Following his victory over Aqsunqur, Baldwin II’s return to the Kingdom of Jerusalem was marked by a decisive shift in target. He fully understood the strategic need to capture at least one of his enemies’ major centers of power: Aleppo, Damascus, or Cairo. Aleppo was now firmly out of reach.58 Instead, Damascus lay squarely in his sights, and Jerusalem was in a position to bring considerable force to bear on the city. Unlike Aleppo, Damascus could be attacked directly from his own kingdom, without needing to pass through Antioch. It also lacked the same heavy fortifications that had protected Aleppo so effectively.
Almost as soon as he returned home, Baldwin sent out raiding parties into Damascene territory. After the Christmas celebrations in 1125, Baldwin announced that he would assemble the kingdom’s full armed strength and march east. Heralds traveled throughout the land gathering men and arms. The muster was set for Safforie, a settlement lying in the lush, rolling hills to the north of Nazareth. Then Baldwin led his kingdom’s full might east toward the frontier town of Tiberias. They crossed the River Jordan and entered enemy territory. He was confident, and for the first time in many years, he was actively seeking a full-scale battle during an offensive, rather than a defensive, campaign.
Meanwhile, news had arrived in Damascus of the Christian attack, and Tughtakin gathered his army and put out a request for volunteers. Turkmen arrived in large numbers, and eager young warriors thronged the streets. Even the Assassins joined his force. They set out to meet the oncoming Christian army. Battle was brewing and conflict was imminent. The struggle for the Near East had entered a new phase. The battle for Aleppo was finished, but the Franks’ drive to conquer their foes’ inland cities would continue. A new strategy was in formation. The struggle for Damascus would go on for over two decades. The center of conflict had pivoted south. A new game was opening, and the pieces were moving.
While Baldwin was shifting his strategic objectives south, the long-awaited Bohemond II was preparing himself for the journey to Antioch. On his arrival he would finally assume his late father’s title as prince of Antioch. He had been preparing for this task all his young life, yet this was also his first visit to the East. The world of the eastern Mediterranean was very different from the kingdoms of western Christendom, and new arrivals—whether crusaders, pilgrims, or settlers—needed to suddenly come to terms with their new environment. It is worth considering, therefore, what Bohemond II, and the many thousands of other pilgrims and crusaders who had taken ship for the Levant, would have expected to find when they finally arrived in that distant outpost of Christendom, the Crusader States.
Writing in the Abbey of Saint-Evroult in Normandy, the famous writer and monk Orderic Vitalis once recorded a remarkable tale. He wrote that the viscount of Baghdad, a man named Balad, had traveled to Aleppo and married the daughter of King Ridwan. Balad had become the city’s ruler and waged war against the Christians. He enjoyed early success and captured Count Joscelin and King Baldwin, who were traveling to Edessa to celebrate Easter. He imprisoned his captives in a castle called Carpetram. There, they were held prisoner for over a year under the watchful guard of 350 knights. During their captivity, the imprisoned Franks were compelled to labor ceaselessly, carrying water from the Euphrates, with their feet bound in shackles. They endured these tasks cheerfully, and Baldwin won favor with the guards, who treated him with respect. The other Franks fared less well and the Turks, when the mood took them, selected one from their number, tied him to a post, and shot him with arrows. Eventually the Franks and some Armenian prisoners rose up against their jailors and seized the castle. They then burst into the town around the castle, killing all the pagans. News of their deeds began to spread among the neighboring lands, and Baldwin’s Armenian wife sent some troops to aid him.
At this point, Joscelin set out from Carpetram looking for help. On his journey toward Christian territory, however, he was waylaid by a Turkish peasant, who recognized him and offered to help. The peasant had formerly served Joscelin and was returning to Christian territory because he preferred it to his Turkish homelands. Joscelin borrowed clothes from the peasant, and to complete his disguise, he carried the Turk’s six-year-old daughter in his arms.
