In Distant Lands

by Lars Brownworth

  The Egyptians were taken completely by surprise. They had assumed that the crusaders would cower in Jerusalem, and hadn't bothered to send out scouts to confirm that fact. Most of their soldiers were still asleep in their tents. The battle lasted only minutes. The carnage was terrible. Those not cut down in their beds were drowned in the sea or trampled under charging hooves.

  The spoils taken were immense. The vizier, who had managed to slip into Ascalon's citadel, escaped, but his entire treasury fell into the hands of the crusaders. More importantly, the Egyptians had been driving flocks with them, and these flocks, along with horses and pack animals to refresh their stocks, were captured.

  Only one thing marred the completeness of the triumph. The garrison of Ascalon, who had heard stories of Raymond's chivalry, announced that they were prepared to surrender but would only do so to the Count of Toulouse. The demand awoke all the old suspicions and Godfrey refused. Raymond, needlessly insulted and humiliated, withdrew, taking most of the other nobles with him. Ascalon remained in Muslim hands for the next fifty years, a constant thorn in the side of the Kingdom of Jerusalem.

  As short as it was, the victory at Ascalon ranked as one of the most important of the entire crusade. It effectively neutralized the only neighboring power capable of threatening Jerusalem, and ensured the survival of the crusader kingdom. Against overwhelming odds and despite terrible obstacles, the First Crusade had proved to be an unqualified success. It was, in the eyes of contemporaries, dramatic proof of the power of faith. Ironically, however, its principal instigator never learned of the victory. Even as the crusaders were at long last entering Jerusalem, Urban II lay dying in Rome. On July 29, 1099, two weeks after the city had been captured but before news of it had reached Rome, he expired.

  Chapter 7: Outremer

  “God has manifested His mercy in fulfilling by our hands what He had promised in ancient times.”

  – letter of Godfrey of Bouillon to Pope Urban II69

  After 462 years, Jerusalem was finally Christian again.70 The tide of Islamic conquest had been dramatically turned back, and the city of Christ had been reclaimed. The great work was completed.

  Success, however, presented an unanticipated problem. Most of the knights, who had spent these past grueling years away from their loved ones, were eager to return home. They officially discharged their vows by praying at the Church of the Holy Sepulcher or washing in the Jordan River, and returned to Europe. They left behind a Christian outpost in a Muslim sea. If their miraculous victory was to be maintained, then a strong, stable government had to be set up with secure lines of communication back to Europe. What they needed was a statesman, someone who could create a viable kingdom and do so with a minimum of knights. What they had was Godfrey of Bouillon.

  Most of the returning crusaders were treated as heroes when they reached Europe. The gallantry and romance of the idea – enduring incredible hardships to redeem Christ's city for the faith – would be an inspiration to generations of Europeans. The distant crusader states, collectively known as Outremer,71 French for ‘far-away’ or 'overseas', were exotic places where outsized reputations could be won. The exploits of the leaders of the First Crusade were glamorized in poetry and songs, and they were transformed into larger-than-life figures. Within a generation of the capture of Jerusalem, epic poems like the Chanson d’Antioche, a glamorized recounting of the siege of Antioch where Christian knights split opponents in half with single blows, were being recited throughout France.

  Highest of all stood Godfrey of Bouillon, the ideal knight whose humility had prevented him from accepting a crown. His modesty had revealed a spirit far greater than that of a mere king. He was the fulfillment of chivalry, the great protector of pilgrims and defender of holy places. Throughout the Middle Ages he was recognized along with Charlemagne and King Arthur as one of the three greatest Christian heroes, and appeared in heroic form in works from Dante to Cervantes. The reality, unfortunately, was rather different. For all his undoubted valor and adroitness in winning Jerusalem, Godfrey turned out to be a naïve, largely ineffectual leader, whose personal inadequacies tended to exacerbate his troubles.

