Eventually, the promise of money and control over Damietta triumphed over the unpleasantness of cutting deals with non-believers. In return for the ransom they had already raised, Louis IX and most of the upper nobility were released. Incredibly, even then the French king refused to admit defeat. Many of his men were still in captivity, and he could not in good conscience return home and abandon them. He had, after all, made a solemn vow to help Outremer. He released his vassals from their oaths and announced that he was sailing to the Holy Land to give it whatever aid he could. Accompanied by about a thousand knights, he traveled to Acre.
St. Louis in Outremer
His arrival provided a study in contrast with Frederick II's recent visit. When the royal barge pulled into the harbor, it was greeted by the Patriarch and the entire population of the city, cheering as if welcoming a conquering hero. There was, in fact, a lot that he could do. Although he came with only a thousand knights, his reputation more than compensated for his military weakness. Unlike the emperor, he had the respect and obedience of all of Outremer, who saw in him the only figure in the East with the moral authority to lead.
Success came almost immediately. Exploiting the usual disagreements between Egypt and Syria, Louis cleverly offered to ally with the Mamluks in exchange for the release of all the remaining Christian prisoners. The Egyptians agreed, hinting that they would also be open to turning over Jerusalem if enough aid was given. The resulting war wasn't long enough to find out if the Mamluks were serious, but Louis IX had at least fulfilled his promise to rescue his men.
With the vast majority of his crusading army disbanded, Louis IX lacked the strength to make any serious gains for Outremer, so he concentrated on consolidating the existing territory. New castles were constructed, walls repaired, and lines of communication improved – all at his own expense. He was almost feverish in his desire to help, reluctant, despite the almost daily letters begging him to return home, to even contemplate leaving the Holy Land.
By the end of 1253, however, even Louis had to admit that there was little more that he could do. The coastal land still in Christian control was as well protected and efficiently run as he could make it, and a ten-year peace had been secured with the Mamluks. What was needed now was a major crusade to expand its borders. He had been away from his kingdom for six long years, far more than had reasonably been expected to fulfill his crusading vow. It was past time to return home. Yet, even now he did so reluctantly. Before he sailed away, he offered one final act of charity. A permanent garrison of a hundred knights was established for Acre, to be maintained and provisioned in perpetuity by the French crown.
Despite the nightmarish start, Louis had succeeded in partially salvaging his crusade. He had left the Holy Land in a stronger position than he had found it, an accomplishment that no crusader other than Richard the Lionheart had managed. Yet for all that, his conscience still troubled him. God hadn't found him a worthy instrument to redeem Jerusalem. His conclusion was that his own shortcomings – particularly pride – had been responsible. If he could rule France with a truly Christian care for justice and the poor, perhaps God would grant him another chance.
Chapter 20: Prester John
“In all the kinds of riches in the world our greatness abounds and excels.”
– Letter of Prester John to the emperor of Constantinople139
After his return, King Louis IX kept a watchful eye on the East. Affairs of state kept him pinned down in France, but he dutifully sent money and supplies to Outremer as frequently as he could, and watched for an opportunity to return. He was among the first, therefore, to get reports of a most wonderful development. At long last, Prester John was on the move.
Rumors of a great Christian king in the east had been circulating in Western Europe since at least the days of the Second Crusade. Although details varied wildly, most agreed that he was a descendant of one of the wise men who had been present at the Nativity.
It was also known that he was a Nestorian, a member of a schismatic branch of Christianity that recognized neither the authority of the pope nor of the Patriarch of Constantinople. Far to the east of Persia, he ruled a fabulously wealthy kingdom as a priest-king, and had begun to marshal his armies to evict the Muslim occupiers of Jerusalem.
