Both of the military orders played a pivotal role in the survival of the crusader states. They gave Baldwin II and his successors what was most severely needed. A tough, international order of warriors who were single-mindedly devoted to the defense of Outremer.
Venetian Assistance
More immediate help to the kingdom came from a fresh wave of crusaders in 1122. Baldwin II's urgent pleas hadn't gone unnoticed. Pope Calixtus II (1119-1124) was too embroiled in political troubles with the Holy Roman Empire80 to preach a crusade, but he had helpfully forwarded the request for aid to the Doge of Venice.
The response of the great Italian maritime republics of Pisa, Genoa, and Venice to the First Crusade had been mildly embarrassing. Genoa and Pisa had belatedly sent ships and Venice had declined to participate at all. If it hadn't been for Bohemond, whose family was originally French, Italy – home of the pope – would have been completely unrepresented. The Venetian doge, Domenico Michele, was determined to make up for his city’s awkward non-appearance in a manner that only the world's oldest and wealthiest Republic could. Outfitting a hundred and twenty warships at state expense, the doge raised an army fifteen thousand strong, and set sail on August 8, 1122.
Instead of sailing directly to Palestine, however, Doge Michele decided to take a small detour first. He had brilliantly restored his city's Christian honor by sailing to the aid of Outremer, but surely a small bit of opportunistic raiding was in order? After all, it would be a shame to waste the opportunities that such a superb fleet offered. The Byzantines had recently restricted Venetian trading privileges within the empire, and the imperial island of Corfu, located just off the coast of present-day northwestern Greece, was more or less in their path.81 They could punish the Byzantines and enrich themselves on their way to doing the Lord's work.
Corfu, however, proved frustratingly difficult to take. After several months of hammering ineffectively away at the walls, the Venetians were forced to spend an uncomfortable winter huddled in their camps along the rocky coast. Spring brought some relief, but they were forced to abandon the siege when news of a fresh disaster in Palestine reached them.
While Doge Michele had been occupied with revenge, the situation in the East had dangerously deteriorated. Just after the Venetian fleet had sailed from its lagoon, the Count of Edessa, accompanied by a small group of knights, had marched south to Aleppo in an ill-conceived effort to expand his borders. In a driving rainstorm the Christians had stumbled into the emir's army, and – their horses useless in the slick mud – were easily captured. When King Baldwin II tried to contain the damage with a show of force, he was surprised as well, and taken captive.
The capture of the King of Jerusalem set off alarm bells throughout Outremer. A daring rescue attempt was organized immediately by some local Christian Armenians who had no desire to fall back under Islamic rule. Fifty of them disguised as monks gained entry to the castle where Baldwin was being held, and after a short struggle managed to overpower the garrison.
Freedom, however, wasn't assured. They were deep in Turkish territory and an army would undoubtedly soon be on its way to relieve the castle. Since the king was far too well known to travel incognito, the Count of Edessa was tasked with slipping back to Outremer and raising a relief force. Baldwin II would stay behind and hold the castle until help arrived.
The count barely made it through. With only two companions, he hid by day and traveled by night. Evading capture a dozen times, he was almost defeated by the Euphrates river. The count had never learned to swim, and only made it across by inflating two wineskins and using them as floats. His more rigorous companions managed to tow him across, dragging him half-drowned onto the opposing bank.
A relief army was thrown together, but by the time it set out it was already too late. Baldwin II had held out as long as he could, but a large Turkish force had managed to breach one of the walls. As a punishment for their resistance, the defenders – with the lone exception of Baldwin II – were hurled from the walls. The king was then moved to a more secure prison where escape was impossible.
News of the king’s capture gave the doge a convenient excuse to raise the siege that had proved far more difficult than anticipated, and he hurried to Palestine. His arrival lifted the cloud of doom that had been hanging over Outremer. The absence of the king had tempted the Fatimids to invade the kingdom of Jerusalem again, but a spirited defense by the remaining Christian army had defeated it. Even better, the Venetian fleet had arrived in time to catch the Fatimid navy, and completely destroy it.
