It was against this background that Raymond made perhaps his most ill-fated decision of the entire crusade. Unable to continue the march south in safety, he elected to bide his time in the region around Tripoli, directing his men to besiege the nearby town of Arqa on 14 February 1099. Raymond’s motives for pursuing this course of action are far from clear. Strategic necessity cannot have been paramount in his mind, as Arqa presented no obvious threat or obstacle to the crusaders’ progress. In reality, a number of interlocking factors probably inspired his decision. The prospect of waiting idly for the arrival of his fellow crusading princes threatened to dent Raymond’s prestige and prompt the gradual disintegration of his indolent army. At the same time, his acquisitive eye may already have settled upon Tripoli, either as a potential conquest or simply as a source of revenue. The crusaders’ formidable reputation had so cowed local Muslim rulers that they were now prepared to buy peace with hard cash, and an attack on Arqa might force the price up. A Provençal crusader recalled: ‘[On returning from Tripoli our envoys] persuaded Raymond that its emir would in four or five days give him gold and silver to his heart’s content if he laid siege to Arqa, a strongly defended place.’10
The siege of Arqa appeared to offer a perfect opportunity to provide the army with gainful employment, intimidate and exploit Tripoli and, should things go well, perhaps even act as the first stepping-stone towards a full-scale conquest of the region. Unfortunately for Raymond, Arqa proved instead to be a terrible stumbling block. If Raymond began the investment believing the town would soon capitulate he was deeply mistaken. Looking back with dismay upon the siege, one eyewitness gave a grim estimate of Arqa’s strength: ‘This castle was full of an immense horde of pagans, Turks, Saracens, Arabs and Paulicians, who had made its fortifications exceedingly strong and defended themselves bravely.’11
At first the crusaders seemed to be in control of events. Even before Arqa was encircled, Raymond looked to secure access to the coastline and naval communication by dispatching two of his followers, Raymond Pilet and Raymond, viscount of Turenne, at the head of a small expeditionary force. They came first to the port town of Tortosa, lying one day’s hard march to the north of Tripoli, but found it strongly garrisoned. The anonymous author of the Gesta Francorum, now travelling with Raymond of Toulouse’s contingent, wrote: ‘when night fell they withdrew into a corner where they encamped and lit many fires so that it might appear that the whole host was there. The pagans were terrified and fled secretly in the night, leaving the town full of provisions. It also has an excellent harbour.’
On the heels of this wily success, another port further north up the coast, Marqab, quickly decided to offer terms of surrender, erected Raymond of Toulouse’s banner and accepted a Latin garrison. These coastal footholds opened up the possibility of naval support to some extent, but there was no port in the immediate vicinity of Arqa, which in any case lay some kilometres inland, to allow a consistent line of communication to be established. Greek and Venetian ships were forced to anchor along the coastline, disgorge their cargoes of ‘grain, wine, barley, pork and other marketable goods’ and then sail off to the safety of the northern ports.
Once the siege of Arqa had been established, Raymond’s troops also led foraging parties into the environs of Tripoli itself. At first the city put up some resistance, but its defensive force was annihilated, causing the stream that runs into Tripoli to run red with Muslim blood. Terrified, the city and many of the surrounding settlements agreed to raise Raymond’s banner as a prelude to their seemingly inevitable capitulation.12
On the margins, therefore, the siege of Arqa seemed to be progressing at an acceptable pace. The problem arose at Arqa itself: the town simply refused to fall. Very little precise evidence about the siege survives, but we do know that the Muslim garrison made effective use of defensive projectile weapons. Possessing at least one large catapult, they were able to rain deadly missiles down upon the crusaders. Pons of Balazun, a close friend of Raymond of Aguilers and co-author of the early sections of his chronicle, was killed by one such rock. Anselm of Ribemont, who wrote at least two detailed letters describing his experiences on the expedition, was struck on the head by another and died. It was widely rumoured within the army that Anselm had had a premonition of his impending demise. It was said that on the very morning of his death he awoke,
summoned priests to him, confessed his omissions and sins, invoked God’s mercy and told them of the imminence of his death. While they stood shocked by the news, since they saw Anselm hale and hearty, he explained: ‘Don’t be astonished; listen to me. Last night I saw Lord Engelrand of St Pôl, who lost his life at Marrat, and I, fully conscious, enquired, “What goes here? You were dead, and behold now you are alive.” Lord Engelrand replied, “Those who die in Christ’s service never die.”’
