



Produced by Al Haines








[Frontispiece: _The First Crusaders in Sight of Jerusalem_]




  THE STORY OF
  THE CRUSADES


  BY

  E. M. WILMOT-BUXTON

  F.R.Hist.S.

  AUTHOR OF
  'BRITAIN LONG AGO' 'THE BOOK OF RUSTEM'
  'TOLD BY THE NORTHMEN' ETC.



  GEORGE G. HARRAP & CO. LTD.
  LONDON BOMBAY SYDNEY




  _First published December 1910_
  _by_ GEORGE G. HARRAP & CO.
  _39-4l Parker Street, Kingsway, London, W.C.2
  Reprinted September 1913
  Reprinted in the present series:
  March 1912; May 1914; January 1919; March 1924;
  January 1927; November 1927; July 1930_



  _Printed in Great Britain by Turnbull & Spears, Edinburgh_




  Contents


  I.  The Story of Mohammed the Prophet
  II.  Mohammed as Conqueror
  III.  The Spread of Islam
  IV.  The Rise of Chivalry
  V.  The Story of Peter the Hermit
  VI.  The Story of the Emperor Alexios and the First Crusade
  VII.  The Siege of Antioch
  VIII.  The Holy City is won
  IX.  Bernard of Clairvaux and the Second Crusade
  X.  The Loss of Jerusalem
  XI.  The Story of the Third Crusade
  XII.  The Adventures of Richard Lion-Heart
  XIII.  The Story of Dandolo, the Blind Doge
  XIV.  The Forsaking of the High Enterprise
  XV.  The Story of the Latin Empire of Constantinople
  XVI.  The Story of the Children's Crusade
  XVII.  The Emperor Frederick and the Sixth Crusade
  XVIII.  The Story of the Seventh Crusade
  XIX.  The Crusade of St Louis
  XX.  The Story of the Fall of Acre
  XXI.  The Story of the Fall of Constantinople
  XXII.  The Effect of the Crusades

  List of Books Consulted

  Index of Proper Names




Illustrations


The First Crusaders in Sight of Jerusalem . . . _Frontispiece_

The Vision of Mohammed

Pilgrims of the Eleventh Century journeying to the Holy City

The Preaching of Peter the Hermit

Duke Godfrey marching through Hungary

Robert of Normandy at Dorylæum

The Storming of Jerusalem

King Louis surrounded by the Turks

Richard and Philip at the Siege of Acre

Richard of England utterly defeats the Army of Saladin

The Fleet of the Fifth Crusade sets Sail from Venice

The Children crossing the Alps

John of Brienne attacking the River Tower

The Landing of St Louis in Egypt

The Last Fight of William Longsword

The Fall of Acre


Map of the Crusades




{9}

The Story of the Crusades




CHAPTER I

The Story of Mohammed the Prophet


_A poor shepherd people roaming unnoticed in the deserts of Arabia: a
Hero-Prophet sent down to them with a word they could believe: See! the
unnoticed becomes world-notable, the small has grown world-great_.

CARLYLE: _Hero as Prophet_.


The two hundred years which cover, roughly speaking, the actual period
of the Holy War, are crammed with an interest that never grows dim.
Gallant figures, noble knights, generous foes, valiant women, eager
children, follow one another through these centuries, and form a
pageant the colour and romance of which can never fade, for the
circumstances were in themselves unique.  The two great religious
forces of the world--Christianity and Islam, the Cross and the
Crescent--were at grips with one another, and for the first time the
stately East, with its suggestion of mystery, was face to face with the
brilliant West, wherein the civilisation and organisation of Rome were
at last prevailing over the chaos of the Dark Ages.

A very special kind of interest, moreover, belongs to {10} the story of
the Crusades in that the motive of the wars was the desire to rescue
from the hands of unbelievers

        _Those holy fields
  Over whose acres walked those blessed feet
  Which, fourteen hundred year before, were nailed
  For our advantage on the bitter cross._


But we shall see, as we read the story, that this was only a part of
the real motive power which inspired and sustained the Holy War.

Even if the land of Palestine and the Holy City, Jerusalem, had never
fallen into the hands of the Saracens, some such war was inevitable.
The East was knocking at the doors of the West with no uncertain sound.
An extraordinary force had come into existence during the four
centuries that immediately preceded the First Crusade, which threatened
to dominate the whole of the Western world.  It was a religious
force--always stronger and more effective than any other; and it was
only repelled with the greatest difficulty by Christendom, inspired,
not so much by the motive of religion, as by that curious mixture of
romance and adventurous design which we call chivalry.

Let us try, then, first of all, to get some idea of these Men of the
East, the Mohammedans or Saracens, who managed to keep Europe in a
state of constant turmoil for upwards of five centuries, and to do that
we must go back to the latter years of the sixth century after Christ.

About fifty miles from the shores of the Red Sea stands the city of
Mecca, one of the few important towns to be found on the fringe of the
great sandy desert of Arabia.  During hundreds of years Mecca had been
the venerated bourne of pilgrims, for, embedded in the walls {11} of
the sacred building known as the Kaaba, was the "pure white stone,"
said to have fallen from heaven on the day that Adam and Eve took their
sorrowful way from the gates of Paradise.

The Arabs, or Saracens, of these early days were closely connected with
their neighbours, the Jews of Palestine, and claimed the same descent
from Abraham through Ishmael, the outcast son.  They believed in the
existence of God, whom, to some extent, they worshipped, under the name
of Allah.  But they were deeply interested in nature-worship: the sun,
moon, and stars were their deities.  They bowed down before the "pure
white stone" in the Kaaba, now from its frequent handling rather black
than white.  They peopled the whole realm of nature--oceans, rivers,
mountains, caves--with spirits good and evil, called "jinns" or genii,
made, not of clay, like mortal men, but of pure flame of fire.

Once upon a time these jinns were said to have lived in heaven, and to
have worshipped the Lord of Hosts; but having rebelled, under the
leadership of Iblis, against Allah, they were cast forth, and descended
to the earth, where they became sometimes a pest and annoyance to men,
and sometimes their servants.

Many legends concerning these spirits are to be found in the Koran, the
sacred book of the Mohammedans.  One of these tells how the jinns were
wont to roam round about the gates of heaven, peeping and listening and
catching here and there a little of the converse of the angels.  But
these were only isolated words, or disjointed phrases; and the
mischievous jinns, hoping that evil would come of these odds and ends
of conversation separated from their context, whispered them
industriously in the ears of the sons of men.  These the {12} latter,
always eager to know more of the Unseen World, readily accepted, and
invariably put a wrong interpretation upon them.  Hence arose
superstition, black magic, false prophecies, evil omens, and all such
things as had in them the germ of truth, but had been misunderstood and
misapplied.

From the midst of this imaginative and nature-worshipping people there
arose the prophet who was to found one of the most powerful religious
sects in the world.

In the year 570 A.D., in the city of Mecca, a boy child came to the
young mother Amina, to comfort her in her widowhood for the husband who
had died a few weeks before.  Tradition has been active regarding the
cradle of this child, the young Mohammed.  He is said to have exclaimed
at the moment of birth, "Allah is great!  There is no God but Allah,
and I am His prophet."

That same day an earthquake was reported to have overturned the
gorgeous palace of Persia; a wild camel was seen in a vision to be
overthrown by a slender Arab horse; and Iblis, the evil spirit, leader
of the malignant jinns, was cast into the depths of ocean.

What is actually known about the matter is that the babe was presented
to his tribe on the seventh day after his birth, and was named
Mohammed, the "Praised One," in prophetic allusion to his future fame.

For the first five years of his life, according to Arabian custom, the
child was sent to a foster-mother in the mountains that he might grow
up sturdy and healthy.  Soon after the end of that period, his mother
died, and he was left to the care of his uncle, Abu Talib, a wealthy
trader, who was so fond and proud of his nephew that he let the boy
accompany him on many of his long caravan {13} journeys to Yemen or
Syria.  Thus the young Mohammed became intimately acquainted with all
sorts and conditions of men.  He had no books, but he was an eager
listener to the poems recited by the bards in the market-place of each
great town.  He quickly absorbed the legends and superstitions of his
country, formed his own opinion about the idol-worship practised by
many of the Arab tribes, and was present on a great historic occasion,
when an oath was taken by his tribe in alliance with others, to be the
champions of the weak and the avengers of the oppressed.  Moreover,
since his own home was at Mecca, the "Fair of all Arabia," the centre
of trade for India, Syria, Egypt, and Italy, the boy had plenty of
chances of acquiring that knowledge of the world which subsequently
served him in good stead as a leader of men.

He grew up a silent, thoughtful youth, loved and respected by his
companions, who named him El Amin, the "Faithful One."  He was notable
too for his good looks, for his bright dark eyes, clear brown skin, and
for a curious black vein that swelled between his eyebrows when he was
moved to anger.  He had wide opportunities for thought and meditation,
since, as was the case with most Arabs, his occupation was for years
that of a shepherd on the hillsides of his native city.  Eventually, at
his uncle's wish, he became camel-driver and conductor of the caravan
of a certain rich widow named Kadija.  The long journey to Syria was
undertaken with success, and on his return the widow Kadija looked upon
the young man of twenty-five with eyes of favour.  She imagined she saw
two angels shielding him with their wings from the scorching sunshine,
and, taking this for an indication that he was under the special
protection of {14} Allah, sent her sister to him, according to a common
custom of Arabia, to intimate her willingness to be his bride.

So the poor camel-driver became the husband of the wealthy Kadija, and
a very happy marriage it turned out to be.  Six children came to
gladden the peaceful home, of whom the youngest, Fatima, was to play a
part in future history.  To all appearances these were years of calm
existence, almost of stagnation, for Mohammed; but all the time the
inner life of the man was growing, expanding, throwing out fresh
tentacles of thought and inquiry, as he brooded upon the condition, and
especially upon the religious condition, of his fellow-countrymen.  For
the Arabs of his day were a degenerate race, much given to drinking and
gaming and evil passions.  They thought nothing of burying their
girl-children alive after birth, as unworthy to be brought up.  They
had no heroic ideals, and their religion was becoming more and more
vague and shadowy where it was not given over entirely to the worship
of idols.

It was the Arab custom to keep the month Ramadan as a kind of Lent, in
fasting, in seclusion and meditation; and Mohammed, during that period,
was wont to retire to a cave in a mountain near Mecca, sometimes with
Kadija, sometimes quite alone.  There he was overtaken on one occasion
by strange trances and visions in which uttered weird prophetic
sentences.  He subsequently confided to Kadija, who was with him at
that time, that he had made the Great Discovery; that all these idols,
and sacred stones, and empty phrases of religion were nothing--nothing
at all.  "That God is great, and that there is nothing else great.  He
is Reality.  Wooden idols are not real; but He is real--He made us and
{15} protects us; hence _We must submit to Allah, and strive after
righteousness_."  This was to be the keynote of the faith to be known
as _Islam_.

After this revelation had come to him, Mohammed continued his life of
thought and meditation for some time, until he was nearly forty years
of age.  He may have spoken of his conviction to his friends, but he
does not seem to have gained much sympathy, and rather he appears to
have earned the reputation of a dreamer.  But about the year 610, as he
was wandering over the wild hillsides, the clear call came, as it is
bound to come to the humble, listening soul.  He had lain down to sleep
when, in a vision, he heard three times his name repeated, and the
third time saw the angel Gabriel--in whose existence both Arabs and
Jews believed--who spoke to him and bade him

  _Cry! in the name of Allah!
  In the name of Allah,
  Who hath created man._


At first Mohammed was much disturbed by this message, which he did not
clearly understand.  He feared he was under the influence of magic, and
was filled with dread of falling into the hands of jinns.  After a
visit to his home, he again sought the mountain, intending in his
harassed state of mind to put an end to his life.  Each time he
attempted this, something restrained him, and as he sat at length in
despair upon the ground wrapped in his cloak, the angel once more
appeared, saying--

  _O thou that art covered,
    Arise and preach,
  And magnify Allah!
    Purify thy garments,_

{16}

  _Shun all evils,
  Grant not money on usury,
  Wait patiently for Allah.
  When the trump shall blow shall be distress for unbelievers._


From that time the vocation of Mohammed was clear.  He was to go forth
and preach to a nation of idolaters that there was one God, and only
one, who might claim their worship.  Never again did he hesitate, nor,
on the other hand, did he begin his work in haste.  He still sojourned
among the mountains, where he was visited by his uncle, Abu Talib, and
by the little son of the latter, a boy called Ali.

"What calls you here, Mohammed?" asked the puzzled Abu, "and what
religion do you now profess?"

Said Mohammed: "I profess the religion of Allah, of His angels and His
prophets, the religion of Abraham.  Allah has commissioned me to preach
this to men, and to urge them to embrace it.  Nought would be more
worthy of thee, O my uncle, than to adopt the true faith, and to help
me to spread it."

But Abu Talib replied: "Son of my brother, I can never forsake the
faith of my fathers; but if thou art attacked, I will defend thee."
Then to his young son Ali he continued: "Hesitate not to follow any
advice he giveth thee, for Mohammed will never lead thee into any wrong
way."

The first attempts of Mohammed to begin his work of conversion met with
small success.  We have good authority for the proverb that "a prophet
has no honour in his own country," and in Mohammed's case his task was
made supremely difficult by the fact that Mecca would no longer be the
goal of thousands of pilgrims every year if the Arabs were to give up
the worship {17} of the idols of the Kaaba, which numbered, exclusive
of the "pure white stone" itself, some three hundred and sixty-five
images.  Now the whole prosperity of the city depended upon the caravan
trade brought by these pilgrims, as well as on the profits made out of
providing food and shelter for such vast numbers.  Realising this,
Mohammed made no attempt at a public proclamation of the new faith for
the first three years, but contented himself with training two or three
converts to be his helpers in the future.

His faithful wife Kadija was with him heart and soul, and to her, first
of all, he disclosed the details which the angel had revealed to him in
a vision, as to the particular acts of ritual, forms of prayer, and
actual doctrine which _Islam_, as their faith was called, demanded of
its followers.  The essential fact of this religion was a belief in
Allah as the one true God, in a future life of happiness or misery
after death, and in Mohammed himself as the Prophet of Allah, whom they
were bound to obey.  It was essentially a practical faith, however,
and, in addition to prayer five times a day, the Islamite or _Moslem_
must give alms to the poor, be perfectly honest in weighing and
measuring, be absolutely truthful, and keep strictly to all agreements
made.  Many minor details were afterwards added to these, and the whole
were gradually written down in the _Koran_, the sacred book of Islam.
This, of course, was not done till many years later, when Mohammed had
drawn up a moral and social code which he hoped would reform the whole
world.  In the meantime he had a hard struggle before him.

One of his first followers was the child Ali, who, though but eleven
years old, became his constant companion in his lonely rambles, and
eagerly received his {18} instructions.  A freed slave, and Abu Bekr, a
man of official rank, enthusiastic for the new faith, were his next
converts.  In vain did Mohammed call together the members of his tribe,
saying unto them--

"Never has an Arab offered to his people such precious things as I now
present to you--happiness in this life, and joys for ever in the next.
Allah has bidden me call men to Him--Who will join me in the sacred
work and become my brother?"

Deep silence followed this appeal, broken only by the high, childish
voice of little Ali, who cried out--

"I, Prophet of Allah, I will join you!"

Quite seriously Mohammed received the offer, saying to the assembled
throng, "Behold my brother, my _Kalif_!  Listen to him.  Obey his
commands."

Soon after this appeal to his own tribe, a spirit of active opposition
arose among the men of Mecca, so much so that the chief men came to Abu
Talib and warned him that if he did not prevail upon Mohammed to hold
his peace and give up these new doctrines, they would take up arms
against him and his supporters.  Much alarmed at this protest, Abu
Talib implored his nephew to keep his new-formed faith to himself.  But
Mohammed answered, "O my uncle, even if the sun should descend on my
right hand and the moon on my left to fight against me, ordering me to
hold my peace or perish, I would not waver from my purpose."

Then, thinking that the friend he loved so well was about to desert
him, he turned away and wept.  But the old Abu, touched to the heart,
cried out, "Come back, O my nephew!  Preach whatever doctrine thou
wilt.  I swear to thee that not for a moment will I desert thy side."

{19}

Opposition soon took the form of misrepresentation.  The enemies of
Mohammed would lie in wait for the pilgrims going up to the Kaaba and
warn them to beware of a dangerous magician, whose charms sowed discord
in the household, dividing husband and wife, parent and child.  But
this had the natural effect of making strangers much more curious about
Mohammed than they would otherwise have been.  They made their own
inquiries, and though few converts were the result, the reputation of
the Prophet, in a more or less misleading form, was gradually spread by
them throughout the length and breadth of Arabia.

Meantime, Mohammed himself was the object of open insult in the streets
of Mecca, as well as of actual violence.  One effect of this, however,
was to bring over to his side another uncle, Hamza by name who had been
one of his fiercest opponents.  Hearing of some new outrage, he
hastened to the Kaaba and stood forth openly as the champion of the
Prophet.

"_I_ am of the new religion!  Return _that_, if you dare!" he cried,
dealing a vigorous blow at one of the angry and astonished assembly.
They drew back in awe, and Hamza, the "Lion of Allah," became one of
the most ardent followers of Islam.

The tide of persecution, however, was not stayed, and at length
Mohammed, unable to protect his followers from the violence he was
willing to endure himself, persuaded them to take refuge in Abyssinia,
under the protection of the Christian king.

Furious at this, the men of Mecca placed Mohammed and his whole family
under a ban for three long years, during which the Faithful nearly
perished of hunger, for no man might buy of them or sell to them or
have {20} any kind of intercourse with them.  This ban was removed at
the end of three years, but then a worse blow fell upon the Prophet.
Kadija, his faithful, loving wife, and Abu Talib, his friend and
protector, both died.  The death of Abu led to a renewal of
persecution; very few fresh converts were made; failure met him on
every side.  The only ray of light in this period of gloom was the
discovery that twelve pilgrims journeying from the distant city of
Medina had already become followers of Islam from what they had heard
of the new faith as taught by Mohammed.  These men he gladly instructed
more fully, and sent them back as missionaries to their own city.

In the midst of his depression and disheartened forebodings for the
future, Mohammed was vouchsafed a marvellous vision or dream.

"Awake, thou that sleepest!" cried a voice like a silver trumpet, and
there appeared to him an angel of wonderful brightness, who bade him
mount the winged steed, _Borak_, the Lightning, and ascend to the
Temple at Jerusalem.  Thence by a ladder of light, Mohammed rose to the
first heaven, made of pure silver, and lighted by stars suspended by
chains of gold.  There he was embraced as the chief of prophets by
Adam, the first created man.

[Illustration: _The Vision of Mohammed_]

Thence he proceeded to the second heaven, which was of steel, and there
he was greeted by Noah.  The third heaven, where Joseph met him, was
brilliant with precious stones.  There too sat the Angel of Death,
writing down the names of all who were to be born, and blotting out the
names of those whose time had come to die.  In the fourth heaven Aaron
showed to him the Angel of Vengeance, in whose hands was a fiery {23}
spear.  In the fifth Moses spoke with him and wept to see one who was
going to lead to Paradise more of the Chosen People than he, their
prophet.  In the sixth, of marvellous brightness, Abraham occupied
chief place; and Mohammed was even allowed to penetrate further to the
seventh heaven, where Allah, His glory veiled, gave him instructions as
to the doctrines of Islam, and bade him command his followers to utter
fifty prayers a day.

When the Prophet returned to Moses, the latter pointed out that the
number was too much to expect of Arabs, and bade him ask Allah to
reduce it.  In answer to his supplications, Allah said at first that
forty prayers would be satisfactory, but Mohammed pleaded earnestly for
further relief, and at last the number was fixed at five, at which it
remains to this day.  "Allahu akbar--Prayer is better than sleep!
There is no God but Allah!  He giveth life and He dieth not!  O thou
bountiful!  Thy mercy ceaseth not!  My sins are great, greater is Thy
mercy!  I praise His perfection!  Allahu akbar!"

Still, five times a day, the peculiar cry of the "mullah" is heard from
the tower of prayer, giving the signal for the follower of Islam to
turn towards Mecca, throw himself on his face, and utter the prescribed
words.

Much inspired by this wonderful dream, Mohammed was further encouraged
by the news that seventy men of Medina had joined the ranks of Islam
and were about to meet him on the hillside beyond Mecca, with intent to
induce him, if possible, to take up his future abode in their city,
leaving his birthplace to its fate.  There, under the dark midnight
sky, these men bound {24} themselves to worship Allah only, to obey the
Prophet, and to fight in defence of him and his followers.

"And what will be our reward?" asked one.

"Paradise!" replied Mohammed briefly.

And then the oath was sworn; while the Prophet, on his side, promised
to live and die with his new converts when the time was ripe.

The meeting had, however, been watched by spies, who reported all to
the men of Mecca; and a new persecution arose, so bitter that most of
the "Faithful," as the followers of Mohammed came to be called, fled at
once to Medina.  Mohammed himself remained, hoping that thus he might
turn the wrath of the idolaters upon himself and protect the flight of
his children.

Presently, however, came information that forty men, one from each
tribe, had sworn together to take his life; and forthwith Mohammed with
Abu Bekr, his devoted friend, departed one dark night and shook off the
dust of Mecca from his feet.  Danger was so near that they dared not
take the path to Medina, but made their way to a mountain, on whose
rocky summit they found a small cave into which they crept at dawn of
day.

Knowing what the end of the pursuit would mean, Abu began to lose
nerve, and asked, "What if our pursuers should find our cave?  We are
but two."

"We are three," was the calm reply: "Allah is with us!"

Legend says that the pursuers actually approached the mouth of the cave
and were about to investigate it.  But in the early hours of the day
Allah had caused a tree to grow up before it, a spider to weave its web
across it, and a wild pigeon, most timid of birds, to lay {25} eggs in
a nest made in the branches; and the searchers, seeing these things,
declared it impossible that any one could be within.  A faithful friend
provided them in secret with food and milk, and on the third night they
began the journey to Medina.

"He is come!  He is come!" cried the Faithful in Medina, flocking to
meet the wayworn travellers as they entered the city.

And thus a new chapter was opened in the history of Islam.




{26}

CHAPTER II

Mohammed as Conqueror


      _He is come to ope
  The purple testament of bleeding war._
                        SHAKESPEARE: _Richard II._


The year which marked Mohammed's triumphant entry into Medina is known
in the Mohammedan world as the _Hegira_, and counts as the Year One in
their calendar--the year from which all others are reckoned.  For the
first time the faith of Islam was preached openly, and the claim of
Mohammed to be merely _one_ of the "prophets" gave place to a demand
for acknowledgment as the chief of all, a demand calculated to arouse
the antagonism of all other existing forms of religion.  The other
important development of his teaching at this time was that all
faithful Moslems--the followers of the Prophet--must entirely abstain
from the use of intoxicating drink.

Moreover, though at first Mohammed (possibly to please the Jews in
Medina) had commanded that at the hour of prayer every Moslem should
turn his face towards Jerusalem, in course of time, when he began to
see the impossibility of uniting the Jewish believers with those of
Islam, he suddenly, after the usual prostration, turned towards the
Temple at Mecca.  From that moment down to the present day the Moslem,
wherever {27} he is, follows this example at the fivefold hour of
prayer.

At Medina, Mohammed married the young girl Ayesha, and, as permitted by
the Moslem faith, soon brought other wives to the simply built house by
the mosque which he and his converts were building just outside the
city.  Yet, though a man of fifty-three, the Prophet by no means
intended to pass the rest of his life in ease and domestic comfort.  He
had been forced by violence to flee from Mecca.  He now conceived it
his duty to make himself master of his native city by means of the
sword.

The sons of the desert are born fighters, and whether his motive was to
enforce the Moslem faith at the peril of the sword, or merely to assert
his personal rights, the fact remains that he had no difficulty
whatever in rallying to his standard a small though most enthusiastic
army.

An attempt to seize a rich caravan belonging to a merchant of Mecca was
the signal for battle.  The forces of Mecca, hastily gathered, went out
against the Moslem host, and, after hard fighting, were dispersed.
There was joy in Medina when the "swift dromedary" of the Prophet
appeared at the house of prayer and the news was made known; but in
Mecca was bitter hatred and woe, fitly expressed in the grim words of
the wife of the slain leader of the caravan: "Not till ye again wage
war against Mohammed and his fellows shall tears flow from my eyes!  If
tears would wash away grief, I would now weep, even as ye; but with me
it is not so!"

From that time Mohammed gave up all pretence of winning converts by
peaceable methods; {28} henceforth he was to live and die a man of the
sword.  Deterioration of character was a more or less natural outcome
of this change.  It may have been necessary to invent visions in order
to convince the ignorant people of Medina that their victory was due,
not to their own strength, but to the aid of the angels of Allah, who
would always fight upon their side; but we cannot say the same of the
applause, given openly by Mohammed in the mosque, to the cold-blooded
murderer of a woman who had composed some verses throwing doubt upon
the right of the Prophet to glory in the death of the men of his own
tribe.  Nor was this the only instance of revenge and cruelty.  It was
but too clear that Mohammed, from a calm and peaceful prophet, had been
transformed into a warlike chieftain, bent on subduing all others to
his will.  When Mecca declared battle, he went out to the field, clad
in full armour, sword in hand.  At first all went well with the
Moslems.  Then Mohammed was struck in the mouth and cheek, and a cry
went up, "The Prophet is slain!  Where is now the promise of Allah?"
Their cry was drowned in the triumphant shouts of the men of Mecca,
"War hath its revenge; Allah is for us--not for you!"

The day was lost; and it needed all the Prophet's ingenuity to account
for it satisfactorily to those whom he had so often assured of the
certain protection of Allah.  From that time possibly dates the belief
of the Moslems that he who dies in battle against the unbeliever is so
certain of the joys of Paradise that it is the survivor rather than the
slain who should be pitied.

Meantime, before the contest with Mecca could be {29} finally settled,
Mohammed undertook to crush, once for all, the Jewish power in Arabia.
It seems strange that there should have been such hostility between
Jews and Moslems, seeing that both claimed the God of Abraham as the
object of their worship; but this was now lost sight of in view of the
natural refusal of the former to acknowledge Mohammed as the chief of
all prophets, and his sacred book, the Koran, as superior to their
"Book of the Law," the Old Testament.  By dint of persecuting those who
dwelt within the walls of Medina, and of besieging their cities
elsewhere, Mohammed compelled the Jews to migrate to Syria, leaving
their abandoned lands and cities to him.  The event finds special
mention in the Koran.

"Allah it is who drove out the People of the Book, _(the Jews_), who
believed not, to join the former exiles.  Ye thought not they would go
forth; verily, _they_ thought that their fortresses would defend them
against Allah; but Allah came upon them from a quarter unexpected and
covered their hearts with dread."

Soon after this event, Ali, his faithful nephew, was still more closely
united with Mohammed by his marriage with Fatima, the Prophet's
daughter; and thus he of whom Mohammed was wont to say, "I am the city
of wisdom, but Ali is its door," was joined to one of the "four perfect
women" spoken of by the Prophet.

It was now six years since Mohammed had left Mecca, during which time
he had never ceased to yearn and plan for his triumphant return.  The
Kaaba, save for its idols, was sacred to him as the home of the worship
of Allah, and his heart was bitter within him when he reflected that he
and his followers had been so long forbidden the yearly pilgrimage
thither.  So he {30} determined to put the temper of the Meccans to the
test by making a pilgrimage, with a sufficient number of followers to
resist any aggressive act of hostility.  As they approached the sacred
borders, the camel of Mohammed refused to go further.  "The creature is
obstinate and weary," said the Moslems.  "Not so," answered Mohammed,
"the hand of Allah restrains her.  If the Meccans make any demand of me
this day, I will grant it.  Let the caravan halt."  "There is no water
here," they cried in dismay, "how shall we halt?"  But Mohammed ordered
that a dried-up well should be opened, and at once water bubbled up to
the surface.

Still more surprised were the Moslems, all of whom were burning to
fight, when they found the Prophet quietly accepting the terms offered
by the men of Mecca, when they promised to permit future pilgrimages,
though they would not allow him to enter the city on that occasion.

Once recognised by his own birthplace, Mohammed determined to bring
about his most ambitious project, and to summon all the kingdoms of the
earth to acknowledge Islam.

He even had a signet-ring engraved with the words "Mohammed, the
Apostle of Allah," and, in a spirit of sublime self-confidence, sent it
to the King of Persia, to the Byzantine Emperor Heraclius, and to the
rulers of Syria, Abyssinia, and Egypt.  Nothing came of it, of course,
and meantime the earlier desire of his heart had been gratified.  The
pilgrimage to Mecca had been undertaken in safety, and the Prophet had
worshipped after the manner of Islam within the very walls of the
sacred Kaaba.

That same year saw the Moslems on the march against {31} the forces of
Rome herself.  One of the Prophet's envoys had been put to death by the
Christian chieftain of a Syrian tribe, which was under Roman rule; and
the little Moslem army at once set out from Medina to avenge him.
Little did Mohammed know of the Roman military power when he sent forth
his men with such high words of courage.  The Moslem troops advanced,
crying "Paradise! how fair is thy resting-place!  Cold is the water
there and sweet the shade!  Rome!  Rome!  The hour of thy woe draweth
nigh!  When we close with her, we shall hurl her to the dust."

Instead of this, a discomfited rabble made their way back to Medina in
hot haste, to be received with cries of "Oh, runaways!  Do ye indeed
flee before the enemy when fighting for Allah?"

