by Robert Payne
Richard announced that he was prepared to parlay with Saladin. He would return the prisoners in exchange for the True Cross, the Christian captives, and a large ransom. Saladin temporized. He sent costly presents and hoped to prolong the argument until fresh troops came up and a sudden descent on the Christian forces would decide the issue once and for all. Richard demanded that a list of important Christian captives should be supplied to him. Saladin possessed such a list but refused to supply it. The terms of surrender, which had been accepted by the garrison in Acre, seemed to Saladin to be merely the basis for an agreement to be arrived at later. Richard had set a time limit: the exchange of prisoners was to take place within a month. A month passed: the ransom money had not been received, the Christian prisoners had not been released; and though Christian ambassadors had been allowed to see the True Cross, which was hidden away in the treasury somewhere within Saladin’s camp, its surrender had not taken place. Saladin was temporizing so obviously now that Richard lost all patience. He could not leave the prisoners in Acre and he could not take them with him to Jaffa, which lay seventy miles to the south. Jaffa was the seaport of Jerusalem, and would serve as a supply base for an attack on the Judaean hills. Richard decided that Saladin had no intention of keeping the agreement, and deserved exemplary punishment. On the morning of August 20, he ordered the killing of all the prisoners. He himself directed the massacre which took place a few miles from Acre on a hill called Ayyadieh. Richard’s butchery was deliberately carried out in full view of the Muslim army. More than three thousand men, women, and children were killed on the hill of Ayyadieh. It was a remarkably clear summer day, and Saladin, from his field headquarters on the second range of hills, could see everything that was happening on Ayyadieh. He saw the parade of armored knights and thousands of infantrymen, and he saw the long train of Muslim prisoners bound together with ropes. Then he saw the flashing of swords and axes and lance heads, and the prisoners falling.
His army saw what he saw, and went charging down the hills, howling for revenge. But it was too late. The massacre had been conducted expeditiously; there were no survivors. Though the Muslims charged again and again, they were turned back. There came a rumor that many of the prisoners had swallowed gold coins, and while some of the Anglo-Normans were fighting off the Muslims, others were slitting open the bodies to find the gold. In the afternoon Richard simply abandoned the hill, and his army marched back in the direction of Acre. He had choreographed the massacre to the last detail. He was not surprised to hear that Saladin had made no effort to follow him.
Of all Richard’s actions, the massacre was the most terrible. The portrait of the chivalrous Crusader king who behaved always with courtesy has no foundation in fact: At Ayyadieh, he employed the tactics of terror in the modern way, with efficiency, cunning, and a sense of drama. Still, we should remember that massacre was the order of the day, and when the Saracens captured a fortress they were accustomed to massacring the captives, except for the leading knights, whose lives would be saved by the offer of a ransom. An unwritten code of war demanded that high officers on both sides were treated with courtesy and gentility, while the rest were treated like animals fit only for slaughter.
All that night the Muslim soldiers could be heard wailing over the headless corpses of the men, women, and children who had bravely withstood the siege of Acre for two years.
All hope of regaining the True Cross vanished after the massacre; it was rumored that Saladin, who had long been carrying it for safekeeping in his treasury, sent it to Damascus, where it was said to be buried under the portals of the chief mosque. The Christian prisoners held in Damascus were killed at Saladin’s orders.
At dawn on August 24, Richard led his army out of Acre. Provisions for his troops, his siege engines, and the heavier instruments of war were carried by his ships, which sailed slowly, close to the shore.
A Famous
Victory
THE army that moved along the coastal road to Jaffa was one of the most powerful the Crusaders had ever put in the field. It numbered about eighty-five thousand men, who were well armed and well equipped; but it was powerful mainly because it was under the protection of the fleet, because it was well organized, and because it was under the influence of a single well-wrought military mind. Richard and his general staff had thought out the problems of marching along the coastal road, knowing that an equally large Saracen army would be marching inland parallel to the Crusaders. There would be skirmishes and harassing attacks all along the way. There would be attempts to cut through the army, to separate its various parts, and to inflict damage where it was weakest. Richard, therefore, had to provide an order of march such that no part would be weaker than any other, and at the same time he had to arrange his troops so that they could take battle positions at a few moments’ notice. In all this he succeeded brilliantly.
It is one of the few occasions when we can observe his mind working quietly and dispassionately. No doubt he had the assistance of the Templars, who were famous both for their daring and for their mastery of tactics. Since he had never previously traveled these roads, he relied on the experience of travelers, studied maps, and interrogated prisoners. His army was organized in twelve brigades and grouped in five divisions; each brigade included cavalry and infantry. They marched in three columns. On the right, near the seashore, were the pack animals and the human carriers, for there was never enough animal power and human beings could be made to carry enormous burdens. In the center rode the cavalry, and on the left the infantry. The Hospitallers and Templars formed the advance guard and rear guard. Richard rode up and down the lines as he pleased. The army had rested after the fall of Acre, and the men were in good spirits.