Reports of these activities were credible enough for Pope Alexander III to have written him a letter in the build up to the Third Crusade to explore the possibility of working together. The fact that none of the messengers ever returned – or that Prester John repeatedly failed to show up in Jerusalem – did nothing to dent the belief in Christendom's great eastern savior.140
Then, in the thirteenth century, electrifying reports started to trickle in. The Bishop of Acre reported to Rome that the Muslim armies had suffered a great defeat to the east and were fleeing in terror. These were soon confirmed by yet more stories of Islamic collapse, armies shattered, and cities blackened. Then in 1258 came the most dramatic confirmation of all. Baghdad, the magnificent capital of the Abbasid Caliphate, was completely annihilated.141 The great library was burned, the citizens – some ninety thousand or more – were butchered, and the Caliph was rolled up into a carpet and trampled to death.
There were many who saw God's hand in the destruction. Over the past six centuries, Islamic armies had conquered three quarters of the Christian world; now at last there would be justice. Prester John would sweep away the occupiers and usher in a new age of peace and prosperity.
Something, however, seemed off about this irresistible Christian army. When it entered Syria it was indeed led by a Nestorian general named Kitbuqa, but he seemed to draw no distinction between Islamic enemies and friendly Christian powers. The Prince of Antioch was forced to become a vassal, and threatened with death if he refused. Aleppo and Damascus were spared because they surrendered, and ambassadors were sent to Cairo demanding the immediate surrender of Egypt.
When Pope Innocent IV wrote to ask why they had attacked Christian lands, he was informed that anyone who didn't recognize the authority of their leader would be annihilated. This reply stunned the courts of Europe. This wasn't at all how Prester John was supposed to behave.
Perhaps a secular leader would have more luck. King Louis IX attempted to open negotiations, offering to settle whatever theological differences they had, and join forces against the common Islamic enemy, but was coldly told that their goal was to increase their own power, not share it with allies. If he really wanted to be useful, they continued, he would spare them the bother of invading by surrendering France now and sending an annual tribute.
By now it was clear to everyone that the new arrivals had nothing whatsoever to do with Prester John. The legend itself was a mixture of wishful thinking, a garbled version of several half-remembered facts, and a shaky grasp of geography. There was actually a large Christian kingdom to the east of Europe, but it was in Ethiopia. In addition, there were Nestorian communities scattered as far east as India, but they were only tiny minorities among the populations in which they lived.
In reality, these invaders were the Mongols, a people from the steppes of central Asia who had already built the largest empire in history. Led by the warlord Genghis Khan, a military genius who was born – so the rumors held – clutching a fistful of blood, they seemed determined to destroy all civilization. True barbarians in every sense of the word, the Mongols were absolutely terrifying, often attacking for what appeared to be the pure joy of battle. Their habits were disgusting to the more civilized states around them. For sustenance they ate any animal from oxen to rats and dogs, and even – if we are to believe a contemporary source – lice and human blood.
Unlike other conquerors, their mission seemed one of pure destruction. Cities that resisted them simply ceased to exist. In Russia they buried rebellious nobles under a wooden platform and held a feast on top while the screaming men were slowly crushed to death. In Asia they forced the inhabitants of a doomed town to assemble outside the walls and listen while each Mongol soldier
was given a battle-axe and a quota of how many of them he had to kill.
This was not just barbaric savagery. Terror was a tool to soften up resistance. Piles of skulls were raised, bags of ears were dumped out, and boastful exaggerations of the number of corpses were spread, all in the service of making the next conquest that much easier.142 From the Black Sea to the Pacific Ocean the Mongol armies proved quite irresistible.
Baybars
When they reached Egypt, however, they finally met their match. The vicious Mamluk sultan Baybars executed the Mongol envoys that demanded his surrender, gathered his army, and marched north to confront the invaders.
His timing couldn't have been better. The same moment Baybars was leaving Cairo, word reached the Mongol commander – Ghengis Khan's grandson Hulagu – that the Great Khan had died. Since Hulagu was a main candidate to inherit the empire, he immediately started on the four-thousand-mile journey home, taking most of the army with him.