Doge Michele had followed up this victory by sailing to the Muslim held city of Tyre on the coast of present-day Lebanon, and putting it under immediate siege. With the help of the crusader army, he forced it to surrender in the summer of 1124, after little more than a year. The last important port in the north of Palestine was once again in Christian hands. Doge Michele could sail back to Venice in triumph.
Thanks largely to Doge Michele, the kingdom of Jerusalem was greatly strengthened. Later that year, it even got its king back. The Emir of Aleppo was killed by a stray arrow, and luckily for Baldwin II, the emir’s successor was eager to remain on good terms with the crusaders. Baldwin II was released in exchange for some hostages and returned to his capital with the embarrassing understanding that his absence had actually improved things.
Not only were the fortunes of the crusader states on a more solid footing, but the emirate of Aleppo was also in disarray. Baldwin II, however, could never quite impose himself on his vassals the way his predecessor had. The lack of a firm hand allowed the petty rivalries that had plagued the Christian cause from the beginning to reassert themselves. Instead of attacking Aleppo while it was weak, the new Prince of Antioch inexplicably decided to invade Christian Edessa to his northeast. The assault weakened both crusader states and allowed Aleppo the time it needed to recover. Once again, a golden opportunity had been squandered.
Somehow, this move summed up Baldwin II's entire kingship. He had been an active leader, well meaning, and competent enough. In a different time and place he may even have been considered a good king. But he lacked charisma and suffered from chronic bad luck. It was hardly his fault that the triumphs of his reign occurred without him, or that his vassals proved themselves both foolish and disloyal. When he expired in 1131, however, Outremer was weakened and surrounded by the greatest threat it had ever faced.
Three years before Baldwin II died, a new emir had appeared in Aleppo. Imad ad-Din Zengi was as ambitious as he was ruthless, possessed a superb military mind, and was intimately familiar with the crusaders. He was the son of a governor of Aleppo, but had grown up in Mosul at the court of Kerbogah. He had seen his patron return from Antioch a broken man, and learned first hand how formidable the western knights could be. It was a lesson that he wouldn't forget. With a combination of cunning and daring, Zengi had seized control of both Mosul and Aleppo, forging a single powerful state on Edessa's doorstep. His goal, frequently reiterated, was to drive the crusaders into the sea.
The rise of a new powerful Muslim state came at a particularly bad time for the kingdom of Jerusalem. Baldwin II had no sons, and in an attempt to keep the throne in the family, had married off his eldest daughter Melisende to a wealthy magnate named Fulk of Anjou.
The news was greeted with joy by everyone except Melisende who didn't relish the thought of a union with the short, cranky, middle-aged count. There were other reasons to be skeptical as well. The ambitious Fulk had known exactly how desperately he was needed, and had held out until the aging Baldwin II had agreed that he should reign jointly with his wife. Once that concession had been given, the marriage took place, and despite mutual distaste, a son – Baldwin III – was duly produced.
Had Baldwin II lived longer, this would have been a welcome development. Both Fulk and Melisende were flawed candidates to rule. The Count of Anjou was disliked by many of the northern nobles who viewed him as an interloper, while Melisende's gender made it impossible for he
r to rule alone. Their son, however, had both the pedigree and – with the backing of his father – the resources to be accepted by everyone. Unfortunately for everyone, Baldwin II, with his usual timing, had died when his grandson was only two.
Just when unity was needed against the growing threat, the throne of Jerusalem was splintering. A mere three weeks after the old king was laid to rest, Fulk, Melisende, and Baldwin III were all awkwardly crowned as joint monarchs. It was not an auspicious start.
Chapter 9: The Gathering Storm
“In that same year… one Zengi, a vicious man, was the most powerful of the Eastern Turks.”
