The Crusades: The Authoritative History of the War for the Holy Land

by Thomas Asbridge

  Sultan Baybars, meanwhile, had achieved major victories against the Christians, manifestly affirming his commitment to jihad. His pitiless approach to holy war had reduced the crusader states to a position of almost prone vulnerability. But the sultan had to be mindful of the continued threat posed by the Mongols. The problems that, for years, had left them paralysed in Mesopotamia, Asia Minor and Russia–including protracted dynastic upheavals and the open hostility between the Golden Horde and the Ilkhanate of Persia–now were starting to diminish. A forceful new Ilkhan, Abaqa, had come to power in 1265 and immediately initiated attempts to secure an anti-Mamluk alliance with western Europe. Another destructive Ilkhanid assault on Islam threatened. Yet, in spring 1270, even as Baybars looked to deal with this northern menace, news reached him in Damascus that the French were preparing again to mount a crusade from the West. Remembering only too well the havoc caused in Egypt by the last Latin invasion in 1249, the sultan immediately returned to Cairo to brace Muslim defences.

  KING LOUIS’ SECOND CRUSADE

  Back in Rome, Pope Clement IV was deeply alarmed by the vicious Mamluk campaigning that began in 1265. Recognising that the war for the Holy Land was being lost, in August 1266 Clement started to formulate plans for a relatively small but swiftly deployed crusade. He recruited a band of troops, mostly from the Low Countries–instructing them to depart no later than April 1267–and opened coalition talks with Abaqa and the Byzantine Emperor Michael VIII. In late summer 1266, however, King Louis IX of France caught wind of this expedition. A veteran of the holy war, now in his early fifties and ever more stringent in his religious devotions, Louis sensed a chance to lay the troubled memories of Mansourah to rest. That September he privately informed the pope of his wish to join the crusade. In some respects, Louis’ enrolment–publicly confirmed by a crusading vow on 25 March 1267–was a boon, for it promised to result in a far larger and more potent campaign. With this in mind, Clement postponed the smaller endeavour that he had originally envisaged. Somewhat ironically, this delay (the result of Louis’ enthusiasm) left Baybars free to crush Antioch in 1268.

  Just as he had done in the 1240s, Louis made careful financial and logistical preparations for his second crusade. Recruitment was not as buoyant for this campaign–the king’s old comrade-in-arms John of Joinville was one who did not enlist. But given the setbacks endured by previous expeditions, and the concerns expressed in some quarters about the papacy’s apparent abuse of the crusading ideal, the number of participants was surprisingly substantial. The most notable figure to take the cross was the future King Edward I of England, then known as the Lord Edward. Fresh from winning the civil war that had threatened the reign of his embattled father King Henry III, Edward committed to the crusade in June 1268 and, putting aside any animosity with France, later agreed to coordinate his expedition with that of King Louis.

  In November 1268, however, Clement IV died, and because of divisions with the Church over Rome’s dealings with the ambitious and, by some accounts, untrustworthy Charles of Anjou (Louis IX’s surviving brother and now the king of Sicily), no papal successor was appointed until 1271. During this interregnum, the sense of urgency that Clement had sought to instil in the crusaders quickly dissipated. With momentum lost, the departure was delayed until summer 1270. In the interim, renewed attempts were made to contact the Mongol Ilkhan Abaqa, and in March 1270 Charles of Anjou also took the cross.

  After Louis finally embarked from Aigues-Mortes in July 1270, his second crusade proved to be a pathetic anticlimax. For reasons that have never been satisfactorily explained, but may well have been related to the machinations of his scheming brother Charles, Louis detoured from his declared route to Palestine. Instead, he sailed to Tunis (in modern Tunisia), which was then ruled by an independent Muslim warlord, Abu Abdallah. The French king arrived in North Africa seemingly expecting Abu Abdallah to convert to Christianity and collaborate in an attack on Mamluk Egypt. When he failed to do so, plans for a direct assault on Tunis were laid–but the attack never came. In the midsummer heat, disease took hold in the crusader camp and, in early August, Louis himself fell ill. Over the course of three weeks his strength ebbed. On 25 August 1270, the pious crusader monarch Louis IX died, his final act a fruitless campaign far from the Holy Land. Legend has it that his last whispered words were ‘Jerusalem, Jerusalem’. The king’s dreams of recovering that sacred city had come to nothing, but his earnest devotion was unmistakeable. In 1297 Louis was canonised as a saint.15