Nor did the conquest of several wandering desert tribes soothe the
wounded pride of the Prophet.  He could only be consoled by his next
project of making himself master of Mecca, the Holy City, itself.  He
was strong enough now to put ten thousand of his followers in the
field, and with these, after a rapid and secret march, he encamped on
the hills above the city, where his ten thousand twinkling watch-fires
could strike terror into the hearts of the inhabitants.  That night a
chieftain of the men of Mecca, going forth in the darkness to
reconnoitre the enemy, was captured and brought before the Prophet.
Threatened with death, he agreed to embrace the faith of Islam, and was
forthwith sent back to his city with this message:--

"Every Meccan who is found in thy dwelling; all who take refuge in the
Kaaba; and whosoever shutteth the door of his own house upon his
family, shall be safe: haste thee home!"

{32}

The army followed hard upon his heels, fearing treachery; but the
new-made convert kept faith; and when they entered Mecca, it was like a
city of the dead.

The first act of Mohammed was to destroy the idols in the Kaaba, and to
sound the call for prayer from its summit.  But except in the case of a
few rebellious spirits, no blood was shed, and no cruelty shown to
those who had once been his persecutors.  The chiefs of the Meccans
indeed came before him, fearing the worst; and of them he asked, "What
can you expect at my hands?"

"Mercy, O generous brother," they answered.

"Be it so; ye are free!" was the Prophet's reply.

"Thus, after an exile of seven years, the fugitive missionary was
enthroned as the Prince and Prophet of his native country."[1]


[1] Gibbon.


In the years that followed his triumphant possession of Mecca, all the
tribes and cities from the Euphrates to the head of the Red Sea
submitted to Mohammed, who thus became the founder of a new empire as
well as of a new religion.  Many of these tribes were Christian, and to
them the Prophet always showed the utmost kindness and toleration for
their worship.  As the enemies of the hated Jews they had a special
claim on his favour; and it was no doubt to his own advantage to be on
good terms with a religion destined to be the most powerful in the
world.

During the last four years of his life the strength of the Prophet
began to flag under the incessant demands made upon it.  He was now
over sixty years of age, and, just as he was proposing to undertake a
new raid {33} into Roman territory, he was attacked by a high fever.
Recovering for a time, he appeared once more in the mosque at the time
of prayer.  Returning to his couch, his great and increasing weakness
warned him that the end was near.

"O God, pardon my sins!" he faltered.  "Yes--I come--among my
fellow-citizens on high."

Thus he died, in the tenth year after the Hegira.




{34}

CHAPTER III

The Spread of Islam


  _Swift and resistless through the land he passed,
  Like that bold Greek who did the East subdue,
  And made to battles such heroic haste
  As if on wings of victory he flew._
                                DRYDEN: _On Cromwell._


Of those sovereigns visited by the envoys of Mohammed and bidden to
give their allegiance to the Prophet, was Khosru, King of Persia, who,
in utter disdain of such a demand, tore the letter to pieces.

"Beware, O king," said the messenger as he departed, "for in the days
to come your kingdom shall be treated as you have treated the written
words of the Prophet."

The idea of an unknown sect from an Arabian desert attacking the power
of the "Great King" seemed preposterous to those who heard, for Persia
was then at the height of one of her spasmodic periods of success.
Some eighteen years before the envoy of Islam appeared at his court the
king had covered his empire with glory by the capture of Jerusalem (611
A.D.), then in the hands of Rome, and inhabited chiefly by Christians.
On this occasion the Jews throughout Palestine rose on his behalf with
the object of exterminating the Christians, ninety {35} thousand of
whom are said to have perished.  "Every Christian church was
demolished, that of the Holy Sepulchre was the object of furious
hatred; the stately building of Helena and Constantine was abandoned to
the flames; the devout offerings of three hundred years were rifled in
one sacrilegious day."[1]  Fortunately for future ages, the great
church, built by the pious Helena over the place where the body of
Christ had lain, was not entirely destroyed; but--a worse blow still to
the Christian inhabitants--the True Cross was taken from its sacred
hiding place and carried Into Persia.


[1] Milman.


Egypt had also fallen into the hands of the conquering Khosru, when at
length Heraclius, the Emperor of the East, "slumbering on the throne of
Constantinople," awoke, drove the Persian from Syria and Egypt,
restored the ruined churches of Jerusalem, and brought back in triumph
the Cross to the Holy City.

The preceding year had seen the fall of Khosru, and peace concluded
between the Empires of Rome and Persia; eight years later Jerusalem was
in the hands of the Saracens (637 A.D.).

The years intervening between this event and the death of Mohammed had
been utilised by the sons of Islam in making a series of conquests,
which seem well-nigh miraculous.  We can indeed only account for them
by the fact that the contest was between a race of fighters, stirred by
their new faith to a perfect frenzy of enthusiasm, and the remnants of
Empires far gone in decay.

Yet, even so, there was no light task.  Chaldaea and Babylonia, perhaps
the most ancient empires in the world, fell before the sword of Islam
only after a long {36} and terrible struggle.  The bloodshed on both
sides was appalling, but the ever-increasing numbers of Moslems were
always providing fresh recruits, eager to win victory or Paradise.
Even when they were less numerous than their enemies, they more than
made up for it by the determination and obstinacy of their attacks.

Emboldened by this success, the Saracens flung themselves upon the
Empire of Persia.  Three months after the great battle of Cadesia, the
"white palace" of Khosru was in their hands, and the remnants of the
Persian hosts had fled before them.

The story of Harmozan, the Prince of Susa, Persia's most important
city, shows the craft of the native Persian, and the binding nature of
the Islamite promise.  Brought before Omar the Caliph of Islam,
stripped of his gorgeous robes, bullied and insulted, Harmozan
complained of intolerable thirst.  They brought him a cup of water,
which he eyed askance.

"What ails the man?" cried Omar.  "I fear, my lord, lest I be killed
even as I drink," confessed Harmozan.  "Be of good courage," replied
the Caliph, "your life is safe till you have drunk the water."
Instantly the crafty ruler dashed the cup to the ground, and when Omar
would have avenged his deceit, the bystanders promptly reminded him
that the word of a Moslem is as sacred as an oath.  Harmozan was
liberated, and became speedily a convert to a religion which taught so
well how to "keep faith."

While these conquests were being made in the East, the forces of Omar
had been making equal progress in the West.

Palestine was their destination, and Damascus, that {37} famous city,
the centre of immense trade, their first prey.

From thence they advanced upon Jerusalem, taking town after town on the
way.  A siege of four months convinced the Christian Patriarch that it
was hopeless to hold out longer.  All he now demanded was that Omar
himself should come to take possession, on the ground that it was
written in the sacred book of the Jews that the city should one day
fall into the hands of a king having but four letters in his name.

In Arabia the word "Omar" fulfilled this condition, and forthwith the
Caliph arrived, in the plainest garb, riding upon a camel, and bearing
with him his pouch of grain and dates and his skin of water.

To meet him came the chieftains he had sent out two years before, clad
in the rich cloths of Damascus.

"Is it thus ye come before me?" cried Omar in disgust, throwing a
handful of sand in their faces.  Dismayed for a moment, they
recollected themselves, and, opening their gorgeous robes, revealed the
armour beneath.

"Enough!" cried the Caliph.  "Go forward!"

The terms arranged were by no means harsh, though clearly marking the
inferior position of the conquered Christians.  No crosses were to be
shown, nor church bells rung in the street.  A Christian must rise and
stand in the presence of a Moslem.  The latter might practise his
religion and use his church undisturbed; but the great mosque of Omar
was to rise over the ruined altar of the temple and over the sacred
stone upon which the patriarch Jacob had once rested his head.

Strange as it may seem, the two races settled down side by side in
peace and friendship.  Both acknowledged {38} the holiness of the
Israelites of old, whose bones lay buried in the neighbourhood of the
Holy City.  Within its walls the Mohammedans treated with respect, if
not with reverence, the worship of Him whom they regarded as a prophet
not far inferior to their own.  Thus four centuries rolled quietly
away, until the old distinction between conquerors and conquered had
almost ceased to exist, and pilgrims from all parts of Christendom were
welcomed by Christian and Moslem alike.

Meantime the forces of Islam threatened to overrun the greater part of
the known world.  The Saracens "rode masters of the sea," throughout
the Greek archipelago; their sway was recognised towards the East up to
the sources of the Euphrates and Tigris, to the North they had spread
over Asia Minor deep to the very walls of Constantinople, the seat of
the Eastern Empire.

Egypt was conquered by Amrou, one of the most famous generals of the
Caliph Omar.  With Egypt fell Alexandria, a city renowned for its
learning, and especially for its magnificent library, through the
civilised world.

"I have taken," Amrou told the Caliph, "the great city of the West.  It
contains four thousand palaces, four thousand baths, four hundred
theatres or places of amusement, twelve thousand shops for the sale of
vegetable food, and forty thousand tributary Jews.  The town has been
subdued by force of arms, without treaty or capitulation, and the
Moslems are impatient to seize the fruits of their victory."

Fortunately for the inhabitants, who were the last to be referred to,
Omar would not allow slaughter or pillage.  But if the tale be true,
the fate of the famous library of Alexandria shows very clearly the
narrow limits of Saracen culture in those days.

{39}

A learned scholar of the city, who had won the liking and respect of
Amrou, entreated that the library might be given over to him, as the
Moslems would have no use for it.  The question was referred to Omar,
who replied, "If these writings of the Greeks agree with the Book of
God, they are useless, and need not be preserved; if they disagree,
they are harmful, and should be destroyed." And forthwith the priceless
volumes were committed to the flames.

Six years later (647 A.D.) the warrior Othman accomplished the conquest
of Northern Africa; and a little more than sixty years later, a small
expedition of Saracens crossed the Straits of Gibraltar and set foot in
Spain.  Their leader, Tarif, gave his name to the place (Tarifa) where
he landed, and likewise to the "tariff" or "duty" levied upon the
vessels which passed through the straits.

At Xeres they were met by Roderick, the "last of the Goths," who was
killed, and whose army was put to flight by the forces of the Saracens,
or Moors as they were called after their settlement in Mauretania or
Morocco, just across the straits.  But the conquest of Spain by the
Moors, teeming as it is with romantic interest, is too long to be
related here, and we must retrace our steps to the East.

By the end of the first half of the eighth century, and only a little
over a hundred years after Mohammed's death, the Saracens had brought
their career of conquest almost to an end, and were firmly established
as "the most potent and absolute monarchs of the globe."  One
determined attempt, indeed, was made during the latter half of the
century to take Constantinople, the capital of the Eastern Empire.  A
battle was fought beneath the {40} walls of the city, and the Saracens
were victorious; but they were prevailed upon to retire on the promise
of an immense yearly tribute.

The beginning of the ninth century saw the Eastern and Western worlds
ruled respectively by those two famous monarchs of history and romance,
Haroun-Al-Raschid and Charlemagne.  The first is familiar to most of us
through the enchanting pages of the _Arabian Nights_, but history
unfortunately gives us a darker portrait of the renowned Caliph,
painting him as a jealous and selfish tyrant.  He was, however, a
patron of literature and of art, which distinguishes him from his
predecessors, who were merely warriors.  He could fight, too, on
occasion, both with tongue and sword.  A new Emperor of Constantinople
chose to refuse the tribute promised by the late Empress in these words.

"Nicephorus, King of the Greeks, to Haroun, King of the Arabs.

"The late Queen was too humble; she submitted to pay tribute to you,
though she should have exacted twice as much from you.  A man speaks to
you now; therefore send back the tribute you have received, otherwise
the sword shall be umpire between me and thee."

The Caliph replied in unmistakable terms--

"In the name of Allah, most merciful!"

"Haroun-al-Raschid, Commander of the Faithful, to Nicephorus, the Roman
dog.

"I have read thy letter, O thou son of an unbelieving mother!  Thou
shalt not hear, but thou shalt see my reply."

[Illustration: _Pilgrims of the XIth Century journeying to the Holy
City_]

Forthwith a huge force crossed over into the domains {43} of
Nicephorus, and only the promise to pay the tribute twice, instead of
once a year, induced the Caliph to withdraw his forces.

To us, however, the most interesting incident of his reign is the link
that was forged between East and West when the great Haroun courteously
received the ambassadors of Charlemagne at his court in Bagdad.  He may
have been prompted only by a desire to obtain the Great Emperor of the
West as his ally against the Emperor of the Eastern Empire, but there
seems little doubt that Haroun actually sent to Charlemagne the keys of
the Holy Places at Jerusalem, declaring that the city belonged first
and foremost to the Champion of Christendom.

Charlemagne did not hesitate to avail himself of this generosity.
Fifty years later, a monk of Brittany, named Bernard the Wise,
described how he was lodged at the hospital of the most glorious
Emperor Charles, wherein are received all pilgrims who speak Latin, and
who come for a religious reason.  There, too, he discovered the fine
library founded by Charlemagne close by, in the Church of the Blessed
Virgin.  He speaks in high terms of the relations existing between
Christians and Moslems, both at Jerusalem and in Egypt.

"The Christians and Pagans," he says, "have there such peace between
them that, if I should go a journey, and in this journey my camel or
ass which carried my burdens should die, and I should leave everything
there without a guard, and go to the next town to get another, on my
return I should find all my property untouched."

Thus, in peace and security, the long stream of pilgrims from the West
flowed towards the Holy City until the beginning of the eleventh
century.  Then came, {44} quite suddenly, a terrible interval of
persecution.  The reigning Caliph, El Hakim, became, as he grew up, a
fierce and fanatical madman.  Inflamed, it is said, by the report of
the Jews, who warned him that unless he put a stop to the crowds of
pilgrims he would soon find himself without a kingdom, he instituted a
fierce persecution of the Christians, and commanded that the Church of
the Holy Sepulchre should be destroyed.  Another furious outburst was
directed against the Jews themselves, as well as the Christians.  Many
were killed, and many of their churches laid low.

Just before his end a fit of remorse seized El Hakim, and he commanded
that the churches of the Christians should be restored.  Before he
could again change his mind, he was assassinated by command of his own
sister, as being a dangerous madman.

A brief interval of toleration followed, which was but the lull before
the storm; for an outbreak of terrible persecution was to come, an
outbreak which was the immediate cause of the First Crusade.




{45}

CHAPTER IV

The Rise of Chivalry


  _A knight there was, and that a worthy man,
  That fro the tyme that he first began
  To riden out, he loved chivalrie,
  Trouthe and honour, freedom and curteisie._
                                    CHAUCER: _The Prologue._


During the interval of comparative peace that followed the downfall of
the mad Caliph Hakim, a new spirit of religious devotion began to
awaken in Christendom.

This was, to a large extent, a reaction from a truly "dark age"--the
period which immediately preceded the end of the tenth century.  Famine
and pestilence had devastated Europe, and had resulted in absolute
demoralisation of the population.  Travellers went their way in fear
not only of robbery, but of a far worse fate.  It was whispered that
men, women and children had been waylaid in forest depths, torn to
pieces, and devoured alive by human wild beasts.  The Church, in her
efforts to bring about a better state of things, resorted to counsels
of despair, and began to preach, in every part of Christendom, that the
end of the world was at hand, and that the appointed time was the
thousandth year after the birth of Christ.

The result was an outburst of intense religious {46} excitement which
did much to check the progress of evil and outrage.  It had a practical
outcome, too, as is seen in that curious institution known as the Truce
of God.  In joining this, every knight took an oath not to commit
sacrilege; to treat all travellers with respect; to "keep the peace"
during the sacred days of each week--that is, from Wednesday evening to
Monday morning; not to fight for purposes of private revenge, and
always to defend and keep sacred the persons of women.  Here we have
clearly the foundation of that spirit of chivalry which plays such a
prominent part in the Story of the Crusades.

The appointed time for the end of the world came and went, but the
spirit of devotion remained.  A new interest was awakened in the scenes
of the life-work of the Saviour, and crowds of pilgrims, young and old,
of all ranks and professions, hastened to undertake the long and
toilsome journey to the Holy Land.

Many of these suffered under the persecution of Hakim; and even after
his time, though no active measures were taken against them, they were
not received with the favour shown in former days.  But this only added
zest to the enterprise.  To visit the Church of the Holy Tomb, and to
return and build a church in his own land, became the ambition of every
man of wealth and high rank; while the poor palmer, with his staff and
hat decorated with palm sprigs or cockle-shells, became a well-known
figure upon the roads of every country in Europe.

Says a writer of that day, "At the time there begun to flow towards the
Holy Sepulchre so great a multitude as, ere this, no man could have
hoped for.  First of all went the poorer folk, then men of middle rank,
{47} and lastly, very many kings and counts, marquises and bishops;
aye, and a thing that had never happened before, many women bent their
steps in the same direction."

Things were made a little easier for them by the conversion of the Huns
to Christianity; for this enabled the pilgrims to pass along the land
route through Hungary instead of crossing the Mediterranean and
travelling through Egypt.

Robert the Magnificent, the father of William, the future "Conqueror,"
was among these eleventh century pilgrims, and he, like many another,
died before he could return home.

Sweyn, the eldest and worst of the sons of Godwin, was another; and
Eldred, Bishop of York in the days of William the Conqueror, made the
little realm of England famous at Jerusalem by his gift before the Holy
Sepulchre of a wonderful golden chalice.

Side by side with this spirit of religious zeal there grew up and
developed that remarkable body of sentiment and custom known as
chivalry.

Chivalry has been described as the "whole duty of a gentleman"; and
when we realise the condition of barbarism, brutality, and vice out of
which even Western Christendom was only just emerging in the eleventh
century, we can see how important was the work it had to do.  Religion,
Honour, Courtesy--those were the three watchwords of the knight of
chivalry, and they covered a wide area of conduct.

The education of a knight began at the age of seven, and commenced with
the personal service, which was regarded in those days as a privilege.
The small boy was proud to hold the wine-cup behind the chair of {48}
his lord, or his stirrup when he rode on horseback.  For the next seven
years, though much of his time was spent in waiting upon the ladies of
the household, who taught him reading, writing, music, and the laws of
chivalry, he also learnt the duties of a squire--how to hunt and hawk,
and to look after the kennels and the stables.  At the age of fourteen
the boy might be called a squire, when his duty, in addition to those
mentioned, would be to carve for his lord at table, tasting the food
first himself for fear of poison; and also, of course, to attend upon
him at all times.  Thus he had to arm him for battle, to see that his
weapons were in perfect condition, to fight by his side, and to lie
before his door while he slept.

When the squire had mastered all his duties and obligations, he had
then to "win his spurs," that is, to perform some deed of valour that
should prove him worthy of knighthood.

The ceremony of girding on his armour was largely a religious one.  The
whole of the previous night was spent by him on his knees with his
sword held upright between his hands, before the altar upon which his
armour was laid.  Thus he dedicated himself by prayer and fasting to
the service of God, and on the morrow was solemnly consecrated by the
Church to his high office, before the armour was actually buckled on.

This last part of the ceremony was the privilege of some fair damsel,
to whom the knight was bound to give devotion and respect.  "To do the
pleasure of ladies was his chief solace and the mainspring of his
service."

Another of the features of chivalry was that of "brotherhood-in-arms,"
by which two knights vowed {49} eternal faith and love to one another.
They dressed alike, wore similar armour, prayed together, supported
each other in battle and in any kind of quarrel, and had the same
friends and enemies.

That their devotion to the rules of chivalry was a very real thing is
proved over and over again by the conduct of the knights who took part
in the Crusades.  It is well expressed by Tristan, in one of the most
famous romances of the chivalric age.  As he lay dying, he said to his
squire, "I take leave of chivalry which I have so much loved and
honoured.  Alas! my sword, what wilt thou do now?  Wilt thou hear,
Sagremor, the most shameful word that ever passed the lips of Tristan?
I am conquered.  I give thee my arms, I give thee my chivalry."

It took many a long year to bring to perfection this great institution,
with all its rules and regulations, and chivalry was but in its infancy
when the First Crusade began.  The two movements developed together,
and many a chivalric lesson was learnt by the knights of Christendom
from the Moslems of the East.  Perhaps, however, one of the most marked
effects of the Crusades upon this greatest of mediæval institutions was
the welding together of the various nations of Europe in a common
knighthood, bound by the same rules and codes of honour, and fighting
for the same cause.

"All wars and brigandage came to an end.  The Crusade, like the rain,
stilled the wind."

Out of this combination of the spirit of chivalry, with that of the
Crusades themselves, sprang certain military orders, which play a very
prominent part in the history of the time.

{50}

The first of these was known as the Order of the Knights Hospitallers.
About the middle of the eleventh century a guest-house or "hospital,"
where pilgrims could be entertained, was established by a company of
Italian merchants, in connection with the Church of St Mary, opposite
that of the Holy Sepulchre, in Jerusalem.  This hospital, dedicated to
St John, was managed by Benedictine monks, under one called the
"Guardian of the Redeemer's Poor."  When the First Crusade was over,
its hero, Godfrey of Boulogne, visited the place and found that these
good monks had devoted themselves during the siege of Jerusalem to the
care of the sick and wounded Christians, giving them the best of all
they possessed, and living themselves in the utmost poverty.  Godfrey
at once endowed the Hospital of St John with lands and money, and set
up one Gerard as its first Grand Master.  A new and splendid church was
built for the monks, and a habit or dress was prescribed for their use,
consisting of a black robe with a cross of eight points in white linen
upon it--the famous Maltese Cross of later days.

Early in the twelfth century, this company of priests and holy laymen
was changed by its second Grand Master into a military order, bound to
carry on the same kind of charitable work in tending the sick and
wounded, but specially to defend the Holy Sepulchre by force of arms.
Many of this order of "Brothers" had been originally knights who had
retired from the world and taken religious vows; hence it was said that
the changes merely "gave back to the brethren the arms that they had
quitted."  These were now distinguished from the rest by a red surcoat
with the white cross worn over armour.

{51}

Except for the obligation of fighting the vows were not changed, and
these Knights Hospitallers owed the same allegiance to the three-fold
laws of obedience, chastity, and poverty as ordinary monks.  The
brethren were to be the "servants of the poor"; no member could call
anything his own; he might not marry; he could use arms only against
the Saracen; but he was independent of any authority save that of the
Pope.

This Order became immensely popular; in the thirteenth century it
numbered fifteen thousand knights, many of them drawn from the noblest
houses of Christendom; and it is much to its credit that, at a time
when chivalry had become little more than a name, it upheld the old
traditions even when it had been driven from Palestine, and forced to
find a new home for itself at Rhodes.  Driven from thence in the
sixteenth century, the Knights of St John were settled by the Emperor
Charles V. at Malta, where they remained until the days of the French
Revolution.

The Order of the Knights Templars was founded early in the twelfth
century by Baldwin, then King of Jerusalem, as a "perpetual sacred
soldiery," whose special object was to defend the Holy Sepulchre and
the passes infested by brigands which led the pilgrims to Jerusalem.
Their headquarters was a building granted them by Baldwin, close to the
temple on Mt. Moriah.  War was their first and most important business,
though they were bound by their rule to a certain amount of prayer and
fasting.  The latter was, however, easily relaxed, and "to drink like a
Templar" became a proverb.

In every battle of the Holy War these two Orders took a prominent part;
the post of honour on the {52} right being claimed by the Templars,
that on the left by the Hospitallers.  Unlike most other knights, the
Templars wore long beards, and from their dress of white, with a large
red cross upon it, they gained the title of the Red-Cross Knights.

You will, no doubt, remember that Spenser's knight in the first book of
the Faery Queene was of that order.

  _And on his breast a bloudy cross he bore
  In dear remembrance of his dying lord._


Their banner was half black, half white; "fair and favourable to the
friends of Christ, black and terrible to His foes."

These Knights Templars, by their arrogance and independence, made for
themselves many enemies, and early in the fourteenth century they were
strongly opposed by Philip of France.  By this time they were
established in various parts of Europe, and one of their most powerful
"houses" was the building known as the "Temple" in Paris, the members
of which openly defied the authority of the king.

With some difficulty the consent of a weak Pope was obtained for their
destruction.  On a given day, when the Grand Master and most of his
knights were staying in France, every Templar in the country was
seized, imprisoned, and tortured until he had confessed crimes, many of
which he probably had never imagined in his wildest moments.  More than
five hundred were burnt alive, as a preliminary to the Order being
declared extinct.  Whether the Templars deserved their terrible fate
may well be a matter of doubt, though public opinion, in their own day,
was decidedly against them.  It is generally considered that Philip's
treatment of {53} an order, the members of which had again and again
laid down their lives for the cause of God, ranks as one of the
blackest crimes of history.

There is a legend to the effect that on each anniversary of the
suppression of the Order, the heads of seven of the martyred Templars
rise from their graves to meet a phantom figure clad in the red-cross
mantle.  The latter cries three times, "Who shall now defend the Holy
Temple?  Who shall free the Sepulchre of the Lord?"

And the seven heads make mournful reply, "None!  The Temple is
destroyed."

The Temple Church, in London, was originally built for the English
branch of this great Order, the members of which in England, as well as
in Spain and Germany, were almost all acquitted of the charges brought
against them.

But we must now return to the period prior to the foundation of these
two great Orders, with which are associated most of the gallant deeds
of the Holy War.




{54}

CHAPTER V

The Story of Peter the Hermit


  _Great troops of people travelled thitherward
  Both day and night, of each degree and place
  But Jew returned, having 'scaped hard
  With hateful beggary or foul disgrace._
                                    SPENSER: _Faery Queene._


Some twenty years after the death of Hakim, the countries round about
the Holy Land began to be harassed by a new and terrible foe.  From
far-off Turkestan had migrated a fierce fighting tribe, the descendants
of one Seljuk, and known to history as the Seljukian Turks.  Wherever
they went they conquered, until half-way through the eleventh century,
their leader drove out the Saracen rulers of Bagdad and made himself
Caliph.

His successor was converted to Islam, and with added power, swept over
Asia Minor and settled in the city of Nicæa, in threatening proximity
to Constantinople.

This invasion was the more terrible in that it brought in its train a
relapse to barbarism, for these Turks were barbarians, hordes of
robbers and brigands, who cared for nothing but plunder and violence.

Alexios, the weak Emperor of the Eastern Empire, quailed at their
approach, and looked on in terror at the spectacle of Christian
churches destroyed and Christian {55} children sold into slavery.  But
he appealed in vain for aid to the kingdom of the West.  To unite
Western Christendom against a far-off foe was a task beyond the powers
of the tottering Empire of the East.

That inspiration, however, was at hand.  In 1076, the Seljukian Turks
conquered Jerusalem, and at once began a reign of terror for Christian
inhabitants and pilgrims.  The Patriarch, or Bishop of Jerusalem, was
dragged through the street by his white hair, and flung into a dungeon,
until his people could gather a sum sufficient to pay his ransom.  The
holiest sacrament of the Church was profaned by the barbarians, who
invaded the buildings and insisted upon sharing in the rite.  Pilgrims
were stripped and beaten on the roads and passes that led to the Holy
City; many suffered martyrdom as they knelt before the Holy Tomb.  Out
of seven thousand who set out from Germany in one year, only two
thousand returned to tell a tale of cruel murder and outrage.  The
marvel is that such a terrible state of things was allowed to exist so
long, without anything being done to remedy it.  Pope Gregory VII.
(Hildebrand) did indeed gather an army in the latter part of the
eleventh century, but his energy was dissipated in the hopeless task of
asserting the power of the Pope over the Emperor, and his army was
eventually dispersed.

Robert Guiscard, the Norman, actually crossed the sea with his troops
in 1081, when death overtook him; and for a time the unhappy pilgrims
seemed to be left to their fate.  Then suddenly was heard a "voice
calling in the wilderness," the voice of one who was to be the herald
of the First Crusade.

The story goes that a certain poor hermit named Peter, a native of the
French city of Amiens, set out to {56} go to Jerusalem in the year
1098.  He had, like every one else, heard of the horrors he might be
called upon to endure, but pushed on, undeterred, until, possibly
because of his poverty, he arrived safely within the Holy City.  He
found the condition of things even worse than he expected.  The very
stones of the great church were stained with the blood of the martyrs;
the cries of tortured women rang in his ears; the patriarch Simeon
confessed that he had lost heart and was little better than a slave in
the Moslem's hands.  It was clear that the Emperor of the East, their
proper protector, would never act up to his responsibilities.  To whom,
then, could they look for aid?

"The nations of the West shall take up arms in your cause," cried the
dauntless Peter, and he forthwith promised to visit the Pope and obtain
his help and sympathy on his return journey, if the Patriarch would
give him letters to the Church of Rome.

That night, says the legend, Peter meant to spend in watching at the
tomb of the Saviour, and there he fell asleep.  And as he slept, the
figure of the Redeemer stood before him, and with hand outstretched,
bade him hasten to fulfil his great task, saying, "So shalt thou make
known the woes of My people, and rouse the faithful to cleanse the Holy
Places from the infidel; for through danger and trial of every kind
shall the elect now enter the gates of Paradise."

With these words ringing in his ears, the Hermit at once hurried to the
coast and sailed for Italy.  He came before Pope Urban II. at the very
time when the envoys of the Emperor of Constantinople were knocking
very hard at the doors of Rome.  Urban therefore did not hesitate to
bless the enterprise of Peter, and to {57} bid him go forth and preach
a Crusade in his own way.

To induce kings, princes, and nobles, to leave their lands and go to
fight in a cause from which they could gain no apparent profit, needed
considerable time, and Urban himself undertook the difficult task.  But
he was wise enough to see that the peculiar power of Peter the Hermit
could be used in stirring up the ordinary people, the simple-minded and
the poor, to take up arms for the cause of Christ.  So, as a writer of
his own time puts it, "The hermit set out, from whence I know not, but
we saw him passing through the towns and villages, preaching
everywhere, and the people surrounding him in crowds, loading him with
offerings and celebrating his sanctity with such great praises that I
never remember such honour bestowed on any one."

