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NUR ED-DIN
While Europe mourned the defeat of the Second Crusade, the crusader states were left with its bitter legacy. The people of Damascus now deeply distrusted the Christians, although they hardly trusted Nur ed-Din much more. Momentum, it seemed, had shifted from the crusaders to the Muslims. Nur ed-Din went from victory to victory, capturing the territories of his Muslim rivals and thereby piecing together a reunified Syria. Yet while Nur ed-Din unified, the crusader states crumbled apart. Baldwin III (1143–63), like any young man in his teens, was eager to go his own way without parental meddling. Unfortunately for him, his mother, Queen Melisende, was not merely regent but co-ruler. She could not simply be brushed aside. Relations between mother and son eroded rapidly. The nobility split into factions favoring one or the other. Tensions between the parties grew so severe that civil war seemed imminent, and in isolated areas it did break out. By 1152, however, the political struggle was over. Melisende was removed from power and given the town of Nablus, where she lived out the remainder of her days. For his part, Baldwin had grown into a vigorous man, fair haired with a thick beard. He was intelligent and well educated, with a winning personality and a diplomat’s guile.
With his mother out of the way, Baldwin prepared for his first great initiative, the capture of Ascalon. This heavily fortified port city was the last remnant of Muslim power on the Palestinian coast. The Egyptians had long used it as a base for raiding. Although the raids had subsided with the construction of crusader fortresses around the city, it remained a strategic port where Fatimid rulers could station their fleets to disrupt Christian shipping. It might also make a useful beachhead for a Muslim invasion. In January 1153, Baldwin put all the resources of his kingdom into the siege. Month after month the city held out, but on August 19 it finally surrendered. The captured booty was enormous, the first such haul crusaders had seen in several generations. The Christian conquest of Palestine was complete.
The capture of Ascalon had a price: Nur ed-Din took advantage of the diverted attention of the crusaders by marching on Damascus. Baldwin had no resources to assist in its defense. Although the atabeg of Damascus had patched things up with the crusaders, the people of the city no longer trusted them after the Second Crusade. A few months after the fall of Ascalon, the people of Damascus opened their gates to Nur ed-Din. He was now the unquestioned master of Muslim Syria.
Ascalon carried an additional price, although none could then see it. For the first time, Egypt was in reach of the crusaders. The temptation to expand into the rich lands of the Nile was enormous. Rather than preserving a balance of power at home, the Christians of the kingdom of Jerusalem would find themselves drawn powerfully into Egypt. The same lure would animate many of the later crusades from Europe, with disastrous results.
The conquest of Damascus put Nur ed-Din in a powerful position, so it is not surprising that those poets and religious leaders who had urged his father to take up the jihad against the Christians did the same to him. The evidence suggests that Nur ed-Din’s interests were limited to the acquisition of power, not religious revivalism. He rejected several calls to turn his armies against the Christians, including one by the Fatimid vizier, Tala’i‘ b. Ruzzik. He preferred to consolidate his power in Syria, which meant, of course, waging war on fellow Muslims.
That began to change in October 1157 and January 1159, when Nur ed-Din suffered serious illnesses that led him to consider his own mortality and the salvation of his soul. It is from this period that inscriptions began to refer to Nur ed-Din as a jihad warrior. Nur ed-Din made the pilgrimage to Mecca in 1161, and after a humiliating defeat at the hands of a Christian army he began a program of spiritual reform for himself and his domain. He sponsored the construction of dozens of religious buildings, including teaching colleges, Sufi cloisters, and a major hospital. In Damascus he built the great Dar al-‘adl (House of Justice), where he would personally hear the cases of his people and dispense justice according to the precepts of Islamic law.
There is no doubt that Nur ed-Din used jihad propaganda to strengthen his position against his rivals and acquire the support of the Sunni caliphate in Baghdad. But that does not mean that he did not genuinely believe that he was responsible to God for the spiritual health of his people and the destruction of his enemies. Indeed, unlike any enemy the crusaders had yet faced, Nur ed-Din energized Islamic religious zeal, using it for his own advancement and as a weapon against the Christians. Like Zengi before him, Nur ed-Din preached jihad, a holy war against the infidel invaders. “I seek nothing,” he said, “but the good of the Muslims and to make war against the Franks.” Like Bernard of Clairvaux, Nur ed-Din believed that victory on the battlefield required religious purification. With determination he beat the drum of holy war, proclaiming that Muslim unity and piety would stir God to expel the Christians from his sanctified lands.
BALDWIN III
King Baldwin was eager to foster good relations with the Byzantine Empire. Byzantine armies were an effective tool in preserving a balance of power in Syria, and the Byzantine navy would be indispensable in an attack on Egypt. Relations between the two states were strained, however, over the matter of Antioch. Prince Raymond had been killed fighting Nur ed-Din back in June 1149. His widow, Constance of Antioch, was determined to marry for love. She chose Reynald of Châtillon, a handsome, dashing, and reckless adventurer. It was a disastrous choice. According to his nature, Reynald acted impulsively and without thought. He was grotesquely cruel, painfully bombastic, and politically tone deaf. In 1156, joining forces with Prince Thoros of Armenia, he led three weeks of plundering expeditions against Byzantine Cyprus. With joy, Reynald presided over and took part in brutal murder, rape, and destruction across the Christian island. Emperor Manuel was enraged, and so too was King Baldwin. The two leaders formed an alliance in September 1158, while the emperor and his troops were already on the march. Baldwin agreed to do nothing while Manuel waged war on Antioch. In return, the emperor promised to assist the crusaders in their struggle with Nur ed-Din. To cement the agreement, Baldwin married Manuel’s niece, Theodora.
Thoros fled, leaving Reynald to face the imperial army himself. Although adept at killing the defenseless, the prince of Antioch had no stomach for fighting men with swords. It was, in any case, a hopeless fight. Without help from Jerusalem, Antioch would fall. Reynald left the city, making his way to the emperor’s camp. There he groveled at the emperor’s feet, begging for mercy. He got it, more than he deserved. Manuel agreed to allow Reynald to hold Antioch as an imperial vassal, provided that the citadel was handed over to Byzantine troops. On April 12, 1159, Manuel I made a triumphal entry into the ancient city. After securing the citadel, he marched toward Nur ed-Din’s stronghold at Aleppo.
Once again it seemed that Aleppo would fall, and once again it did not. Manuel was not as interested in capturing the city as he was in securing peace for the crusader states. In return for the emperor’s retreat, Nur ed-Din agreed to a truce with the Christians, preserving the current borders. He also agreed to assist Manuel in an attack on the Seljuk Turks of Anatolia. Although some knights muttered bitterly about the emperor’s withdrawal, the truce was honored almost everywhere. Predictably, Reynald did not honor it. In 1160, he was captured by Muslim forces and held for ransom. No one was willing to pay, so he remained in captivity for the next sixteen years.
King Baldwin III died in February 1163 after a short illness. He was greatly mourned by Christians and Muslims alike. Having no children, he had named his younger brother, Amalric, to be his successor. Twenty-seven years old, Amalric (1163–74) was much like his brother in many ways. The two looked quite alike, except that Amalric was much heavier. There was some opposition among the nobility to Amalric’s taking the crown. In 1157 he had married Agnes of Courtenay, the daughter of Joscelin II of Edessa. The patriarch of Jerusalem had condemned the marriage because the two were too closely related. To obtain the throne, Amalric agreed to an annulment, provided that his two children, Baldwin and Sibylla, were declared legitimate. It was during Amalric’s reign that Archbishop William of Tyre was commissioned to write a history of the crusader states and a history of Islam. The former remains an important and valuable source. The latter is lost.
THE LURE OF EGYPT
Before taking the throne of Jerusalem, Amalric had been count of Jaffa and Ascalon. It is not surprising, then, that when he thought of the future of his kingdom, he looked to Egypt. The time seemed ripe for an invasion. The Fatimid caliphate had disintegrated into factional warfare between two viziers, each in search of allies to use against the other. Nur ed-Din had tried to end the struggle by sending his Kurdish general, Shirkuh, into Egypt to place the vizier, Shawar, in power, but once this was accomplished, Shirkuh and Shawar became bitter enemies, and war again seemed likely. Shawar appealed to Amalric for help. In 1164, the king led his troops into Egypt, besieging Shirkuh at Bilbeis. The situation was desperate for Shirkuh. In an attempt to break the siege, Nur ed-Din attacked the crusaders near Antioch, decisively defeating their army and capturing their leaders. To restore the truce, Amalric agreed to withdraw from Egypt provided that Shirkuh did the same. For the moment, the balance of power was maintained, but the continued instability of the Fatimid caliphate threatened all.
