Holy Warriors

by Jonathan Phillips

  “NOWHERE IN THE WORLD WOULD EVER TWO SUCH PRINCES BE FOUND”

  Richard the Lionheart, Saladin, and the Third Crusade

  Richard the Lionheart and Saladin are, above all others, the two figures from crusading history who have captured the popular imagination. Through deed and legend the confrontation between these two colossi of the medieval world has shaped the public perception of the crusading age over the centuries. In the West, a blend of romance and pride in the actions of the mighty warrior Richard are coupled with a whiff of disapproval for his supposed neglect of England during exotic escapades in the Orient; Saladin, meanwhile, is seen as a man of integrity, sophistication, and good grace. In the Islamic world, Richard has been pilloried as the man responsible for the cold-blooded slaughter of thousands of Muslims at the siege of Acre—a personification of Christian hatred of Islam; Saladin has emerged as the hero who recovered Jerusalem and then fought off the formidable Third Crusade (1189–92).

  It is beyond dispute that eyewitnesses on both sides recognized that the two main players in the Third Crusade were exceptionally charismatic men. They never met face-to-face because Saladin thought it improper “to fight after meeting and eating together. If he [Richard] wants to talk, an agreement must be settled before it can happen.”1 In the course of peace negotiations at the end of the crusade the bishop of Salisbury had a personal audience with the sultan. While previous (and future) accounts of crusades often caricatured and demonized Muslims, the image of Saladin was usually the opposite, a legacy of his behavior after the siege of Jerusalem and during the Third Crusade. The bishop told Saladin that “if one were to take your qualities and his [Richard’s] together then nowhere in the world would ever two such princes be found, so valiant and so experienced,” a neat testimony to both men.2 Events in the course of the expedition formed Richard’s reputation for bravery in battle, a matter of paramount importance to contemporaries: “He bore himself with indescribable vigour and superhuman courage into the mass of Turks not turning tail for anyone, scattering and crushing all he met; he mows the enemy with a sword as if he were harvesting them with a sickle. It could justly be said of his memorable blows that whoever encountered one of them had no need of a second.”3 He was compared to the pantheon of ancient, biblical, and legendary heroes, Judas Maccabaeus, Achilles, Alexander, and Roland. Saladin himself was said to have regarded Richard as too reckless, although perhaps the most interesting assessment of the king was by the sultan’s close associate, Beha ad-Din, who noted that he possessed judgment, experience, audacity, and astuteness. He wrote: “Just look at this guile in eliciting what one wants by soft words at this moment and by harsh ones the next! We pray to God to keep the Muslims safe from his evil, for they had never been tried by anyone more devious or more bold.”4 The recognition of his bravery, combined with political and tactical acuity, offers a pertinent starting point to relate the events of the crusade.

  CHRISTENDOM RESPONDS TO THE FALL OF JERUSALEM: KING RICHARD TAKES THE CROSS

  Saladin’s victory at the Battle of Hattin and his subsequent capture of Jerusalem were heavy blows to the people of Europe. Given the dire warnings of previous years, the Franks’ defeat was hardly a total surprise but the loss of the True Cross and the holy city itself were hugely traumatic for Latin Christendom: the aged Pope Urban III was reported to have died of shock. As details of events in the Levant filtered back through merchants and refugees, his successor began to formulate a response. Pope Gregory VIII issued the bull Audita tremendi, a dramatic and emotional appeal to Christians to help recover Christ’s patrimony:

  On hearing with what severe and terrible judgement the land of Jerusalem has been smitten by the divine hand . . . the psalmist laments, “Oh God, the heathens are come into thy inheritance.” . . . Anyone who does not weep at such a cause for weeping, if not in body, at least in his heart, would seem to have forgotten not only his Christian faith . . . but even his very humanity. From the very magnitude of the peril with those savage barbarians thirsting after Christian blood and using all their force to profane the holy places and banish the worship of God from the land. What a cause for mourning this ought to be for us and for the whole Christian people!5