  The largest problem confronting all of the crusader states was a chronic shortage of manpower. A wise leader would have carefully marshaled his strength, but Godfrey alienated the few nobles who stayed in the east, and was far too trusting of incompetent advisors. The warning signs had been there from the start. Godfrey's pettiness with Raymond, virtually the only great lord to remain in Jerusalem, continued after its capture. When Raymond attempted to strengthen the Christian position by successfully besieging two towns in the Levant, Godfrey refused to acknowledge their surrender, to prevent any further growth in Raymond's prestige. This gratuitous snub alienated most of the remaining princes. All of them returned home, with the exception of Tancred, who was attempting to carve out a little state for himself in Palestine.72

  By the end of 1099, Godfrey had only three hundred knights and roughly two thousand infantry to consolidate his holdings and fend off any attacks. To his credit, he made some progress, forcing some of the neighboring Muslim villages to become tributaries. Any further headway ground to a halt in late December with the arrival of Daimbert, the Archbishop of Pisa.

  Daimbert

  One of Urban's last acts as pope had been to appoint Daimbert as Adhemar of Le Puy's replacement. He could hardly have selected a less suitable candidate. Mistaking the Italian's prodigious energy for competence, Urban had sent Daimbert to Spain to aid King Alfonso IV's efforts to re-Christianize the parts of Castile that had been reclaimed from the Muslims. The mission was a success, but Daimbert had won a reputation as an arrogant, rapacious cleric and the whiff of corruption never quite left him. Urban, however, was too ill or too insulated to correct his mistake, and had compounded it by appointing him as papal legate.

  The archbishop's progress to Jerusalem didn't inspire confidence. Traveling with an undisciplined fleet of Pisan sailors, he amused himself by raiding the Greek islands that he passed along the way, managing to annoy the emperor enough to send the imperial navy after him.73 The narrowness of his escape from capture only added to his sense of a divine mission. Like many crusaders, Daimbert believed that Jerusalem should be governed by the Church rather than a secular authority. His main goals were to establish firm clerical control over the city and make sure that Godfrey knew his place.

  The first stop for the papal legate was Antioch, where he found a surprisingly agreeable Bohemond. The Norman, who was now styling himself 'Prince of Antioch', was only too glad to lend his support to Daimbert. He announced that he would not only contribute men to ensure the legate's safe travel, but also personally accompany him.

  Daimbert was easily flattered, but there was nothing particularly generous in this offer. Bohemond's role in stalling the crusade at Antioch was well known, and this coupled with the fact that he had not yet fulfilled his vow to pray at the Holy Sepulcher, was damaging his reputation. Besides, a rumor had reached him that the childless Godfrey was not in good health. Even at his most vigorous, Godfrey had maintained that he served the Church, what hope was there for him to resist the headstrong Daimbert if he was sick? Even if Godfrey showed some spine, when he died, the legate would be the natural candidate to name an heir. If Daimbert was going to be the new power-broker in Jerusalem, then Bohemond wanted to be there.

  The Prince of Antioch wasn't the only crusader who came to this conclusion. Before Daimbert left Antioch, Godfrey's younger brother, Baldwin of Edessa, arrived with a proper escort to join their party. Daimbert would now enter Jerusalem with the two greatest crusader lords in tow. He was virtually certain to dominate Godfrey.

  Their reception in the capital was more promising than even Daimbert had hoped. The office of Patriarch of Jerusalem was still vacant and Daimbert naturally decided that he was the most suitable candidate. Thanks to the application of some timely bribes, it was whispered, he was elected, and the pliant Godfrey publicly knelt befo
re him and paid homage as a vassal.

  Daimbert knew to strike while the iron was hot, so before Godfrey could find his footing, the Patriarch demanded that both Jerusalem and its citadel should be turned over to him immediately. This was tantamount to asking Godfrey to evict himself. If he agreed, he would be formally placing the defense of all that the crusaders had bled and died for under the command of a cleric with little military experience. The Defender of the Holy Sepulcher wouldn't be able to do so much as draw his own sword without the permission of the Patriarch. Once again, however, Godfrey did as he was told.