Baybars met what was left of the Mongol army at Ayn Jalut in southeastern Galilee near the present-day Israeli village of Yizre’el on September 3, 1260, and decisively beat them. It was the first time that anyone on three continents had managed to stop a Mongol advance, and it shattered their myth of invincibility. Though they would remain a dangerous force for years to come, the spell of absolute fear that they had cast had been effectively broken.
The victory gave Outremer valuable breathing room, but instead of using it to strengthen their defenses, the nobles began fighting amongst themselves. The worst offenders were the military orders, which were ceaseless in their attempts to undermine each other. It was a point of pride for Templars and Hospitallers never to agree, and they would often quarrel violently, occasionally even resorting to open warfare.
None of this helped the stability of the kingdom. The Mongol conquests had opened up new trade routes to the north,143 and as the southern routes declined, the economy of Outremer began to collapse.
The Islamic world, meanwhile, had never been more unified. The battle of Ayn Jalut had given it a figure to rally around, and Baybars had since gone from strength to strength. The year after the battle he captured Damascus, crushing the last credible Muslim threat to his authority. He then embarked on his lifelong mission, a jihad to eradicate Christianity from the Middle East. No mercy or compromise was possible. He would set the example himself. Whenever and wherever he came across Christians he made it a point to kill or enslave them.
His first target was Nazareth, where he burned the cathedral to the ground. He then moved to Caesarea and raided up and down the coast. Everywhere he went, he acted with a savagery that matched the Mongols. When he besieged a Templar fortress in northern Israel, he promised to spare the knight's lives if they surrendered. As soon as the gates were opened, his soldiers burst inside, slaughtering every single resident. When his army showed up at Antioch, it proceeded to massacre the entire population, including women and children. It was by far the worst civilian bloodbath of the entire crusading era and shocked even the Muslim chroniclers.
Baybars, however, was only acting as he had said he would. His only regret, he claimed, was that the crusader prince of Antioch, Baldwin IV, wasn't there to share the city's fate. He wrote the prince a gloating letter, detailing the scenes of carnage that Baldwin had missed, taking special care to note the noble women who had been raped and the various holy men whose throats he had cut.
Antioch, one of the greatest cities of the ancient and medieval worlds, which had once borne the name of Queen of the East, was destroyed, never to recover. It seemed only a short matter of time before the rest of Outremer joined it.
Chapter 21: The Last Crusade
“Fix your whole heart upon God, and love him with all your strength…”
– Louis IX to his son144
Once, mere threats to crusader states had been enough to launch crusades to save them. Now, the fall of one of the oldest barely registered in Europe. There was a growing feeling that the situation was hopeless – Outremer had seemed on the verge of collapse for generations. There were much more pressing concerns closer to home, and in any case, what was left of crusading energy was being spent elsewhere. The Reconquista was well under way in Spain, and new efforts were being launched against the pagans of the northern Baltic.
Virtually the only monarch who seemed to care at all was King Louis IX of France. Now in his mid-fifties and increasingly frail, the king had never given up his great dream of saving the Holy Land. When he announced that he was once again taking the cross, the upper nobility was horrified. To plan such an expedition now seemed like the height of stupidity. Louis had been a model king, governing the kingdom with what was by now a legendary concern for justice. France was efficiently run, stable, and remarkably prosperous. Why risk all that for a doomed project that involved huge risks and few potential rewards? Crusading was noble enough in a young king out to prove his faith and mettle, but Louis IX had already done his bit. There was no sense in throwing away all he had built on a foolhardy adventure.
The court did their best to discourage Louis. To a man they opposed his plans, begging him not to go. The king's iron will, however, had not softened with age. Not only did he begin preparations immediately, but he also forced his extremely reluctant younger brother, Charles of Anjou, to accompany him.