Throughout Italy and France and along the banks of the Rhine journeyed
the strange inspired figure, with head and feet bare, his thin frame
wrapped in a coarse cloak, holding before him a great crucifix as he
rode upon an ass.

"He preached to innumerable crowds in the churches, the streets and the
highways; the Hermit entered with equal confidence the palace and the
cottage; and the people were impetuously moved by his call to
repentance and to arms.  When he painted the sufferings of the natives
and pilgrims of Palestine, every heart was melted to compassion; every
breast glowed with indignation when he challenged the warriors of the
age to defend their brethren and rescue their Saviour."[1]


[1] Gibbon.


While Southern Europe was thus being stirred to enthusiasm by being
brought into personal contact with {58} one who had seen for himself
the woes of the Holy Land, Pope Urban had already called a council to
consider the matter in a practical form.  At this Council of Placentia,
however, the chief part of the attention of those present was drawn to
the representations of the Greek Emperor, on whose behalf ambassadors
pleaded the cause of the city of Constantinople.  If that city fell
before the threatened onslaught of the Turks, they said, Christianity
must perish for ever in the East, and nothing but a narrow stretch of
sea kept the Moslems from the gates of the capital city of the Eastern
Empire.

At these words the deepest sympathy was expressed, but it was suggested
that the best way of succouring the threatened city was to draw off the
attention of the Turks by an attack upon Palestine itself.  This was
just what Urban desired.  A definite march upon Jerusalem would fire
the imaginations of men of all ranks far more than an attempt to defend
Constantinople before it was actually besieged.  The old jealousy
between the Eastern and Western Empire had to be reckoned with; and the
Emperor Alexios was no heroic figure to stand for the Cause of Christ.
The whole question, was, therefore, deferred until the autumn of 1095,
when a Council was summoned at Clermont in France.

That dull November day witnessed a most striking scene.  The vast open
square in front of the Cathedral was crammed with people of all classes
drawn from all quarters by the rumour that the subject of a Crusade
would be discussed.  From the great western door, immediately after
High Mass, emerged the figure of the Pope, and a number of bishops and
cardinals, dressed in vestments glowing with colour, followed him upon
the high scaffold covered with red cloth.

[Illustration: _The Preaching of Peter the Hermit_]

{61}

With cross outstretched in his left hand, the Pope held up his right to
command attention, and then began to speak.  "Who can preserve the
force of that eloquence?" says one who stood by, and heard him point
out that the Turks, having pushed their way to the edge of the Western
World, and even then holding parts of Spain and Sicily, must now be
driven forth from that holiest place, where Christianity alone had a
right to enter.

Turning to the knights who stood by, leaning upon their swords, Urban
addressed them in words of fire.

"Were they spending their days in empty quarrels, shearing their
brethren like sheep?  Let them go forth and fight boldly for the Cause
of God.  Christ himself would be their leader as, more valiant than the
Israelites of old, they fought for their Jerusalem.  A goodly thing
would it be for them to die in that city, where Christ for them laid
down His life.  Let them, as valiant knights, descendants of
unconquered sires, remember the vigour of their ancestors and go forth
to conquer or to die."

This appeal stirred the multitude to its depths.

"DEUS VULT!  DEUS VULT!"[2] went up to heaven in one great roar of
voices, and the cry was at once seized upon by Urban.


[2] It is the will of God!  It is the will of God!


"Let these words be your war-cry," he exclaimed.  "When you attack the
enemy, let the words resound from every side, 'God wills it.'  Go forth
then; many sufferings will be yours, but you may redeem your souls at
the expense of your bodies.  Rid God's sanctuary of the wicked; expel
the robbers; bring in the holy souls.  These things I command, and for
their carrying out I fix the end of next spring.  If you have rich {62}
possessions here, you are promised better ones in the Holy Land.  Those
who die will enter the mansions of heaven, while the living shall
behold the sepulchre of their Lord.  Ye are soldiers of the Cross; wear
then on your breasts, or on your shoulders, the blood-red sign of Him
who died for the salvation of your souls.  Wear it as a token that His
help will never fail you; wear it as a pledge of a vow which can never
be recalled."

Another mighty burst of applause followed these words.

Crowds of bishops and knights at once pressed forward to take the red
cross badges which had been prepared, and Adhemar, Bishop of Puy, the
first to do so, was at once appointed as spiritual head of the
expedition, with Raymond, Count of Toulouse, as its military leader.

In the months that followed, all Southern Europe rang with the sounds
of riveting armour and of forging steel.  The actual departure of the
Crusaders had been finally appointed for the August of 1090, but this
was not early enough for the fervent spirits who had been already
stirred to the depths by Peter the Hermit.

In the month of March, without preparation or provision for the
journey, a vast concourse of some sixty thousand men and women turned
their faces to the East, with Peter as their leader.  As a writer of
the time says, "Lands were deserted of their labourers; houses of their
inhabitants; even whole cities migrated.  You might see the husband
departing with his wife, yea, with all his family, you would smile to
see the whole household laden on a waggon, about to proceed on their
journey.  The road was too narrow for the passengers, the paths too
hedged-in for the travellers, so thickly were they thronged by endless
multitudes."

{63}

About fifteen thousand pilgrims, mostly French, assembled in this way
at Cologne, about Easter 1096; and finding Peter unwilling to start
before the German contingent had come up, they set off under a leader
known as Walter the Penniless, and made for Constantinople.  To do this
they had to pass through Hungary, a wild and barren tract, the people
of which had only lately been converted to Christianity; and here the
rough discipline which Walter, by mere force of character, had managed
to impose upon the horde that followed him, entirely broke down.  Food
being denied them, the pilgrims began to plunder.  The Hungarians at
once took up arms, and soon scattered the so-called troops in all
directions.  Hundreds took refuge in a church, which was promptly
fired, and most of those within were burnt to death.  Only a few
thousand managed to hide in the woods and so escape; and this poor
remnant, being collected with pain and difficulty by Walter the
Penniless, made their way to Constantinople and put themselves under
the protection of the Emperor until Peter should arrive.

Meantime, the Hermit had started, with a German following of about
forty thousand people.  Amongst these were quite a large number of
women and children, many of whom doubtless did their part by cheering
and helping their men-folk on the long road.  But the hardships of the
way told heavily on them, many fell out and lingered behind, beseeching
the men to wait for them.  Long forced marches were an impossibility,
and a disorderly progress was made, in spite of the fact that they had
more provisions and more money than their predecessors on the road.

At length they came to the spot where so many of {64} Walter's
followers had lost their lives.  The place was but too well marked out
by the weapons and crosses of the pilgrims which now adorned the walls
and houses of the neighbouring town.  In a wild outburst of fury, the
mob threw itself upon the inhabitants, all unsuspecting as they were,
and massacred them by the thousand.  Enraged at this treatment of his
people, the Hungarian King came down upon them with his forces, just as
the pilgrims were endeavouring to cross the river into Bulgaria, and
many perished before they could escape.

Once again, in crossing through Bulgaria, the undisciplined host came
to blows with their fellow-Christians living in those lands.  In vain
did Peter represent that valuable lives, time and money was being
wasted.  About ten thousand lost their lives.  Peter himself barely
escaped to a wood, where he wandered about all night in misery,
thinking that all his host was slain.  Next day, however, he managed to
collect about seven thousand, and as he marched on, other refugees
joined him, until at length he found himself at the head of about half
the force with which he had set out.  Famished and gaunt, having lost
nearly all the women and children, as well as food, clothes and money,
Peter hurried them on till at length quite exhausted, they reached the
walls of Constantinople.

Here they found the remnant of the army of Walter the Penniless, who
had, from the first, kept his men under better control than had the
Hermit.  It was only too clear, however, that neither army was in a fit
state to carry on a difficult warfare with the fighting Turks.  The
Emperor Alexios, therefore, persuaded them to rest and recruit until
the organised Crusading Army should appear, {65} meantime giving them
all they could require, and treating them with the greatest kindness.

But it seemed as though a curse, instead of a blessing, rested upon
these forerunners of the First Crusade.

The pilgrims became quite unruly, burnt the houses of their hosts,
stripped the lead from some of the churches and actually tried to sell
it to the inhabitants of the city.  The Greeks naturally turned against
their ill-mannered guests, and Alexios, dreading the consequences,
persuaded Peter to take them with him over the Bosphorus into Asia
Minor.

Thankful for his aid in transporting them, Peter got his men across the
strait, but, all too soon after they had encamped on the other side, a
fresh quarrel broke out between the followers of Walter and those of
Peter.  Utterly unable to control his own men, Peter threw up his task
and retired to Constantinople alone.

Freed from all pretence of control, and mad with the knowledge that
they were free, about ten thousand of these pilgrims began to plunder
the neighbouring country, and finally made their way under the very
walls of Nicæa, where the Turks were encamped.  Here, under the daring
leadership of one Reinaldo, they actually took a fortress, and, when
the Turkish Sultan advanced against them from Nicæa, left a good part
of their army to defend it while the rest came face to face with the
troops of Islam.

Needless to say, the pilgrims were hopelessly defeated; only their
leaders and a handful of men escaped to the fortress, but even here
there was no safety for them.  The Sultan did not even trouble to
besiege it.  He merely starved them out until they were forced to
yield.  {66} The end of the story is a dismal one, seeing to what end
the pilgrims had pledged themselves.  Offered the alternative of death
or Islam, by far the greater number accepted the latter, and the few
faithful were slain before their eyes.

A cruel trap was laid for that section of the army which had stayed
behind with Walter the Penniless.  The Turks, whose troops were now
harassing the Christian camp, caused a rumour to be spread that
Reinaldo and his men had taken possession of Nicæa.  At once the camp
rose like one man and demanded a share in the plunder.  In vain Walter
warned, entreated, threatened; heedless of his warning, the infatuated
pilgrims rushed towards the city, unhindered, until they found
themselves in the midst of a large plain before the walls.  Then, all
at once the troops of the Sultan David flung themselves upon them from
every side.  Helpless they fell, with Walter in their midst.  About
three thousand managed to escape, and fled back to Constantinople, the
rest of that vast host either perished on the field or were brutally
massacred afterwards by their conquerors.

Knowing nothing of the awful failure of their predecessors, a third
army, led by a German priest named Gotschalk, advanced as far as
Hungary.  There the story almost repeats itself.  The people of Hungary
refused to let them pass through; and their king, panic-stricken at
their appearance, captured them by a cruel trick.  Calling them to his
presence, he told them that his people only opposed them because they
came in hostile fashion; but if they would lay down their arms, they
should be protected during their passage through his country, and have
their weapons restored on the {67} frontier.  This the unhappy pilgrims
did, to be immediately massacred by the Hungarians.

Twice again we hear of the setting out of lawless troops, bent even
more openly on plunder than their predecessors, and twice again we hear
of the Danube running red with the blood of those slain by the hosts of
Carloman of Hungary.

Nothing, of course, could have been hoped from such undisciplined
hordes; but perhaps they served the purpose, at the cost of a quarter
of a million lives, of warning the more thoughtful Crusaders of the
dangers of the way, and, of the need of absolute control and able
guidance.

And thus, "the chaff being winnowed with the fan out of God's store,
the good grain began to appear."




{68}

CHAPTER VI

  The Story of the Emperor Alexios
  and the First Crusade


  _Nought is more honourable to a knight
  Nor battle doth become brave chivalry
  Than to defend the feeble in their right
  And wrong redress in such as wend awry
  While those great Heroes glory got thereby._
                                SPENSER: _Faery Queene._


In the August of 1096, the first great army of the Crusaders began to
move towards the East, under the command of Godfrey of Boulogne,
together with his brothers Eustace and Baldwin.

This Godfrey, leader of the Teuton host, is thus described by one of
his own day: "He was of a beautiful countenance, tall of stature,
agreeable in his discourse, of excellent morals, and at the same time
so gentle that he seemed better fitted for the monk than for the
knight.  But when his enemies appeared before him, and the combat was
at hand, his soul became filled with a mighty daring; like a lion, he
feared not for his own person; and what shield, what buckler, could
withstand the fall of his sword?"

Four other armies set out after him in due course, travelling by land
to Constantinople; for, in those days, not even the stoutest general
could face the {69} horrors of a sea-voyage in the untrustworthy
vessels of the Mediterranean shore.

Marching through Europe in perfect order, Godfrey's troops met their
first check on the borders of Hungary.  Here they not only found the
track marked out by the bodies of those who had perished in the
previous year, but a distinct air of hostility was seen in the attitude
of the people.  Knowing nothing of the actual facts, Godfrey cautiously
arranged for a meeting with King Carloman.  Matters were explained on
both sides and a mutual arrangement was made by which Godfrey's troops
were allowed to pass through Hungary buying food as they went, while
Baldwin, the brother of Godfrey, with his wife and children remained
behind as hostages until the Crusaders should arrive at the further
boundary--the River Save.

"So, day by day, in silence and peace, with equal measure and just
sale, did the duke and his people pass through the realms of Hungary."

Once within the Emperor's domains, one would have thought the Crusaders
on safe ground.  But this was by no means the case.  The second army of
the Crusaders, which started almost at the same time as the first, was
led by the brother of the French King, Hugh of Vermandois, a headstrong
and self-willed prince.  He chose, together with Robert of Normandy,
son of the Conqueror, and some less important leaders, to make his own
way through Italy in disorderly fashion; and after leaving in that
pleasant land many of his followers with Duke Robert, he embarked at
Bari for the East.  A tempest cast him on the Austrian coast, which was
under the Emperor's rule.  Hugh at once despatched four and twenty
knights dressed {70} in golden armour to demand a fitting reception for
himself and his followers; and was answered by the arrival of an armed
escort, which led him as a prisoner before the Governor.  There was
some excuse for the conduct of Alexios, extraordinary as it seems; for,
so far, the hordes of so-called Crusaders had brought such desolation
and destruction upon his land that he had come to the conclusion that
the Turks, at this time apparently inactive, were safer neighbours than
the troops of Christendom.  But Alexios was as wily as he was timid.
After a short imprisonment, Hugh was brought to Constantinople and
treated as the honoured guest of the Emperor--treated indeed so well
that he fell a victim to his host's perfidious charm, did homage to
him, and promised to persuade the other chieftains to follow his
example.

This was the state of affairs when Godfrey of Boulogne appeared on the
plains of Thrace, and hearing of the imprisonment of Count Hugh, he
sent at once a peremptory message to demand his release.  This demand
met with absolute refusal, upon which Godfrey promptly gave orders to
ravage the surrounding country.

Immediately alarmed, as usual, by the prospect of armed conflict,
Alexios implored Godfrey to desist and to meet him in friendly
conference at Constantinople.  To this Godfrey agreed, and was met by
Hugh himself outside the city walls.  The latter sang the praises of
the Emperor with enthusiasm, but Godfrey was still on his guard.  A
warning had reached him from some French merchants living in the city
that treachery was meditated; and he therefore refused either to enter
within the walls or to partake of the rich food which the Emperor sent
to the camp.

[Illustration: _Duke Godfrey marching through Hungary_]

{73}

Then Alexios vainly tried to persuade the Crusader to settle his army
for the winter in the luxurious quarters of the Greek nobles across the
Bosphorus, where they would act as a buffer between Constantinople and
hostile forces from the East, at the same time removing themselves to a
safe distance from the city.

This also Godfrey refused; and the alarm of the Emperor grew into panic
when he realised that the army of another Crusader, Bohemond, his
ancient enemy, who had already established a claim upon a large part of
his Empire, was fast nearing his boundaries.  It was absolutely
necessary to make friends with Godfrey before the arrival of the
dreaded Bohemond.  As there seemed a possibility of the Crusaders, in
their wrath at the refusal of supplies, attacking the city itself, a
compact was made.  Godfrey had no desire to use up his strength in
fighting fellow-Christians, and readily accepted the Emperor's terms.
The son of Alexios was sent as hostage to his camp, and the leaders, on
their side, swore fealty to the Emperor for the time they were obliged
to remain on his borders, and forthwith entered the city in peace and
security.

But Alexios was still consumed with secret terror of the vast host
which had swarmed into his land; and, on the pretext of an insufficient
food supply, he managed to persuade Godfrey, after a brief sojourn, to
transport his troops across the Bosphorus.  With his usual craft, he
then arranged that the vessels which had taken them over should
immediately return.

Meantime the dreaded arrival of Bohemond, Prince of Tarentum, had
actually taken place.  A weak attempt was made to drive him back by
force; but this was quickly overcome, and when Bohemond {74} sent the
prisoners taken in the conflict back to the Emperor with an indignant
and reproachful message, the wily Alexios promptly disowned all
knowledge of the affair, professed the most affectionate regard for his
ancient enemy, and sent him a pressing invitation to visit the capital
city.

Now Bohemond was of a very different nature from the simple and upright
Godfrey of Boulogne.  He was an excellent leader, bold and skilful in
warfare, but his character was warped by a mean, designing, and crafty
spirit which entirely incapacitated him from playing a heroic part.
When met by Godfrey in Constantinople and informed by him of the terms
made with Alexios, he declared at first that nothing in heaven or on
earth should induce him to swear fealty to his former foe.  The Emperor
ceased to press the matter, and merely treated him with more than
ordinary magnificence of hospitality.  Then, as though by chance, the
Count was one day taken by an officer to a great room in the palace,
crammed with costly jewels, ornaments of gold and silver, rich silks
and brocades.  The man's weak point had been observed too well.  "What
conquests might not be made if I possessed such a treasure!" cried
Bohemond.

"It is your own!" replied the officer.  The promise of an independent
lordship near Antioch completed the bribe, and Count Bohemond was no
longer to be feared.

[Illustration: Map of the Crusades]

Of very different stuff was Raymond, Count of Toulouse, the first to
volunteer but the last of the Crusading chiefs actually to set out for
the East.  He was now over fifty years of age, and, declaring that that
was the last journey he should ever make, he {77} determined to be well
prepared.  With the idea of choosing a route as yet untried by his
predecessors, Raymond took his way through Lombardy into the desolate
country of Dalmatia and Slavonia.

"It was already winter," says a writer of the time, "when Raymond's men
were toiling over the barren mountains of Dalmatia, where for three
weeks we saw neither beast nor bird.  For almost forty days did we
struggle on through mists so thick that we could actually feel them,
and brush them aside with a motion of the hand."  The weak, the sick,
and the old suffered terribly from the attacks of the wild natives upon
their rear; the bareness of the country gave no chance of even
purchasing food, much less of foraging.  It was with intense relief
that they entered the Emperor's domains, "for here," writes one of the
travellers, "we believed that we were in our own country; for we
thought that Alexios and his followers were our brothers-in-arms."

In this belief the troops of Raymond found themselves mistaken, for
they were harassed on all sides by the Emperor's soldiers.  Alexios, as
usual, disclaimed all responsibility, and begged the Count to hasten to
Constantinople.  There, to his disgust, the old warrior found that
Godfrey, Bohemond, and the other leaders had all taken the oath of
fealty, and were very anxious that he should follow their example.
This Raymond emphatically refused to do.  "Be it far from me," said he
to Alexios, "that I should take any lord for this way save Christ only,
for whose sake I have come hither.  If thou art willing to take the
cross also, and accompany us to Jerusalem, I and my men and all that I
have will be at thy disposal."

Meantime came news to the Count that the army {78} he had left when he
accepted the call to Constantinople, had been attacked by the troops of
the perfidious Emperor, whose aim, possibly, was to frighten Raymond
into submission; but he had quite mistaken his man.  Furious at this
treachery, Raymond called upon his colleagues to join him in an attack
upon the capital.  But here he met with unexpected opposition.
Bohemond, indeed, went so far as to threaten that if an open conflict
took place, he would be found on the side of the Emperor, and even
Godfrey urged most strongly that he should overlook everything rather
than weaken their cause by fighting against fellow-Christians.

Strangely enough, though Raymond accepted unwillingly the advice of
Godfrey, his upright character and vigorous simplicity seem to have won
the respect and affection of the Emperor more than all the rest.  It is
true that Raymond refused steadfastly to pay him homage, "and for that
reason," says the chronicler, "the Emperor gave him few gifts"; but we
read in the record of the daughter of Alexios, who gives us a vivid
account of this period, "One of the Crusaders, Count Raymond, Alexios
loved in a special way, because of his wisdom, sincerity, and purity of
life; and also because he knew that he preferred honour and truth above
all things."

By this time such remnants of the army as had lingered in Italy under
Robert of Normandy, together with all that was left of the rabble led
by Peter the Hermit, had joined the main body of the Crusaders and were
ready to advance upon the Turkish stronghold of Nicæa.

The full array of the armies of the First Crusade, before they were
decimated by war and famine, must {79} have constituted a truly
overwhelming force.  Their number must have been about six hundred
thousand; in the words of the daughter of Alexios, "all Europe was
loosened from its foundation and had hurled itself against Asia."  The
horsemen wore coats of mail, with pear-shaped shields, each with its
own device, and carried a long spear and short sword or battle-axe.
The foot-soldiers bore the cross-bow or long-bow, with sword, lance,
and buckler.  "They were covered," says a Saracen historian, "with
thick strong pieces of cloth fastened together with rings, so as to
resemble dense coats of mail."

Such was the appearance of the host which now marched upon the
stronghold of Nicæa to begin a siege which is memorable for the light
it throws upon the despicable character of the Emperor Alexios.

When the Crusaders first drew near to the city, says one of them, "the
Turks rushed to war, exultingly dragging with them the ropes wherewith
to bind us captive.  But as many as descended from the hills remained
in our hands; and our men, cutting off their heads, flung them into the
city, a thing that wrought great terror among the Turks inside."

After this defeat the Sultan David deserted the city and hastened away
to rouse his countrymen to give active help at this crisis; and the
Crusaders, much encouraged, renewed the siege.  The great obstacle to
success was the fact that the city was protected on the west by a lake,
which made it impossible to surround the walls.  Aid was sought of
Alexios, who sent boats from which skilful archers poured their arrows
against the ramparts.  It was evident that these must very shortly fall.

{80}

Knowing this to be the case, the Emperor sent a secret envoy to offer
the Turks better terms than could be expected from the Crusaders, if
they would give up the city to him.

Hence, just as the latter were preparing to make their last assault,
they saw, with a disappointed fury that can be imagined, the Imperial
flag floating from the citadel.  The glory and the spoils of victory
were both with Alexios, and though he tried to smooth the matter over
by lavishing gifts upon the Crusaders, the feelings of the latter were
truly expressed by Count Raymond when he said, "Alexios has paid the
army in such wise, that, so long as ever he lives; the people will
curse him and declare him a traitor."




{81}

CHAPTER VII

The Siege of Antioch


          _The faithful armies sang
  "Hosanna to the Highest." ... Now storming fury rose
  And clamour, arm on armour clashing brayed
  Horrible discord._
                                    MILTON: _Paradise Lost._


The city of Antioch, capital of Syria, towards which the faces of the
Crusaders were now set, was one of the most famous and beautiful cities
of the East.  Behind it lay the rugged ranges of Lebanon; part of its
wide girdle of walls and turrets was washed by the river Orontes,
towards which sloped gardens fragrant with roses; and it was
intersected by a spacious street adorned with double' colonnades.  But
it was yet more famous for its associations with St Peter, its first
bishop, and for having been the birthplace of St Chrysostom, "the
golden-mouthed" teacher of Eastern Christendom.

A few days after the march from Nicæa to Antioch had commenced, the
great army divided itself into two parts, one led by Raymond, Baldwin,
and Godfrey; the other by Bohemond, Tancred, and Robert of Normandy.
This division suited the plans of the Sultan David, who, since the fall
of Nicæa, had been watching operations from the surrounding heights.

{82}

No sooner was Bohemond's army seen to halt for rest and refreshment
beside a river, than, with a terrific uproar, thousands of Turks hurled
themselves upon them from the heights above.  Hasty messages were sent
to summon the other army, and meantime the Crusaders fought with
desperate valour.

"Even the women were a stay to us, for they carried water for our
warriors to drink, and ever did they strengthen the fighters."

The numbers of the foe were overwhelming, however, and only the courage
and energy of the leaders prevented a panic-stricken flight.  The tact
of Robert of Normandy, who, at a critical moment, snatched off his
helmet and cheered on his men in the thick of the fight, is said to
have turned the scale of victory.  Even then success seemed hopeless,
but just as evening drew rapidly on, the second army came upon the
scene.  Seeing this, the Sultan fled, and many of his followers with
him, but he left behind so rich a spoil of gold, jewels, silks, and
other luxuries, that it was with difficulty the victors were induced to
leave the booty and resume their march without too much encumbrance.

Such was the first pitched battle between the Crescent and the Cross,
of which one of the combatants writes: "Had not the Lord been with us,
and sent us speedily another army, not one of our men would have
escaped."

And now the Crusaders were free to pass on to Antioch, though the march
thither probably cost them more lives than did that battle of Dorylæum.

[Illustration: _Robert of Normandy at Dorylæum_]

The heat of the desert wastes during the month of July left many
prostrate by the wayside, never to rise again.  Terrible thirst
tormented them, and the sight of {85} a welcome stream was the signal
for such excesses of drinking that both men and horses died by hundreds.

It was almost impossible to obtain food, for the son of Sultan David
had marched before the Crusading host, destroying all supplies and
leaving the towns upon the track empty and famine-stricken.

At length the fertile district of Cilicia was reached, and relief was
obtained from these woes.  But here arose those unfortunate dissensions
which were a lamentable feature both in this and later Crusades.

Meantime Tancred and Baldwin with a part of the army had pushed on to
Tarsus.  This city, the birthplace of St Paul, though held by a small
band of Turks, was largely inhabited by Christians, who eagerly claimed
Tancred as their protector and lord.  Just as the Turks were about to
surrender to him, the forces of Baldwin, who had been exploring
elsewhere, appeared on the distant heights, and being mistaken by the
Turks for their allies, encouraged them to delay giving up the city.

The arrival of the new-comer before the walls gave rise to a quarrel
with Tancred, the heat of which was only intensified by the discovery
that the unscrupulous Baldwin was busy intriguing with the inhabitants
with the object of winning their allegiance.

In disgust, Tancred, the weaker but more upright of the two, left him
to take possession of the city and marched to Messis.  But thither,
too, the grasping Baldwin followed, and the sight of his tents pitched
beneath the walls was the signal for a conflict between the two hosts
of Crusaders which reflects little credit on either side.

Finally, since reconciliation was impossible, Baldwin gladly accepted
an invitation from the famous Armenian {86} city of Edessa to take up
its cause against the Turks.  The prince adopted him as his son, and
was ill rewarded by a rebellion of his people in favour of the
new-comer, which soon cost their ruler his life.  Thus, while the main
army was pressing on to Antioch, Baldwin, married to an Armenian
princess, was busy in establishing in Edessa the first Latin kingdom of
the East.

On October 21st, 1097, the host of the Crusaders at length encamped
around the walls of Antioch and made their preparations in anticipation
of an early victory.  The gates, however, were blocked by huge masses
of rock from neighbouring quarries, and it seemed an easier task to
break the walls than to force the gates.

But both proved to be impossible, even with the aid of a new instrument
of war, a huge tower, the outcome of great toil and expense, which,
full of troops, was wheeled against one of the gateways.  This proved a
failure before the showers of Turkish arrows, and was burnt to ashes as
it stood.

Three months of fruitless effort passed, and the host of the Crusaders
began to suffer from lack of food.  They dared not venture far to look
for it, for the Turks were always on the watch, and no man could with
safety leave his post.

Finding, moreover, that the Crusaders generally got the worst of it
when the Turks made a sally from the city, the native Christians of the
country transferred the provisions they had been wont to bring to the
former, to those from whom they now believed they would reap the
greater advantage in the near future.

Then hope began to fail the besiegers, whose camp, owing to the heavy
rain, had now become a fever-haunted swamp.  One or two of the
meaner-spirited leaders {87} tried to get quietly away with their
troops; even Peter the Hermit lost heart, and would have deserted the
host had he not been forcibly turned back by Tancred.

Meantime the Seljukian Turks had been expelled by the Saracens from
Jerusalem and Tyre, and the Caliph of the latter now sent envoys to the
leaders of the Crusade, of whose evil condition he had been informed,
to express his surprise that the Christians, while rightly warring
against the fierce Seljuks, should desire to attack Jerusalem also.  He
promised, moreover, to extend his protection for a whole month to any
peaceable pilgrims who should wish to visit the Holy City, on condition
that the Crusaders would acknowledge his supremacy in Syria; and he
warned them that if they refused his terms his whole power would
forthwith be directed against them.

The Caliph's envoys expected to find the camp in sorry plight; but, to
their surprise, they were entertained in lordly fashion, and found
every sign of prosperity and plenty.  They were sent back with an
absolute refusal to relinquish the right of Christendom over the whole
of Palestine, and quite in ignorance of the terrible straits in which
the army really stood, in spite of its outward appearance of
prosperity.  It was true that when the enemy attacked them in the open,
the Crusaders were more than able to hold their own; it was the
hopeless inaction, the dread of disaffection in the camp, and the pangs
of actual famine that were sapping the courage of the besiegers; and
now the news that an immense army, led by the Sultan of Persia, was
coming to the relief of the city was the last and most crushing blow.