  The horrified knights, who had taken the measure of Daimbert and had no intention of being ruled by him, tried in vain to change Godfrey's mind. The best they could do was to get him to stall. On Easter Sunday, 1100, Godfrey formally endowed the Holy City to Daimbert, but informed him that he would retain control until he had conquered a suitable replacement city for himself.

  Of course, there was no replacement for Jerusalem. It was for Christians the literal center of the world. But from a military standpoint, the port city of Acre came close. Strategically located on the Mediterranean in the northwest of what is today Israel, the well-fortified Acre provided a vital link between the major crusader states. In lieu of Jerusalem, it could act as a central command post to direct overall strategy. Godfrey immediately started preparations to besiege it.

  Virtually the entire strength of the kingdom was mustered, and led out of one of Jerusalem's gates with appropriate pomp. Bohemond and Baldwin had long since departed to their respective states, but the rumor that had drawn them in the first place now bore fruit. Godfrey had been in declining health for months, and the journey was more than he could take. He was carried back to the capital and Daimbert, eager to openly demonstrate his supreme authority over the army, as well as have a share in whatever spoils were gained, continued on with the army.

  What should have been the Patriarch's crowning moment turned out to be a disastrous mistake. Daimbert had correctly assumed that Godfrey wouldn't make any important decisions while sick, but he had underestimated how ill the man was. On July 18, 1100, while the Patriarch was marching toward glory, Godfrey expired.

  For all his defects as a leader, Godfrey was sincerely mourned. For five days all business in Jerusalem ground to a halt as the population grieved. The realities of governing may have dimmed the excitement, but he was still the dashing symbol of the triumphant generation that had captured Jerusalem.74 Respect, however, did not extend to following his wishes for the succession.

  His will, which obediently turned over control of the city to Daimbert, was studiously ignored, and news of his death was carefully kept secret from the army at Acre. Troops were sent to occupy the citadel and messengers were sent hurrying to Godfrey's younger brother Baldwin of Edessa, urging him to come to Jerusalem and take possession of his patrimony.

  When Daimbert got wind of the plan he was predictably outraged. The temporary masters of the city, however, were a good deal less pliable than Godfrey. A furious sermon failed to dislodge the garrison, or convince them of the wickedness of their scheme. In desperation, the Patriarch dispatched a letter to Bohemond in Antioch, offering to make him King of Jerusalem if he could get there before Baldwin. The message was meant to be enticing but Daimbert couldn't help himself. Addressing himself as 'head of the mother of all Churches, and the master of the nations', he sternly reminded his would-be-savior of his place. Jerusalem's king would only serve at the pleasure of the Patriarch.

  In addition to a lack of tact, it was also a wasted effort. When the Patriarch's envoys reached Antioch they discovered that Bohemond wasn't there. Several weeks earlier he had marched north with only three hundred men to campaign on the Upper Euphrates and blundered into an ambush. Realizing that all was lost, he had cut off a clump of his distinctive blond hair and entrusted it to a soldier with instructions to get help from Baldwin. The soldier managed to slip through the Turkish lines to Edessa, but Baldwin was unable to reach the prince of Antioch in time. Daimbert's protector was now sitting in a Turkish prison, waiting for a suitable ransom to be raised.75

  The Patriarch was beaten and he knew it. To his further chagrin, Baldwin assumed the regency of Antioch along the way, and appeared in Jerusalem undisputedly the most powerful lord in the crusader states. On Christmas Day, 1100, in the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem, a reluctant Daimbert gave Jerusalem its first crusader king, crowning his nemesis as Baldwin I. A short time later the Patriarch was unceremoniously removed from office.76

  The new king was a vast improvement on his predecessor. Patient and far-sighted, he was a courageous general and a gifted statesman. Like many great figures throughout history, he also had a knack for good timing.

  The belief in the inevitability of the past – the sense that whatever happened had to happen – is the great enemy of learning from history. The First Crusade provides an excellent example of this. To European Christians its remarkable success against staggering odds gave it a patina of destiny. The crusaders had been guided by the hand of Providence, their unwavering faith had swept all before them. David would always beat Goliath.

