The second army belonged to the Order of Knights of the Hospital of St. John. They were known as Hospitallers and wore a red eight-pointed cross on their black mantles. They, too, arose from humble beginnings and learned to exercise kingly powers. About the year 1070, some citizens of Amalfi established a hostel for poor pilgrims in Jerusalem, with the permission of the Egyptian governor of the city. When the Crusaders
conquered Jerusalem, the master was a certain Gerard, a Benedictine priest, who escaped or was expelled from the city before its conquest. He provided the Crusaders with valuable information and was soon in the good graces of the new rulers, who endowed his hostel and encouraged his work in every way. The Church assumed control of the hostel. Like the Templars, the Hospitallers owed obedience to the pope.
When Raymond of Le Puy became the new master, around 1118, the order changed direction. In Raymond's view it was not enough that the order should care for pilgrims; it must also defend them. The rule of the Hospitallers was less strict than the rule of the Templars. The Hospitallers were steadier, less adventurous, more somber. The Templars had a glitter about them while the Hospitallers seemed almost colorless. The Hospitaller army was much smaller than the Templar army and never attained the popularity of the Templars; it was also much poorer. These two rival orders vied for honor and renown. They often clashed, but when they moved in unison they performed marvelously.
Soon the orders became proud and imperious, and since the king was also likely to be proud and imperious, there were continual disputes and quarrels. In theory, they were independent of the king, owing allegiance only to Rome. In fact, the masters of the two orders had their places in the royal council chamber, and no important act was decided upon without their agreement. More and more, as the wars continued, it appeared that the kingdom was ruled by a triumvirate: the king, and the masters of the Temple and the Hospital.
THE kings of Jerusalem came in all shapes and characters. Some were devout, some made a pretense of their devotions, one was an unbeliever, another was a leper, but all were kingly in their fashion. All led their armies into battle; and because they knew battle, they knew how dangerous and desperate was the world they lived in. They learned very early that the fighting was continuous, that it might break out on many fronts, and that total victory was beyond hope.
Baldwin II was the nephew of Godfrey and Baldwin I. Originally Baldwin of Le Bourg, he became Count of Edessa. He was crowned King of Jerusalem because in the eyes of the Crusaders his experience in Edessa showed him fit to rule the kingdom, and because he was related to Baldwin I and thought to have many of his virtues.
In fact, Baldwin II was very different. He was cautious, systematic, a punctilious administrator who earned the nickname of “the Goad.” He had no liking for the trappings of royalty. It was said that he was at his prayers so often that his knees were covered with calluses. In an age of license he was singularly chaste, remaining faithful to his Armenian wife.
Joscelin of Courtenay, one of Baldwin's distant relatives on his mother's side, came to the East, wandered to Edessa, asked for a fiefdom, and was given some lands west of the Euphrates, which were dominated by the castle of Turbessel. These were rich lands that had not been invaded, and Joscelin, in an incautious moment, said that he was rich enough to buy up the whole of the principality of Edessa, and that its present lord would be better served if he returned to France to live on his estates. Baldwin heard of the boasting and invited Joscelin to visit him at his capital. Baldwin lay in bed; it was rumored that he was seriously ill, and when Joscelin entered the bedroom he was convinced that he was about to be offered the entire principality. Joscelin asked him about his health. Baldwin answered, “Much better than you like!” sprang out of bed, and accused his faithless nephew of disloyalty and ingratitude, these being major crimes and deserving
of great punishment. Baldwin was a just man. Instead of the entire principality, Joscelin was given a small dungeon that he could hardly move in. When Baldwin felt that Joscelin had learned his lesson, he set him free.
Joscelin, stripped of his fiefdom, made his way to Jerusalem, and being a man of extraordinary courage and address, he quickly rose to become Prince of Tiberias, an important member of the royal council. Recognizing the merits of the Count of Edessa, he was the most vociferous among the princes to urge that the count should be made King of Jerusalem. Soon Joscelin of Courtenay, formerly lord of Turbessel and Prince of Tiberias, was made Count of Edessa and lived in the palace where he had once occupied a small dungeon.
Positions changed quickly in the Kingdom of Jerusalem. A squire might be knighted one day, and on the next day he might be given charge of an immense fortress and lead an army across immense deserts. A feudal king and a feudal aristocracy ruled, but a man brilliant in warfare was likely to rise rapidly through the ranks. Just as in the Church high positions went sometimes to the sons of peasants, so the military organization of the kingdom demanded that the most talented soldiers should be given great responsibilities.
