The First Crusade Part II
Posted by Mitch Williamson in Crusade on Sunday, January 15, 2012
Although most of the contingents of the Peasants’ Crusade
never reached Constantinople, those commanded by Walter the Penniless and Peter
the Hermit did. The Byzantine emperor, Alexius, and his commanders were
suspicious of these rag-tag troops and, rather than have them bivouac for a
protracted length of time on the outskirts of the imperial capital, they
transported them across the straits to Asia Minor on 6 August. There the
crusaders split into several groups, largely along linguistic lines. A few
early raids were successful, but a large band of German crusaders was isolated
and defeated near Nicea and forced to convert to Islam and be deported
eastwards or, if they refused, to die. By 21 October, the main body of
crusaders, chastened by the slaughter of their comrades but still not
co-ordinating their operations competently, and with relatively ineffective
military intelligence, came face to face with overwhelming Turkish forces and
were annihilated.
Meanwhile, back in Europe, the Princely Crusade was in the
final stages of preparation. Powerful aristocrats commanded the various units,
and in each case the commander knew that his retinue had honed their skills in
battles at home. Long-standing and strong personal loyalties bound many of the
units as well. It is a myth that the crusaders were composed of landless young
knights; they tended to be mature and experienced men who left considerable
properties behind. The prominence of loyalty among these warriors did not mean
that there was always harmony within the units or that the various units
themselves co-ordinated their efforts effectively. Nevertheless, there was a
military ethos that informed the Princely Crusade in a way that it did not the
Peasants’ Crusade. Moreover, the new units were relatively better supplied than
their predecessors. Partly this was because the great aristocrats had much more
cash and credit at their disposal to buy equipment and other supplies. Partly,
however, it was a matter of timing: having departed at a later date, the new
crusaders had more liberty to plan, while also having the opportunity to
benefit from the harvests of 1096.
The chief princes and their crusader retinues began to
arrive in Constantinople in November and continued to arrive until May 1097,
and were steadily ferried across the Bosporus in anticipation of engagement.
Most of the commanders promised that, if they were successful, those lands they
conquered which had once been part of the Byzantine Empire would revert to the
Empire, a necessary concession if Byzantine troops were to complement their
efforts, as in fact they did for a time. According to the best estimates, the
crusade could count on more than 40,000 troops.
This enormous army appeared at Nicea on 19 June and overawed
the Turkish garrison, which surrendered to the Byzantines. A week later, the
crusaders set out for the interior and on 1 July defeated additional Turkish
forces at Dorylaeum. Forty-eight hours later they resumed their march,
traversing city after city of interior Asia Minor in the weeks that followed,
but eventually encountering another major Turkish force at Ereghli in early
September. Here, too, the crusading army crushed their enemies and sent the
remnants packing.
Two of the leading commanders, Baldwin of Boulogne and a
mercurial baron, Tancred, the son of Robert Guiscard, then took contingents
eastwards and south-eastwards, where they accomplished the reconquest of the
coastal cities of Anatolia, including Tarsus, which they knew as St Paul’s
birthplace. Baldwin followed up this success with the conquest of Edessa and,
after supplanting its Armenian prince, he set up the first crusader
principality there. Pressure was then put on the temperamental Tancred to rejoin
the main crusader army, which was engaged in the long siege of Antioch from 21
October 1097 until June 1098.
The successful conclusion of the siege, with only the Muslim
garrison of the citadel still holding out, led to the occupation of Antioch,
but a few days later a large number of Turkish reinforcements arrived and
surrounded the occupied city. At this point, a Byzantine army in reserve a few
miles from Antioch and under the direct command of Emperor Alexius might have
saved the situation, but the emperor’s military intelligence overstated the
size of the Turkish forces and the significance of their early successes. The
Byzantines therefore withdrew.
of this desperate situation arose the first great sequence
of events that would mark the crusade – in the crusaders’ minds at least – as
undeniably God’s work. Visionaries among the besieged claimed to have received
comfort and inspiration personally from Jesus. The Blessed Virgin’s appearance
was reported, as were the appearances of St Andrew and St Peter. And, miracle
of miracles, thanks to a poor peasant, a lance was found under the floor of the
Cathedral of Antioch which was said to be, though not everyone at first
credited the tale, the lance with which the centurion had stabbed the dead
Christ on the Cross (John 19:34). The Holy Lance, regarded as a relic, was
interpreted as a sign for the crusaders to abandon the relative safety of
Antioch’s defences and confront the Turks directly. On 28 June, they did just
that. Completely surprised and unnerved by the crusaders’ daring, the Turks
fled. Equally surprised by the failure of the Muslim army, the citadel
garrison, which until that moment had courageously held out, also surrendered
to the crusaders. Antioch, where the followers of Jesus were first called
Christians, was now entirely in crusader hands.
The crusaders believed that such success, like finding the
Holy Lance itself, was a sign from God, but success also bred strife. The
treachery of the Byzantine emperor, as some of the crusaders conceived it,
relieved them of the necessity of honouring their promise to return all
conquered lands to his authority. Other commanders demurred at forswearing
their solemn oaths. Presently disease afflicted the army, felling some of its
most gifted commanders and decimating the ranks. But despite this, the
bickering persisted: as they continued to debate future plans, what was and was
not pleasing to God became painfully and dangerously uncertain.
By January 1099 many of the rank and file were rallying
around lesser lords, who intended to bring order to the army by compelling
dissident commanders, by force if necessary, to put aside their disagreements
and resume the march. Force was necessary, it turned out (in the guise of an
attack on the fortifications of Raymond of Saint-Gilles, who favoured holding
to the agreement with the Byzantines), but it was followed by a sobering
rededication to the expedition. By February most of what was left of the army
was on the move, traversing Lebanon and reaching Palestine in May. On 6 June
Tancred conquered Bethlehem, the birthplace of Jesus, and on 7 June the bulk of
the army began the siege of Jerusalem. There were now approximately 15,000
troops left to do so.
