The patriarch of Jerusalem was the ruler of the Church, perceived as key both as spiritual leader and as a source of supply for defence, as well as presiding over an embryonic diocesan structure that included the archbishop of Caesarea and the bishops of Lydda-Ramla, Bethlehem and Nazareth, and a developing network of monastic houses, endowed by seculars prompted both by piety and economic necessity. In turn, the monks and canons were the driving forces behind the creation of agricultural settlements, essential underpinning for the military establishment upon which survival depended. However, quite contrary to the vision of a previous generation of ecclesiastical reformers the Church remained subordinate to the king, for whom military needs overrode all other considerations.
This in itself may have reinforced the determination of the Latin hierarchy to emphasise its own superiority over the Greeks. The defeat of the Fatimids in 1105 had enabled Baldwin to place greater pressure on the coastal cities still in Egyptian hands and this, in turn, had increased the fear of the Muslim authorities that resident Christians might be tempted to collaborate. In these circumstances, John, the Orthodox bishop of Tyre, seems to have fled to Jerusalem in c.1106, where he was appointed by the local Orthodox community to the patriarchate, vacant since the death of Symeon II. While this appears to have been acceptable to the king, whose pragmatic attitude to government meant that he wanted to maintain good relations with Byzantium, it was not welcome to the Latin clergy, especially as John proved to be quite a militant opponent of Latin supremacy as well as a polemicist of some fervour on the issue of the Latin use of unleavened bread in the Eucharist. Not surprisingly, at some point soon after, John left for Constantinople and never returned to Jerusalem.146
The Italian maritime cities of Genoa, Venice and Pisa had been instrumental in capturing the ports and had been rewarded with grants of specific areas of varying size and significance within which they held a privileged jurisdictional and fiscal status. This created a substantial settlement of Italians in Palestine and Syria, although not all of them were permanent residents. However, for those who were prepared to stay and take responsibility, new possibilities offered themselves in the same way that they did for the noble fief-holders, burgesses and peasant freemen. The government of Genoa, for example, was still evolving; the grants in Acre in 1104 and in Tripoli in 1109 are described as having been made ‘to the Genoese of the church of St Lawrence’, reflecting the continuing power of the bishop and chapter in the city. In fact, direct government of these enclaves was no more feasible than centralised control by the monarchy: both were obliged to delegate. In the case of Genoa, the chief beneficiary was the family of the Embriachi, which had taken a prominent role in the expeditions of 1099, 1101 and 1109. The head of the family, William, was a leading member of the commune, where he was a consul between 1102 and 1106. In c.1125, the brothers William and Nicholas Embriaco leased from the commune all the Genoese property in Antioch and Tripoli, including the whole town of Gibelet, a position from which the commune was unable to dislodge them thereafter.147 It was probably during this time that the family built a small seigneurial castle at the south-eastern corner of the town, the centrepiece of which was a two-storey keep, set above a large cistern. Around the keep, enabling the castle to be defended independently, was a curtain wall with towers on each corner and a gate on the northern side protected by an extra tower.148
The creation of the county of Tripoli provided a vital link between north and south, making the Christians masters of the coast and isolating the two remaining Muslim enclaves of Tyre and Ascalon, thus greatly reducing the threat from Egypt. This meant control of the ports and little danger to western shipping, essential for military aid, pilgrim access and maritime trade. Moreover, the county of Tripoli, despite the fact that it was the newest and smallest of the crusader states, was more than a mere corridor, for it impeded the activities of the rulers of the great cities of Hama, Homs and Baalbek and, to some extent, even Damascus, strung out along the Latins’ flank. Subsequently the defence of the passes through to the coast became one of the highest priorities for the rulers of Tripoli, affecting not only their own position but that of the crusader states as a whole. Edessa remained vulnerable, but it continued to serve as a shock absorber against the formidable armies emanating from Iraq, where Mosul often acted as a focal point for dangerous Turkish coalitions. Antioch, as Bohemond had imagined, had begun to develop as a major state, encompassing Cilicia and the associated mountain passes, the Syrian plain and the former Greek ports to the south, the most important of which was Latakia. In practice, the beneficiary had been Tancred, whose energy and ambition had proved far more influential than the efforts of his uncle, brought to a premature end in 1104. Antioch, nevertheless, had the additional threat of attack from both east and west, for persistent Byzantine claims added to the pressure of the Turkish jihad. Neither Bohemond nor Tancred was prepared to accommodate the Byzantines; indeed, the virtual expulsion of the Greek patriarch in 1100 emphasised the Norman determination to Latinise the principality.