Shortly after Joscelin’s departure, it was discovered that Balad’s three wives were holed up in a tower in the castle. One sent a dove to summon her husband home. Balad received the news and hurried back to besiege the castle. Shortly after his arrival, Balad remonstrated with Baldwin, telling him that it was unchivalrous to hold his wives captive. Baldwin was concerned by this slight on his honor, so he summoned a council of his men to discuss whether the wives should be freed, but it was Queen Fatima, one of Balad’s wives, who broke into their deliberations and decided the matter. She encouraged the men to put away any knightly impulse that might cause them to release her and the other wives. She steered them instead to offer the greatest resistance to her tyrannous husband, challenging them to put their faith in God, inspiring them by recalling the endurance of the defenders of ancient Troy during the Trojan wars. She reminded them of the nobility of their Frankish race and reassured them that she and the other wives were content in their custody. Then all three wives asked to be baptized as Christians.
Baldwin was not unmoved by these entreaties, but eventually he capitulated to Balad’s demands and surrendered the ladies, who were returned to their husband richly attired and escorted by five noble Christian warriors. Having handed over the wives, the five knights were taken prisoner by Balad and sent to the king of the Medes and later to the caliph and the sultan. They subsequently distinguished themselves in service to the Persians and the Medes, drawing admiring glances from the daughters of kings. After many adventures, they were granted leave to return to Christian territory, and they arrived among their countrymen garbed in silk robes and bearing a golden arrow, a special gift from the sultan. Meanwhile, Baldwin decided to surrender the citadel, to the disgrace of all Christians, and his men were executed. When he learned this news, Joscelin broke out in loud lamentation, but the deed was done.
There was then a great battle between Balad and Joscelin at the town of Monbec. On the eve of the battle, Balad’s sister sought out her brother. She was a powerful sorceress, and she warned him that he would be killed in the coming battle, in combat with a knight named Geoffrey the Monk. This news alarmed Balad, who offered Geoffrey two asses carrying sacks of gold if he would stay away from the battlefield. Geoffrey, however, was not moved by Balad’s offer and swore that he was willing to sacrifice himself for God. Battle then commenced; nine hundred Frankish knights bravely fought off three hundred thousand enemy warriors, and Balad was killed in combat with Geoffrey. So “the horns of the Gentiles were broken as God thundered and the Christians lifted up their heads and rendered praise to the unconquered Lord of hosts.”59
So the tale goes…
As is evident here, communication between the Crusader States and western Christendom was not great during the medieval period. Messengers and returning pilgrims had to traverse hundreds of miles of treacherous sea simply to reach the ports of southern Europe. Some then had to take the long roads north, across the Alps and through Christendom’s deep forests, to reach northern France, Germany, or England; others secured passage on coastal vessels or riverboats. Whether by land or by boat, however, there is no disguising the fact that this was a long and difficult journey. News would often have passed through many hands before reaching northwestern Europe. It is easy to imagine a scenario in which a knight returning from the wars of Antioch might inform a merchant in the busy hubbub of Acre about the fighting to the north between Baldwin II of Jerusalem and Balak; the merchant would tell a sailor, who would tell a knight returning to western Christendom, who would tell a tradesman in Brindisi in Apulia in southern Italy, who would write the report down and send it to his local bishop, who would tell an archdeacon in conversation at a church council, who would tell his neighbors in northern France. This imagined scenario reflects the complex path by which muc
h information reached the peoples of western Europe.
Orderic may have been drawing on written reports that derived directly from the Crusader States themselves, but even so—whether as a result of his own imagination or that of his informants—his tale of Baldwin II’s captivity in Kharput acquired beautiful queens eager for baptism, a sinister sorceress, Christian heroes winning favor at the sultan’s court, and hoards of gold. Nor is it surprising that the role of the Armenian fighters who actually seized Kharput was substantially diminished while the heroism of the Frankish knights was decidedly enhanced.