Engelrand supposedly went on to assure Anselm that he too would find a place in heaven when he was killed on the morrow. Assured of his salvation, Anselm apparently prepared for his death with good cheer.13 This story may have served to reinforce the conviction among the crusaders that those killed in battle en route to Jerusalem were martyrs destined for heavenly paradise, but it could not cancel out the harsher reality that confronted the Franks at Arqa. The lives of good men were being lost in a siege that seemed to be hopeless.
The crusaders spent three long, frustrating months investing Arqa, with little or no return. In this time other events overtook them. As winter waned, an embassy from al-Afdal, vizier of Fatimid Egypt, arrived. Following Byzantine advice, the crusaders had established contact with the Fatimid Muslims of Egypt back in 1097, and in March 1098 had sent envoys to Cairo to discuss the possibility of mutual co-operation against the Seljuq Turks of Syria and Palestine. Now at last they had returned in the company of Fatimid envoys bearing al-Afdal’s response.
In the intervening year much had changed. Capitalising on the disarray within the Seljuq world that followed Kerbogha’s defeat at Antioch, the Fatimids had, in August 1098, attacked and overthrown the Turkish rulers of Jerusalem. Suddenly the crusaders’ chief goal, the Holy City, had a new master – al-Afdal. Initially, all seemed well. The crusader envoys to the Fatimids were able to visit Jerusalem in peace. But by 1099 al-Afdal was in close correspondence with the Byzantine Emperor Alexius, who revealed that a Graeco-Frankish alliance was in tatters and disclosed what he knew about the diminishing size of the crusader army. From this oasition of relative strength, al-Afdal had become less receptive to the Latins’ proposals. They offered to hand over any former Fatimid territories they captured from the Turks and to divide equally any other land obtained with Egyptian aid. In return, the crusaders had one ‘simple’ request – they wanted Jerusalem. Al-Afdal’s response reveals that he was no longer interested in a military alliance with the Franks, but was now simply intent upon formulating a truce that might forestall a crusader invasion of Palestine. It also demonstrates that he had severely underestimated the Latin commitment to the recovery of Jerusalem. His offer – to allow small groups of unarmed crusaders to visit the holy sites of Jerusalem as pilgrims – was flatly refused. All possibility of a negotiated peace evaporated and the lines of confrontation were drawn.14
As the first weeks of spring arrived, there was still no sign of a breakthrough at Arqa, nor of the arrival of the remaining crusader forces. Bohemond, Godfrey and Robert of Flanders were still occupied in the north. When Raymond had marched south from Marrat, in mid-January, Bohemond had seized his chance at Antioch. Judging the count to be too preoccupied to intervene, he moved to expel all Provençal troops from the city, overwhelming and absorbing Raymond’s enclave around the Bridge Gate. It is not known whether any blood was shed in the process, but one thing was now clear. Among the Latins at least, Bohemond had become the acknowledged master of Antioch and it was extremely unlikely that he would immediately abandon his hard-fought conquest in favour of continuing the pilgrimage to Jerusalem. Around 1 March he accompanied Godfrey and Robert as far as Latakia, which was still in Greek hands at this point, but he soon turned back towards Antioch. In spite of Bohemond’s actions, no division between the Byzantines and the crusaders was apparent – all three princes were able to move through Latakia with impunity – suggesting that, as yet, Bohemond had not openly refused to return Antioch to the emperor.15
A short day’s march south of Latakia, Godfrey and Robert came to the small coastal fortress of Jabala, to which they duly laid siege. They were still engaged in this venture when, around the start of April, Peter of Narbonne, the new bishop of Albara, arrived from Arqa bearing an urgent message from Raymond of Toulouse. A rumour was abroad in Syria that the Seljuqs of Baghdad had gathered a new army and were, even now, marching on Raymond’s position. In essence, the count was now begging for his colleagues to reinforce him:
When they heard this news [Godfrey and Robert] made a treaty with the emir [of Jabala] at once and agreed with him on terms of peace, receiving a tribute of horses and gold, and so they left the [fortress] and came to our help; but the threatened attack did not come, so the said counts encamped on the other side of the river and took part in the siege of Arqa.16
One Latin source, written decades later, accused Raymond of inventing the Seljuq threat in order to finally bring Godfrey and Robert of Flanders south, and this is quite possible. Godfrey was reluctant to involve himself in the siege of Arqa, but by the end of March it still seemed that Raymond might realise his dream of leading the reunited crusade south to Jerusalem as its unquestioned commander-in-chief. In reality, the full consequences of his entanglement with Arqa were about to become clear.17
Raymond began the siege of Arqa with two ambitions: to buy time to reunite the crusade under his own banner; and to lay the foundation for territorial domination of the region around Tripoli. Just as at Antioch and the Jabal as-Summaq, he failed to focus exclusively upon one goal. Now, with the arrival Godfrey and Robert of Flanders, the expedition was as ready as it would ever be to attempt the march on Jerusalem. Indeed, with the recent collapse of negotiations with the Fatimids, speed of action was even more essential. If the Franks struck south immediately they might be able to break through to Jerusalem before the Egyptians had time to organise an effective defence. But Raymond was unwilling to relinquish his hopes for Arqa and Tripoli. Rather than move on when no progress was being made, he persisted and day by day, week by week, allowed his competence and integrity as the expedition’s leader to become intricately intertwined with the fate of Arqa.