  In truth, as Baldwin was well aware, the Franks were a tiny minority, surrounded by a vast sea of enemies. Against opposing armies in the thousands, they could usually only muster a few hundred knights. Their unlikely success had given them a belief in their superiority as fighters, but that was a thin shield against the waves of jihad that were sure to come.

  The only hope was to convince new recruits to come from the west, and fortunately for the Kingdom of Jerusalem, the wild success of the First Crusade had done this. Godfrey's reign had been too short to see the results, but Baldwin I was gratified to learn that fresh troops were on the way.

  The Crusade of 1101

  Most of the new crusaders had either missed the main advance, or had been cautious enough to wait and see if it was successful. Both of the maritime Republics of Genoa and Pisa had promised to join the First Crusade, but since their preparations had included constructing fleets, they were delayed till 1101. They were joined by a few stragglers from the original crusade, most prominently the hapless Stephen of Blois. He had returned home preceded by a reputation of cowardice, and been summarily ordered by his wife – and the pope – to return and fulfill his crusading vows.

  The new arrivals who reached Jerusalem by ship gave Godfrey enough strength to assure Jerusalem's survival for the foreseeable future. Most of the recruits, however, elected to travel by land.

  This seemed in some ways a repeat of the First Crusade. The army was led by the Archbishop of Milan and Stephen of Blois, who was still on friendly terms with the emperor Alexius and managed to secure easy passage through imperial territory. When the army reached Nicomedia in what is now northwestern Turkey, it was met by Raymond of Toulouse. There the decision was made to take a slight detour to rescue Bohemond, whose capture by the Turks was considered a humiliation for Christendom.

  Both Stephen and Raymond argued vehemently against the plan – one suspects both from experience and personal reasons – but the army was adamant, and they pushed forward into the heart of Anatolia. The Turkish sultan Kilij Arslan had been badly mauled by the First Crusade because he hadn't taken them seriously enough to ally with his neighbors. This time, however, he was determined not to let petty squabbles weaken his response. He allied with the neighboring Turkish emirs and carefully maneuvered the overconfident crusaders to a ground of his choosing. A few days later he had the revenge that he had waited nearly four years for. The crusading army was massacred.

  The handful of survivors, among them Stephen, Raymond, and the Archbishop of Milan, fled. If they tried to warn those who came after them, the message didn't get through. All of the following waves of crusading armies were crushed before they reached Antioch.

  Had they reached the Holy Land intact, Baldwin would have had the strength to push the boundaries of his kingdom to far more defensible natural borders. Now, however,
there would be no new great conquests, and Baldwin wisely chose to concentrate on the tedious but vital task of consolidating his holdings.

  The most important undertaking was to secure the coast. The rich ports along the Mediterranean offered dangerous access to the kingdom's lands to both the Turks and Egyptians, and would have to be systematically reduced. The most important of these was Ascalon, which allowed Egyptian troops to raid the surrounding countryside at will. If Baldwin could take it, then the Egyptians would have to march overland through the brutal Sinai desert to reach Christian territory.

  For the most part, the kingdom of Jerusalem was shielded to the north by Antioch and Edessa. That meant that the only other comparable threats were the cities of Aleppo and Damascus that were the main bases of operations for Turkish strikes.

  Before Baldwin could make any headway, he had to convince his vassals to work together – a nearly impossible task. Tancred in particular was proving troublesome. The self-proclaimed Prince of Galilee had been named regent of Antioch by Baldwin, but had resisted any appeals to materially assist the king. He was busy extending Antioch's lands and was unwilling to risk any of his strength on the vague assurance that it was for the greater good.

  Tancred was clearly unworkable, so Baldwin replaced him by the simple expedient of paying off Bohemond's ransom. The erstwhile Norman prince had been sitting in a Turkish prison for three years, growing increasingly frustrated that no one – other than the incompetent crusaders with the Archbishop of Milan – seemed interested in freeing him. If Baldwin expected thanks, or even cooperation, however, he was quickly disappointed.

  Bohemond’s War