Download PDF | Conor Kostick - The Siege of Jerusalem_ Crusade and Conquest in 1099-Continuum (2009).
226 Pages
Preface
Tuesday, 7 June 1099. A crowd of gaunt people was gathered on a hill watching the brightening eastern sky. About a mile away the walls and buildings of a city became more distinct in the dawn light. Everyone had stumbled through the darkness of the previous night to reach this point. Just as the skylarks, finches, swallows and swifts greeted the new day with their distinctive songs, so too the crowd now began to mutter in a range of voices: prayers whispered in all the languages and dialects of Christendom.
As the light grew stronger, the crowd became more distinct. Here, an archer, with an unstrung bow over his shoulder. There, a leather-clad spearman, leaning on his weapon as a stave. And among those ready for war could be seen a surprising number of unarmed people, including priests, nuns, women and children of all ages. All of them, man or woman, soldier or cleric, looked hungry, but although their bodies lacked all measure of surplus fat, they were not emaciated. Rather, they had the cords of tough muscle only obtained through years of hard labour. And these people had laboured.
Nearby, mounted, and accompanying those on foot with a certain complacency, were a group of 70 knights, formed up in a disciplined row. Their chainmail armour and burnished helms shone, tinged with the pink of the dawn. It was the raid of these knights ahead of the army the previous day, and their return with the news that the city was close, which had caused the ragged crowds to stumble all night across a rocky terrain in the hope of seeing the physical manifestation of their dreams. Proud of their responsibility for those beneath them, the knights were alert, scanning the brightening sky in all directions for dust clouds in the morning air, for a sign, in other words, of their enemies. Ahead of the row of knights was a small cluster of warriors, whose banners and spears focused on the two leaders of the troop: Tancred and Gaston of Béarn.
Only 26 years old, Tancred was nevertheless the hero and talisman of the present company. Others, especially the Provencal army miles further back to the rear, hated the Italian Norman for his arrogance and his treacherous policy towards them. But even his worst enemies would admit that there was no braver warrior in the entire Christian army and no sight more liable to lift the heart than that of Tancred’s small band of knights charging ferociously in to battle behind their red banner. A little older, a lot darker, the Pyrenean nobleman Gaston of Béarn sat next to the Norman champion. The relationship between the two was of equals. More than that, it was of men whose common interest united them across all barriers of language and past allegiances. For Gaston and Tancred occupied the same political position inside the Christian army. They were both leaders of a small band of knights, but with nothing of the following or authority of the truly great princes. Or at least, not yet. Win a reputation for bravery, win more followers and, above all, win booty to reward those knights who took the chance of serving with them, and who knew what lay ahead? This land was full of rich cities and the fortunes of war were fickle. Tancred’s own grandfather, Robert Guiscard, had, through conquest more than through diplomacy, risen from being the sixth son of a poor Norman noble to becoming an Italian Duke, solemnly recognized as such by the papacy.
On the previous day, both Tancred and Gaston - independently - had ridden right up to the walls of the city. Both had relied on the reputation of the great Christian army half a day behind them to intimidate the local Muslim forces. Gaston had been the quicker and the bolder; his 30 knights had galloped through the outlying farms around the city gathering up beasts and valuables. But when the commander of the garrison of the city realized how small this Christian force was, he ordered a troop of swift light cavalry to chase Gaston and his men. The chase led several miles to a cliff face, where the Pyrenean knights reluctantly abandoned their booty. But no sooner had the Muslim cavalry turned back towards the city with the animals and baggage than Tancred and his 40 knights arrived, curious to see what the dust clouds in the valley below them signified. The Normans rode down the hillside to greet their co-religionists. A hasty conference led to quick agreement. Both Tancred and Gaston were seeking fame and fortune, which was all the more likely to come their way as a united body. And so it proved in this encounter. The 70 Christian knights were sufficiently intimidating to scatter the Muslim troop and drive them all the way back to the gates of the city.
These knights had learned hard lessons on the journey. There was to be no stopping to gather up the scattered loot or wandering beasts. The Muslim light cavalryman was expert at riding and firing a bow at the same time. Given a chance to reorganize themselves, this force of the city’s garrison could harass the Christians from afar, killing precious mounts, without ever coming within reach of a lance. Only after the city gates had slammed shut did the Christian knights wheel about to go searching for the booty that they now shared between them. That night the main body of the Christian army acclaimed the deeds of these two young lords, whose mutual satisfaction in the day’s events proved to be a firm foundation for future co-operation.
When the tale of this adventure had circulated around the camp fires of the Christian army, what caught the imagination of the crowd was the fact that the city they had fought to reach over the course of three years was so close that a rider could reach it in a few hours. At first individuals, then entire bands, gathered their meagre belongings and set off under the stars. After all, in their excitement, they would hardly have managed to sleep. What did it matter that such a chaotic enthusiastic night time march was contrary to all military discipline? By now their enemies feared them and were unlikely to be preparing ambushes. In any case, surely this close to their goal, God would protect them.
The vanguard of the sprawling Christian army had rushed forward in the darkness. But the majority waited until dawn. Even so, it was impossible to maintain discipline. The knights understood the danger of the army acting like an ill-organized rabble but their desire to get ahead of those on foot before the route was completely congested only added to the confusion. An uncharacteristic flow of horses, foot soldiers and carts, like a swollen river, carried the Christian forces in a turbulent rush towards the city.
Bringing up the rear, with the stragglers, was the elderly count of Toulouse, Raymond, the fourth of that name. Fifty-one years old, grey bearded and with a scar that ran across the side of his face and over a missing eye, the count was walking barefooted and in a rather ill temper. Only his entourage of Provencal priests and clerics were taking seriously the words of a lowly visionary, Peter Bartholomew, who had died in a trial by fire to prove that the count was especially chosen by God to lead the Christian army. Peter Bartholomew had warned the crusaders that their approach to the Holy City must be barefoot and with hearts full of contrition or they would lose God’s favour, but in the excitement of their proximity to the city the crowds had forgotten all about this prophecy. Even the bulk of Raymond’s own knights and followers had rushed on with the others. The count himself patiently placed his bare feet on the path and walked through the dust created by the thousands ahead of him. If his fellow Christians failed to observe this act of humility, at least the all-seeing eyes of God observed it.
Ahead on the ridge, the crowd was swelling and spreading. Despite deep political rivalries between the Saxons, the Normans, the Provengals and the many other regional contingents, a sense of shared achievement came over them all as they watched the buildings of the nearby city become distinct under the brightening sky. They were filled with the realization that at last they had reached their goal, a place that had seemed almost mythical. The word now taken up joyously, shouted out through their tears, was comprehensible across all their respective languages: ‘Jerusalem.
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank Nathan Reynard, to whom the book is dedicated, for his encouragement and very helpful comments on an earlier draft. The book has benefited from a grant by the Grace Lawless Lee Fund of Trinity College Dublin (TCD) for the commissioning of high quality maps and diagrams to accompany the text. I am very grateful for this assistance and to Russell Liley and everyone at Freeline Graphics for converting my crude drawings into the vivid images that the book now contains. My depiction of the crusaders’ siege equipment was greatly enhanced by the work of my TCD colleague Colm Flynn, who kindly made available to me the results of his research on the artillery of the siege. The diagrams of the final assault on the city incorporate a photograph of the model of Jerusalem made by Stefan Illes and this appears courtesy of the Tower of David Museum, Jerusalem.
