Holy Warriors

by Jonathan Phillips

  Notwithstanding these disturbing tremors across the Islamic Near East, the Syrian Muslims’ acquisition of Egypt caused consternation in the Frankish lands. William of Tyre wrote that “the wise men of the kingdom began to realise that the subjugation of Egypt by the Turks had been a serious injury to us and our situation had become materially worse.”23 Amalric dispatched Archbishop Frederick of Tyre, the most senior figure yet to be used as a diplomat, in an attempt to convince his coreligionists in the West of the need to act. The king wrote that the Christian territories were being ground away and broken up by the forces of Islam. He argued that the possibility of being blockaded by land and sea would prevent the safe passage of pilgrims—an effort to show how the spiritual well-being of all the faithful would be affected. Personal meetings with the pope, King Louis VII of France, and King Henry II of England raised Frederick’s hopes, but he had arrived at an inopportune time. The two monarchs blamed each other for the threat of invasion, and gathering tension over the Thomas Becket affair added a further complication. By the autumn of 1170, however, Frederick may have convinced Henry—who was also the nephew of King Amalric—to set out on a crusade the following spring. Unfortunately for the Holy Land, and for a certain archbishop, the murder in Canterbury Cathedral put paid to such plans. In the end, Frederick of Tyre was unable to secure anything more than tearful expressions of regret and promises of money—but not the crusade Amalric required.24

  Probably Amalric’s most ambitious diplomatic efforts involved the Byzantine Empire. William of Tyre related that in early 1171 the king and his courtiers discussed how best to secure help: most recommended another appeal to the West—hardly an innovative line of thought. The king agreed to this, but then gathered his inner circle about him and made a further suggestion. Against a flurry of protest he decided to journey to Constantinople and to pay homage to Emperor Manuel Comnenus in person. In doing so he hoped to convince the Greeks to help defend the Holy Land. For the crowned ruler of Christ’s city to make such a voyage and to submit to the authority of another monarch was a clear indication of the danger from the Muslim world. Amalric’s actions suggested deep skepticism that the West would ever respond to his embassies and a perception that his marriage ties with the Greeks, plus their shared task of custodians of the holy places against the advance of Islam, would be reasons enough to prompt a reaction.

  In March the king reached Constantinople where he was welcomed in the magnificent style that was the trademark of the Byzantine court. William of Tyre described games, races at the hippodrome, banquets, and celebrations, but he chose not to state explicitly what Amalric and Manuel discussed. Instead he used the rather elliptical statement that the king and the emperor made a treaty agreeable to them both, perhaps wary of how his western European readers would respond to Amalric’s submission.25 John Kinnamos, a contemporary Byzantine official, had no need of such circumspection and he wrote: “[Amalric] came to Byzantium to petition the emperor . . . obtaining what he sought he agreed to many things including his subjection to the emperor on those terms.”26 By way of demonstrating his concern for the Holy Land, Manuel also sponsored a series of construction projects to enhance important religious sites, most notably the fine Byzantine mosaics (complete with Greek inscriptions) that still adorn the nave of the Church of the Holy Nativity in Bethlehem.27

  In late July 1174 a Sicilian fleet of almost two hundred vessels, with one thousand knights and five hundred Turcopoles (lightly armed cavalry), landed on the beaches of Alexandria and started to invest the city. The Sicilian forces were extremely well equipped and constructed siege towers, battering rams, and catapults that hurled specially shipped black volcanic rocks from Mount Etna. The attack seemed particularly well timed because on May 15 Nur ad-Din had died. Religious differences apart, even William of Tyre paid tribute to him as “a just prince, valiant and wise and, according to the traditions of his race, a religious man.”28 He was an inspirational leader and had provided real impetus to the cause of the jihad. Imad ad-Din wrote his funeral eulogy, which included this statement:

  Religion is in darkness because of the absence of his light [a pun on Nur

  ad-Din’s name which meant the “Light of Religion”]

  The age is in grief because of the loss of its commander.

