The Field of Blood: The Battle for Aleppo and the Remaking of the Medieval Middle East

by Nicholas Morton

  Quite apart from the clash of war, the period of the Crusades also saw some fascinating moments of intercultural interaction. In the centuries before the First Crusade, there had been some trade and correspondence between western Christendom and the peoples of the Near East, but the advent of the Crusader States brought these cultures into far closer proximity. The Italian cities substantially increased their commercial stake in the eastern Mediterranean, trading with both the Crusader States and the Byzantines. Their representatives also built on existing links with the Egyptians through ports in the Nile delta, particularly Alexandria. Likewise, returning crusaders and pilgrims carried back to their native soil both news of strange places and curios from these distant lands. Muslim pilgrims and travelers found themselves journeying through the Crusader States, and there were many Muslim communities under Frankish governance. Interactions across cultural boundaries became increasingly common, and different groups came into more direct contact—willingly or not.

  The outcomes of such encounters were varied, and certainly they created some bizarre dilemmas for the spiritual and secular leaders of the communities involved. In 1126, for example, the religious authorities in Alexandria were asked to determine whether Islamic law was contravened by the import of cheese from Christian territory.47 On the other side of the Mediterranean, it seems that so many returning crusaders traveled home wearing Turkish hats that there were attempts to ban them.48 Palm branches and devotional items were also common souvenirs carried home by pious travelers from the Holy Land. A rather more ambitious case was the attempt by one Frankish knight to transport a tame lion back to France. He seems to have formed a strong bond with the beast during his time in the Holy Land, but he was unable to find a shipmaster willing to convey such a ferocious passenger. When the knight reluctantly took ship for the West and abandoned his “pet,” the lonely lion apparently swam some way out to sea following his master’s vessel.49

  The era of the Crusades and the many encounters it provoked across cultural or religious boundaries also led some to borrow ideas or imitate techniques that they had observed in other cultures. Frankish arms and armor were popular among Arabic and Turkish warriors and were either seized eagerly from the bodies of the fallen or acquired by trade. This traffic in arms was so great that it worried the papacy, which tried hard (but to no avail) to prevent the sale of arms to Muslim ports. Likewise, Frankish symbols and devices began to infiltrate the Levantine culture and art. The fleur-de-lis seems to have captured many artists’ imaginations, and examples survive to this day of artistic work produced by Armenian and Muslim craftsmen during this period including it in their work.50 In their turn, the Franks drew inspiration from eastern models. Some Franks, for example, began to construct or inhabit homes that drew upon Muslim models. Typical Islamic houses for this period were based around a central courtyard, often with high windowless exterior walls, stressing the need for privacy.51 There also seems to have been a growing trend among the Franks in the Levant for visiting bathhouses, also uncommon in the West.

  The Franks borrowed from the other Christian societies of the Near East, drawing on eastern influences in their art, coinage (many coins had inscriptions in Greek or Arabic), and clothing. It is also evident in many of the buildings constructed during the crusader period, such as the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. This church, the focal point for Christian spirituality in Jerusalem, encompasses the sites where Christ’s crucifixion, burial, and resurrection are thought to have taken place. During the Franks’ time in the city they augmented the building, perhaps most noticeably by constructing its main two-story facade. It is a striking feature of their embellishments that they drew upon both their own customs and those of Eastern Christians, particularly Armenians.52

  The merging of western and eastern Christian architectural styles is also indicative of a wider mixing at a social level, and from the outset of the crusader settlement in the East, there were examples of intercultural marriages. Both Baldwin I and Baldwin II wedded Armenian brides, and many future rulers married Armenian or Byzantine noblewomen.53 Marriage represented an important medium for the sharing of ideas and customs. For example, Melisende, daughter of Baldwin II, and therefore Armenian on her mother’s side, is thought to have been responsible for several major building works that took place in Jerusalem in the mid-twelfth century, including the Holy Sepulchre, and these incorporated many distinctively Armenian features. Intermarriage may have represented a bridge between different Christian societies, but it also reflected the boundaries of social interaction because, although it was common for Christians to intermarry, marrying outside one’s faith was forbidden.

