God's Wolf

by Jeffrey Lee

  Reynald may well have been held in a number of different cells during his years of captivity, though we cannot be sure which ones. It is unlikely that a prisoner of his value and daring nature would have been held under house arrest, but if so, his freedom would have been severely circumscribed. It is possible that prisoners were sometimes allowed out for air or for hard labour. Saladin later routinely used prisoners of war for construction, including the fortifications in Acre and the citadel of Cairo, but these were ordinary prisoners, not princes. If Reynald were ever allowed into the open, it would have been in chains. Frankish territory was only a few hours’ ride away and he was far too valuable to allow him any risk of escape. The likelihood is that he was permanently in chains, whether in a deep dungeon or not.

  And the conditions in those dungeons were foul and terrible. Fulcher of Chartres wrote that inmates were:

  tormented by three evils, namely hunger, thirst, and cold, and secretly put to death.2

  The great Arabic historian Ibn Khaldun also saw prison as a terrible fate:

  People who go down into deep wells and dungeons perish when the air becomes hot through putrefaction, and no winds enter these places to stir the air up.3

  Imprisonment in Aleppo was regarded as especially tough. Nur al-Din treated his prisoners with ‘unheard-of inhumanity’, as he demonstrated with his torture of Count Joscelin II. Reynald’s treatment was also harsh; William of Tyre described it as ‘hard captivity’. But clearly Reynald had a remarkably resilient constitution. Many men were broken in captivity, like Alfonse Jordan and thousands of the pathetic survivors of the Second Crusade released by Nur al-Din in 1159. Though no doubt he suffered, as any long-term prisoner suffers, Reynald did not break. Nor did he yield to temptations such as the pressure exerted on captives to convert to Islam. Reynald would not have been tempted by this offer.

  One vital support to prisoners is human contact. Apart from his jailers, companionship may have been rare for Reynald, and unless the Frankish leaders were indeed kept in communal cells, contact with fellow Christians may have been even rarer. Priests were allowed to administer the last rites to captives – Joscelin II received extreme unction from the Jacobite Bishop of Aleppo – but it is not known what access there was to priests or to Christian sacraments at other times.

  Part of Reynald’s misery must have been fear for his family and his principality, and he would have been right. Nur al-Din took advantage of Reynald’s capture to ravage Antiochene territory, attacking the coastal town of Latakyeh and taking thousands of prisoners. King Baldwin III was forced to march north from Jerusalem to take charge of Antioch again. Princess Constance had once more been deprived of a husband by the never-ending war with Nur al-Din. Shaking off the shock of losing Reynald, she made an attempt to rule in her own right, but King Baldwin and Thoros the Armenian thwarted her. They placed her fifteen-year-old son, Prince Bohemond III, known as ‘the Stammerer’, on his stepfather’s throne. The young prince, who was not quite old enough to rule in his own right, and in any case showed little promise, was to be guided by the indefatigable Patriarch Aimery, who returned as regent.

  The relationship between Bohemond and his stepfather is not clear, but it does not appear to have been close. There may well have been the sort of tensions and resentments found in many step-families. Perhaps Bohemond’s stammer and doubtful character were the result of psychological traumas in childhood? The question arises as to whether his stepfather had something to do with this, especially as Reynald would later have another stepson who stammered and was widely regarded as a weak personality. This pattern would fit with an impatient, demanding father imposing impossibly high expectations on his (step-) children. Whether Reynald was a good parent or not, little of his charisma or his machismo rubbed off on his stepsons.

  With Bohemond there would no doubt have been additional political tension between stepfather and son; Reynald was, after all, occupying the post that was Bohemond’s by birth. Certainly Bohemond’s accession to the princely throne does not seem to have increased Reynald’s chances of release. The new prince had no political incentive to ransom his renowned and intimidating predecessor, nor would Patriarch Aimery be likely to advise the ransom of the man he loathed.

