In Distant Lands

by Lars Brownworth

  The attention of the army was diverted a few weeks later when messengers from the Fatimid Caliph,61 who badly misunderstood their motives, offered an alliance against the Turks. These overtures were ignored, and in late May the crusade crossed into Fatimid territory.

  The presence of a crusading army in the Holy Land horrified the Caliphate and excited the imaginations of the native Christians. When the crusade reached the little village of Emmaus, they were met by representatives from Bethlehem begging the crusaders to free them from Islamic control. Bohemond's nephew Tancred, who had remained with the army, was immediately sent with a small force and delivered the city.

  The entire population of Bethlehem appeared in procession, leading the elated crusaders to a nearby Church where they held a mass of thanksgiving. The city of Christ's birth was restored to Christian control – a sure sign that Jerusalem would be next. That night, a lunar eclipse confirmed the joyful interpretation. The Islamic crescent would soon be eclipsed as well.

  The next morning, the crusaders climbed a hill that they named the 'mount of joy', and saw at last what they had come so far for. In the distance, clearly visible through the morning heat, stretched the long walls of Jerusalem.

  The first sight of the Holy City reduced many of the crusaders to tears. They had braved horrendous conditions against overwhelming odds to reach this place. They had walked nearly three thousand miles through the scorching heat of deserts and the deep snow of mountain passes. They had been plagued by starvation and afflicted by water shortages so severe that they had had to drink their own urine or the blood of animals to survive. They had been weakened by disease, harassed by the enemy, and persecuted by internal dissension. But their faith had not broken, and they had finally arrived. Only one obstacle remained – to take the city itself.

  That was easier said than done. Jerusalem, like Antioch before it, was too large to be completely surrounded by their depleted forces, and in any case there was no time for a siege since the Fatimid army was well on the way. The governor of the city had stockpiled plenty of food, and – learning from Antioch's example – had expelled all Christians from the city.62 There was no traitor waiting to open the gates this time. Finally, the garrison had driven all flocks from the fields and poisoned most of the wells surrounding Jerusalem, forcing the crusaders to laboriously transport water from the Jordan River more than seventeen miles away. The only realistic option was to try to take the city quickly by storm.

  Unfortunately for the crusaders, their first attempt to do so was easily rebuffed. They lacked real siege equipment and the walls of Jerusalem, which had been built by the emperor Hadrian in the second century A.D., were far too large to be stormed. The failure was a bitter disappointment. The preceding day they had discovered an old hermit living on the Mount of Olives who informed them that any attack of theirs would succeed if their faith was strong enough. Now it seemed as if the belief that had carried them so far was no longer enough.

  Once again the crusade was saved by a miracle. Six English and Italian ships suddenly appeared in a nearby deserted port, carrying food and the iron parts necessary to build siege machines. A Muslim fleet was quickly sent to blockade the port, but the supplies were delivered, and there was much rejoicing in the camp. The wood needed to build the equipment was scarce – there were few trees on the bare Judean hills – so foragers were sent to bring back any they could find. A sufficient quantity was finally secured by Tancred in Samaria, and it took the better part of a month to drag enough logs the forty-two miles back to Jerusalem.

  The work was hot, tedious, and unforgiving. As the month of June passed, tempers between the leaders began to fray. Tancred, who had left his banner flying over the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem, insisted that he now had possession of both the town and the building. This was hotly contested by the other princes, who argued that such a holy site should not be under the control of a single person.

  Even more contentious were the arguments over Jerusalem. The princes suggested that one of their number should be picked as king, but they of course couldn't agree on who that should be. Both the clergy and the army unanimously opposed the idea of a king at all, arguing that no Christian could rightly claim a crown in the city where the King of Kings had lived.

  By early July, the disputes of their leaders and the unceasing danger and monotony of their work had caused the morale of many soldiers to flag again. Desertions, once unthinkable now that they were in sight of their goal, began to pick up as men trickled down to the coast and tried to book passage back to Europe. Things got so bad that once again divine intervention was needed.

  On July 6, a priest came forward to announce that he had been visited by the spirit of Adhemar. The beloved bishop had told the princes to knock off their bickering, and had informed the army that victory was within reach. They were instructed to fast and then walk barefoot around Jerusalem. If they did this with truly repentant hearts, then the city would fall within nine days. A three-day fast was immediately ordered for the entire army.

  On Friday, July 8, the Islamic garrison looked down from the walls with bemused curiosity as the entire crusading army formed a single column and began to march. The clergy bearing relics led the princes, knights, and infantry.63 Last of all came the non-combatants. All of them were barefoot, dressed as simple pilgrims, and studiously ignored the hooting from the walls.

  When they had completed the circuit of the walls, the entire host gathered on the Mount of Olives where Peter the Hermit delivered a fiery sermon. His gift of oratory had not dimmed in the long years since he had inflamed the peasants of France. All the princes, particularly Raymond and Tancred, were so inspired that they solemnly swore to put aside all differences and work together for the good of the crusade.