The mixture of factual report and fantasy in Orderic’s tale provides a snapshot of the kinds of information available to knights in western Christendom about the distant Crusader States. Stories like Orderic’s account of Baldwin II’s imprisonment show what they thought it would be like “out there.” These were the kinds of reports that shaped the preconceptions and expectations of crusaders, pilgrims, and merchants setting off for distant Jerusalem. Certainly many legends were in circulation about the world of the East, some rooted loosely in theology and others in the reports of travelers. It was “known,” for example, that to the east of the River Jordan lay the four rivers of Paradise, including the Tigris and Euphrates. To the north lay the iron gates of the Caucasus where Alexander the Great had imprisoned the peoples of Gog and Magog until the end-times. On the journey to the East lay cities of fabulous wealth, especially Constantinople, whose colossal walls encompassed a city far greater than anything most pilgrims would have seen before. In the East itself were lions, wild asses, porcupines, crocodiles, and hyenas that sought out the dead. Other reports from the region only amplified its mysteriousness; fantastical tales were received in England, such as a Muslim fable describing how mice in the East like to urinate on those who have been bitten by leopards.60
Another conviction that steadily gained ground in western Europe was the belief that the Franks in the Crusader States had, generation by generation, become softened and corrupted by their exposure to the decadent world of the East, that they had adopted “Saracen” culture and weakened themselves in the process. For this reason the eastern Franks acquired the slighting nickname Pullani (colts).61
Such stories provide brief insights into what the thousands of travelers might have expected to find when they reached the distant Crusader States. Certainly, huge numbers of men and women set out for the Holy Land in these years, and their journeys were strongly encouraged by the Frankish rulers. Bohemond II, future prince of Antioch, would have been among the best informed of such new arrivals. He had been surrounded by his father’s old guard since birth, so he would have had some idea of what to expect when he assumed his father’s title.
Bohemond II had been raised in Taranto (in southern Italy) by his royal mother Constance, and Frankish authors speak favorably both of his appearance and of his character. They report that he was tall, handsome, and blond; that he was a courageous and capable ruler; and that he had a royal bearing.62 Eastern Christian writers also comment favorably on his virtues.63
Bohemond landed with a fleet of twenty-two ships near Antioch in the autumn of 1126. He was around eighteen years old and had already been knighted. His long-anticipated arrival was met with considerable rejoicing, and Baldwin II of Jerusalem—custodian of Antioch—showed his favor for the young man by granting him the hand of his daughter Alice in marriage. Baldwin was clearly eager to cast off the burden of Antioch’s defense, and he ordered the fodder needed for his return journey to Jerusalem on the very night Bohemond arrived.64 He was going home.
In his short reign, Bohemond II proved himself to be a capable and ruthless warrior. His first act was to retake Kafartab, which had been taken previously by Aqsunqur. In 1127, he also plundered Aleppo’s hinterland and briefly gathered his forces outside its ramparts before allowing himself to be bought off. He lacked the resources to make an earnest attempt on the city’s walls, so his intention was presumably to conduct a raid and exact tribute.65
Aleppo was receding rapidly as a viable Frankish target, and any prospect of an attack on the city diminished even further in 1128. A new power was rising in northern Syria, a new warlord whose achievements would far exceed those of his forebears. Men such as Ridwan, Tughtakin, Ilghazi, Balak, Dubays, and Aqsunqur had existed in a landscape where multiple rulers, each holding a handful of towns, had competed both against each other and against their Frankish, Armenian, and Arab neighbors. The whole region of the Jazira and northern Syria had been a network of family feuds, temporary friendships, animosities, and ethnic or religious tensions. Sometimes the various powers worked together for some common purpose; often they did not. Even so, this colorful, violent, and furiously complex world would soon vanish forever, to be replaced by a new bloc forged by a man named Zangi.66
Zangi’s early career bore many similarities to those of his predecessors. He was born in northern Syria in about 1084 into a Turkmen family. His father, Aqsunqur, the Turkish governor of Aleppo and a slave-soldier belonging to the sultan Malik Shah, was murdered by the Seljuk ruler Tutush in 1094. Zangi’s mother had been killed a short time previously, so Zangi was orphaned at about the age of ten.
