THE SIEGE OF JERUSALEM
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Th
e Siege of Jerusalem
Crusade and Conquest in 1099
Conor Kostick
Continuum International Publishing Group
Th
e Tower Building
80 Maiden Lane
11 York Road
Suite 704
London SE1 7NX
New York, NY 10038
www.continuumbooks.com
Copyright © Conor Kostick 2009
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or any information storage or retrieval system, without prior permission from the publishers.
First published 2009
British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781847252319
Typeset by Newgen Imaging Systems Pvt Ltd, Chennai, India
Printed and bound by
To my old friend,
Nathan Reynard
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Contents
List of Figures
viii
Preface
ix
Acknowledgements
xiii
Chapter 1 In the Beginning
1
Chapter 2 Endurance
25
Chapter 3 Factions and Schisms
51
Chapter 4 Th
irst
66
Chapter 5 Siege Warfare
79
Chapter 6 Preparing for the Assault
92
Chapter 7 Th
e Storming of Jerusalem
104
Chapter 8 Friday, 15 July 1099
115
Chapter 9 Th
e Aft ermath
132
Chapter 10 Legacy
155
Appendix
174
Abbreviations
185
Notes
187
Bibliography
195
Index
205
List of Figures
Figure 1 Th e route taken by the First Crusade
Figure 2 Th e environs of Jerusalem
Figure 3 Th e topography of Jerusalem
Figure 4 Th e layout of Jerusalem at the time of the Crusade Figure 5 Water sources in the vicinity of Jerusalem
Figure 6 Th e view from the Pool of Siloam to the walls of Jerusalem, from W. H. Bartlett, Walks About the City and Environs of Jerusalem (London, 1845), p. 69
Figure 7 Siege equipment 1: a basic mangonel, used on both sides Figure 8 Siege equipment 2: a hybrid trebuchet, used by the crusaders Figure 9 Siege equipment 3: a ram from the front
Figure 10 Siege equipment 4: a ram from the back
Figure 11 Siege equipment 4: a siege tower from the front Figure 12 Siege equipment 5: a siege tower from the back
Figure 13 Siege equipment 6: a crow, used by the Provençal army Figure 14 Th e assault on Jerusalem stage 1
Figure 15 Th e assault on Jerusalem stage 2
Figure 16 Th e assault on Jerusalem stage 3
Preface
Tuesday, 7 June 1099. A crowd of gaunt people was gathered on a hill watching the brightening eastern sky. About a mile away the walls and buildings of a city became more distinct in the dawn light. Everyone had stumbled through the darkness of the previous night to reach this point. Just as the skylarks, fi nches, swallows and swift s greeted the new day with their distinctive songs, so too the crowd now began to mutter in a range of voices: prayers whispered in all the languages and dialects of Christendom.
As the light grew stronger, the crowd became more distinct. Here, an archer, with an unstrung bow over his shoulder. Th
ere, a leather-clad spearman, lean-
ing on his weapon as a stave. And among those ready for war could be seen a surprising number of unarmed people, including priests, nuns, women and children of all ages. All of them, man or woman, soldier or cleric, looked hun-gry, but although their bodies lacked all measure of surplus fat, they were not emaciated. Rather, they had the cords of tough muscle only obtained through years of hard labour. And these people had laboured.
Nearby, mounted, and accompanying those on foot with a certain complacency, were a group of 70 knights, formed up in a disciplined row. Th eir chainmail armour and burnished helms shone, tinged with the pink of the dawn.
It was the raid of these knights ahead of the army the previous day, and their return with the news that the city was close, which had caused the ragged crowds to stumble all night across a rocky terrain in the hope of seeing the physical manifestation of their dreams. Proud of their responsibility for those beneath them, the knights were alert, scanning the brightening sky in all directions for dust clouds in the morning air, for a sign, in other words, of their enemies. Ahead of the row of knights was a small cluster of warriors, whose banners and spears focused on the two leaders of the troop: Tancred and Gaston of Béarn.
Only 26 years old, Tancred was nevertheless the hero and talisman of the present company. Others, especially the Provençal army miles further back to the rear, hated the Italian Norman for his arrogance and his treacherous policy towards them. But even his worst enemies would admit that there was no braver
x P R E FAC E
warrior in the entire Christian army and no sight more liable to lift the heart than that of Tancred’s small band of knights charging ferociously in to battle behind their red banner. A little older, a lot darker, the Pyrenean nobleman Gaston of Béarn sat next to the Norman champion. Th
e relationship between
the two was of equals. More than that, it was of men whose common interest united them across all barriers of language and past allegiances. For Gaston and Tancred occupied the same political position inside the Christian army.