They moved more quickly than they had at Antioch to end the
siege, storming the city on 15 July. The frenzy of the assault and the
slaughter were of epic proportions, as the crusaders took control.
Many of the Saracens
[Muslims] who had climbed to the top of the Temple of Solomon in their flights
were shot to death with arrows and fell headlong from the roof. Nearly ten
thousand were beheaded in this Temple. If you had been there your feet would
have been stained to the ankles in the blood of the slain. What shall I say?
None of them were left alive. Neither women nor children were spared.
(Fulcher of Chartres, 1969, pp. 121–2).
A week later the victors elected Godfrey of Bouillon as
ruler – not king – of Jerusalem: Jesus was king. But they had learned something
from the experience at Antioch. The Muslims would undoubtedly send another
force to try to retake Jerusalem, and indeed an enormous Egyptian force invaded
Palestine in August. But on the twelfth of the month, crusader forces surprised
the Egyptians near Ascalon, on the Mediterranean coast about fifty miles west
of the Holy City, and utterly destroyed them.
The First Crusade had reached its emotional high point, and
it is customary to claim that the crusade more or less ended at this moment.
The setting up of principalities and the evolution of political and religious
life proceeded apace, but these hardly appeared to be aspects of the crusade
itself. In fact, the crusade was far from over. For the next twenty years, men
streamed into the Holy Land and fought any number of actions in the
extraordinary attempt to stabilize, expand and territorially consolidate the
Crusader States. These actions were the necessary coda of the more spectacular
conquest of Jerusalem and are properly considered part of the First Crusade.
What this almost continuous warfare ensured was that the political institutions
and social arrangements of the Crusader States would be skewed. What has
sometimes been said of Spain in the era of the Reconquest can be said even more
accurately of the Crusader States: they constituted a society organized almost
solely according to the exigencies of war.
One of the more distinctive features of this society was the
presence of military orders, well-organized associations of devout Christians
who cared for and provided protection for pilgrims, nursed the sick, and ultimately
took an active part in the military defence of the Crusader States. Groups of
people dedicated to the nursing of pilgrims probably existed before 1099, but
there were dramatic increases in the numbers of Christian pilgrims to the Holy
City from the time of the Christian reconquest onwards. Pilgrims to Jerusalem
characteristically, if not exclusively, were aged or sick; they came to the
city not for miraculous cures but in order to die where Christ had died. It was
in part due to the pressure of such numbers that the people ministering to them
organized themselves into formal orders. The earliest of these seems to have
been the Order of St John of Jerusalem, known more familiarly as the
Hospitallers. The Order of the Temple of Solomon or Knights Templars came into
being in 1119–20, originally to guard the pilgrimage routes.
The Hospitallers ran the great pilgrim hospital in the Holy
City, sometimes employing Jewish and Muslim physicians to help minister to the
sick. The hospital accepted both Muslims and Jews who needed care. Orphans of
war and abandoned children were taken in and put in the charge of female
nurses; when they came of age they were invited to join the Order. But, as was
typical of the military orders, the Hospitallers, while never losing their
original function, came more and more to be identified as a fighting force. The
Order’s great hospital, perhaps 1,000 beds or more, was often filled with the
wounded from its own battles.
The military orders, in their mature form, came to be composed
of knights who took monastic vows and vowed celibacy, priests who carried out
the spiritual functions of the order, sergeants from lesser social backgrounds,
and nuns who helped nurse women and children and who prayed for the success of
the Christian mission. They were international orders who owed direct obedience
to the pope and were supported by houses established throughout Europe which
both sent funds to the orders in the Holy Land and provided venues for the
retirement of older members of the orders. Their work, in the heroic age
following the conquest of Jerusalem, was deeply admired. To St Bernard, who
wrote in praise of the Templars, they represented a new order of Christian
knighthood. King Alfonso I of Navarre and Aragon (d. 1131) wanted to give
one-third of his kingdom to the Hospitallers to carry on their work.
The news in Christendom of the fall of Jerusalem and the
good work of devoted Christians confirmed, more than almost anything else
could, the spirit of renewal that had been articulated in the efforts at papal
and popular reform. Of the crusaders who lived and returned home to Europe, few
came back rich, and the difficult local conditions that had arisen on their
estates during their absence often demanded extraordinary efforts at peacekeeping
and restoration on their part. All of these men had lost kinsmen and good
friends in great numbers in the deserts and plains of the Near East.
Nonetheless, those who returned relished recalling their adventures – stories
of their suffering and courage that grew in the retelling into wondrous tales
of inspiration for generations to come.
Those who had failed to go on the expedition felt all the
more need to prove themselves as time went by. But the specialness of having
gone on the First Crusade was never lost. Families assiduously preserved the
memory of the participation of their ancestors. Other families who could not
count an ancestor on the expedition found it difficult to explain why this was
so, since nobility and the defence of Christendom were so closely related in
the aristocratic imagination. As time passed, some of these lineages ‘invented’
ancestral participants in the First Crusade by clever misreadings, whether
deliberate or inadvertent, of original chronicle reports (Murray, 1998, pp. 38–54).
Surely, it might be said, if the family of so-and-so had gone off to war in the
East with a great entourage, and this family was closely connected to one’s
own, then it was only natural and right to suppose that in that entourage one’s
own kinfolk could be numbered. To have served Christendom in this, allegedly
the most righteous of its wars, was the crowning achievement of nobility.
Posts