From one perspective, at least, the siege was proving to be a resounding success – it filled the crusader princes’ coffers to the brim. By 1 April local Muslim powers were practically fighting for the opportunity to offer the most generous terms in return for peace and safety:
The emir of Tripoli offered us 15,000 gold pieces of Saracen money plus horses, she mules, many garments, and even more such rewards in succeeding years. In addition the lord of Jabala, fearful of another siege, sent our leaders tribute of 5,000 gold pieces, horses, she mules, and an abundant supply of wine. Now we were well provisioned because many gifts from castles and cities other than Jabala were sent to us.18
With so much wealth pouring in, it was decided to further refine the system governing the distribution of booty by setting up a special fund which saw one-tenth of all spoils put into a communal kitty. Even though only a quarter of this was eventually dispersed among the ‘poor and infirm’, it still made a marked difference to their standard of living. As his lands back in Europe lay on the border with Iberia, Raymond of Toulouse would have been aware that for much of the eleventh century the Christians of northern Spain had grown rich on the tribute extracted from their Muslim neighbours to the south in what amounted to little more than protection racketeering. As time went on this system had become so profitable that the Christian kings of Léon-Castile had actually become reluctant to overthrow their ever-weakening Islamic ‘enemies’ for fear of losing valuable revenue.
A similar reluctance seems to have taken hold of Raymond in the latter stages of Arqa’s investment. If the town fell he would either have to follow up his threats and assault Tripoli itself or move on south, but so long as the siege continued and the local Muslim world remained cowed, he could reap a rich harvest. Unfortunately for Raymond, cracks soon started to appear in this comfortable arrangement. A number of lesser crusade figures became increasingly greedy and each, hoping to establish his own tribute network, ‘dispatched messengers with letters to Saracen cities stating that he was the lord of the crusaders’. The emir of Tripoli also started to wonder why he was paying so much money to protect himself from the Franks when they were not even able to capture Arqa. The crusaders countered the first signs of this questioning with a brutal raid against Tripoli, of which Raymond of Aguilers happily reported: ‘[Afterwards] the land stank of Muslim blood, and the aqueduct [which ran into the city] was choked with their corpses. It was a delightful sight as its swirling waters tumbled the headless bodies of nobles and rabble into Tripoli.’ For the time being a rebellion had been averted, but the precarious balance between threat and exploitation could not remain in place for ever.19
In this context, two events sealed the fate of Raymond of Toulouse and the siege of Arqa. Ever since Peter Bartholomew had ‘discovered’ the relic of the Holy Lance of Antioch, in June 1098, and Raymond had endorsed his story, the count’s status and prestige had grown alongside that of the visionary. With Adhémar of Le Puy’s death the Provençals had begun promoting Peter as the expedition’s new, popular spiritual leader. Given Peter’s unpredictability, Raymond’s patronage of him was always going to be as risky as it was empowering, but as the months progressed Peter’s visions and pronouncements became ever more fantastical.
This reached a peak after 5 April 1099 when Peter Bartholomew came forward claiming to have witnessed a new vision of Christ, St Peter and St Andrew. The message he bore to the crusaders was utterly extraordinary. According to his story, the Lord had proclaimed the existence of many sinners among the crusading ranks and instructed Peter to root them out in the following manner: Raymond of Toulouse was to call forth the entire army and have them ‘line up as if for battle or for a siege’. Peter would then ‘miraculously’ find the crusaders arrayed in five ranks. The Latins in the first three ranks would be devoted followers of Christ, but the remainder were those polluted by sins ranging from pride to cowardice. Peter actually came forward saying that God had instructed him to oversee the immediate execution of any crusader found wanting in this bizarre selection process.