Baha ad-Din, the friend and chronicler of Saladin, watched Richard’s army from the high ground and could not conceal his admiration for its discipline and order. Here he is describing what he saw on August 31, 1191, when he took part in a hit-and-run attack by Saladin’s light cavalry:
. . . the Moslems sent in volleys of arrows from all sides, deliberately trying to irritate the knights and force them to come out from behind the wall of infantry. But it was all in vain. The knights kept their temper admirably and went on their way without the least hurry, while their fleet sailed along the coast parallel with them until they arrived at their camping ground for the night.
They never marched a long stage, for they had to spare the foot-soldiers. Half of the infantry, when not actually engaged, carried the baggage and the tents, for there was a great lack of beasts of burden. It was impossible not to admire the patience shown by these people. They bore crushing fatigue, even though they had no proper military administration and derived no personal advantage. And so they finally pitched their camp on the farther side of the river of Caesarea.
Baha ad-Din’s testimony to the solidity and fortitude of the Crusader army obviously reflects the opinion of Saladin, who had prepared what he hoped would be an ambush in which the entire army would be destroyed. Meanwhile, there were incessant skirmishes. By this time Saladin had acquired some Nubian troops, who, unarmed except for scimitars and shields, had a way of slipping into the camps at night and doing much damage. But the chief damage, as usual, came from the lightly armed cavalry, who swooped down whenever they saw an opportunity. Mostly they attacked the rear guard, where it was easier to pick off the lame, the halt, and the wounded.
The army marched only in the early hours of the morning, for about three hours. They seldom made more than eight or ten miles a day, and on alternate days they rested in camp. They encountered no fortresses, for Saladin had destroyed the fortifications of the captured towns and castles. The progress of this large, steady, well-oiled and relentless machine was so slow that it took nineteen days to cover the eighty miles between Acre and Jaffa. Once Jaffa had been fortified, the army would march inland and try to conquer Jerusalem.
At one time, the coastal road had been a great paved highway that allowed carts and chariots to drive qui
ckly from Acre to Jaffa and beyond. Built by the Romans, paved with local stone from the hills, it had represented imperial power. Now it was lost under the burning white sand or appeared as little more than a track through the dry bush. The foot soldiers were scratched and torn by thorns, their faces were cut by the thick reed-forests growing along the shore, or they fell up their knees in soft sand. Though there were no dangerous animals, there were dangerous insects. The Crusaders were attacked at night by tarantulas, which stung them and left a painful swelling. The knights could go to the doctors, who prepared sweet oils and balms that healed the swellings. The foot soldiers could not afford these unguents, but found a simpler way to deal with tarantulas. Someone discovered that tarantulas detested loud noises, and so they made the night miserable with the banging of drums, clashing of helmets, and the beating of basins, caldrons, and whatever metallic objects lay at hand. There was very little sleep during those nights when the tarantulas came out of the ground.
Sometimes, too, the nights were made sleepless with prayers. It was the custom, once they had settled down for the night, to send one of the king’s heralds among the tents with the cry, “Sanctum Sepulchrum, adjuva!” “On hearing these words,” says the chronicler, “the whole multitude would take up the cry, stretching out their hands to heaven and with copious tears praying God for aid and mercy.” Usually the herald would make the same cry three times, and there would be the answering cry from the thousands in the camp. But sometimes, especially at moments of grave danger, there would be cries and prayers all through the night.
The decisive battle took place on September 7, 1191, at Arsuf, not far from the half-ruined town of Caesarea, as the army wandered over the sand dunes in the direction of Jaffa, about thirty miles away. More than half the journey was done. Here at Arsuf the wooded hills came down to the sea, providing deep cover for the Saracens, who expected to burst upon the Christians and cut them to pieces. Richard was forewarned. He had studied the topography of the region, and he had long since regarded Arsuf as the place where he would expect to stand and fight. Although weary of skirmishing, he was in good spirits, and looking forward to battle. His men were perhaps less ardent, for a surprisingly large number were coming down with fever, and the Templars were complaining that so many of their horses were crippled by arrows that they could scarcely be expected to mount a charge.
That morning, Richard issued a proclamation throughout the camp that he expected to do battle during the day. He ordered the Templars in the vanguard; then came the Bretons and Angevins; then the Poitevins under King Guy; then the Anglo-Normans in the center around the cart bearing the royal standard; and the Hospitallers brought up the rear, the most dangerous position of all. The duke of Burgundy and some French knights rode up and down the line, to see that the troops maintained the positions assigned to them. Henry of Champagne was charged with the duty of keeping close to the hills, to watch for the moment when the Saracens would emerge, and to signal the rest of the army.