Chapter 1, In the Beginning
On 18 November 1095 a council of some 300 clerics from all over Europe convened at Clermont in southern France for the most important assembly of their generation. The city had been a notable political centre for hundreds of years, ever since — at the end of the first century BC - Agrippa had ordered the construction of major road east to west across France, from Lyon to Saintes. The fact that Clermont lay on such a major route helped make it the choice of venue for the pope, Urban II, to host a major synod at which he intended to establish papal authority in the country. Urban also had a special message to deliver on the last day of the council, for which announcement prominent secular lords and indeed more humble folk were encouraged to journey to the city. As the council deliberated over matters such as church reform and the scandalous affection of Philip I of France for Bertrade of Montfort, wife of Fulk IV of Anjou, the numbers arriving at the city in anticipation of the pope’s important declaration grew larger. So, on the 27 November, with its business done, once it had been realized that no building could contain the numbers wishing to attend, the assembly adjourned to a field outside the city where the papal throne had been set up.
Against the striking background of the Puy-de-Déme, a dormant volcano, the pope delivered his message to the crowd, still and attentive, straining to hear every word. The time had come, Urban shouted, to assist their fellow Christians in the East, whose suffering at the hands of the Saracens was growing daily. The time had come, also, when Christians should cease warfare against one another. Rather, they should direct their military prowess against the enemies of God. Let the followers of Christ form an invincible army and wage war against the Saracens. For those guilty of sin, there was no better way to earn a remission of their penance than to join this Christian army in its march to the East.
‘God wills it! God wills it!’ roared the crowd in reply as they surged forward. The clergy and princes nearest the pope prostrated themselves and begged for absolution. It was a thrilling moment for those present, in which passion and excitement overwhelmed any reservations. Cold calculation and logistical considerations were irrelevant. The pope had given those present a dream. The land in which flowed milk and honey was to be theirs. Knights could earn salvation and the favour of God without having to give up the horse and lance. It was a divine mission, a pilgrimage, a war, all combined in a movement that would see God's people marching just as though they were the Children of Israel being delivered from Egypt.
The unexpected enthusiasm and cries of the crowd meant that some of the behind-the-scenes planning was lost. It was possible, at least, to see from his gestures that the pope was appointing Adhémar, the statesmanlike bishop of Le Puy, to a special role. But the subsequent speech of the envoys of Count Raymond of Toulouse was hardly noticed except by those nearest the pope. The roars of approval and enthusiasm meant a rather confused and chaotic end to the council, which broke up without appreciating the message Count Raymond had crafted for them. The elderly veteran of decades of political manoeuvring in Provence was willing to assign Toulouse over to his eldest son, Bertrand, and lead a substantial force east in the service of the pope. Naturally, being respectful of church authority, the count did not insist on being sole leader. Rather as his envoys put it - together Raymond and Adhémar would be another Aaron and Moses, the divinely inspired leaders of the Children of Israel."
This was all very well, and accorded with the perspective for the journey that had been outlined earlier, at Nimes, when a meeting had taken place between Raymond and Urban. But their discussion had envisaged a more modest and restrained assembly held within the cathedral, where the tall vaulting provided fine acoustics for carefully worded speeches. Within moments of the Pope’s actual announcement, however, it was evident that the reality of the enterprise was going to be of much greater scope than Urban, Raymond and Adhémar had anticipated. And as the crowds dispersed from Clermont, the storm showed no signs of abating.
The world was astir. All Christendom soon became agitated by the appeal to join an armed penitential expedition to Jerusalem. The pope had stamped his foot and not one, but several enormous armies now unexpectedly sprang into being, each with their own leadership and with none of them showing the slightest appreciation of the idea that Count Raymond was another Aaron.
The message that left Clermont and began to spread rapidly around Europe ignored all but the core ideas expressed by Urban: that there was to be an expedition to Jerusalem by a Christian army greater than any that had ever been seen and those who joined it would earn a heavenly reward. Attempting to keep the popular enthusiasm for the mission from distorting his conception of it, the pope sent several letters explaining the purpose and the armed pilgrimage and restricting which categories of persons should participate. The spiritual reward that he offered participants was remission of their sins. He also set the start date for the departure of the crusade, 15 August 1096.
Urban, however, had set in motion social forces far beyond those he could control and his letters had only limited effect. For the most part the details of his message were lost. Every social class of person thought that they were eligible to participate in the journey. Everyone, including educated clerics, believed that to join was to merit more than forgiveness for their sins: to join this fight for God was to be guaranteed of a place in heaven. And many thousands of people, impatient to start, intended to do so in the spring, rather than after the autumn harvest.
It did not help the pope that a number of self-appointed preachers began to travel through Europe gathering recruits for the journey with their own version of the crusading message. There were the women who found a cross, fallen from heaven, who very many people prepared to follow to the east. Another woman made an extraordinary impression when she claimed to be the mistress of a goose that was divinely inspired. Word of this saintly bird spread through castles and towns and while there were those who scoffed at such superstition, when she reached Cambrai, a huge city then theoretically part of the empire of the German king, Henry IV (today at the north-eastern edge of France), a large assembly filled the church, to witness the woman and her goose as they arrived at the city and walked together up to the altar.* But among all the popular preachers of the journey to Jerusalem, there was one whose activities made him the dominant figure, to such an extent that for many it was he, rather than the pope, who was the authoritative voice of God in this matter.
Peter the Hermit was a small, middle-aged, man with a tremendous turn of phrase and corresponding powers of persuasion. Riding a donkey, he dressed in the humble garb of a hermit. His critics pointed out that despite this show of modesty, Peter did not forgo meat and wine, as a true hermit should. But his critics were few. As Peter travelled from town to town, he displayed a letter, which, it was popularly believed, God himself had given to the hermit. In fact, Peter’s letter was from the Patriarch of Jerusalem appealing for assistance from the Christian west. Having been in the Holy City as a pilgrim, Peter had witnessed for himself how the followers of Christ were being exploited, how the holy places of the city were refused to all those who did not have gold, and how many devout Christians died outside the walls with their desire to worship in Holy Sepulchre unfulfilled.’
Great multitudes came to hear Peter. Some, believing themselves in the presence of a living saint, strove to obtain relics from the hermit, even prizing the silver hairs from the tail of Peter’s donkey. Peter spoke to all social orders and all responded to him. The rich gave generously and with their wealth Peter was very generous on behalf of the poor. He was particularly concerned with the most unfortunate women of the cities of France. Peter’s generation, more than any other, had seen the church wage a vigorous campaign to end clerical marriage, even to the extent of mobilizing crowds to drive from the churches those clergy who refused to renounce their wives. In addition to the numbers of castoff and impoverished women who, for one reason or another, had lost their male guardians, the towns of Peter’s day were filled with women who as a result of the campaign against the sin of Nicholiatism had fallen from a respectable and secure state to a precarious existence. To them and all marginal women, Peter offered dowries so that they could regain through marriage their lost security.
In the course of his constant travels and urgent exhortations, Peter recruited an enormous army of men and women, some 40,000 strong, for the march to Jerusalem. But it was noticeable that there were only around 500 knights amongst this force. The vast majority of Peter’s army were foot soldiers and poorly equipped farmers.* Nevertheless, it was an extraordinary achievement for a hitherto unknown hermit to raise the largest army in Christendom. That success itself testified to many that divine will was being made manifest through the small but passionate preacher. For the participants themselves, their lowly status was a badge of pride: divine approval was more likely to come to the humble than the proud.
