Anna Comnena, too, was aware of the long-term importance of the failure to relieve Antioch and felt the need to justify it. Alexius, she says, was very anxious to go to the aid of the Franks, but was deterred both by Stephen of Blois and the news of Kerbogha's relief army. ‘For he calculated what would probably happen in the future, namely, that it was an impossibility to save a city which had only just been taken by the Franks and while still in a state of disorder was immediately besieged from outside by the Hagarenes; and the Franks, in despair of all help, were planning to leave only empty walls to the enemy and to save their own lives by flight.’ He therefore decided not to proceed, ‘lest by hastening to the assistance of Antioch he might cause the destruction of Constantinople’.107
Finally, the polities founded by the Latins in the East were quite unique in that whatever the nature of the states that emerged from the First Crusade, they could never act solely in terms of their own concerns, for all western Christians had a stake in the holy places. Every day the settlers were reminded of this, as pilgrims and other visitors streamed into their lands and as they themselves were obliged time after time to appeal for the outside help that would ensure their survival. In a letter to his suffragan, Lambert, bishop of Arras, written in November or December 1099, Manasses, archbishop of Reims, expressed the essence of this caste of mind. ‘Jerusalem,’ he declared, ‘the city of our redemption and glory, delights with inconceivable joy, because through the effort and incomparable might of the sons of God it has been liberated from the most cruel pagan servitude.’ He therefore commanded ‘that you have every one of your parish churches, without fail, pray with fasts and almsgiving that the King of Kings and the Lord of Lords crown the King of the Christians with victory against the enemy, and the Patriarch with religion and wisdom against the sects and deceptions of heretics’.108 To the modern eye, the crusader states may appear no more than narrow strips of territory clinging to the coast on the farthest fringe of Christendom, but to contemporaries they were the guardians of the holiest shrines and therefore at the very heart of the Christian world.
CHAPTER 2
Syria and Palestine
‘SO at last our knights came into the valley where stands the royal city of Antioch, capital of Syria, which was granted to blessed Peter, prince of the Apostles, to restore to the holy faith, by Our Lord Jesus who liveth and reigneth with God the Father in the unity of the Holy Ghost, One God, world without end.’1 With these words the author of the Gesta Francorum describes the emergence of the crusader army from the Amanus mountains into the Orontes valley in mid-October 1097. There is a palpable sense of relief in the text at this point since, for the past month, the crusaders had been struggling over the Anti-Taurus range through Coxon and Marash, sometimes along mountain paths so narrow that they had been obliged to adopt single file. Even then, horses had fallen over precipices and baggage animals, roped together, had pulled one another over the edge. Many knights were so ‘frightened and miserable’, the author says, that they had thrown away their armour rather than carry it.
They secured the so-called Iron Bridge over the Orontes on 19 October and, within two days, they were arrayed before Antioch. The debate that followed – whether to make an immediate assault or settle down for a long siege – must have reflected their mixed feelings at what they saw around them. Antioch was attractively situated. According to the Gesta, there were ‘plenty of provisions, fruitful vineyards and pits full of stored corn, apple-trees laden with fruit and all sorts of other good things to eat’. Ralph of Caen, who did not take part in the First Crusade, but had direct experience of Antioch during the later years of Tancred's rule until the latter's death at the end of 1112, describes how nearby Daphne supported Bohemond. Daphne, he says, means delightful and had been so named by the Greeks. It held ‘a position of glory among the other valleys, having an abundance of fruits, vines, trees and water’.2 Half a century before, Ibn Butlan, a Christian Arab physician from Baghdad, had travelled from Aleppo to Antioch through a populous and productive countryside in which ‘the villages ran continuous, their gardens full of flowers, and the waters flowing on every hand’.3
Yet to an attacker, the city was daunting. Although the population was much diminished from its height under the later Roman empire, Ibn Butlan thought Antioch immense. Set out in a semicircle on the left bank of the Orontes, protected by a double line of walls and, he claims, 360 towers, it backed onto Mount Silpius, near the summit of which was the citadel, and the Iron Gate, approachable only by means of a narrow defile. The mountain overshadowed the city so that the sun only began to shine about the second hour of the day.4 Ralph of Caen explained that the plain on which Antioch lay was, in fact, constrained between two mountains to the north and the south-south-west, and that the mountains grew broader farther east.5 Raymond of Aguilers was so in awe of its situation that he claimed that neither the impact of machines nor the assault of men would have any effect, ‘even if all mankind gathered to besiege it’.6