  With Bohemond enthroned as prince and Princess Constance sidelined, Reynald had no further claim to power in Antioch. His irrelevance was finalized in 1163, when Constance died. When the news reached him, Reynald must have been deeply grieved. For more than ten years, secretly and then openly, she had loved him. She had borne his children and risked her realm and reputation when she stooped from her pedestal to marry him up out of obscurity. Reynald may well have felt increased frustration and anger at his captors – it was their fault he had been unable to help his wife, unable to comfort her as she died.

  Along with the emotional distress, Reynald would presumably have regretted his consequent loss of status; with Constance dead, any hope Reynald may have had for regaining a position in Antioch, where his stepson now ruled, had also died. Another concern might have been for the safety of his surviving children by Constance, Agnes and Baldwin, who were now unwanted potential complications to the dynastic succession in Antioch. Prudently, for the children’s well-being, Reynald’s remaining allies in the city dispatched the children to the imperial court in Constantinople, where their half-sister Maria was now empress. Like his father, Reynald’s son, Prince Baldwin, would soon show military promise.

  The year 1163 also saw the death of King Baldwin III of Jerusalem. He left no children, and Nur al-Din was urged by his emirs to take advantage of the interregnum to invade the Latin states. Nur al-Din is said to have refused because of his respect for Baldwin, saying, ‘We should sympathize with their grief and in pity spare them, because they have lost a prince such as the rest of the world does not possess today.’4 Baldwin’s successor was his capable brother, Amalric, who soon found his resources stretched to the limit by Nur al-Din.

  In 1164, the atabeg resumed his holy war against the Franks, and this offensive soon brought Reynald illustrious company in the cells of Aleppo. At Harim, near Antioch, Nur al-Din won a great victory against a combined Greek-Armenian-Frankish army. The captives were a Who’s Who of the Christian East. They included Joscelin de Courtenay, titular Count of Edessa; the Byzantine general Constantine Coloman; and Reynald’s rival, Raymond III of Tripoli. Antioch was also left leaderless, as the recently elevated Prince Bohemond III joined his stepfather in the dungeons. It was common for prisoners to be kept in communal pits – for example, King Baldwin II and Count Joscelin I had been held together in the pit of Khartpert – so all these VIPs may have been incarcerated together with Reynald. It is possible that some of the new arrivals were not altogether welcome to Reynald. Count Raymond would not have forgotten Reynald’s role in negotiating the imperial marriage that ruined his sister’s life. The relationship between Bohemond III and his stepfather may also have been strained. Still, after three lonely years in captivity, news from outside and contact with his peers – albeit rivals – would likely have been a blessing. Brian Keenan, who was imprisoned by Islamic Jihad in Lebanon for four and a half years in the 1980s, wrote that ‘being alone is the most difficult situation to deal with as a hostage’. But when he was first joined by other prisoners, his feelings were mixed: ‘The warmth, the intimacy and companionship which came flooding to us both at that first meeting was always undermined by something deeper… a curious wariness that each felt for the other person with whom he had to share his life.’5

  Any pleasure Reynald felt would also have been counter-balanced by the terrible defeat the Franks had suffered. The strategically critical castle of Harim, previously captured for Antioch by Reynald, had fallen to Nur al-Din. The Franks would never recapture it, nor would Antioch ever fully recover its military might.

  A couple of the new prisoners were not around for long. Still wary of angering the Emperor Manuel, Nur al-Din quickly released Constantine Coloman, the Greek general, for the to
ken payment of 150 bolts of cloth. It then took less than a year to agree the release of Reynald’s stepson. Bohemond’s sister Maria had been empress since 1161 and Nur al-Din knew it would be unwise to hold on to the emperor’s brother-in-law. The atabeg was also prepared to release the callow Bohemond because the boy was not seen as much of a threat. Keeping him hostage ran the risk of a more effective leader taking charge in Antioch – it might even have brought direct rule from Byzantium itself. Bohemond the Stammerer was released for the huge sum of 100,000 bezants. His stepfather remained languishing in prison.

  Quite soon after Reynald’s capture, it must have become clear that Nur al-Din was not going to ransom him. Prince Reynald was just too dangerous to release. The negotiations around the liberation of Coloman and Bohemond provided an opportunity for new efforts to secure a ransom for Reynald, but still Nur al-Din refused to let him go, no matter how huge the sums on offer. Nor did he free Raymond or Joscelin. Cruelly, the miserable Joscelin was thrown into the same pit in which his father had died.