The appeal of Peter’s preaching was assisted by the fact that life for the poor was extremely harsh in 1094 and 1095, the two years preceding his Pied Piper speaking tour. In those years famine and plague had ravaged northern Europe. Famine had reduced the poor to living on the roots of wild plants, and even the rich were threatened by the shortage of crops. The ‘plague’ described by the chroniclers was in fact an outbreak of ergot poisoning in the rye crop. This sickness caused limbs to wither and blacken, as though burnt by an invisible fire. In abandoned churches the rotting trunks of the unfortunate victims of the mould were piled up in stacks. How much more attractive was the prospect of moving to the Promised Land? Hundreds of farmers seized the opportunity provided by Peter’s expedition, loaded up their carts with all their household belongings and together with their wives and children set out with the hermit. These farmers were not just intending to fight as part of a Christian army: they were emigrating. The value of land and farms collapsed as a rush of people strove to turn their fixed property into coin for the journey.°
At Peter’s right hand was one of the few nobles to join this popular march, the Burgundian knight, Walter Sanzavohir. Walter left Cologne for the long journey through central Europe to Byzantium shortly after Easter, 12 April 1096, with just eight knights but thousands of men and women on foot. Some eight days later, Peter followed him with a war chest full of gold from the donations of the wealthy towards the cause. As they passed through Germany, incredulous peasants scoffed to learn that this rabble intended to march all the way to Jerusalem. But soon these cynics in turn became inflamed by the excitement. Perhaps, after all, they were living in an age where God's handiwork was more manifest than at any time since the days of Christ. Were there not signs in the heavens? The celestial portents alone testified that this was the time to abandon the routine but grim struggle for a living and exchange it for a blessed journey to the Promised Land. New armed bands formed from those who had formerly been labelled ‘Epicureans’ for their refusal to undergo the hardships of the march. Gottschalk, for example, was a German priest who had been inspired to assist in preaching the journey to Jerusalem after attending a sermon by Peter the Hermit. With his own effective speaking skills, Gottschalk drew together a sizeable army of pilgrims in the Rhineland, this time including very many knights.°
Right at the outset of the crusade the darker side of this popular enthusiasm for the divine mission was evident. Among the contingents that formed up in the wake of the passage of Walter and Peter through Lotharingia, Francia and Bavaria were those who turned the passions aroused by the hermit into warfare against the local Jewish population. The Jewish community of Cologne were surprised by a sudden attack on 29 May 1096 and after a great massacre, their property was shared among a crusading army. At Mainz a powerful local noble, Count Emicho, together with his fellow knights Clarembald of Vendeuil and Thomas of Marle, had been awaiting the arrival of the pilgrims to lead a similar onslaught against the Jewish population of the locality. Forewarned by the experience of their co-religionists in Speyer and Worms, the Jewish community of Mainz sought protection from Bishop Ruthard and paid an incredible sum of coin for it. But Ruthard was unable to prevent Emicho and his army breaking into the episcopal palace where most of the Jewish community had gathered and slaughtering them all, men, women and children.’ Is it any wonder that when news of these massacres reached the Near East, the Jewish population of Jerusalem chose to fight side by side with the Muslim population of the city against the crusading army. After all, outside the city walls were Clarembald, Thomas and other knights who had already led Christian pilgrim armies against unarmed Jews.
The idea of taking the cross and marching to capture Jerusalem appealed just as much to those at the top of the social spectrum as to those at the bottom. Although no king found the crusading message persuasive, very many senior lords - for a variety of reasons - welcomed the idea and took the cross. Of these, the most exalted in status, if not in the number of his followers, was Hugh of Vermandois, known as Hugh the Great, brother of the now excommunicate King Philip I of France. Almost as prominent in the higher reaches of the European nobility was Robert Curthose, the eldest son of Duke William I of Normandy, the conqueror of England. The adventure of the crusade appealed to this dissolute lord, who abandoned his hunting and depredations in Normandy in anticipation of pursuing the same interests in the Near East. A more pious crusader and equally prominent noble was another Robert, the second count of that name from Flanders. Robert had been regent of Flanders between 1085 and 1091 when his father, Robert I of Flanders had been on pilgrimage. These two men of the same name, but of very different character, co-operated to bring a sizeable army from northern Europe. Their acceptance of the cross had come as a surprise to the pope, who now found he had to grant the northerners their own papal legate, Arnulf of Choques, an outspoken teacher from the cathedral school at Caen who joined the expedition as chaplain to Robert of Normandy.
Not be to outdone, when Stephen, the elderly and wealthy Count of Blois, took the cross he too had the pope give legatine powers to his chaplain, Alexander. Thus as the news from Clermont had spread north, the unanticipated response to the idea of a penitential expedition to Jerusalem had required Urban to revise his initial conception of the leadership of the undertaking. Instead of one Christian army, at the head of which was the experienced Count Raymond and the Bishop of Le Puy, there were now three armies marshalling their forces with papal approval. Not to mention that Peter and several popular armies were already underway, albeit with a rather more tenuous relationship to the papacy. And the mobilization of Christendom for Holy War was not finished, for two more powerful armies formed up in support of the expedition. One was drawn from the people of Lotharingia, the other composed of Normans from southern Italy.
Three brothers of Boulogne (located in modern day north-eastern France beside the English Channel), took the cross: Eustace, the elder, destined to inherit the family lordship of the city; Godfrey, who was adopted as heir to his maternal uncle's position as Duke of Lower Lotharingia; and Baldwin, the youngest, who had left a career in the church to enjoy the lifestyle he preferred, that of a knight. The decision of such important nobles to journey to Jerusalem encouraged many other prominent figures from Lower Lotharingia and nearby regions to attach themselves to this contingent. Not all were vassals of Godfrey, but as duke of the region from which many of them came, Godfrey carried the greatest authority in the Lotharingian army, more so, indeed, than his elder brother. In accordance with papal direction, the German contingent set out in August 1096, finding themselves travelling in the wake of the political chaos generated by the fact that on the route ahead of them had gone the various contingents of the People’s Crusade.
Last to form up were those whose general was Bohemond, leader of a south Italian Norman army. The Normans were recent arrivals in southern Italian politics, but had defeated the local nobility, the papacy and the Byzantine Empire, to become the ruling elite of the region. When Robert Guiscard, the lowly sixth son of a minor Norman family, went to Italy he did so as a mercenary, but by the time of his death in 1085, he was the Duke of Apulia, recognized as such by the papacy.
In 1096, news of the crusade reached Amalfi at a time that Bohemond, eldest son of Robert Guiscard, was fighting for the city in alliance with his uncle, Roger I of Sicily, against his half-brother, Roger Borsa. Suddenly, an entirely new horizon opened to Bohemond. He took aside his young nephew Tancred and tried to persuade the talented warrior that their fortunes would be better served in the east than squabbling over their family inheritance in Italy. Tancred was sceptical until he was promised the role of second-in-command and that he would have the same freedom of action as would a duke under a king. The agreement was struck. Norman adventurers in search of fortune knew the value of uniting together against the world and when they did so thrones tumbled. Bohemond announced to his army his intention of supporting the papal initiative. Demonstratively, he cut up his most valuable cloak to make crosses. Not only did his own men rush to follow, but also — and this was the first fruit of Bohemond’s adoption of the crusade - so did hundreds of knights who had been vassals of his ally. Lamenting the loss of his army, Roger was forced to abandon the siege of Amalfi and return to Sicily.*
Did any of those who took the cross really understand what lay ahead of them on the route to Jerusalem: three years of marching; gruelling sieges; ferocious battles; several periods of famine and months of pestilence? No other medieval army made such a journey to reach its goal. No other medieval army set itself such an extraordinary goal. The journey from Paris to Jerusalem is over 2,000 miles and while the initial stages were through the territories of fellow Christians, over 1,000 miles of the journey were travelled through land controlled by their enemies. There were something like 100,000 people who set off in 1096 to conquer Jerusalem for Christ. When, in 1099, the Christian army began the siege of the city, they numbered about 20,000. Fewer than one in five who took the cross reached their goal. Many had turned back at various difficult points along the journey, but just as many had died. Fields and ditches along the trail of their marches were marked by hundreds of graves.