Three years later, with his position better consolidated in Syria, Nur ed-Din prepared to snatch the Egyptian prize before it could fall to the Christians. Once again he sent Shirkuh into Egypt, and again Shawar turned to Amalric for assistance. The king sent Hugh of Caesarea to Cairo to negotiate a treaty in which the vizier agreed to pay 400,000 gold dinars in return for Christian aid. Boldly, Hugh insisted that the caliph himself ratify the agreement, even demanding that the sheltered potentate shake hands on the deal. With the treaty signed, the Christian forces marched into Egypt and besieged Alexandria, which Shirkuh had previously captured. After a brief siege, the city capitulated. It was a great moment for the crusaders as they strode victoriously into the city of St. Mark, the last of the ancient patriarchal sees not already in Christian hands. Alexandria was restored to the Fatimid caliphate, but the Franks were allowed to fly their standard over the famed lighthouse. In addition, they stationed a garrison of soldiers in the capital city, Cairo, to defend against further attacks from Nur ed-Din. For this protection, they were to receive an annual payment of 100,000 gold dinars. For all practical purposes, Egypt had become a Christian protectorate.
With courage and skill, Amalric had reversed the kingdom of Jerusalem’s downward slide, bringing it to a new apex of power and prestige. But he wanted more. Control over Egypt was one thing, but he, like Nur ed-Din and Shirkuh, dreamed of capturing it outright. To that end, Amalric sent William of Tyre to Constantinople to negotiate a joint attack on the Fatimids. Earlier, the king had married the great-niece of the emperor, Maria Comnena. The Hospitallers strongly favored the conquest of Egypt, arguing that the terms of the Christian withdrawal were too lenient. Egypt was weak and ready for conquest, they argued. Shawar was unreliable, and his son, Kamil, was known to be negotiating with Nur ed-Din. Would the crusaders wait until Egypt could rebuild its strength, or would they capture it now for the good of all Christendom? The power of the crusaders, the Hospitallers argued, was more than sufficient to perform the task. There was no reason to wait for the emperor in Constantinople to arrive and claim the prize for himself. The Templars disagreed, opposing the expedition to Egypt altogether. They insisted that the crusaders not repeat the mistake of Damascus by attacking an ally and thus driving him into the bosom of their enemy. Amalric sided with the Hospitallers. Without waiting for word from Constantinople, the king began the invasion of Egypt. The Templars refused to take part.
When Shawar learned that his allies were now his enemies, he turned swiftly to Nur ed-Din. With promises of rich rewards and a third of Egypt, the Muslim leader again sent Shirkuh to Egypt with a large war chest and the army of Damascus. In November 1168, the crusaders captured Bilbeis and began their trek to Cairo. They were delayed, however, getting their fleet down the Nile. In the interim, Shirkuh’s forces arrived in the vicinity. He did not venture to attack the crusaders directly, because there was really no need. Both sides knew that the crusader assault had run out of steam, unable to project power so deeply into Egypt while an enemy prepared to cut off the forces’ supplies and retreat. Amalric attempted to extract money from Shawar for his withdrawal, but the vizier put off the matter with negotiations, knowing that the Christian threat was largely neutralized. At last, Amalric ordered the retreat of his forces from Egypt. It was a bitter defeat.
THE RISE OF SALADIN
Shawar was saved from the Christians, but not from Shirkuh. Days later, the general murdered his old enemy and took the title of vizier for himself. He did not hold it long; two months later, he died, too. His nephew, al-Malik al-Nasir Salah al-Din Yusuf, known to the Christians as Saladin, succeeded him. Saladin had been at his uncle’s side during most of the Egyptian campaigns. There was nothing about him or his early career to suggest to the crusaders that he was a particularly gifted or effective leader. But he was. As vizier, Saladin began the process of putting Egypt back together again. He reorganized the Egyptian army and started work on a citadel and other fortifications to defend Cairo against future attacks. He secured the lucrative Red Sea ports, including one controlled by the Franks. In September 1171 he boldly deposed the Fatimid caliph, removed all Shi’ites from power, and placed Egypt under the nominal rule of the Sunni Abbasids in Baghdad. Theoretically, Syria and Egypt were at last united into one Islamic empire, under the overlordship of Nur ed-Din. In reality, though, Saladin was master of Egypt. Tensions between the two men increased, particularly as Nur ed-Din extended his own power over Mosul and Mesopotamia.
King Amalric had by no means given up on Egypt. In 1169, he and Emperor Manuel Comnenus launched a joint land-sea attack on Damietta. The greatest obstacle to their victory was not the enemy but themselves. Amalric and the Hospitallers did not trust the emperor, fearing that he would capture the city and exclude them from the spoils. The utter lack of cooperation between the two forces doomed the enterprise from the start. When the rains came, Amalric ordered his army home. The Byzantine fleet also left, although many of its ships were lost in a sudden storm.
Recriminations for this latest defeat were heard all around Jerusalem and Constantinople. Among the crusader nobility, most blamed the Byzantines, although some criticized the delays and tactics of their king. For his part, Amalric still refused to abandon his dream of conquering Egypt. Despite the bad feelings generated at Damietta, he continued to seek good relations with Manuel in the hopes of another joint attack. He also opened negotiations with Byzantium’s enemies, the Normans. Here he was more successful. In 1174, King William II of Sicily led a massive fleet against Alexandria. Amalric and his troops planned to join the Normans there to assist in the siege, but on July 11, before he could arrive, the king of Jerusalem died of dysentery. His troops returned home. Alone, the Normans prepared for an assault, but a surprise sortie from the city drove them back to their boats and to Sicily.
For Saladin, all the news was good. The death of Amalric left the kingdom of Jerusalem to the king’s thirteen-year-old son, Baldwin IV (1174–85). Although the young man possessed a keen intelligence, he was sickly. In fact, he had already contracted leprosy, a disease that was to cripple, disfigure, and ultimately kill him. On May 14, 1174, the great Nur ed-Din died, leaving behind one young son and a host of Zengid family members vying for control of his kingdom. Saladin took advantage of the strife, insisting that he was the rightful heir of Nur ed-Din. To make that case, he occupied Damascus swiftly, thus gaining a military foothold in Syria. Two years later, he settled the power struggle by allowing two Zengids to take Aleppo and Mosul, while the Abbasid caliph named Saladin overlord of Syria and Egypt. To further strengthen his ties to the Zengid family Saladin married Nur ed-Din’s widow. The crusaders’ greatest fear was thus realized—the Muslim kingdoms were united not only in theory but also in fact.
Before his death, Nur ed-Din had made the conquest of Jerusalem the centerpiece of his jihad against the Christians. Traditionally, Jerusalem was regarded by Muslims as holy, but much less important than Mecca and Medina. Mohammed, it was believed, had made his Night Journey into the heavens from Jerusalem, and it was there that the resurrection would begin on the Last Day. But Jerusalem’s supreme importance to Christians and Jews made it a place of only marginal interest to most Muslims. As we have seen, the fall of Jerusalem to the crusaders in 1099 prompted no plan to retake the city, nor even an abundance of lamentations. Decades later, though, that began to change. In part, it was a result of the European Christians’ fierce devotion to Jerusalem, which led them to leave their own lands and see to its defense. In part, though, it was the product of a spiritual revival under Nur ed-Din that would continue under Saladin.
There is no better proof of Nur ed-Din’s determination to conquer Jerusalem as the fulfillment of his jihad than the construction of the minbar (pulpit) that he sponsored in 1169. The elaborate and magnificent construction was placed in the Great Mosque of Aleppo, but only temporarily. Nur ed-Din meant for it to grace the Aqsa Mosque in Jerusalem when God favored him with its conquest. Its long inscription begins:
Its construction has been ordered by the slave, the one needful of His mercy, the one thankful for His grace, the fighter of jihad in His path, the one who defends [the frontiers] against the enemies of His religion, the just king, Nur ed-Din, the pillar of Islam and the Muslims, the dispenser of justice to those who are oppressed in the face of the oppressors.