– William of Tyre82
Whatever faults he may have had, King Fulk was at least competent. The most immediate problem facing him was the governing of Antioch, which had been left without a head since its prince Bohemond II had been killed fighting the Turks the year before. As king of Jerusalem, Fulk was entitled to rule the northern state as regent, but he wisely deferred. Antioch was far too important to the security of Outremer to be ruled by Jerusalem. It needed the undivided attention of a single ruler. It so happened that Bohemond II had left a nine-year-old daughter behind, so Fulk ordered her married off to a newly arrived noble in his mid thirties named Raymond of Poitiers, who would all too soon throw Outremer into chaos.
Having stabilized the north, Fulk then turned toward the last major threat on his southern coast. The fortress of Ascalon was still controlled by the Fatimids, who – thanks to its position on the coast – could land troops and raid at will. This security hole – not to mention the constant disruptions to trade – had been allowed to continue for far too long.
Unfortunately, Fulk lacked the troops necessary to take the fortress by storm, and a siege was out of the question. Despite its long coastline, the kingdom of Jerusalem lacked a fleet, and was therefore powerless to prevent supplies or reinforcements from reaching Ascalon. Fulk, however, was a patient man. If he couldn't enforce a naval blockade then he would do the next best thing. A series of castles were built around the land approaches to Ascalon, making it virtually impossible to get in or out. The Fatimids could land troops in the city to their heart's content, but with the ring of fortresses surrounding them, they would be trapped there.
As a final precaution, Fulk turned over most of the castles to the Hospitallers, which left his army free to attend to other matters. Ascalon was now isolated and dependent on Egypt for its continued survival. Like a fruit slowly dying on the vine, its fall was now only a matter of time.
It was fortunate that Fulk thought of a way to neutralize Ascalon, because his army was desperately needed elsewhere. Disturbing news had come from Aleppo. The clerics of its powerful atabeg Zengi were preaching a new jihad to drive the crusaders into the sea. All faithful Muslims were called to drop whatever grievances they had against each other and make war on the infidel. Victory was to be sought by whatever means necessary – trickery, assassinations, or the battlefield. All Islam was to stand as a united front until the last Christian interloper had been forced to their knees.
For Zengi, a large part of this was political posturing. Conquering both Aleppo and Mosul had already made him the most powerful Muslim prince in the near east. But there were rivals close at hand, particularly the Emir of Damascus. If Zengi could add that city to his domains, he would be far more powerful than Kerbogah had ever been. His attempt to cast himself as the champion of the faith, therefore, was also a play for supremacy. Only when the Muslim world was united under him, could he turn to the great task of annihilating the Christians.
Fortunately for the crusaders, Damascus proved harder to take than Zengi had anticipated. Multiple sieges failed to capture it, and its continued independence damaged Zengi's reputation. By 1137, however, the end was in sight. Damascus was clearly weakening, and Zengi was equipping yet another massive army. When a timely Byzantine attack on Aleppo postponed the inevitable, the desperate emir sent messengers to Fulk begging for help.
The request and Fulk's response to it, illustrated an important change that had taken place in all the crusader states. By now, the first generation of crusaders was long dead. Their children and grandchildren, who had grown up in the Levant, had become something altogether different. The cities of Outremer were a swirling blend of races and religions, where westerners were always a distinct minority. The customs and habits of Europe had slowly mixed with local traditions or faded away. These men and women were only too aware that they occupied an uncertain place. As one chronicler wrote: "We have already forgotten the places we were born..." When they traveled to Europe it was to discover that – despite impeccable pedigrees and titles – they were too eastern for the west and too western for the east.
Those who had grown up in Outremer – hopelessly outnumbered and surrounded – had discovered what the Byzantines had long known. Islam was a permanent neighbor. The best strategy was to keep them disunited, the moment they presented a united front all hope was lost. When the Emir of Damascus asked for help, therefore, many of Fulk's counselors urged him to accept.
The thought of doing any such thing filled those who had just come from Europe with disgust. Nowhere was the gulf between recent immigrant and native greater than in their views of diplomacy. The First Crusade had been launched to reclaim the Holy Land from the grip of the Islamic power that had stolen it, not to make deals with the Muslims. They were the forces of anti-Christ whose armies now occupied Christian lands from Asia Minor to Spain. This was an enemy that needed to be fought tooth and nail until they were finally defeated. The idea of a crusader king marching to the defense of the Muslim masters of Damascus – the city where St. Paul had become a Christian – was unthinkable.