  In the wake of Louis’ demise, efforts were made in mid-November to sail on to the Levant, but when a large portion of the fleet sank in a heavy storm, most Franks returned to Europe. Only Charles of Anjou gained from the whole affair, securing a treaty with Abu Abdallah that brought Sicily rich tribute payments. Edward of England, alone of the leading crusaders, refused to be turned from his purpose and insisted on continuing his journey to the Near East with a small fleet of thirteen ships.

  TIGHTENING THE NOOSE

  Some six months earlier, in May 1270, Baybars had returned to Cairo to prepare Egypt for King Louis’ expected invasion. He took this threat seriously, putting the Nile region on high alert, and later demolished the battlements at Ascalon and filled its harbour with rocks and timber to render it unusable. But that autumn, news of the French king’s death reached Cairo, bringing relief and leaving the sultan free to ready the Mamluk army for another campaign.

  The impregnable fortress

  In early 1271, Baybars marched north to target the remaining Latin outposts in the southern reaches of the Ansariyah range–once the border zone between Antioch and Tripoli. This area was dominated by a supposedly impregnable Hospitaller castle: Krak des Chevaliers. Since the crusades began, no Muslim commander had ever made a serious attempt to invest this fortress, perched on a steep-sloped ridge, dominating the surrounding region. Significantly strengthened by an extensive building programme earlier in the thirteenth century, Krak’s defences now stood as a perfect expression of cutting-edge Frankish castle technology. Yet even in the face of this seemingly insurmountable challenge, Baybars was not to be deterred. Arriving in force with an array of ballistic weaponry, he laid siege to the stronghold on 21 February.

  Krak could only be approached along the ridge from the south, and this was where the Hospitallers had positioned their sturdiest battlements: double walls, lined with hefty rounded towers; an inner moat, leading on to an angled glacis (sloping stone wall) to prevent sapping. Nonetheless, the Mamluks concentrated their bombardment in this sector and, after more than a month, the barrage eventually told, causing a section of the southern outer walls to collapse. This was not the end of the affair, because the Hospitallers were able to retreat to the inner ward–a compact citadel that was virtually indestructible. Realising that overcoming this keep would probably cost many Muslim troops their lives and would certainly result in structural damage to the castle itself, Baybars switched tactics. In early April he had a forged letter presented to the Latin garrison commander. This missive, purportedly from the Hospitaller master, instructed the knights to seek terms and surrender. It is not certain whether they really were duped by the sultan’s ruse, or merely seized upon this opportunity to capitulate with a modicum of honour. In any case, the Hospitallers submitted on 8 April 1271 and were granted safe passage to Tripoli. After this famous triumph, Baybars was said to have declared proudly that ‘these troops of mine are incapable of besieging any fort and leaving it [unconquered]’. Carefully repaired, Krak des Chevaliers became a Mamluk command centre in northern Syria.

  Fresh from his unprecedented success, the sultan amassed troops for a decisive assault on Tripoli. In May, Muslims swarmed over a number of outlying forts and, in a confident mood, Baybars again wrote to Bohemond VI, this time warning the count of Tripoli that chains had been readied for his incarceration. The sultan ordered the main advance on 16 May, but at that same moment he received a report of Lord Edward’s arrival with a crusader host at Acre. Unsure of the
precise level of threat posed to Palestine, Baybars called off the Tripolitan invasion and readily acceded to Bohemond’s pleas for truce, agreeing a ten-year peace.16

  The Lord Edward of England

  Travelling via Damascus, the sultan moved into northern Palestine, ready to counter an attack from Acre by Edward’s crusaders. It soon became clear, however, that the English prince had arrived with only a limited contingent of troops. Finding himself free to act, Baybars promptly laid siege to the castle of Montfort–the headquarters of the Teutonic Order, in the hills east of Acre. Once again, victory soon followed. After three weeks of heavy bombardment and sapping, the fortress surrendered on 12 June and, in this case, was then demolished.