  The Emperor Manuel had guaranteed Prince Bohemond’s ransom and, as soon as he was freed, Bohemond travelled to Constantinople to say his thanks and get hold of the treasure needed to pay Nur al-Din. The emperor provided the money, but there was a catch. With the weak Bohemond as Prince of Antioch, Manuel saw his chance to make a strong statement of Byzantine dominance. When Bohemond returned to Antioch, the Greek patriarch Athanasius accompanied him. The controversial ‘Patriarch Clause’ was finally being exercised. For the first time in more than sixty years** a Greek bishop would preside in the Cathedral of St Peter. This was doctrinally unacceptable to most Latins, who regarded the Greek Church as schismatic. More importantly, it was politically unacceptable to the Latins, embodying as it did Greek supremacy over Antioch.

  Antioch’s Latin patriarch, Aimery of Limoges, was outraged. He retaliated by placing Antioch under interdict, forbidding the sacrament to worshippers. He then took refuge in one of his castles at Cursat. There he again seethed and schemed in exile until the terrible earthquake of 1170, when the Cathedral of St Peter fell down on top of Athanasius and all the Greek clergy. Prince Bohemond and the populace begged Aimery to return, believing that his curse had brought the disaster upon the city. Aimery agreed and lifted the interdict, on the condition that the Greek patriarch be ‘ignominiously expelled’. Even though Athanasius lay fatally injured from falling masonry, Aimery insisted on his eviction from the city. In his death throes, the Greek patriarch was dragged out on a litter and dumped beyond the walls.

  Amidst the ruins of Aleppo, in the wake of that same earthquake, Reynald’s ordeal continued. He would then have been in his mid-forties and had already suffered almost nine years of harsh imprisonment, with no end in sight. Long-term captivity has different effects on prisoners. Some reach accommodation with their captors. Some plunge into depression and thoughts of suicide. Others turn to anger and resistance. Over many years the same prisoner may experience all of these reactions. For American prisoners of war in Vietnam, for instance:

  The battle was not only a fight for daily survival, but also a fight against psychological coercion, physical torture, boredom, humiliation, feelings of helplessness, and oftentimes extreme mental depression.6

  Common to start with is an initial period of denial. Once he had realized that Nur al-Din was not going to release him, and the reality of his predicament began to set in, Reynald may well have found anger to be an effective survival strategy. His warrior’s mind, we can be sure, would have turned to defiance. As Keenan wrote, ‘the fury of life is stronger than the compulsion of death. Something in the human spirit seeks a way to overcome such oppression. There is always something in us that will not submit.’

  It is also very likely that Reynald would have planned to escape; early in his captivity he may well have felt this was not impossible. Usama Ibn Munqidh tells how a resourceful Bedouin freed a Muslim captive from Frankish custody by digging a tunnel into his cell. But tunnelling through the mound of Aleppo was impossible.

  Rescue plans were probably discussed by Reynald’s Frankish friends, but without much real intent. Such efforts did not have a good record of success. In 1123, King Baldwin II was freed from his prison in the citadel of Khartpert by a daring raid in which his Armenian rescuers disguised themselves as monks and merchants to infiltrate the city. Once inside, they killed the Turkish garrison and freed Baldwin. Unfortunately they were then trapped in the citadel by Muslim reinforcements and slaughtered to a man.† Baldwin would later ransom himself for 80,000 dinars, which were handed over; and for some castles, which were not. But Aleppo was a different proposition, being many times the size of Khartpert, with a garrison as big as an army. Reynald would soon have realized there was no realistic chance of a rescue from outside, though this might not have stopped him dreaming up escape plans, something that prisoners of war in all epochs have used as a strategy of mental resistance.

