In 1119 Ilghazi began to assemble his full might. He also allied with Tughtakin, who was equally concerned to see the Franks driven back. Their goal was to secure Ilghazi’s control of Aleppo in the face of recent Frankish advances. They were both seasoned campaigners whose sheer ability is revealed by the plain fact that they had survived for so long in the complex—and often murderous—world of Seljuk politics.
Tughtakin had been part of the Turkish conquest of Syria from the beginning. He had served under Sultan Alp Arslan during the Seljuk invasions of the 1070s, and he later supported the sultan’s son Tutush. Tughtakin had prospered in the service of his Seljuk masters, and they in turn had recognized and rewarded his abilities. Shortly before the arrival of the First Crusaders, he had been permitted to marry Tutush’s divorced wife Safwat al-Mulk, a notable honor.6 This union also made him stepfather to Tutush’s son Duqaq, who became ruler in Damascus after his father’s death in 1095. Duqaq had been too young to take up the reins of power himself, so Tughtakin had ruled in his stead as atabeg. Since then, Tughtakin had governed the city, initially in Duqaq’s name, and then after his death, briefly in the name of his siblings. In 1104 Tughtakin became sole ruler.
As lord of Damascus, Tughtakin was in a powerful position. The city’s population was wealthy, numerous, and literate (by the standards of the day).7 Tughtakin seems to have been well regarded by the populace as an able ruler, and contemporary authors praised him for his many virtues.8 His main objective was to survive, and ideally to thrive, in the muddied politics of the Near East. In this ambition he was confronted by three main challenges. The biggest danger was almost certainly the threat of overthrow from the Turkish sultanate to the east. The arrival of several large armies from the sultanate, particularly after the conclusion of the civil war between Berkyaruq and Sultan Mohammed, raised the much-feared specter of the sultan’s enforcing dominion over the entire region, thereby destroying Tughtakin’s independence. This concern was so potent that Tughtakin was prepared to side with the Franks (as he had in 1115) if it would block the sultan’s ambitions.
The other major threat was from the Franks. Tughtakin had been among the first Turkish warriors to encounter this new foe, and he and his young master Duqaq had led the Damascene force that had attempted to break the siege of Antioch during the First Crusade.9 Their defeat in that endeavor seems to have taught Tughtakin to be wary of confronting the Franks. He made no serious attempt to dislodge them from the coast for almost a decade after the conquest of Jerusalem, and he was generally content to assume a defensive stance: fending off invading forces, pushing out their raiding parties, and rendering aid to the besieged coastal cities.
This should not imply that Tughtakin was averse to the idea of conquering new territory. He was a veteran campaigner who had cut his teeth in the midst of the Seljuk overthrow of northern Syria. However, rather than engaging the militarily skillful Franks, Tughtakin instead directed much of his energy into the enforcement of his and his master’s interests in the Jazira to the northeast. In 1099, shortly after the fall of Jerusalem to the Franks, the Damascene army set out in the opposite direction, seeking to subdue the distant town of Mayyafariqin.10 In 1103 and 1104 Damascus launched two expeditions to capture and hold the town of Rahba, far to the east along the line of the Euphrates.11 These ventures to secure Rahba are indicative of Tughtakin’s and Duqaq’s strategic priorities. Rahba sits on a key route that leads from Damascus to Iraq. Control of Rahba would have given Damascus a listening post and an advanced position facing the regions being contested during the Turkish civil war over the sultanate.
Tughtakin’s preoccupation with Rahba also bears upon his third major external threat. Like Ridwan and the other Turkish rulers of the region, he ruled over a large populace that was by no means reconciled to Turkish rule. The people of Damascus seem to have been largely quiescent under Tughtakin’s leadership (unlike the population of Aleppo under Ridwan’s), but this was not universally the case in his wider territories. In 1101 the qadi of Jabala asked the Damascenes to take control of the port of Jabala, but Tughtakin’s deputy and his Turkish warriors were soon thrown out by an angry populace.12 By 1107 the Arab Banu Shayban had rebelled in Rabha, rejecting Damascene overlordship.13 Even Frankish authors recognized the Arabs’ hatred for their Turkish overlords, and a writer named Albert of Aachen reported that in 1100 Damascene forces were compelled to abandon a proposed night attack on a Frankish army because of fears that they might be attacked by their own Arab auxiliaries.14 To make matters worse, the Arab Bedouin tribes on the southern margins of Tughtakin’s territory often worked in concert with the Franks to seize the heavily armed caravans that set out from Damascus toward Egypt.15
Juggling these problems, Tughtakin was generally keen either to ignore or to pay off the Franks where possible. In the past, there had generally been greater challenges to his survival in the east and much more enticing opportunities for expansion in the war-torn Jazira. He clearly had no intention of confronting the much-feared Frankish heavy cavalry if he could possibly avoid it.