Not surprisingly, there was an almighty uproar once Peter’s story had been broadcast throughout the army. Antagonisms, resentments and jealousies towards the upstart prophet that had been held in check by his widespread popularity now bubbled to the surface. Outside the Provençal contingent, crusaders may have harboured nagging doubts about the authenticity of Peter’s revelations, but in the tide of zealous veneration for the Holy Lance that followed the seemingly miraculous victory over Kerbogha they had thought better of openly challenging the visionary. Peter’s claims after 5 April were so outlandish, his recommendations so extreme, that for many his spell was broken. At last doubts were openly expressed, and their mouthpiece was Arnulf of Chocques, chaplain to Robert of Normandy. Already ‘a respected man because of his erudition’, Arnulf was unswervingly ambitious and must have realised that by discrediting Peter Bartholomew he himself might be lifted to prominence. He publicly challenged the validity of Peter’s visions and, by association, the authenticity of the Holy Lance. Bartholomew’s bluff had been called, but even in the face of these accusations he refused to back down, offering instead to prove his integrity through an ordeal.20
Ordeals played an important if infrequent role in medieval systems of justice. Our popular modern perception – that brutal trials by fire or water were the mainstay of the legal system during the Middle Ages – is far from the truth. In reality, ordeals were used only as a last resort and, in particular, when an individual’s moral character could not be vouched for within society. In such cases, where an oath could not be trusted, the accused might undergo some form of trial, usually under the supervision of the clergy. This might involve holding on to a red-hot iron or placing one’s hand in a cauldron of boiling water. Again, contrary to modern misconceptions, it was not generally expected that the defendant would emerge totally unscathed even if innocent. Instead, the wounds of the accused would be bound and inspected some days later, with any sign of infection being taken to indicate guilt.21
By April 1099 Peter Bartholomew must himself have been totally convinced of the Holy Lance’s authenticity and his own role as God’s messenger, because he chose to undergo a particularly harsh and hazardous trial by fire, reportedly saying: ‘I not only wish, but I beg that you set ablaze a fire, and I shall take the ordeal of fire with the Holy Lance in my hands; and if it is really the Lord’s Lance, I shall emerge unsinged. But if it is a false Lance, I shall be consumed by fire.’
Peter underwent four days of fasting to purify his soul before the test. Then on Good Friday, before a massive crowd of crusaders, dressed in a simple tunic and bearing the relic of the Holy Lance, he willingly walked into an inferno – blazing ‘olive branches stacked in two piles, four feet in height, about one foot apart and thirteen feet in length’. Contemporary authors provide very different accounts of what happened to Peter in those flames. Raymond of Aguilers, an eyewitness, but also a steadfast champion of the Holy Lance and its discoverer, believed that he emerged unscathed:
Peter walked through the fire, and his tunic and the Holy Lance which was wrapped in the most exquisite cloth, were left unsinged. As he emerged Peter waved to the crowd, raised the Lance, and screamed out, ‘God help us.’ Whereupon the crowd seized him, seized him I say, and pulled him along the ground. Almost everyone from the mob pushed and shoved, thinking Peter was nearby and hoping to touch him or snatch a piece of his clothing. The mob made three or four gashes on his legs in the tussle, and cracked his backbone. We think that Peter would have died there if Raymond Pilet, a renowned and courageous knight, had not with the aid of numerous comrades charged the milling mob, and at the risk of death snatched him from them. But we cannot write more because of our anxiety and distress.22
It is not inconceivable that Peter was trapped and injured by a hysterical riot – charismatic spiritual figures were often mobbed by ecstatic crowds in the Middle Ages. Indeed, in the early thirteenth century a frail and sickly St Francis of Assisi made his last journey in the company of a bodyguard, because it was feared that if he died on the road his body would otherwise be ripped apart by relic hunters. Even so, Raymond of Aguilers admitted that Peter suffered some ‘trivial burns on his legs’ during the trial.