Moreover, although the crusaders had arrived in the autumn when grain and fruit were abundant, they were only days away from the rainy winter season, which began in November and lasted until March or April.7 Indeed, the crusaders were fortunate not to experience the exceptional conditions recorded by Michael the Syrian in the autumn of 1172. In September, the rain and the snow arrived much earlier and more suddenly than usual, ruining the harvest. ‘It destroyed the vines, the olive trees, the cotton and the sesame, which looked like black charcoal, as if they had been burned by fire. This calamity made itself felt not only in Assyria, in Mesopotamia and Syria, but also in the countries of Persia and Armenia, and even in Palestine and Egypt. The whole land resembled a heap of wood shavings which the fire had devoured and which had become burnt and powdered.’8 Ralph of Caen knew what a Syrian winter could be like. During the siege of Antioch, ‘there were floods of water, sometimes in sudden downpours, and sometimes in continuous streams. There was great movement of both the heaven and earth so that it appeared that the two elements had been joined together with the one rising up and the other coming down. But what about the storms, what shall I say about the raging of the winds? While they were blowing, neither tent nor hut could stand. Indeed, it was hardly possible for the palace and the tower to survive.’ The weather was no respecter of persons; in Ralph's view, the nobility felt it more than the peasants because the former were ‘accustomed to luxury’.9
Stephen of Blois certainly thought so. In his letter to Adela on 29 March 1098, he told her that ‘all winter long … we suffered extremely cold temperatures and an endless downpour of rain for Christ the Lord. When some people say that the heat of the sun throughout Syria is unbearable, this is wrong, since their winters are similar to our western winters.’10 However, Stephen did not stay to experience a Syrian summer. In August, Godfrey of Bouillon left for the mountains, where he stayed in Ravendel and Turbessel. Albert of Aachen says that, having seen Bishop Adhémar succumb to disease on 1 August, he feared ‘that this was the same illness which he had remembered had afflicted Rome long ago with a very similar disaster when he was on an expedition with King Henry IV’. At that time it had killed 500 in the army and had led the Germans to abandon Rome.11 If it was the same disease, it was almost certainly malaria, endemic in the swamps around Rome, but the crusaders were afflicted by dysentery as well, common in the East whenever sanitary conditions were poor. Ralph of Caen calls it a ‘vile illness’, and Ibn al-Qalanisi says it was ‘a disease to be feared and one from which its victim scarcely ever recovers’.12
The experiences of the crusaders at Antioch in 1097–8 were in many ways a reflection of the broader physical environment. In c.985, Muhammed al-Muqaddasi, a theologian and merchant born in Jerusalem, wrote a description of Syria in which he divided the country into four belts. The first bordered the Mediterranean, which he calls ‘the plain-country, the sandy tracts following one another, and alternating with the cultivated land’. The second was ‘the mountain-country, well woo
ded, and possessing many springs, with frequent villages, and cultivated fields’. The third belt ‘is that of the valleys of Ghaur, wherein are found many villages and streams, also palm trees, well cultivated fields, and indigo plantations’. Finally, there were the lands along the edge of the desert. ‘The mountains here are high and bleak, and the climate resembles that of the Waste; but it has many villages, with springs of water, and forest trees.’13
The coastal plain varied considerably in width and fertility, depending on the proximity of the mountains to the sea. Thus, in what became the county of Tripoli, the main cultivable area was the wedge of the ‘Akkar plain, formed by the Kebir River and its tributaries and the volcanic soils of al-Buqai'ah farther east towards the mountains. However, to the north and south around Maraclea and Gibelet respectively, the littoral is much narrower.14 Even so, relatively small areas could be productive. William of Tyre was especially proud of the hinterland of his own city. ‘It was famous for its unique beauty of location and the fertility of its soil. Although lying in the sea itself, entirely surrounded by waves like an island, yet it had before its gates extensive arable fields, excellent in every respect, while a level plain of rich and productive soil stretched out from the city itself and furnished the people of Tyre with abundant supplies.’ This terrain was only about 10 miles long and between 2 and 3 miles wide, but ‘its exceeding fertility makes it equal to acres of boundless extent’.15