This seems to have been his general policy for many years. Yet times were changing, and not for the better. The Franks’ territories were expanding steadily, and their warlords had begun to raid more deeply both into Tughtakin’s lands and into those of his neighbors. On his eastern flank, facing Iraq, the civil war was over, and the new sultan was showing a worrying enthusiasm for interventions into Syria. Still, Tughtakin was a skillful diplomat, and by 1119 he had already demonstrated that he could play the two sides off against one another. When the sultan had dispatched Mawdud of Mosul to fight the Franks in 1113, Tughtakin had joined their army and waged a punishing campaign against the Kingdom of Jerusalem, savaging their frontier positions around Tiberias. In 1115, in contrast, he had sided with the Franks to throw out the sultan’s armies under Bursuq. He had proved himself capable of benefiting from supporting either side when it was in his interests. In 1118, however, the balance of power was changing rapidly. The Franks were advancing along the full length of their frontier. If Tughtakin’s rule over Damascus was to be maintained, they had to be held back.
Ilghazi’s strategic situation was comparable to that of Tughtakin. They were in a similar predicament, both attempting to defend their territories against a range of threats. Like Tughtakin, Ilghazi was a born survivor weathered by years of experience on campaign. His family, the Artuqids, originally came to prominence under the patronage of the Seljuk ruler Tutush, and in 1085–1086 his father had been granted Jerusalem as his iqta (a grant of land). Following their father’s death, Ilghazi and his brother Sokman inherited the territories, although it was not long before they were driven out of Jerusalem by the Fatimids in 1098. Sokman returned to his family’s other lands in the Jazira; Ilghazi set out for Iraq, hoping to make a career for himself in the civil war raging over the sultanate.16
Ilghazi prospered in Iraq and rose to the eminent office of shihna (governor) of Baghdad. His prominence may have been due in part to the long-standing support he received from a group of Turkmen tribes that remained in his service throughout his life and represented a large proportion of his armed following. During his time as governor, he came to be deeply disliked by the people of Baghdad, and his behavior eventually led to civil unrest. The people’s resentment apparently boiled over after a group of Ilghazi’s men shot a boatman for being too slow in bringing his boat to their side of the river. This was the last straw; the enraged populace seized the perpetrator and threw stones at Ilghazi when he tried to effect his release. Ilghazi’s reaction to the simmering discontent was to sack the Cotton Merchants’ district in the city.17
This inglorious phase in his career came to a close with the end of the civil war between Mohammed and Berkyaruq for the Turkish sultanate. Ilghazi had supported Berkyaruq, so when Mohammed emerged victorious in 1105, he wanted Ilghazi replaced. Ilghazi left Baghdad and took the long road to the Jazira to take control of his late brother’s lands around Hisn Kayfa and
the town of Mardin. Having put as much space as possible between himself and Mohammed, he began to plot against the sultan and formed alliances with his enemies. This troublemaking created problems for Ilghazi when the sultan began to send armies into Syria and the Jazira between 1110 and 1115, and Ilghazi initially deemed it prudent to make some show of support. He participated in the first indecisive campaign launched by Mawdud against Edessa in 1110, but he refused to take part in the second (1111), sending his son Ayaz in his place. Nor did he join the later campaigns launched by Mawdud against the Franks in 1112 and 1113, although he sent Ayaz with some troops in 1113.