  As the hopes of escape faded, Reynald would have begun to accept his lot and fall into a routine. Confinement must have been torture for a man of action like him, a man of adventure and impatience. It may have been especially tormenting for crusaders like Reynald, who were more psychologically prepared for victory or death than for captivity.7 The terrors of being held in dark pits, perpetually in chains, and the fear of death, the powerlessness, the pain of beatings, the humiliations, the privations of hunger and cold – all these horrors, typical of long-term imprisonment in the Levant, Reynald may have suffered. And open-ended captivity preys on the body and the mind. As Brian Keenan described: ‘The days chased each other and the future stood before me grey as my walls and as invincible.’ Recent medical research on such experiences has shown increased rates of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder among long-term POWs. Sometimes the torment can drive you mad. Keenan again:

  All order has gone from my world, I am invaded at random by unwanted and unknown images. In this place where there is nothing, full-fed fantasy and craziness are my frequent tormenting visitors.

  These effects are multiplied by time, and Reynald became one of the longest-held prisoners of the crusades.‡

  Reynald resisted the lure of madness, but the question remains as to how the experience of prison affected his thinking. Historians have tended to argue that during his captivity Reynald developed a strong animosity towards Muslims. In her thoughtful review of Reynald’s time as a prisoner of war, Professor Carole Hillenbrand wrote:

  Reynald’s attitude to Islam and to his Muslim captors, no matter what survival strategies he may have developed, must have been one of profound and settled hatred.8

  This may be overstating Reynald’s view, but it is certain that captivity did nothing to soften his heart against the Muslims. Over the years he would have developed a much deeper understanding of Islamic society, of its seasons and rhythms, its festivals and values. He would have learned more about the different cultures of the Muslim peoples of Syria, the Turks, Kurds, settled Arabs and Bedouin. Prison may also be where he picked up his knowledge of Arabic.9

  Whether hatred festered, along with the frustrations and fears of such a long imprisonment, we cannot be sure. But Reynald would have experienced at first hand the Muslims’ unshakeable hatred of the crusaders. In the city of the holy warrior Nur al-Din, he would also have learned more about the jihad, and how it motivated the thousands of religious fanatics who volunteered from all over the Islamic world to fight the crusaders. Reflecting in his cell, the imprisoned warrior may well have concluded that, in the long term, there would be no peace with the Muslims, certainly not under the leadership of the mujahid Nur al-Din.

  His fellow captive, Raymond III, appears to have responded to his captivity very differently. Raymond seems almost to have contracted a kind of Stockholm Syndrome,$ becoming fluent in Arabic and growing very close to his Muslim captors. Later he would even be tempted to embrace Islam. This sympathy with the crusaders’ foes would become a major point of contention with Reynald de Chatillon. In the
long run it would lead to tragic consequences. We may wonder whether the rivalry between Reynald and Raymond, which later became so bitter, festered during the years of whispers in the dark cells of Aleppo. In the enforced intimacy of such captivity, people’s fundamental strengths and weaknesses, their worst fears, their deepest desires are relentlessly exposed. It can go both ways: shared suffering led to lifelong friendship between Reynald and Joscelin de Courtenay. What Reynald and Raymond learned about each other through the long years in chains appears to have had the opposite effect.

  Reynald must have fretted constantly at his helplessness. He had entered prison aged around thirty-six and his prime years were passing by. He must have been desperate, throughout his incarceration, to return to the fray and inflict some payback on his enemies. But even in confinement, his status as prince and his reputation as a warrior meant that he was not wholly absent from the political scene. Throughout the years of his enforced absence, crusader leaders wrote reams of letters to European monarchs pleading for aid. In these desperate missives the plight of the Prince of Antioch features frequently, as one of the abominations suffered by the Christians of the East that needs to be righted by a new crusade.

  There would have been attempts to ransom Reynald over the years, and we can be sure that Reynald himself kept agitating to be released. His character was not one to passively accept his fate. But Nur al-Din refused to ransom Reynald with his stepson in 1164 and this would be his stance for another decade. The great Frankish lords in his prisons were potent symbols of his superiority over the unbelievers. ‘He gained great glory from holding our rich men in his prison,’ wrote William of Tyre. Of the other long-term prisoners held with Reynald, Hugh de Lusignan was released by death, and Raymond III was freed in the early 1170s, having spent more than ‘eight years as a prisoner in beggary and in chains’.10