  Over the next five days, the final preparations were put in place. The finishing touches were put on the two formidable siege towers that they had built, and the massive structures were hauled as close as possible to the city walls. On July 14 the great assault began.

  By unanimous decision the two towers were placed under the command of Raymond and Godfrey respectively. Each spent the day trying to move the siege equipment into position. Raymond got his next to the wall first, but stubborn resistance by the defenders prevented him from breaching the wall. Godfrey's tower reached the wall by the morning of the 15th, but couldn't gain any headway either.

  By now both sides were growing desperate. The crusader's army was down to perhaps fifteen thousand men, less than half the number that had reached Asia Minor. The effort of moving the towers had exposed the western knights to the defender's arrows, stones, and Greek fire, a burning oil similar to napalm. The crusaders had suffered horrendous casualty rates, perhaps up to a quarter of the army that remained. If they failed to take the city now, then all hope was lost.

  The Sack of Jerusalem

  Just before noon on July 15, two Flemish knights from Godfrey's tower succeeded in leaping across to Jerusalem's ramparts. They were followed closely by Tancred, who would later claim that he had been the first knight inside, and managed to clear a section of the wall. Scaling ladders were immediately sent up, and within moments knights were pouring over. The Muslims wavered – there was still time to rally – but then a gate was opened and the entire crusading army surged inside.

  The scale of what happened next is difficult to assess. Certainly there was little resistance. Both sides understood that the conquering forces were entitled to put the population to the sword. Generally speaking, medieval populations who surrendered were allowed to live, while those who chose to resist were killed. This was the accepted practice of the day, adhered to by both Islamic and Christian armies. There were the usual scenes of savagery: men were flung from the walls or beheaded; others were pierced with arrows or pushed back into one of the various fires that were already raging.

  In the chaos, there was no hope of maintaining order. Tancred was the first crusader up the Temple Mount, and some of the Islamic survi
vors took refuge in the al-Aqsa mosque, hiding in the roof while he plundered the nearby Dome of the Rock. In exchange for a hefty ransom, the Norman allowed them to live, offering them his banner as a sign of protection. In the frenzied atmosphere, however, this was no guarantee. Early the next morning a group of crusaders forced their way in and butchered everyone.

  For two days the carnage continued as the city's valuables, buildings, and food were systematically claimed. Bodies were left where they had fallen, a serious concern in the summer heat, and the city reeked of the stench of death. Christian sources, eager to play up the scale of their victory, resorted to biblical language. The chronicler Raymond of Aguilers, in describing his visit to the Temple Mount, quoted Revelation, saying that the blood running through the streets reached the bridle of his horse.

  Though a complete violation of the Christian principles they claimed, by the rather brutal standards of the day, the crusaders would have been within their rights to have slaughtered the civilian population. Massively outnumbered in hostile territory with limited supplies and a large relief army approaching, it may even have been the prudent thing to do. But despite lurid tales to the contrary, some by the crusaders themselves, they appear to have done no such thing.

  Many of the citizens must have escaped. The crusaders lacked the numbers to surround the entire city, so the eastern and western walls had been left unguarded. Other survived through were ransom. The garrison of Jerusalem's citadel, realizing that the city was lost, surrendered to Raymond and was escorted to nearby Ascalon. Others paid heavy fines or were forced to turn over family heirlooms to buy their safety.

  There were plenty of moments where enterprising crusaders turned a quick profit. The Jewish quarter, which had been closest to the place the crusaders entered, was plundered, but rabbis were permitted to ransom back the stolen copies of the Torah. Those who looked rich – regardless of race or creed – were hustled to safety in hopes of a rich ransom to follow.

  The total number of the dead is virtually impossible to know, but contemporary Hebrew accounts put it around three thousand, hardly the homicidal massacre that is usually reported. The taking of Jerusalem, however, was fertile ground for legend, and myth quickly sprouted up. Christian sources, eager to embellish the penultimate event in a divinely approved triumph, played up the righteous slaughter. They embroidered their accounts with biblical descriptions of the torment and punishment of the wicked.

  The capture of Jerusalem may have been an earth-shatteringly important event for Christians, but Muslims largely ignored it. The first Islamic accounts of the sack didn't appear for nearly fifty years, and the vague mentions of it confirm a low casualty rate.64 But particularly in the generation after the First Crusade, the 'Franks' came to be seen as uncivilized barbarians by the Muslims, and the sack of Jerusalem was presented as the ultimate proof of their savagery. As such, tales about it grew increasingly violent. The main Synagogue of the city had been burned by the crusaders, but now four hundred Jews had been rounded up and locked inside first.65 By the thirteenth century, the death toll had risen to seventy-thousand Muslims, and the entire Jewish population had been wiped out.

  For the most part, these accounts have been uncritically accepted by moderns who view the sack of Jerusalem as a symbol of the monstrous hypocrisy of the Crusades. But whatever else it may have been, the capture of Jerusalem was not particularly cruel by the standards of the time.66

  Neither the existing Muslim nor the Jewish communities disappeared. A Jewish visitor the next year reported on a small but vibrant Jewish quarter. The Islamic population shrank, but later accounts that it was wiped out are contradictory. The Muslims were in fact put to work. The corpses in the streets posed a serious health risk and they were conscripted to drag them away.

