Holy Warriors (27 page)

Practical matters notwithstanding, in the course of his stay at Messina the king was moved by the spiritual purpose of his campaign as well. For all Richard’s macho politicking, he remained a pious Christian, and the contemporary writer Roger of Howden recorded a moment when the king was overcome by his own sinfulness. He called all the clergy with him to assemble and then, naked, he threw himself to the floor and, holding three scourges, confessed his sins to them.
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In this context, we can see the power and attraction of the papal indulgence that offered a crusader the remission of all his sins.

Winter weather meant it was impossible to leave Sicily until the spring of 1191. Philip of France was the first to depart, setting sail on March 30 and reaching Acre four weeks later. This provided the major injection of men, food, and equipment the Christians so desperately needed. Philip’s status
meant that he was accorded a magnificent reception and the presence of figures such as Count Philip of Flanders (who had been to the Holy Land in 1177–78) and Duke Hugh of Burgundy added to the sense of anticipation among the Franks of the Levant.

The French constructed screens covered in polished iron to protect their crossbowmen and they launched a fierce bombardment toward the walls of Acre. Philip ordered specialist miners to dig under a section of the battlements. They shored up the passage, set it on fire, and brought the wall down; a contingent of knights scrambled through the breach but were forced back. It became clear to the defenders that they were near breaking point and they communicated this to Saladin in the main camp. Some writers indicate that Philip could have taken the city without Richard’s presence but the French king decided to wait in order for them to share in the conquest, as agreed at Vézelay. The meaning of this arrangement became sorely tested in the aftermath of Richard’s journey from Sicily to Acre. As the fleet passed Cyprus a storm blew up and drove ashore the ships of Joan and Berengaria where they were seized by Isaac Comnenus, the ruler of the island. Isaac was a renegade member of the Byzantine imperial family and another ally of Saladin; foolishly he started to threaten his prisoners. “Not unnaturally we were spurred to revenge,” wrote Richard, who landed his own forces and quickly took Limassol.
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Isaac fled but Richard soon captured his opponent, bound him in silver chains in recognition of his status, and packed him off to the Hospitaller castle of Marqab in the principality of Antioch.
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By chance, therefore, the king had acquired a rich, fertile land that was a perfect springboard for future crusades. Cyprus later became a place of refuge for those driven from the mainland and acted as a prominent and long-standing part of the Catholic presence in the eastern Mediterranean. It may seem contradictory that Richard had taken the lands of a fellow Christian, but Isaac was in alliance with the Muslims and had reputedly maltreated his prestigious female prisoners because of their allegedly heretical, that is non-Orthodox, beliefs. In the short term, Richard saw Cyprus as a source of money and he imposed a punitive levy of 50 percent on all possessions. When his own administration ran into trouble, the king promptly sold the island to the Templars for 100,000 bezants, thus raising the prospect of an independent territory owned by the warrior-monks. What this sale also meant was that Richard had refused to share the profits of his
conquest with Philip. This seemed contrary to their agreement at Vézelay but Richard claimed that it only applied to gains made in the Holy Land and not en route, a provocative reading of the terms that only served to increase Philip’s animosity toward his rival.

Richard married Berengaria at Limassol on May 12, 1191. Soon after the festivities he was visited by King Guy, himself a Poitevin. Guy’s opponent, Conrad, had already secured the support of his relative, King Philip, and now the nominal ruler of Jerusalem pledged homage to the English monarch. Thus the two rivals in the Holy Land had each linked up with one of the antagonistic crusading kings to add a further dimension to the intrigues of this campaign.

