Crusaders from the Rhineland—often known as the Peasants’ Crusade—set out for the East as early as the spring of 1096, led by the charismatic preacher Peter the Hermit. Historians have shown that this group included a number of nobles and it is no longer, as previously thought, regarded as an army made up of rustics; it has now been renamed the People’s Crusade. These adventurers reached Constantinople in August 1096 where their dismal levels of discipline horrified Alexius. The emperor took harsh measures to preserve the safety of his city while the fear and animosity generated by this group contributed much toward subsequent tensions between the crusaders and the Greeks. Alexius persuaded the Rhinelanders to cross the Bosporus into Asia Minor and then he abandoned them, providing little support in terms of guides or supplies. Within a few weeks the crusaders encountered the armies of Kilij Arslan, the Seljuk Turkish sultan of Asia Minor. In October 1096 his forces slaughtered the vast majority of the Christians, although Peter the Hermit managed to escape. As Albert of Aachen observed, it was just punishment for the crusaders’ ill-treatment of the Jews. This was scarcely an auspicious start to the First Crusade.16
While these events unfolded in the East, the main armies began to finalize their preparations. The first good harvest in years seemed to signify divine approval and across Europe people raised money for their great adventure. Many individuals have left traces of their preparations in charters—documents that detail the sale or mortgage of their lands and the acquisition of money and provisions. In subsequent centuries material of this sort becomes bland and formulaic, an efficient record of the practical details of a transaction. Back in the late eleventh century, however, such bureaucratic conformity was blissfully ill-developed and charters often contained long and elaborate stories that explained why an individual had taken a particular course of action. This material can give a vivid insight into the mind-set of the contemporary nobility, not least because the charters were made prior to the expedition’s departure and are not clouded by the knowledge of its subsequent success.17 A document of the castellan Nivelo of Fréteval related: “Whenever the impulse of warlike fierceness roused me, I would gather about myself a band of mounted men and a crowd of followers. I would descend upon the village and freely give the goods of the men of St Père of Chartres to my knights for food. Now, therefore, I am going as a pilgrim to Jerusalem, which is still in bondage with her sons, to secure the divine pardon that I seek for my misdeeds.”18 We can see in this the violence and chaos so troublesome to Pope Urban; in this instance a church had been targeted for the knightly depredations. Yet with the call for the crusade, Nivelo saw a chance to redeem himself and to make good his sins as a pilgrim warrior fighting to liberate Jerusalem. The fusion of pilgrimage and holy war is neatly displayed in a Provençal charter for Guy and Geoffrey of Signes, who took the cross “on the one hand for the grace of pilgrimage and on the other, under the protection of God, to wipe out the defilement of the pagans and the immoderate madness through which innumerable Christians have already been oppressed, made captive and killed with barbaric fury.”19
WHO WERE THE FIRST CRUSADERS?
In the autumn of 1096 the main crusading armies set out on the three-thousand-mile journey from northern Europe to Jerusalem. It has been estimated that about sixty thousand people took part in the expedition. The population of western Europe may have been around twenty million; self-evidently the vast majority of people stayed at home; if, however, one considers ties of family, friendship, and trade, then the crusade touched the lives of millions. Fulcher of Chartres wrote: “whoever heard of such a mixture of languages in one army since there were French, Flemings, Frisians, Gauls, Allobroges [Savoyards], Lotharingians, Allemani [southern German and Swiss], Bavarians, Normans, English, Scots, Aquitainians, Italians, Danes, Apulians, Iberians and Bretons.”20 While recent episodes such as the Norman Conquest of England in 1066 gave some indication of the resources required for a large military campaign, the crusade was on a far greater scale. It has been estimated that the expedition cost four times a knight’s annual income and so loans, gifts, and mortgages were essential.21 Families gave what they could; often they had to support more than one individual because brothers or fathers and sons went together. Gifts of horses and mules were particularly welcome, as were precious stones, gold, and silverware. The currency of the time was of such a small denomination that it was utterly impractical to try to carry the necessary cash, otherwise the crusader army would have consisted of countless treasure-carrying carts. While we know that at least seven different currencies (coins from Lucca, Chartres, Le Mans, Melgueil, Le Puy, Valence, and Poitou) were in circulation among the Provençal contingent alone, the better option was to take precious objects to trade with local money-changers en route.22 Yet Urban’s offer of salvation struck a deep chord with the wider populace—who would not want to have all their sins wiped clean? Thus, men and women, young and old, the poor and the infirm joined the expedition as pilgrims. Many were utterly unsuited to the rigors of the campaign and in the course of the crusade the majority of this anonymous mass perished through disease or starvation, or deserted.