The beautifully decorated minbar was a votive offering for a conquest that had yet to take place. Elsewhere in the inscription, Nur ed-Din pleads, “May He grant conquest to him [Nur ed-Din] and at his own hands.”1
But Nur ed-Din did not achieve the victory for which he prayed. It was, instead, left to Saladin to continue the jihad against the crusaders. Like Nur ed-Din, Saladin did not at once take up the sword of jihad. He was much too busy defeating his Muslim rivals and consolidating his own power. The religious classes who hoped for so much from Nur ed-Din naturally urged Saladin to put away his quarrels with fellow Muslims and focus on the Christian menace. This Saladin was glad to do, once his own position in Egypt and Syria was unassailable. Like Nur ed-Din, Saladin appears to have undergone a religious awakening after several life-threatening events. Twice—in 1176 and 1185—the Assassins cult made an attempt on his life. He also suffered a serious illness that focused his attention firmly on the state of his soul. It was said that during his illness he swore to take up the jihad and not to rest until he had restored Jerusalem to Muslim control. According to Imad al-Din, Saladin’s sickness was sent by God “to wake him from the sleep of forgetfulness.”
After his recuperation, Saladin embraced the jihad and the advancement of Islam just as mightily as Nur ed-Din before him. He believed that his state must abide by the laws of Islam if it were to prosper. At great detriment to himself and his administration, he abolished all unlawful taxes. Like his predecessors, Saladin gave generously to pious causes and spent freely on the building of new mosques, libraries, and convents. He had become a deeply religious man who genuinely hoped to reunify Muslims into a powerful state holy before God. When he spoke of holy war, he did so with passion. His friend and biographer, Baha ad-Din, recorded:
The Holy War and the suffering involved in it weighed heavily on his heart and his whole being in every limb; he spoke of nothing else, thought only about equipment for the fight, was interested only in those who had taken up arms, had little sympathy with anyone who spoke of anything else or encouraged any other activity.2
Jerusalem became the centerpiece of his rhetoric. He looked forward to the day when the Christian conquerors would be driven from the city, back to the European lands whence they had come three-quarters of a century earlier. Indeed, he hoped for a great deal more:
While I [Baha ad-Din] was standing thus Saladin turned to me and said: “I think that when God grants me victory over the rest of Palestine I shall divide my territories, make a will stating my wishes, then set sail on this sea for their far-off lands and pursue the Franks there, so as to free the earth of anyone who does not believe in God, or die in the attempt.”3
The problem of the Byzantine Empire’s protection of the crusader states resolved itself for Saladin in 1176 at the crucial battle of Myriocephalum. There, the Seljuk Turks of Anatolia crushed the imperial armies. The emperor’s dream of recapturing Asia Minor disintegrated. More important for Saladin, the defeat put Byzantium on the defensive at home, removing it as a player in Palestine and Syria. Faraway Europe was also not a problem. Crusader requests for aid to the pope, France, England, and Germany had been met with sympathetic words but little else. Europe’s leaders were too preoccupied with their own struggles to be overly concerned with the Levant. The pope and the Lombard League were at war with the German emperor in the north of Italy, and France and England were on very poor terms with each other. The crusader states would have to stand on their own.
In 1180, Saladin allied with Sultan Kilij Arslan II of the Seljuks. Three years later, he captured Aleppo, and in 1185 he made an alliance with Mosul. In the same year, he struck a four-year truce with the Franks, giving him time to improve his position in Syria. Simultaneously, he entered negotiations with Emperor Andronicus I Comnenus (1183–85) in Constantinople. The latter was in a difficult position, squeezed by the Turks from the east and the Normans from the west. Andronicus and Saladin signed a treaty of friendship, leaving the Latins even farther out in the cold. Unlike John II and Manuel I, Andronicus had neither the opportunity nor the will to assist Christian Palestine. Although he was himself once given a fief in the Latin Kingdom, the emperor had risen to power on a wave of vehement anti-Latinism in Constantinople. In 1182, he had allowed the urban mobs to massacre thousands of western Europeans living in the capital, an event that embittered the crusaders against the Byzantines even further. No longer was the Byzantine emperor seen as a friend of the crusader states. He was now their betrayer.
THE REIGN OF THE LEPER KING
Because of his leprosy, there was no possibility of Baldwin IV’s producing offspring, nor was there an expectation that he would live for very long. Because he was unable to rule directly, his reign was one of regents and factions vying for control of the kingdom and jockeying for position while the king approached death. The first regent was Count Raymond III of Tripoli, a sober and intelligent man. Raymond attempted to deal with the problem of a royal heir by marrying the king’s sister, Sibylla, to William Longsword, the powerful and wealthy marquis of Montferrat in northern Italy. The two were married in October 1176. William died in June of the following year, but not before Sibylla had conceived a son, whom she named Baldwin.
Dark intrigue walked the hallways of the royal palace in Jerusalem while the leper king reigned. On one side was the faction of Raymond of Tripoli, the regent. Among the members of this faction was Archbishop William of Tyre, and it is from this perspective that he wrote his history of the Franks in the Levant. On the other side was a diverse collection of adventurers, ne’er-do-wells, and royal family members, who sought power for themselves. Prominent among the members of this faction was Agnes of Courtenay, the mother of the king, who kept a close eye on her son, restricting access to him as best she could. Joining her were Reynald of Châtillon, the former prince of Antioch, who was released from captivity in 1176 and by another marriage became lord of Transjordan and Hebron. Also included was Joscelin III of Courtenay, titular count of Edessa and uncle of the king. Because of their tight control on Baldwin, this faction quickly acquired power in Jerusalem after Raymond of Tripoli’s regency expired in 1176.
A natural for inclusion in Agnes’s faction was the recently arrived Guy of Lusignan. Guy and his brother Amalric had been expelled from their fief in Poitou for attacking the agents of their lord, Richard the Lionheart. Although disgraced and penniless, Guy had a daring and swashbuckling demeanor. Sibylla, the young and recently widowed sister of the king, was captivated by Guy and soon acquired permission to marry him. Guy thus became one of the most important men in the kingdom: brother-in-law to the king and guardian of the royal heir. It was not surprising, then, that when leprosy claimed the king’s sight, Guy was named regent. He also acquired a fief, becoming lord of Jaffa and Ascalon.
Mere months went by before Guy of Lusignan ran afoul of the king. In September 1183, Saladin crossed the Jordan with a large force and plundered Baisan. Quickly, Guy summoned the kingdom’s armies to move into position to defend their territory. He commanded a sizable force of more than fifteen thousand soldiers. Although Saladin did his best to provoke a fight, Guy kept his distance, ensuring that the Muslim leader could do nothing more than petty mischief. The regent knew well that Saladin’s militia troops could not remain in the field for extended periods, so he simply waited them out. After a few weeks, Saladin and his army withdrew. Yet when Baldwin IV heard of the engagement, he flew into a rage, accusing Guy of treason and cowardice for not attacking Saladin when he had the chance. At once, he dismissed Guy as regent and took control of the kingdom himself. He even attempted to obtain a divorce for Guy and Sibylla—something neither of them wanted. In this, Baldwin was unsuccessful, but his attempts to harm Guy led the latter into open disobedience to the crown.
Despite Baldwin IV’s determination to rule, it soon became clear even to him that he really did need a regent. Earlier, he had crowned his young nephew as co-ruler, so a regent was doubly necessary to manage affairs for the leper while he lived and the child king after that. With Guy discredited, there was no realistic candidate but Raymond of Tripoli. Raymond agreed to take up the reins of state again, but only on the condition that his regency would last a decade, thus extending into Baldwin V’s majority. He also insisted that all swear that if Baldwin V should die before the age of majority, a committee of the pope, the German emperor, and the kings of England and France should decide which of Amalric’s two daughters, Sibylla or Isabella, had claim to the throne. This was a real possibility, because the child was already in poor health. Raymond did not want suspicion cast on him if the youth were to die, so he refused to be his regent, preferring instead to confer that title on Joscelin III of Courtenay. The partnership of Raymond and Joscelin, prominent members of the two struggling factions, seemed to mark the end of the bitter political feud. Despondent over the arrival of Raymond, Agnes of Courtenay died.