On June 8, 1191, Richard received a rapturous reception as he landed at Acre. “The most valiant of kings has arrived, the best warrior in all of Christendom. . . . Their trust was in King Richard,” as one writer commented.
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With barely a hint of irony, the writer Richard of Devizes suggested that “the king was greeted with as much joy as if he had been Christ himself returning to earth to restore the kingdom of Israel.”
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The Christians had bragged about his strength and when he appeared amid great pomp and ceremony with twenty-five galleys full of men, stores, and weapons, “his coming,” reported Beha ad-Din, “had a dread and frightening effect on the hearts of the Muslims.”
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King Philip paid his men three gold bezants a month: Richard immediately showed his wealth and his competitive nature by offering four to anyone who would join his troops.
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Further supply ships followed, this time containing his siege equipment. The Christians were greatly encouraged and launched a fierce assault on the walls of Acre, but Muslim resistance remained strong. Catapults named “Bad Neighbour” and “The Catapult of God” launched a relentless barrage of stones (some brought especially from Messina) into the city. Within Acre, a catapult known to the crusaders as “Evil Cousin” inflicted much damage to the Frankish machines and other weapons discharged Greek fire. Sometimes they caught the Christians off guard and managed to destroy a ram or catapult. The crusaders faced not simply the defenders of Acre, but Saladin’s troops as well. When those in the city were under attack they would sound
a drum to signal their coreligionists behind the Christians to launch an assault of their own. As the three armies pounded away at each other, the defenders of Acre grew ever more desperate; the Christians continued to exert maximum pressure on the walls, but still had to defend themselves from fierce attacks by Saladin’s men. The sultan sent in a huge supply ship with 650 fighting men to try to break into the harbor at Acre and to bolster the defenders. It was met by an English fleet and in spite of destroying some of these vessels it was forced to scuttle itself rather than have its cargo fall into Christian hands.

Briefly, in late June, the Christians lost momentum. Both Richard and Philip fell ill with “arnaldia,” possibly scurvy, and had to take to their beds. Richard was determined not to let this deflect him and he ordered himself carried to the walls in a great silken quilt and there, protected by a screen, fired his crossbow at the city. Needless to say, such resolution was inspirational to his troops. A fortification in the northeast of the city known as the “Accursed Tower” became the focus of Richard’s efforts and he offered two, then three, and then four gold bezants to anyone who could remove a block of stone from it. Meanwhile his engineers dug a mine underneath, only to find a Muslim countermine blocking their path. The defenders burst through into the Christian tunnel: in such a cramped, dark space, with the tunnel held up by temporary pit props, it must have been a confusing and especially terrifying fighting environment; the two forces agreed on a mutual truce and the crusaders had to withdraw.

Finally the “Accursed Tower” was brought down, but still the Muslims resisted: “had they not been infidels no better people could have been seen,” marveled the eyewitness Ambroise.
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By now, however, the walls of Acre had been pounded, pierced, and shattered so many times that the situation had become truly untenable. The defenders sent another envoy to Saladin to ask that he make peace with the Christians to save them from even greater distress. The sultan’s own forces were losing heart and his secretary reported that it was getting ever harder for him to persuade them to fight. Negotiations began but Saladin could not agree to the crusaders’ demands. Matters were to be taken out of his hands, however. The garrison became so desperate that they unilaterally struck a deal with Conrad of Montferrat to surrender. The terms included: their own freedom in return for the city; the handover of all its siege engines, equipment, and ships; 200,000 dinars; 100 specified prisoners and 1,500 unnamed captives from
Saladin’s jails; and, most prized of all, the return of the True Cross. Certain hostages would also be given by the Muslims and the obligations were to be fulfilled within a month.
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A swimmer escaped from Acre to bring this unwelcome news to the sultan on the morning of July 12, 1191. He was devastated by this turn of events—his authority had been ignored and he was to be bound by a treaty that he had not consented to. He was about to send a message telling those in Acre to wait, but at that very moment “the banners of Unbelief, its crosses, emblem and beacon were raised over the walls of the city.”
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At last the crusaders had achieved their goal: the defenders marched out, although their resolute bearing surprised and impressed the Christians because in spite of their terrible ordeal they made no outward sign of sorrow or humiliation. The crusaders then entered the devastated port, crying out with joy and giving thanks to God for their success. Richard’s and Philip’s banners were raised over the walls and towers and the city’s contents and property divided equally. The only note of discord was an incident that concerned Duke Leopold V of Austria—a veteran of Frederick Barbarossa’s crusade—who, by this point, had been fighting at Acre for almost two years. As a noble of considerable standing he felt entitled to fly his banner from the walls as well—King Richard disagreed because he did not want a mere duke to share any part of the triumph and the Austrian standard was “cast into the dirt and trampled upon as an insult.”
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As we saw earlier, the simmering rivalry between King Guy and Conrad of Montferrat over the throne of Jerusalem was paralleled in the tension between Richard and Philip. As a partisan of Conrad, the French ruler proposed to hand over all his acquisitions to the marquis—Richard felt this was wrong and that Guy, as the king, was the appropriate beneficiary. The need to settle the crown became even more pressing with the news that Philip intended to return home forthwith. Rigord, one of the few near-contemporary French sources to comment on the crusade, explained this by reference to the king’s continued ill health and irritation at the arrogance of Richard; however, some writers note that he wished to assert his rights to Flanders, a land without a ruler since the death of Count Philip at Acre on June 1.
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None of these ideas are mutually exclusive and in the absence of an eyewitness account taking Philip’s part it seems reasonable to assume a combination of all three reasons. This was a propaganda gift to the English chroniclers and they scorned the move: “What an extraordinary way of discharging a vow, when he had hardly
entered the country and had such brief triumphs against the Turks!”
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While Philip spent a considerable amount of money on the siege of Acre and his efforts there proved highly important in the capture of the city, some commentators argued that as the most prestigious monarch present he had a particular responsibility to lead the recovery of the Holy Land. In spite of many efforts to make him change his mind, Philip resolved to leave on August 1. Four days prior to then, a compromise was arranged over the succession to Jerusalem. It was agreed that Guy should hold the throne for his lifetime but because Conrad had married Isabella, the legitimate heiress to the kingdom, on Guy’s death the crown would go to his rival. This arrangement preserved Guy’s status as the crowned and anointed monarch but recognized the legitimacy of Conrad and Isabella’s wedding, endorsed the royal bloodline and, de facto, noted Conrad’s popularity and military strength.