  Let Islam mourn the defender of its people

  And Syria mourn the protector of its kingdom and its borders.29

  Although Nur ad-Din and Saladin were at loggerheads, the demise of the senior ruler of the Muslim Near East must have provoked considerable uncertainty. In Alexandria, fierce resistance curtailed the Sicilians’ initial momentum but, confusingly for the crusaders, there was no sign of support from the kingdom of Jerusalem. In fact, by this time the Christians too had lost their leader. On July 11 Amalric succumbed to an attack of dysentery: Greek, Syrian, and Frankish doctors had labored in vain for several days to save him, but at thirty-eight years old he was laid to rest alongside his brother in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre.

  THE REIGN OF THE LEPER KING, BALDWIN IV OF JERUSALEM

  The near-simultaneous loss of Nur ad-Din and Amalric obviously had a profound impact upon both Christian and Muslim lands. Saladin provided the Islamic world with an ambitious and experienced figure poised to extend his power and take the holy war to his enemy. On the Frankish side, however, Amalric was succeeded by his thirteen-year-old son, Baldwin IV, and, to exacerbate the inevitable uncertainties of a minority king, the youth was rumored to have leprosy, the most feared medical condition of the medieval age.30

  Baldwin would rule for almost eleven years, although at the time of his coronation it is unlikely that the outward symptoms of the illness were visible. William of Tyre described how, when still a boy, Baldwin was playing with his friends and while the other boys cried out in pain during their fights the prince “endured it all patiently, as if he felt nothing. . . . At first I supposed it proceeded from his endurance, but I discovered that he did not feel pinching or even biting in the least. I began to feel uneasy. . . . Repeated fomentations, oil rubs and even poisonous remedies were employed without result. . . . For, as we recognised in the process of time, these were the premonitory symptoms of a most serious and incurable disease which became plainly apparent.”31 Once the king reached puberty the leprosy took a firmer hold and plunged him deeper and deeper into disability, often associated with fevers; the illness would then plateau and he could reassume some level of authority.

  As the nobility gathered to elect Amalric’s successor, Baldwin’s health was already a cause for worry, but the diagnosis was by no means certain—if he proved healthy this would be a terrible slight to the youth. The best compromise was to choose Baldwin and then find his sister Queen Sibylla of Jerusalem a husband who could be a suitable regent or king if necessary. Baldwin was duly crowned on July 15, 1174—the seventy-fifth anniversary of the capture of Jerusalem by the First Crusaders: in theory, an auspicious day. Health aside, the new king was described as a skilled rider, as having a quick mind and a love of stories.

  The first man to act as regent during Baldwin’s minority was the arrogant and autocratic Miles of Plancy; such traits were entirely inappropriate to the unsettled atmosphere of the time and he was murdered on the streets of Acre.32 His replacement, Count Raymond III of Tripoli, emerged as one of the most influential and ambitious men of the land, as well as a potential candidate for the throne of Jerusalem on account of his status as the king’s cousin. Because our main source, William of Tyre, was a partisan of the count we have a closely observed impression of the man: “He was a thin man . . . not very tall with dark skin, straight medium-coloured hair and piercing eyes. . . . He had an orderly mind, was cautious, but acted with vigour. He was more than averagely abstemious in his eating and drinking habits and although he was liberal to strangers he was not so affable to his own men.”33 The contemporary Muslim writer Ibn Jubayr saw him as a man of “authority and position . . . he is qualified to be king . . . he is described as being
shrewd and crafty.”34 Raymond came to head one of the two rival factions who vied for control over the kingdom.35 The other was led by Baldwin’s mother, Agnes. She was a more controversial figure, in part because her gender opened her to some harsh, if stereotypical, criticism. William of Tyre hated her for denying him the premier ecclesiastical job in the land, that of patriarch of Jerusalem. To him, therefore, she was “relentless in her acquisitiveness and truly hateful to God.”36 Other writers cast aspersions on her morality. In reality, as Baldwin’s mother, Agnes was in a position of considerable influence and her guiding hand was vital in his maintenance of power and resisting the ambitions of Count Raymond.