A new generation of nobles was growing up. Tancred, dying in Apulia in 1112, bequeathed the principality of Antioch to his cousin Roger, Prince of Salerno. Like all the Norman princes of Italy, Roger was a brave and ferocious warrior. He was determined to add Aleppo to his principality, and in the spring of 1119 he prepared to march out against Aleppo and called upon Baldwin II for assistance. The king counseled caution. So did Pons, Count of Tripoli, grandson of the Count of Toulouse.
An attack on Aleppo would inevitably involve the sultan of Damascus and the local emirates. Ilghazi, Emir of Mardin, commanded a powerful army said to number forty thousand men. Roger's forces were pathetically small in comparisonâseven hundred knights and four thousand infantrymen. Roger hoped to take the enemy by surpriseâa forlorn hope, since the enemy had spies in Antioch who knew all his movements and were able to report all the preparations for the advance upon Aleppo. Fifteen miles from Aleppo, on June 27, 1119, while the
khamsin
was blowing, the Turcoman horsemen swept down on Roger's army, encircled it, and destroyed it. The knights were slaughtered as cattle are slaughtered, deliberately, mechanically, easily. A handful were taken prisoner and displayed during Ilghazi's triumphal procession through the streets of Aleppo; while they were being displayed, they were tortured to death.
Baldwin II heard of the disaster when he was at Lattakieh on his way to Antioch. He heard that Roger was dead, that the Crusaders had lost seven thousand men, and the Turks had lost twenty. It was the most terrible defeat suffered by the Crusaders. He rushed on to Antioch with Pons close
behind him. Ughazi had been so busy celebrating his triumph that he had failed to seize Antioch when it was at his mercy. Together, Baldwin and Pons put Antioch in a state of readiness. In the middle of August they marched against Ilghazi and fought a curious battle at Tel-Danith. Neither side won; but both Christians and Turks were badly bruised. When they had disengaged, Ilghazi took pleasure in tying his prisoners to stakes, using them for target practice. Baldwin and Pons returned to Antioch to lick their wounds.
While Ilghazi showed himself to be incompetent except in battles where he commanded overwhelming forces, the king of Jerusalem seemed to be suffering from a failure of nerve. He quarreled with Pons and sent a small army against him. It was true that Pons had refused to acknowledge Baldwin II as his sovereign, but for the king to quarrel so violently with a prince was a sign that he was becoming self-indulgent: the question of sovereignty could have been postponed to a later time.
Grotesque things began to happen. Joscelin of Courtenay, made Count of Edessa at last, was caught in an ambush by Balak, the nephew of Ilghazi and a man of considerable knowledge and experience. Joscelin was once again thrown into a dungeon; this time in the castle of Kharput in the Kurdistan Mountains. Baldwin II assumed the regency of Edessa and wondered at the stupidity of Joscelin for allowing himself to be caught. Seven months later, in April 1123, Baldwin, visiting Edessa, was himself caught in an ambush while riding with a falcon on his wrist in one of the valleys of the lower Euphrates. Balak's troops fell on the king and his escort. They were all thrown into dungeons in the same castle.
Jerusalem was without a king. Fulcher of Chartres writes about these events, which he observed from Jerusalem, with a mixture of incredulity and calm. The king had vanished, but Christ was the real king. Strange events were happening far away in the Kurdistan Mountains. Reports from Edessa reached Jerusalem at irregular intervals; no one seemed to know exactly what was happening; the Egyptians were invading from the south, and all of Islam knew of the successes of Balak. What was not known until much later was that the Armenians had received a message from Joscelin of Courtenay, urging them to attack the castle at Kharput. Fifty Armenians disguised as monks or beggars, with arms concealed under their clothing, made their way from Edessa into the mountains of Kurdistan, entered the castle secretly at night, killed the guards, and then raced to the tower where Baldwin II and Joscelin were being held prisoner.