Th
ey were both leaders of a small band of knights, but with nothing of the following or authority of the truly great princes. Or at least, not yet. Win a reputation for bravery, win more followers and, above all, win booty to reward those knights who took the chance of serving with them, and who knew what lay ahead? Th
is land was full of rich cities and the fortunes of war were fi ckle.
Tancred’s own grandfather, Robert Guiscard, had, through conquest more than through diplomacy, risen from being the sixth son of a poor Norman noble to becoming an Italian Duke, solemnly recognized as such by the papacy.
On the previous day, both Tancred and Gaston – independently – had ridden right up to the walls of the city. Both had relied on the reputation of the great Christian army half a day behind them to intimidate the local Muslim forces. Gaston had been the quicker and the bolder; his 30 knights had galloped through the outlying farms around the city gathering up beasts and valuables.
But when the commander of the garrison of the city realized how small this Christian force was, he ordered a troop of swift light cavalry to chase Gaston and his men. Th
e chase led several miles to a cliff face, where the Pyrenean
knights reluctantly abandoned their booty. But no sooner had the Muslim cavalry turned back towards the city with the animals and baggage than Tancred and his 40 knights arrived, curious to see what the dust clouds in the valley below them signifi ed. Th
e Normans rode down the hillside to greet their
co-religionists. A hasty conference led to qu
ick agreement. Both Tancred and Gaston were seeking fame and fortune, which was all the more likely to come their way as a united body. And so it proved in this encounter. Th e 70 Christian
knights were suffi
ciently intimidating to scatter the Muslim troop and drive
them all the way back to the gates of the city.
Th
ese knights had learned hard lessons on the journey. Th
ere was to be no
stopping to gather up the scattered loot or wandering beasts. Th
e Muslim light
cavalryman was expert at riding and fi ring a bow at the same time. Given a chance to reorganize themselves, this force of the city’s garrison could harass the Christians from afar, killing precious mounts, without ever coming within reach of a lance. Only aft er the city gates had slammed shut did the Christian knights wheel about to go searching for the booty that they now shared
P R E FA C E
xi
between them. Th
at night the main body of the Christian army acclaimed
the deeds of these two young lords, whose mutual satisfaction in the day’s events proved to be a fi rm foundation for future co-operation.
When the tale of this adventure had circulated around the camp fi res of the Christian army, what caught the imagination of the crowd was the fact that the city they had fought to reach over the course of three years was so close that a rider could reach it in a few hours. At fi rst individuals, then entire bands, gathered their meagre belongings and set off under the stars. Aft er all, in their excitement, they would hardly have managed to sleep. What did it matter that such a chaotic enthusiastic night time march was contrary to all military discipline? By now their enemies feared them and were unlikely to be preparing ambushes. In any case, surely this close to their goal, God would protect them.
Th
e vanguard of the sprawling Christian army had rushed forward in the darkness. But the majority waited until dawn. Even so, it was impossible to maintain discipline. Th
e knights understood the danger of the army acting
like an ill-organized rabble but their desire to get ahead of those on foot before the route was completely congested only added to the confusion. An uncharacteristic fl ow of horses, foot soldiers and carts, like a swollen river, carried the Christian forces in a turbulent rush towards the city.
Bringing up the rear, with the stragglers, was the elderly count of Toulouse, Raymond, the fourth of that name. Fift y-one years old, grey bearded and with a scar that ran across the side of his face and over a missing eye, the count was walking barefooted and in a rather ill temper. Only his entourage of Provençal priests and clerics were taking seriously the words of a lowly visionary, Peter Bartholomew, who had died in a trial by fi re to prove that the count was especially chosen by God to lead the Christian army. Peter Bartholomew had warned the crusaders that their approach to the Holy City must be barefoot and with hearts full of contrition or they would lose God’s favour, but in the excitement of their proximity to the city the crowds had forgotten all about this prophecy. Even the bulk of Raymond’s own knights and followers had rushed on with the others. Th
e count himself patiently placed his bare feet on the path
and walked through the dust created by the thousands ahead of him. If his fellow Christians failed to observe this act of humility, at least the all-seeing eyes of God observed it.
Ahead on the ridge, the crowd was swelling and spreading. Despite deep political rivalries between the Saxons, the Normans, the Provençals and the many other regional contingents, a sense of shared achievement came over them all as they watched the buildings of the nearby city become distinct under
xii P R E FAC E
the brightening sky. Th
ey were fi lled with the realization that at last they had
reached their goal, a place that had seemed almost mythical. Th
e word now
taken up joyously, shouted out through their tears, was comprehensible across all their respective languages: ‘Jerusalem’.