  In contrast to the studied indifference shown to earlier appeals for assistance, now, at this time of unprecedented crisis, a sense of honor and Christian duty impelled all the major royal houses of Europe to act. The first to take the cross (in the late autumn of 1187) was Richard, count of Poitou and duke of Aquitaine, the eldest son of King Henry II of England. Contemporaries were impressed: a Limousin troubadour wrote: “He who is count and duke and will be king has stepped forward and by that his worth has doubled.”6 In January 1188 King Philip II of France and Henry II met to discuss the ongoing differences between them, but when the archbishop of Tyre arrived to report on the disastrous situation in the East, his impassioned sermon prompted the two kings to take the cross as well. In March 1188, the most powerful ruler in Europe, Emperor Frederick Barbarossa of Germany, took the cross at a huge assembly of nobles and churchmen at Mainz. Meanwhile, notwithstanding their promise to crusade, Henry and Philip continued their perennial squabbling until the former’s death in July and this brought Richard to the throne.

  He was crowned at Westminster Abbey on September 13, aged thirty-two, a man of mercurial character and a far more complex individual than the compulsive warmonger he is so often perceived to be.7 Few details are known of his appearance: some writers say he was tall, long-limbed, and with red-golden hair—a suitably heroic combination. Around the time of his death, however, he was described by an eyewitness as overweight and pale. Richard was certainly highly literate and he was fluent in Latin, as well as the Occitan tongue of his upbringing. He also enjoyed music and wrote highly competent troubadour songs—his mother was, after all, Eleanor of Aquitaine, patroness of the greatest writers of the day who included Chrétien de Troyes, the author of The Knight of the Cart (Lancelot) and The Story of the Grail (Perceval), the latter being the basis of the entire Holy Grail myth.8 In terms of personality, Richard could have the most volcanic temper. In Sicily, for example, he could not defeat an old rival in a tournament and completely lost his cool, commanding the man never to show his face in his presence again. On the other hand, he was very generous to his followers and to favored religious foundations. He was said to be conventionally pious, attending Mass daily and, unsurprisingly, enjoyed church music. By the time of the crusade he was also a hugely experienced military man who had fought and trained for many years. Two particular forms of warfare dominated his life: most typical was the raid, or chevauchée, a rapid incursion into enemy lands designed to destroy crops, seize booty, and break morale. Richard had also besieged numerous towns and castles during his struggles with both his father and Philip in southwestern France. The most obvious gap in his military curriculum vitae was battles; in fact he had fought in only one prior to the Third Crusade, in southern France in 1176. The reason for this was, as a writer earlier in the century had noted: “the rewards of victory could be won by other means which did not involve the penalties of defeat.”9 Without wishing to state the obvious, the hand of fate could deliver a calamitous blow. The fate of King Harold of England in 1066 showed that the loss of a ruler might mean immediate disaster for his people and it is striking how rare pitched battles were in western Europe during the twelfth century. Copies of the late-fourth-century military manual of Vegetius, De re militari, were in existence at the time and this advised that a battle should only be fought with a four-to-one manpower advantage. On this basis, caution was the guiding principle behind much of Richard’s strategy during the crusade—although such an approach did not extend to situations where the king acted in response to the initiatives of others, as we will see at Jaffa, for example. Contemporary ideas of chivalry and honor were other aspects of the king’s upbringing that are visible in actions in the Holy Land. A highly developed—perhaps oversensitive—appreciation of prestige and standing were further,
very prominent, features of the king’s personality.

  Once his coronation was over Richard began to organize the affairs of his realm and to plan his crusade. Under Henry II, England had evolved the most sophisticated royal administration of the day and this meant the crown could collect substantial revenues, much of which could be spent on the new campaign. Records survive to show some of the preparations Richard made.10 He clearly appreciated the need for proper reserves of money, food, and weaponry—all matters that the monarchs on the Second Crusade had conspicuously failed to address. Thus, he gathered fourteen thousand cured pig carcasses from Essex and Lincolnshire, fifty thousand horseshoes from the Forest of Dean, as well as immense stores of cheese, beans, and wine.