In 1114, the sultan sent yet another army against the Franks under Aqsunqur (the man who later attempted to seize Aleppo). The main target on this occasion was Edessa, but Aqsunqur was instructed to bring Ilghazi to heel en route. Consequently, the two warriors engaged in sporadic fighting, which concluded with a decisive defeat for Aqsunqur. Ilghazi was victorious, but he was also now politically isolated. He made overtures to the Franks in 1114, and the following year he worked with the Franks to fend off the sultan’s army. The 1115 campaign, led by the sultan’s commander Bursuq, was significant for another, sadder reason. Following the defeat of the sultan’s army at Tell Danith by the knights of Antioch, Bursuq’s soldiers executed Ilghazi’s son Ayaz, whom they had been holding hostage.18
By 1118, Ilghazi’s career had been characterized by moments of opportunism mixed with a surly resistance to the sultan’s authority. Nevertheless, his priorities were changing. Aleppo’s progressive enfeeblement was both a source of concern and a spur to ambition. On the one hand, a Frankish victory—which by 1117–1118 seemed imminent—would strengthen their position incalculably, raising the possibility that the Franks would advance in strength into the Jazira. On the other hand, if Ilghazi could get hold of the city, his own position would be substantially enhanced. Another important development was the death of Sultan Mohammed in 1118. This changed the political game, raising the possibility that Ilghazi might rebuild his relations with the sultanate. Consequently, he sent messengers to Baghdad both to seek aid against the Franks and to make contact with the new sultan, Mahmud II.19 Change was in the air and Aleppo sat squarely in the center of many leaders’ ambitions.
By 1119, both Tughtakin and Ilghazi were rallying their full strength for a major aggressive war against the Franks. This was not a familiar situation for either of them. One of the most significant features about the careers of both Ilghazi and Tughtakin prior to 1119 is that neither had previously manifested any real commitment to fighting the Franks. Tughtakin had been slightly more combative toward the Franks, and he could claim to have landed a heavy blow against the Kingdom of Jerusalem in 1113. Nevertheless, his campaigning had generally been defensive, and he had certainly shown little enthusiasm for driving the Franks out of Jerusalem. Ilghazi, despite an impressive military career, had scarcely ever taken the field in person against a Christian army.
Later Islamic authors, reflecting on the exploits of these capable leaders, would garland their deeds with praise, presenting them as the great heroes of Islam. Their lives were set up as models of righteous conduct (more Tughtakin, less Ilghazi) and vigorous war against the Franks (more Ilghazi, less Tughtakin). This was how they wanted them to be remembered.
In reality, these Turkish leaders’ commitment to jihad, rather like their commitment to Islam itself (at least at this point in history), seems to have been opportunistic at best. There is little in their conduct before 1119 to suggest an ongoing devotion to holy war against the Franks, and the Turks had little familiarity with jihad. Before their early incursions into the Islamic world, the shamanistic Turks were more accustomed to being on the receiving end of such holy wars than to taking part in them. In later years, as the Turks slowly adopted Islam and began to adopt a Muslim way of life, there seems to have been a slight engagement with such ideas. There were jihad volunteers in Karbugha’s army at the Battle of Antioch in 1098, and the Muslim caliph made some efforts to find warriors to fight alongside the Turks during his attempts to block the First Crusade, but the response appears to have been very limited.20 The Turks had other problems.
A few years after the First Crusade, a Damascene scholar named al-Sulami tried to stir the Turkish sultan into a jihad against the Franks, pointing out, quite rightly, how few they were and how far they were from help. However, his passionate cries for holy war provoked very little reaction, either from the sultan or from his immediate ruler, Tughtakin. It must have been very frustrating for him to watch the Franks steadily building in numbers and landholdings without sparking any significant response from his own Turkish masters.21
In practice, men like Ilghazi and Tughtakin probably felt little excitement at the thought of jihad. They, like their fellow Turks, had only partially absorbed Islamic culture and beliefs at this stage, and they continued to observe much of their steppe culture and spirituality. Both Tughtakin and Ilghazi were known for their love of lengthy drinking binges. Alcohol is prohibited in Islamic law, and its continued use among the Turks reflected the long-standing customs of the steppe, where a ruler displayed his authority by organizing titanic bouts of inebriation. Other rather un-Islamic traits include Tughtakin’s penchant for turning the skulls of his fallen enemies into drinking vessels.22 He also liked to execute captives by tying them to posts and shooting them with arrows.23 Symbolic acts involving bows and arrows were at the heart of Turkish elite ritual, and bows and arrows were also used as symbols on Seljuk coinage.24 There are also reports that Tughtakin scalped captives.25 These are all characteristically steppe practices. Ilghazi is also described as frequently seeking astrological guidance in his decision making, also a common fascination among the Turks.26
In the final analysis, despite the idealized portraits offered by some later writers, both Tughtakin and Ilghazi emerge as transitional figures whose customs and practices reflect a merging of different cultures and beliefs. They had some adherence to Islam, and, to take one example, they are known to have encouraged Frankish prisoners to become Muslims.27 Still, their newly acquired faith was clearly spliced with the traditions of their forefathers.