In March 1185, the long-suffering Baldwin IV died. In August 1186, Baldwin V followed his uncle to the grave. According to the agreement, Raymond was to remain regent of the kingdom until the pope and kings of Europe could decide the question of the royal heir. But matters never got that far. On the suggestion of Joscelin, Raymond made a trip to Tiberias. No sooner had the regent left Jerusalem than Joscelin closed the capital and seized control of Acre and Beirut. Raymond was betrayed. Enraged, he summoned all the nobles of the kingdom to Nablus to make war on the traitors, but only the members of his party complied. The kingdom of Jerusalem was again torn by factionalism, only this time both sides were armed and ready for war. Saladin watched with glee as the Christians prepared to destroy themselves.
Back in Jerusalem the faction led by Reynald of Châtillon and Patriarch Heraclius moved quickly to crown Sibylla queen of Jerusalem. There was, however, one small problem: her husband. Many in the party had never liked Guy of Lusignan, and others shunned him as a coward after Baisan. They would not have him as king now. Sibylla’s love for Guy was undiminished, so it was with grief that she learned that she could be queen only if she agreed to a divorce. After extracting promises for the continued legitimacy of their two daughters and a guaranteed livelihood for her former husband, Sibylla at last agreed to the divorce on the further condition that she could choose her next husband freely after her coronation. So ardently had Sibylla bargained for Guy’s upkeep that the nobles felt secure in granting her the matrimonial freedom she requested. But the negotiations were only a clever ruse. No sooner was the crown on her head than she announced that she would marry Guy of Lusignan. With her own hands, she crowned her beloved husband, having outmaneuvered his enemies. Given little choice, the faction accepted Guy (1186–90) as king. When Raymond received word of Guy’s coronation and the subsequent support of the nobility, he withdrew his forces to Tiberias. There, he made a formal alliance with Saladin, who readily supplied him with troops to prosecute his war against Jerusalem.
THE HORNS OF HATTIN
It was not long before relations between the erratic Reynald of Châtillon and the new king broke down. In a rage, Reynald returned to the Transjordan and audaciously declared that his lands were independent of royal control. For income and enjoyment, Reynald and his men preyed on tradesmen and other travelers making their way from Syria to Egypt. For Saladin, this was more than an annoyance: those trade routes were the principal means of communication between his two kingdoms. Because Saladin was already looking for an excuse to break his truce with the Christians, the raids of Reynald were a serious threat to the kingdom of Jerusalem as well. Despite warnings, Reynald attacked a large and wealthy caravan bound for Egypt in early 1187. To avoid war, Guy ordered Reynald to make restitution to Saladin, but Reynald ignored the order. The Transjordan, Reynald insisted, was independent and therefore not bound by Jerusalem’s truces. His foolhardy recklessness had already visited violence and destruction on Cyprus and Antioch. Now Reynald’s actions were to doom Jerusalem itself. With Islam united, Saladin declared war on the Christians.
The crusader states had prospered because of their relative unity in the face of Muslim chaos. Now the situation was reversed. Syria and Egypt were under one ruler, a man who filled the Muslims with the same kind of religious zeal that had animated crusader conquests for almost a century. Saladin’s jihad was aimed at removing the Christians from Jerusalem and all the Holy Lands. For their part, the Christians were broken into warring factions. Seeing the grave danger, Raymond of Tripoli finally ended his alliance with Saladin and offered his services to the king of Jerusalem.
Both sides quickly brought their forces together. The crusaders’ army was the largest they had ever assembled, totaling approximately twenty thousand men, including twelve hundred heavily armored knights. Saladin’s forces were greater, numbering around thirty thousand men, almost half of whom were light cavalry. Near Nazareth, the two armies made camp. King Guy’s strategy was simple and had been proved effective: he would deploy the army defensively, letting the clock tick away. He knew from experience that Saladin’s militia could not remain in the field indefinitely. This was the strategy that had stopped Saladin at Baisan four years earlier, although Guy had suffered a political defeat for employing it.
Saladin could not let matters rest as they were. He needed to provoke the Christians into attacking before the season was over. In a desperate move, he marched against Raymond’s city of Tiberias on the shores of the Sea of Galilee. The city fell, but the citadel, commanded by Raymond’s wife, Eschiva, held out. Here was a powerful inducement to attack the infidels! Not only had they captured a Christian town, they were besieging a noblewoman. But it was Raymond himself who insisted that the king must not allow his chivalric zeal to dictate military strategy. Between the crusader camp and Tiberias was a barren, waterless expanse. In the summer sun, the army would need a great deal of water to make the crossing, and delay would be perilous. Let Saladin send his armies across if he wished to fight, Raymond argued. The Christians should not make the trip. King Guy agreed with Raymond’s wise but painful advice.
Later that same night, the king was visited by Gerard of Ridfort, the Master of the Temple. Gerard had good reasons for hating Raymond of Tripoli. During the latter’s alliance with Saladin, a party of Templars had been massacred by Muslim raiders allowed into Christian lands by Raymond. From Gerard’s point of view, Raymond was a traitor and an agent of Saladin. Of course Raymond urged the king to refrain from attacking the Muslim army, according to Gerard, for he knew that the crusaders could destroy it. It is also likely that Gerard reminded Guy of the bitter scorn he had received after failing to attack Saladin at Baisan. Here was his chance to disprove those who had called him a coward. Guy was convinced by Gerard’s words. In the morning, he ordered the army to prepare for the march.
Saladin was surprised and delighted when he heard that the Christians were on the move. Quickly, he prepared to spring his trap. In the baking sun, the crusaders made slow progress along the desert just west of the Sea of Galilee. On the afternoon of July 3, 1187, at the waterless plateau near Hattin, the crusaders met the first parts of Saladin’s army. King Guy gave his exhausted and thirsty troops the order to make camp. It was a hellish night. The soldiers were parched, yet there was no water. In the darkness, the Muslims surrounded the campsite, tormenting the Christians with taunts and threats. They also lit large brushfires, filling the crusader camp with horrible heat and choking smoke.
In the morning, the weakened army prepared for a hopeless battle. All around them on the scorched plain were fresh troops prepared for the slaughter. It was a heartbreaking and heroic battle. The crusaders rushed to an extinct volcano, known as the Horns of Hattin, where they fought off the onslaught as long as they could. In the end, though, the defeat was total (photospread illustration 4). Only Raymond of Tripoli and a few friends were able to break through Saladin’s forces and escape. The rest of the massive army was either captured or killed. King Guy was among those captured, as were the Master of the Temple and many other barons. They were all given a comfortable confinement—all, that is, except Reynald of Châtillon. Saladin had sworn to behead this criminal with his own hands, and he did so with satisfaction. He also ordered the mass execution of all captured Hospitallers and Templars, with the exception of the Master himself. Saladin’s secretary, Imad al-Din, described the scene:
He [Saladin] ordered that they should be beheaded, choosing to have them dead rather than in prison. With him was a whole band of scholars and sufis and a certain number of devout men and ascetics; each begged to be allowed to kill one of them, and drew his sword and rolled back his sleeve. Saladin, his face joyful, was sitting on his dais; the unbelievers showed black despair.4
Thousands of common foot soldiers who could not purchase their freedom were sold on the slave markets. Saladin also won for himself a great symbolic prize. The True Cross, carried into battle by the king of Jerusalem, was paraded through the streets of Damascus upside down.
The Horns of Hattin marked the greatest defeat in crusading history. Almost all the fighting men in the kingdom were lost, leaving Christian lands defended only by small garrisons in towns and forts. In one disastrous battle, the kingdom of Jerusalem had lost not only its ability to wage war but its power to defend itself. The storm of Saladin’s armies was poised to wipe away the Christian presence in the Levant. This was not lost on the garrison commanders and citizens of the kingdom’s cities. They knew well that Saladin was an honorable man who would keep a promise. They therefore sought immediately to make favorable terms on which to surrender. Like a row of dominoes, the great cities capitulated one by one: Acre on July 10, Ascalon on September 4, and finally Jerusalem itself on October 2. Saladin had planned to massacre the Christian inhabitants in the Holy City. He abandoned the idea, however, when the commander of the Jerusalem garrison, Balian of Ibelin, threatened to destroy the Muslim shrines and kill Jerusalem’s Muslim inhabitants before Saladin could capture it. Instead, the sultan agreed to leave all Christians of Jerusalem unmolested, giving them safe passage to the coast after they had purchased their freedom. Many could not afford the cost. Some of these Saladin granted release; others were sold into slavery.