From that point he was raised in Mosul by the Turkish commander Karbugha (the man who tried to relieve the siege of Antioch in 1098), and after Karbugha’s death, several of the city’s subsequent governors continued to support him as he grew into adulthood. During this time he participated in campaigns against the Franks, and he was present at the great Turkish victory of Harran in 1104. In these early years he earned a reputation as a capable soldier. He became embroiled in the infighting over the sultanate, which took place following the death of Sultan Mohammed in 1118. He supported the winning faction and was soon basking in the patronage of his new master, Sultan Mahmud II (sultan 1118–1131). Zangi was given land in Iraq, and in 1123 he played an important role in the battles fought against the Arab ruler Dubays. In the years that followed, as tensions rose between the Seljuk sultan and the caliph, he fought for the sultan against the caliph’s armies, scoring a notable victory in 1126. He then became shihna of Baghdad, just as Ilghazi had before him.
His major rise to power occurred the next year. Mosul needed a new atabeg, and, after his supporters had paid a few hefty bribes, the role was offered to Zangi in the autumn of 1127. Mosul was an important city, and it provided him with the resources to conquer a large portion of the Jazira and northern Syria over the following years. Town after town fell to his assaults, and he acquired others through diplomacy or the threat of force; many warlords, whether Arab, Turk, or Kurd, came under his dominion. Aleppo was one of his early acquisitions: he took control in January 1128 and arrived in person in June. The troublesome Aleppans were not quiescent under his rule, and there were rumors of potential rebellion even toward the end of Zangi’s life. Nonetheless, he gave the city a degree of stability and order that it had lacked for decades. With the two great cities of Aleppo and Mosul under his control, he was in a position to outcompete most of his rivals, and he continued to absorb lands held by lesser chieftains. Few were able to resist his military and political might, and in Syria he soon secured control of both Hama and Homs. Only Damascus proved strong enough to evade his grasp (and then only with the greatest of difficulty).
Over the next fifteen years, Zangi showed only occasional interest in the Franks.67 Aleppo, and therefore the Antiochene frontier, were left under the control of an appointed governor. There was some raiding between the Franks and Zangi’s deputy, but few serious confrontations. Indeed, soon after taking control of Mosul in 1127, Zangi made peace with the Franks of Edessa. His main preoccupations were similar to those of so many of his predecessors: the perpetual infighting over the sultanate taking place in Iran and Iraq and his own desire to bring the Jazira to heel. When he did attack Antiochene or Edessan territory, he was generally successful; for example, in 1130 he managed to conquer the fortress of al-Atharib while beating off a Frankish relief army. But he did
not assertively follow up on this victory, and after briefly besieging the hilltop stronghold of Harim, he allowed himself to be bought off. He made some conquests along the border in later years, but he seems to have been content to maintain the status quo, simply making sure that the Franks kept their heads down. Before 1144, his attacks were launched solely against Frankish frontier fortifications, never against major targets such as big ports or larger cities.
With Zangi’s rising dominance across the region, Aleppo was permanently out of reach for the Franks, Turkmen chiefs, or anyone else. The city was no longer a quarrelsome and isolated metropolis surrounded by Frankish states and Turkmen tribesmen. Now it was the base for Zangi’s large regional power, which far eclipsed the authority of his Turkish predecessors. Neither Antioch nor Edessa had the strength to conquer the city using their own resources alone. At times there was some discussion about a new campaign against Aleppo, but later rulers of Antioch recognized that such a campaign would be impossible without massive external support. The Frankish conquests in the north were over. The best they could hope for now in the face of Zangi’s rising influence was to maintain their current position.
The Field of Blood: The Battle for Aleppo and the Remaking of the Medieval Middle East Page 17