  In July 1271, Edward mounted a short-lived incursion into Muslim territory east of Acre, but soon turned back when his soldiers fell ill, unaccustomed to the heat and the local food. This type of fleeting foray caused the sultan little concern. His main worry was the possibility of an alliance between the English crusaders and the Ilkhanid Mongols. In fact, Christian sources make it clear that, upon his arrival in the Levant, Edward immediately dispatched envoys to Abaqa, but it seems that no reply was forthcoming. Even so, that autumn–whether by coincidence or design–the Mongols and Latins managed to launch offensives that were roughly simultaneous. In October, Ilkhanid troops marched into northern Syria and ravaged the region around Harim. Meanwhile, in late November Edward mounted a second punitive raid into the area south-east of Caesarea. Neither attack was made in force, however, nor was any real determination shown, and, rather than lead in person, Abaqa sent one of his field commanders. Baybars was forced to redeploy a few mamluk divisions, but easily quelled these two minor incursions.

  With such limited resources at his disposal, there was little more that Edward could do. When fighting in the West he had proved himself to be a skilled general and a cold-blooded campaigner–qualities that would come to the fore during his reign as king of England–but Edward was given no real opportunity to exercise these talents in Palestine. Even so, the English crusade did benefit Outremer: halting the attack on Tripoli and prompting Baybars to re-evaluate his strategic priorities. The recent Ilkhanid offensive may have been repelled, but it seemed to presage a new era of Mongol aggression and highlighted the potential perils of an alliance between Abaqa and the Franks. With all this in mind, the sultan decided to buy security in Palestine, agreeing a ten-year truce with the kingdom of Jerusalem on 21 April 1272. The deal brought the Latins minor territorial concessions and a pledge of pilgrim access to Nazareth. Baybars was willing to use negotiation to neutralise the kingdom of Jerusalem, but he had already decided to employ more violent means to deal with the lingering and unpredictable threat posed by the Lord Edward.

  At some point during the preceding months, the sultan had hired an Assassin to murder the English crusader. Through a slow and painstaking deception, this Muslim gained entry into Acre–claiming to seek baptism–and then inveigled himself into Edward’s service. One evening in May he caught the crusader off guard in his chambers, and attacked him suddenly with a dagger. Reacting instinctively, Edward deflected the blow and the blade inflicted only a minor injury, perhaps to his hip. The assailant was cudgelled to death and, fearing that poison might have been involved, the English prince was immediately given an antidote. This may have been an unnecessary measure; in any case, after a few weeks’ convalescence, Edward was returned to health. Having survived his brush with death, he left the Near East in late September 1272.17

  Shifting focus

  With treaties in place binding the Franks to peace in Palestine and Tripoli, Baybars turned his attention to the Mongols. In late 1272 Abaqa launched another, more concerted, offensive that was driven back only after a series of hard-fought engagements in which Qalawun distinguished himself. The sultan now resolved to deal directly with the Ilkhanid problem. Rather than await further invasions, he decided to take the fight to his enemy–returning to Egypt, he began to lay plans for the most ambitious campaign of his career.

  In 1273 Baybars endured two distractions. For years, his disreputable sufi confidant Khadir al-Mirani had been a cause of irritation and suspicion for the sultan’s leading emirs. Khadir acquired a well-earned reputation for rampant sexual deviancy and rapacious adultery; he was also given to desecrating the sacred sites of other religions–causing significant damage to the likes of the Holy Sepulchre. In May 1273, the emirs finally pinned him down on irrefutable charges of embezzlement and forced the sultan to recognise his soothsayer’s crimes at a tribunal convened in Cairo. A death penalty was prescribed, but this soon was commuted to imprisonment when Khadir prophesied that his own death would be immediately followed by that of Baybars. In July that same year, the sultan also moved against the Assassins. The Isma‘ili Order had maintained a weakening presence on the western flanks of the Ansariyah range through the thirteenth century. Despite having called upon their services in 1272, Baybars now judged their continued independence to be unacceptable. Mamluk forces were thus detailed to seize possession of the Assassins’ remaining fortresses, including Masyaf, and from this point onwards the remnants of the Order were controlled by the sultanate.