All that Saladin had foretold for a united Islam became so. With unbounded joy, he entered Jerusalem on October 2, 1187—the anniversary of Mohammed’s Night Journey into heaven. At once Saladin restored the Aqsa Mosque, which had been the home of the Templars, to a place of Muslim worship. The exquisite minbar of Nur ed-Din was then carefully removed from Aleppo, brought to Jerusalem, and placed in its intended place in the Aqsa. The dream of its warrior patron had at last been achieved. Many of the other Christian churches were pillaged, and all had their crosses removed. The Church of the Holy Sepulcher was left untouched, but its army of clergy was reduced to four Syrian priests. The great Hospital of St. John was rededicated as a Shafi’ite college. Streams of Christian refugees fled to Tyre while Saladin continued his campaigns across the crusader states. With ease, he captured almost everything in his wake. Two years later, all that remained to the Christians were the cities of Tripoli, Antioch, and Tyre.
And Tyre came within a hair’s breadth of falling. After a long siege, its citizens concluded negotiations with Saladin for their surrender. Indeed, Saladin had already sent his standard to be flown from the city walls. Just in time Conrad of Montferrat, the younger brother of William Longsword, arrived in Tyre. Conrad was renowned across the Mediterranean for his skill and bravery. He had taken the crusader’s cross several years earlier but was delayed when he stopped in Constantinople to marry the sister of Emperor Isaac II Angelus (1185–95). There, he defended the imperial city against an armed revolt, earning the gratitude of his brother-in-law. When he heard of the defeat at Hattin, he immediately set sail for the Levant to fulfill his vow. He took charge of Tyre’s defense, repudiating the surrender and personally throwing Saladin’s standard into the city ditch.
CALLING THE THIRD CRUSADE
The bravado of Conrad was inspiring, but his efforts were only a stopgap. If the crusader states were to survive, they would need far more assistance from Europe. The Christians of the East had been requesting help for many years, but it had not been forthcoming. King Henry II of England (1154–89) was preoccupied with his rebellious sons and a war with King Philip II Augustus of France (1180–1223). The German emperor, Frederick I Barbarossa (1152–90), himself a veteran of the Second Crusade, had promised much but never delivered anything substantive. All of that was about to change. The crushing defeat at Hattin, the loss of Christianity’s most precious relic, and the Muslim capture of the Holy City of Jerusalem shocked and horrified western Europeans. Pope Urban III (1185–87) died of grief when he heard the news on October 20, 1187. Nine days later, his successor, Gregory VIII (1187), issued Audita tremendi. A beautifully crafted document, it became the model for all subsequent crusading bulls. It imposed a seven-year truce throughout Europe so that rulers could concentrate on the Holy Land. It accepted the formulation of St. Bernard, that the success of a crusade was linked to the spiritual well-being of Christendom. All Europeans, whether they could fight or not, should contribute to the crusade through purification, fasting, and prayer. Jerusalem fell because of the sins of Christ’s followers, the pope maintained. Only through their penance could it be redeemed.
In many ways the Third Crusade marks the height of the crusading movement. With the crusading idea fully mature, the Third Crusade harnessed western Europe’s religious faith and chivalric virtue into the largest military enterprise of the Middle Ages. From the beginning, it was a high-profile crusade, led by kings and the highest elites. King William II of Sicily was the first to heed the call, sending an imposing fleet of Norman crusaders to Tripoli. It arrived just in time to save the city from capture. Shortly thereafter William died, so the Normans played no further role in the Third Crusade.
Vital to the success of any crusade were the warriors of France. Yet until a truce could be imposed on the Angevin-Capetian struggles there, few knights were free to take up the cross. After a papal legate brokered intense negotiations, Henry II and Philip II finally signed a truce on January 21, 1188. Both kings then took the cross. They agreed to leave for the Holy Land on Easter of 1189. In the meantime, a general tax was imposed across England. This “Saladin Tithe” was extremely successful. So, too, were the batteries of crusading preachers that quickly fanned out across Europe gaining enthusiastic recruits for the holy struggle.
The Germans of the Third Crusade
In April 1189, Emperor Frederick Barbarossa took the cross. Although nearly seventy years old, Frederick remained vigorous and eager to use, in the service of Christ, the considerable power he had built up in Germany. As a crusading veteran, he knew that one of the greatest challenges was moving a large force across southeastern Europe and Asia Minor with as little damage as possible. He sent out his envoys, who made treaties for safe passage with all the potentates on the long journey, including even the Turks of Anatolia.
In Constantinople, Emperor Isaac II was deeply suspicious of Frederick, who had recently made an alliance with Byzantium’s enemy, the Normans. With so large an army, Frederick could wreak untold damage on Greece or Thrace, and perhaps even threaten Constantinople itself. It was also troubling to Isaac that Frederick insisted on being called “Roman emperor,” a title that the rulers of Constantinople naturally reserved for themselves. Isaac did not want to see rebellions crystallize around this German ruler that might threaten his own position in the imperial city. He turned, therefore, to Frederick’s new enemy, Saladin. In a secret treaty, Isaac II agreed to do all that he could to hamper or harm Frederick’s crusading host on its way to the East. When news of this treaty later leaked out, it only added to the deep sense of betrayal Latin Christians felt toward their Greek brethren in the East.
Frederick Barbarossa left Regensburg on May 11, 1189. He was accompanied by his son, Duke Frederick of Swabia, most of the upper German nobility, and a massive crusading army—the largest yet to leave Europe. It was a glorious moment, the culmination of a long and successful reign. Surely, they reasoned, this powerful army, led by so brilliant a leader, would avenge the humiliations of Christ! Troubles began for Frederick, however, as soon as he entered the Byzantine Empire. As Isaac had promised Saladin, the emperor did all that he could to hinder the German army. Provision markets failed to appear and imperial forces openly harassed the crusaders. Frederick wrote an angry letter to Isaac warning him to cease these impediments or risk an attack on Byzantine territories. Isaac responded with a call to negotiations, which were quickly bogged down in the question of Frederick’s imperial title. The German emperor would discuss nothing unless Isaac recognized him as a brother emperor of Rome. Isaac refused, and his diplomats stalled. Exasperated, the German crusaders captured Adrianople, the capital of Thrace. Finally, in February 1190, Isaac agreed to provide provisions and transport across the Hellespont for Frederick’s forces in return for the surrender of the captured city.
On April 25, 1190, the Germans entered Turkish lands. Frederick’s treaty of safe passage from Kilij Arslan II proved worthless. The Turks met the Germans in battle on May 18, ending in a resounding victory for the Christians. The Turks scattered, the Germans captured Iconium, and Kilij Arslan once again promised safe passage. A few weeks later, the crusaders entered Christian Armenia. There, on June 10, Frederick Barbarossa drowned in the River Saleph while crossing on horseback. It is not clear precisely what happened: he may have been affected by the heat, his horse may have lost footing, or the old emperor may simply have suffered a heart attack. Whatever the case, the life of the celebrated emperor had come to a most anticlimactic end. Without the powerful figure of Frederick Barbarossa to lead it, the German crusading army evaporated. Most sailed home. Only a few continued their march to the Levant under the command of Duke Frederick.
Division between Guy of Lusignan and Conrad of Montferrat
News of the death of Frederick Barbarossa came as a bitter disappointment to the embattled defenders of the last Christian strongholds in the East. Still, they looked with hope to the arrival of other crusaders, particularly the promised armies of Henry II and Philip Augustus. King Guy and most of the other crusading barons were released from captivity in June 1188, after swearing never to take up arms against Saladin. Once freed, they quickly received an absolution from that vow. Guy and his small force marched to Tyre, the last Christian city in Palestine. He did not find the homecoming he was expecting. Conrad of Montferrat had no intention of handing over a city that he had saved. He refused to recognize Guy as king of Jerusalem, forcing him to camp outside the walls for month after humiliating month.
As a stream of crusaders began to arrive from Europe, they were surprised to see the king of Jerusalem at odds with the self-proclaimed lord of Tyre. Invariably, they sided with the king. Guy was more concerned with the attitude of the kings of England and France when they arrived, so he made every attempt to demonstrate that he was the true defender of the holy places. In August 1189, a Pisan crusader fleet arrived, placing itself at Guy’s disposal. He seized the moment. With his meager land forces, he marched to Acre, making camp at a fortified base on a hill of Toron. The Pisan fleet blockaded the port, and the king prepared for an assault on the city. From a military point of view, the move to Acre was futile. Saladin had greatly strengthened the city’s fortifications and its garrison. Indeed, the garrison of Acre alone outnumbered Guy’s besieging army. Saladin brought additional troops to break the siege, although the Christians’ fortified encampment made that impossible.