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank Nathan Reynard, to whom the book is dedicated, for his encouragement and very helpful comments on an earlier draft . Th e book
has benefi ted from a grant by the Grace Lawless Lee Fund of Trinity College Dublin (TCD) for the commissioning of high quality maps and diagrams to accompany the text. I am very grateful for this assistance and to Russell Liley and everyone at Freeline Graphics for converting my crude drawings into the vivid images that the book now contains. My depiction of the crusaders’ siege equipment was greatly enhanced by the work of my TCD colleague Colm Flynn, who kindly made available to me the results of his research on the artillery of the siege. Th
e diagrams of the fi nal assault on the city incorporate a
photograph of the model of Jerusalem made by Stefan Illes and this appears courtesy of the Tower of David Museum, Jerusalem.
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Chapter 1
In the Beginning
On 18 November 1095 a council of some 300 clerics from all over Europe convened at Clermont in southern France for the most important assembly of their generation. Th
e city had been a notable political centre for hundreds of
years, ever since – at the end of the fi rst century BC – Agrippa had ordered the construction of major road east to west across France, from Lyon to Saintes.
Th
e fact that Clermont lay on such a major route helped make it the choice of venue for the pope, Urban II, to host a major synod at which he intended to establish papal authority in the country. Urban also had a special message to deliver on the last day of the council, for which announcement prominent secular lords and indeed more humble folk were encouraged to journey to the city. As the council deliberated over matters such as church reform and the scandalous aff ection of Philip I of France for Bertrade of Montfort, wife of Fulk IV of Anjou, the numbers arriving at the city in anticipation of the pope’s important declaration grew larger. So, on the 27 November, with its business done, once it had been realized that no building could contain the numbers wishing to attend, the assembly adjourned to a fi eld outside the city where the papal throne had been set up.
Against the striking background of the Puy-de-Dôme, a dormant volcano, the pope delivered his message to the crowd, still and attentive, straining to hear every word. Th
e time had come, Urban shouted, to assist their fellow
Christians in the East, whose suff ering at the hands of the Saracens was growing daily. Th
e time had come, also, when Christians should cease warfare against one another. Rather, they should direct their military prowess against the enemies of God. Let the followers of Christ form an invincible army and wage war against the Saracens. For those guilty of sin, there was no better way to earn a remission of their penance than to join this Christian army in its march to the East.
‘God wills it! God wills it!’ roared the crowd in reply as they surged forward.
Th
e clergy and princes nearest the pope prostrated themselves and begged for absolution. It was a thrilling moment for those present, in which passion and excitement overwhelmed any reservations. Cold calculation and logistical
2
T H E S I E G E O F J E R U S A L E M
considerations were irrelevant. Th
e pope had given those present a dream. Th
e
land in which fl owed milk and honey was to be theirs. Knights could earn salvation and the favour of God without having to give up the horse and lance.
It was a divine mission, a pilgrimage, a war, all combined in a movement that would see God’s people marching just as though they were the Children of Israel being delivered from Egypt.
Th
e unexpected enthusiasm and cries of the crowd meant that some of the behind-the-scenes planning was lost. It was possible, at leas
t, to see from his gestures that the pope was appointing Adhémar, the statesmanlike bishop of Le Puy, to a special role. But the subsequent speech of the envoys of Count Raymond of Toulouse was hardly noticed except by those nearest the pope. Th e
roars of approval and enthusiasm meant a rather confused and chaotic end to the council, which broke up without appreciating the message Count Raymond had craft ed for them. Th
e elderly veteran of decades of political manoeuvring
in Provence was willing to assign Toulouse over to his eldest son, Bertrand, and lead a substantial force east in the service of the pope. Naturally, being respectful of church authority, the count did not insist on being sole leader. Rather –
as his envoys put it – together Raymond and Adhémar would be another Aaron and Moses, the divinely inspired leaders of the Children of Israel.1
Th
is was all very well, and accorded with the perspective for the journey that had been outlined earlier, at Nîmes, when a meeting had taken place between Raymond and Urban. But their discussion had envisaged a more modest and restrained assembly held within the cathedral, where the tall vaulting provided fi ne acoustics for carefully worded speeches. Within moments of the Pope’s actual announcement, however, it was evident that the reality of the enterprise was going to be of much greater scope than Urban, Raymond and Adhémar had anticipated. And as the crowds dispersed from Clermont, the storm showed no signs of abating.
Th
e world was astir. All Christendom soon became agitated by the appeal to join an armed penitential expedition to Jerusalem. Th
e pope had stamped his
foot and not one, but several enormous armies now unexpectedly sprang into being, each with their own leadership and with none of them showing the slightest appreciation of the idea that Count Raymond was another Aaron.
Th
e message that left Clermont and began to spread rapidly around Europe ignored all but the core ideas expressed by Urban: that there was to be an expedition to Jerusalem by a Christian army greater than any that had ever been seen and those who joined it would earn a heavenly reward. Attempting to keep the popular enthusiasm for the mission from distorting his conception of it, the pope sent several letters explaining the purpose and the armed pilgrimage and
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