If the hardships and battles that lay ahead were unknown, the same cannot be said of the geography of their journey. The pilgrim route for European Christians to Jerusalem was long established, with popular tracts in circulation that specified the exact distances to be travelled each day and the halting places. Older still were the network of Roman roads that for over 1,000 years had linked the peoples of the Mediterranean. The crusaders took a variety of different Roman roads in 1096. These all led, however, not to Rome, but to Constantinople, one of the world’s most fabulous cities and claimant to the inheritance of the Roman Empire.
From the perspective of the Greeks, the west had lapsed into barbarism, while from behind their impressive double-ringed walls, the rulers of the Byzantine Empire had preserved the only culture that deserved to be considered civilized. Constantinople in 1096 was a city of relics and statues. It was a city of enormous wealth, of busy commerce, of intense enthusiasm for public games, but above all it was a city whose elite were locked into a vicious but subtle striving for position within a bureaucratic hierarchy whose intricacies were completely lost to the outsider. Where to sit for a public function? Which dyes could be used to colour the clothes you were allowed to wear? How should the person at your side be addressed? These were all supremely important matters to the Byzantine noble and it is no wonder that as the western lords arrived, dressed as they pleased, speaking to their hosts in curt indelicate phrases, eating in great mouthfuls, and showing more interest in their horses than the artistic work on display around them that the Byzantine elite collectively raised their eyebrows in a horror that was not entirely pretence.
The fact that the first armies to arrive at Constantinople were the popular ones inspired by Peter the Hermit did little to warm the Greeks towards the crusading project. If Pope Urban’s initial plans had come to fruition in a more modest way, the representative of the Latin Church would have been the extremely tactful Bishop Adhémar of Le Puy and at his side the dignified and cultured count Raymond of Toulouse. As the papal legate was to show during the expedition, by emphasizing the common cause of all Christians it was possible to create very smooth working relationships between Latin and Greek clergy, especially in the lands regained from their pagan enemies. Instead, in the middle of July 1096, the Byzantines received Walther Sanzavoir and his army. The crowds of crusaders were at first suitably impressed by the size and wealth of the city. They settled in their camp and, in limited numbers, took tours of the city to visit the saints. But as the days passed, their boldness grew: soon bands of crusaders were stealing into the city and prising lead from the church roofs to sell back to the Greeks. They even began to raid wealthy houses, leaving the properties burning once all valuables had been seized.”
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At the head of the Byzantine hierarchy was the emperor, who in 1096 was the former general and astute politician, Alexius Comnenus. Alexius, 48 at the time that the crusaders arrived at his capital, had come to power in 1081 in the by now traditional Byzantine manner: military coup. Naturally, the Greek emperor wanted to ship this turbulent barbarian army across the Bosphorus and away from the environs of his capital, but Walter insisted upon waiting for his comrade, Peter the Hermit, who, it was thought, was not far behind. Indeed, Peter arrived at Constantinople on 1 August, but his army was in a very different condition to that of his companion. At the town of Nish (now Ni8, in southeastern Serbia) on the fringes of the Byzantine Empire, on or around 4 July 1096, a dispute had arisen between Nicetas, governor of Bulgaria, and Peter's forces. A body of 1,000 headstrong and imprudent crusaders attempted to storm the city. In response to this attack Nicetas unleashed his full force, scattering the crusaders, who eventually reformed with the loss of about a quarter of their number and the war chest of silver and gold. It was a chastened and much reduced force of Latin troops that arrived at Constantinople with Peter.’
An even more shattering blow, however, had struck the troops further to the rear led by Gottschalk. Coloman, the king of Hungary, had at first been tolerant of his fellow Christians’ desire to march through the kingdom in order to fight for Jerusalem. The reckless behaviour of the crowds, however, their frequent attacks on the property of his people and the danger as more and more armies were rumoured to be on their way, led to the Hungarian population becoming uneasy and, indeed, downright hostile. A dispute in the market at the fortress of Mosony (now Mosonmagyarorvar) had led to the Bavarians and Swabians driving a stake through the genitals of young Hungarian. As word of this incident spread, Coloman came under pressure from his warriors, who insisted upon taking up arms against the insults of the intruders. But when the Hungarian army came to the Benedictine abbey of St Martin at Pannonhalma, they found the crusaders drawn up in solid formation, ready to fight for their lives. Realizing that there was going to be no easy victory against an unprepared rabble, Coloman and his officials entered negotiations with Gottschalk. Agreement was reached that if the crusaders handed over their weapons to the Hungarians for safekeeping, they would be permitted markets and safe travel though the kingdom; their weapons would be returned at the border. Grateful for the opportunity of avoiding a battle, Gottschalk and his more responsible officers persuaded the German army to accept the king’s proposal. They piled up their weapons in good faith. Once the crusaders were safely disarmed, Coloman and his troops then attacked without mercy. The ensuing massacre was the first great disaster to fall upon people who had taken up the cross. Only a handful of Gottschalk’s people escaped, returning to Swabia with a tale of terrible betrayal."
While this contingent of the People’s Crusade was being annihilated, Peter met with Alexius: the small, roughly dressed, hermit with the sophisticated emperor bedecked in gold and purple. The meeting was relatively successful. Alexius was pleased with the humility shown by the leader of the Latins, while Peter was grateful on behalf of his people that the Byzantines had donated a massive hoard of coins to replace that which had been lost at Nish. It was by mutual agreement that Peter’s army was shipped across to Asia Minor five days later, to take up station in the fortified camp of Civitot on the thin strip of costal land still controlled by the Byzantines.
There, the limits of having a hermit as a military leader became evident. Following the advice of the emperor and his own assessment of the situation, Peter wished to hold the popular army in check until the nobles of Europe arrived, with their experienced leaders and large bodies of armoured knights. Wait six months? When they had a divine mission and already greater numbers than any army in memory? Why, they were capable of great deeds. Two months of idleness saw what little discipline Peter’s army had break down, as rival contingents formed and outdid one another in undertaking daring raids against the Muslims, travelling as far as Nicea in search of booty. The hermit had no reliable chain of command, no loyal officer corps, to reign in these provocative expeditions and insist upon a policy of patiently awaiting the princes.
As yet, the enormous agitation that had bestirred Christian Europe mattered very little in the Near East. A series of reports stating that armies of Franks were marching east had been circulated in the major Turkish and Arab ruled cities and, over time, as the truth of them was confirmed, a sense of trepidation would grow among the Muslim and Jewish populations. But in the summer of 1096, the attention of the ruling Seljuk dynasts was on their own political rivalries. In particular, Qilij Arslan I, the young sultan of Rum, the first Muslim-ruled region in the crusaders’ path, had only come to power in 1092. His priority since then had been the restoration of a sultanate that had lost ten years earlier with the death of his father. In the three years preceding the arrival of the crusaders Qilij Arslan had spent more time on horseback than in his palace, riding back and forth with his troops across Anatolia enforcing submission to his rule on the cities and tribes of the region.
The Turkish leaders of the region were able to call upon a variety of soldiers to serve them, but every ruler also had a permanent standing force of cavalry, their askar. These were technically of very low social status, slaves or freedmen, but in practice the elite household guard. As the popular proverb put it regarding those who lived off the labour of others, life was easy for ‘the horse of the askar, with fodder, pasturage and little to do’ These lightly armed troops were expert with the bow, the favoured weapon of the Muslim world. They could fire at a gallop; indeed they could turn and fire over their shoulder at a chasing opponent. Qilij Arslan, like his fellow rulers, had an askar recruited personally and closely devoted to him as well as garrisons stationed across his realm who could be mobilized rapidly to create the core of his full army.