At this crisis, Bohemond, whose movements had for some time been full
of mystery, assembled the leaders {88} and asked for a solemn oath from
them that the man who succeeded in taking the city should be its future
ruler.  Very unwillingly they gave their consent, upon which Bohemond
revealed the fact that he had for some time past been in communication
with an officer of the city guard, who was in the full confidence of
the governor, and could obtain possession of Antioch whenever he wished.

So, on the 2nd of June 1098, nearly six months after the beginning of
the siege, a little band of Crusaders quietly approached the gate of St
George and gave their signal.  A rope ladder was silently lowered from
the top of the wall, up which Bohemond promptly sprang.  But at the
summit he found himself alone; for in their distrust of him, the rest
had waited to see what would happen.  The sight of his safe arrival
gave them confidence, and about sixty swarmed up the ladder, which then
broke.  Those at the top, however, undeterred by their isolated
position on the walls of a hostile city, found their way in the
darkness to a gate, and broke it open.  In rushed the invading army
with their battle-cry of "Deus vult!  Deus vult!" and the city, taken
quite unawares, was soon in their hands.

The sun rose on the third day of June upon a city red with blood, the
governor of which had paid with his head for his courage in holding out
so long.  Dawn also revealed the blood-red banner of Bohemond floating
from the highest tower.  Only the citadel, by a strange oversight on
the conqueror's part, was still in the hands of a small body of Turks.

The news of the fall of Antioch gave rise to general alarm throughout
the East.  The followers of Sultan David, their former foe, joined with
those of the Sultan of Persia against the Crusaders, and led by the
famous {89} general Kerboga, flung themselves against the walls of the
city.  Flushed with success, the victors had overlooked the fact that
there was scarcely any food within the gates, and also they had allowed
their means of access to the Mediterranean ports to be cut off.  Within
a few days the besiegers were the besieged and in far worse plight than
before.  Many, even of the nobles, were seized with panic, and letting
themselves down by ropes from the walls, fled to the sea-coast.  Even
Stephen of Chârtres, son-in-law of William the Conqueror, who, through
illness, had retired before the city fell, and who was now entreated to
return with his troops to its aid, lost his nerve when he looked down
from the hills upon the sea of tents that lay before the walls.  Not
only did he rapidly retreat, but meeting the Emperor Alexios marching
with an army to aid the Crusaders, he actually prevailed upon the
latter, not at all against his will, to retire from the hopeless
conflict.

With foes outside the walls, and foes holding the citadel within, the
unfortunate host of Crusaders was indeed in evil case.

"We who remained," writes one, "could not hold out against the arms of
those within the castle, so we built a wall between ourselves and them,
and watched it day and night."

Despair led to loss of nerve and discipline; many of the soldiers
refused to bear arms or even leave their abodes, and had to be "burnt
out" by the orders of Bohemond.  The destruction of a great part of the
city to which this inadvertently led, did not improve matters.

The situation was relieved at this apparently hopeless juncture in a
most remarkable manner.  Into the midst of the council at which the
chiefs were hurriedly {90} considering what could best be done to
prevent further demoralisation, appeared a certain priest, Peter
Barthelemy, chaplain to Raymond of Toulouse, who declared unto them a
marvellous dream or vision.  He had, he said, been carried in his sleep
by St Andrew to the Church of St Peter within the city, and had been
shown there the head of the lance which had pierced the sacred side of
the Saviour.  This, the saint had told him, if borne at the head of the
army, was certain to bring them success.

Great was the power of religious faith in those days.  Whether the
story was true, or merely a device to drive out panic and awaken
enthusiasm, matters not; the effect remains the same.  Marching in
solemn procession to the Church of St Peter, they made excavations at
the spot indicated, at first with no success.  Then as the dusk began
to fall, Peter the priest himself descended barefooted and dressed only
in a tunic, and after digging for some time, declared with a joyful
shout that the sacred relic was discovered.

"At last," says the historian, "seeing that we were fatigued, the young
man who had told us of the lance leapt into the pit, all ungirt as he
was, without shoes, and in his shirt.  He adjured us to call upon God
to render us the lance for our comfort and our victory.  At last the
Lord, moved by such devotion, showed us the lance.  And I, who have
written these things, as soon as ever the blade appeared above ground,
greeted it with a kiss, nor can I tell how great joy and exultation
then filled the city."

Such was the effect of this discovery, that, in their certainty of
victory, the Crusading chiefs forthwith sent a message to Kerboga,
offering him a chance of {91} withdrawal before he was utterly
demolished.  Peter the Hermit was the chosen ambassador, who, in spite
of the courteous hospitality with which he was received, so disgusted
the leaders of the host of Islam by his haughtiness and insolence, that
no such peaceful arrangement could be entertained.  "So much the
better," said the rank and file, who were now as keen to fight as they
had before been to escape.  And so, very early on a perfect June
morning, the army marched out through the rose-scented air in twelve
battalions, according to the number of the twelve apostles, led by
Bishop Adhemar with the Holy Lance held on high.

Some say that Kerboga was taken by surprise, others that he welcomed
the opportunity, long hoped for, of drawing them into the open plain,
and that he had planned to surround them from the rear, and cut them
off from the city.  However that may have been, a desperate struggle
now began, which, from the overwhelming numbers of the foe, must in the
ordinary course have gone against the Crusaders, weakened as they were
by want of food.  But it was the old story of the victory of mind over
matter.

When Adhemar, deserted by Godfrey and Tancred, who had been summoned to
the aid of Bohemond, hard pressed by David the Sultan, found himself
surrounded by the dark face of the infidel, the sight of the Holy Lance
moved his handful of followers to fight with such desperate valour,
that for a moment the foe fell back.  Raising his eyes to the
encircling mountains, the Bishop saw, or thought he saw, three radiant
figures riding upon milk-white horses to their aid.

"Behold, soldiers, the succour that God has provided for you!" he
cried, and at once a shout went up from {92} all parts that St George,
St Theodore, and St Maurice had come to their help.

"Deus vult!  Deus vult!" they cried, and Islam shrank before the
extraordinary enthusiasm of their attack.

The story of the battle is a monument to religious faith, and
illustrates in a wonderful way what miraculous deeds of valour can be
wrought under its influence.

Ere long the Turks fled in confusion to the mountains, leaving the
ground strewn with the bodies of the slain.

"But us the Lord multiplied," says he who tells the tale, "so that in
battle we were more than they, and returning to the city with great
joy, we praised and magnified God, who gave the victory to His people."

It is a pity that the sequel of the story fails to preserve this high
level of enthusiasm and devotion.  Had it been possible to march
directly to Jerusalem, such might have been the case; but the burning
heat of summer forbade such a course.  Left idle in Antioch, the
soldiers grew mutinous, and their leaders quarrelsome.  Bohemond
excited jealousy by his conquests of neighbouring cities.  Hugh of
Vermandois deserted with his troops and returned home.  A pestilence,
caused by the thousands of unburied bodies of the slain, fastened upon
the Crusaders, and claimed amongst its victims the good Bishop Adhemar,
the first to take up the Cross in the Holy War.

Not till January 1099 did the army march out towards the South, leaving
Bohemond behind as Governor of Antioch.

It was upon this journey that Peter Barthelemy once more became
prominent by reason of many new visions and dreams.  But his master,
Count Raymond, was unpopular at that time, and the occasion was seized
by his {93} opponents to accuse him indirectly of fraud in the matter
of the Holy Lance.  Whether this was true it is impossible to say; but
it must be remembered that Peter himself never ceased to affirm his
sincerity, and confidently offered to go through the terrible Ordeal by
Fire in proof of the latter.

"Make me the biggest fire you can, and I will pass through the midst
with the Lord's Lance in my hand.  If it be the Lord's Lance may I pass
through unharmed; if not, may I be burnt up."

A vast crowd of Crusaders gathered to witness the ordeal early on the
morning of Good Friday.  Peter, clad only in his tunic, passed
fearlessly through the midst of two blazing piles of dead olive
branches, a foot apart from one another.  "God aid him!" cried a
thousand throats, and when he emerged, apparently unhurt, a thousand
hands were stretched out to feel his limbs and flesh.  For the moment
faith again seemed to have triumphed, and the followers of Raymond
rejoiced.  But presently it was seen that the unhappy priest was in
terrible suffering, some say from burns, others from the too eager
handling he had received from the crowd.  He died a few days later,
confident in his honesty to the last, and leaving those who had scoffed
and those who had believed exactly in the same frame of mind.

Yet this much attacked and possibly deluded priest had done an
important work; for, as far as we can see, the Holy War would have come
to an abrupt end during the latter part of that remarkable siege of
Antioch, had it not been for the almost miraculous spirit of zeal and
devotion aroused by his alleged discovery.




{94}

CHAPTER VIII

The Holy City is won


_Jerusalem, through the clear atmosphere, rising out of the deep
umbrageous valleys which surround it, is reflected in a fiery splendour
in the morning sunlight_.  FARRAR: _Life of Christ_.

_Our feet shall stand within thy gates, O Jerusalem!_
                                  PSALM cxxii.


It was with high hearts that the remnant of the crusading host, now
much reduced, took the road to the Holy City, the end of all their
endeavours.  With little difficulty they made their way along the
smiling plain of the River Orontes, and then keeping close to the coast
line between the mountains of Libanus and the sea, passed through the
famous cities of Tyre, Sidon, and Joppa.

From the last of these they turned inland, and taking possession of the
little town of Ramleh, supposed to be the burial place of St George,
the patron saint of England, the leaders held a council to consider
their next movements.

Those who cared most for the mere worldly success of the undertaking
were now strongly of opinion that they should leave Jerusalem untouched
for the present, and attack the true centres of the power of Islam,
Babylon and Alexandria.  Others reminded these men of the real object
of the Crusades, and asked scoffingly how they {95} hoped to seize
great and populous cities if they could not first capture the little
town of Jerusalem.  The worldly-minded gave way, but consoled
themselves by capturing villages and farms on the route of march.  The
rest, more serious minded, "set their faces steadfastly to go towards
Jerusalem."  "And those to whom the Lord's command was dearer than lust
of gain, advanced with naked feet, sighing heavily for the disdain that
the others showed for the Lord's command."

Whilst resting at Emmaus at nightfall of June 6, 1099, a little band of
Christians living at Bethlehem crept into the camp and told the leaders
a doleful story of the cruelty and oppression of Islam.  The
information that the birthplace of the Lord was near at hand quickened
every pulse.  Sleep was forgotten, and a hurried march begun which
brought them in a few hours to the top of Mount Mizpeh, whence, with
swelling hearts, they watched the sun rise upon the sacred walls of the
Holy City.

"Jerusalem!  Jerusalem!"

The cry, restrained and reverent, filled the morning air, as the great
host fell prostrate and kissed the hallowed soil.

By its natural position the city was exceedingly difficult to take by
assault, for it stood upon a rocky plateau, guarded by the two steep
valleys of Kedron and Hinnon.

It was, moreover, defended by about forty thousand picked Saracen
warriors--a band equal in number to that of the besiegers, but
possessing far greater advantages as to position and supplies.

With the utmost confidence, however, the Crusaders took up their posts.
Robert of Normandy being {96} stationed on the north, Godfrey of
Bouillon and Tancred on the west, while Count Raymond advanced to Mount
Sion on the south.

It was clear from the first assault that they had undertaken no light
task, and meantime the usual horrors of famine and thirst made their
appearance in the camp.  There was little shade in that region; the
groves around had been cut down to provide wood for the "machines of
war," and the chief water supply--a spring which bubbled up every other
day--was soon choked by the corpses of men and beasts who had trodden
one another down in the wild attempt to obtain drink.

The springs further off had all been poisoned by the Saracens, and when
the supplies of fruit began to fail, it seemed as though the army would
never possess the strength to attack the city again.

A still worse calamity was the quarrelling which now broke out again
among the leaders.  Tancred was bitterly censured for having set up his
banner over the Church of the Nativity at Bethlehem, Raymond for having
taken to himself the post of honour on the sacred Mount of Sion.  The
rank and file, following the example of their chiefs, gave themselves
over to laxity, disobedience, and personal feuds.

Once again it was necessary to invigorate the faith of the Crusaders,
and accordingly Peter the Hermit declared that the dead Adhemar had
appeared to him with words of severe rebuke for the sins of the camp,
and the promise that the city should fall if the army would march
barefoot round it for the space of nine days.  A council was summoned,
at which the noble Tancred was the first to make up a long-standing
quarrel with Count Raymond; a feeling of good-will and reconciliation
was spread {97} abroad; and it was determined to make a fresh attempt
in a spirit of more fervid religious zeal.

On the 12th of July 1099, while the Saracens were setting up crucifixes
upon the ramparts, and insulting their Christian foes by spitting and
throwing mud upon them, a solemn procession, fully armed, singing
psalms and litanies, made its way around the walls; and a sermon
preached from the Mount of Olives by Arnulf, the future Bishop of
Jerusalem, roused even the most despondent to do his best for the cause
of God.

On the next two days, Wednesday and Thursday, assaults were made, but
without much success.  On the Friday the Crusaders, having been
reminded that it was the day of the Lord's Passion and Death, came to
the work with new vigour, "even the women and the children," writes the
historian, "were eager to do their part on that field."

But when Count Raymond fought on the south of the city it seemed as
though success was hopeless.  His wooden tower, which protected the
archers, was burnt by the throwing of flaming oil from the walls, and
his men were driven into utter confusion.  Suddenly, when retreat
seemed inevitable, a marvellous portent was seen.  On the Mount of
Olives, on the further side of the city, appeared a knight in
glittering armour, waving a flaming sword over Jerusalem.  The rumour
quickly spread that it was St George come to the aid of the Crusaders.
"Deus vult!  Deus vult!" they shouted, and in the vigour of their
assault the outer wall was won.

The explanation of the occurrence was soon clear.  At the further side
of the city the stone-slingers of Godfrey of Boulogne had at length
driven the Saracens from the {98} ramparts.  Seizing and lowering the
drawbridge, and scrambling up the walls by scaling ladders, the Teuton
host, headed by Bernard of St Valery, leapt upon the battlements.  A
certain unknown knight waved his sword in signal of victory from the
top of Mount Olives, and this had been the sign which put new heart
into Count Raymond's men.

At the very hour at which their Saviour breathed His dying words upon
the Cross, the red-cross standard was first seen to float over the
walls of the Holy City.

From the horrors of bloodshed that followed the capture of Jerusalem we
can but turn away in disgust.

"Such a slaughter of pagan folk had never been seen or heard of; none
know their number save God alone."

This wanton cruelty can indeed only be excused when we remember that it
was the firm belief of those days that "whosoever killeth an infidel
doeth God service."

After that scene of slaughter and violence the leaders of the Crusaders
walked, bareheaded and barefooted, dressed in long white mantles marked
with the red cross, to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre to offer thanks
for their success.  Amongst them stood Peter the Hermit, the real
moving spirit of the Crusade, in spite of his mistaken zeal as a leader
of men.

It is said that many of the Christian inhabitants of the city
recognised him as the unknown pilgrim who had promised to rouse on
their behalf the nations of the west, and they clung to his raiment
with tears of gratitude.  It is the last glimpse we have of that
enthusiastic personality, and we may be content to leave him there, at
the moment when his great aim had been accomplished.

[Illustration: _The Storming of Jerusalem_]

A week later a meeting of the chieftains was called to elect a king of
Jerusalem.  None were eager to obtain a {101} post of honour so
difficult to maintain, and most were anxious to return to their own
dominions.  The crown was first offered to Robert of Normandy, who,
"impelled by sloth or fear, refused it, and so aspersed his nobility
with an indelible stain."  So writes an English chronicler of his day,
but it must be said in Robert's defence that, even as it was, he had
tarried too long to make good his claim to the kingdom of England
against his grasping brother Henry, and that his fair dukedom of
Normandy stood in immediate peril from the same cause.

Finally, by universal consent, the crown fell to the lot of Godfrey of
Boulogne, in many respects the noblest Crusader of them all.  But he,
with characteristic modesty, refused to wear a crown of gold in the
place where his Lord had worn a crown of thorns, and so he was known
only by the title of the Defender of the Holy Sepulchre.  Some say that
Count Raymond had previously been offered the position of king, and had
refused to take it, hoping possibly that he might obtain the honour
without the full responsibility.  However this might be, we find him,
on Godfrey's acceptance, sulkily retiring to the Tower of David, which
stronghold had been seized from the Saracens by his men.  At first he
refused to give it up, and when forced to do so, declared with childish
fury that he would go home at once.

Suddenly the intelligence that a vast army of Egyptians had gathered at
Ascalon recalled men from such foolish bickerings, and united them once
more for a time against the common foe.  Although outnumbered by ten to
one, the Crusaders were again victorious, for the enemy, according to
the account of an eye-witness, seemed paralysed at the very sight of
the Christians, "not daring to rise up against us."  But this victory
only served to {102} fan the flame of the constant feud between Godfrey
and Raymond.  The latter had calmly accepted the allegiance of the
people of Ascalon on his own responsibility.  Godfrey naturally claimed
the city as part of the kingdom of Jerusalem.  Rumour accuses Raymond
of having given back the town to the Egyptians rather than let it pass
into the hands of Godfrey.  He was scarcely pacified with the
governorship of Laodicea, which was handed over to him when the other
chieftains returned to Europe.  Of those who had so gallantly turned
their faces towards the East, Godfrey and Tancred remained in
Jerusalem, Bohemond was ruler of Antioch, Baldwin of Edessa, Raymond of
Laodicea.

The reign of Godfrey, first King of Jerusalem in all but name, lasted
for barely one year.  Gentlest of all the Crusaders, save where the
"infidels" were concerned, and noblest of the knights of the chivalry
of his age, he lived long enough to win the respect, if not the
affection, of even the Moslem population of his kingdom, and to settle
the latter upon a system scarcely differing from that of a feudal
over-lordship in France or England.

His end came after an expedition undertaken to aid Tancred further up
the coast.  As he returned, he ate some fruit at Jaffa sent him by the
Saracen ruler of Cæsarea.  Immediately afterwards he was seized by
sickness, and a rumour went round that the fruit had been poisoned.
His one anxiety was now to return to the Holy City he had loved, and
for which he had fought so well; and there he breathed his last in the
July of 1100, and was laid to rest in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre.

In spite of all the intrigues of the partisans of Bohemond, the
ambitious ruler of Antioch, the followers {103} of the late king would
have none but Baldwin, his brother, as his successor.  The latter,
therefore, was brought from Edessa, and became the first king, in name
as well as in deed, of the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem.

Let us now glance for a moment at the fate of some of those whose
fortunes we have so far followed.

You will remember that among those who turned recreant before the siege
of Antioch was Stephen of Blois, son-in-law of the Conqueror.  When he
returned to his wife Adela, she, with the blood of her father hot in
her veins, bade him return and fulfil his oath.  About the same time
that he again turned his face to the East, a crowd of unruly Lombards,
more eager for mere adventure than for the cause of God, set out for
the Holy Land, and after a riotous sojourn at Constantinople, crossed
the Bosphorus.  There they were joined by Count Stephen, who begged the
Emperor Alexios to furnish them with a guide to Jerusalem.  The latter
at once offered them Count Raymond, of stormy memory, who was staying
at Constantinople at the time.  With him came the news that Bohemond of
Antioch, over confident, had fallen into an ambush whilst on a foraging
expedition, and was a prisoner in the hands of the Saracens.

Association with Raymond for however brief a period most assuredly
resulted in a quarrel, and consequently there was a sharp difference of
opinion as to the most advantageous route.

The Lombards would go across Asia Minor, rescue Bohemond, and possibly
attack Bagdad, the centre of Moslem rule; whilst Count Stephen wished
to follow the original road by way of Antioch.

Raymond elected to side with the latter, and together {104} they set
off upon a journey in which they were harassed hour by hour by their
foes.  The Lombards left without a guide, decided to follow in the
rear, and had decidedly the worst of it, many of them being cut down by
the Turks, who lay in ambush along the road.  An engagement with the
latter went against the Christians, a panic ensued, and, in the midst
of the confusion, Raymond and his men rode off, and returned by sea to
Constantinople, leaving his companions to their fate.  With the utmost
difficulty the remnant of the followers of the unfortunate Stephen made
their way in the same direction.

After the usual recriminations were over, Count Raymond found himself
next involved with Duke William of Aquitaine, who, with a great rabble
of followers, had been stirred up by the news of the taking of
Jerusalem, to seek high adventure in that quarter for himself.  Other
smaller expeditions followed, and setting off from Constantinople, fell
straight into the hands of the Turks, who beset the track to the Holy
Land.  Of all these so-called Crusaders, barely one thousand survived
to reach Antioch in the spring of 1102, and to make their way to
Jerusalem.

Meantime Count Bohemond, having escaped from his two years' captivity,
had not only resumed his position at Antioch, but had seized upon
Raymond's territory of Laodicea as well.  He was now the open and
declared foe of Alexios of Constantinople, who had done his best to get
the count into his hands by paying a huge ransom--a ransom which
Bohemond himself had outbidden, and so won his freedom.  Leaving
Tancred to rule for him in Antioch, Bohemond now sailed to France,
married the daughter of Philip I., with whose assistance he {105}
invaded the territory of the Emperor with a large army.  Alexios, as
usual, gave in and bribed him into a pretence of alliance, but a year
later, when Bohemond had returned to Italy to gather fresh forces,
death put an end to his fiery hopes and ambitions.

Meanwhile, when Bohemond on his escape was once more ruler of Antioch,
Raymond, driven from Laodicea, had, as we have seen, joined the
so-called "Aquitainian Crusade" for a time, and then set himself to win
new territory by besieging the town of Tripoli.  It is much to his
credit that though, as his historian puts it, "he might have lived in
abundance in his own land," he never ceased to fight while there was
land to be won for Christendom.  It is difficult, however, to avoid the
suspicion that he was largely influenced by desire to serve his own
personal ambitious ends.  With but three hundred companions, Raymond
attempted to carry on the siege of Tripoli; and there, an old and
worn-out man, he died by the shores on which he had fought for the past
six years.

The unfortunate Stephen of Blois had, meanwhile, wiped off the stain of
desertion by his death in battle on the side of King Baldwin, against
the Saracens; and Tancred, after holding Antioch for three years
subsequent to the death of Bohemond, as regent for his little son, died
of a wound received in a conflict with the Moslem foe.

Thus, by the year 1112, the only survivor in the East of that gallant
band of crusading chieftains was Baldwin, brother of Godfrey, now King
of Jerusalem.

In his reign were firmly established those great Orders of Knighthood,
the Knights Templars and the Hospitallers, and the whole "Kingdom of
Jerusalem" {106} was settled upon a stronger basis--a strength,
however, which was more apparent than real.  Baldwin was a wise and
skilful ruler, showing little of that mean and treacherous spirit which
had distinguished his earlier career.  He died in 1118, after a reign
of seventeen years.




{107}

CHAPTER IX

  The Story of Bernard of Clairvaux
  and the Second Crusade


  _The rhythm of their feet,
  The ineffable low beat
  Of the vast throngs pacing slowly,
  Floats on the sea of Time
  Like a musical low chime
  From a far Isle, mystic, holy._
                          L. MORRIS, _Marching._


The First Crusade, with all its errors and shortcomings, may yet be
counted as a success so far as the rescuing of Jerusalem from infidel
hands was concerned.

The Second Crusade is one of the great failures of history.  Yet the
movement is associated with the name of one of the most notable
characters of his age, the monk Bernard of Clairvaux.  Just as in the
First Crusade, the uneducated hermit, Peter, had appealed to the
popular feeling of Europe, and had stirred up the poor and ignorant to
do their best for the cause of God, so St Bernard, himself the son of a
noble house, made his appeal first to the wealthy, to the crowned heads
of Europe and the flower of their knighthood, and afterwards, by his
zeal, his self-denying life, and his religious {108} faith, to all
those amongst whom he had earned the reputation of a saint.

During the years in which Bernard, as Abbot of Clairvaux, was devoting
his energies to raising the standard of monastic life, affairs in the
East had taken a distinct turn for the worse.  The Saracens had grown
stronger as the Christians grew more slack and careless.  Baldwin III.,
a boy of thirteen, had come to the throne of Jerusalem two years before
the first preaching of the Second Crusade, and held the reins of
government with a weak and nerveless hand.  A year after his accession,
the kingdom of Edessa, the first to be established by Western
Christendom in the East, had fallen into the clutches of the dreaded
Sultan Zeuzhi.

The loss of Edessa sounded a trumpet note of alarm to the West.  The
hard-won success of the First Crusade was evidently trembling in the
balance.  Something must be done to establish and settle Christian
dominion of the Holy Land upon a much firmer basis.

There were other motives at work as well.  France, torn by the constant
quarrels between its feudal lords, who only united with one another in
order to defy their sovereign, could not be pacified save by some
pressing call to arms outside.  But the immediate cause that led the
young French king Louis to take up the Cross was the feeling aroused
throughout the religious world of the West by one desperate deed.

He was attacking the rebel town of Vitry, which cost him so much
trouble to quell, that, in revenge, he not only destroyed the city, but
set fire to a great church in which over a thousand people had taken
refuge.  The cries of the victims and the reproaches of his subjects
combined to rouse the conscience of the king, who vowed {109} to go on
a pilgrimage to Jerusalem as a penance for his crime.

It was the Easter of 1146.  On the top of the hill that overshadows the
town of Vézelay, a wooden tower had been hastily raised, with a high
platform in front, on which sat the beautiful proud Queen Eleanor
amidst a bevy of her ladies, and the young king with the great cross
upon his tunic.  Suddenly there appeared in the midst of the gallant
throng a thin pale-faced monk, eager and bright-eyed, followed by three
bishops of the Church.  Presently a vast crowd, stretching far away to
the edge of the plain below the hill, was hanging breathlessly upon the
words of the famous Abbot of Clairvaux, as, quietly at first, and then
with the most eloquent persuasion, be bade them go forth to drive the
unbeliever from the Holy Land.

A roar of enthusiasm arose from the multitude before his words were
done.

"Crosses!  Crosses!" cried the people; and when Bernard had flung to
them those which lay in a great heap by his side, he tore up his own
long robe to make them more.

The vast multitude dispersed, with the solemn pledge of Louis of France
that, after one year of preparation, the Second Crusade should march
towards the East.

But Bernard's aim was not yet accomplished.  Conrad of Germany, whose
possessions in that land were threatened on every side, held back from
the Holy War.  The monk followed him from place to place, persuading
and threatening him in vain.

At length Conrad promised to give a definite answer on a certain day,
and on that occasion, when the Emperor came to Mass, Bernard preached a
sermon in which he {110} described the Day of Judgment.  There Conrad
was depicted trembling before the judgment-seat as he was called to
account for his great riches and power.  "How have I, thy Lord, failed
in aught of My duty towards _thee_, O man?" asks his Master.  In the
breathless pause that followed, the Emperor arose and cried aloud with
tears, "No longer will I be ungrateful.  I will serve Christ and take
up His Cross whenever He shall call me!"

"Praise be to God!" shouted the assembled congregation, rising to their
feet, and before the service was ended, Bernard had marked the King
with the Cross, fastening upon his breast the sacred emblem torn from a
banner from the high altar.

In the wave of enthusiasm that now swept over France and Germany as St
Bernard went from town to town, preaching and exhorting, the women did
not stand aloof.  Queen Eleanor herself prepared to accompany her
husband, Louis, and with her went a crowd of fair dames from France.
With Conrad, too, marched a troop of women, bearing shields and swords,
led by one known as the "golden-footed dame."

The German army started first and, save for floods by which some were
drowned, and lack of discipline which ruined more, reached
Constantinople in comparative safety.  But here the behaviour of the
drunken German soldiers, who wantonly destroyed the beautiful pleasure
gardens of the city, and showed themselves utterly untrustworthy,
created serious ill-feeling between Conrad and the Greek Emperor
Manuel.  The latter succeeded in inducing Conrad to transfer his army
across the Bosphorus, on the promise that he would provide them with
guides through Asia Minor; but he {111} had meantime determined
secretly to betray the armies of the West at the earliest opportunity.

The guides supplied by him were in the pay of the Turkish Sultan of
that region, and after leading the unhappy men by dangerous roads and
in wrong directions, finally brought them to a barren plain, without
food or water, bordered by hills amongst which lurked thousands of the
enemy.  The guides then fled in the darkness, leaving the army to cope
with an enemy whose sudden attacks and equally sudden disappearances
among the rocky hills gave the Crusaders little chance of effective
retaliation.  Wounded and dispirited, the unfortunate Conrad at length
turned back to Nicæa, his starting-place in Asia Minor, taking with him
barely one-tenth of the army which had started from Germany.

Meantime, the treacherous Manuel had taken measures beforehand with
regard to Louis.  When the French armies reached his territory they
found every city closed against them.  Even when provisions might be
bought, they were let down from the walls in baskets by the Greeks.
This unfriendly spirit was not disregarded by the French nobles and
clergy, some of whom urged their king to make war upon an Emperor whose
cities were not invulnerable, and who was said to be in league with the
Turks.

This, however, Louis steadfastly refused, and trusted that his
well-disciplined army would win the favour of the Emperor--a favour
that the Germans had certainly not deserved.

It seemed, indeed, as though this might happen, for when they drew near
the city, a fine procession came forth to meet the King, and to conduct
him with honour to the presence of the Emperor.

{112}

Before long "the two princes became as brothers."  Manuel himself
displayed to Louis the magnificent buildings of his city, and described
to him the victorious march which Conrad, as he said, with his
assistance, had made through Asia Minor.  He offered the same aid in
the way of guides to Louis, if he and his barons would pay the
customary homage.