Roger of Salerno, ruler of Antioch, first learned that Ilghazi had crossed the Euphrates and was heading straight for Christian territory in June 1119. There was no mistaking the Turks’ intentions. This was a full-scale invasion, designed to drive the Franks back and assert Ilghazi’s control over Aleppo. It had been a long time since Antioch had been tackled with a frontal assault, and most Turkish attackers had become bogged down by their internal disputes long before they reached the Christian frontier. Still, Roger was willing to march out and meet Ilghazi, so he immediately set about raising his army.
Roger had taken power in Antioch in 1113. His predecessor, Tancred, had had no heir, so on his deathbed in 1112 he had ordered that Roger of Salerno, his relative, should take power.28 This was a pragmatic choice. The other obvious contender had been Bohemond’s son, Bohemond II, but he had still been a child. Antioch had needed a ruler immediately, so Roger swiftly assumed control. His ascension to the principality had not been entirely unproblematic. Some had claimed that he should rule only until Bohemond II could take his place. Others were less concerned about Bohemond’s rights as heir. The debate on the succession was bitter enough to attract even the attention of Muslim writers, who reported this incident.29 In the event, however, matters were smoothed out by the church, and Roger soon felt sufficiently well established to march south to offer military support to the Kingdom of Jerusalem.
Roger himself has received mixed reviews for his time as ruler of Antioch. He was widely acknowledged to be brave, valiant, and handsome.30 He was also clearly a capable field commander, and he scored several important victories, most notably at Tell Danith in 1115. He was feared by his enemies, one of whom described him as a “real devil.”31 He was also well attuned to the complex political world of the Near East. His strong grasp of the region and its politics reflects his ti
es to Tancred and his family’s long service in Antioch. His father Richard was one of Tancred’s most trusted lieutenants.32 Like Tancred, Roger understood the importance of maintaining positive relations with neighboring Arab and Turkish powers, when the need arose, just as he grasped the political value of extracting tribute payments from vulnerable neighbors. He further strengthened his position by marrying his sister to the nobleman Joscelin of Courtenay.
Roger also had his vices. He was widely accused of avarice and was apparently miserly even when paying his own soldiers’ wages.33 More worryingly, he was a famous adulterer. Like other rulers, he married politically, and Roger chose to wed the sister of Baldwin of Bourcq (count of Edessa and later king of Jerusalem). Despite his spouse’s royal connections, it was well-known that he was not a faithful husband.34 This was a serious matter for the principality as a whole because contemporaries believed that the sinfulness of the ruler cast a spiritual shadow over his realm and its people, depriving them of God’s support. The Antiochene forces, as they mustered in June 1119, were well aware that they needed God’s blessing for the coming battle.
Roger’s persistent adultery was not the only spiritual problem hanging over the army during its muster in June 1119. The army began to gather at Artah, a strong position, lying on the edge of a fertile plain to the northeast of Antioch, and messengers were sent to Baldwin II in Jerusalem, requesting his assistance. The patriarch of Antioch, Bernard of Valence, joined them soon afterward and counseled Roger to wait for Baldwin’s arrival before seeking battle. It was sensible advice, and it should have rung especially true for Roger. In 1113 Roger had advanced to support the Kingdom of Jerusalem against a Damascene attack only to find that Baldwin I had rashly engaged Tughtakin’s forces without waiting for his support. Baldwin’s subsequent defeat had enraged Roger. He had been furious that Baldwin had been unable to wait for his reinforcements. He knew the value of combining forces.35
The Field of Blood: The Battle for Aleppo and the Remaking of the Medieval Middle East Page 10