Just before he embarked for home Philip swore that he would not attack Richard’s lands or people while he was away—as a crusader, in theory, the king of England’s territory was under the protection of the Church. As time would show this was not a promise that Philip kept, and the threat of his interference in Angevin lands proved a constant distraction for Richard over the next couple of years. The bulk of the French crusaders remained in the East, now under the command of Duke Hugh of Burgundy.

As Richard oversaw the reconstruction of Acre’s defenses the Muslims dragged out fulfilling the terms of surrender. Saladin seemed in no hurry to gather the Frankish prisoners together or to locate and hand over the True Cross. Several weeks passed by and after repeated requests for information, Richard believed that Saladin was simply playing for time. The longer Richard remained at Acre, the better the sultan could prepare his defenses elsewhere and gather more men to attack the crusaders on their march south. Around August 19 Richard called a council to debate the matter and the meeting resolved to kill all the Muslim prisoners, excepting the most important who could be ransomed. The following day 2,700 men were marched out in front of Saladin’s camp and beheaded in cold blood. The stark, straightforward brutality of this act is one of the most controversial incidents of the entire crusading period. One hundred years later, in June 1291, the slaughter of Christians at Acre was justified by the Muslims as revenge for Richard’s actions; modern commentators also cite it as a landmark of western savagery.
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Why, then, did the king and his council order such an act? Some writers state that it was done to avenge the thousands of
Christians who died at the siege of Acre between 1189 and 1191, although this seems rather a long delay between the capture of the city and the executions for such an emotional response. Practical strategic reasons were probably more prominent—even Beha ad-Din mentioned both Saladin’s hesitation and the fact that the Christians would not want to guard and feed so many prisoners with the main army absent to the south.
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With every passing day the king could see the impetus from his victory ebbing away. The chance to capitalize on this hammer blow to Saladin’s prestige was fading and the Muslims were obviously steeling themselves to make his next task even harder. Seen in these terms, Saladin’s delaying tactics gave the crusaders little choice. While one could indicate that the sultan had butchered knights of the Military Orders after the Battle of Hattin, his eventual decision to show mercy to the inhabitants of Jerusalem was some form of counterbalance. Some westerners condemned the episode; for example, Ansbert, the author of an account of Frederick Barbarossa’s crusade, and Sicard of Cremona argued that they should have been made slaves.
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