With high hearts the French started for Nicæa, but they had not long
encamped in that place when some ragged and blood-stained fugitives
brought the news of the disaster to Conrad's troops.  At once Louis
hastened to meet his brother sovereign; "weeping, they fell upon each
other's neck," and agreed henceforth to keep together and to aid one
another.

In dread of fresh attacks and more treachery, they turned from the
beaten track, and passing along the coast, came at length to Ephesus.
There a message reached them from Manuel, possibly repentant of his
former treachery, to the effect that their further way was blocked by a
huge army of Turks.  Conrad, weak with wounds, then determined to
return for awhile to Constantinople, but, acting on his advice, Louis,
after staying to rest his troops and to let them spend their Christmas
in a fertile valley hard by, moved on over the frozen hills to the
River Meander, the opposite bank of which was lined with Turks.  For
awhile both armies marched along the banks of the river in parallel
lines; then Louis discovered a ford, and thereupon made good his
passage and inflicted a great defeat upon the foe.

But a terrible obstacle now faced them some miles beyond Laodicea; they
found the way shut in by a steep range of hills "whose summit appeared
to touch the {113} heavens, whilst the torrent at its base seemed to
descend to hell."

Sent forward to secure the pass, Geoffrey de Rancogne struggled to the
top, but instead of taking possession of it, descended the further
<DW72>, and, oblivious of the fact that the heights were thronged with
Turks, bade his men pitch their tents there.  The main army, thinking
all was well, followed them to the summit of the narrow pass, where a
tremendous precipice skirted the track.  Down rushed the foe upon them,
hurling them into the yawning depths.  A large number of the Crusaders,
pilgrims, who were quite unarmed, blocked the way when Geoffrey strove
to return to the rescue; thousands of these were massacred, and Louis
himself only just managed to save his life by scrambling up to a high
rock, from whence his well-made armour defied the arrows of his
assailants.  For a while they sought to drive him from his position,
but, not realising that he was the leader of the expedition, left him
at nightfall to his fate.

This awful disaster nearly ended the Second Crusade there and then.
Rage against Geoffrey de Rancogne for his error, and dismay at the
slaughter of their fellow-soldiers, put an end to discipline for the
time.  It was only with the utmost difficulty that Louis was able to
conduct a remnant of the army to the post of Attaleia; the rest had
perished either by famine or by the constant attacks of the Turks upon
their line of march.

At the coast it was hoped that the troops might be taken to Antioch by
sea, and an attempt was made to arrange this with the Greeks who held
the fort.  They, however, demanded an impossible sum for the three
days' voyage, and it was decided that the main army must go by land, in
charge of Greek guides, while {114} Louis and his barons crossed by
sea.  First, however, the King bargained to pay a large sum if the
Greeks would receive into the city, and care for the large number of
sick and infirm pilgrims; and this was readily promised.  There was no
reliance to be placed, however, upon the treacherous Greeks.  Scarcely
had the king's ship set sail than they betrayed the whole band of sick
pilgrims into the hands of the Turks, and soon afterwards led the army
also into the midst of the hordes of the infidel.  The helpless misery
of the victims touched the hearts even of the Turks, who pitied them
and gave them food, "and therefore," says the historian, "many of the
Christians forsook their own religion and went over to the Turks.  O
kindness more cruel than Greek treachery!  For, giving bread, they
stole the true faith....  God may indeed pardon the German Emperor,
through whose advice we met with such misfortunes, but shall He pardon
the Greeks, whose cruel craft slew so many in either army?"

Thus, by this twofold act of treachery, the Greeks, the representatives
of Eastern Christianity, practically put an end to the Second Crusade.
It was no triumphal entry that Louis of France made when, on reaching
Jerusalem, he passed through the streets behind priests and bishops,
who sang, "Blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord."  He had
come empty-handed, for the bones of his troops were scattered on the
hills and plains of Asia Minor.

[Illustration: _King Louis surrounded by the Turks_]

At Jerusalem Louis found that Conrad, travelling from Constantinople by
water, had preceded him with a fairly numerous following.  Feeling that
something must be done towards fulfilling the aim with which they had
set out, the two sovereigns joined with the young king, {117} Baldwin
of Jerusalem, in an attempt to besiege Damascus, still one of the most
important cities of the Holy Land.

To this siege came the famous Knights of the Hospital and the Temple,
and the combined troops fought with such success that the fall of the
city seemed certain.  Moreover, since they were attacking it from a
quarter rich in orchards and springs, they had no fear of the
ever-dreaded famine that had wrought such havoc in the First Crusade.

Then once again discord brought disaster.  Heated discussions arose as
to who should rule Damascus when it was taken, and the suggestion that
it should be given to the Count of Flanders at once gave offence to the
"barons of Palestine,"--those who had inherited the possessions of the
First Crusaders.  They actually began to enter into negotiations with
the citizens of Damascus, and, playing the part of traitors, persuaded
Louis, Conrad, and Baldwin that they would find the walls weakest at
the farther side of the city.  Falling into the trap, the three kings
moved their camp, and soon found themselves cut off from all supplies
of food and drink, and faced by hopelessly strong fortifications.  So
they gave up in despair.  Conrad, in deep disgust, returned to Europe
at once; Louis, after a short stay at Jerusalem, returned to France by
sea, with a few wretched followers, in place of the gallant army that
had marched forth barely a year before.

The utter failure of the Second Crusade--a failure which left countless
homes in Western Europe empty and desolate--struck a heavy blow at the
authority and popularity of Bernard of Clairvaux.  He himself was not
slow to point out the cause.

"We have fallen on evil days," says he, "in which the {118} Lord,
provoked by our sins, has judged the world, with justice indeed, but
not with His wonted mercy.  The sons of the Church have been overthrown
in the desert, slain with the sword or destroyed by famine," and he
goes on to say that this is due to allowing thieves and murderers to
take part in an attempt which only the faithful and holy soul should be
found worthy to make.

The chief result of the Crusade, as far as the Holy War itself was
concerned, was to weaken the position of the Christians in that region;
for as Fuller quaintly remarks, "The Turks, seeing one citie both bear
the brunt and batter the strength of both armies, began to conceive
that their own fear was their greatest enemy; and those swords of these
new pilgrimes which they dreaded in the sheath, they slighted when they
saw them drawn, and they shook off the awe which had formerly possessed
them of the strength of the Western Emperor."




{119}

CHAPTER X

The Loss of Jerusalem


  _All Europe streaming to the mystic East:
      Now on their sun-smit ranks
  The dusky squadrons close in vulture-feast._
                              PALGRAVE: _Visions of England._


Most famous of the Sons of Islam who fought against Christendom is
Saladin, the Saracen general who made himself master of Egypt in the
days of Amalric, King of Jerusalem, and who was destined in the near
future to be the conqueror of the Holy City.

The time was ripe for such a conquest, for the little kingdom was torn
by the jealousy and strife of two deadly rivals, Raymond of Tripoli and
Guy of Lusignan.

The former was for living at peace with the Saracens, at least until
the coming of a new Crusade should drive the infidel from the borders
of the land.  The latter, moved by causes far other than religious
enthusiasm, was eager to fight at once, hoping thus to obtain the upper
hand over his wretched young brother-in-law, Baldwin, the leper king.
With him was Reginald of Châtillon, who had spent long years in Saracen
dungeons, and was furiously eager for revenge.

The quarrel between Raymond and Guy and their adherents led directly to
the Fall of Jerusalem, but {120} in the meantime the details are full
of romantic interest.

A certain Gerard, a knight of France, who had come to the Holy Land
merely to make his fortune, desired to marry the Lady of Botron, a rich
ward of Raymond of Tripoli.  But Raymond, as was frequently the case in
those feudal days, had his own profit to make by the marriage.  He
scornfully rejected Gerard, and gave the lady to a wealthy Italian
merchant, who was glad to pay for his wife her weight in gold.

In great wrath, Gerard left Tripoli, joined the Knights Templars, and
in due course became Grand Master of the Order, and awaited his chance
for revenge.  This came in 1186, when both the leper and his little son
were dead, and Raymond was known to be desirous of occupying the vacant
throne.

Hurriedly summoning Sibylla, wife of Guy of Lusignan, and sister of the
leper king, to Jerusalem, Gerard and Reginald of Châtillon caused the
gates to be shut and the walls guarded, so that none might come in or
out.  But amongst those inside was a spy sent by the watchful Raymond,
who managed to get into the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, where he saw
Sibylla sitting with two crowns before her.  One of these was handed to
her by the Patriarch of Jerusalem, who said, "Lady, you have been
proclaimed queen, but since you are a woman, it is good that you have a
man to help you in your rule.  Take the crown you see before you and
give it to him who can best help you to govern your realm."

Then Sibylla beckoned to her husband, Guy, and placing the crown upon
his head as he knelt before her, said, "Sire, take this, for I know not
where I could bestow it better."

{121}

Then was Gerard, Grand Master of the Templars, heard to murmur, "This
crown is well worth the marriage of Botron."

Thus did Guy de Lusignan become King of Jerusalem, while Raymond of
Tripoli, checkmated for the time, could only refuse him his allegiance
and retire in sullen fury to his own city of Tiberias.  Rumour indeed
whispered that he was on no unfriendly terms with Saladin himself.  But
it was probably foresight as well as a sense of justice which roused
him to deep wrath when Reginald of Châtillon, in time of truce,
attacked a wealthy caravan passing from Damascus to Egypt, and
"dishonourably carried off the merchants as prisoners, together with
all their baggage."

"The taking of this caravan," says the chronicler, "was the ruin of
Jerusalem," for from that time dates the implacable hatred of Saladin
for those who held the city.

Meantime, urged on by Gerard, the Grand Master, Guy of Lusignan,
meanest and weakest of kings, sought to gratify his personal spite
against his former rival by besieging Tiberias, and was only prevented
by a warning that this might mean an open alliance between Saladin and
Raymond against himself.

Raymond's patriotism, however, was greater than his desire for revenge.
While absent from his own city with his troops, he heard that the
Saracens had crossed the Jordan, and were advancing upon the Holy City.
Hastening to Jerusalem, he at once put himself and his men at Guy's
disposal in face of this pressing danger.

Meantime Saladin, probably in wrath at this action of one whom he had
hoped to make his ally, began to besiege Tiberias; and a message
arrived in Jerusalem {122} from Raymond's wife, begging that an army
might be sent to her aid.  A council was hurriedly summoned to see what
could be done to save the city; but Raymond, to the surprise of all,
was strongly of the opinion that Tiberias should be left to its fate.

"Sire," said he, "I would give you good advice if you would only trust
me."  "Speak your mind and fear nothing," they replied, whereupon he
counselled them not to send troops out of Jerusalem, even if this
should mean the loss of his own fortress.

"If I lose wife, retainers and city," said he, "so be it; I will get
them back when I can; but I had rather see my city overthrown than the
whole land lost."

Though much astonished by such disinterested advice, the council agreed
to follow it, and so dispersed.

But at dead of night there came secretly to the King the mischief-maker
Gerard, bidding him "reject the counsel of this traitor count," and
hinting that Raymond's advice had been merely to further his own ends.
Guy de Lusignan was so much in the hands of the man who had made him
king that he dared not refuse to listen to him, and at daybreak the
order was given for the army to march out of Jerusalem in order to
relieve Tiberias.

In the terrible battle of Tiberias that followed, the portents were all
against the Crusaders.

"A fearful vision was seen by the King's chamberlain, who dreamed that
an eagle flew past the Christian army bearing seven darts in its
talons, and crying with a loud voice, "Woe to thee, Jerusalem."

On a mound outside Tiberias had been placed a portion of the True
Cross, and round this the army of Guy, unable to enter the city,
rallied again and again as they were {123} dispersed by the followers
of Saladin.  But heat and thirst played as much havoc as did the enemy,
and at close of day, the sacred relic itself, together with the King
and Reginald of Châtillon, the truce-breaker, fell into the hands of
the infidel.

It is said that Reginald's head was struck off in the presence of
Saladin, and possibly by his hand, in revenge for his past perfidy.
Guy was thrown into prison, and Raymond, who had made good his escape,
died of grief at the loss of all that he had held most dear.

Within two months of this battle of Tiberias, Saladin was master of
every important stronghold in the land, save only Tyre and Jerusalem,
and these were closely besieged.

The Holy City was indeed in the most perilous condition, for there were
now no soldiers within the walls, and no leader to look to in all the
land, save only Balian of Ibelin, and he was at this time a fugitive,
who had sought protection within the walls of Tyre.

Bereft of a leader, the city had well-nigh lost hope, when Balian,
acting apparently in good faith, begged leave of Saladin to conduct his
wife and family within the walls of Jerusalem, promising that he
himself would stay there but one night, and then return to Tyre.

To this Saladin agreed; but when Balian was once inside the city, the
inhabitants refused to let him leave it again.

The patriarch Heraclius, indeed, assured him that he could not keep his
promise without committing grave sin, saying, "Great shame will it be
to you and to your sons after you if you leave the Holy City in this
perilous strait."

So Balian remained and did his best, with only two knights to aid him,
and little enough of food to feed the {124} multitudes who came in day
by day from the country round, and set up their tents in the streets of
the city.

"The priests and clerks," says Geoffrey de Vinsauf, "discharged the
duties of soldiers and fought bravely for the Lord's House ... but the
people, alike ignorant and timorous, flocked in numbers round the
patriarch and the queen, bitterly complaining and earnestly entreating
that they might make terms of peace with the Sultan as soon as
possible."

Even when the city was given up on condition that Saladin would accept
a ransom for the lives of the inhabitants, there came small consolation
to the unhappy people.  For some thousands of them could pay no ransom
at all, and had nothing to hope for but the miseries of slavery.

When this fact was known, it called forth all that chivalry of the
infidel chieftains upon which the chroniclers love to dwell.

Saphadim, the brother of Saladin, and his right hand during the siege,
at once begged a thousand slaves as his share of the booty.

"For what purpose do you desire them?" asked Saladin.

"To do with them as I will," replied his brother, upon which the Sultan
smiled and granted his request.

As he expected, the unhappy captives were at once given their freedom.
Then the Patriarch and Balian, who had been treated with the utmost
courtesy, each begged for seven hundred souls; and when those were
granted, Saladin said, "My brother has given his alms; the bishop and
Balian theirs.  Now will I give mine also."

{125}

With that he granted freedom to all aged folk within the city, "and
this was the alms that Saladin made."

Thus did Jerusalem fall once more into the hands of Islam, and the
Crescent shone again over the Holy City, in which for eighty-eight
years the Cross had reigned supreme.




{126}

CHAPTER XI

The Story of the Third Crusade


  _A goodly golden chain wherewith yfere
  The virtues linked are in lovely wise
  And noble minds of yore allyed were
  In brave pursuit of chivalrous emprise._
                              SPENSER: _Faery Queene._


The news of the fate of Jerusalem moved Western Europe to such horror
and dismay as had never before been known.  Everywhere signs of
mourning were seen; a general fast was ordered, a fast which was kept
to some extent, at least, by some pious souls, until the Holy City was
recovered; and Pope Clement III. set himself to act the part of a St
Bernard by stirring the hearts of princes to take up the Cross in a
Third Crusade.

Of this Crusade it seemed at first as though the famous Emperor
Frederick Barbarossa was to be the leader, though Philip of France and
Henry II. of England were not long behind him in accepting the Cross.

In both France and England, too, the "Saladin-tax" became the
custom--each man paying a tithe, or tenth part of his income, for the
maintenance of the expedition.  Everywhere the enthusiasm was so great,
that it was only necessary for a preacher to announce the Crusade as
his text to secure a vast and eager audience.  It mattered {127}
nothing that his hearers did not even understand the language in which
he spoke--all alike were stirred to do their part to win back what the
First Crusaders, those heroes of romance, had fought for and won.

But Henry of England was too fully occupied with the treason of his
sons in his old age to do more than make promises of help, and at his
death, it was one of the latter, the famous Richard Lion-Heart, who
became the leader of the English Crusade, and finally of the whole
undertaking.  The Emperor Frederick, however, would not wait for him,
nor for the French king, but hurried off on his toilsome journey at an
age when most men would be hoping for a period of fireside ease and
rest before the last long journey of all.

As usual the promises of the Greek Emperor, Isaac, were not to be
trusted, but the great army of Frederick Barbarossa struck such terror
into the hearts of Greek and Turk alike, that he was able to move
forward into Cilicia with little hindrance.  But there, when bathing
his heated limbs in a little river among the hills, that mighty
Emperor, who had built up a famous Empire of the West, perished and
"came to a pitiful end."

The German host lost heart without their leader; many died through
famine, and of the remainder a small part reached Antioch and placed
themselves under the command of its prince, the rest going on to
Tripoli.

Meantime those two ill-assorted leaders, Richard of England and Philip
of France, had started on their way to the East.  It was clearly
hopeless from the first that they would work together, for, while
Richard was proud, passionate, and irritable to a degree, Philip was
cold and crafty, and while Richard would eagerly make amends for an
injury done, and as readily forgive one {128} done to him, Philip
prided himself on never overlooking an affront.  It was the quarrel of
these leaders, rather than the superiority of the armies of Islam, that
made the Third Crusade, as far as the taking of Jerusalem was
concerned, a complete failure.

They started, however, in apparent friendliness, and, with many pledges
of devotion, travelled together by a new route by way of Marseilles.
From thence Philip hurried on to Messina, in Sicily, but Richard's
Crusaders had deviated into Portugal to give help against the Moors,
and their impatient king set off alone in a small ship, coasting along
the shores of Italy, until his fleet had caught him up, when he
proceeded in great state to join Philip at Messina.

The Crusaders stayed in Sicily for six months, by no means in the
character of friendly guests.  Tancred, king of the island, had forced
Joanna, the sister of Richard, to become his wife; and she appealed to
her brother against him.  The latter promptly took up her cause, but,
with an eye to his own profit, offered to give her up if Tancred would
grant him a chair and table of solid gold which formed part of her
dowry.  On Tancred's refusal, Richard at once attacked and took
Messina, which was only recovered by Tancred on payment of forty
thousand ounces of gold.

On the same March day that Philip at length sailed for the Holy Land,
Richard was betrothed to the beautiful Berengaria of Navarre, and some
ten days later set off with her and his sister for the same
destination.  But within two days a furious storm arose, which threw
two of his ships upon the coast of Cyprus.

Says Richard of Devizes, "Almost all the men of both ships got away
alive to land, many of whom the hostile {129} Cypriote slew, some they
took captive, some, taking refuge in a certain church, were besieged.
The prince also of that island coming up, received for his share the
gold and the arms; and he caused the shore to be guarded by all the
armed force he could summon together, that he might not permit the
fleet that followed to approach, lest the King should take again what
had been thus stolen from him....  But God so willed that the cursed
people should receive the reward of their evil deeds by the hand of one
who would not spare.  The third English ship, in which were the women,
rode out at sea and watched all things, to report the misfortune to the
king.  A full report reached the King, who, obtaining no satisfaction
from the lord of the island, came in arms to the port.  The King leaped
first from his galley and gave the first blow in the war, but before he
could strike a second, he had three thousand of his followers with him
striking away by his side....  The Cypriotes are vanquished, the city
is taken, and the lord of the island is himself taken and brought to
the King.  He supplicates and obtains pardon; he offers homage to the
King, and it is received; and he swears, though unasked, that
henceforth he will hold the island of him as his liege lord, and will
open all the castles of the land to him."

That same night, while Isaac of Cyprus was plotting how to get rid of
his new-made bonds, Guy of Lusignan, the King of Jerusalem, who had
been released by Saladin on condition that he went into exile, landed
on the island to bring greeting to Richard.  On the next day the
faithless Isaac fled.  "The kings pursue him, the one by land, the
other by water, and he is besieged in the castle.  Its walls are cast
down by engines hurling {130} huge stones; he, being overcome, promises
to surrender if only he might not be put into iron fetters.

"The King consented to the prayers of the supplicant, and caused silver
shackles to be made for him.  The prince of the pirates being thus
taken, the King traversed the whole island; and the whole land was
subjected to him, just like England."

Before he left his new domain, Richard was married to Berengaria, his
betrothed, and set off with her to the Holy Land, accompanied by Guy of
Lusignan.  Their destination was Acre, which, ever since Guy had been
convinced by the clergy that his oath to Saladin was of no binding
nature, had been besieged by him.  When Richard arrived, this siege had
already lasted nearly two years, and to a more cautious eye the cause
of Guy of Lusignan would have appeared by no means hopeful.  But there
were other motives at work.  Conrad of Tyre had flatly refused to admit
Guy to his own city, now the only Christian stronghold in Palestine, on
the plea that God had appointed him its ruler and that he meant to
remain so.  This laid the foundation of a fine feud between the two
princes; and the fact that Philip of France had taken up the cause of
Conrad was sufficient reason for Richard to ally himself with his rival.

"So," says Richard of Devizes, "King Richard came to the siege of Acre,
and was welcomed by the besiegers with as great joy as if it had been
Christ that had come again on earth to restore the kingdom of Israel.
The king of the French had arrived at Acre first, and was very highly
esteemed by the natives; but on Richard's arrival he became obscured
and without consideration, just as the moon is wont to relinquish her
lustre at the rising of the sun."

{131}

In further explanation of this, he tells us how a certain Henry, Count
of Champagne, who had now used up the whole of his store of provision
and money, came to his king, Philip of France, for relief.  The latter,
trying to take a mean advantage, offered him a large sum if he would
give up his rights over Champagne; to which the Count replied, "I have
done what I could and what I ought; now I shall do what I am compelled
by necessity.  I desired to fight for my king, but he would not accept
of me unless I gave up what is mine own; I will go to him who will
accept me, and who is more ready to give than to receive."

Richard received him with the utmost kindness and liberality, and his
men, "at the report of so great a largess, took King Richard to be
their general and lord; the Franks only who had followed their lord
remained with their poor king of the French."

This did not endear Richard any the more to Philip, but for a while
these private grudges were forgotten in the assault upon the walls of
Tyre.

"The King of the English, unused to delay," says Richard of Devizes,
"on the third day of his arrival at the siege, caused his wooden
fortress, which he had called 'Mate Grifon,' where it was made in
Sicily, to be built and set up; and before the dawn of the fourth day
the machine stood erect by the walls of Acre, and from its height
looked down upon the city lying beneath it, and there were thereon by
sunrise archers casting missiles without intermission upon the Turks."

While the Kings of England and France were thus engaged, Conrad and Guy
were once again at variance.  With Philip's promise of support at his
back, Conrad now returned to Tyre and took no further part in the {132}
siege.  The sultry heat of the plain then struck down both Philip and
Richard for awhile, but the recovery of the former led to an assault
which showed the Saracens they had little hope of holding out, and
Richard, determined not to be outdone, struggled back to the walls from
his sick-bed, and struck them another heavy blow.  Four days later a
long procession of the citizens filed out from the gates, bearing a
flag of truce and offering to surrender the city.  Richard was for
"letting the vanquished pay their heads for the ransom of their
bodies," but Philip, more politic as well as more thrifty, held out for
a ransom of two hundred pieces of gold, the restoration of the True
Cross which Saladin had seized at the Battle of Tiberias, and the
release of all Christian captives.

So the two years' siege came to an end, but not without a deed which
blackens the name of Richard and Philip for all time.

Saladin had delayed to furnish the ransom or to give up the relics of
the Cross; whereupon the King, who was in name the follower of Him who
taught His people to love their enemies, had two thousand seven hundred
prisoners led to the top of a hill from which all that went on could be
seen in Saladin's camp; and there, at a given signal, all these
innocent followers of Mohammed were cut down in cold blood.  Almost at
the same time, by the orders of Philip, nearly as many victims suffered
on the walls of the city itself.

The taking of Acre was the signal for a violent quarrel between
Richard, Philip, and Leopold, Duke of Austria.

[Illustration: _Richard and Philip at the Siege of Acre_]

Richard Devizes tells the story thus.  "The Duke of Austria, who was
also one of the ancient besiegers of Acre, followed the King of the
English as though he {135} would share in the possession of his
portion; and because his standard was borne before him, he was thought
to take to himself a part of the triumph.  If not by the command, at
least with the consent of the offended King, the duke's standard was
cast down in the dirt, and to his reproach and ridicule, trampled under
foot.  The duke, though grievously enraged against the King, concealed
his wrath for a time, and betook himself that night to his tent, which
was set up again, and afterwards as soon as he could, returned, full of
anger, to his own country."

Heedless of the fact that "this quarrel might drink blood another day,"
Richard next came into serious collision with Philip of France.

"A certain Conrad, Marquis of Montferrat, a smooth-faced man, had held
Tyre, which he had seized on many years ago, to whom the King of the
French sold all his captives alive, and promised the crown of the
kingdom of Jerusalem, which was not yet conquered.  But the King of the
English withstood him, Philip, to the face."

"It is not proper," said he, "for a man of your reputation to bestow or
promise what is not yet obtained; and further, if the course of your
journey be Christ, when you have at length taken Jerusalem from the
hand of the enemy, you will, without delay or condition, restore the
kingdom to Guy, the lawful King of Jerusalem.  For the rest, if you
recollect, you did not obtain Acre alone, so that neither should that
which is the property of two be dealt out by one hand."

"Oh, oh!" comments quaint Richard of Devizes, "how pure for a godly
throat!  The marquis, bereft of his blissful hope, returns to Tyre, and
the King of the French, who had greatly desired to strengthen himself
against his envied ally by means of the marquis, now {136} fell off
daily, and this added to the continual irritation of his mind--that
even the scullion of the King of the English fared more sumptuously
than the cupbearer of the French.  After some time, letters were forged
in the tent of the King of the French, by which, as if they had been
sent by his nobles out of France, the King was recalled to his own
country."

And so Philip of France, amid oaths and protestations of faith to
Richard, sailed for Europe.  "How faithfully he kept his oath the whole
world knows.  For directly he reached home, he stirred up the whole
land and threw Normandy into confusion.  What need for further words!
Amid the curses of all, he departed, leaving his army at Acre."




{137}

CHAPTER XII

The Adventures of Richard Lion-Heart


  _One who fought his fight has told the deeds
  Of that gay passage through the midland sea
  Cyprus and Sicily;
  And how the Lion-Heart o'er the Moslem host
  Triumphed in Ascalon
  Or Acre, by the tideless Syrian coast._
                                  PALGRAVE: _Visions of England._


Exactly two years after the siege of Acre had commenced, the army of
Richard, together with the Knights of the Temple and the Hospital, set
out to conquer the territory that lay between the mountains and the sea.

And "as the army marched along the sea-shore that was in its right, all
the while the Turks watched its movements from the heights on the
left."  The progress of the Crusaders was therefore one long battle,
and it was further harassed by the natural difficulties of the road.
"That day," says Geoffrey de Vinsauf, an eye-witness of these things,
"the army moved forward with more than wonted caution, and stopped,
after a long march, impeded by the thickets and the tall and luxuriant
herbage, which struck them in the face.  In these maritime parts there
were also a number of beasts of the forest, who leapt up between their
feet from the long grass and thick copses."

{138}

He tells us, moreover, of the touching device employed to stir the
hearts of the wearied soldiers, and to remind them of the aim of their
journey.

"It was the custom of the army each night before lying down to rest to
depute some one to stand in the middle of the camp and cry out with a
loud voice, 'Help!  Help! for the Holy Sepulchre!'  The rest of the
army took it up and repeated the words, and stretching their hands to
heaven, prayed for the mercy and assistance of God in the cause.  Then
the herald himself repeated in a loud voice: 'Help!  Help! for the Holy
Sepulchre!' and everyone repeated it after him a second and a third
time.  The army," he adds naïvely, "appeared to be much refreshed by
crying out in this fashion."

At length the preliminary skirmishes gave place to a pitched battle, of
which our eye-witness gives a spirited account.

"On the Saturday, the Eve of the Nativity of the Blessed Virgin Mary,
at earliest dawn, our men armed themselves with great care to receive
the Turks, who were known to have preceded their march, and whose
insolence nothing but a battle could check....  On that day the
Templars formed the first rank, and after them came in due order the
Bretons and men of Anjou; then followed King Guy with the men of
Poitou; in the fourth line were the Normans and English who had the
care of the royal standard; and last of all marched the Hospitallers:
this line was composed of chosen warriors, divided into companies.

"They kept together so closely that an apple, if thrown, would not have
fallen to the ground without touching a man or a horse; and the army
stretched from {139} the army of the Saracens to the seashore.  There
you might have seen standards and ensigns of various forms, and hardy
warriors, fresh and full of spirits and well fitted for war.

"King Richard and the Duke of Burgundy, with a chosen retinue of
warriors, rode up and down, narrowly watching the position and manner
of the Turks, to correct anything in their own troops if they saw
occasion.

"It was now nearly nine o'clock, when there appeared a large body of
the Turks, ten thousand strong, coming down upon us at full charge, and
throwing darts and arrows, as fast as they could, while they mingled
their voices in one horrible yell.

"There followed after them an infernal race of men, of black colour....
With them also were the Saracens who live in the desert, called
Bedouins; they are a savage race of men, blacker than soot; they fight
on foot and carry a bow, quiver and round shield, and are a light and
active race.

"These men dauntlessly attacked our army.  They came on with
irresistible charge, on horses swifter than eagles, and urged on like
lightning to attack our men; and as they advanced they raised a cloud
of dust, so that the sky was darkened.  In front came certain of their
admirals, as was their duty, with clarions and trumpets; some had
horns, others had pipes and timbrels, gongs, cymbals and other
instruments, producing a horrible noise and clamour.  This they did to
excite their spirits and courage, for the more violent the clamour
became the more bold were they for the fray."