Nicea, on the north-western edge of the sultan’s empire, was considered an impregnable strongpoint. It had natural defences in the form of a large lake against the western wall, new fortifications and towers along the city walls, and it was far from his enemies. The only possible assailants were the Byzantines, who had always shown a preference for signing peace treaties over making war. So confident was Qilij Arslan in the defences and location of his capital that while he and his warriors rode up to 500 miles to the east, his family and treasure were left at Nicea. It was a shock, then, to have messengers catch up with him with the news that the rumoured Christian barbarians had arrived and their foragers were pillaging the lands all the way up to his capital.
Qilij Arslan responded quickly, collecting up all his available forces, raising levies and hiring mercenaries. His first target was a small fortress about three miles north east from Nicea that the Christians had captured and were now using as a base from which to conduct their raids. Inside the castle was a force of some 3,000 Swabians who, having been become envious at the sight of booty brought back from a raid of the French and Italians, had marched out from Peter’s camp and successfully assaulted the stronghold. The first attempt by the troops of Qilij Arslan to retake the fortress by storm failed, the Swabians inside fought bravely. They could be driven back from the walls by an immeasurable hail of arrows, but every time the Turkish army attempted to ascend the walls the Swabians charged out to beat them off with sword, battleaxe and spear.
Thwarted in attempts to storm the fort, the Turkish forces changed their approach; utilising their advantage in missile fire to keep the top of the walls clear while wood was brought all the way up to the gate of the castle and piled high against it. The conflagration that then started led not only to the destruction of the entrance but many buildings inside. Leaping from the walls, the defenders tried to save themselves. But very few escaped. About 200 young men, the most suited to the slave market, were kept as prisoners, the rest of the garrison were slain. Unsure as to the full strength of his enemies, Qilij Arslan did not follow up this victory with an immediate attack on the fort of Civitot, where the bulk of the crusaders were camped, but sent spies ahead, while taking the precautionary measure of withdrawing the bulk of his forces to Nicea.’?
The sight of the clouds of smoke to their west and the arrival of scouts with news about the events at the fortress precipitated a crisis back at the main camp. Peter the Hermit had been detained in Constantinople for several days, on a mission to obtain more supplies from the emperor. This left Walter Sanzavoir as the most authoritative figure in the camp, but by no means its general. Walter’s advice was to wait for Peter and not to rush recklessly to avenge those who, it was suddenly appreciated, were no longer dismissed as foolish Germans, but remembered as comrades and martyrs. This council quietened the majority, who settled down to a defence of the camp. The lull lasted eight days, during which time Qilij Arslan took the measure of the crowds that faced him. They were large in number, but the vast majority were foot soldiers and that was no threat to light cavalry with a near infinite supply of arrows.
On Tuesday 20 October 1096, Qilij Arslan sent an advance party of 100 wellarmed riders to see if he could draw out the Christian army from its defences. Coming across small numbers of pilgrims, in one or twos, fives or tens, this advance party scattered the bands of foragers and beheaded those whom they captured. These skirmishes had the desired effect. For the rest of that afternoon and into the night a great tumult broke out in Peter’s army. Walter and several other knights continued to insist that no action be taken until Peter returned and they could benefit from his talismanic presence as well as his counsel.
Among the foot soldiers were a more professional and seasoned force than most in the camp. Only 200 strong, those who marched with Godfrey Burel as their commander and standard-bearer nevertheless were famous within Peter’s army for having been first to dare the ladders at the Hungarian fortress of Zemun. That castle had been stormed by Peter’s army when they observed that weapons and goods belonging to captured stragglers from Walter’s army were being boastfully displayed on the walls. The assault on Zemun had made Godfrey’s name and although he was a foot soldier, not a knight, he was considered of such importance that when Peter had been obliged to hand over two prominent figures as hostages for safe passage through Bulgaria, Godfrey was one of them. And it was Godfrey who now insisted on a policy of immediate action."
There was in Peter’s army a sense of pride that they were humble folk and equally a feeling of resentment that God’s mission should be delayed for the sake of princes. Godfrey Burel cleverly appealed to this sentiment by accusing Walter and the other knights of being cowards and of little use in war despite their distinguished lineage. The more these knights forbade the army to march, the more bitter became Godfrey’s taunts. Such accusations before the thousands of onlookers were too insufferable to be borne, it was better to die in battle than live with the label of coward. In a deadly rage, Walter and his fellow knights announced that they would lead the army out, to their mutual ruin, if such was necessary to prove their worth.
The following morning, at the first sign that the sky was brightening in the east, trumpets sounded throughout the crusader camp. Twenty-five thousand men on foot and 500 knights on horse formed themselves up into six divisions and marched out with enormous clamour and pride in their strength. Only the sick, those without arms, and the countless numbers of women with the army, remained at the camp. The crusaders set forth in complete ignorance of the fact that Qilij Arslan with his main army had come up during the previous day and was camped barely three miles away.
The sultan was, at first, taken aback by this unexpected sortie by the army from the fort at Civitot. Fortunately for Qilij Arslan, the lack of mounted scouts on the Christian side meant that he could hastily withdraw from the mountainous and forested terrain near the camp to a plain more suitable for his cavalry to manoeuvre around the Christian foot soldiers. As the Christian army came out of the woods and reached the open fields their boastful clamour ceased. Formed up across the plain was the huge Turkish army. Not be to deterred, the crusaders encouraged each other with shouts invoking God, before the first two divisions, the knights of the Christian army, set out to close with the enemy. Qilij Arslan waited, allowing a gap to open between the Christian riders and their foot soldiers, and then signalled that his troops should fire. The arrows poured down, not on the front ranks of the fast moving cavalry, but on their second division and the foremost of the foot soldiers, many of whom, as intended, now shrank back from the lethal clouds of darts. A disastrous split had opened up in the Christian ranks. The foot soldiers at the rear halted and formed up in the relative safety of the trees, at the head of the path back to the camp. Those at the front hurried to keep up with the knights.
The more heavily armoured western knight, if he could get within reach of his Muslim opponent, had the advantage in close combat. With their front ranks undisrupted, Walter and his companions on horseback crashed among the Turkish riders and in moments had cut down hundreds of Turkish troops. But as they scattered, the Muslim archers directed their arrows into the horses of the Christian knights. Too few to maintain the momentum of their initial success, Walter and his illustrious companions were soon fighting on foot. At close range, layers of chain mail armour were no protection against contemporary light bows, let alone the sophisticated wood, horn and sinew composite bows favoured at the time by the Turkish cavalry. Staggering, with one arrow after another smacking through his armour and deep into his flesh, Walter continued to slash out at the enemies nearest him, before expiring with seven arrows penetrating his chest. Did he die with bitter satisfaction at having given the ultimate proof of his courage?
Ironically, as the dismounted crusader knights were killed, bravely fighting to the last, Godfrey Burel ran. It was the sight of their hero slipping through the woods back towards the camp that unnerved the rearguard. Thinking only of their own survival, they broke in panic. But the Turks were quickly upon them and, as is so often the case in war, the real massacre began with the rout rather than the battle itself. For three miles the Turkish army, rejoicing at their victory, chased the fleeing crusader troops all the way back to the camp and right into it, not allowing the Christians a moment to regroup.'®
The slaughter was immense, but not total. Once again beardless and attractive young men were spared for the slave market, as were young girls and the more appealing nuns. The only other survivors were some 3,000 soldiers who instead of making for the camp had run to a ruined fortress on the beach, where they desperately piled stones into the breaches. Many of these men were killed by the heavy fall of arrows that now rained down upon the ruins, but some survived until the departure of the Turkish army the following day, when news came that the Byzantine Emperor was on the way to assist the remnants of Peter’s army.
