by Jack Ludlow
If such endeavours put an end to assaults on the walls, the teeming and visible activity before the twin encampments sent a clear message to the city of the determination of the Crusaders to eventually press home their attack. The air was filled with the sound of woodworking, the clang of blacksmiths’ hammers as well as the smell of the pitch and glue being used to coat the timbers and to secure the various joints.
In addition, men more accustomed to war, working alongside the many thousands of pilgrims who toiled for their love of God, put their hands to cutting and plaiting brushwood with which to protect the triple platforms on which they would later want to fight, those covered with animal skins that did not easily catch fire, for the standard first defence against such a weapon, in the hope of stopping it before it could be set against the walls, was to set it alight with flaming arrows.
The next form of defence was toppling, using grappling irons to fix on and pull over an inherently unstable construct. To avert this, each tower would be provided with detachable outriggers — long lengths of timber that set into the ground on either side and locked into a position on the whole from which they could only be manually removed. These outriggers rendered the towers both stable and immovable, yet there was always a time before they could be secured in place where the construct was vulnerable.
Such precautions did not obviate the inherent problems that came with the employment of siege towers: it was obvious that, with their huge fixed wheels, they could only be rolled to the point of contact in a straight line, this along a path cleared of any stones and depressions that required to be filled in. Thus the defenders knew to the width of a couple of pikes where the attack would come, allowing them to strengthen their own defences in anticipation.
Raymond was building his before and slightly to the north of the Zion Gate, which left the Fatimid defenders in no doubt where it would strike, while added to that there was the dry ditch over which it had to be pushed. That needed to be filled in, a problem Raymond of Toulouse solved by the offer of a copper penny to any man who was willing to rush forward, mostly in the dark of night when the only light came from battlement torches, to cast a stone into the void. It was a task eagerly taken up by the pilgrims, who still, when it came to sustenance, were obliged to purchase it where they could.
That was not the only expense Raymond was obliged to undertake — so unpopular had he become that he was having to pay even his own men, as well as pilgrims, to work on his weaponry and also use dragooned Muslim slaves, in a situation where Godfrey was happily employing willing volunteers.
On his behalf and before the Quadrangular Tower, Gaston of Bearn was supervising the building of Godfrey’s tower, and those working on it could see the men they would later face placing long wooden barbs through the ramparts, no doubt well anchored behind them, which they hoped would keep Gaston’s tower from contact with the walls until it could be destroyed.
Neither Embriaco or Bearn was willing to rely solely on their towers; mangonels were also constructed to fire both rocks and balls of flaming cloth and rope soaked with pitch, which would be employed to keep the defenders away from the primary points of assault. Prior to that, heavier weapons would batter the walls in the hope of creating a breach.
To further split the defence there was a fearsome battering ram — a huge baulk of timber with dozens of handholds drilled right through and tipped with a metal barb — that would move forward under a bombardment screen and seek to drive in one of the gates. There were endless ladders and climbing frames, as well as wattle panels behind which armed men could advance with some degree of safety prior to climbing to engage.
The noise of construction was not the only sound to fill the air outside the Holy City; it was almost as if, having got to Jerusalem in rancour, the princes needed a new dispute to keep alive their spirits and this one was Antioch all over again. Who, when the city fell and the hallowed places were in Christian hands, should be the person tasked with defending what would become a prime target for recovery by the Muslims?
Pious protestations of holding the city for the faith did little to hide another reason for seeking guardianship; there was also the usual one of greed, carefully concealed under more openly expressed and pious concerns. Revenues from the flood of pilgrims that would flock to the Holy City once it was in Christian hands would be enough to dwarf the income of Rome itself, and whoever had title to Jerusalem would also have its coffers.
Naturally Raymond favoured himself as the prime candidate, seemingly, due to his arrogance, unaware, even if the evidence of it was staring him in the face, that he would never get the role by acclamation. Lords with more sense did not openly aspire, even if they held secret hopes that a stalemate between Godfrey de Bouillon, the only other viable candidate, and Toulouse would entail an agreement on a compromise nominee.
Thus the two Roberts, Normandy and Flanders, refused to come down on one side or the other while Tancred used his position of being a junior magnate to claim he lacked the position to even take part in any decision; Gaston of Bearn was too busy with construction to even consider attending. Yet opposition to the very idea of a layperson being given the role of guardian was vociferously challenged from the churchmen; even Peter of Narbonne went against his liege lord on the matter, though he chose another target to make his point.
‘Is it not an indication of how unbecoming such a notion is that we have within our councils a man who does not fear to hoist his standard over one of the most, if not the most holy place in Christendom? I refer to the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem. By what right does a man not consecrated place a temporal banner on a religious site?’
‘Bishop Peter,’ Tancred replied, for the accusation was levelled at him, ‘you have clearly not yet visited Bethlehem.’
‘What does it matter that I have not?’
‘If you had,’ came the response, ‘you would see that there are few buildings of any size other than the church. How else can it be signalled to any Muslim seeking to recapture it that Bethlehem is defended, without they see a Crusader banner?’