So hot grew the contest, and such was the inconvenience suffered by the
Crusaders because of their narrow quarters between the foe and the sea,
that there {140} was nothing for it but to retreat.  This of course
brought the full force of the attack upon the Hospitallers, "the more
so," says Geoffrey, "as they were unable to resist, but moved forward
with patience under their wounds, returning not even a word for the
blows which fell upon them, and advancing on their way because they
were not able to bear the weight of the contest.

"A cloud of dust obscured the air as our men marched on; and in
addition to the heat, they had an enemy pressing them in the rear,
insolent and rendered obstinate by the instigation of the devil.  Still
the Christians proved good men, and secure in their unconquerable
spirit, kept constantly advancing, while the Turks threatened them
without ceasing in the rear; but their blows fells harmless upon the
defensive armour, and this caused the Turks to slacken in courage at
the failure of their attempts, and they began to murmur in
disappointment, crying out in their rage 'that our people were of iron
and would yield to no blow.'

"Then the Turks, about twenty thousand strong, rushed again upon our
men pell-mell, annoying them in every possible manner, when, as if
almost overcome by their savage fury, Brother Gamier, one of the
Hospitallers, suddenly exclaimed with a loud voice, 'O excellent St
George!  Will you leave us to be thus put to confusion?  The whole of
Christendom is now on the point of perishing, because it fears to
return a blow against this impious race.'"

The King, however, had determined that no charge should be made until
the army had, by retreat, obtained a better position for so doing.  So,
even when the Grand Master of the Hospitallers went to him, and said,
"My lord the king, we are violently pressed by the enemy, {141} and are
in danger of eternal infamy, as if we did not dare to return their
blows.  We are each of us losing our horses one after another, and why
should we bear with them any further?"  The King replied, "Good Master,
it is you who must sustain their attack; no one could be everywhere at
once."

"On the Master returning, the Turks again made a fierce attack upon
them from the rear, and there was not a prince or count among them but
blushed with shame and said to each other, 'Why do we not charge them
at full gallop?  Alas!  Alas! we shall for ever deserve to be called
cowards, a thing which never happened to us before, for never has such
a disgrace befallen so great an army, even from the unbelievers.
Unless we defend ourselves by immediately charging the enemy, we shall
gain everlasting scandal, and so much the greater the longer we delay
to fight.'"

In spite of these protests, they had all come to the conclusion that
the King was right in not ordering them to charge till all were in a
more advantageous position, when "the success of the affair was
marred," says Geoffrey, "by two knights who were impatient of delay."
Fortunately, Richard, seeing the mistake in time, gave the order,
"Prepare to charge!" forthwith.  "The sky grew black with the dust that
was raised in the confusion of that encounter.  The Turks who had
purposely dismounted from their horses in order to take better aim at
our men with their darts and arrows, were slain on all sides in that
charge.  King Richard, on seeing his army in motion and in encounter
with the Turks, flew rapidly on his horse through the Hospitallers who
had led the charge, and to whom he was bringing assistance with all his
retinue, and broke into the Turkish infantry, {142} who were astonished
at his blows and those of his men, and gave way to the right and to the
left."

A terrific fight ensued, ending in a triumph for the Crusaders in so
far that they had scattered the foe and were able to proceed upon their
march in safety.

In equally vivid phrase Geoffrey describes the anger of Saladin when
the news reached him of this defeat.  Bitterly did he reproach and
deride his men, while his "admirals" listened with heads bowed down.
At last one bolder than the rest made answer, "Most sacred Sultan,
saving your Majesty, this charge is unjust, for we fought with all our
strength and did our best to destroy them.  We met their fiercest
attacks, but it was of no avail.  They are armed in impenetrable armour
which no weapon can pierce so that our blows fell as it were upon a
rock of flint.  And further, there is one among their number superior
to any man we have ever seen; he always charges before the rest,
slaying and destroying our men.  He is the first in every enterprise,
and is a most brave and excellent soldier; no one can resist him or
escape out of his hands.  They call him _Melech Ric_ (King Richard).
Such a king as he seems born to command the whole earth; what then
could we do more against so formidable an enemy?"

Such is the description which Geoffrey, in his hero-worship, puts into
the mouth of the vanquished leaders of the Saracens, and Saladin, no
longer making light of the danger that threatened his realm, promptly
destroyed all his more important fortresses, such as Joppa and Ascalon,
for fear _Melech Ric_ should occupy them.

[Illustration: _Richard of England utterly defeats Saladin_]

Richard himself was now very anxious to get possession of Ascalon, and
to re-fortify the walls.  But on this point opinions were divided.  The
French were, as {145} usual, violently opposed to him, and wanted
rather to rebuild the fort of Joppa, "because it furnished a shorter
and easier route for pilgrims going to Jerusalem," and the feeling of
the multitude was with them.

"Foolish counsel; fatal obstinacy of those indolent men!" comments
Geoffrey.  "By providing for their immediate comfort and to avoid
labour and expense, they did what they would afterwards repent of, for
had they then saved Ascalon from the Turks, the whole land would soon
have been clear of them.  But the cry of the people prevailed, a
collection was made, and they immediately began to rebuild the towers,
and to clear out the moat of Joppa.  The army remained there long,
enjoying ease and pleasure ... and the whole people became corrupted;
the zeal of pilgrimage waxed cold, and all their works of devotion were
neglected."

It was about this time that an adventure befel King Richard which
nearly put an end to his career as leader of the Third Crusade.

"About this time," says Geoffrey, "King Richard went out hawking with a
small escort, intending, if he saw any small body of Turks, to fall
upon them.

"Fatigued by his ride, he fell asleep, and a troop of the enemy rushed
suddenly upon him to make him prisoner.  The King, awakened by the
noise, had barely time to mount his bay Cyprian horse, and his
attendants were still in the act of mounting, when the Turks came upon
them and tried to take him; but the King, drawing his sword, rushed
upon them, and they, pretending flight, drew him after them to a place
where there was another body of Turks in ambush.  These started up with
speed, and surrounded the King in order to make him prisoner.  The King
defended himself bravely, and the enemy drew {146} back, though he
would certainly have been captured if the Turks had known who he was.

"But in the midst of the conflict, one of the King's companions,
William de Pratelles, called out in the Saracen language that _he_ was
the "Melech," _i.e._ the King; and the Turks, believing what he said,
led him off captive to their own army.

"At the news of this action our army was alarmed, and seizing their
arms, came at full gallop to find the King, and when they met him
returning safe, he faced about and with them pursued the Turks, who had
carried off William de Pratelles thinking they had got the King.  They
could not, however, overtake the fugitives, and King Richard, reserved
by the Divine Hand for greater things, returned to the camp, to the
great joy of his soldiers, who thanked God for his preservation, but
grieved for William de Pratelles, who loyally redeemed the King at the
price of his own liberty."

Richard was much blamed by some of his friends for his rashness on this
occasion.  "But," says Geoffrey the hero-worshipper, "notwithstanding
these admonitions on the part of his best friends, the King's nature
still broke out; in all expeditions he was the first to advance and the
last to retreat; and he never failed, either by his own valour or the
Divine Aid, to bring back numbers of captives, or, if they resisted, to
put them to the sword."

When the fortress of Joppa had been rebuilt, Richard sent a
"distinguished embassy" to Saladin and Saphadim, his brother, to demand
the surrender of the Holy Land once more.  This was to include the
whole kingdom of Syria, as well as tribute for Babylon, and to this
Saladin would not agree.  At the same time he appeared to {147} deal
very reasonably with the embassy, sending back with them his brother
Saphadim, and offering through him to give up the kingdom of Jerusalem
"from the Jordan to the sea," on condition that the city Ascalon should
never be rebuilt.  The account of the meeting of the two great
representatives of Christendom and Islam is very interesting, and the
more so because Richard never came face to face with the renowned
Saladin himself.

"When Saphadim came with this message to the King, Richard, who had
just been bled, would not converse with him on that day; but he was
supplied with every kind of delicacy for his table, and entertained in
the valley between the castles of the Temple and Jehoshaphat.

"The next day Saphadim sent a present of seven camels and a rich tent,
and coming into the King's presence, delivered Saladin's message, upon
which Richard determined to have patience for a time, that he might the
better make provision for the future.  But, alas! he showed too little
prudence in not foreseeing the deceit with which they sought to
protract the time until the cities, castles and fortresses of that
country were destroyed.

"In short, Saphadim so cunningly beguiled the too credulous king, that
one would have thought they had contracted a mutual friendship; for the
King received Saphadim's gifts, and messengers were daily passing with
presents to the King, much to the annoyance of his friends.  But
Saphadim pleaded that he wished to make peace between them, and the
King thought he was adopting a wise policy, by which the bounds of
Christianity would be enlarged, and a creditable peace concluded.

"When, however, the King discovered that the {148} promises of Saphadim
were mere words, he at once broke off the negotiations."

The Saracens said in after days that Richard's friendship with Saphadim
went so far that he offered him his sister Joanna in marriage; but that
Joanna herself refused with scorn to marry an infidel.

It was not until nearly the end of that year, when much time had been
lost, that the army of Richard once more turned its face towards
Jerusalem.  The Templars however, tried to prevent the King from
attempting the siege of the Holy City, "lest, while they were besieging
Saladin and the garrison, the Turkish army which was outside among the
mountains, might attack our men by surprise, and so place them between
the attack of the garrison from within and the Turkish army from
without."

But Richard was sick and tired of inaction, and his army had been
lately much depressed by the miserable weather of winter.

The rain and the hail had killed many of their beasts of burden; storms
had torn up the pegs of the tents, drowned the horses and spoiled all
their biscuits and bacon.  "Their clothes were dissolved by the wet,
and the men themselves suffered from the unwonted severity of the
climate."

"Under all those sufferings, their only consolation arose from their
zeal in the service of God, and a desire to finish their pilgrimage.
Even those who were sick in bed at Joppa were carried in litters, so
great was their wish to see Jerusalem."

But the weather grew worse, and at length the advice of the Templars,
experienced as they were in that climate, prevailed.

{149}

Most of the French went back to Joppa, and with much wrath on the part
of Richard and deep despondency on the part of his army, a march was
made instead upon the ruined town of Ascalon.

At the end of January, however, "the sky became brighter," and many of
the French were induced to return to Richard, and to help him to
rebuild the walls.  But very soon the old quarrels broke out.

The Duke of Burgundy, finding himself without the means to pay his men,
asked King Richard to supply him with a large sum of money, as he had
done once before at Acre.  When the King refused, on the ground that
his previous loan had never been repaid, the duke at once left Ascalon,
taking his army with him, and went back to Acre.

About the same time Conrad of Tyre gave mortal offence to Richard by
his refusal to come to help him to rebuild the city, and the King, in
his wrath, began to make fresh attempts at peace with Saladin, on the
plea that his foeman was of nobler mettle than his so-called allies.
Friendly overtures went so far that "on Palm Sunday, King Richard, amid
much splendour, girded with the belt of knighthood the son of Saphadim,
who had been sent to him for that purpose."

After Easter, came bad news from England to the King--news of the
treachery of his brother John, of the seizing of the revenues, and of
an empty treasury.

"And if," said the prior of Hereford who brought this news, "your
majesty does not take speedy counsel on these matters, and return home
with all haste and avenge our wrongs on the insurgents, it will fare
worse, and you will not be able to recover your kingdom without the
hazard of a war."

{150}

When these things were laid before the leaders of the army, as a reason
why Richard must speedily return to his own land, they unanimously
declared that something must be done to settle affairs in Palestine by
choosing a king, "one whom the army could follow and obey," and that if
this were not done "they would one and all depart from the land, for
they should not otherwise be able to guard against the enemy."  The
choice was given them between Guy of Lusignan and Conrad of Tyre, and
to the secret disgust of Richard, they chose the latter, "as being much
better able to defend the country."

The King gave his consent, though with no good will, for the Marquis
Conrad was known to be in league with Saladin, who, on his part, was
inclined to treat with him against the advice of Saphadim, who would do
nothing "without King Richard's consent."

Conrad himself was delighted at the news that the crown was his if he
would but do his best against the foe, and his followers at Tyre
indulged, says Geoffrey, in a joy "the more unreasonable for being so
intemperate."

Then came a tragedy, swift and sudden.  The marquis was returning one
day in a very cheerful and pleasant humour, from an entertainment given
by the Bishop of Beauvais, at which he had been a guest, and had
reached the Custom House of the city, when two young men, without
cloaks, suddenly rushed upon him, and having drawn their daggers,
stabbed him to the heart and ran off at full speed.

"The marquis instantly fell from his horse and rolled dying on the
ground; one of the murderers was slain directly, but the second took
shelter in a church, notwithstanding which he was captured and
condemned to be dragged through the city until life should be extinct.

{151}

"Now while the marquis was breathing his last, the attendants who were
about him, took him up in their arms, and carried him to the palace,
mourning and weeping inconsolably, the more so as their joy had been,
but now, so great.  He enjoined his wife to attend carefully to the
preservation of the city of Tyre, and to resign it to no one, save King
Richard.  Immediately afterwards he died, and was buried in the
Hospital amidst great mourning and lamentation.

Thus the cheering hopes of that desolate land were destroyed, and the
former gladness was turned into intense grief.

With great treachery the French now began to spread abroad a report
that Richard himself "had vilely brought about the death of the
marquis," an accusation for which there was no shadow of proof.  Not
content with this, the French army, which lived in tents outside the
city sent orders to Queen Isabella, the wife of Conrad, "bidding her
place the city in their charge, without delay or opposition, for the
service of the King of France.  But she, mindful of the dying words of
her lord, replied that when King Richard came to see her, she would
give it up to him and to none other, as there was no one who had
laboured so much to rescue the Holy Land from the hands of the Turks."

The French were very indignant at this reply, and while they were
attempting to gain possession of the city, Count Henry of Champagne,
the nephew of Richard, arrived unexpectedly on the scene.

"And when the people saw him among them, they forthwith chose him as
their prince, as if he had been sent by God; and began with much
earnestness to entreat him to accept the crown of the kingdom, without
{152} excuse or hesitation, and to marry the widow of the marquis, as
the kingdom was hers by right of inheritance."  To this Richard
willingly agreed, and thus Henry became the nominal king of Jerusalem,
while the Holy City remained in the hands of Islam.

The sympathy of our chronicler Geoffrey is, however, entirely with the
deposed Guy of Lusignan, "who," says he "now dwelt within the kingdom
like a private man, not because he was undeserving, but for this only
reason--that he was simple-minded and unversed in political intrigue.
Thus then Guy became a king without a kingdom, until King Richard,
moved with pity for him, gave him the unconditional sovereignty of the
island of Cyprus."

Further news of the disturbed state of his own kingdom at home now
arrived for Richard, but, in spite of this, he was persuaded without
much difficulty to defer his return until the Easter of the following
year, by which time it was hoped that Jerusalem would have been taken.

This intelligence was proclaimed throughout the army by means of a
herald, "and when the army heard it, they were as delighted as a bird
at dawn of day, and all immediately set themselves in readiness,
packing up their luggage and preparing for the march."

After a few days journey, a halt was called until Count Henry could
join them with the rest of the army from Acre, and this delay enabled
Richard to seize a richly loaded caravan, an event which caused
something like a panic among the Turks.  "Never," says one of them,
"did any news so trouble the Sultan."

But the English King was only too well aware of the real weakness of
his army, and when the soldiers urged him to march directly upon the
Holy City, he firmly refused.

"If it pleases you to proceed to Jerusalem," he said {153} to the other
leaders, "I will not desert you; I will be your comrade but not your
commander; I will follow, not lead you.  Does not Saladin know all that
goes on in our camp?  And do you think that our weak condition has
escaped his notice?"

This was the occasion of great discontent among the Crusaders.  In vain
did the King propose to attack the power of Islam in Cairo or Damascus;
the French declared that they would march only against Jerusalem, from
which they were now but four miles distant.  Quarrels arose among the
soldiers, some taking one side, some the other, and finally the army
retreated, in separate divisions and in a very depressed state, to
Joppa, and thence to Acre.

We may well believe that the heaviest heart in all that company was
that of the King himself.  They tell us that in his pursuit of a party
of Turks near Emmaus, Richard found himself upon a hill from which he
could catch a glimpse of the Holy City in the distance.  Turning away
his eyes, he cried out with tears that he was not worthy even to look
upon the spot which he had failed to wrest from the hand of the
infidel; and so he retraced his steps in sadness to the sea-shore.

The retreat of the army from Joppa was an opportunity not to be lost by
the astute Saladin.  Whilst Richard was vainly trying to patch up a
truce with him from Acre, the Sultan swooped down on the unprotected
walls of Joppa and took the city after a five days' siege.

This news of the arrival of Saladin reached Acre just as Richard was
preparing to sail to his own land.  He immediately set off with fifty
knights in two or three galleys and being detained by contrary winds,
reached the city only to find the banners of Saladin floating from
{154} the walls, and all the city save one tower in his hands.  Dashing
through the waves to the shore, Richard led his little band to the
gates of the city, forced his way in, tore down the flag of Islam and
hoisted his own in its stead.

"Saladin, hearing of the King's arrival, and of his brilliant contest
with the Turks, of whom he had slain all who opposed him, was seized
with sudden fear, and like that timid animal the hare, put spurs to his
horse, and fled before his face."

Presently, however, it dawned upon him that instead of having been
attacked by a great army from Acre, he had been routed by a mere
handful of men, most of whom were now sleeping unprotected in camp.

"But a certain Genoese was led by the divine impulse to go out early in
the morning into the fields, where he was alarmed by the noise of men
and horses advancing, and returned speedily, but just had time to see
helmets reflecting back the light which now fell upon them.  He
immediately rushed with speed into the camp, calling out "To arms!  To
arms!"

The King was awakened by the noise, and leaping startled from his bed,
put on his coat of mail and summoned his men to the rescue.

During the battle that followed, in which Richard is said to have
performed almost incredible deeds of valour, Saphadim showed him an
example of generosity and courtesy.

The King had been unhorsed and was fighting desperately on foot when "a
Turk advanced towards him mounted on a prancing steed.  He had been
sent by Saphadim, who now sent to the King as a token of his well known
honourable character, two noble horses, requesting him earnestly to
accept them and make use of {155} them, and if he returned safe and
sound out of that battle, to remember the gifts and to recompense it in
any way he pleased."

This was the last battle fought and the last victory won by Richard in
the Holy Land.  He himself fell ill from the fatigue of that day, the
French refused to fight any more under his leadership, and England and
Normandy were clamouring for his return.

So he employed Saphadim, always kindly disposed towards him, to
intercede with Saladin for a truce; and this was finally agreed upon
for the space of three years, the Christians meantime holding Joppa and
Tyre, and all the land between; and all pilgrims having the right to
visit Jerusalem in safety.

But the Holy City remained yet in the hands of the infidel, and the
Third Crusade had come to an end before its real work had been begun.

Well might Richard gaze upon the land with heavy heart as he set sail
for Europe.

"All night the ship ran on her way by the light of the stars, and when
morning dawned, the King looked back with yearning eyes upon the land
he had left; and after long meditation he prayed aloud in these words.

"O Holy Land, I commend thee to God, and if His heavenly grace shall
grant me so long to live, that I may, in His good pleasure, afford thee
assistance, I hope, as I propose, to be able to be some day a succour
to thee."

But though he had not yet come to the end of his adventures in
connection with it, the deeds of Richard, in the Holy Land he loved,
were over.

He had sent on his wife and sister in front, and they had reached
Sicily in safety, whilst he himself set out in a single vessel, only to
meet with such stormy winds, that {156} he found himself at length a
shipwrecked stranger on that strip of the Istrian coast that borders
the Adriatic Sea.

It was an unlucky spot for Richard.  The governor of the district was
Maynard, a nephew of that Conrad of Tyre of whose death the English
King was held to be guilty.

Nor was Vienna very far off--Vienna ruled by Leopold of Austria, his
ancient foe.  But Richard's beard had been allowed to grow of late, and
pilgrims' dresses were not difficult to obtain for himself and his
companion, Baldwin of Bethune.

Making his way to the Castle of Maynard, with his usual rashness he
bade Baldwin win his way to the governor by the gift of a magnificent
ruby ring taken from his own finger, and ask of him a passport for the
two, Baldwin and "Hugh the Merchant," as for pilgrims making their way
back through the province from Jerusalem.

Long did Maynard gaze upon the jewel, until at length he said "This
jewel can come only from a king; and that king can only be Richard of
England.  Bid him come to me in peace."

But Richard would not enter the lion's cage.  He fled in the night to
Friesach, leaving Baldwin and his other companions to be seized as
hostages and kept in bonds.  Travelling about the country with one
knight as his comrade, together with a boy who could speak the
language, Richard drew nearer and nearer to the dangerous region of
Vienna.

Resting in the inn of a town close by the capital, he sent the boy to
buy food for their journey in the marketplace.  The lad chose to
swagger and boast of his master's wealth and mysterious high position,
in proof {157} of which he pulled out a handful of gold coins before
the bystanders.

This was the cause of his immediate discomfiture, for he was seized,
carried before the chief man of the district and questioned as to whom
he served.

He refused to disclose the name of his master, and was put to the
torture.  This was no light matter in those rough days, and under it
the boy confessed that he was the page of Richard of England.

The news was carried hotfoot to Leopold, and meantime a troop of armed
men surrounded the inn where lay the unsuspecting monarch.

Richard, however, was never to be caught with ease.  Sword in hand he
defended himself with such vigour that the men fell back.  Escape was
hopeless, notwithstanding this pause, and the King at length agreed to
yield if their chief would come in person to take him.

But this chief turned out to be Leopold of Austria himself, grimly
delighted to find his former foe within his clutches.  Other forces
were also at work to get possession of the person of the English King.
Philip of France had not forgotten his ancient grudge against him; and
it was to his advantage that Richard's return to England should be
hindered, since he intended meantime to annex Normandy.  John, the
King's brother, would now have his chance of obtaining the coveted
English crown, and so it was to the interest of all his enemies to keep
him safe within prison walls.  But a yet more powerful enemy was in
league with both, and only too ready to take revenge upon Richard for
the part he had once played in taking the side of Tancred of Sicily
against him.  The Emperor Henry VI. son of Barbarossa, offered Leopold
a bribe of £60,000 for the {158} person of the King, and Richard found
himself closely confined in a lonely castle of the Tyrol, the prisoner
of the Emperor.

For a while no one knew of his place of concealment, nor into whose
hands he had fallen.

At length, says the romantic story, this was discovered by his faithful
minstrel, Blondel, who travelled over Eastern Europe, searching and
inquiring for his master.  One day, as he sat beneath the walls of a
castle keep, he began to play upon his lute one of the troubadour airs
that Richard had loved to sing in former days.  To his surprise, the
song was softly echoed from the walls.  Staying only long enough to
make sure that it was his beloved master, the minstrel sped back with
the news to England.

This charming story may have no foundation save in the fact that the
English Chancellor, William Longchamp, in his wish to leave no stone
unturned in the attempt to discover the King, sent out messengers of
all ranks and degrees on his behalf.  Whoever found out his place of
imprisonment matters little; for, directly it was known, all the powers
of Christendom were set on foot to work the release of one who had done
so much for the cause of God in the Holy Land.

The Pope brought pressure to bear upon the Emperor; the Emperor
consented to accept a ransom for his royal captive, in spite of the
fact that John of England had offered him twenty thousand pounds for
every month that Richard could be kept in prison; and the hard-pressed
English people once more brought out their coins on behalf of a King
whose eastern expeditions had already cost them dear.

And thus at length the adventures of the Lion Heart in connection with
the Third Crusade came to an end.




{159}

CHAPTER XIII

  The Story of Dandolo the Blind Doge;
  or, The Fourth and Fifth Crusades


  _Oh for one hour of blind old Dandolo!
  Th'octogenarian chief, Byzantium's conquering foe._
                                BYRON: _Childe Harold._


Richard the Lion-Heart had returned to England in 1194.  The next three
years of the dying century saw an attempt at an expedition sometimes
known as the Fourth, more often as the "German" Crusade.

Its story contains little of interest.  Saladin had died before the
release of Richard, and his brother Saphadim reigned in his stead, when
Henry, Emperor of Germany, hoping to win the favour of his disapproving
subjects, sent an expedition to the Holy Land.

The Christian lords who yet held rule in Palestine had found things run
so smoothly under the hand of the Sultan during the long truce, that
they were in no hurry to break the peace.  But the Germans did not mean
to wait for their assistance, and while they were marshalling their
forces, Saphadim drew first blood by a sudden and successful attack
upon Joppa, once so ably held and fortified by Richard.

The German Crusaders retaliated by a victory or {160} rather a series
of victories, which restored to them Joppa and many other coast towns,
and augured well for the future.  All this, however, was undone by
their own cruelty and thirst for blood.

On their triumphant march to Jerusalem they were besieging a certain
castle, and had succeeded in tunnelling passages through the rock upon
which it stood.  Hopeless of escape, the Moslem garrison offered to
surrender on condition that they were allowed a safe passage into their
own territory.  To this the Crusaders agreed, but a certain number of
them were loud in their disapproval, and began to threaten the Saracens
to such an extent that the latter lost faith in the promises that had
been given.  Declaring that they would die rather than submit, they
lined the newly-cut rock-passages and prepared to sell their lives
dearly.

The Crusaders, furious at their defiant message, dashed into the dark
tunnels, only to fall by thousands at the hands of their unseen and
desperate foes.  Nightfall saw them repulsed and utterly dismayed at
the unexpected resistance; discipline was gone, none knew what to do
next.  Then followed a disgraceful breach of honour.  Their leaders
stole away under cover of the darkness, and the German soldiers found
themselves left at the mercy of the foe.

Fortunately for them, the Saracens were too exhausted to pursue their
advantage, and the Germans, leaving their baggage and even their
weapons behind them, fled in disorder to Tyre.

The news of the death of their Emperor recalled most of these
faint-hearted Soldiers of the Cross to Germany.

The remainder made one last endeavour to fortify {161} Joppa and
entrench themselves within it; but, in the November of 1197, the city
fell before a furious attack of the Saracens, and the greater part of
the inhabitants were slaughtered.

This was the sad and disgraceful end of the Fourth Crusade, which left
the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem a kingdom only in name.


The Fifth Crusade is remarkable for the fact that it began in an
outburst of keen religious enthusiasm, and ended in a riot of cruelty,
bloodshed and profanity, without ever reaching the Holy Land at all.

Two very different men were responsible for stirring up this Crusade in
Europe.  Innocent the Third, one of the youngest, most energetic and
most ambitious of popes, thought to find in it an opportunity of
increasing his "temporal" as well as spiritual power.  It had long been
the custom for princes, going forth on perilous adventure, to leave
their lands in charge of the Holy Father; and even if this were not
always done, the Crusades gave many a chance of interfering with the
affairs of kingdoms and dukedoms whose people were engaged in the great
religious war.

Apart from this, the young Pope was, like all enthusiasts in religion,
deeply affected by the idea of the unhappy state of the Holy Land, and
sincerely desired to stir the hearts of the princes of Europe to do
their part towards restoring it to Christendom.  But the princes of
Europe had had enough of Crusades and they turned a deaf ear to the
call.  It needed another Peter the Hermit, or at least another St
Bernard to stir the hearts of rich and poor to march forth once more
upon a quest that had cost them already so dear.

{162}

Then the right man appeared upon the scene.  A certain French priest,
Fulk by name, in atonement for a life of carelessness and sin, began to
preach the duty of taking up the Cross in the Holy War.  A mere village
_curé_, he was content at first to teach and speak only in his own
neighbourhood, but his reputation increased, he became noted as a
worker of miracles, and rumours about him ere long reached the ears of
the Pope.  Innocent III. quickly saw in him the instrument he needed.
Throughout the streets and slums of Paris, in castle and in cottage,
Fulk was encouraged to make his way, calling upon men to repent of
their sins and to atone for them by taking up arms for the Cause of
Christ.

As usual, "the common people heard him gladly," while for a time the
nobles ignored him.

Then it came to pass that young Count Theobald of Champagne held a
great tournament, at which assembled two thousand knights.  Into the
midst of that gay throng appeared on a sudden the inspired face of Fulk
the priest, dressed in his threadbare cassock.  His burning words
carried conviction to the hearts of the knights, and Theobald himself
was the first to take up the Cross.  Others followed--amongst them
Simon de Montfort, father of the famous "good Earl Simon" of English
history--and finally nearly all that great band of knights were
enlisted as Crusaders.

Everywhere the same result was seen.  Great sums of money were raised
for the enterprise.  Louis, Count of Blois, and Baldwin, Count of
Flanders, joined the band of leaders, and while preparations went on
apace in France, Baldwin mindful of the chief reason for past failures,
sent a message to Dandolo, the blind Doge of Venice, asking him to
supply flat-bottomed boats in which {163} for a certain sum of money,
the Crusading armies might be transported to the Holy Land.

One of those sent upon this mission was Geoffrey de Villehardouin,
Marshal of Champagne, who tells the story of this, the Fifth Crusade,
so vividly.[1]


[1] The following extracts from Villehardouin and Joinville are quoted,
by kind permission of Messrs Dent & Co., from the admirable translation
of Sir Frank Marzials in the _Everyman's Library_.


"The Doge of Venice," says he, "whose name was Henry Dandolo, and who
was very wise and very valiant, did them (the envoys) great honour, and
entertained them right willingly, marvelling, however, what might be
the matter that had brought them to that country.  The envoys entered
the palace, which was passing rich and beautiful, and found the Doge
and his council in a chamber.