Qilij Arslan returned to his capital, with immense booty and a triumph that looked set to make him famous. Those who had feared the consequences of a massive Christian army coming to the Muslim world had cause to celebrate; the young sultan of Ram had destroyed the threat with ease. There was no harm in being seen as a champion of Islam against the Christians, but what this victory really meant for Qilij Arslan was that he could now concentrate his forces 500 miles to the east, where the Danishmend ruler, Malik Ghazi Gumushtekin ‘the wise; was becoming a decisive rival. Malik Ghazi was currently campaigning for control of the strategic Armenian city of Melitene and if he could be thwarted in this, it would be a serious check to his ambitions.
While the Turkish sultan once more rode across the entire width of his realm, one by one, the other Christian armies arrived at Constantinople. These were a far more dangerous threat to the Muslim world than the more lowly troops of Peter the Hermit. They were also a potential threat to the Byzantine emperor. Despite the fact that the crusading mission was ostensibly the emancipation of Jerusalem from pagan rule, Alexius was distinctly uneasy about having such powerful and effective armies gather at his capital. After all, back in 1082, Alexius had been general of a Byzantine troop against an invading force of Italian Normans led by Bohemond. In the course of a two-year campaign they had met twice on the field of battle, and on both occasions Alexius had been forced to retreat. Now here was his former enemy returning with another great Norman army. Is it any wonder that the Byzantines looked warily at the response to Urban’s appeal for aid to the Christians of the East? The policy of the emperor in this unprecedented situation was to seek recognition from the leaders of the Latin armies that he was their overlord, to require from them a promise that all former Byzantine cities regained from their current Turkish rulers would be restored to the empire and, lastly, to avoid a situation where the crusading armies could unite together north of the Bosphorus. In return, the Byzantines would offer troops and logistical support to the overall expedition.
First to arrive, less than a month after the battle of Civitot, was Hugh the Great, brother of Philip of France. The presence of this group of knights presented no difficulties to Alexius, as Hugh’s following, already small, had been further reduced by shipwrecks on the journey across the Adriatic. With due respect for his lineage, Hugh effectively became a prisoner at Constantinople, where he was obliged to take an oath of fealty to the emperor. Detained with him were a number of the rowdy knights of the army of Emicho who had terrified the Jewish communities of the Rhineland. Drogo of Nesle, Clarembald of Vendeuil and several companions had presented themselves at the border of the Byzantine Empire having survived the violent dispersal of Emicho’s army by Coloman of Hungary. While most of Emicho’s forces had either been slain or had abandoned the idea of the crusade, for these knights the adventure was only just beginning. Moreover, their period of forcible detention at Constantinople proved useful; Drogo and Clarembald now attached themselves to their royal companion and offered to make him king of Jerusalem if he would look after their interests. It was far too early to raise the extremely divisive question of who should rule Jerusalem, if, by some miracle, the crusaders captured the city, but Hugh was extremely proud of his lineage and no doubt enjoyed the daydream of being king of the Holy City.’®
A more tense situation between a crusading army and the Byzantine emperor arose with the arrival, just before Christmas 1096, of the next Latin force, that of Duke Godfrey and the Lotharingians. Godfrey had been told that Hugh and several German lords were prisoners of the Greeks; the tale came in the exaggerated form of depicting these princes as being bound in chains. The Duke therefore gave his army license to pillage the Greek lands through which they were passing. Immediately, Alexius dispatched two Franks to appease Godfrey. Soon the Lotharingians were camped outside the walls of the Byzantine capital, while Hugh, along with Drogo, Clarembald and another illustrious knight, William ‘the carpenter’ of Melun, so-called because he prevailed in battle by hewing down men like an artisan, were all allowed to join their fellow crusaders, which they did with great enthusiasm.
Good relations between Alexius and Godfrey were still some way off and in their manoeuvres as to how they should meet and on what terms, the crusaders came to blows with mercenaries employed by the emperor, blows that at times were fairly serious engagements, with hundreds involved and many deaths on both sides. Just as Godfrey was showing a willingness to adopt the perspective of the emperor and it was being arranged to swap hostages in advance of a meeting, a messenger from Bohemond arrived in the Lotharingian camp. The Norman army was on the way and its prince promised that if Godfrey withdrew to spend the winter safely in Adrianople or Philippopolis, Bohemond would arrive by March and between them they could unseat the emperor. It was an interesting proposal, which Godfrey put to his intimates the following day. His reply to Bohemond, however, was unambiguous; he had not left his homeland or family for the sake of profit or the destruction of Christians. The Lotharingians were intent on marching to Jerusalem.
Bohemond’s legation had the effect of making up Godfrey’s mind with regard to Alexius, who in turn, when he learned of the contact between the Normans and the Lotharingians, was more conciliatory to the latter. Alexius’s treasured son, John, was given over to Godfrey as a hostage. This gave Godfrey the confidence to gather his most prominent followers and, on 20 January 1097, enter the palace of the emperor. Alexius put on his most impressive display, sitting in a powerful throne, dressed splendidly and surrounded by precious items. The Lotharingians were invited to kiss the emperor, symbolic gesture of peace. But it was also a gesture of submission, for the emperor remained seated. First Godfrey, then the other German nobles, in order of seniority, bent the knee to Alexius. Praising Godfrey as a powerful knight and prince, Alexius declared him to be an adopted son, and showered all present with enormously valuable gifts. The crusaders placed their hands in those of the emperor, this was the act of homage, a public gesture that they had become his man.'”
With plentiful supplies being sent to the Lotharingian army, which had now taken ship across the Bosphorus, soon all was harmony between the crusaders and the Byzantines. From Alexius’s point of view, this was just as well, for the negotiations had dragged on for weeks and no sooner had they finished than Bohemond’s army arrived in Byzantine territory, having sailed safely across the Adriatic. The Normans were marching at great speed along the road from Durrazo. And only a few days behind Bohemond were Count Raymond of Toulouse and Bishop Adhémar of Le Puy, whose Provengal army had taken the land route through Albania. After celebrating Easter, 1 April 1097, Bohemond left his army in camp at Hadrumetum to ride ahead to Constantinople with only ten companions, as if he hadn't ever schemed to destroy Alexius and apparently without the slightest concern for his safety. Around 10 April 1097, Bohemond met with Alexius in the presence of Godfrey and his younger brother Baldwin. Needing very little persuasion, Bohemond accepted the emperor's terms and to all appearances acted as a loyal vassal of Alexius, although it was noticeable that the Norman leader ate no food but that cooked by his own people."
Not all the crusading nobles were so amenable to taking the oath to the emperor. One French knight had become furious at the sight of his lords having to stand while the emperor remained seated. When the opportunity arose, this knight went over to the emperor’s throne and made himself comfortable in it. Did he recall the famous story of how Rollo, the leader of a Viking troop who became ruler of Normandy, met with King Charles the Simple? The bishops present insisted that Rollo kiss the king’s foot. One of Rollo’s comrades therefore went over to the monarch and raised the royal foot to his mouth, toppling the king onto his back. This scandal provided much amusement to the Viking army.'° But by 1096 the whole legal system of homage, fealty and vassalage was far more rigorous than in the days of Rollo and his companions. Not only were the Greeks appalled by a barbarian seating himself in the imperial throne, but so too were the French and Lotharingian nobility. It was Baldwin who persuaded the knight that since they were now vassals of Alexius, they had to follow his customs and including that of standing while the emperor was seated.”