Raymond’s personal confessor, a namesake cleric who hailed from Aguilers, spoke up and with scant courtesy, a manner obviously approved of by his nodding master. Toulouse was a man strong in grievances who made little secret that he now saw Tancred as both greedy, treacherous and still, even if it was not openly made obvious, a liegeman of Bohemund.
‘That, Lord Tancred, is a piece of sheer sophistry. Had you hoisted a Crusader cross above the church your argument might carry some merit, as it is any thinking man can only see the avarice of possession.’
The reply was icy. ‘Your cloth protects you from the consequences of such an accusation, Aguilers, but I would not wish to hear it from any lips not consecrated.’
‘I am sure you acted without wickedness,’ insisted Godfrey, before anyone else could be foolish enough to speak.
There was no one in the room who could fight Tancred and be sure that they would emerge from the encounter in one piece; if he was not quite Bohemund, there was not a great difference in either his regard for his reputation or his ability with weapons.
‘Our cleric does not understand war and the needs that press upon us in such situations.’
‘On the contrary, Duke Godfrey,’ Aguilers replied. ‘We understand only too well.’
Peter of Narbonne took up the argument. ‘My colleague refers to that of which there seems a reluctance to speak, namely the spoils that will accrue from Jerusalem if it falls.’
‘When it falls,’ growled his master, who was obviously far from pleased that a man he had elevated to a bishopric was taking what he saw as sides against his claims.
‘That, My Lord, is in God’s hands,’ Peter replied sonorously, but he had a sharp rejoinder to add. ‘As should be the monies that will accrue to the holder of the city. I say that should be a man of the cloth, for, without that, ambition will ever triumph over the needs of our faith.’
‘Is this discussion no
t premature?’ asked Godfrey, with a sigh.
‘As it was at Antioch, perhaps?’ Raymond snapped. ‘I have no mind to have my rights trampled here as they were there.’
‘Trampled, Lord Raymond,’ Tancred replied. ‘I think you agreed, in a council no different to this one, that whosoever opened the city to capture should have title to it.’
Robert of Normandy, hitherto silent, spoke up, cutting off any response from Toulouse, who was no doubt about to reprise what was now a redundant discussion.
‘Which tells me that what we decide here may well not hold once the city is ours. Should we not convene to decide such a weighty matter at a time when our deliberations will have a true and pressing purpose, namely when Jerusalem is ours?’
‘I can think of a very good reason why delay might suit Normandy,’ Raymond snapped.
‘While I can see no purpose in you, My Lord, pressing your case for a position that you cannot now aspire to.’
That was like a slap and Toulouse took it in that fashion, almost physically recoiling to have his lack of support so publicly stated. But the Duke was not finished and proved that he was also capable of showing he had a good understanding of the needs of diplomacy.
‘Perhaps by your deeds you may stand head and shoulders above us all when Jerusalem is overcome; I should add that will be an opportunity that falls to us all. Let us then wait to see if an act of outstanding valour elevates one of our number higher than the rest, for surely that would be by God’s divine intervention.’
Invoking the Almighty was enough to terminate any further argument from nobles and clerics alike, but only for the moment; it was necessary that they meet often to discuss how the assault was to be pressed home and no such gathering could convene without at some point the vexed subject of guardianship being raised.
If the Crusaders were working to perfect the weapons of assault, the defenders were just as occupied in counter-measures. Sure of the places at which the towers would make contact they moved their own mangonels to batter them with rocks in the hope of killing the attacking knights.
Noting that some of the Crusaders’ heavier ballistae were of a size to batter their walls, that was countered by the hanging of skeins of thick knotted rope from the battlements, as well as sacks filled with wheat chaff, both to deaden the impact.
Added to that, if there was a lack of actual attacks to keep the whole in a state of nervousness, there was no shortage of attempts at terrorisation. One of Godfrey’s cousins, le Bourg, on a foraging expedition captured a venerable Muslim, a noble-looking fellow of advanced years and some eminence, for when he was paraded before the garrison of Jerusalem it was clear he was recognised. Not that such recognition altered his fate; to show them the destiny that awaited those watching, given he had refused to convert to Christianity he was summarily beheaded.
A Fatimid spy caught trying to slip into Jerusalem was crudely tortured for information, not that anything he provided would affect his ultimate fate. He was tied to one of the heavier mangonels that was hauled to full torsion, then released, to send his body, it was hoped, over the battlements. As an experiment it was not a complete failure: if he did not overreach the walls it was moot if the result was any more comforting, for he crashed into the stone face, then fell onto the rocks below, his neck broken and his body shattered.
The Fatimids were short on the means to reply in kind, but they were just as keen to trouble their enemies, who — and to their mind this was blasphemy — used symbols in their religion. Thus crucifixes were hung upside down from the ramparts, onto which, in full view of the Crusaders, the Muslim’s spat and urinated, acts that aroused, at least to them, a pleasing amount of loud fury.
In the midst of continuing mutual antagonism, there was no shortage of preachers willing to see in their dreams and visions portents that warned of either disaster or glorious victory. One, yet another Peter, this time called Desiderius, claimed to have been granted a revelation by none other than the late and sainted Ademar, Bishop of Puy. Given he was close to Raymond of Toulouse, who had sought to use the memory of the papal legate to replace the failure to inspire by the discredited Holy Lance, his prophetic messages were greeted with some scepticism.