Two particular groups were not represented on the crusade. One body of people who wished to take part were banned, namely monks. Their vows required them to remain in the cloister; they were to fight the Devil through prayer, rather than with the sword. As Urban wrote: “we do not want those who have abandoned the world and vowed themselves to spiritual warfare either to bear arms or to go on this journey; we forbid them to go.”23 The fact that Urban had to issue letters making such points explicit shows that many monks were attracted to the concept. Probably the most noticeable absentees from among the First Crusaders were kings. Monarchs could have provided an obvious focus of command and resource, yet none became involved. In large part, this was a matter of circumstance, although their absence undoubtedly suited Urban because it meant the papacy retained a dominant position in the campaign. King William Rufus of England was in perpetual conflict with his churchmen; Emperor Henry IV of Germany was never likely to participate on account of the long-running conflict between his empire and the papacy, while King Philip of France was also cast out of the Church, albeit for more carnal reasons. He had pursued a relationship with Bertrada of Anjou, who was already married to Count Fulk IV of Anjou (“le Réchin”—Fulk “the Repulsive,” a name acquired because of his hideously deformed feet). Clearly this was a situation the Church could not sanction. Philip refused to end the affair (he too was already married) and he was duly excommunicated; it would be unacceptable for the “Knights of Christ” to be headed by an adulterer.
Without the presence of kings it was left to members of the senior nobility to provide leadership, and five individuals stand out particularly. Godfrey of Bouillon ruled the duchy of Lorraine, a region on the border between France and Germany, although it was to the ruler of the latter that he owed obedience.24 Godfrey was a deeply religious man who, contrary to Urban’s strictures, brought a group of monks with him to provide spiritual support. He was also a fearless soldier, famed for his ability in single combat. Generous, gracious, and affable, this tall, bearded man was a model holy warrior. His younger brother Baldwin of Boulogne began his career as a cleric but he set aside his habit and became a soldier. Also tall, with brown hair and a beard, he was serious in dress and speech; those who did not know him well took him to be a bishop. Baldwin was married to an En glishwoman, Gothehilde, who accompanied him on the campaign. He was a fine horseman and fighter, although as events reveal, he had a harsh, pragmatic streak too. Count Stephen of Blois was a charming, well-educated man who wrote poetry and sent back letters to his wife, Adela, a daughter of William the Conqueror.25 He was an individual of high standing and at one point seems to have been made commander of the army, although as we will see, this was not a task he carried out with any distinction or dignity. Count Raymond of Saint-Gilles was an Occitan-speaking noble whose territory was based around Toulouse in southern France.26 He was an ol
der man, in his sixties at the time of the crusade, who had committed himself to support Pope Urban’s appeal prior to the Council of Clermont. Raymond actually sold his lands in Europe as a sign that he was wholehearted in his wish to forge a new life in the Holy Land or die in the attempt. He was a strong-willed, pious individual, although rather arrogant and overbearing in his manner; in fact, his lack of diplomatic skills ultimately cost him the throne of Jerusalem. Finally, there was Bohemond of Taranto, arguably the most controversial figure on the crusade.27 He was a Norman-Sicilian whose father had already passed over him in his choice of successor; he was in consequence not especially wealthy, but possessed a fierce determination to advance his standing. Bohemond was a formidable warrior, tall, fair-haired, and blue-eyed; clean-shaven unlike most of his colleagues, he had the bravery required of a champion of Christ. As a Norman-Sicilian he was a traditional enemy of the Byzantines and had taken part in an unsuccessful invasion of the empire in the 1080s.
As the crusaders set out in late 1096, chroniclers recorded the tearful scenes of departure. Fulcher of Chartres wrote of the overwhelming emotional turmoil at this traumatic moment:
Oh what grief there was! What sighs, what weeping, what lamentation among friends when husband left his wife so dear to him, his children, his possessions however great, his father, his mother, brothers and many other relatives! But . . . none flinched from going because for love of God they were leaving . . . firmly convinced that they would receive a hundredfold what the Lord promised to those who loved Him. Then husband told wife the time he expected to return, assuring her that if by God’s grace he survived he would come back home to her. He commended her to the Lord, kissed her lingeringly, and promised her as she wept that he would return. She, though, fearing that she would never see him again, could not stand but swooned to the ground, mourning her loved one whom she was losing in this life as if he were already dead. He departed . . . with firm resolution.28 Onward, Christian Soldiers.