Charles already had quite an impressive resume. As calculating as his brother was pious, he had adroitly turned himself from a relatively minor noble of Provence into one of the major figures of Europe. His great opportunity had come in 1262 when the death of Frederick II's son left the throne of Sicily disputed. The pope offered it to Charles after Louis had rejected it, and Charles jumped at the chance. It took him four years of methodical campaigning, but by 1266 he had crushed all opposition and installed himself as King of Sicily.
In addition to a natural cynicism about crusading, Charles was reluctant to join his brother because he had his eye on other prizes. The emirate of Tunis was both weak and tantalizingly close to Sicily. At the other end of the Mediterranean lay the aging Byzantine Empire that had reconquered Constantinople in 1261, but was ripe for conquest. If Charles would only be given adequate time to prepare, he could soon become an emperor, and take his natural place as the leading figure in Europe.
He was not an emperor yet, however, and the galling fact remained that his current crown was of lower prestige than his brother's. There was nothing to do but grit his teeth and join Louis on crusade. At least Charles could take comfort in the fact that he wasn't the only monarch who was pressured into joining. The Spanish king James I of Aragon, and Henry III of England had both sat out on the Seventh Crusade and were persuaded to contribute to the effort.
In the high summer of 1270, Louis IX left on his second crusade. He had prepared magnificently and meticulously, surpassing even his own effort of two decades earlier. The fleet sailed in good order to Sardinia, where he was planning to link up with the other royal participants. When he reached the island, however, there was no one there to greet him. His brother was still making last minute preparations, the Spanish fleet had been wrecked en route, and Henry III had officially bowed out, though he promised to send his son Edward Longshanks in his place.
This was a setback, but not a particularly major one. It had always been Louis' crusade, and he would see it through with or without help. The only really surprising thing was his choice of targets.
Everyone, including the Egyptian sultan, Baybars, had assumed that Damietta would once again be the objective, but Louis surprisingly chose Tunis instead. This was clearly the influence of his brother Charles who – if he couldn't avoid the crusade – was now determined to use it to his advantage. Tunis, a relatively weak state directly across from Sicily, was led by an emir who was supposedly open to conversion. It was hardly a secret that Charles coveted it since it would both secure Sicily's flank and allow him to dominate the western Mediterranean. He had sold the plan to his brother by convincing Louis that the conquest of Tunis
would provide a solid base for striking Egypt while at the same time weakening Islamic morale.
Whatever the merits of this plan, it started smoothly enough. The French army landed in the stifling heat of mid July and easily brushed aside the force sent to stop them. They marched up the coast in good order and made camp on the outskirts of what had been the ancient city of Carthage.
The high summer, however, was not an ideal time to be campaigning in North Africa. The searing temperatures mixed with swarms of mosquitoes and poor drinking water led to an outbreak of dysentery, which severely weakened the army. With conditions deteriorating, the king decided to wait for the arrival of Charles, who was said to be on the way.
This proved to be a mistake, as the miseries of poor sanitation were soon added to the brutal heat and mounting disease. Soldiers began dying in droves, and still there was no sign of Charles. Louis IX's oldest son and heir, Philip, was struck down, and while he was incapacitated, another son named John died. The loss deflated Louis. John had been born in Egypt during the Seventh Crusade, and his death seemed an obvious sign of divine displeasure. Once again, he was being judged and found unfit.
A few days later, Louis himself fell ill, and within days it was clear he wouldn't recover. On August 24th, he rallied enough to ask for the penitential white robes of a new convert, and to be laid on a bed of ashes. That night he sank into a final fever, and died the next morning with the word 'Jerusalem!' on his lips. He had been in Tunis for a grand total of thirty-five days.
That afternoon, Charles arrived to find his brother dead and the army in complete disarray. He made the sensible decision to cut his losses and immediately opened diplomatic negotiations with the emir. Characteristically, he managed to make an excellent deal for himself. In exchange for withdrawing from Tunis, the emir would pay a huge sum to the Sicilian kingdom, and agree to certain trade concessions.
In Distant Lands Page 23
