The Dream And The Tomb: A History Of The Crusades

by Robert Payne

  Bohemond had conceived a new plan. He would travel to the West, build up a new Crusading army in France and Italy, and throw the whole weight of it not against the Turks but against Byzantium. In October 1107, he attacked the great Byzantine fortress of Dyrrhachium with an army that included Turkish mercenaries. Unlike Baldwin, he had no understanding of seapower, and after a long siege he was himself besieged, captured, and brought before the emperor. In defeat he remained for a while superbly insolent. Anna Comnena speaks of the radiance shining from him, as though he were a god standing among mortals, able to dominate everyone around him.

  Alexius knew how to deal with him. Coldly, he drew up the instrument of surrender by which Bohemond would be made to submit to the Byzantine emperor. Bohemond returned to Apulia, where he lived out the rest of his life on his estates, never returning to the East. Baldwin was the beneficiary of his absence.

  Baldwin was no more modest than Bohemond, but he possessed human qualities that made him loved by his people. There was a genuine warmth in him, a genuine delight in fighting, and a genuine simplicity of manner.

  In the spring of 1118 he led an expedition to Egypt, plundered Pelusium and Tanis, and was hoping to penetrate deeper into the country. One day he was walking along the banks of the Nile and came upon some knights spearing fish with their lances. He joined them, ate some of their fish, and immediately felt ill. They carried him in a litter as far as al-Arish and there he died. They cut out his intestines, salted them, and placed them in his coffin, which they carried to Jerusalem. On Palm Sunday, he was buried beside his brother Godfrey in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre.

  Godfrey’s short reign gave him little time for the study of kingship. Baldwin studied kingship minutely, with a cleric’s passion and a soldier’s courage. He had a sense of order, extraordinary courage, a feeling for the drama essential to kingship, and a flair for diplomacy. If he loved women too much, it is at least possible that they helped him remain human. Though married three times, he left no children, and the crown passed to his nephew Baldwin of Le Bourg, who happened to arrive from Edessa on the day of his funeral.

  On Baldwin’s tombstone it was written that he was “a second Judas Maccabaeus, whom Kedar and Egypt, Dan and Damascus dreaded.” This was true, but it would have been more appropriate to say that he gave confidence to the fledgling kingdom at a time when confidence was most needed. He was the most kingly among the kings of Jerusalem.

  The Armed Might

  of the Crusaders

  WE shall not understand the Crusaders until we realize that they were different from us. They were closer to the earth, and the smells of the earth. They were closer to the brute facts of the earth; very often they were near starvation. For the most part they were peasants with a peasant’s knowledge of the seasons and the rituals of the Church. They believed with a firm and intimate faith, with a medieval directness, and a rough-hewn stubbornness, that it was in their power to safeguard forever the Holy Sepulchre, which they regarded as the place of the Resurrection, offering the promise of eternal life. They knew that Christ died and rose again in the flesh; that they belonged to the kingdom of Christ; to him, they owed their ultimate allegiance.

  The most enviable Crusaders were the knights, who were often only two generations removed from the peasantry. With their grooms and esquires, and their pompous trappings, they were the elite of the army, always on parade. Their horses were much heavier than those of the Saracens. Well-trained and strictly disciplined, the Crusaders were armored front-line troops with sufficient weight and power to punch holes in the enemy lines and then to wheel back and punch more holes. Their weapons were lances, which sometimes reached the length of ten feet, and a heavy double-edged sword, which they carried in a scabbard on the left side. The sword was used for hand-to-hand fighting; the lance possessed a wider range and flexibility.

  From neck to waist, and from thighs to feet, knights were enclosed in chain mail made of iron links on a foundation of leather. They wore very sharp spurs and round shields with iron rims and iron bosses. Their helmets were round, flat-topped boxes of steel covering the whole head, with slits in front of the eyes and perforations in front of the mouth and nose. They were intended to look terrifying.

  Once established in the Holy Land, the Crusaders had three main armies. There was the army in the service of the king, and there were the auxiliary armies of the Templars and the Hospitallers. These auxiliary armies, which became enormously powerful, grew up haphazardly, yet there were times when they became the real rulers of the kingdom.