THE EARLY STAGES OF THE CRUSADE: FROM CONSTANTINOPLE INTO ASIA MINOR
The various contingents of crusaders planned to rendezvous at Constantinople. Some marched through Italy and then sailed from Brindisi across to the western edge of the Byzantine Empire in Dalmatia. Others followed the old pilgrim roads through Hungary and entered Alexius’s lands from the north. The crusaders’ stay at Constantinople was to be fraught with tensions; as we saw above, the behavior of the People’s Crusade had alarmed the Greeks and the arrival of the main armies provoked deeply conflicting emotions. It must be remembered that the emperor had requested a few hundred knights to enter his service; what he got was tens of thousands of holy warriors, intent on passing through his lands toward Jerusalem, and, numbered among them, some of his greatest enemies. More significantly, there was a massive philosophical gulf between the Greeks and the crusaders. To the Byzantines, holy war—be it crusade or jihad—was abhorrent. They fought for the empire; the emperor was the leader of Christ’s people but they expected no spiritual rewards for their endeavors. They were immensely suspicious of the crusaders’ professed motives and suspected that the wish for land and money was the real reason for their presence.29 The crusaders felt that, as fellow Christians, the Byzantines should provide them with food. When this failed to appear they felt entitled to seek supplies; however, the line between foraging and ravaging was an easy one to cross. Alexius dispatched his own troops to shadow the crusaders. Sometimes this ensured peace, on other occasions there was conflict; the papal legate Bishop Adhémar of Le Puy was beaten up and nearly killed in one exchange in the Balkans.30
Alexius was determined to turn the crusade to his advantage and any help that he provided was to come at a price. His daughter Anna Comnena was in Constantinople when the crusaders arrived and, fifty years later, she wrote The Alexiad, an account of her father’s life. Notwithstanding this time lapse, she neatly summarized his methods: he “used every means possible, physical and psychological, to hurry [the crusaders] to cross the straits [the Bosporus].”31 The Byzantines were masters of ceremony and display and they employed their most potent advantage—the city of Constantinople itself—to great effect.32 Its sheer size amazed the crusaders: the population of Paris at this time was approximately thirty thousand; Constantinople’s was around 350,000. The city was shaped like a colossal triangle—the Bosporus and the Golden Horn provided protection on two sides; on the third the mighty double-layered Theodosian walls, built in the sixth century to keep out the barbarian hordes, stretched for three and a half miles between the two waterways. The “queen of cities,” as the Byzantines described their capital, was a place of wealth and splendor far beyond the experiences of the vast majority of the westerners. Hundreds of churches lay filled with relics of unimaginable beauty and value, while at the heart of the city lay the magnificent cathedral of the Hagia Sophia (Holy Wisdom), far bigger than any building in the West. Covered with the most stunning mosaics, its interior walls were cloaked in multicolored marble. The Greeks offered the nobles and churchmen guided tours of the holy sites and then entertained them in the vast and opulent imperial palaces. Alexius himself played the part of the all-powerful ruler to the full. Godfrey of Bouillon and his men were received by the emperor, who was “seated, as was his custom, looking powerful on the throne of his sovereignty, not getting up to offer kisses [of welcome] to the duke or anyone.”33 It was entirely plain which was the superior force.
Alexius insisted that the senior nobles should hand back any lands that had formerly been in the possession of the Greeks. In effect, this meant the bulk of Asia Minor and Antioch. The latter had been under Byzantine control until 1085 and was one of the five patriarchal seats of the Christian Church. To the Greeks, Constantinople was the home of Christianity and a far more important city than Jerusalem. That the crusaders wished to recover it was of limited interest to them. The emperor also demanded a form of vassalage; the crusaders were to swear peace and mutual friendship—in other words, to behave themselves—and in return they would receive imperial support and advice, although Alexius would not journey to Jerusalem in person. Some nobles were reluctant to give oaths to a non-Catholic ruler; a few evaded the situation by traversing the Bosporus immediately, and others, such as Raymond of Saint-Gilles, attempted to resist or to negotiate down the level of allegiance required. The majority, however, acquiesced. For those who conceded gracefully there were advantages: Godfrey of Bouillon was given a mound of gold and silver, as well as purple silks and fine horses; even the Greeks’ old enemy, Bohemond of Taranto, was persuaded to conform, and after taking his oath he was rewarded with the contents of a room so full of riches that he could barely enter.34
By the middle of 1097 the armies of the First Crusade were ready to move into Muslim lands. By sheer coincidence—and there is absolutely no evidence that this was planned—the crusaders chose to enter the Muslim world at a moment when it was particularly weak.35 There was, and remains, the basic division in the Islamic faith between the Sunni and the Shi’a. The former were in control of Asia Minor, Syria, and the lands of Persia to the east; their spiritual leader was the caliph of Baghdad. The Fatimid dynasty was Shi’a and they ruled Egypt from Cairo, the base of their caliphate. Such was the level of bitterness between Sunni and Shi’a that they were prepared to ally with the crusaders against one another rather than form a united front against the invading Christians. This situation was compounded by a catastrophic period of upheaval during the mid-1090s when caliphs and viziers from both camps died with alarming regularity—often in the most dubious circumstances. The later Muslim writer Ibn Taghribirdi, wrote of 1094: “this year is called the year of death of caliphs and commanders.”36 In Asia Minor the demise of the powerful Seljuk sultan Malikshah created a power vacuum that meant that the crusaders did not encounter a major international power, but only smaller lordships more concerned with defeating each other than confronting the Christians. Little help came from the leadership of Islam. The caliph of Baghdad showed negligible interest in e
vents on the western periphery of his lands and largely ignored appeals for help. Unsurprisingly, of course, given the unprecedented nature of the Christian invasion, most Muslims failed to recognize that this was a war of religious colonization. They perceived it as another raid from Byzantium, rather than a war of conquest and settlement, and this misunderstanding also helps to explain the lack of concerted resistance to the crusaders. With the benefit of hindsight, knowing just how marginal the crusaders’ survival actually was, had they faced a more formidable leader, such as Malikshah, it is doubtful whether they would have even managed to cross Asia Minor.
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