Militarily futile it might be, but Guy’s move to Acre was politically brilliant. It graphically cast him as the crusader king, fighting the hated Saladin in an attempt to reconquer a Christian city. Holed up in Tyre, Conrad of Montferrat no longer looked chivalric and daring, but cowardly and craven. New arrivals from the West, eager to prove their mettle against Saladin, went immediately to assist in the siege of Acre. The prestige of Guy grew along with the size of his army. Finally, Conrad himself was forced to join the siege in September 1189. By spring 1190, Conrad had formally accepted Guy as the rightful king of Jerusalem. What had been a small expeditionary force became a large and powerful threat to Acre. Various attacks on the city were repulsed, but the Pisan fleet kept the pressure on by starving out the city’s defenders. On October 7, Duke Frederick of Swabia arrived with the pitiful remnants of the German crusade.
Everything unraveled that fall, when Queen Sibylla and her two daughters died. Although the siege of Acre made Guy look like a king, the fact remained that his sole claim to the throne was through his marriage to Sibylla. The only surviving member of the royal family was now Isabella, the daughter of Amalric. Isabella was already married to Humphrey of Toron, who had long ago forsworn the throne. Humphrey was a man of kindness, chivalry, and honor, and Isabella loved him greatly. Conrad, though, quickly realized that Isabella was the key to his own aspirations. Against her will, Conrad had Isabella’s marriage to Humphrey annulled. On November 24, 1190, he married Isabella himself—despite the fact that the bride was unwilling, the two were within prohibited degrees of blood relationship, and Conrad was himself married to a Byzantine princess. As husband to Isabella, Conrad claimed the throne of Jerusalem and withdrew from the siege of Acre to await the arrival of the kings of England and France.
It was during this siege that another of the major military orders was born. A group of German merchants from Bremen and Lübeck bound themselves into a pious fraternity dedicated to caring for the sick outside Acre. Later, they took possession of a hospital in Acre, which they called the Hospital of St. Mary of the German House in Jerusalem, and continued their mission. Like the Hospitallers before them, the fraternity soon grew into its own religious order. With the approval of Pope Clement III (1187–91), they adopted a rule similar to the original rule of the Hospitallers. Following further in the footsteps of the Knights of St. John, the new order was militarized in 1198, adding to its charge the defense of the Holy Land. The Teutonic Knights, as they were subsequently called, received substantial lands in the Levant and Germany over the years, becoming an important element in the history of the crusades in the East and Europe.
THE KINGS OF ENGLAND AND FRANCE
Easter of 1189 came and went with Henry II and Philip Augustus no closer to leaving their kingdoms for the Holy Land. The painstakingly negotiated a truce between England and France collapsed when Henry’s son, Richard the Lionheart, perceived that his father was favoring his brother, John, to be heir to the throne. Legally speaking, Richard was the vassal of Philip (as was Henry II) for his lands in the kingdom of France. Fearful of losing his claim to the English throne, Richard allied himself with Philip and made war on his father. The matter settled itself in July, when Henry II died and Richard was anointed king of England.
Richard I (1189–99) was the epitome of French chivalric culture (photospread illustration 5). Well educated, well spoken, and even an accomplished poet, the Lionheart was also a man of bold action. A young man of thirty-two when he took the throne, Richard was an imposing figure—tall, blond, and physically strong. Like the knights of the chansons de geste, he was a daring figure, placing himself in personal danger without a thought, always eager to take part in any clash of arms. He was also a brilliant general, perhaps the best military mind of the Middle Ages. Although careless of his own safety, he was obsessed with the safety of his troops. This quality endeared him to his men and fostered intense loyalty. As a man of chivalry, Richard was enthusiastic about the opportunity to crusade against the infidel Saladin. Indeed, against his father’s wishes, he had taken the cross shortly after hearing of the defeat at Hattin. As king, Richard was well positioned to make good on his vow. The Saladin Tithe had reaped rich returns. To that sum, Richard added his own funds; he sold off many of his rights and properties to increase his war chest. Richard did not hesitate to spend generously from this impressive pot of money.
Philip II Augustus of France was nothing like Richard. A younger man of twenty-five, Philip was small, sickly, and nervous. He had a sardonic wit and cynical style that was all the more unattractive when compared with Richard’s hearty and flamboyant personality. Although Philip was Richard’s lord for his French holdings (a fact of which Philip reminded Richard frequently), even a casual observer saw that Richard’s charisma and presence far outshone those of Philip. The king of France had no war chest to compare with Richard’s, nor did he have the kind of control over his French vassals that Richard enjoyed with his own men. As a result, Philip was to remain in Richard’s shadow throughout the Third Crusade.
On July 4, 1190, both kings left Vézelay. Before departing, they agreed that all conquests of the crusade would be split evenly between them. They had also decided to abandon the traditional land route through Byzantium and travel to the Holy Land by sea. Philip led his troops to Genoa, where he contracted for vessels and provisions. Richard marched south to Marseilles, where he awaited the arrival of his own fleet. It was late, having stopped off in Portugal to fight Muslims. Tired of waiting, he at last hired some vessels and sailed to Messina in Sicily, where the army was to spend the winter. There, Richard rendezvoused with his tardy fleet.
Matters had recently changed in the Norman kingdom of Sicily. After the death of William II, the throne was seized by Tancred of Lecce. The German king, Henry VI (1169–97), who was married to Constance of Sicily, claimed Sicily for himself and was preparing to launch a campaign to make good on that claim. Richard was not overly concerned about the power struggle. What he wanted from Tancred was money. William II had been married to Richard’s sister, Joan. Richard wanted her dowry back. Tancred stalled while attempting to bring Philip into the quarrel. As weeks passed, riots erupted in Messina against Richard and his men. With his patience exhausted, Richard attacked the city, capturing it on October 4. Philip refused to take part in the attack, but he demanded his half of the city all the same. Tancred moved quickly to defuse the situation, agreeing to repay Joan’s dowry for the return of Messina. Outrageously, Philip now demanded that Richard hand over half of the dowry money, classifying it as war booty. Clearly, Philip had no right to the money, but Richard gave him one third anyway in the interest of peace.
The rest of the winter did not go much better. Philip continued to squabble with Richard over any perceived slight, prerogative, or privilege. He became particularly angry when he learned that Richard’s mother, Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine (herself a participant in the Second Crusade), was shopping around for a wife for her son. She found an excellent match in Berengaria, the daughter of King Sancho VI of Navarre. Because she was nearby, Eleanor picked up the bride-to-be and prepared to transport her to Messina to join Richard on the crusade. What bothered Philip was the fact that Richard was long ago engaged to marry Philip’s sister, Alice. Philip demanded that Richard make financial restitution for breaking the engagement. Richard agreed. On March 30, 1191, Philip and his fleet left Sicily, bound for Acre. Richard waited for the arrival of Berengaria and then set sail himself on April 10.
King Philip found a difficult situation at Acre when he arrived on April 20. Already he had been apprised of the dispute over the crown of Jerusalem between Conrad of Montferrat and Guy of Lusignan. Philip backed Conrad. Although Guy had a title, Conrad had the support of the native barons and, since his marriage to Isabella, the majority of the crusading lords. Conrad was also a proven general, whereas Guy had been the commander at Hattin. With Philip’s support, Conrad rejoined the siege of Acre. It had grown into a very large affair, with the city completely invested and Saladin and his troops hovering outside. Still, Philip brought them no closer to taking the city.
Richard had a more exciting journey to Acre. A powerful storm disrupted his tightly ordered fleet, causing a few of the ships to become separated from the main convoy. Some of these vessels, including one of the treasure ships, wrecked on the coast of Cyprus. Many survived, but many others drowned, including the warden of the Great Seal of England. Since 1184, the island of Cyprus had been ruled by Isaac Comnenus, a Byzantine rebel who styled himself the true emperor of Constantinople. When he discovered the misfortune of the crusader vessels, Isaac quickly looted the treasure and imprisoned the survivors. Among the separated vessels that were not wrecked was the royal ship transporting Joan and Berengaria. It cast anchor off the coast, helpless to assist those captured by the Cypriotes. Isaac used sweet words to entice the ladies ashore, but they wisely refused. When Richard arrived with the main fleet, he was outraged. He demanded that Isaac hand over all that he had taken and return the crusader captives. Isaac refused, instead marshaling his troops to defend against an attack. He did not have long to wait. A number of the king’s vessels were brought to shore for an amphibious assault. When the Greek troops saw the strength and ferocity of the Western knights, they scattered. With little resistance, Richard and his men quickly captured the entire island. In May 1191, Isaac Comnenus surrendered on the condition that he not be put into irons. Richard complied, ordering him to be placed in shackles of silver.