  It is likely that within a year or so of his coronation the king’s leprosy became certain and thus it became imperative to find a husband for Sibylla. William Longsword, marquis of Montferrat (in northern Italy, near Turin) appeared an ideal candidate. He was related to the ruling houses of France and Germany and could be expected to represent the interests of Jerusalem at the highest levels. He came to the Levant in November 1176; within weeks Sibylla was pregnant, but in May 1177 William fell ill and died two months later to reopen the issue of regency.37

  In the meantime Saladin had started his bid to rule the Muslim Near East. He marched to Damascus where he took control of the city and married his former commander’s widow—a reasonably common course of action in the Islamic world and a move designed to associate a newcomer with the former regime. Twice Saladin’s opponents employed the Assassins to try to murder the sultan although both attempts failed. With Saladin portraying himself as the champion of Sunni orthodoxy, the Assassins were a prime target for suppression. The Shi’ite sect soon found a way to resist: if the Sunni rulers of Aleppo were prepared to tolerate the Assassins’ presence around their nearby base at Masyaf, then it was worth trying to kill their common enemy. In the first attack, Assassins infiltrated the sultan’s camp only to be recognized as outsiders. In the ensuing scuffle one of Saladin’s emirs and several of his soldiers were killed, but the sultan remained unharmed. In May 1176, Assassins again used disguise to penetrate his camp and this time they managed to stab him, but armor under his clothes prevented serious injury. Thereafter Saladin was forced to take highly elaborate precautions against future attempts on his life, including sleeping in a tent on stilts.38

  Not everything worked in Saladin’s favor, however. In the summer of 1177 the arrival of a large crusading expedition under Count Philip of Flanders (following in the footsteps of the four expeditions made by his father, Count Thierry), resulted in a campaign in northern Syria. When Saladin saw the bulk of the Christian army heading away from Jerusalem he moved his own forces up from Cairo to the southern borders of the kingdom near Gaza. Baldwin IV had, unsurprisingly, been left behind, but it now fell to him “already half dead” as one writer commented, to draw upon his courage and to ride against the Muslims.39 Saladin was far too confident in his numerical superiority and failed to anticipate any active resistance from the Christians. He neglected to post sentries and when his men forded a stream near Montgisard the Frankish knights charged and destroyed the central section of the Muslim army. One of Saladin’s family was killed and the sultan himself only narrowly avoided being slain.40 While the Franks incurred losses themselves—perhaps as many as a thousand men died, and 750 were said to have been treated at the Hospital of Saint John in Jerusalem—in terms of morale this provided a massive boost.41 News of the triumph reached the West and was widely circulated. Paradoxically, of course, this meant that it became even harder to convince Europeans to help the Holy Land—how could the settlers be so desperate for support if they had just won such a great victory?

  As her brother performed heroics on the battlefield, Princess Sibylla’s period of mourning had come to an end. She had given birth to a baby boy, named Baldwin, but now it was necessary to find her a new husband and potential regent. The settlers turned to their ancestral homeland of France. In a letter to King Louis VII, the leper admitted his terrible infirmities and asked that a powerful French noble be sent to the Levant in order to take charge of the holy kingdom because “to be deprived of one’s limbs is of little help in carrying out the work of government . . . no one can heal me. It is not fitting that a hand so weak as mine should hold power when fear of Arab aggression daily presses upon the holy city and my sickness increases the enemy’s daring.”42 Baldwin tried to lead as best he could and his level of determination was astonishing: by now he could not climb onto a horse unaided and his limbs showed severe deformities.