  Beyond these minor diversions, Baybars trained the full force of his energy and resources in the mid-1270s towards the preparations for an attack on Ilkhanid territory. Rejecting a frontal strike on Iraq–probably on the grounds that Mamluk and Mongol forces were too evenly balanced for such a blunt strategy–the sultan carefully laid the foundations for an invasion of Asia Minor (now an Ilkhanid protectorate). In early 1277 he led his armies from northern Syria into Anatolia and there scored a startling success–defeating the Mongol host stationed in Asia Minor at Elbistan in April. Leaving behind some 7,000 enemy dead, Baybars immediately had himself proclaimed sultan of Anatolia, but his victory was short-lived. With another large Ilkhanid army on its way, the Mamluks were worryingly isolated and faced the prospect of being cut off from Syria. In a tacit acknowledgement that he had overstretched his forces, the sultan ordered a swift retreat. He had proved that the Mongol menace might be countered, but he had also to accept that they could not be decisively defeated on their own territory.

  Baybars’ determination to cripple Ilkhanid Persia had drawn him away from the war against the Franks. That struggle might still have been completed, but upon his return to Damascus in mid-June 1277 the sultan contracted a severe case of dysentery. One of his last acts was to dispatch a messenger, ordering the release of the soothsayer Khadir. On 28 July, Baybars, the Lion of Egypt, died. His message duly arrived in Cairo, but the pardon came too late. Khadir had already been strangled by Baraka, Baybars’ son and heir. Whether by chance, or through Baraka’s superstitious desire to hasten his father’s demise, Khadir’s prediction had come true.18

  Baybars–scourge of the Franks

  Sultan Baybars never achieved full victory in the struggle for mastery of the Holy Land. But in the course of his astonishing career he had defended the Mamluk sultanate and Islam against the Mongols and inflicted the most grievous damage upon the crusader states, causing wounds that surely would prove fatal. Historians have long recognised Baybars’ achievements in the jihad, highlighting the stark shift in policy heralded by his reign: the overturning of Ayyubid appeasement and détente; the uncompromising pursuit of war, albeit on two fronts. Less effort has been made to place the sultan in the context of the wider crusading era and to judge his methods and accomplishments alongside those of twelfth-century Muslim leaders.

  In a sense, Baybars mixed and perfected the modes of rule adopted by these forerunners. Like the atabeg Zangi, he used fear to pacify his subordinates and maintain military discipline. But Baybars also sought to secure the support and loyalty of his subjects by harnessing the inspirational power of religious devotion and by employing manipulative propaganda–techniques utilised by Nur al-Din and Saladin. In common with all three of these predecessors, Baybars–as a Kipchak mamluk–was an outsider; as they had done, he look
ed to legitimise his rule and dynasty, and to cultivate a reputation as Islam’s paramount mujahid.

  Even so, in many respects Baybars’ qualities and successes surpassed those of Zangi, Nur al-Din and even Saladin. The Mamluk sultan was a more attentive and disciplined administrator, alive in a way Saladin had never been to the financial realities of statecraft and war. At best, the Zangids and Ayyubids had imposed a fragile semblance of unity upon Near Eastern Islam–Baybars achieved near-hegemonic power over the Levant and created an unsurpassed and obedient Muslim army. Circumstance and opportunity undoubtedly played their parts, but perhaps, above all, it was Baybars’ personal traits that set him apart. During the seventeen years of his sultanate, his unbridled energy saw him travel some 25,000 miles, prosecuting thirty-eight campaigns. Martial genius brought him more than twenty victories against the Latins. Most crucially, the sultan was an unrelentingly ruthless adversary, whose ambition was not tempered by the humanity or compassion witnessed under Saladin. Undoubtedly a brutal, even callous, despot, Baybars nonetheless brought Islam closer than ever to triumph in the war for the Holy Land.

  TESTS AND TRIUMPHS

  Baybars intended the Mamluk sultanate to pass to his son and supposed co-ruler, Baraka, but he proved to be an inept successor, alienating the existing inner circle of mamluk emirs. An unruly power struggle followed, which saw Baraka overthrown and Qalawun emerge from the infighting to claim the title of sultan in November 1279. However, even then Qalawun was not able to assert full control over the Muslim Near East until 1281.19