The Saracens came out of the woods with a noise like Doomsday: clarions, horns, trumpets, gongs, cymbals, high-pitched yells, all intended to exalt their own spirits and terrify their enemy. This first attack came shortly before nine o’clock. The main charge was directed at the Hospitallers in the rear guard, but the whole army felt the weight of the attack. At first there were foot soldiers, Negroes, Nubians, and Bedouin, shooting arrows and hurling javelins, throwing themselves on the first line of infantry, who were shaken but held their positions with bolts from their crossbows as they protected the cavalry. Then it was the turn of the Saracen cavalry, armed with axes, swords, and lances. They raised a cloud of dust that obscured the sky. There came wave after wave of them, until there seemed to be no more room. “For the space of two miles,” writes the author of the Itinerarium, “you could not see as much earth as could be taken up in one’s hand, so numerous were the Turks in that place.” The sheer weight of numbers on the narrow shore threatened to drive the Christians into the sea. All the time the Christians were pressing forward on their march to Jaffa. The hammering of the Hospitallers in the rear guard continued. Saladin’s aim was to chop it to pieces or to halt its forward march, thus cutting it off from the main body of the troops. Once a gap was formed, the process of cutting up the army could be continued indefinitely. Richard was determined to keep the army in one piece at all costs. The crossbowmen in the rear guard fought while marching backward, their faces turned to the enemy. But men cannot walk backward at the same pace they march forward, and there was the danger that the rear guard, moving at an alarmingly slow pace, would open up a gap that could never be filled except by the enemy. The fighting here was at such close quarters that the sound of battle, according to the chronicler, was like the battering of countless hammers upon blacksmiths’ anvils. The Hospitallers sent messengers to Richard, begging for permission to unleash their cavalry on the enemy, pointing out that there might not be any horses left unless they acted now, for so many of them had been brought down by enemy arrows. Richard refused to listen to the messengers. He wanted his cavalry intact until he would let them all loose.
It was a day of cloudless skies and terrible heat, and the Hospitallers were beside themselves with fear that the battle would be lost unless the cavalry mounted a charge. Gamier of Nablus, Master of the Hospitallers, was impelled to seek out the king. “My lord king,” he said. “We are being violently oppressed by the enemy and in danger of eternal infamy, if we lack the courage to answer them blow for blow! As it is, we shall soon lose all our horses! Why should we endure them any more?” “My good Master,” replied the king, “it must be endured, for we cannot be everywhere at once.” This exchange, recorded in the Itinerarium, has a truthful ring. For Richard, endurance was everything. He was still determined that the knights should hold back so that they could deliver the coup de grâce at a moment chosen by him.
In the Christian army orders were delivered by trumpet blasts. There were two trumpeters with the vanguard, two at the center, and two in the rear guard. The trumpet notes for a general charge by the cavalry were well known, and every cavalryman was listening for them. But they were not heard. Two of the Hospitallers, including the marshal and an Anglo-Norman knight called Baldwin of Carron, decided in a fury of impatience to act as though the trumpeters had already sounded the advance. They forced their way through the infantry, shouted “St. George!” at the top of their voices, and hurled themselves at the enemy.
At this particular moment, the lightly armed Saracen cavalry had dismounted so that they could aim more accurately at the infantry, and the knights plowed through them with swords and lances, while the infantry, coming after them, like modern foot soldiers with fixed bayonets following closely behind heavily armored tanks, cut off the heads of the unmounted cavalrymen. Richard’s order to wait for the trumpet blasts had been disobeyed, but he showed no anger. He joined the Hospitallers. “Then the king, the fierce, the extraordinary king, cut down the Turks in every direction, and none could escape the force of his arm, for wherever he turned, brandishing his sword, he carved a wide path for himself.” Richard had a habit of throwing himself into the thick of battle with a recklessness rarely to be found in a commander in chief. He had an exceptionally long reach and that helped him to keep his adversaries at a proper distance. He was riding Fauvel, the famous bay horse that had once belonged to Isaac Comnenus, and he was riding it harder than he had ever ridden it before.
There were more charges and countercharges, but after the Hospitaller cavalry broke through the protecting wall of infantry, the issue was never in doubt. Seven thousand Saracens were slain; the Crusaders lost perhaps a thousand men.
The battle was won when the Saracens fled back into the woods. Some of them hid in the branches of trees, and the crossbowmen amused themselves by shooting them down. Yet the strategical advantages of the victory were few compared with the psychological advantages. Saladin’s army remained intact; he could, and would, continue to harass the Christians. Bah
a ad-Din records that Saladin was deeply disturbed by his defeat, withdrawing into himself, keeping strangely silent, scarcely moving, sunk in prolonged meditations. He seemed not to hear his emirs when they attempted to comfort him.
The Christians reached the small seacoast village of Arsuf without any further fighting. There they rested for a whole day before setting out for Jaffa. The harassment by the light cavalry continued until they reached the walls of Jaffa; here, at last, the Crusaders could really rest. The Christian army encamped in an olive grove just outside the walls because the city of Jaffa had been destroyed by Saladin.
Marches and
Countermarches
NEVER again would Richard score such a resounding victory over Saladin. From this height there would be only a downward passage. Richard would soon realize that a victory for him did not mean defeat for Saladin, who could call upon inexhaustible resources in men and treasure; Richard would realize, too, that all victories in the Holy Land were precarious.