  The Order of the Knights of the Temple was a military order founded by Hugh of Payens, a knight from Champagne. He appears to have been sweet-tempered, totally dedicated, and ruthless on behalf of the Faith. The Knights of the Temple were soldiers of Christ, ascetic almost to fanaticism, single-minded to the exclusion of all ideas except the worship of God and the annihilation of the Saracens. In 1118, Hugh of Payens with nine other knights sought the permission of Baldwin I to found the order. The king of Jerusalem was so delighted with the idea that he gave them part of the royal palace believed to be the Temple of Solomon. This became their headquarters and from then on they were known as Templars.

  Ostensibly, the purpose of the Templars was to safeguard the lives of the pilgrims who flocked to Jerusalem and other holy places. But from the beginning, Hugh of Payens appears to have had a larger aim. The Templars quickly became an independent fighting arm of the Church, having allegiance only to the pope and the grand master. They were armed monks, priestly swordbearers, chivalrous only on behalf of God, shock troops to be thrown into every righteous battle. Their courage became legendary.

  Safeguarding the comings and goings of pilgrims was difficult. How difficult we learn from the Anglo-Saxon traveler Saewulf who came to Jerusalem in 1102 and left this account of the tortuous road that leads up from the coast to Jerusalem:

  . . . the Saracens . . . lie in wait in mountain caves to surprise the Christians, watching both day and night to pounce on those who came in small numbers and were therefore less capable of resistance or those who were worn out with fatigue and therefore lagged behind their companions. At one moment you can see them everywhere, at another moment they are invisible, and everyone who travels in this region has observed this. . . .

  Saewulf, with his Anglo-Saxon companions, arrived at a time when the Kingdom of Jerusalem had only just come into existence, when the government was still disorderly and inefficient, and when it was impossible to spare soldiers to police the road. Because the government could not guarantee the safety of the pilgrims, hundreds died even before they saw Jerusalem’s golden gates.

  At first, the Templars enjoyed a modest organization. Over the course of two centuries a vast body of rules and regulations would come into existence, legislating for every possible eventuality, but at the beginning they were merely monks on horseback, armed with swords and lances, sometimes so poor that two would ride on a single horse.

  Hugh of Payens infused the Templars with the energy of chastity and obedience. No women might enter the Temple; they were not permitted to embrace any woman, not even their sisters or their mothers. A lamp burned in their dormitories all night; their breeches were tightly laced; they were never permitted to see each other naked. They were permitted no privacy, and letters addressed to individual Templars had to be read aloud in the presence of the grand master or a chaplain. They never shaved their beards. Their spartan lives were directed toward the single end of protecting the pilgrims and the Kingdom of Jerusalem by killing the enemy.

  Since they were obedient only to the pope, who was far away, they often acted independently of the king of Jerusalem. They became sophisticated soldiers, administrators, builders of castles, and owners of vast estates, not only in the Holy Land but all over Europe, for kings and princes and common people soon recognized that they possessed to an extraordinary degree the military power to secure the safety of the kingdom. They possessed, too, a vast intelligence syste
m, sometimes working in close association with the royal government, but sometimes against it. Their own spies reported regularly from Cairo, Baghdad, Aleppo, and the other Arab capitals of the Middle East.

  The headquarters of the Templars still stands in Jerusalem, for the building then known as the Temple was in fact the al-Aqsa Mosque, believed by Christians to be on the site of the Temple of Solomon. In these spacious quarters with their underground stables lived the grand master, the marshal, and the high command. Reverence was paid to the grand master as the representative of the pope. The master of the Templars was often a man who had entered the order as a youth and had spent his whole life in it. He knew no other world and was interested only in the advancement of the Templars at all costs, and if it was necessary for him to form a temporary alliance with the Saracens, he would do so without a qualm. The Templars always had the best intelligence system in the Holy Land, and very often the Saracens learned what they wanted to know through the Templars. Those hard and silent men, wearing voluminous white cloaks derived from the Cistercian robe, adorned with a large blood-red cross, played dangerous games. They brought the Crusaders some of their greatest triumphs and some of their greatest defeats.