  Defender of the Holy Sepulchre

  There were two vital tasks yet to be done. The first was to decide what to do with Jerusalem. The second, and by far the more pressing task, was to prepare for the Egyptian army that was on its way.

  In some ways the second question depended on the answer to the first. An overall strategy had to be made, defenses needed to be shored up and orders issued. This would be far more effectively done with a single firm hand than by committee. The trouble was that no one could agree on who that firm hand should be.

  It was much easier to decide who shouldn't have it. The Byzantine emperor had obviously disqualified himself – even Raymond now admitted as much – and the minor nobility could be dismissed. The obvious answer seemed to be the pope. Surely the Holy City ought to be ruled by the Church. But Urban was too far away, and his representative Adhemar was dead.67 The crusaders next turned to the native Orthodox population, but their highest ranking clergy – the Patriarch of Jerusalem – had died in exile a few days before the siege ended.

  There was no time to wait for instructions from Rome or the election of a new Patriarch. The Egyptian army was barely three weeks away, and the defense needed to be organized immediately. An emergency council was summoned and the princes decided to offer the crown to their most wealthy and powerful member – Raymond of Toulouse.

  It was a solid choice. Raymond had overseen the capture of Jerusalem and had a reputation for piety. He already controlled the citadel, and as Bohemond had proved at Antioch, it would be difficult to evict him against his will. In addition, while he was too arrogant to be popular with his fellow nobles, he was respected as an energetic and personally courageous soldier.

  This would be the culmination of Raymond's career – the triumphant moment that made all of the previous humiliations worth it. He was determined to savor it. Knowing that the offer would be insisted upon, he piously refused, explaining that he wouldn't wear a crown of gold in the city where Christ had worn one of thorns. This humble response was well received, but to his horror the offer wasn't repeated. Instead the council asked Godfrey of Bouillon, who was clever enough to reject the crown but take the city.

  In some ways this was a strange pick. Godfrey had never shown particular devotion to the Church, and had in fact even actively fought against the pope on one occasion.68 But he was popular with the bulk of the army, and it had been his tower that had first breached the walls and made the capture of Jerusalem possible. With an Islamic relief force approaching and the prospects of yet another grim siege, the gallant Godfrey would be able to maintain both the morale and loyalty of the rank and file.

  The question of his actual title was important because Godfrey wanted to preserve the view that he was only holding the city on behalf of an as yet ill-defined spiritual authority. He initially took the title of Princeps, but seems to have later settled on Advocatus Sancti Sepulchri – Defender of the Holy Sepulcher.

  Securing the Kingdom

  Whatever he called himself, Godfrey's first task was to deal with Raymond. The prince's fury at the turn of events can easily be imagined. In a rage, he refused to acknowledge Godfrey or hand over control of the citadel. This petulance threatened the very existence of Christian Jerusalem. Without control of the central military stronghold of the city, Godfrey's authority would be badly weakened. The other nobles pleaded with Raymond, explaining that unity was needed in the face of the approaching army. But the count was unmoved. He had been cheated and needed an independent judge to hear his case. The best the other crusaders could do was to get him to agree to turn over the citadel to the care of a bishop until a church council could be convened to hear the case.

  Even this proved to be a mistake. The moment Raymond turned his back, the bishop turned it over to Godfrey. The count was thunderstruck. Concluding that everyone was out to get him, he pulled all of his troops from the city and left, vowing never to return. Godfrey and the rest of the schemers could have their triumph and choke on it.

  Virtually the same instant that Raymond was marching out of the gates, envoys from the Fatimid army were entering them. They carried a message from the Caliph, rebuking the Christians for attacking Jerusalem and ordering them to leave Pales
tine. His mighty army, led by the vizier, was nearly upon them. The newly born Kingdom of Jerusalem was about to be crushed in its cradle.

  Godfrey took quick action. The fortifications of the city were in good shape, but the crusading army was too depleted to last for long. Runners were sent speeding to every possible ally – including Raymond – to beg them to return.

  All things considered, the envoys found the count in a relatively good mood. To keep a promise he had made at Antioch, he had marched down to the Jordan River with his men and bathed in the waters. He had then decamped to Jericho where he was making half-hearted preparations to return home. The news that he was anxiously needed was gratifying – and to Raymond obvious – but at first he demurred, saying that he wanted to confirm the danger first.

  The delay actually worked to the crusaders’ advantage. Faced with dwindling resources and too few men to mount an effective resistance, Godfrey decided to leave the city and confront the Fatimid army in the field. A skeleton force was left in the care of Peter the Hermit, who was directed to lead the entire remaining population of the city in services of intercession for a Christian victory. Raymond, whose own reconnaissance had assured him that the threat was real, rejoined the army on August 10, and marched the forty miles southwest to the port of Ascalon where the Fatimid army was encamped. At dawn the next morning, they attacked.