  Another form of intercultural mixing took place on the dietary level. Many newly arrived pilgrims, settlers, or crusaders would have been entirely unaccustomed to the local cuisine and climate. Some clearly immersed themselves in their new surroundings, as can be seen in a tale written by Usama ibn Munqidh. He tells of an old Frankish knight in Antioch who invited a Muslim acquaintance for a meal. The guest arrived, possibly appearing a little nervous, and was immediately told by his Christian host that he never ate Frankish food and that his meals were prepared by an Egyptian cook. Pork was forbidden in the house. This seems to have reassured the guest, who ate, albeit sparingly.54 In this case at least, this knight’s acculturation was pronounced.

  In other cases, settlers sought to remold their surroundings to re-create the cultural norms of their homeland, and pig farming and viniculture became increasingly widespread in Frankish lands, reflecting preferences for pork and wine.55 The Middle Eastern diet also exposed the newly landed crusaders’ digestive systems to a new set of parasites, for which they were ill-prepared. Recent bio-archaeological studies of medieval feces, found in ancient cesspits, have demonstrated that the crusaders in return inadvertently introduced new parasites to the Near East, such as the dysentery-causing Entamoeba histolytica.56

  On an intellectual level, the information carried home by returning crusaders provoked a series of debates in western Europe. One particular source of fascination was the Turks, who had hitherto been largely unknown. Their sudden appearance raised the scholarly challenge of identifying their origins and ethnic roots. Intellectuals responded to this dilemma by delving into their archives for inspiration, with various results. Some suggested that they were the descendants of the Parthians of the classical era, who had shown a similar proclivity for the use of mounted archers in war. Others called up an old legend that claimed that following the fall of Troy, a group of refugees had fled the city and, after long wandering, divided into two groups, thereby establishing the Frankish and Turkish peoples.57 Astonishingly, the Turks themselves may also have believed that they were related to the Franks, but for different reasons. They seem to have understood that both peoples had similar origins in their descent from Gomer, grandson of the biblical Noah.58

  From an Islamic perspective, the Franks also attracted attention and generated some thought-provoking questions for scholars. Several of these challenges are manifested in a Persian work produced in Aleppo named The Sea of Precious Virtues, essentially a book of advice and counsel to a young Turkish nobleman, written in Syria in the mid-twelfth century. This work demonstrates considerable theological hostility toward elements of the Christian faith, yet the author had clearly been impressed by some aspects of Frankish religious culture. He praised the reverence shown by Franks for their priests and suggested that his fellow Muslims emulate this respectful behavior in their relationships with Islamic religious leaders.59

  The author of The Sea of Precious Virtues also seems to have been troubled by the speed and frequency of Frankish battlefield victories. He recorded a debate that took place in Baghdad in which a questioner asked why, in the early years of Islam, a mere handful of Muslims were able to defeat huge numbers of infidels, whereas now a small number of infidels were able to triumph over vastly superior Islamic armies. The answer given was that the people of Islam had fallen into vice in recent
years and that the virtues of their early years were now possessed by their enemies.60

  These are mere excerpts from the broader encounter of various cultures at the time of the Crusades. The variety and complexity of these interactions are what make them so fascinating. When different civilizations come face-to-face, all those involved are forced to consider the stance they will adopt in that meeting. They need to ask themselves in which zones of life they are prepared to share, and in which they are not; in which areas they are ready to learn, and in which they are only prepared to instruct; in which ways they are prepared to be easygoing, and in which they can only be hardline; which ideas they can consider open-mindedly, and which they must reject out of hand. This complex posture is almost always a product of a mixing of various ingredients, including individuals’ cultural and religious norms, their genders and social statuses, the nature of the meeting—on the battlefield, in the bathhouse, at the market, in the marriage bed—and their characters and personal dispositions. It is particularly fascinating to observe those occasions when, for whatever reason, a society feels challenged or threatened by its encounter with another culture, when it realizes that issues or questions have been posed for which it does not have answers within its existing traditions.