The Armenians freed the king and Joscelin, but the Turks still had a powerful army in the vicinity, and before they could escape the castle was besieged. Baldwin II had the resources of the castle at his disposal; he believed it would be possible to fight off the Turks. He urged Joscelin to escape through the enemy lines to summon help. With three Armenians to lead the way, Joscelin made his way to the Euphrates, which they crossed
on inflated leather bags. It was a difficult and dangerous crossing. He had lost his shoes, his feet were bleeding, and he was exhausted. He fell asleep under a nut tree, his body hidden under bushes and brambles, for he feared the enemy was searching for him. He was awakened by an Armenian peasant, who turned out to be a former servant of his.
Soon Joscelin, riding on the peasant's ass, reached Turbessel, where Joscelin found his wife and rewarded the peasant. Almost immediately he rode off to Antioch and then to Jerusalem, where he offered some links of his prison chains as an ex-voto in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre.
A more important task was to assemble an army to rescue the king. Columns from Jerusalem, Tripoli and Antioch rode off to Turbessel, only to discover that the king was still being held in the castle. Balak offered the king a safe-conduct if he surrendered the castle. The king refused, and the fighting went on. Balak in a rage ordered that the rock on which the castle stood be mined. The Muslims were experienced tunnelers; they carved tunnels through the rock under the two principal towers, then stacked wood inside the tunnels and the wood was set on fire. The effect was to create enormous explosions which brought down the two towers. With the castle half in ruins and no longer defendable, the king was forced to surrender. Balak spared the king but took brutal vengeance on the Armenians who had helped the king conquer the fortress.
Shortly after Baldwin II was ambushed, there arrived in Palestinian waters a huge Venetian fleet commanded by the Doge Domenico Michiel. The fleet put in at Acre to learn that Jaffa was being besieged by an Egyptian fleet. Nothing could have delighted the doge more. He detached eighteen ships that looked like pilgrim ships from the main fleet and sent them to Jaffa. The Egyptians exulted at the prospect of booty. The captains of the doge's decoy ships played their roles well, pretended to be too weak to fight, and took only such evasive action as would convince the Egyptians that they were terrified. Suddenly the Venetian ships came over the horizon, their brightly colored sails filled with wind, the great banks of oars flashing in unison. The doge had ordered the Venetians to permit no Egyptians to escape. The entire Egyptian fleet was surrounded; the Venetians boarded them and massacred everyone on them. The sea turned red.
This was one of the greatest of all naval victories up to that time. It was carried out with precision and daring, with superb seamanship. Ten more Egyptian ships were found off Ascalon. They, too, were full of booty: gold and copper coins; balks of timber for making siege engines; pepper, cumin, and other spices. Those ships that succeeded in beaching themselves were burned while the rest were taken to Acre, which had never previously seen so many ships riding at anchor.
There remained Tyre, the last seaport in Muslim hands north of Ascalon. Tyre was the Mediterranean seaport for Damascus, well fortified, proud and imperious on its rocky peninsula. Toghtekin, Atabeg of Damascus,
had sent in a powerful garrison. The Egyptians were attacking Jerusalem in order to make a diversion; the troops of Ascalon were confronted with the common people of Jerusalem, who fought to preserve the city without benefit of armed knights, for the chivalry was at Tyre. The land walls were surrounded by Crusading knights and crossbowmen; the seawalls were blockaded by the huge Venetian fleet, which had increased in numbers during these last days. Tyre was doomed. Toghtekin made one last despairing effort to penetrate the ring around the city, but failed. On July 7, 1124, the citizens capitulated and the Crusaders entered the city and raised the royal standard on its towers. There was some irony in this, for the king was still a prisoner in his remote castle in the Kurdistan mountains. Tyre was conquered in his name and became a part of his kingdom.
This time the conquerors behaved honorably. They permitted the Muslims to remain or to leave with all their wealth, as they pleased, according to the terms of the capitulation. This was probably due to Pons, who played an important role in the siege and was becoming increasingly respected.
Less than two months after the fall of Tyre, Baldwin was released from his prison. His enemy, Balak, had been killed in a fracas among the Muslims and was succeeded by the Emir Timurtash who offered Baldwin his freedom in exchange for some territories beyond the Orontes and a payment of eighty thousand dinars, of which only twenty thousand dinars were payable in advance. Baldwin found the terms acceptable. He was entertained at a banquet by the emir and given a royal robe, a gold cap, and embroidered buskins, like those worn by the emperor of Byzantium. He was also given his favorite charger, which had been well cared for during his imprisonment.