  The second army belonged to the Order of Knights of the Hospital of St. John. They were known as Hospitallers and wore a red eight-pointed cross on their black mantles. They, too, arose from humble beginnings and learned to exercise kingly powers. About the year 1070, some citizens of Amalfi established a hostel for poor pilgrims in Jerusalem, with the permission of the Egyptian governor of the city. When the Crusaders conquered Jerusalem, the master was a certain Gerard, a Benedictine priest, who escaped or was expelled from the city before its conquest. He provided the Crusaders with valuable information and was soon in the good graces of the new rulers, who endowed his hostel and encouraged his work in every way. The Church assumed control of the hostel. Like the Templars, the Hospitallers owed obedience to the pope.

  When Raymond of Le Puy became the new master, around 1118, the order changed direction. In Raymond’s view it was not enough that the order should care for pilgrims; it must also defend them. The rule of the Hospitallers was less strict than the rule of the Templars. The Hospitallers were steadier, less adventurous, more somber. The Templars had a glitter about them while the Hospitallers seemed almost colorless. The Hospitaller army was much smaller than the Templar army and never attained the popularity of the Templars; it was also much poorer. These two rival orders vied for honor and renown. They often clashed, but when they moved in unison they performed marvelously.

  Soon the orders became proud and imperious, and since the king was also likely to be proud and imperious, there were continual disputes and quarrels. In theory, they were independent of the king, owing allegiance only to Rome. In fact, the masters of the two orders had their places in the royal council chamber, and no important act was decided upon without their agreement. More and more, as the wars continued, it appeared that the kingdom was ruled by a triumvirate: the king, and the masters of the Temple and the Hospital.

  King Baldwin II

  THE kings of Jerusalem came in all shapes and characters. Some were devout, some made a pretense of their devotions, one was an unbeliever, another was a leper, but all were kingly in their fashion. All led their armies into battle; and because they knew battle, they knew how dangerous and desperate was the world they lived in. They learned very early that the fighting was continuous, that it might break out on many fronts, and that total victory was beyond hope.

  Baldwin II was the nephew of Godfrey and Baldwin I. Originally Baldwin of Le Bourg, he became Count of Edessa. He was crowned King of Jerusalem because in the eyes of the Crusaders his experience in Edessa showed him fit to rule the kingdom, and because he was related to Baldwin I and thought to have many of his virtues.

  In fact, Baldwin II was very different. He was cautious, systematic, a punctilious administrator who earned the nickname of “the Goad.” He had no liking for the trappings of royalty. It was said that he was at his prayers so often that his knees were covered with calluses. In an age of license he was singularly chaste, remaining faithful to his Armenian wife.

  Joscelin of Courtenay, one of Baldwin’s distant relatives on his mother’s side, came to the East, wandered to Edessa, asked for a fiefdom, and was given some lands west of the Euphrates, which were dominated by the castle of Turbessel. These were rich lands that had not been invaded, and Joscelin, in an incautious moment, said that he was rich enough to buy up the whole of the principality of Edessa, and that its present lord would be better served if he returned to France to live on his estates. Baldwin heard of the boasting and invited Joscelin to visit him at his capital. Baldwin lay in bed; it was rumored that he was seriously ill, and when Joscelin entered the bedroom he was convinced that he was about to be offered the entire principality. Joscelin asked him about his health. Baldwin answered, “Much better than you like!” sprang out of bed, and accused his faithless nephew of disloyalty and ingratitude, these being major crimes and deserving of great punishment. Baldwin was a just man. Instead of the entire principality, Joscelin was given a small dungeon that he could hardly move in. When Baldwin felt that Joscelin had learned his lesson, he set him free.

  Joscelin, stripped of his fiefdom, made his way to Jerusalem, and being a man of extraordinary courage and address, he quickly rose to become Prince of Tiberias, an important member of the royal council. Recognizing the merits of the Count of Edessa, he was the most vociferous among the princes to urge that the count should be made King of Jerusalem. Soon Joscelin of Courtenay, formerly lord of Turbessel and Prince of Tiberias, was made Count of Edessa and lived in the palace where he had once occupied a small dungeon.

