Antioch and preparing its defence. The Orthodox Patriarch of the city was imprisoned, though not all his flock were driven out.6 He was too weak on his own to take action against the approaching Franks and soon found it prudent to send one son, Shams-ad-Daulah, to appeal for help to Duqaq and another, Muhammed, to the Turks of Anatolia and to Kerbogah of Mosul. It is interesting to note that at the time the crusaders were aware of this, for in a letter written just after Easter 1098 Stephen of Blois comments on Shams-ad-Daulah’s diplomatic efforts.7 This was a fairly comprehensive diplomatic effort, for the other powers of Syria were not much interested. Shams-ad-Daulah would abandon Damascus for Ridwan only when Duqaq had been defeated by the crusaders in December 1097, but he seems to have ignored the other powers of the area. The Banū-Munqidh of Shaizar were an Arab dynasty with no affection for Turks and no leaning towards Jihad. The founder of their greatness, Abu el-Hasan ‘Ali ben Munqidh, claimed that he persuaded rather than coerced the Byzantine population of Shaizar into accepting his rule, even ‘permitting their pigs to graze with my flocks.’8 The Banū-‘Ammār ruled an independent principality based on Tripoli which was Shi’ite. Duqaq ruled at Damascus with the support of his great minister, Tughtigin, while Janah ad-Daulah, atabeg of Homs, was no friend of his former master Ridwan and much concerned to pursue his vendetta with Yousuf ben-Abiks, lord of Marbij. In the north, Balduk of Samosata was deeply concerned with Baldwin and his encroachments in Edessa.9 Undoubtedly, in the normal course of events a dominant force would have emer
ged in the area, but at the very moment when the crusade appeared there was nobody, and the result was a critical delay which allowed the crusaders to establish their siege at Antioch and to strengthen their hold on the surrounding countryside, which rebelled against Yaghisiyan’s tyranny as soon as the Franks appeared.10 It was, however, only a delay, for relief was attempted and for the moment Antioch was strongly defended by its geographic situation and its formidable walls. Although most modern writers stress that the crusade was unexpected and that its nature was misunderstood, the nearby Islamic powers did mobilise substantial forces and showed considerable determination to resist this new enemy.
At the start of his account of the siege of Antioch Raymond of Aguilers tells us about the garrison of the city, ‘There were, furthermore, in the city two thousand of the best knights, and four or five thousand common knights and ten thousand and more footmen’.11 There is no need to suppose that these figures are accurate but, though his terminology is vague, Raymond here confirms what we have already noted, that the crusaders understood the composite nature of the forces they were now facing. The model of state organisation in the Islamic world was the Caliphate, although the Caliphs themselves since the ninth century had been excluded from effective power at Baghdad by the rise of major groups and factions at the court, of which the Seljuks, after 1055, were only the latest. The Islamic world was literate and sophisticated, and the régimes at Baghdad under the Abbassids controlled a number of specialist offices which amounted to ministries, Diwans, whose efforts were controlled and co-ordinated by a Vizir. Under the Seljuks the Vizir Nizam-al-Mulk (died 1092) and his family, who were of Iranian origin, dominated the machinery of government.12 But the vital importance of the army meant that the office of the army, the Diwan al-Jaysh headed by the Arid al-Jaysh, was a central force which spawned subordinate offices such as those which looked after mercenaries and māmluks. The connection between war and finance was patent and much commented upon.13 The importance of this office was enhanced by its control of the ’Iqta. These were originally quite small grants of the right to gather state incomes with modest tax-exemptions, made for the maintenance of soldiers and used for that of tribal elements associated with the holders of power at Baghdad. However, the need to maintain groups of Turkish soldiers and the tendency of all régimes, culminating in that of the Seljuks, to unify military and civil authority, meant that governorships of important provinces and cities, like Antioch, were held as ’Iqta, the holder in his turn letting out ’Iqta to the troops of his command, who thus became tied to him. In the more fluid society of the Near East, with a flourishing money economy, the ’Iqta never became territorial, as did the fief or honour in Europe, and political instability and changes of régime tended to prevent ’Iqta becoming hereditary.14 Cash payment to professional troops continued to be an important element in their pay, and the complex diversity of the machinery controlled by the Vizirs under the power of the Shah administered a relatively complex army. Nizam al-Mulk (c.1018–92) had been in the administration of the Ghaznavids before he served Alp Arslan and Malik Shah, until his assassination in 1092. In his Book of government he demanded that the wise king should pay careful attention to the regular payment of proper wages to soldiers, and he relates an occasion when a ruler needed to conciliate the local population and executed a soldier for pillaging, justifying the act by reference to his regular pay, bistgani.15 The Seljuk Sultans were as anxious as any of their predecessors to reduce their dependence upon their tribal supporters, the Turks whose courage and skill had raised them up, a general point noted by Ibn-Khaldûn.16 The machinery which