  It is not difficult to imagine that the events of the 1110s would have raised many such questions for the people of Aleppo. Theirs was a perilous position that necessitated some hard decision making. In recent decades their city had been fought over time and again and was now consumed by internal unrest, and their farmlands had been repeatedly wasted by external enemies. Arabs, Turks, Armenians, Franks—their region had become an arena for the aspirations of many peoples. Now in 1118 it seemed as though the Franks had the upper hand. Could they accept their status as a Frankish protectorate? Was the prospect of a Turkmen takeover any more appealing? Was there any way that they could maintain their independence? Certainly, they lay at the eye of the storm, and the next few years would be decisive.

  CHAPTER 3

  THE BATTLE

  1119

  BY 1118, ALEPPO was steadily coming under Frankish control. Antioch held many of the surrounding strongholds and was increasingly acting as the city’s overlord. Antioch’s commanders were well aware that the city’s final overthrow would ensure their regional dominance and that its possession would substantially strengthen the Crusader States to the south. The Turkmen rulers of the Jazira were equally aware of the city’s drift into the Christian fold, and they recognized the threat this would pose to their own lands. From their perspective, this Frankish expansion had to be resisted. The struggle for the Near East was now on the verge of a major turning point. The stage was set for a major confrontation between these rival conquerors.

  During 1118–1119 the wars of the Near East raged unceasingly. In the south, King Baldwin I had launched an expedition into Egypt, but he became seriously ill soon after his forces reached the Nile delta. Reportedly, while he was swimming in the Nile, an old wound reopened, which refused to heal. Realizing that he was nearing death, he tried to return to Jerusalem, carried in a litter, but he died en route on April 2, 1118. He was succeeded by the count of Edessa, Baldwin of Bourcq, who became King Baldwin II.

  Controversially, Baldwin of Bourcq had not been the late king’s named heir. Baldwin I had hoped to pass the throne on to his brother Eustace III of Boulogne, but Eustace was far away in western Christendom, and the kingdom was in immediate need of a new defender. Baldwin of Bourcq was in the right place at the right time. He had reached Jerusalem on pilgrimage only a little while before news arrived of the king’s death, so, following strenuous arguments made by the patriarch on his behalf, he was chosen to be the late king’s successor. He was anointed as King Baldwin II of Jerusalem on Easter 1118 and crowned on Christmas Day 1119. Eustace and his supporters had been supplanted, and having already set out for the East, he was forced to return home.1

  Soon afterward, in the arid summer of 1118, the Kingdom of Jerusalem suffered simultaneous invasions from the Damascenes in the northeast and the Egyptians in the south. This pincer attack placed the new king in a perilous position, so Baldwin II called upon the Franks of Antioch and Tripoli for aid. Soon afterward, Tughtakin joined forces with the Fatimids at Ascalon, massing their forces in the south. However, the Egyptian-Damascene invasion came to nothing, resulting in little more than a prolonged standoff. Neither side had the armed might to attempt an attack on the other.

  The Kingdom of Jerusalem’s forces took the offensive soon afterward on their northeastern flank, launching a series of raids into Damascene territory. Such forays were regular occurrences in medieval warfare, utilized by Franks and Turks alike. Raiding was an effective, if brutal, instrument of war because its object was to destroy the enemy’s rural infrastructure. The basic principle was to carry off anything of value—money, people, animals—and then to burn or destroy anything left. It was economic warfare, strengthening one’s own position while weakening one’s enemies by stripping them of their resources. The great advantage of this kind of attack was that it could normally be carried out without risking a full battlefield encounter. Raiders could conduct their cruel work and then escape back over their own frontier before enemy relief forces could arrive. Jerusalem’s main frontier stronghold and raiding base facing Damascus at that time was the town of Tiberias, on the western shore of the Sea of Galilee. Its lord, Joscelin of Courtenay, was a capable soldier, and in 1118 his forces ranged widely into Turkish territory, scoring a series of small victories.