‘I see us plagued with too many Peters,’ Tancred opined, on his way to the pavilion in which the council met, well aware of what was to be discussed. ‘There must be some pile of ordure out of which they do not crawl.’
Flanders, who felt the same way, laughed. ‘Perhaps, one day, we will truly be granted a miracle.’
‘If there was one thing my Uncle Bohemund taught me it was that it was folly to even think the Lord might actually intervene in a battle. He saw it as the stuff of the deluded.’
‘Even after Antioch?’
Tancred patted his right arm. ‘That was won with these, Robert — it was not due to some flaming vision that we triumphed, regardless of what our divines say.’
Yet for all their doubts regarding that to which they were about to be exposed, both men knew that lip service had to be paid to such notions when they came from such preaching sources. They believed with all their hearts in the divine oversight of God the Almighty and were sure he did play a part in their endeavours. When they celebrated Mass it was in the sure knowledge that he could see into their hearts and judge their motives, and if at times they were less than pure, then all they could do was seek his all-encompassing forgiveness.
To kill was a sin, yet they did it as a vocation, sure that the slaying of God’s enemies would be seen not with condemnation, but as a route to salvation. It was in the manifestation of that forgiveness and insight that they held doubts: the Holy Trinity, the Blessed Virgin and all the saints would bless their sword arm as they used them to press home the true faith, but did such messages as might be sent to them come as a flaming horseman riding to their support on the field of battle, as had been claimed so many times, or through the certainties of preachers like Desiderius or Bartholomew?
‘The meaning of my dream was obvious,’ Desiderius insisted. ‘Ademar demands that we find harmony in our endeavour and he seeks this in death just as he did in life.’
‘Amen,’ intoned Narbonne, crossing himself, an act and expression dutifully followed by all present.
‘Therefore he insists we must fast, we must look into our inner souls and see what is there. Is it truly that we are here before Jerusalem in the service of our Lord God, or are you great lords here merely to add lustre to your names and riches to your strongbox? Alms must be donated to show that is a false accusation, yet some of the host are so sinful, as are the pilgrims who look to me for guidance, that nothing short of scourging by whipping will cleanse them.’
‘Harmony we need,’ Godfrey exclaimed, his eyes alight with a genuine fervour that aroused nothing but admiration in those observing. ‘Tell us, Peter Desiderius, how it is to be found.’
The solution, according to the preacher, was a procession in which all would participate regardless of rank. This would be carried out barefoot and in solemn and continuous prayer, each man examining his own soul for the sins that resided there, for no man was without it. Trumpets and horns would blow and perhaps, as at Jericho, the walls would crack and tumble.
‘Will it be so,’ cried Godfrey, with such passion he seemed about to go into a frenzy.
Desiderius seemed to realise he had gone too far and the offer of crumbling walls was withdrawn on the grounds that Jerusalem was not Jericho and he was not Joshua. But there would be feet washing, with noble dukes and counts, as well as high church divines emulating Jesus Christ, who did not so fear to humble himself with the lowly.
Such supplications agreed, the procession set out on a sunlit morning to march round the walls to the Mount of Olives, threatening the jeering garrison with what weapons they bore, there to watch Godfrey very willingly, Raymond reluctantly and the rest of the lords with manufactured zeal, wash the feet of the meanest pilgrim peasants Desiderius could identify. Mass was said on the spot of
Christ’s resurrection and the nobles were called forward to make peace with each other in the sight of his grace.
To much rejoicing Godfrey, expression alight, embraced Raymond who then shook arms with Tancred, both men vowing to aid the other to the point of death if need be, an undertaking repeated to Normandy, Flanders and Gaston of Bearn. All around, anything that smacked of enmity was being put aside, Apulians swearing loyalty to Provence and vice versa, the pledging of their souls and their blood by both to the knights of Lotharingia.
Shriven and feeling bolstered by the obvious grace of God, the procession made its way back to their lines. The Fatimids showed how much they cared for what had taken place and how much such obvious faith affected them by showering the march with arrows and catapulted rocks, killing several of the worshippers, including several priests.
‘Two days hence,’ Godfrey swore, ‘you will pay for that insult to us and to God.’
‘We will strip the skin off their bones,’ Raymond added, his arm clasped in that of his so recent rival. ‘They cannot see into our souls, but we will see into theirs.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The Fatimids knew the Crusaders were coming long before dawn, just from the noise of their preparations, added to the amount of darting torchlight that had illuminated their night-time activity. They were at their places while it was still dark, sweating on what was a hot and humid mid-July night, nervously awaiting the final sound that would bring on the assault — the sound of the battle horns blowing the advance.
First the sky took on a hint of grey, which failed to provide enough light to show the ground before the walls or the great hulking silhouettes of the towers before the Quadrangular Tower and the Zion Gate. The gradual increase in the level of daylight did begin to touch the upper frame of the siege engine built by Raymond of Toulouse.