they found in Baghdad from 1055 enabled them to do this, and Nizam al-Mulk emphasises the need for a composite army selected from appropriate races in the tradition of the Caliphate, though it is interesting that he appears to acknowledge the supremacy of cavalry. The heart of the military system were slave-soldiers who were often Turks, the māmluks, who formed the guard of the Sultan (and indeed of the Caliph). Since the ninth century these Turkish troops had been replacing Iranians as the élite force and many of their commanders had come to hold important offices of state.17 The Seljuks preferred to recruit from their own people into such formations, which were far more disciplined and loyal under the eye of the ruler, and it was clearly politic to give large numbers of them honorific and highly visible positions at court, such as the 1,000 of their sons enrolled as pages. They received careful military and other training, intended to inculcate loyalty and a spirit of service. The Seljuk Sultans brought leading families from the Turkish tribes into their service; we have noted the example of Artuk who was employed by Malik Shah in Bahrain and Mesopotamia and, finally, by Tutush in Jerusalem. Such notables could play a major role as special troops in Islamic armies.18 By such methods, the Turkish tribes were either domesticated or encouraged to move out of the settled heart of Islam – especially to the Byzantine frontier where they could expend their warlike energies and form a reservoir of military talent. However, substantial Turkish tribal forces were maintained by the Caliphs and by their quasi-feudal governors like Yaghisiyan on ’Iqta and represented the élite element in their forces. It was these māmluks who formed the core of the personal followings, the ’Askars, of the princelings and emirs of Syria. Overall, the military potential of the Sultan, ruling over all of Syria, Mesopotamia, Iran and the eastern realms and able to call on allies elsewhere, was enormous when the Seljuks were at their greatest. This was made possible by the administration in Baghdad and there is some evidence of a systematic infrastructure. Local government was required to keep stocks of fodder, as Nizam al-Mulk indicates, and it is probable that under Malik Shah central government tried to retain parcels of land in the provinces for its provision. Huge numbers of troops are sometimes mentioned – 46,000, even 70,000 horsemen alone, though Nizam al-Mulk suggests smaller numbers between 10,000 and 25,000.19 In 1086 Anna Comnena says that Bursuk advanced into Asia Minor on the orders of Malik Shah with 50,000 men, which must surely be an exaggeration. In 1071, Romanus IV’s army at Manzikert was numbered at 300,000 by the Moslem sources which show that he reduced his effectives by dispersing effort and engaged in battle with only 100,000, but even this figure is excessive, while the mere 14,000 attributed to Alp Arslan seems rather small.20 At the time of the First Crusade a maximum all-out effort by the Fatimid Caliphate could raise only an army of 15,000, and that seems to have been the case for some time.21 It is almost certain that the Seljuks under Malik Shah were much stronger than their Egyptian enemies, but the princelings of Syria were individually weaker. However, Kemal ad-Din, although he gives a figure of 320,000 for the whole crusader army and implies that their force of 30,000 was defeated by an inferior number of the army of Damascus on 30 December 1097 (the Foraging Battle), tells us that the army of Ridwan of Aleppo defeated in February at the Lake Battle was larger than the crusader force. His emphasis on division in the army of Kerbogah as a cause for its defeat implies its numerical superiority over the Franks as does Ibn al-Qalanisi’s remark that, at the time of Kerbogah’s relief force, the armies of Islam ‘were at the height of their strength and numbers’.22 We need not think of the powers of Syria as being helpless before the crusaders. The ’Askar of Yaghisiyan, Ridwan or Duqaq might be limited, but in the face of a perceived threat it could be augmented by recruiting a composite force and making allies. This process involved a policy of conciliation and co-operation which would naturally be complex and, above all, slow. No effort was made to strike at the Franks as they approached Antioch, although Kemal ed-Din says that ’Artāh sought reinforcements, presumably from Aleppo.23 Of all the local powers Sokman of the Artukids had by far the most consistent record, for he fought with Ridwan and Kerbogah, but his family’s hold on Jerusalem was directly threatened by their coming.24 For other rulers, the Franks were just a novel force, like the great Byzantine expeditions of earlier days, which would pass away, and for now simply had to be endured. Hence Balduk’s alliance with Baldwin and the indifference of the rulers
of Tripoli who actually allowed the Franks to buy food and supplies in their city.25 The divisions in Syria certainly played into the hands of the crusaders, and the divorce from the centre of Seljuk power in Baghdad was probably even more serious. In that sense, divisions within Islam of course cleared the way for the crusade’s victory, but this in itself will not do as an explanation. For the powers of Syria, though divided and slow to act, were not febrile and could field considerable forces from secure bases against an army whose strength was sapped by the long and bitter siege of Antioch. There was nothing inevitable about the Christian victory and they could easily have been overwhelmed by the local Syrian powers whose equipment and fighting methods proved formidable.