"There they delivered their message after this manner.  'Sire, we come
to thee on the part of the high barons of France who have taken the
Sign of the Cross to avenge the shame done to Jesus Christ and to
reconquer Jerusalem, if so be that God will suffer it.  And because
they know that no people have such great power to help them as you and
your people, therefore we pray you by God that you take pity on the
land oversea, and the shame of Christ, and use diligence that our lords
have ships for transport and battle.'

"'And after what manner should we use diligence?' said the Doge.

"'After all manner that you may advise and propose,' rejoined the
envoys, 'in so far as what you propose may be within our means.'

"'Certes,' said the Doge, 'it is a great thing that your lords require
of us, and well it seems that they have in {164} view a high
enterprise.  We will give you our answer eight days from to-day, for it
is meet so great a matter be fully pondered.'"

So eight days later, when the covenant had been proposed and accepted
by the council and the envoys, a "mass of the Holy Ghost was celebrated
in the chapel of St Mark, 'the most beautiful chapel that there is.'
To this gathered 'well ten thousand of the people,' and immediately
afterwards the French envoys were bidden 'to humbly ask them to assent
to the proposed covenant.'

"Villehardouin himself was spokesman before that multitude, and said
unto them.  'Lords, the barons of France, most high and puissant, have
sent us to you, and they cry to you for mercy, that you have pity on
Jerusalem, which is in bondage to the Turks, and that for God's sake,
you help to avenge the shame of Christ Jesus.

"And for this end they have elected to come to you, because they know
full well that there is none other people having so great power on the
seas as you and your people.  And they commanded us to fall at your
feet, and not to rise till you consent to take pity on the Holy Land
which is beyond the seas.'

"Then the six envoys knelt at the feet of the people, weeping many
tears.  And the Doge and all the others burst into tears of pity and
compassion, and cried with one voice, and lifted up their hands,
saying: 'We consent!  We consent!'

"Then was there so great a noise and tumult that it seemed as if the
earth itself were falling to pieces.

"And when this great tumult and passion of pity--greater did never any
man see--were appeased, the Good Doge of Venice, who was very wise and
valiant, {165} went up into the reading-desk, and spoke to the people,
and said to them:

"'Signors, behold the honour that God has done you, for the best people
in the world have set aside all other people, and chosen you to join
them in so high an enterprise as the deliverance of our Lord.'"

Thus comes on the stage upon which was played the story of the Fifth
Crusade, that curious and interesting figure, the blind old Doge, Henry
Dandolo, who, for all intents and purposes, may be regarded as the
leader of that expedition, so completely did he sway its designs by his
counsel and action.

Years before, or so the story goes, he had been sent on an embassy to
Constantinople, and there had been seized and treacherously ill-used so
that he became practically blind.  Whether this is true or not, the
fact remains that Dandolo hated the Greeks with a bitter hatred, and
was ready to use any means towards their hurt or downfall.

So the treaty was made, and the Crusaders promised to pay the whole
expenses of the expedition, a sum amounting to eighty-five thousand
pieces of silver, on condition that they were provided food and
transport.  And to show their goodwill, the Venetians added fifty armed
galleys to the fleet, "for the love of God."

Then the envoys returned rejoicing, only to meet with one piece of ill
luck after another.

On his journey to Champagne, Geoffrey de Villehardouin met a large
company of men, amongst whom were several important barons who had
taken the Cross, and who were now following Walter of Brienne on an
expedition to conquer the land of his wife, the daughter of King
Tancred of Sicily.

{166}

"Now when he told them the news how the envoys had fared, great was
their joy, and much did they prize the arrangements made.  And they
said, 'We are already on our way; and when you come, you will find us
ready.'"

"But," comments Geoffrey somewhat wearily, for this was but the first
of many wasteful and irregular expeditions, "events fall out as God
wills, and never had they power to join the host.  This was much to our
loss, for they were of great prowess and valiant."  And then they
parted and each went on his way.

The next blow hit Geoffrey very hard.  He rode day by day so that he
came at length, he says, to Troyes, in Champagne, and found his lord,
Count Theobald, sick and languishing, and right glad was the Count at
his coming.  And when he had told him how he fared, Theobald was so
rejoiced that he said he would mount his horse, a thing he had not done
for a long time.  So he rose from his bed and rode forth.  "But alas:
how great the pity!  For never again did he bestride horse but that
once."

Growing worse and worse, the Count began to realise that his part in
the Crusade was over.  So he divided the money which would have taken
him on pilgrimage among his followers and companions, giving orders
that each one, on receiving it, should swear "on holy relics, to join
the host at Venice."

"Many there were," says Geoffrey, "who kept that oath badly and so
incurred great blame."

So the Count Theobald died and was buried, and the Crusaders looked
about them for another chief.  First they went to Odo, Duke of
Burgundy, his cousin, and offered him their faith and loyalty.  "But
such was {167} his pleasure that he refused.  And be it known to you
that he might have done much better," is the terse comment of Geoffrey.

Finally, Boniface, Marquis of Montferrat, one of the foremost nobles in
that land, a patron of poets and troubadours and a skilled soldier,
received the "lordship of the host."

"Whereupon the Bishop of Soissons, and Master Fulk, that holy man, and
two white monks whom the Marquis had brought with him from his own
land, led him into the church of Notre Dame at Soissons, and attached
the Cross to his shoulder."

The death of Theobald was not the last blow that fate had in store for
the Crusaders, says Geoffrey.  "Thus did the pilgrims make ready in all
lands.  Alas!  A great mischance befell them in the following Lent,
before they had started, for another notable chief, Count Geoffrey of
Perche, fell sick, and made his will in such fashion that he directed
that Stephen, his brother, should have his goods and lead his men in
the host.  Of this exchange the pilgrims would willingly have been
quit, had God so ordered.  Thus did the Count make an end and die; and
much evil ensued, for he was a baron high and honoured, and a good
knight.  Greatly was he mourned throughout all lands."

It was soon after the Easter of 1202 that the French Crusaders began
their march.  Fulk himself, the originator of the movement, did not
accompany them, remaining behind, possibly to stir up fresh enthusiasm
and supplies of money if not of men.  But he was not destined to see
with his bodily eyes the failure of the expedition, for he died of
fever at Neuilly, while the pilgrims were still at Venice.

{168}

The French army marched by way of the Jura Mountains and through
Lombardy, where they were joined by the Marquis of Montferrat with his
troops of Lombards, Piedmontese and Savoyards, and by a small band of
Germans.

At the same time a fleet had started from Flanders, the leaders of
which had promised Count Baldwin to join the Crusaders at Venice.

"But ill did these keep the faith they had sworn to the Count, they and
others like them, because they, and such others of the same sort,
became fearful of the great perils that the host of Venice had
undertaken."

Many of the French leaders, too, failed the main body of the Crusaders
in the same way; for they avoided the passage to Venice because of the
danger, and went instead to Marseilles, "whereof," says Geoffrey, "they
received shame and much were they blamed--and great were the mishaps
that afterwards befell them."

Meantime, the French army, under the Marquis of Montferrat, had arrived
safely at Venice, and was rejoiced to see the fair array of ships and
transports waiting to convey it to the Holy Land.

But now an unexpected difficulty arose; for, of all that great number
of barons who had sworn to bring their men to Venice, only a very few
had arrived; and then came the disconcerting news that many of these
pilgrims were travelling by other ways and from other ports.

Consternation ensued among the barons, for the Venetians were naturally
determined that the money stipulated for the transports should be paid
at once, and this could only be done if all the barons bore their
share, as they had agreed to do.

{169}

So envoys, amongst whom was again found Geoffrey de Villehardouin, were
sent to intercept the various leaders of armies, and "to beseech them
to have pity on the Holy Land beyond the sea, and show them that no
other passages save that from Venice could be of profit."

These envoys met with only partial success.  Count Louis of Blois
agreed to accompany them, but many others chose to go their own way.
"And then," says Geoffrey, "was the host of those who went by Venice
greatly weakened, and much evil befell them therefrom, as you shall
shortly hear."

The Venetians had done their part well.  They "held a market" for the
Crusaders, "rich and abundant, of all things needful for horses and
men.  And the fleet they had got ready was so goodly and fine that
never did Christian man see one goodlier or finer; both galleys and
transports; and sufficient for at least three times as many men as were
in the host."

The first difficulty arose, naturally, over the matter of payment.
Each man had done what he could, but the total sum came to less than
half of that which was due.

Earnestly did the barons urge the need of making further payment in
fulfilment of their promise.  "For God's sake," said they, "let each
contribute all that he has, so that we may fulfil our covenant; for
better it is that we should lose all that we have than lose what we
have already paid and prove false to our promises; for if this host
remains here, the rescue of the land oversea comes to naught."

But the other barons and the lesser folk said, "We have paid for our
passages, and if they will take us, we shall go willingly, but if not,
we shall inquire and look for other means of passage."

{170}

"They spoke thus," says Geoffrey, "because they wished that the host
should fall to pieces and each return to his own land."

But the finer spirits preferred to face ruin, as far as worldly
prospects went, and to go penniless with the host, rather than that the
expedition should fail.  "For God," said they, "will doubtless repay us
when it so pleases Him."

So they began to give and to borrow all that they could.  "Then might
you have seen many a fine vessel of silver and gold borne in payment to
the palace of the Doge."  But still a large part of the sum required
was lacking.

Then the Doge, seeing their plight, made a proposal to them.  To his
own citizens he said, "Signors, these people cannot pay more, and in so
far as they have paid at all, we have benefited by an agreement that
they cannot now fulfil.  But our right to keep this money would not
everywhere be acknowledged, and if we so kept it, we should be greatly
blamed, both us and our land.  Let us therefore offer them terms.

"'The King of Hungary has taken from us Zara, in Sclavonia, which is
one of the strongest places in the world; and never shall we recover it
with all the power that we possess, save with the help of these people.
Let us therefore ask them to help us to reconquer it, and we will remit
the payment of the rest of the debt, until such time as it shall please
God to allow us to gain the moneys by conquest, we and they together.'

"And to this the Venetians and the Crusading host agreed."  A striking
and pathetic scene followed.

[Illustration: _The Fleet of the Fifth Crusade sets sail from Venice_]

On a very high festival the church of St Mark was thronged with
citizens, barons and pilgrims.  Before High Mass began, the blind and
aged Doge, Henry {173} Dandolo, was led up to the reading-desk, from
whence he spoke thus to his people.

"'Signors, you are associated with the most worthy people in the world,
and for the highest enterprise ever undertaken; and I am a man, old and
feeble, who should have need of rest, and I am sick in body; but I see
that no one could command and lead you like myself, who am your lord.

"If you will consent that I take the Sign of the Cross to guard and
direct you, and that my son remain in my place to guard the land, then
shall I go to live or die with you and with the pilgrims.'

"And when they heard him, they cried with one voice, 'We pray you by
God that you consent and do it, and that you come with us!'"

"He was of a great heart," says Geoffrey, comparing him bitterly with
those who had gone to other ports to escape danger.

"Then he came down from the reading-desk, and went before the altar,
and knelt upon his knees, greatly weeping.  And they sewed the cross on
to a great cotton hat which he wore, and in front because he wished
that all men should see it."

His example sent many of the Venetians to follow in his steps, and at
the same time preparations were hurried on for the departure, for
September was now nigh at hand.

Just before they started, messengers appeared in their midst with an
appeal that was destined to change the whole aim of the Fifth Crusade.

"At that time," says Geoffrey in his terse way, "there was an emperor
in Constantinople whose name was Isaac, and he had a brother, Alexios
by name, whom he had {174} ransomed from captivity among the Turks.
This Alexios took his brother, the Emperor, tore the eyes out of his
head, and made himself emperor by the aforesaid treachery.  He kept
Isaac a long time in prison, together with his son Alexios.  This son
escaped from prison, and fled in a ship to a city on the sea, which is
called Ancona.  "Thence he departed to go to King Philip of Germany,
who had married his sister, and so came to Verona, in Lombardy, and
lodged in the town, and found there a number of pilgrims and other
people who were on their way to join the host.

"And those who had helped him to escape, and were with him, said,
'Sire, here is an army in Venice, quite near to us, the best and most
valiant people and knights that are in the world, and they are going
oversea.  Cry to them therefore for mercy, that they have pity on thee
and on thy father, who have been so wrongfully dispossessed.  And if
they be willing to help thee, thou shalt be guided by them.  Perchance
they will take pity on thy estate.'

"So the young Alexios said he would do this right willingly, and that
the advice was good."

Then he sent envoys to the Marquis of Montferrat, chief of the host,
and the barons agreed that if he would help them to recover the land
oversea, they would help him to recover the land so wrongfully wrested
from him and his father.  They sent also an envoy with the prince to
King Philip of Germany; and in consequence, a goodly number of German
soldiers joined the host at Venice and prepared to aid them in their
enterprise.

And then, after long delay, the Crusading army set out from the port of
Venice in the month of October, 1202.




{175}

CHAPTER XIV

The Forsaking of the High Enterprise


  _'Tis Greece, but living Greece no more._
                                  BYRON: _Childe Harold._


The Siege of Zara affords one more example of the fatal disunion which
was always appearing among the ranks of the Crusaders.

From the first, the Abbot de Vaux, who had to some extent taken the
place of the priest Fulk (now gone to his rest), had protested against
warring upon the King of Hungary, who was himself a Crusader.  The Pope
sent urgent messages forbidding the whole enterprise; and when he found
that the Venetians paid no heed to this prohibition, the Marquis of
Montferrat, leader of the host, found convenient business which would
for some time detain him from leading the host against his
fellow-Christians.

Even when the Crusaders assembled before the city walls, there were
plenty of traitors in the camp only too ready to work mischief.  When
the people of Zara, utterly dismayed at the sight of the great host
before their walls, sent messengers to the Doge, offering to yield up
city and goods, if only their lives were spared, the latter replied,
quite rightly, that he must first get the consent of the counts and
barons of the Crusading pilgrims before he could accept any conditions.

{176}

But while the Doge tried to obtain this consent, some of the
discontented and disloyal members were busy talking to the envoys.
"Why should you surrender your city?  The pilgrims will not attack
you--have no fear of them.  If you can defend yourselves against the
Venetians, you will be safe enough."  One of them even went upon the
walls of the city and made a similar declaration to the citizens.

Consequently the envoys returned to those who sent them, and the
negotiations were broken off.

Meantime the Doge and the barons had promptly decided to accept the
conditions offered, and were returning to make this known in public,
when the Abbot de Vaux confronted the council with--"Lords, I forbid
you on the part of the Pope of Rome to attack this city; for those
within it are Christians and you are pilgrims," and then informed the
Doge that the envoys had departed.

Great was the wrath of Dandolo, as he declared to the counts and
barons, "Signors, I had this city, by their own agreement, at my mercy,
and your people have broken that agreement; you have covenanted to help
me to conquer it, and I summon you to do so."

"Now are we ashamed if we do not help to take the city," was the
verdict of the Crusaders when the matter had been discussed, and they
came to the Doge and said:

"Sire, we will help you to take the city in despite of those who would
let and hinder us."

It was a sorry business altogether, that siege of Zara, and though we
may sympathise with their reluctance to attack their fellow-Christians
with the arms destined for the fall of Islam, we must remember the
solemn undertaking given to the Doge in payment of a just debt.  {177}
Fortunately the siege lasted but five days, when the citizens, finding
their position hopeless, surrendered the city on condition that their
lives were spared.  With great generosity the Doge divided the town
into two parts, and handed one over to the French for winter quarters.
The Venetians settled on the other, for it was impossible to return
before Easter.

Scarcely had they been lodged there three days when "there began a
fray, exceeding fell and fierce, between the Venetians and the Franks
... and the fray was so fierce that there were but few streets in which
battle did not rage with swords and lances and cross-bows and darts;
and many people were killed and wounded."

Perhaps this incident served to convince the leaders of the difficulty
of inducing the quarrelsome soldiers of two nations to sit down
together in peace for any considerable period, and to induce them to
look with more favour upon their next visitors.  These were the envoys
of King Philip of Germany and the young Alexios, who came, bringing
this message to the Crusaders and the Doge:

"Lords," said King Philip, "I will send you the brother of my wife, and
I commit him into the hands of God--may He keep him from death--and
into your hands.  And because you have fared forth for God, and for
right, and for justice, therefore are you bound, in so far as you are
able, to restore to their own inheritance those who have been
unrighteously despoiled.  And my wife's brother will make with you the
best terms ever offered to any people, and give you the most puissant
help for the recovery of the land oversea."

This proposal was the occasion of much debate.  The Abbot de Vaux was
all for the dispersal of the host, or {178} an immediate advance upon
Palestine.  The other side pointed out that they would not be able to
do anything, disunited as they were, if they went to Palestine, and
that it was only "by way of Babylon or of Greece, that the land oversea
could actually be recovered."

"If we reject this covenant," they urged, "we shall be shamed to all
time."

So the treaty with Alexios was accepted, even by the Marquis of
Montferrat, who had at first held aloof in deference to the wishes of
the Pope.  Innocent himself did all in his power to break down their
resolve, hurling the bolt of excommunication upon the Venetians, and
warning the Crusaders that the Empire of Constantinople was under his
special protection.  But Dandolo remained unmoved, and the Crusading
chiefs, influenced by the desire for the rich booty of Constantinople,
were all on his side save Simon de Montfort, who betook himself, with
his men, and several of his colleagues, forthwith to the Court of
Hungary.  It was pointed out to the Pope that the fall of
Constantinople would bring back the Eastern Church within the fold of
the Western Church, and the threats of Innocent grew fainter and
fainter as preparation for the attack went on apace, and the young
prince Alexios himself joined the host at Zara.

So, on the Eve of Pentecost, 1203, "there were all the ships assembled,
and all the transports, and all the galleys of the host, and many other
ships of merchants that fared with them.  And the day was fine and
clear, and the wind soft and favourable, and they unfurled all their
sails to the breeze.

"And Geoffrey, the Marshal of Champagne, who dictates this work, _and
has never lied therein by one word to his knowledge_, and who was,
moreover, present at all {179} the councils held--he bears witness that
never was yet seen so fair a sight.  Well might it appear that such a
fleet would conquer and gain lands, for, far as the eye could reach,
there was no space without sails, and ships, and vessels, so that the
hearts of men rejoiced greatly."

At the Straits of Malea they met two ships full of the pilgrims who had
deserted them at Venice and taken their own way; "Who, when they saw
our fleet so rich and well-appointed, conceived such shame that they
dared not show themselves."

From one of these a sergeant suddenly let himself down into a boat,
saying to those on deck, "I am quits to you for any goods of mine that
may remain in the ship, for I am going with these people, for well I
deem they will conquer lands."

"Much did we make of the sergeant," comments Geoffrey, quaintly, "and
gladly was he received into the host.  For well may it be said, that
even after following a thousand crooked ways a man may find his way
right in the end."

And so at length they came to the port of St Stephen, from whence they
had a good view of Constantinople.  "Upon which they looked very
earnestly, for they never thought there could be in the world so rich a
city; and they marked the high walls and strong towers that enclosed it
round about, and the rich palaces and mighty churches--of which there
were so many that no one would have believed it who had not seen it
with his eyes--and the height and length of that city which above all
others was sovereign.

"And be it known to you that no man there was of such hardihood, but
his flesh trembled; and it was no wonder, {180} for never was so great
an enterprise undertaken by any people since the Creation of the World!

"Next day they took port before the magnificent royal palace that faced
the city, just across the straits, and finding plenty of corn, for it
was harvest time, the leaders took possession of the palace, and all
were well content."

It was not long before the usurping Emperor Alexios realised his peril,
and sent to them envoys bearing fair messages.

"Lords," said they, "the Emperor Alexios would have you know that he is
well aware that you are the best people uncrowned, and come from the
best land on earth.  And he marvels much why, and for what purpose, you
have come into his land and kingdom.  For you are Christians, and he is
a Christian, and well he knows that you are on your way to deliver the
Holy Land oversea and the Holy Cross and the Sepulchre.

"If you are poor and in want, he will right willingly give you of his
food and substance, provided you depart out of his land.  Neither would
he otherwise wish to do you any hurt, though he has full power therein,
seeing that if you were twenty times as numerous as you are, you would
not be able to get away without utter discomfiture if so be that he
wished to harm you."

"Then arose that good knight, Conon of Bethune, and said, 'Fair sirs,
you have told us that your lord marvels much why we should have entered
into his kingdom and land.  Into his land they have not entered, for he
holds this land wrongfully and wickedly, against God and against
reason.  It belongs to his nephew, who sits upon a throne among us, and
is the son of his brother, the Emperor Isaac.  But, if he is willing to
throw himself {181} upon the mercy of his nephew and to give him back
his crown and empire, then will we pray his nephew to forgive him, and
bestow upon him as much as will enable him to live in wealth.  And if
you come not as the bearer of such a message, then be not so bold as to
come here again.'"

Next morning the Crusaders determined to show the young Alexios to the
people of the city; so the Doge of Venice and the Marquis of Montferrat
entered into one galley, taking the prince with them, and the knights
and barons crowded into as many other boats as they could get.  They
came close to the city walls and showed the youth to the Greeks,
saying, "Behold your natural lord!  And be it known to you that I have
not come to do you harm, but have come to guard and defend you, if so
be that you return to your duty.  Now behold the rightful heir.  If you
hold with him you will be doing as you ought, and if not, we will do to
you the very worst that we can."

But the citizens were far too much in awe of the Emperor Alexios to
show a sign of sympathy, and so they returned to the host.

Then a terrible siege began, and for ten days both sides fought with
might and main.  One of the most interesting incidents is thus related
by the eye-witness Geoffrey.

"Now may you hear of a strange deed of prowess; for the Doge of Venice,
who was an old man and saw naught (seeing he was blind) stood, fully
armed, on the prow of his galley, and had the standard of St Mark
before him; and he cried to his people to put him on land, or else that
he would do justice upon their bodies with his hands.

"And so they did, for the galley was run aground, {182} and they leapt
therefrom, and bore the standard of St Mark before him on the land.

"And when the Venetians saw the standard of St Mark on land, and the
galley of their lord touching ground before them, each held himself for
shamed, and they all got to the land, and those in the transports leapt
forth and landed; and those in the big ships got into barges, and made
for the shore, each and all as best they could.

"Then might you have seen an assault, great and marvellous and to this
bears witness Geoffrey de Villehardouin, who makes this book, that more
than forty people told him for sooth that they saw the standard of St
Mark of Venice at the top of one of the towers, and that no man knew
who bore it thither.

"Now hear of a strange miracle.  Those that are within the city fly and
abandon the walls, and the Venetians enter in, each as fast and as best
he can, and seize twenty-five of the towers, and man them with their
own people."

That same night, after a disgraceful retreat from a conflict before the
gates, the Emperor Alexios "took of his treasure as much as he could
carry, and of his people as many as would go," and fled from the city.

The rest of the citizens drew the poor blind Isaac from his dungeon,
clothed him in the imperial robes, and seating him on a high throne,
did obeisance to him; after which they hastened to tell the prince
Alexios and the barons of what had happened.

Great was the joy throughout the host.  "Him whom God will help can no
men injure," was said of young Alexios, yet with the distrust which the
Greeks always inspired, the leaders hastened to send envoys to enquire
{183} whether Isaac meant to ratify the covenant made by the prince,
his son.  With much reluctance, this was done, though the words with
which the request was received might well be thought to ring false.

"Certes," said the Emperor, "this covenant is very onerous, and I do
not see how effect can be given to it, nevertheless, you have done us
such service, both to my son and to myself, that if we bestowed upon
you the whole empire, you would have deserved it well."

There was now nothing else to wait for save the coronation of the new
Emperor, and when once that was over, had their hearts been really set
upon the cause of God, they would resolutely have turned their faces to
the Holy Land.  But they had already too lightly forsaken their high
enterprise, and readily turned away again from its fulfilment.




{184}

CHAPTER XV

  The Story of the Latin Empire
  of Constantinople


  _Greece, change thy lords, thy state is still the same,
  Thy glorious day is o'er, but not thy years of shame._
                                          BYRON: _Childe Harold._


Although the usurper had fled, the position of the Emperor Isaac, and
that of his son Alexios, the virtual ruler, was by no means serene.
Money had to be raised in order to pay the sum promised to the
Crusaders, and the taxes levied in consequence did not endear them to
the Turks.  They had good reason to distrust the loyalty of their
subjects, and to dread what might happen if the Crusaders withdrew from
the neighbourhood of the city.

So the young prince Alexios, betook himself to the camp and in his
father's name used his utmost powers of persuasion to induce the
chieftains to remain.

"You have restored to me life, honour and empire," said he "I ought to
desire but one thing more, the power to fulfil my promises.  But if you
abandon me now and proceed to Syria, it is impossible that I should
furnish you with either the money, troops or vessels that I have
promised.  The people of Constantinople have received me with many
demonstrations of joy, but they love me {185} not the more for that.  I
am hated by them because you have restored to me my heritage.  If you
forsake me, my life or throne would probably fall a sacrifice to my
enemies.  I implore you, therefore, to defer your departure until the
March of next year, and I will promise in return not only to provide
your army with all necessary supplies till Easter, but also to engage
the Venetians to support you with their fleet till Michaelmas."

The usual division of opinion followed, but the supporters of the
Emperor had their way, and the latter showed his gratitude by paying
large sums of money to his allies, money that had to be raised by heavy
taxes or by selling the treasures stored in the churches.  This measure
did more than anything else to inflame the Greeks against the
Crusaders, for it lent colour to a report that had got about, to the
effect that the ancient religion of the Greek Catholics was about to be
altered in many ways, and brought into line with that of the Church of
Rome.

It was while the young Alexios was absent on a kind of triumphal march
through his father's dominions that the suppressed fury of the citizens
was kindled into a blaze by the rude behaviour of a handful of the
Crusaders.

There was a mosque at Constantinople, which had been built at the
request of Saladin for the use of the followers of Islam.  From this
the worshippers were one day emerging when a band of half intoxicated
Flemings and Venetians endeavoured to insult them by forcing an entry.
The Mohammedans protected their building with all their energy, and
their opponents promptly set it on fire.  The fire spread to the
neighbouring buildings, and the quarrel, at first a mere street-fight,
grew fast and furious.

{186}

"No man could put out or abate that fire," says Geoffrey, "it waxed so
great and horrible.  And when the barons of the host, who were
quartered on the other side of the fort, saw this, they were sore
grieved and filled with pity--seeing the great churches and the rich
palaces melting and falling in, and the great streets filled with
merchandise burning in the flames; but they could do nothing."

For two days and two nights the fire lasted, and so strong was the
feeling of the city that all Latin settlers there fled with their goods
and took refuge in the Crusaders' camp.  Again and again the fire broke
out, until from east to west its track could be marked out by one
unbroken line of destruction and desolation.  From the height where
their camp was pitched, the Crusaders could but watch the terrible
scene with dismay, knowing, as they did, that their men had been its
cause.

The return of Alexios did not mend matters.  A silence as of death
reigned in the blackened streets; looks of hatred met him wherever the
people were to be accosted.  Moreover, the fact that he had by no means
fulfilled his promises of payment to the host led to deep distrust of
him in that quarter.  Envoys were sent to demand that the Emperor
should keep his pledged word, and their speech to him ended with these
significant words.

"'Should you do so, it shall be well.  If not, be it known to you that
from this day forth, they will not hold you as lord or friend, but will
endeavour to obtain their due by all the means in their power.  And of
this they now give you warning, seeing that they would not injure you,
nor any one, without first defiance given; for never have they acted
treacherously, nor in their land is it customary to do so.'"

{187}

There was but one answer to this defiance, seeing that the Emperor
could not pay even if he would.  He knew too well that he and his son
had forfeited even the natural respect due to their position; Isaac,
because he was a mere figure-head completely in the hands of Alexios,
the real Emperor in all but name; and the latter because of the want of
dignity he had shown even in his most friendly days, when on visiting
the camp, he had permitted the rough Venetian sailors to snatch off his
jewelled circlet and to force upon his head one of the dirty linen caps
worn by themselves.

Just at this time, too, the young prince was very much under the
influence of a certain "Mourzoufle," or "He of the black eyebrows," as
the nickname implies.  This man, having laid his own plans in secret,
strongly advised Alexios to defy the Crusaders; and so the war began
with an unexpected piece of trickery on the part of the Greeks.

"They took seven large ships and filled them full of big logs, and
shavings and tow and resin and barrels, and then waited until such time
as the wind should blow strongly from their side of the straits.  And,
one night, at midnight, they set fire to the ships, and unfurled their
sails to the wind.  And the flames blazed up high, so that it seemed as
if the whole world were afire.  Thus did the burning ships come towards
the fleet of the pilgrims and a great cry arose in the host, and all
sprang to arms on every side.  It seemed as though every ship in the
harbour would fall a victim to this device, but the Venetians did good
service on that day, turning the burning boats out of the harbour with
such skill that only one ship was utterly destroyed."

From the walls of Constantinople the Greeks had {188} watched what they
hoped would be a heavy blow to the Crusaders, who, bereft of their
fleet, would not be able to get away either by land or sea.  Great was
their dismay when they perceived that the main effect was to rouse the
pilgrims to take a desperate revenge upon them for their dastardly
deeds.

Now came forward the crafty Mourzoufle, and, whilst pretending to act
as go-between for Isaac and the French barons, secretly stirred up a
revolution in the city against the Emperor.