Fundamental to the formation of these new political entities was a need for ‘self-definition’, especially important in a region already moulded by the great civilisations of the past, giving it a cultural and religious depth unmatched in the experience of any of the new settlers. The labels ‘Franks’ and ‘Latins’ that they applied to themselves evidently encompassed a wide variety of ethnic groups and to some extent there were concentrations of such groups in the different states. Antioch was predominantly Norman (from both northern and southern Europe), Tripoli was Provençal, and Jerusalem northern French, Picard and Lotharingian.149 Such differences may sometimes have intensified their rivalries, but by 1110 there is already evidence that integration was beginning to take place. One sign was the creation of their own ‘origin myth’, emanating from shared experiences, both triumphs and disasters, and the success they had achieved despite all the hardships they had endured. This confirmed their view of themselves as chosen by God and therefore protected by Him. As they had newly arrived, they could hardly have claimed ancient descent, so useful in cementing the loyalties of, for example, the French around the Capetian dynasty, but they could apply the equally potent imagery of the Bible, comparing themselves to the Israelites and seeing their victories against the odds as Maccabean.150
Moreover, although he did not as yet have a formal chancellery, Baldwin naturally could not function without issuing charters, and these provided an ideal opportunity to emphasise his majesty. In the charters of 1109–10, drawing on both Capetian and imperial traditions, he was presented as the successor of his brother Godfrey, ‘the most serene prince of the whole Orient’, while he himself was ‘the most exalted and most Christian king’.151 Baldwin's assembly at Tripoli in 1109 was not only crucial in implementing the necessary political arrangements of a practical man, but also in crystallising the self-image of both the monarchy and the Franks in the East. ‘We shall,’ the king is quoted as saying by Albert of Aachen, ‘hold an assembly and council among us and return to harmony. Otherwise we shall never be able to keep the land which we have recently entered against these Turkish and Saracen enemies all around.’152
CHAPTER 5
The Military, Institutional and Ecclesiastical Framework
FAKHR al-Mulk, emir of Tripoli, set out for Baghdad in March 1108 in order to seek help from Sultan Muhammad, the son of Malik-Shah, but he knew that he was taking a great risk in doing so. Raymond of Toulouse had tried to capture Tripoli six years before and the siege had continued after his death in 1105. Meanwhile, the other Muslim coastal enclaves had crumbled around him: Tortosa and Maraclea in 1102, Botron and Gibelet in 1104. As Ibn al-Qalanisi describes it, by spring 1108, the situation had become critical because of ‘the continued procrastination in sending assistance’. Fakhr al-Mulk took precautions, paying his troops six months in advance and binding them by oaths of allegiance, yet almost immediately there was a revolt in favour of the Egyptians led by his cousin, which he managed
to have suppressed without abandoning his journey. On arrival in Baghdad, he was, says Ibn al-Qalanisi, ‘received by the Sultan with such marks of honour and esteem as even exceeded his hopes’, and the sultan commanded a number of great emirs to help him to drive away the Franks, as well supplying an accompanying ’askar. Yet he was still in Baghdad in August and, becoming impatient, he set out for Damascus. But he had delayed too long; once more the Tripolitans had turned to Egypt and al-Afdal had sent them a governor and much needed supplies. All the partisans of Fakhr al-Mulk had been arrested and taken to Egypt; he himself had no alternative but to take refuge in Jabala.1