The northern French crusade chronicler Fulcher of Chartres, who was not present at Arqa, was much more sceptical:
The finder of the Lance quickly ran through the midst of the burning pile to prove his honesty, as he had requested. When the man passed through the flames and emerged, they saw that he was guilty, for his skin was burned and they knew that within he was mortally hurt. This was demonstrated by the outcome, for on the twelfth day he died, seared by the guilt of his conscience.
However they were inflicted, there was no escaping the fact that within two weeks Peter Bartholomew died from the injuries received on the day of his ordeal. His Provençal supporters saw to it that he was buried on the site of his trial, but for most crusaders his reputation had been irredeemably tarnished. The true efficacy of the Holy Lance was now doubted, its cult widely criticised, even ridiculed.23
At the same time, grievous damage was done to Raymond of Toulouse’s reputation. Having ridden on the back of the Lance’s cult, he now suffered a severe reversal at its refutation. Then, just as his claim to lead the crusade was faltering, a second dilemma emerged. Around 10 April ambassadors from the Byzantine emperor Alexius I Comnenus arrived at Arqa. They had come to protest loudly Bohemond’s retention of Antioch and the contravention of the oaths given at Constantinople. Offering ‘large sums of gold and silver’ as an enticement, they instructed the crusaders to wait for Alexius himself to arrive on 24 June, ‘so that he could journey with them to Jerusalem’.
This news prompted the emergence of a definite rift within the expedition. Raymond, who had been pursuing a policy of détente with the Greeks, now argued that Alexius’ arrival would only strengthen the crusaders’ chances of reaching Jerusalem. While they waited the Franks could concentrate on finally overcoming Arqa and thus avoid a harmful blow to their martial reputation. The majority, however, distrusted the emperor’s intentions or, indeed, doubted whether he would ever actually make the journey to Arqa. By mid-April a fully fledged stalemate had been reached, with neither side willing to budge. The dispute became so heated that the clergy declared a period of fasting, prayers and alms-giving in the hope that God would then return peace to the expedition.24
Raymond of Toulouse was in a desperate fix. He still enjoyed considerable support, but even some Provençal crusaders were beginning to lose faith. Around this time, Tancred, whose support Raymond had earlier bought with the handsome gift of ‘5,000 solidi and two thoroughbred Arabian horses’, broke ranks with the count and transferred his allegiance to Godfrey of Bouillon. Sensing that the aura that had surrounded the Holy Lance was now shattered, Raymond made a calculated decision: no longer able to rely upon the power gained from association with one relic cult, he cynically resolved to ‘create’ another. In order to replace the totemistic energy of the Lance, Raymond looked once again to appropriate the memory of Adhémar of Le Puy. In life the bishop had carried a relic of the True Cross – a small piece of wood believed to have been part of the cross upon which Christ was crucified – and on his death this had found its way to the port of Latakia. Raymond now dispatched Adhémar’s brother, William Hugh of Monteil, on an urgent mission to Latakia to recover the relic. Raymond’s plan was not bluntly to forsake the Holy Lance, but rather initially to augment and then gradually replace its cult with that of Adhémar’s cross. This scheme was not wholly successful, for when William Hugh duly returned with the relic in hand Raymond’s own entourage became so imbued with crusading zeal that they too wanted only to make an immediate departure for Jerusalem.25
Ultimately, Raymond manoeuvred himself into a corner. He allowed his capability as a leader to be too closely equated with success at Arqa. As the crusaders’ siege of the town foundered, the double blows of Peter Bartholomew’s death and the widespread unpopularity of Raymond’s pro-Byzantine stance left the count reeling. With even his own men demanding a resumption of the march south, he was forced to concede. In the first week of May, Raymond finally agreed to leave Arqa unconquered and continue the journey to Jerusalem.
As the march began, the crusaders were pleasantly surprised to find that the southern Levantine climate affected seasonal change. One writer observed: ‘We were eating spring beans in the middle of March and corn in the middle of April.’ With an earlier harvest they hoped to find plentiful supplies on their journey through Palestine. Once the decision was reached, the siege of Arqa was promptly abandoned. The crusaders passed through Tripoli in peace and by 16 May they were at last set on the road to Jerusalem.26
The pilgrimage to the Holy City was now in its final stage, but the crusade would never again be dominated by Raymond of Toulouse. The count had, for a time, held sway over the expedition, even coming close to standing as its unchallenged leader, but the débâcle at Arqa was a watershed in his career. From now on he would have to share power and prestige with his fellow princes.