  The Second Crusade had struggled to cross Asia Minor and with the Byzantines now hostile to the West and, as we shall see, the army of Frederick Barbarossa likely to consume most of the available supplies en route, the English and French kings resolved to sail to the Levant. This decision enabled Richard to eliminate the poor and unarmed pilgrims who had so hampered the previous crusade because places on ships were limited and had to be paid for. In total a force of around seventeen thousand set out from England and Wales. At Vézelay in June 1190 Richard and Philip agreed to share the profits of conquest evenly, although even this apparently simple arrangement proved a fertile source of controversy.

  KING GUY OF JERUSALEM AND THE SURVIVAL OF THE HOLY LAND

  While these preparations got underway, several smaller expeditions had already reached the eastern Mediterranean hoping to bring relief to the beleaguered defenders of the Holy Land. Their initial target was the port of Tyre, held by Conrad of Montferrat. With King Guy still in captivity, the marquis had assumed de facto control of the remaining settlement in the kingdom of Jerusalem. He issued charters to the Genoese (long-standing allies of his) and granted them commercial rights in the city in perpetuity.11 In late 1187 Saladin made a second attempt to take the port when he sent in forces by land and sea. The sultan tried to exert emotional pressure on Conrad by offering to exchange Conrad’s father, William the Elder, taken captive at Hattin, in return for the city. The Muslims paraded William in front of the walls only for Conrad to shoot at him with a crossbow. When Saladin threatened to kill the prisoner the marquis is said to have retorted that this would be a good thing because a wicked man would have a good end and he would have a martyr as a father. A few days later the Christians broke the naval blockade and the Frankish knights drove the land-based Muslims from the walls; on January 1, 1188, Saladin retreated.

  King William II of Sicily dispatched a fleet of fifty galleys and five hundred knights and these forces helped to keep Tripoli and Antioch in Christian hands, as well as reinforcing Tyre. In May 1188 Saladin decided to release King Guy. He was liberated near Tortosa, in northern Syria, on condition that he swore to give up his kingdom and go overseas. Guy chose to interpret the latter clause in a rather confrontational fashion and sailed the few hundred meters to the island of Ruad, just offshore from Tortosa, claiming this fulfilled the letter of the agreement. He then waited for his beloved Queen Sibylla. They had been allowed to meet once, at Nablus, when the king was a prisoner. Within a few days the queen arrived and “they exchanged kisses, they intertwined embraces, their joy elicited tears, and they rejoiced that they had escaped the disasters which had befallen them.”12 Guy, however, remained a king without a kingdom. Conrad refused to let him enter Tyre and continued to exercise full power himself. Guy’s supporters gathered at Tripoli and after failing to gain entry to Tyre, marched on southward to Acre, the best port on the coast.

  To lay siege to Acre was an audacious ploy: at first the Muslim defenders could not even understand why the Christians had appeared, and when they realized the king’s plan they started to jeer him. Guy’s forces numbered about nine thousand, of whom seven hundred were knights; he was also joined by a Pisan fleet that swiftly blockaded the city by sea. The Christian land army pitched camp on nearby Mount Turon and started to dig in. Saladin had not expected that Guy, the man most believed responsible for the defeat at Hattin, would take the battle to the Muslims in such an outrageous fashion. Within three days the sultan’s army arrived and he quickly established his own forces, therefore “those who had come to besiege were themselves besieged.”13 Thus began the siege of Acre, a visceral, grueling struggle that would last for over two years.

  The Christians were soon reinforced by a substantial fleet from northern Europe, as well as more Sicilians and Italians. The Templars and the Hospitallers sent in contingents, and even Conrad joined the battle—he could hardly let his rival take all the glory for himself. By early 1190 the two men were, in theory at least, reconciled when the marquis recognized Guy’s title, although he kept Tyre for himself. In spite of repeated Muslim attacks the Christians were now, literally, entrenched. They constructed palisades, fortifications, and all the necessary support networks to live and fight. The Germans set up a horse-driven milling machine; people planted herbs and crops and markets began to operate. Similarly, the Muslim camps acquired the attributes of a permanent settlement such as marketplaces, cookhouses, and, so it was reported, one thousand baths, created by digging holes in the ground, lining them with clay, and filling them with hot water.14