In these circumstances it is not surprising that the coastal cities continued to fall into Frankish hands. The ability to build and transport effective siege machinery enhanced the chances of success, for superior logistics could hardly be countered by such a fragmented Muslim response.2 Apart from the great prize of Tripoli, Tancred took Jabala and Valania in May and July of 1109, while Baldwin and Bertrand had gained Beirut and Sidon in the course of 1110. Beirut was especially important since the Franks could set watchmen on the mountains above, enabling them to monitor (and sometimes intercept) naval traffic passing along the coast.3 Each capture made the task of the Egyptian fleet more difficult, while the schism in the Muslim world made co-operation between al-Afdal and the Sunni regime in Baghdad impossible. Local rulers often took their own paths, which in Ridwan of Aleppo's case meant a predilection for the Assassins, or Batini, as Ibn al-Qalanisi calls them, whose ‘detestable doctrine’ alienated the rest of the Muslim world, whether Sunni or Shi'ite. Not until after Ridwan's death in 1113 were decisive moves made to undermine the power of the Assassins in Aleppo.4
However, while Baldwin was besieging Beirut in May 1110, the king received a message from Baldwin of Bourcq, who told the king that Edessa was in imminent danger because ‘Turkish chiefs, namely Ahmadil and Il-Ghazi and Soqman, had come from the kingdom of Khurasan in a great host’ and had devastated the region. The king, however, kept the news secret as he did not want to lose the opportunity to take Beirut, and indeed thought that he had time to return to Jerusalem to celebrate Pentecost before setting off north again with a relief army. In fact, nobody in the Christian world seems to have understood what was actually happening. Albert of Aachen thinks that the Turks had been called in by Tancred, still pursuing his vendetta against Baldwin, while Matthew of Edessa claims that Baldwin and Joscelin had asked for Turkish aid against Tancred in a misconceived plan that had rebounded on them.5 Fulcher of Chartres does not even name the Turkish leaders, nor make any attempt to explain these events.6
Ibn al-Qalanisi, however, tells a different story. The sultan, he says, had commanded Soqman al-Qutbi, lord of Armenia and Mayyafariqin, and Sharaf al-Din Mawdud, lord of Mosul, ‘to set out with their troops to the Holy War against the Franks and the defence of the territories of Mosul’. Together with Najm al-Din Il-Ghazi, they assembled ‘in such force as all the Franks would not suffice to withstand’, and determined to begin the holy war by capturing Edessa. When Tughtigin heard about this, he too set out from Damascus with his ’askar. News of the Frankish reaction persuaded the Turks that there was an opportunity for a decisive confrontation and they retreated to Harran in order to lure the Franks across the Euphrates, where they hoped to catch them on open ground.7
As presented by Ibn al-Qalanisi, this was a serious attempt to bring together major Turkish leaders in a commitment to a jihad against a Frankish presence that had become all too pervasive.8 The apparent failure of the Franks to understand this brought them close to disaster. Baldwin assembled a combined force, which included a reluctant Tancred, still disinclined to help Baldwin of Bourcq, as well as Bertrand of Tripoli, Joscelin of Turbessel and a large contingent of Armenians. Although the Latin sources present the Turkish resort to Harran as a cowardly retreat, the Franks were mindful of what had happened in 1104 and, having resupplied Edessa, rapidly headed back towards the Euphrates. Part of the army managed to cross, but most of the baggage train, together with many of the Armenians, was caught on the wrong side, and the Frankish leaders were obliged to watch impotently as the Turks plundered and slaughtered them.9 Mawdud, says Matthew of Edessa, ‘filled the land from the gates of Edessa to the Euphrates river with blood’.10
The Muslim invasion did not in itself fundamentally undermine the Latin conquests, even though the destruction inflicted upon the Edessan hinterland and the massacre of the Armenians contributed to a long-term process of decline in the Frankish lands beyond the Euphrates. Indeed, on the surface it looked as if the Frankish expansion would continue: by the end of the year Baldwin had taken Sidon and Tancred had seized al-Atharib from Ridwan of Aleppo, successes that may explain the apparent lack of awareness of the changes in the Islamic world. But viewed from Damascus, there was a new recognition among the Sunni Turks of the need to revivify the concept of jihad if the Franks were not to become a permanent presence in Syria and Palestine.