  Eventually, Joscelin’s incursions stung Tughtakin into responding, and he sent an army under his son Taj al-Mulk Buri’s command to hunt down Joscelin’s war band of 130 knights. Fortunately for the Damascenes, Joscelin had made a serious error in judgment. Joscelin’s raiding party had moved to the north of Damascus, seeking out the fertile lands around Homs, and was hundreds of miles from the kingdom’s borders. They were in an exposed position, and the Turks pounced upon the company, trapping it on a small hilltop. With the Frankish knights in his grasp, Tughtakin arrived in person and ringed the hill with his army, seeking initially only to contain them. He was an experienced commander, and he knew that a frontal confrontation with even such a small number of Christian heavy cavalry was ill-advised. It made more sense to wear them down before chancing a direct confrontation.2

  The problem was that Tughtakin’s son did not share his father’s sense of caution. He was impetuous and opted to attack directly uphill into the teeth of a Christian charge. The result was disastrous. The Franks fought all the more fiercely because they were cornered, and put the entire Damascene force to flight.

  The fortunes of war in the south set the scene for the far more important confrontation over Aleppo that was brewing in the north. Tughtakin was now unexpectedly weakened, and the Damascene borders needed shoring up. Consequently, he set out toward Aleppo and the Jazira to seek help from Ilghazi. Ironically, as Tughtakin journeyed into northern Syria, he encountered a deputation from Aleppo that had been dispatched hoping to solicit his aid against the Franks.

  Aleppo’s position had deteriorated still further. The Aleppans had been looking to Antioch for protection, but the Franks had proven to be untrustworthy guardians. Recently their troops had started to waylay merchants traveling through the Aleppan region, enslaving them and seizing their goods. The citizens of Aleppo had made representations to them, asking them not to break their agreement. Initially, the Franks had yielded and had returned the stolen goods, but soon afterward, they decisively broke the treaty, raiding the Aleppan countryside and conquering the town of Azaz.3 They felt their position was now so strong that they no longer required any kind of agreement with the citizens and could move to take full control. The conquest of Azaz, lying just to the north of Aleppo and dominating a broad expanse of fertile farmland, was a major blow, tightening the Frankish encirclement around the city.4 Aleppo’s fall seemed imminent.

  In a panic, the people of Aleppo resumed their ea
rlier search for a new defender. Tughtakin was their preferred choice. He had long experience ruling Damascus and was known to be a capable commander. However, he had just been defeated by Joscelin’s forces. Far from being in a position to render help, he was himself asking for assistance. Consequently, the Aleppans approached the ruler of distant Mosul for support, but he was unable to send aid. Finally, and with nowhere left to turn, they opened the gates to the Turkmen commander Ilghazi. He was a deeply unpopular choice, known to be aggressive and politically controversial. The citizens wavered in their resolve as his army approached the city, and they shut the gates in his face. Then they wavered again and allowed him to enter.5

  Ilghazi’s ascension to power was as bad as the citizens had feared it would be; his first actions fully justified their vacillation. He purged the city’s elites and brutally took control. His message was clear: he was here to stay; he was in charge; he was going to make the rules. His next move was to purchase a ruinously expensive peace from the Franks. This was no alliance of the kind he had negotiated back in 1115, when he and the Antiochenes had joined forces against Bursuq. It was merely an agreement designed to give him breathing space to raise the largest army possible. If Ilghazi was going to hold Aleppo, the Franks would have to be driven back. A major confrontation over the city’s future governance—and therefore over the future direction of Syria as a whole—was now looming.