The capture of the island of Cyprus was an important milestone in the history of the crusades. The island would remain under Latin rule for the next four centuries. Richard found it immediately useful as a rich source of provisions very close to the coast of Palestine. It would be his chief source of supplies throughout the Third Crusade. Indeed, it is hard to imagine how the crusaders could have continued their war against Saladin without their base in Cyprus.
While at Cyprus, Richard received a visit from King Guy. The latter was understandably upset by the turn of events at Acre, which now favored Conrad as king of Jerusalem. It would be interesting to know how these two men greeted each other at this first meeting. Richard, after all, had expelled Guy from Poitou for attacking his agents. Now the disloyal vassal begged his former lord for support. Richard listened to Guy’s relation of events at Acre with interest. It was disconcerting to him that Philip Augustus had already announced his support of Conrad of Montferrat. Leopold V of Austria, the leader of the Germans, had done the same. It would have been easy for Richard to send Guy packing, but he did not. Instead he assured him of his support. Why? Perhaps he naturally opposed the candidate of Philip. Perhaps he simply warmed to Guy, who was, in culture and temperament, not unlike Richard himself.
Philip’s command of the Christian forces at Acre produced nothing of value. It irritated him to hear among the soldiers the great anticipation they had for the arrival of the Lionheart. True to form, Richard arrived with a flourish. On June 7, his fleet discovered a large Muslim vessel transporting nearly a thousand reinforcements to the Acre garrison. The English galleys quickly moved into position and rammed the vessel, sending it to the bottom of the sea. The loss of the reinforcements was a serious blow to the already desperate defenders of the city.
Both kings fell ill shortly after Richard’s arrival. By the end of June, Philip was sufficiently recuperated to demand that Richard hand over half of Cyprus. The request was ignored. Once Richard was well enough to consider an attack on the city, things began to pick up at Acre. Saladin was helpless to supply the city or break the siege. On July 12, the day after a fierce but unsuccessful attack by the English and Pisans, the city’s garrison asked for terms of surrender. It was agreed that in return for the lives of the Muslim garrison Saladin would return the True Cross, render 200,000 dinars, and release all of his Christian hostages—more than a thousand men. The gates were opened, and the crusaders took back the city. When Saladin later did not make his first installment payment on schedule, Richard flew into a rage. He ordered twenty-seven hundred members of the Muslim garrison marched outside the city and executed in view of Saladin and his army. Clearly, the deal was off.
Shortly after the capture of Acre, Philip Augustus announced that he would be returning to France. Despite fervent entreaties by his countrymen, the crusader barons, and Richard, Philip would not hear of remaining. The East did not agree with the king of France. He had been sick almost since his arrival and he was tired of playing second fiddle in what had become Richard’s crusade. He probably also planned to move against Richard’s domains in France while the latter remained engaged in the Holy Land. He swore that he would do no such thing, but subsequent events proved otherwise.
Before his departure, Philip was eager to clear up the problem of the crown of Jerusalem. Richard and Philip sat in judgment of both men’s claims. After hearing the arguments, they at last settled on a compromise: Guy would remain king as long as he lived. After his death, the crown would pass to Conrad of Montferrat or his heir. With that settled, Philip bade a hasty farewell to the crusaders and headed back to France. He left the French forces in the command of Hugh of Burgundy, who was even poorer than Philip. With large doses of charisma and money, Richard quickly took command of the entire crusade. Conrad of Montferrat, angry over the royal decision, returned to Tyre, refusing to assist the crusade in any way.
RICHARD THE LIONHEART
Saladin controlled the countryside, forcing Richard to rely on his fleet for supplies. Unfortunately for the crusaders, the object of the crusade, Jerusalem, was not on the coast. Any march inland would require a secure port and defended lines of supply. Richard, therefore, decided to march south to Jaffa, the port closest to the Holy City. Saladin and his armies trailed the crusaders, hoping to capitalize on any mistake. Richard allowed none. He ordered the crusading army to draw up its ranks in tightly controlled columns, with the most vulnerable portions marching along the shores. Farther inland were the infantry and cavalry, and on the outside of the column the archers, crossbowmen, and spearmen. Marching in the hot summer sun was exhausting, so Richard kept the day short to make certain that all soldiers were fit and healthy. Saladin harassed the crusaders with his light Turkish cavalry, who fired arrows at the mounted forces. Knights were often hotheaded and eager for glory, and Saladin hoped to lure at least a few of them into breaking ranks and charging into his trap. Saladin’s biographer, Baha ad-Din, described the scene:
I saw some of the Frankish infantry with between one and ten arrows sticking in them, and still advancing at their usual pace without leaving the ranks. . . . One cannot help admiring the wonderful patience displayed by these people, who bore the most wearing fatigue without having any share in the management of affairs or deriving any personal advantage.5
It is a testament to Richard’s command skills that none of the crusaders took the bait.
Saladin was running out of time and under increasing pressure from his emirs to launch an all-out attack on the Christian forces. He carefully chose a wooded area just north of Arsuf as the best place to meet Richard in battle. Richard expected the attack and prepared his armies for it. On September 7, Saladin’s forces engaged the Christians in battle. Richard orchestrated the event brilliantly. The only discordant note came when the Hospitallers disobeyed Richard’s orders to delay their counterattack. Their premature mounted charge could have been disastrous, but the king quickly ordered the general attack and salvaged the situation. The heavily armored knights crushed the Turkish light cavalry. At the end of the day, Saladin’s losses were heavy and Richard’s very light. The prestige that Saladin had acquired at Hattin was shattered. In the wake of their recent victories, Muslims had begun to count the Frankish charge of no consequence. They were reminded at Arsuf of its devastating potential under the control of an able commander. Saladin would never again risk battle with Richard the Lionheart.
There was now no doubt that the crusaders would recapture Jaffa. Saladin, therefore, destroyed the city’s fortifications and withdrew his forces to Ascalon. When they arrived, Richard’s men began rebuilding the walls. At Jaffa, Richard had three options, all of which Saladin understood perfectly. He could lead an attack on Jerusalem. This was certainly the option favored by the French, but Richard knew that it would be an intensely difficult enterprise. Supply lines from Jaffa to Jerusalem would have to be defended by a string of fortifications. Furthermore, if Jerusalem were taken, the majority of the host would return to Europe, leaving the native barons with little means to defend the hard-won victory. A second option was to march south to Ascalon. With possession of this key port, the Christians could disrupt communications between Saladin’s Syrian and Egyptian kingdoms, thus greatly harming his ability to bring reinforcements and supplies from the latter. Clearly, if the Third Crusade’s conquests were to outlast the crusade itself, the crusader barons would need control of Ascalon. Nevertheless, few of the rank-and-file crusaders favored an attack on a coastal city when Jerusalem was within their grasp. Finally, Richard could pursue diplomacy, negotiating a settlement with Saladin. The latter had an army that was increasingly demoralized and a council of emirs that wanted a truce with the Christians as soon as possible. Most of all, the Muslim lords wanted Richard I to go away.
Richard pursued all three options simultaneously. Because Saladin lacked sufficient forces to defend both Ascalon and Jerusalem, the sultan abandoned the former, destroying its fortifications. Although Richard favored garrisoning Ascalon and rebuilding its defenses, the crusading majority remained steadfast in their desire to march to Jerusalem. Bowing to their will, in October 1191, Richard prepared the army for the inland trek. At the same time, he sent envoys to Saladin with a plan for peace. In a bold move, Richard proposed that Saladin’s brother, Saif al-Din, marry the king’s sister, Joan. The couple would then jointly rule all the land west of the Jordan River. Saladin was intrigued by the idea, but negotiations faltered when Richard insisted that Saif al-Din also convert to Christianity. While talks continued, Saladin contacted Conrad of Montferrat, offering to ally with him against Richard and his crusader army. The lord of Tyre was willing to plot against Richard but not to meet him on the field of battle.