Inland were several formidable mountain ranges, mostly limestone and basalt. The Anti-Taurus, which the crusaders endured, projects south from the Armenian plateau into Syria, and from there are the shorter and narrower ranges of the Amanus, north of Antioch, and the Nosairi (Ansariyah) and the Lebanon, to the south. The Nosairi mountains average 1,000 metres in height, which is enough for snow in winter (see plate 2). The Orontes flows north along the eastern side of the Nosairi through Homs, Hama and Shaizar before turning west past Antioch and reaching the sea at Saint Simeon. The Lebanese mountains are even higher, averaging nearer 2,000 metres. Further south still is the Anti-Lebanon range, separated from the Lebanese mountains by the depression of the Beqa valley. The Litani River flows south and west from here, reaching the coast north of Tyre. Accessible routes across these mountains were obviously key strategic points. South of the Nosairi mountains al-Buqai'ah offers a passage; not surprisingly, this region always contained the highest number of fortresses in the county of Tripoli.16
In Palestine the coast is backed by hills rather than mountains on this scale, most importantly the Judaean hills south and east of Jerusalem. Pilgrims wishing to bathe in the Jordan were obliged to cross this arid region, a land of nomads and hermits, unable to support large permanent communities. As the crusaders attacking Jerusalem found, there was little timber for constructing siege engines. When Tancred did find some wood in a cave while seeking somewhere private to relieve the effects of his dysentery, it was regarded as a miracle of God.17 There was still a striking deficiency when Theoderic, a German monk, probably from the well-wooded Rhine valley, visited Jerusalem seventy years later. ‘Wood there, whether for carpentry or for firewood, is expensive, since Mount Libanus, which is the only place which has much timber, cedars, cypresses and fir trees, is not only far away from the city, but also no one can go there on account of the ambushes by the Gentiles.’18 However, even the Syrian woodland had been greatly reduced by the demands placed upon it in antiquity and the early middle ages, so that it had become isolated from the larger forests of the Amanus to the north. According to an anonymous visitor to the kingdom of Jerusalem who wrote a treatise describing the Holy Land and its peoples around 1170, Mount Lebanon ‘has very tall cedars, but these are not as abundant as they were in former times’.19
Farther east are the Syrian steppe lands within which lay the great Islamic cities of Damascus and Aleppo. As Ibn Butlan describes it, much of this land was under cultivation, especially near sources of water such as the Orontes.20 The only Latin state established beyond these regions was that created by Baldwin of Boulogne at Edessa (Urfa), about 160 miles to the north-east of Antioch in Upper Mesopotamia. This was really an extension of the steppe lands, rising in a series of ridges towards the Euphrates. Edessa itself is farther still, situated about 45 miles east of the river. Nevertheless, despite the distance, it had its attractions. ‘This city,’ says Fulcher of Chartres, who accompanied Baldwin, ‘is very famous and is in a most fertile area.’21 However, according to the Armenian chronicler Matthew of Edessa, it did not always realise its potential, for it was sometimes subject to sudden changes in its weather patterns. In 1099–1100, there was an acute drought, causing the land to become dessicated and thus leading to a severe famine. Fortunately, the rain returned the following year, so there was an abundance of the main products of the region, which included wheat, barley, fruit and grapes.22
To the south is the great rift valley, which encompassed the Jordan. This flowed into the Sea of Galilee (Tiberias) and then on to the Dead Sea. Between the Sea of Galilee and Mount Carmel, overlooking Haifa on the coast, is the Galilean plain which, like parts of the Syrian steppe, offered good agricultural land. Just to the south-west of the lake stood the extraordinary Mount Tabor, much visited by pilgrims, who believed it was the site of the Transfiguration (see plate 3). Abbot Daniel of Kiev, who visited the kingdom of Jerusalem between 1106 and 1108, says that it took six hours of steady climbing to reach the top. ‘Mount Tabor is a marvel and wonder and is beyond description, made beautiful by God. … It is situated in a beautiful plain far from other mountains like a round haycock and a river flows through the plain at its foot. And Mount Tabor is covered all over with trees of every kind, figs and carobs and olives in great abundance.’23
In November and December 1100, Baldwin of Boulogne, the new ruler of Jerusalem, set out to explore the south and south-east. As his chaplain, Fulcher was again with him. Fulcher was fascinated by the wonders of the natural world. ‘There is there a great lake which is called the Dead Sea because no living thing is born in it. It extends five hundred and eighty stades in length and one hundred and fifty in width. It is so salty that no beast or bird of any kind whatsoever can drink from it. This, I, Fulcher, learned by experience when I dismounted from my mule into the water and took a drink with my hand, testing it by the taste and finding it to be more bitter than hellebore.’24 A few years later, Abbot Daniel was similarly amazed.