  With the stream of newcomers helping to cushion any Frankish losses, conditions for the Muslims inside Acre began to deteriorate substantially. All the time the siege dragged on, Saladin had to maintain a credible army in the field. Naturally, he still retained a considerable residue of prestige from his achievements at Hattin and Jerusalem, but he continued to face an immense challenge in trying to control a diverse group of forces, some of whom were less than devoted to his leadership. Ibn Jubayr wrote of the sectarian tensions he witnessed within the Muslim Middle East in the mid-1180s as Saladin struggled to hold together his fragile coalition.15 The majority were not professional soldiers and needed to return home at harvest time and to be paid. The victories of 1187 had provided large sums of money, but now Saladin was on the defensive, his sources of income in decline. Most worrying of all was the response of the West. The smaller waves of crusaders were troublesome enough: still to come were the forces of the three greatest Catholic monarchs of the day. The sultan knew the western armies were gathering strength and, eventually—inevitably—a potentially devastating response would descend upon him.

  THE EXPEDITION OF FREDERICK BARBAROSSA

  The first, and potentially the most powerful, of these campaigns was the crusade of Emperor Frederick. Frederick had thirty-six years’ experience as the ruler of the largest and wealthiest lands in Christendom. Known as Barbarossa on account of his close-cropped red beard, he was a veteran of the Second Crusade’s troubled march over Asia Minor and the failed siege of Damascus. Strangely, however, he chose to repeat a landward march. He could have commissioned a fleet from the Venetians (with whom he was on good terms) but decided to lead his forces of perhaps thirty thousand through Byzantium and across the Seljuk Empire. One source claimed Frederick feared a prophecy that he would die in water—something that would prove uncannily accurate, regardless of the route he selected.16 The march through Hungary went according to plan but the Byzantine emperor, Isaac Angelos, had an alliance with Saladin and tried to hinder the German advance. Frederick knew that he was militarily stronger than the Greeks and bullied the Byzantines into submission; thus he entered Seljuk lands in good order. By the late spring of 1190, however, he was finding the crossing of Asia Minor far harder. Arrangements for food supplies collapsed and the Turks constantly harassed the German crusaders. The Anatolian plateau was almost waterless and many of the knights’ horses died in this barren landscape; troop losses started to mount dramatically too. In mid-May the army reached the Seljuk capital of Iconium where, in spite of their weakened condition, the Germans took the city. The emperor negotiated proper supplies and then continued southward toward Christian Armenia. By this point, Saladin was feeling enormous trepidation.17 The siege of Acre
continued to soak up large numbers of his men, yet he needed to send troops northward to confront the imminent arrival of the Germans. The sultan tried hard to reinvigorate his people with the spirit of jihad and he looked to the caliph of Baghdad for further backing; on this occasion he was successful and the nobles of northern Syria and Iraq dispatched contingents to help resist the infidel.

  Good fortune soon gave the sultan a vital boost: on June 10, 1190, Frederick tried to cross the River Saleph in southern Cilicia. He slipped and drowned; thus he died in water, as foretold. More seriously, this was a calamitous blow to the Christian cause. His death extinguished morale in the German crusade and many knights returned home. Some carried on to Acre but they had been grievously weakened by their ordeal in Asia Minor. The arrival of a figure possessing Frederick’s authority had the potential to end the siege of Acre and his unparalleled status would probably have prevented the political tensions that hampered relations between the French and English crusaders. As the sultan’s administrator, al-Fadil, perspicaciously observed: “if [Frederick] is broken, as it is said, then after him the unbelievers will be building on a shattered foundation.”18 Saladin himself was hugely relieved to avoid a confrontation with the mighty Barbarossa.

  THE SIEGE OF ACRE: ATTRITION, DISEASE, AND STALEMATE

  For a short while at least, the sultan could breathe a little easier—it would be another year before the next wave of crusaders arrived. In the meantime the siege of Acre dragged on; conditions over the winter of 1189–90 became so bad that the armies could not fight. Such close engagements inevitably saw long periods of inactivity and rather like the famous football match across the trenches between German and English troops in World War I, the adversaries in this holy war began to interact. Beha ad-Din wrote: “They got to know one another, in that both sides would converse and leave off fighting. At times people would sing and others dance, so familiar had they become over time, and then after a while they would revert to fighting.”19