While Bohemond had gone on ahead to Constantinople, Tancred had been left in charge of the Norman army. The young knight had already experienced his first taste of battle on the crusade, when, on 18 February 1097, Turcopoles, the light cavalry mercenaries of the Byzantines, had attacked the rearguard of the Norman army once the majority of troops were across the Vardar river. Tancred had rallied a body of knights and swum back across the river. His arrival at the fighting scattered the Turcopoles and netted the Normans many prisoners, who revealed that the emperor’s orders were to harass the arriving armies and keep them from plundering Greek lands. Bohemond let the prisoners go free before his departure for Constantinople. His nephew, however, had o intention of following a conciliatory policy towards Alexius. When nearly at Constantinople, together with his cousin Richard of the Principate, count of Salerno, Tancred disguised himself as a foot soldier and crossed the Bosphorus in secret. In this way, unlike the other prominent crusaders, he avoided having to take an oath of fealty to the emperor.
Another prominent crusading leader who had great difficulty with the idea of taking Alexius as his lord was Count Raymond of Toulouse. The Provengal army had made a rough journey winter journey through the forested mountainsides of Albania, where the locals had murdered their elderly, poor and sick stragglers for what little they carried. Coming to Durazzo and the first major Byzantine city on their route, the southern French army had been delighted, thinking that the worst of the journey was over. But they too had to contend with raids on their camps by Byzantine mercenaries. By the time the army had reached Constantinople, Raymond was seething. His rage was such that he contemplated assaulting the city, but all the other Latin princes insisted that it would be the height of folly for Christian to fight Christian and Bohemond went further, stating that he would take arms on the side of Alexius should it come to that. This was a rather dramatic profession of his newfound loyalty to the emperor and was likely to have raised a few sceptical eyebrows in the imperial court.”!
When it came to taking an oath of fealty to Alexius, Raymond baulked. In part this was because in the politically fragmented south of France he was much more familiar with oaths of security, taken between equals, than oaths of fealty, taken between vassals and lords. In part, also, it did not seem right to Raymond that Alexius should be the leader of the crusade. After all, the Greek clergy had many practices that the Latin Church disapproved of. And it was Raymond who had first offered his services to the pope. If there were any overall leader of the expedition, it should be he. No matter how great the wealth on offer, no matter the entreaties, the furthest Raymond would go was to swear an oath of security with Alexius. The emperor was furious with Raymond and gave him little by way of gifts. But hindsight was to show that although the Provengal count was the most intransigent, he was also the most faithful to his promises.
The first contingents of the crusader army appeared before Nicea on 6 May 1097. Gradually, the other Christian armies converged on Qilij Arslan’s capital, until the united army filled the land in all directions with tents and banners. The crusading force was about 60,000 strong with some 7,000 fully armoured knights. From the perspective of those who had sewn a cross upon their tunic and set out for the Holy Land, this was evidence of the divine hand at work. It was inspiring, so many people, with so many different languages, yet all united with a common purpose. In those heady days, everyone felt as one. Should someone lose his or her belongings, a mule for example, the owner would be sought and the property returned. Miraculously, all could make themselves understood, despite their different tongues. The clergy, of course, were in their element in this regard, with Latin the universal language of the army.”
One grim sight that had contributed to this sense of solidarity between all the Christians was the enormous scattering of bones at Civitot and the nearby paths. Many were in tears as they marched towards Nicea past the morbid remains of Peter’s army. Those who had survived the catastrophe of the previous October told the tale of how Walter had been provoked into battle with the Turkish sultan and how he had died facing his enemies. Peter the Hermit was treated with respect by the leaders of the united army and still had some reverence from the poor. But much of his aura of saintliness had gone, stripped by a course of events that made his popular expedition seem reckless rather than divinely inspired.
From the perspective of those holding Nicea for Qilij Arslan, the situation was extremely frightening. The newly arrived Christian soldiers were nothing like those so easily defeated the previous October. They were far better equipped, far better organized, and as numerous as the grains of sand on a beach. Admittedly, there was still the lake, which meant a means of obtaining supplies for the garrison. But with the extraordinary manpower available to the besiegers, it was only a matter of time before tunnels undermined the walls or the increasing number of siege engines threatened to pound them down. Once he understood the gravity of the situation Qilij Arslan responded as swiftly as when he had first faced the Christians, bringing his askar back west across his lands and sending fast riders ahead. Two messengers attempting to get into the city were intercepted by the besiegers, one was killed, the other brought before Duke Godfrey and Bohemond. The spy revealed that Qilij Arslan intended to attack the following day, at the third hour, and that his message was intended to prepare the garrison of the city to attempt a sortie during this battle. Bargaining for his life, the Turkish messenger asked to be baptized and said that the proof of his words would be the arrival of the sultan by the stated hour. Should that fail to happen, then the messenger would willingly put his head under the axe.”
The crusading princes hurriedly prepared their troops and sent urgent messages back to Count Raymond, who had crossed the Bosphorus but was still a day behind. The Provengal army pressed on through the night, arriving as the sun cleared the horizon, prepared for battle behind their colourful standards. They had hardly established their camp when, at the third hour indeed, Qilij Arslan attacked. Thousands of Turkish riders pouring over the horizon and galloping down the valley of Nicea towards the city was almost a beautiful sight: their splendid banners and golden shields vivid against the newly risen sun. But the arrows that flew from the massed cavalry wrought cruel damage on the most recently arrived crusaders, for it was the troops of Count Raymond and Bishop Adhémar of Le Puy who had to bear the brunt of the charge.
It helped the Christian army that they had been forewarned of the attack. A division of responsibilities was clearly understood, and while those so designated held the lines facing the city, the remainder hurried to where the battle was thickest. The Normans came up fast, with Tancred rueing the fact that the Provencal knights and not his own had obtained the first opportunity to kill their Muslim enemies and thus earn the fame granted by song makers and history writers. The Lotharingians were equally swift, Baldwin, Godfrey's younger brother, at their head. Soon the arriving Christian knights were galloping through the melee, inflicting deadly wounds with their lances. If Qilij Arslan had expected to encounter the same poorly armed and equipped Christian troops that he had slaughtered in the autumn, he was now bitterly disabused. Optimism turned to dismay. No fool though, once the momentum of his attack had faltered, he understood it was better to save the army than risk losing both his striking arm and his capital.
The retreat was sounded and the bulk of the Turkish army extricated itself from battle. The cost of defeat was high enough though. The victorious Christians decapitated the slain. A thousand heads were taken by cart to Civitot, to be shipped from there to the Byzantine emperor as proof of the victory. The remainder, and there were still sizeable stacks of heads, were put on catapults and launched into Nicea. In a grim manner the attackers were demonstrating to the besieged that their lord had been defeated and they should expect no relief.
In the aftermath of this clear-cut victory, morale was extremely high in the united Christian army. The spy, whose words had proven accurate, was a popular figure in the tents of the most senior Christian princes. Popular, that is, until he had relaxed his guards sufficiently to make a break for the walls of Nicea in the early light of morning. There he had a frightening moment. Those on the walls of the city were at first slow to respond to his frantic shouts, while from the Christian camp his captors raised a cry against the attempted escape. Just in time, a rope was found that allowed the spy to be hauled up into the city, while a hail of javelins kept the pursuit at bay. That day repeated cheers and taunts were directed at the besiegers as the Nicean garrison took heart from the first event of the siege that had favoured them. There were to be others, for despite their numbers and their recent victory, the Christian army had no way through the solid walls of the city.”