And there are high rocky mountains here with many caves in those mountains, and holy fathers lived in these mountains in this fearful waterless wilderness. Here are the lairs of the panther and there are many wild asses. The Sea of Sodom is dead and has no living thing in it, neither fish nor crayfish, nor shellfish, and if the swift current of the Jordan should carry a fish into this sea, it cannot live even an hour but quickly dies. And from the depths of this sea red pitch rises to the surface and this pitch lies on the shore in great quantity and a stench comes up from this sea as if from burning sulphur.25
Penetrating farther south, Baldwin, Fulcher and his party reached Wadi Musa (west of Petra), which impressed them because of the fertility of the valley and because they identified it as the place where Moses had struck the rock to bring forth a spring. Above was the mountain where Moses and Aaron spoke with God (Numbers 20). They rested here for three days before returning to Jerusalem on the day of the winter solstice (21 December).26 Fulcher seems never to have travelled beyond this but, in 1116, Baldwin took a force of 200 knights down to the Red Sea ‘that he might see what he had not yet seen and along the way fortuitously find something good which he wanted’, a journey of about seven days via his new castle of Montréal (Shaubak). This meant crossing the desert lands of the Negev and Sinai, or the Waste, as al-Muqaddasi called it, before reaching Ailah (al-'Aqabah).27
As the armies at Antioch soon came to realise, this terrain encompassed wide variations in precipitation and temperature. Around Antioch itself the average annual precipitation is about 46 inches (1,181 mm), most of which falls during the wint
er, leaving long, hot, dry summers, with little in the way of spring or autumn. Although the average annual temperature is between 15 and 20ˆC, this conceals much greater extremes. In the mountains the midwinter temperature can fall below freezing, while in the plain summer levels can rise above 30ˆC.28 Once the crusaders left Antioch and, urged on by popular pressure, began to push south towards Jerusalem, they found that precipitation decreased as the temperature climbed: in what became the kingdom of Jerusalem, average temperatures of around 20–22ˆC could be transformed by the desert winds of early summer into highs of 40ˆC or more. In 1185, John Phocas, a Greek pilgrim from Crete, visited the Holy Land, where he had a particular interest in Orthodox monasteries and their sites. Among these was the monastery of Choziba, near the Jericho road. ‘Indeed the recesses of the caves are the monks’ cells. And the Church itself and the cemetery are set in the chasm of the rock, and everything is so blasted by the burning sun that one can see the rock emitting tongues of flame like pyramids. In fact the water which the monks drink is of the kind which comes from a pool, when the midsummer sun hangs above the pools and heats it to boiling-point with its fiery rays.’29
Rainfall in Palestine, again almost exclusively in the winter, is less than half that in Antioch, diminishing to almost nothing in the hills and deserts of the east and south. In al-Muqaddasi's time, in the late tenth century, water was plentiful in Jerusalem, but it was entirely because of the city's conservation measures, which included the provision of three great tanks, twenty underground cisterns in the Haram area and two pools in the Muristan.30 The natural condition of the region was one of aridity. It was ‘entirely lacking in water,’ says William of Tyre, with no springs or rivers, and therefore depended upon the winter rains to replenish the cisterns.31 Even so, there are still micro-climates: Tiberias and the borders of the lake experience very mild winters of around 14ˆC. Indeed, al-Muqaddasi places this area within his third belt, characterised by palms, cultivated fields and indigo plantations.32
The Crusader States Page 5