The march to Jerusalem was excruciatingly slow. Before advancing, Richard insisted that fortifications and castles be repaired to defend the route to Jaffa. Only when all was secure would he continue the march. In January 1192, the army reached Beit Nuba, just twelve miles from Jerusalem. The weather was terrible. Hailstorms and torrential rains battered them, but the spirits of the soldiers remained high. Here at last was the object of their quest. With the conquest of the Holy City, they could return to their homes as glorious victors like the legendary heroes of the First Crusade.
Before advancing, Richard called a council of barons to decide on the best course of action. The Hospitallers and Templars argued strenuously against an attack on the city. Already the supply line to Jaffa was dangerously harassed by Muslim raiders. Even if they could defeat Saladin’s garrison in Jerusalem, they argued, the native lords could never hold the inland city after the crusading host returned to Europe. Most of the crusade leaders agreed with this calculus. They recommended that the army retreat to Ascalon, where they could rebuild the fortifications of that strategic city. Richard accepted their counsel, but when the decision was announced to the rank and file, it evoked bitter recriminations against Richard and the other leaders. After months of hardship, they were deprived of their holy victory. Many, including some nobles like Hugh of Burgundy, refused to go to Ascalon, returning instead to Jaffa or Acre.
Richard arrived in Ascalon on January 20, accompanied by his nephew, Henry of Champagne. Immediately, his men began the difficult task of reconstructing the walls of the city. At Ascalon, Richard continued negotiations with Saladin as well as Conrad of Montferrat. Neither of the talks went anywhere. Saladin hoped to pit the two Christian factions against each other, and Conrad refused to assist an army associated with King Guy. Complicating matters were reports that Richard received in April of his brother John’s attempts to ally with Philip Augustus in a bid to capture Richard’s Angevin lands in France. The clock was ticking for the king of England. The longer he remained in Outremer, the more he would be harmed in France. Yet he could not leave matters as they were. Conrad of Montferrat enjoyed so much support among the native barons that as soon as Richard departed, the Christians would be plunged into civil war. Saladin would be the ultimate victor in that war.
Richard convened a council of barons and prelates to reconsider the question of the kingdom of Jerusalem. They advised him that the only means of healing the division among the Christians was to bestow on Conrad of Montferrat the crown of Jerusalem. Richard accepted the decision with grace. As a consolation prize, he gave the island of Cyprus to the deposed Guy of Lusignan. In Tyre, Conrad received the news of his elevation with great satisfaction. But the victory was short-lived. On the evening of April 28, 1192, the king-elect was murdered in the street by two members of the Assassins cult. Some suspected Richard of hiring the assailants, but it was not so. The Assassins had their own reasons for wanting Conrad dead: he had recently seized a ship that belonged to them and had refused to return it. Saladin had also offered the Assassin leader, known as the Old Man of the Mountain, a large sum of money for the murder of Conrad or Richard.
Henry of Champagne arrived in Tyre shortly after Conrad’s death and was immediately offered the throne by the crusader barons. He was a natural choice. Henry was able, respected, and the most powerful lord in France, after Richard himself. He was also unmarried, which allowed the barons to offer to him the hand of Isabella, the last surviving heir of Jerusalem. Isabella was more than pleased with the match to this dashing young man. Henry took up the reins of state, but it appears that he never officially took the title of king of Jerusalem. It is not clear why.
With the accession of Henry, the factional division between the Christians disappeared. The count of Champagne put all the armies that had stood aloof with Conrad at the disposal of King Richard. In a general council, the barons urged Richard to seize the moment and lead an attack on Jerusalem. This put Richard in a difficult bind. He continued to receive reports of his brother’s treachery in France. If he remained in the East much longer, Philip Augustus would have his hands on most or all of Richard’s Angevin territories. After some consultation, he agreed to remain in the Holy Land until Easter of 1193 and to lead an attack on Jerusalem if it seemed feasible.
On June 7, the crusading army marched from Ascalon toward Jerusalem. They encountered no resistance, arriving at Beit Nuba in just four days. The garrison in the Holy City was considerable, and Saladin had poisoned all the wells in the surrounding countryside. Richard was thus faced with the same problem and at the same place he had stood five months earlier. If the crusaders attacked Jerusalem and it did not fall immediately, Saladin could attack the host in a waterless expanse, trapped against the walls of the city. If Jerusalem did fall, Saladin could cut off the city from the coast and recapture it easily. Because neither of these was an attractive scenario, Richard offered a third. Since Jerusalem could never be secure until Saladin’s power was broken, let the crusaders turn their swords against Egypt. Once that rich country was theirs, Jerusalem would fall to them like a ripe apple. A council of barons and prelates considered the proposals and found the Egyptian plan preferable.
Hugh of Burgundy and the French crusaders were disgusted by the decision. Once again, Richard had led them to Christ’s Holy City, and once again he had turned his back on it. They swore that they would never take part in an attack on Egypt. Richard understood and shared their disappointment. He proclaimed that if the crusaders were determined to attack Jerusalem, he would join but not lead them. As a soldier and pilgrim, he was willing to lay down his own life, but he would not be responsible for the deaths of so many good men in a plan that was sure to fail and would weaken the crusader kingdom in the bargain. Grieved and embittered, the crusaders again turned their eyes from Jerusalem and trudged back to the coast.
In the face of fierce opposition among the crusaders, the Egyptian campaign never advanced beyond the planning stage. The idea, however, would survive long after the dissolution of the Third Crusade. In the following months, Richard resumed his stalled negotiations with Saladin. He had come to the bitter conclusion that while Saladin remained sultan of Egypt, the Christians could never take and hold Jerusalem. He therefore attempted to broker a truce that would allow the Christians to at least retain the reconquered coast of Palestine. Saladin, whose armies were exhausted and eager for peace, was agreeable in principle. The sticking point was Ascalon. The sultan could not afford to have the crusaders in possession of the linchpin of his empire. He insisted that the city be returned to him. Richard refused.
In August 1192, Richard became very ill. While bedridden, he received additional reports from home—all bad. Philip was now actively engaged in carving up Richard’s domains. It seemed that there was no longer any reason for Richard to remain in the East. He had done all that he could; he must return now to save his own kingdom. On September 2, he concluded a formal three-year truce between the Christians and Muslims. Saladin agreed to respect Christian territories along the coast from Tyre to Jaffa. Christian pilgrims could henceforth travel freely throughout Palestine to all holy sites, including Jerusalem. The lords of Tripoli and Antioch were also to be included in the truce, if they so wished. For his part, Richard agreed to hand over Ascalon after his men destroyed the rebuilt fortifications. Many of the crusaders took advantage of the truce, journeying to the Holy Sepulcher before returning home to Europe. Richard was not among them. He had sworn to restore Jerusalem to the hands of Christ. He would not enter the city until that came to pass.
On October 9, 1192, Richard I boarded his vessel and headed home. The Third Crusade was at an end, but Richard fully expected to return.
[The king’s] legates informed Saladin in the hearing of many of his satraps, that Richard had in fact sought this truce for a three year period so that he could go back to visit his country and so that, when he had augmented his money and his men, he could return and wrest the whole territory of Jerusalem from Saladin’s grasp if, indeed, Saladin were even to consider putting up resistance. To this Saladin replied through the appointed messengers that, with his holy law and God almighty as his witnesses, he thought King Richard so pleasant, upright, magnanimous, and excellent that, if the land were to be lost in his time, he would rather have it taken into Richard’s mighty power than to have it go into the hands of any other prince whom he had ever seen.6
Despite its failures, the Third Crusade was by almost any measure a highly successful expedition. Most of Saladin’s victories in the wake of Hattin were wiped away. The crusader kingdom was healed of its divisions, restored to its coastal cities, and secured in a peace with its greatest enemy. Although he had failed to reclaim Jerusalem, Richard had put the Christians of the East back on their feet again.
It is tempting to imagine what might have happened if Richard had remained in Palestine until Easter of 1193, as he had promised. Three weeks before that date, on March 4, 1193, Saladin died. Muslim unity died with him.
NOTES
1. Hillenbrand, Crusades, 152. The minbar was destroyed in a fire set by an Australian fanatic in 1969 in an attempt to burn down the mosque.
2. Gabrieli, Arab Historians of the Crusades, 100.
3. Ibid., 101.
4. Ibid., 138.
5. Quoted in John Gillingham, Richard the Lionheart (New York: Times, 1978), 187.
6. Itinerarium Peregrinorum et Gesta Regis Ricardi, in Brundage, The Crusades: A Documentary Survey, 186.