Fulk was under no illusions about the strength of his kingdom, and wisely marched to the aid of Damascus. The campaign was a success, due to Fulk's quick action and an uprising in Mesopotamia that required Zengi's attention. But while the breach was widening in the crusader kingdoms between natives and the fresh arrivals from Europe that they depended on to replenish themselves, in the Muslim world, the lines of division were closing.
Zengi’s Advance
By 1137, there were few obstacles remaining to Zengi's preeminence. The various internal disturbances had run their course. Rebellious governors had been crushed, and obedient creatures had been installed in their place. Even Damascus had been successfully neutralized after a palace coup had temporarily installed a regime more friendly to Aleppo. There were no allies now for the crusader states to fall back on, or seditious administrators to bribe. The table was set for the main advance to drive the infidel out of the Middle East.
Zengi’s destination was the crusader fortress of Baarin in northern Syria. If he could force it from Christian control it would both prevent further expansion and damage communication between the southern and northern crusader states. King Fulk had no choice but to defend it. The two armies clashed on a sizzling July afternoon, and the result was a bloodbath. Nearly the entire army of Jerusalem was wiped out, and King Fulk himself barely avoided capture. Only the unconditional surrender of the fortress – and the rumor of a relief crusader army on the way – convinced Zengi to allow the survivors to depart.
The retreating garrison was fortunate – Zengi was not always so merciful. Earlier that year the garrison of a castle in what is now Lebanon had surrendered on the condition that he would respect their lives. After swearing on the Koran that he would let them live, Zengi had accepted their weapons, flayed the captain alive, and hanged the rest.
However grateful the departing crusaders were to have preserved their lives, there was no hiding the fact that the disaster effectively ended the kingdom of Jerusalem's ability to go on the offensive. For the rest of his reign Fulk concentrated on rebuilding his shattered forces, but the old energy was gone. The northern nobles resumed their usual quarrels and although only in his late forties, Fulk lacked the stamina to bring them into line. The next few years were spent trying to replenish his oddly d
iminished vigor. In 1143, his wife suggested a picnic to enjoy the pleasant countryside around Acre. While they were riding, one of the king's party startled a rabbit and Fulk galloped off in pursuit. Suddenly, the horse lost its footing, sending both rider and bags flying. As the king crumpled to the ground, the heavy saddle slammed into his head hard enough to cause his 'brains to rush forth from his ears and nostrils'. He expired three days later without regaining consciousness.
Fulk's death left the kingdom in the hands of his wife Melisende and their thirteen-year-old son Baldwin III. Despite the fact that the queen was both intelligent and competent, the throne was dangerously weakened. The preeminence of Jerusalem in the crusader states had gradually been dissipating. In the last years of Fulk's reign, it had been decidedly theoretical. Now, with a woman and a minor at the helm, there was little chance that the northern barons would be reigned in.
Far away in Aleppo, Zengi was waiting to exploit just such a moment. He had been kept carefully informed about the divisions within the crusader states, and was well aware that the crusaders had never been as vulnerable. A formal call for jihad was issued, emirs were pressured to contribute men, and the great army started its march to the northeast.
Zengi's target was well chosen. The most vulnerable of the crusader states had always been Edessa. As the easternmost outpost of Christian control, it was surrounded on three sides by hostile Muslim neighbors. Even more promisingly for Zengi’s prospects, it's count, Joscelin II, was a vain and headstrong man who had recently gotten into a violent argument with his only Christian neighbor, Raymond of Poitiers, the Prince of Antioch. Since Antioch was clearly the more powerful of the two, Raymond had forced Joscelin to acknowledge him as an overlord. Joscelin II never forgave the insult. The two men had proceeded to do everything they could to meddle in each other's affairs. When Antioch needed a new Patriarch, Joscelin made sure to back a rival candidate, and when Raymond marched out against a local emir ordering his vassal along, Joscelin made a truce with the emir instead.
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