  Romance at the royal household soon brought forward another candidate to marry Sibylla. Guy of Lusignan, a young French knight, caught Sibylla’s eye and she set her heart on marrying him. Guy and Sibylla became lovers, yet the princess needed the approval of her brother, who insisted that it was his prerogative to choose the husband of the royal heiress. When the king discovered the affair he was furious and wanted to have Guy stoned to death, but the master of the Knights Templar and other nobles calmed him. In any case, the blossoming relationship could serve a political purpose as well. By coincidence, Raymond of Tripoli was marching toward the kingdom of Jerusalem, a move that seemed to presage a possible coup. His ally, Baldwin of Ibelin, had long admired the princess and was keen to marry her. When the king learned of Raymond’s approach he moved quickly to retain control over the situation and authorized the marriage between Guy and Sibylla. The wedding took place during Holy Week 1180, a breach of strict canon law and a sign that there was no wish to delay.43 Any threat to topple the king required Sibylla to be free to marry and now this possibility had been frustrated. A clear division in the Latin East was apparent with the powerful Ibelin clan lined up with Count Raymond in opposition to Baldwin, Agnes, Guy, and Patriarch Heraclius of Jerusalem.

  The patriarch was a controversial character and much maligned by William of Tyre, largely because he envied Heraclius for securing the premier ecclesiastical position in the land. The latter seems to have been a rather worldly character, blessed with good looks and some considerable charm with women.44 He was known to have a mistress, Pasque, the wife of a draper whom he rewarded so richly that the man consented to the affair. After the cuckold died, Heraclius set up Pasque in a fine house and provided her with beautiful clothes and precious jewelry. As she passed by, people would exclaim “There goes the patriarch ess!” On one particularly excruciating occasion a messenger burst into a meeting of the High Court shouting, “Sir, patriarch, I bring you good news!” Heraclius assumed that this was something for the benefit of the kingdom and asked him to announce it: “The Lady Pasque has given birth to a daughter!” Not, perhaps, the forum in which a patriarch of Christ’s city would have wished such tidings to be broadcast.

  The king’s leprosy was now acute and the possibility of abdication must have been raised. The High Court urged him to become reconciled to Count Raymond and the two men duly met. Some sense of Frankish unity—however temporary or shallow it turned out to be—was welcome, especially because one of their most important supporters, the Byzantine Empire, had become hostile. Manuel Comnenus, whose military might had done much to deter Muslim aggression, died in September 1180; William of Tyre described him as “a great-souled man of incomparable energy.”45 Within a couple of years, a backlash against Manuel’s pro-western policies produced a fiercely anti-Frankish stance in Constantinople.46

  TENSIONS RISE: REYNALD OF CHTILLON’S RED SEA RAID OF 1182 AND SALADIN’S INVASIONS OF 1183 AND 1184

  By mid-1182 the truce had expired and Saladin stepped up the jihad with an incursion toward Beirut. Stern resistance from the defenders and the prospect of a Frankish relief fleet prompted the sultan to withdraw, thus marking a second setback in succession; evidently the Christians were still highly formidable opponents. In fact, the Franks soon took to the offensive themselves. Prince Reynald of Antioch, now a member of the nobility of Jerusalem through his marriage to the widowed heiress of Transjordan, planned a raid of breathtaking audacity. Reynald
ordered the construction, in kit form, of five galleys which were transported by camel from Kerak down to the Gulf of Aqaba, reassembled, and then launched. Saladin suspected that the vessels would be used against the castle of Eilat and the routes across the Sinai Peninsula that linked his Egyptian and Syrian lands. While he was correct in the former belief, the latter was wrong—Reynald’s plan was far more daring: he directed his men down the Red Sea where no Christian ship had been seen for centuries and where, in consequence, there was no Muslim navy or coastal defenses.47 The Christian fleet was free to prey upon commercial and pilgrim traffic between Egypt and the Arabian Peninsula and could menace the holiest cities of Islam, Mecca and Medina, the birthplace and the burial place of the Prophet himself. As Ibn Jubayr, a contemporary Muslim, wrote, “it shocks the ears for its impiousness and profanity.”48 Such a move sharply compromised Saladin’s position as the defender of Islam. The fact that he was occupied fighting his fellow Muslims in northern Syria rather than protecting the haj pilgrimage route added to his embarrassment.