Two Lotharingian noblemen, still wealthy at this point of the journey although destined to become utterly ruined before the year was out, funded a ‘fox’ at their own expense. Count Hartmann of Dillingen and Henry of Esch commissioned a defensive structure that could hold 20 men, with the idea that it should be taken up to the walls of the city, where its triangular-shaped roof would deflect the heavy missiles that would undoubtedly be thrown at it, while those inside dug away at the stone. As the armoured men approached the city, however, uneven ground meant that the fox became caught. All straining together to push it on, the key beams were dislodged from their bindings and the entire structure collapsed, instantly crushing those inside without a rock having been flung against them. Hartmann and Henry buried their brave followers with all due reverence and lamentation, but with a certain relief that they had chosen not to accompany the attack in person.”
The Provencal army had been more effective under the direction of Count Raymond and the Bishop of Le Puy. The followers of the bearded legate looked upon Adhémar not only as a religious figure, but also a general in his own right. The bishop and the count had, at first, each built a mangonel. These rock throwers of ancient design were essentially massive wooden spoons, given energy by rope torsion. Having been hauled down into a horizontal position with the missile placed in the cup, the arm of the device springs up to a vertical position when released, where it is checked by a cross bar. This causes the contents of the bowl of the spoon to be flung forward at great speed, but a relatively low trajectory. After five weeks of chipping away at the same tower with such devices, it was clear that the two they had constructed were insufficient to seriously damage the walls.
A number of other siege engines were built and, at last, cracks began to appear in the face of the tower. Encouraged by this, the crusaders charged the tower, with a wickerwork ‘tortoise’ over their heads offering some protection from arrows. Once at the walls, the crusaders set to work on the cracks with iron spikes, hacking away at the masonry. By inserting wooden props and burning them, the process of undermining the walls could be accelerated. But even so, this took time, too much time. It was nightfall before sizeable chunks of masonry were coming lose and the garrison were responding to the threat. Having pulled back due to the coming of night, the Provengals found that by the next morning the tower had been filled with rubble. To attempt to move these rocks was a disheartening and dangerous experience from which the Provengals had to reluctantly withdraw.”
At this stage of the siege Alexius was playing an active role in events. His generals, Taticius, Tzitas and Boutoumites, were camped with the Latin crusaders and it was Byzantine ships that contributed to a decisive tightening of the siege. That they were able to do was thanks to a very ambitious decision by the crusading army. On the night of 17 June at a large assembly of all contingents, the commoners agreed to take oxen, horses and their own considerable manpower, place themselves in harnesses and drag the ships seven miles from Civitot to the lake. Thousands of crusaders responded to the proposal with enthusiasm. Like a nest of ants, they poured along the paths to the sea and hauled the ships overland. Before dawn, the Byzantine navy was lying in wait on the lake waters, where they set up a blockade. The leaders of the city looked with horror at the unexpected appearance of these ships. Not only was this an end to their supply route, it was testimony to the tremendous determination of the army outside. This was warfare not just against fellow warriors, but also the many-handed creature that was the mob of Christian commoners.
Greatly encouraged by their success in setting up a complete blockade of the city, the united army tried once more to capture the tower that had been weakened by the Provengals. This time they brought up a battering ram, only to have it burned as a result of the grease, oil and pitch mixture that the Turkish troops poured from the walls and ignited with burning torches. Others working at demolishing the walls were smashed to the ground by rocks or pierced with arrows. One Turkish soldier, having been wounded and giving up on life, stood right out above the Christians and continued to throw rocks down with both hands, despite the many arrows that were sticking out of his torso. The true weapons of the nobility at this time were the lance and the sword. But the crossbow was becoming an effective tool and Duke Godfrey had learned its use, in fact he was an expert shot. Watching this soldier rage above those trying to dig away at the walls of the tower, killing many of them, Godfrey summoned two of his comrades, who provided cover with their shields. These three edged carefully into range, where Godfrey took aim, before sending a dart soaring right into the warrior’s heart, killing him instantly. Once more, however, the sun set without a breach having been made and with many losses, mostly on the Christian side.”*
The following morning, the attackers were disheartened to see that all their work of the previous day had come to nothing. More rubble had been piled up inside the tower. One knight, a follower of Robert of Normandy, tried to rally the crusaders to a further effort. Relying on the protection of his helmet, shield and chainmail hauberk, he ran to the walls and began to pull at the heaps of stones. But a deluge of rocks fell to replace each that was moved. To avoid the javelins being flung at him, this knight now stood directly under the walls where his dilemma was acute.
Run back towards the Christian lines? He would almost certainly be caught in a hail of missiles. But standing still was not an option either. Already he was dodging heavy stones and deflecting them with his shield. Across the no-man’s land, the Christians were gathering themselves, but no one wanted to charge across to the tower, risking death for what looked like a hopeless task. Yet more and more stones were falling upon the knight. Before he could realize his only hope was to run, the strength of Norman gave way beneath the crushing weight of a large rock and in an instant his formerly agile body was a broken-boned ruin lying right up against the wall. Not only did the watching crusaders mourn guiltily the loss of a hero; they also were dismayed about the probable loss of such precious armour. For the Turkish soldiers now had a new game, they had a chain prepared with hooks, which they flung down at the body. Eventually they caught hold of it and dragged the corpse of the knight up and over the wall. Soon it was on display, naked, hanging by a noose outside the walls, to the horror and shame of the Christian army.”
It was a master craftsman from Lombardy who ensured the prompt surrender of the city on 19 June. He came to the princes, promising to build a more effective covering protection than that of Hartmann and Henry, in return for 15 pounds of silver. The resulting fox was sturdy and yet mobile. Its constructor was sufficiently confident of the device that he was inside when it was manoeuvred right up to the walls of the city. There, despite the best efforts of the garrison, the steep slopes of the machine meant that rocks and flaming torches were deflected while those inside dug right down beneath the foundations of a tower. There they propped up the stone with enormous oak beams, while continuing to take earth away. Once satisfied with the digging, the Lombard had the space under the wall filled with kindling and carefully withdrew without taking any loses. The fire that resulted was unquenchable by those within the city. During the night both sides watched the orange glow, until, with a crash louder than thunder, the wall of the tower collapsed.*°
On hearing this terrible sound, the wife of Qilij Arslan took to a ship with her two sons and tried to use the cover of darkness to escape to her husband by sailing through the blockade on the lake. The alert squadron intercepted her and handed her over to the Christian princes. The news of her capture was soon shouted across to those in the city, to dishearten them further. At this point Boutoumites, the Byzantine commander based at the lake, entered into secret negotiations with the Turkish officers. The terms offered by Alexius were generous. The family of Qilij Arslan would be returned to the sultan. None of the garrison would be harmed and, indeed, the officers would be given valuable gifts. The only stumbling point was the Christian army. Could Boutoumites speak for them? The Greek general contacted Taticius, who was camped with the Latin forces. Between them, the Niceans and the Greeks agreed to make it look like Boutoumites had broken into the city during a day of busy fighting.
The plan was successful if rather nerve-wracking for Boutoumites, who was inside the city with the relatively small numbers of his troops and at the mercy of the Turks, should they change their mind about the surrender.”
Once it was apparent that the blare of bugles and waving of Byzantine banners on the walls of the city meant the siege was at an end, the delight of victory quickly soured among many of the Latin crusaders, who had anticipated considerable booty on the sacking of the Nicea. The princes, however, were given generous gifts from Alexius and the very poor obtained a distribution of food. It was the foot soldiers especially who were bitter. They were envious and even hostile to their own princes, pointing out that they had done all the hard work but gotten none of the reward. With the Byzantines refusing to let the Latins into the city, except in groups of ten to visit the sacred places, there was nothing that could be done at this stage. But the lesson was not lost and the question of who had the rights to captured property was to become a central issue in the Christian army: to the cost of many Muslim and Jewish lives in the cities that lay in their path.
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