An immediate consequence was an increase in pressure on Baghdad by the Syrians. ‘On the first Friday of Sha'bn (17th February, 1111),’ says Ibn al-Qalanisi, ‘a certain Hshimite sharf from Aleppo and a company of Sfs, merchants and theologians presented themselves at the Sultan's mosque, and appealed for assistance. They drove the preacher from the pulpit and broke it in pieces, clamouring and weeping for the misfortunes that had befallen Islm at the hands of the Franks, the slaughter of men, and the enslavement of women and children. They prevented the people from carrying out the service, while the attendants and leaders, to quieten them, promised them on behalf of the Sultan to dispatch armies and to vindicate Islm against the Franks and the infidels.’ The next Friday they repeated this performance at the caliph's mosque, disrupting the lavish arrival of the wife of the caliph, the sultan's daughter, from Isfahan, to such an extent that Caliph al-Mustazhir wanted to mete out ‘condign punishment’ to the instigators. ‘The Sultan prevented him from doing so, and excused the action of those people, and directed the amrs and commanders to return to their governments and make preparations for setting out to the Holy War against the infidels, the enemies of God.’11
Byzantine agents were undoubtedly aware of the situation, for in late December 1110 or early January 1111 envoys arrived from Emperor Alexius, bringing gifts and letters urging the Turks to exterminate the Franks ‘before they were too firmly established in their menacing position and their malice became uncontrollable’. Alexius claimed that he had tried to prevent them crossing his lands, but ‘their ambitious designs upon the land of Islm led to a constant succession of their armies’, a circumstance that impelled him to come to terms with them. The envoys concluded ‘with exhortations and incitements in the strongest of terms to take concerted action to fight them and root them out of these lands’.12 Ibn al-Athir, writing from a perspective moulded by Saladin's jihad in the 1180s, represents the Aleppan delegation as rebuking the sultan because ‘the Byzantine emperor shows greater zeal for Islam than you’.13 In fact, Alexius tried to influence Frankish affairs as well, although at this time without success. Bohemond died in Apulia in 1111, probably in March, but Tancred refused to give up Antioch as set down in the treaty of Devol, made three years before. Alexius therefore attempted to reinvigorate the tie with the house of Toulouse by persuading Bertrand to attack Tancred, but this was prevented by King Baldwin, thus breaking a link established since Bohemond's occupation of Antioch during the crusade.14
Mawdud now began annual attacks on the Franks, often in association with Tughtigin of Damascus, a friendship that Ibn al-Qalanisi says ‘took firm root’.15 In 1111, he invaded the weakened and depopulated Edessa; in July, he went as far as besieging Turbessel, thus taking the fight west of the Euphrates. Later in the year Tughtigin brought his forces to the relief of Tyre, which Baldwin had put under extreme pressure now that he had control of the adjacent coast. The siege lasted for four and a half months, but by April 1112 the Franks had had enough and retreated because, in Ibn al-Athir's view, they f
eared that Tughtigin would destroy their crops.16 The Tyrians, initially in a panic, now reneged on their promise to hand over the city to Tughtigin but, according to Ibn al-Qalanisi, he simply said: ‘What I have done I have done only for the sake of God and the Muslims, not out of desire for wealth or kingdom.’17 It is impossible to know his real feelings, but it is significant that such sentiments had become the convention among Muslims fighting the Franks. Indeed, the next year, Tughtigin even went as far as making contact with al-Afdal, telling him that he had put in a Turkish garrison but that as soon as he sent an Egyptian governor he would withdraw.18 Al-Afdal agreed, sending a fleet with supplies in August 1113, with the result that Tyre's ‘situation was firmly re-established and the desire of the Franks to possess it was quenched’. Baldwin now made a truce and ‘the highways became safe for travellers, merchants and dealers coming from all parts’.19
Mawdud returned once the winter had passed, attacking Edessa between April and June 1112, and the next year, more dangerously, allying with Tughtigin to confront Baldwin in Galilee, much farther south than he had come before. William of Tyre describes this as a new idea, since previous Persian attacks had concentrated on Antioch.20 They defeated the king at as-Sennabra, the crossing point on the Jordan just to the south of the Sea of Galilee, and Baldwin was only saved by the arrival of Pons of Tripoli and the new ruler of Antioch, Roger of Salerno.21 It was therefore a huge stroke of good fortune for the Christians when, on 2 October 1113, as he was leaving the mosque in Damascus together with Tughtigin, Mawdud was suddenly stabbed by a single attacker and died of his wounds a few hours later. Ibn al-Qalanisi offers a very complimentary obituary, admitting that he had at first been a tyrannous ruler in Mosul, but claiming that his conduct had been transformed ‘when he heard of the Sultan's change of attitude towards him’. Thereafter he became a fair and just ruler and, says Ibn al-Qalanisi in a sentence that may be the key to this favourable verdict, he became ‘assiduous in religious exercises and almsgiving, and in practising and enforcing the precepts of the Faith’. He died ‘the death of a blessed martyr’.22
The Crusader States Page 14