  Positions changed quickly in the Kingdom of Jerusalem. A squire might be knighted one day, and on the next day he might be given charge of an immense fortress and lead an army across immense deserts. A feudal king and a feudal aristocracy ruled, but a man brilliant in warfare was likely to rise rapidly through the ranks. Just as in the Church high positions went sometimes to the sons of peasants, so the military organization of the kingdom demanded that the most talented soldiers should be given great responsibilities.

  A new generation of nobles was growing up. Tancred, dying in Apulia in 1112, bequeathed the principality of Antioch to his cousin Roger, Prince of Salerno. Like all the Norman princes of Italy, Roger was a brave and ferocious warrior. He was determined to add Aleppo to his principality, and in the spring of 1119 he prepared to march out against Aleppo and called upon Baldwin II for assistance. The king counseled caution. So did Pons, Count of Tripoli, grandson of the Count of Toulouse.

  An attack on Aleppo would inevitably involve the sultan of Damascus and the local emirates. Ilghazi, Emir of Mardin, commanded a powerful army said to number forty thousand men. Roger’s forces were pathetically small in comparison—seven hundred knights and four thousand infantrymen. Roger hoped to take the enemy by surprise—a forlorn hope, since the enemy had spies in Antioch who knew all his movements and were able to report all the preparations for the advance upon Aleppo. Fifteen miles from Aleppo, on June 27, 1119, while the khamsin was blowing, the Turcoman horsemen swept down on Roger’s army, encircled it, and destroyed it. The knights were slaughtered as cattle are slaughtered, deliberately, mechanically, easily. A handful were taken prisoner and displayed during Ilghazi’s triumphal procession through the streets of Aleppo; while they were being displayed, they were tortured to death.

  Baldwin II heard of the disaster when he was at Lattakieh on his way to Antioch. He heard that Roger was dead, that the Crusaders had lost seven thousand men, and the Turks had lost twenty. It was the most terrible defeat suffered by the Crusaders. He rushed on to Antioch with Pons close behind him. Ughazi had been so busy celebrating his triumph that he had failed to seize Antioch when it was at his mercy. Together, Baldwin and Pons put Antioch in a state of readiness. In the middle of August they marched against Ilghazi and fought a curio
us battle at Tel-Danith. Neither side won; but both Christians and Turks were badly bruised. When they had disengaged, Ilghazi took pleasure in tying his prisoners to stakes, using them for target practice. Baldwin and Pons returned to Antioch to lick their wounds.

  While Ilghazi showed himself to be incompetent except in battles where he commanded overwhelming forces, the king of Jerusalem seemed to be suffering from a failure of nerve. He quarreled with Pons and sent a small army against him. It was true that Pons had refused to acknowledge Baldwin II as his sovereign, but for the king to quarrel so violently with a prince was a sign that he was becoming self-indulgent: the question of sovereignty could have been postponed to a later time.

  Grotesque things began to happen. Joscelin of Courtenay, made Count of Edessa at last, was caught in an ambush by Balak, the nephew of Ilghazi and a man of considerable knowledge and experience. Joscelin was once again thrown into a dungeon; this time in the castle of Kharput in the Kurdistan Mountains. Baldwin II assumed the regency of Edessa and wondered at the stupidity of Joscelin for allowing himself to be caught. Seven months later, in April 1123, Baldwin, visiting Edessa, was himself caught in an ambush while riding with a falcon on his wrist in one of the valleys of the lower Euphrates. Balak’s troops fell on the king and his escort. They were all thrown into dungeons in the same castle.

  Jerusalem was without a king. Fulcher of Chartres writes about these events, which he observed from Jerusalem, with a mixture of incredulity and calm. The king had vanished, but Christ was the real king. Strange events were happening far away in the Kurdistan Mountains. Reports from Edessa reached Jerusalem at irregular intervals; no one seemed to know exactly what was happening; the Egyptians were invading from the south, and all of Islam knew of the successes of Balak. What was not known until much later was that the Armenians had received a message from Joscelin of Courtenay, urging them to attack the castle at Kharput. Fifty Armenians disguised as monks or beggars, with arms concealed under their clothing, made their way from Edessa into the mountains of Kurdistan, entered the castle secretly at night, killed the guards, and then raced to the tower where Baldwin II and Joscelin were being held prisoner.