Just as he had succeeded in convincing Alexios that it was unsafe for
him to have anything to do with the Crusaders, a tumult broke out in
the city.  Crowding into the great church of St Sophia, a reckless mob
pronounced that Isaac and Alexios were deposed, and elected an unknown
and feeble-minded youth, named Canabus, in their place.

When Alexios heard of this, he shut himself up within the royal palace
and sent messengers to Boniface, Marquis of Montferrat imploring his
help.  But while the Marquis was generously hastening to protect him,
Mourzoufle was before him, and was whispering in the ear of the young
man that the appearance of Boniface meant that the Latins had seized
Constantinople for their own.  His allies were busy spreading a report
of the assault of the city by the Crusaders, and when Montferrat
thundered at the gates of the palace, he was not only refused
admittance but found himself in a position of the greatest danger from
the fury of the people who thronged the streets.

While he was fighting his way through these, the terrified Alexios had
put himself into the hands of Mourzoufle, who promised to lead him to a
place of {189} safety.  This turned out to be a dungeon, from which the
unfortunate young prince was never again to emerge alive.

Regardless of the election of poor wretched Canabus, Mourzoufle now
appealed to the people to state their will, saying that until they made
this known he was holding captive an Emperor whose plans were not to be
trusted.  A great shout from the fickle Greeks proclaimed "He of the
Black Brows," as their new choice, and he was forthwith carried to St
Sophia and crowned as Emperor.

"When the Emperor Isaac heard that his son was taken and Mourzoufle
crowned, great fear came upon him, and he fell into a sickness that
lasted no long time.  So he died.  And the Emperor Mourzoufle caused
the son, whom he had in prison to be poisoned two or three times; but
it did not please God that he should thus die.  Afterwards the Emperor
went and strangled him, and when he had strangled him, he caused it to
be reported everywhere that he had died a natural death, and had him
mourned for and buried honourably as an Emperor, and made great show of
grief."

"But," as Geoffrey further remarks, "murder cannot be hid, and this
deed of the Black-Browed only hastened on the attack which the
Crusaders were about to make upon the city."

The aim of this second siege of Constantinople was not merely to punish
the murder of the Emperor.  The Crusaders had resolved that, from
henceforth, no Greek, but a Latin sovereign should rule the Eastern
Empire, to be elected by an equal number of French and Venetians acting
as a committee.

One of the most interesting incidents of the siege is told us by
another chronicler, Robert of Clari.  He tells {190} us that a small
troop of besiegers had come to a postern door in the city walls which
had been newly bricked up.  Amongst them was a clerk named Aleaume of
Clari, who had done more deeds of prowess than any man in the host,
"save only the Lord Peter of Bracuel."

"So when they came to the postern they began to hew and pick at it very
hardily; but the bolts flew at them so thick, and so many stones were
hurled at them from the wall, that it seemed as if they would be buried
beneath the stones.  And those who were below held up targets and
shields to cover them that were picking and hewing underneath; and
those above threw down pots of boiling pitch and fire and large rocks,
so that it was one of God's miracles that the assailants were not
utterly confounded; for my Lord Peter and his men suffered more than
enough of blows and grievous danger.  However, so did they hack at the
postern that they made a great hole therein, whereupon they all swarmed
to the opening, but saw so many people above and below, that it seemed
as if half the world were there, and they dared not be so bold as to
enter.

"Now when Aleaume, the clerk, saw that no man dared to go in; he sprang
forward and said that go in he would.  And there was present a knight,
a brother to the clerk (his name was Robert), who forbade him and said
he should not go in.  And the clerk said he would, and scrambled in on
his hands and feet.  And when the knight saw this he took hold of him
by the foot and began to drag him back.  But in spite of this, the
clerk went in.  And when he was within, many of the Greeks ran upon him
and those on the wall cast big stones on him; and the clerk drew his
knife and ran at them; and he drove them before him as though they had
been cattle, and cried to {191} those outside, to the Lord Peter and
his folk, 'Sire, come in boldly, I see that they are falling back
discomfited and flying.'  When my Lord Peter heard this they entered
in, and there was with him about ten knights and some sixty foot
soldiers, and when those on the wall saw them they fled helter-skelter.

"Now the Emperor Mourzoufle, the traitor, was near by, and he caused
the silver horns to be sounded, and the cymbals, and a great noise to
be made.  And when he saw my Lord Peter and his men, all on foot, he
made a great show of falling upon them, and spurring forward, came
about half-way to where they stood.  But my Lord Peter, when he saw him
coming, began to encourage his people and to say, 'Now, Lord God, grant
that we may do well, and the battle shall be ours.  Let no one dare to
think of retreat, but each bethink himself to do well.'  Then
Mourzoufle, seeing that they would in no wise give way, stayed where he
was and then turned back to his tents."

One likes to dwell upon such brave tales as this, that one may the
longer defer the miserable sequel of this success.

The city was taken on the Monday of the Holy Week of 1204, when
Mourzoufle had shut himself within his palace as a preliminary to
flight at the first opportunity.

On the Tuesday, when he had fled from the Golden Gate, the Crusaders
occupied the whole city "for they found none to oppose them."  The
bishops and clergy who were with the host had strictly charged the
soldiers to respect the churches of the city, as well as the monks and
nuns of the religious houses, but they had spoken in vain.

The taking of the city was disgraced by the most terrible scenes of
violence, cruelty, and sacrilege.  The {192} beautiful church of St
Sophia was defiled by drunken wretches, who drained the sacred vessels
from the altar, and sang low songs where only the stately psalms and
hymns of the Eastern Church had been heard.  Not one sacred building
was spared, but rifled of its treasures; its costly lace and beautiful
carving was left bare and desolate, too often stained with the blood of
the slain.  No wonder that the Greeks regarded with utter horror the
behaviour of their fellow Christians, who had once been so eager to
urge the union of the Churches of East and West.  Well might the pope
exclaim, when he heard of the horrible excesses, "How shall the Greek
Church return to unity and to respect for the Bishop of Rome, when they
have seen in the Latins only examples of wickedness and works of
darkness, for which they might justly loathe them, worse than dogs?"

Nor were the churches the only objects of the spoilers.  Some of the
beautiful statues, the work of Greek sculptors in the best days of the
art of Greece, were smashed to atoms by the rough soldiers; others, of
bronze, were ruthlessly melted down into money.

Many of the inhabitants of the city fled, amongst whom was the
Patriarch, or Archbishop, who had scarcely time to clothe himself, and
was without food or money.  The misery and humiliation of the proud
city of Constantine were completed when Baldwin, Count of Flanders, a
brave young baron, but utterly out of sympathy with Greek ideas, was
crowned Emperor.

The story of the Latin empire of Constantinople scarcely belongs to
that of the Crusades.  It lasted for fifty-seven years (1204-1261), and
was marked by the constant unrest and revolution of one part of the
empire or another.  Thus it never became firmly settled, for the {193}
Latin Emperor had no real power in the land.  A short time after his
election, most of the Crusaders returned to their own homes.  Two years
after the taking of the city, both Boniface of Montferrat, leader of
the expedition, and the brave old Dandolo, Doge of Venice, died.  The
latter may perhaps be blamed as being the means of turning aside the
Crusaders from their original undertaking, the relief of the Holy Land;
but the real blame lies with those who broke their promise to share in
the expenses of the expedition and thus forced the host to do as
Dandolo required of them.

What then had become of those faithless remnants of the Fifth Crusade?
Their story is soon told.

One small army reached Palestine and strove to join Bohemond of
Antioch, a descendant of the famous Crusader.  Falling into an ambush
of the Saracens, the whole of the force was massacred or taken
prisoner, with the exception of a single knight.  Another section of
the Crusaders actually reached Antioch and became absorbed in the
quarrels between Bohemond and the Christian prince of Armenia.  Not a
blow was struck for the deliverance of Jerusalem, and nothing was
gained by the Crusade as far as the Holy War was concerned.

On the other hand, the Fifth Crusade has an importance all its own; for
the capture of Constantinople opened a door to the East that had been
closed too long.  Not only did it sow the seeds of that commercial
prosperity which made Venice "hold the gorgeous East in fee, and be the
safeguard of the West," but it enabled Western Europe to catch a
glimpse of that wealth of art and literature which were stored within
the city walls, and which were not to be spread broadcast over the land
until the days of her fall into the hands of Islam.




{194}

CHAPTER XVI

The Children's Crusade


  _The child spake nobly: strange to hear
  His infantine soft accents clear
  Charged with high meanings, did appear._
                        E. B. BROWNING: _A Vision of Poets._


During the ten years that followed the taking of Constantinople, Pope
Innocent tried to stir up another Crusade, which he hoped should
actually fulfil its high ideals.

But the old enthusiasm for the Holy War had died down.  The chief
kingdoms of Europe were too busy quarrelling with one another to have
leisure to think of the distant lands of the East.  John of England was
getting into trouble both with his own people and with the Pope
himself; Philip Augustus of France was building up his kingdom into a
great and united nation; Otho of Germany and Frederick II., grandson of
Barbarossa, the Crusader, were in fierce conflict with regard to
Germany.

While Europe was thus absorbed in more or less selfish aims and ideals,
a bitter cry for help was heard from the East.  A terrible famine,
followed by pestilence, both caused by the failure of the Nile to
overflow its banks and fertilize the soil, had reduced the people of
Palestine and Egypt to a state of absolute misery.  Mothers were {195}
said actually to have killed and eaten their own babes in their
extremity of hunger, and hundreds of people simply lay down and died by
the roadside.

The extreme limit of misery and human desolation was reached when to
famine and pestilence was added an earthquake which destroyed whole
cities.  Heavy, indeed, seemed the hand of God upon His land, and there
were not wanting many who said that He was punishing it for past sins
and present negligence, since Jerusalem was still in the hands of the
infidel.

Suddenly, while Pope Innocent was vainly trying to rouse Europe to
undertake a Sixth Crusade, an astonishing movement began to be seen
amongst the children of the different lands.  Throughout France and
Germany boy leaders drilled their little regiments, fastened on the
Cross, and prepared seriously to go forth to the Holy War.  At first
they met with opposition, and ridicule; but such was the earnest zeal
of these little people that even the most hardened onlooker ceased to
jeer or hinder.  Mothers, with aching hearts, saw their little ones
march forth, and put out no hand to prevent them, and as the procession
passed along the high roads, the children swarmed out from cottage and
castle to join the ranks.

From Germany a band of seven thousand children set out for the port of
Genoa, from whence they hoped to embark for the Holy Land.  They were
led by a boy named Nicholas, who swayed them by the most extraordinary
power, and was almost worshipped by his little host.

But to get to Genoa, they had to cross the Alps, and there cold and
hunger left thousands of the poor mites dead upon the mountain side.
The remnant, a sad and sorry spectacle, ragged, starving and dirty,
made its {196} way at length into Genoa.  There they hoped to find
friends and help to cross the sea; but the citizens of the port looked
with scant favour upon the little Crusaders, and the Senate ordered
that they should forthwith depart from the city.  Some wealthy
inhabitants, kinder of heart than the rest, adopted a few of the fairer
and more attractive children; a few more struggled on to Rome to lay
their cause at the feet of the Pope.  The rest, heart-sick and weary,
tried to struggle back to their homes.  Enthusiasm was long since dead,
they were laughed at, as failures, and saddest of all, when they were
asked why they had left their homes, they now made weary answer that
"they could not tell."

Few indeed, ever saw their native land again.

Another band of German boys and girls succeeded in reaching the port of
Brindisi, where they were actually put on board ships bound for the
East.  What was their fate remains a mystery; they were never heard of
more.

The largest band of all started from Vendôme in France, under the
leadership of a nameless shepherd-boy, who wore a little sheepskin coat
and carried a banner upon which was worked a lamb.

[Illustration: _The Children crossing the Alps_]

He seemed to possess a magic power over his playmates, for at the sound
of his clear, high young voice, hundreds and thousands of children
flocked to his banner and received the cross from his hands.  Not even
grown persons, not even the most obstinate parent could stand against
his persuasions and entreaties.  Full of devotion, full of zeal, the
children marched upon the long road to Marseilles, singing psalms and
hymns, and crying constantly aloud--

"O Lord Christ!  Restore to us thy Cross!"

"You know not what is before you," said the wise {199} greybeards of
the villages through which they passed.  "What do you mean to do?"

"To get to the Holy Land," was the invariable and undaunted answer.

Weary and hungry, with their ranks much thinned by fatigue and the
hardships of the way, the Child Crusade entered Marseilles with gallant
hearts.  For they fully expected that they would find the sea cleft
asunder by a miracle, and a pathway prepared for them to the other
side.  When they found they were mistaken, some turned their faces
homeward; but most stayed to see if by any means they could get boats
to take them to the Holy Land.  To them came presently two merchants,
Hugh Ferrens, and William Beco, or Porcus, who had already discovered
how to make a fortune by selling European children as slaves to the
Saracens.  Approaching the eager little ones with kindly words, they
offered to lend them seven ships wherein they might be taken across the
sea to their destination.

Joyfully the children agreed and set forth with songs and merry cries,
cheered by a vast multitude who watched them from the shore.  Of that
bright-faced band not one ever reached the Holy Land or returned to
Europe to tell the tale.  At the end of two days, two of the ships were
wrecked in a terrible storm and all on board perished.

The rest escaped this peril, and sailed on to Alexandria and other
ports, where the poor little passengers were landed and sold as slaves
to the Saracens.  Twelve of these are said to have won the martyr's
crown, because they preferred to die rather than renounce their faith,
a few reached the Christian city of Ptolemais after a time, and told
their sad story to the enraged inhabitants, the {200} rest were
condemned to a life of slavery among the sons of Islam.

Theirs is a sad story, yet we may find in it the awakening of that
spirit of devotion which seemed to have died out in Europe.

Pope Innocent, when he heard of this Crusade, might well say, "These
children are a reproach to us for slumbering while they fly to the
succour of the Holy Land."

From that time preparations for the Sixth Crusade began in good earnest.




{201}

CHAPTER XVII

  The Story of the Emperor Frederick
  and the Sixth Crusade


  _Pride in their port, defiance in their eye,
  I see the lords of human kind pass by._
                                GOLDSMITH: _The Traveller._


The story of the Sixth Crusade may be told in two parts, one dealing
with failure, the other with success.  It was the tardy fruit of Pope
Innocent's urgent appeal for another Holy War, a war which he himself
would have led, had not death cut short his career.

Curiously enough, the actual leader of the first part of the Sixth
Crusade was the king of a country whose people had done their utmost to
hinder and prevent the First Crusaders on their march to the Holy Land.
Andrew, King of Hungary, sailed in 1216 with a large army to Asia; and
with him were the Dukes of Austria and Bavaria.  At Acre they were
joined by other bands of Crusaders, so that in the next year four
kings, of Hungary, Armenia, Cyprus, and John of Brienne, "King of
Jerusalem," in name alone, were met together within the city walls.

But these later Crusaders, for the most part, were made of sorry stuff.
If Andrew had been a second Geoffrey {202} of Bouillon, he might well
have restored the kingdom of Jerusalem.  He was, however, half-hearted
in the work, and would perhaps never have undertaken it had not his
dying father laid upon him a solemn obligation to fulfil his own vow.
Famine, too, proved a worse enemy than the Saracens, and the latter,
knowing this too well, did not attempt to bring about an engagement.

So the Crusaders at first contented themselves with an advance to the
river Jordan, in the waters of which they bathed, and then made a
peaceful expedition across the plains of Jericho and by the shores of
the Sea of Galilee.

Then the soldiers began to get restive, and to ask for what reason they
had come so far from their western homes; so it was suddenly decided to
attack the Saracen castle on Mount Tabor.

The story of this attempt only serves to emphasise the weakness and
inefficiency of the leaders.  The castle was guarded by rocky passes
and steep heights, which the Saracens defended with their usual skill
and courage.  But the Crusaders had actually succeeded in driving them
from their posts and in forcing their way to the very gates, when
panic, inexplicable but complete, seized hold upon them.  They
retreated in confusion and shame, undeterred by the reproaches of the
Patriarch of Jerusalem, who had accompanied the expedition, bearing
with him a fragment of the true Cross.  Realising, perhaps, that he was
not destined to be a hero, Andrew of Hungary returned home, and his
example was followed by many of his fellow-pilgrims.

The hopes of John of Brienne, however, were not quite dashed to the
ground, for fresh troops of Crusaders from France, Italy and Germany,
arrived at Acre during the {203} spring of 1218, and to these was soon
added a little English army under William Longsword, Earl of Salisbury.

The combined forces now determined to strike at the Sultan first
through Egypt, and urged thereto by John of Brienne, sailed up the Nile
to attack Damietta, one of the strong fortresses which guarded that
land.  The city seemed impregnable, for it was not only surrounded by
three thick walls, but was also protected by a double wall on the side
facing the Nile, and by a tower built in the middle of the river, from
which was stretched to the ramparts an enormously strong iron chain.

The story of this siege is intermingled with strange legends.  A high
wooden tower had been built upon two of the Crusaders' ships, from
which they hoped to attack the river fortress, but this was quickly set
on fire by the Saracens, while the banner of the Holy Cross was seen to
drift helplessly down the stream.  The terrified onlookers from the
banks flung themselves on their knees and implored the help of God at
this crisis; upon which it is said that the flames died down, while
before the astonished eyes of the Crusaders the banner was seen to wave
from the top of the tower in the river.

Much encouraged, they made a fresh attack with such vigour that the
enemy threw down their arms and the tower was won.

The legend says that when the chief prisoners were brought into the
Christian camp, they asked to be shown the troop of white clothed men
bearing shining white swords, the brilliance of whose appearance they
declared to have so dazzled their eyes that they could not see to fight
longer; and so, says the chronicler of these things, "the Crusaders
knew that the Lord Christ had sent His Angels to attack that tower."

{204}

While the siege of Damietta itself was still in progress, news arrived
of the death of Saphadim, the Sultan, and of the accession of his two
sons.  The "Sword of Religion," as his Moslem followers called
Saphadim, had been a wise as well as a valiant ruler; his successors
were weak and incapable.  Aghast at the thought of losing their famous
seaport, and alarmed at the arrival of many new pilgrims, some hailing
from France, others from England, the two young men at length sent
messengers with an offer wrung from them, they said, "because the power
of God was against them."

They promised, in fact, to give up Jerusalem and the whole of Palestine
to the Crusaders if the latter would agree to depart at once from Egypt.

Considering that the freeing of the Holy Land from infidel rule was the
only true aim of the Crusaders, we can only be amazed at finding that
the offer was rejected.

John of Brienne, "the King of Jerusalem," was eager enough to accept
it; so too were the Knights Templars and Hospitallers mindful of their
vows.  But there was present in the camp a certain Cardinal Pelagius,
the papal legate, who claimed, as representative of the Pope, to have
the final decision in the matter; and he, fearing probably that the
supreme power would fall into the hands of John of Brienne, supported
by the French Crusaders and afterwards by the Knights of the Temple and
Hospital, carried the day against the Sultan, and caused the siege of
Damietta to be resumed.

Plague had already done its work within the walls, and there remained
little for the Crusaders to do.  Damietta was theirs, and a sorry
triumph it proved.

[Illustration: _John of Brienne attacking the River Tower_]

In spite of the frank opposition of John of Brienne, {207} Pelagius now
determined to lead the host to the further conquest of Egypt, and a
march on Cairo began.  Once more the terrified Sultan offered them the
same terms, and once more, being, as Philip of France contemptuously
said, "so daft as to prefer a town to a kingdom," they refused to give
up Damietta, and pursued their way.

Too late repentance came; for the Nile rose with its usual rapidity,
the sluices were opened by the Egyptians, the camp was surrounded by
water, and baggage and tents were washed away.  The unfortunate
Crusaders, caught in a trap, were at the mercy of their foes, and were
thankful when the Sultan, in pity, offered to let them go free if they
would surrender Damietta.  They could but agree, since they knew that
it required all the little authority that the young Sultan had at his
command to prevent his chieftains condemning the whole host to
destruction.  As it was, the latter were perishing of famine, and tears
flowed down the cheeks of John of Brienne, when led as hostage to the
Sultan's tent, as he remembered their distress.  With that generosity
which marks the whole family of Saladin, the Sultan, when he discovered
the cause of his grief, at once sent the starving multitude a large
store of food.

Thus in darkness and disgrace ended the first part of the Sixth
Crusade, which so far had gained nothing but an ill reputation for the
Crusaders who had taken part in it.

The leader of the second part of the Sixth Crusade was made of very
different stuff from Andrew of Hungary or John of Brienne.  When
Frederick II., grandson of the great Barbarossa, had been summoned,
some eight years before this time, from the leafy groves of his kingdom
of Sicily, to be emperor in place of the rebellious Otho, he {208} had
taken the cross and promised to lead an army to the Holy Land at the
earliest opportunity.

But Otho did not take his deposition quietly, and during the next few
years Frederick had his hands too full in his own dominions to fulfil
his vow.  After Otho's death, two years later than that of the
ambitious and energetic Pope Innocent, the new Pope, Honorius, besought
the young Emperor to listen to the bitter cry for help which once more
came from across the sea.  At that time, however, Frederick was
completely absorbed in ambitious schemes for himself and his family.

The Pope's influence was strong, however, and it seemed clear that his
friendship was absolutely necessary to Frederick's schemes.  The
position of the Emperor had never been universally acknowledged in past
years, and it was now proposed that Honorius should publicly crown
Frederick at St Peter's at Rome.  This was done in all good faith and
fellowship.  "Never did Pope love Emperor as he loved his son
Frederick," said Honorius as he parted from him after the coronation,
with the promise ringing in his ears that the German army should be
ready to start on the Crusade during the following year.

But Frederick still delayed, for he saw little chance of winning the
glory he coveted under present conditions in the East.  He was not
going to send an army thither merely to put John of Brienne back on the
throne of Jerusalem.  Even the news of the loss of Damietta only served
to point the moral that without a huge army, for which time and money
were absolutely necessary, supreme success could not be achieved.

Then John of Brienne himself landed in Europe to ask in person for the
help that was so long in coming.  He {209} brought with him his
beautiful daughter, Yolande, and her presence inspired the Pope with
new hopes.  He now proposed that the Emperor Frederick should marry the
maiden and go forth to the Holy War as the heir of John of Brienne.
The marriage took place in 1225, more than eleven years after
Frederick's vow as a Crusader had first been taken.  Almost immediately
the Emperor showed his real motive in the marriage by declaring that as
John held his royal rights only through his wife, they passed on her
death to her daughter, through whom they were now held by her husband,
and the Emperor therefore at once proclaimed himself "King of
Jerusalem."

Not even then, after the unavailing opposition of John had died away,
did Frederick start upon the Crusade.  In his beautiful Sicilian
kingdom, surrounded by learned Jews, cultivated Saracens, Norman
troubadours and Italian poets, he had become too easy-going, too
tolerant of all forms of faith or of none, to have any real religious
motive to stimulate his actions.  He was, indeed, inclined to meet even
the Sultan of Egypt himself on terms of the friendliest equality.

But Honorius had been succeeded as Pope by the proud and domineering
Gregory IX., to whom this spirit of dallying was loathsome.  An
imperative letter summoning the Emperor to fulfil his broken vow seemed
at first to have some real effect, and in the August of 1227 a large
army assembled at Brindisi.  There the men were seized by fever, and
though Frederick actually set sail with the fleet, it was only to
return after three days to the harbour of Otranto, while the host
dispersed.  The Pope was furious, and, paying no heed to the Emperor's
plea of sickness, proceeded to excommunicate, "with bell, book and
candle," one whom he said had been nursed, tended, {210} and aided by
the Church, only to cheat her with false hopes and trickery.

A pretty quarrel now arose.  Frederick appealed to the sovereigns of
Europe, declaring that his illness had been real and that "the
Christian charity which should hold all things together is dried at its
very source."

Meantime he treated the ban of excommunication with contempt.

The Pope replied, in the ensuing Holy Week, by putting every place
where Frederick happened to visit under an interdict, and threatening
to absolve his subjects from their allegiance if this were disregarded.
The Emperor took no notice, but, as though to emphasise the injustice
with which he had been treated, pushed on his preparations for the
Crusade.  Setting out to Brindisi, he was met by papal envoys who
forbade him to leave Italy until he had done penance for his offences
against the Church.  His only answer was to send his own messengers to
Rome demanding that the interdict be removed, and meantime he set sail
for Acre.

All other Crusaders had gone forth with the blessing of the Pope and
the Church; this, the most recent of them all, came as an outcast, with
the ban of the Church upon him; and his position was bound to be
affected thereby.  The greater part of his army feared to serve under
him, and he landed with only six hundred knights, "more like a pirate
than a great king."

The military orders, the Knights of the Hospital and the Temple also
refused to acknowledge him, but the scattered pilgrims, eager for a
leader at any price, looked upon him with favour and rallied to his
standard.

But upon these broken reeds Frederick had little intention of leaning.
From the bigoted narrowness of {211} Templars and Hospitallers he
gladly turned to the polished and cultivated Sultan, Malek-Camhel, who
was quite prepared to renew friendly terms with one whom he held in
much respect.  For some time they dealt with trifles, comparing their
respective skill in verse-making and in music.  Then the Emperor sent
Camhel his sword and cuirass, and the latter responded by a present of
an elephant, some camels, and a quantity of the rich spices and stuffs
of the East.

Becoming aware, at length, that these signs of friendship were the
cause of mutterings of discontent in the camps both of Islam and of the
Crusaders, they at length agreed upon a truce of ten years on the
following conditions.  The towns of Joppa, Bethlehem and Nazareth were
to be given up to the Christians and the city of Jerusalem, with one
important exception.

This was the site of the Temple, where now stood the Mosque of Omar,
which was to be left to the Saracens.

So Frederick, with his knights, went up to the Holy City, about the
season of Mid-Lent, 1229, and entering the Church of the Holy
Sepulchre, took the crown from the High Altar and placed it upon his
own head; "but there was no prelate, nor priest, nor clerk, to sing or
speak."

He next visited the Mosque of Omar, and showed clearly how little he
was moved in all this by love for his own faith.  For when the
Saracens, respecting his supposed feelings, refrained from sounding the
muezzin, or bell that calls to prayer, Frederick stopped the order,
saying, "You are wrong to fail in your duty to your religion for my
sake.  God knows, if you were to come to my country, your feelings
would not be treated with such respect."

{212}

The terms of this treaty enraged both the Moslems against their Sultan
and the Church against the Emperor.

At his entrance into the city, the priests and people fled from the
presence of Frederick as though from a leper.  The very images of the
saints in the churches were draped in black; and the triumphant message
of Frederick to Gregory, claiming the gratitude of the Church for the
restoration of the Holy City, was received with chilling silence.

Then came the startling news that the Pope had put a large army under
the leadership of John of Brienne, now the Emperor's greatest enemy,
who was about to capture several of his Italian cities.

Hastening to Acre, and well aware of the hostility of those who
considered themselves defrauded of the chance of killing the Saracens,
Frederick called a great meeting of pilgrims in the plain outside the
city.  To them he spoke strongly against the mischief caused by the
clergy and the Templars in trying to stir up strife, and ordered all
the pilgrims, who had now fulfilled their vows, to sail at once for
Europe.

Frederick returned to his western lands in 1229, and though he lived
till 1250, he never again saw his kingdom of Jerusalem.  He had never
been a true Crusader at heart, and had not stayed long enough to
establish his eastern domain on any firm foundation; but he had,
nevertheless, accomplished within a few months what others had failed
to do in as many years, and that without any attempt at bloodshed.




{213}

CHAPTER XVIII

The Story of the Seventh Crusade


  _Now cluttering arms, now raging broils of war,
  Can pass the noise of dreadful trumpets' clang._
                    N. GRIMALD: _The Death of Zoroas_, 1550.


The ten years' truce made by Frederick II. with the Sultan Camhel was
by no means scrupulously kept by either side.

The smaller Moslem states did not hesitate to attack the Christian
towns whenever they saw an opportunity of so doing, and the Templars,
who had been from the first entirely against the terms of the truce,
continued to fight against the Sultan until, in a pitched battle, they
lost their Grand Master and nearly all their adherents.

This occurrence was seized upon in Europe as the opportunity to stir up
a Seventh Crusade.  A leader was soon found in the person of Theobald,
Count of Champagne and King of Navarre, a renowned "troubadour" and one
of the most skilful minstrels and accomplished knights of his day.

Theobald had begun his career as a rebel to the child-king, Louis IX.
of France, and aspired to become the leader of that large number of
discontented barons who hoped to obtain their independence of the royal
power.  But the heart of the rebel was touched by the womanly devotion
and courage of the young Queen-mother under {214} these trying
circumstances.  He became her true and loyal knight, and, in obedience
to her desire, assumed the Cross and prepared for a Crusade.  All his
wealth, all his influence was used for this purpose, and many of the
rebellious barons were prevailed upon to follow his example.

Just as Theobald and his company were prepared to start from the town
of Lyons, a message arrived from Pope Gregory, urging them to give up
their project and return to their homes that they might hold themselves
in readiness when he should call in their aid in affairs more pressing
than those of the Holy Land.  The chief of these was the defence of
Constantinople, now ruled by Baldwin, son of John of Brienne, who had
implored his aid against the attacks of Greeks and Bulgarians; another,
scarcely less important, was the violent quarrel between himself and
Frederick.

But the French Crusaders were little in sympathy with the ambitious
projects of Gregory.  They had taken up the Cross with a definite aim,
and remembering what had happened in the days of the Fifth Crusade,
they would not be deterred by side issues.

They left Europe torn with fierce political and religious conflicts
only to find Syria in the same condition.

The Saracen princes were waging war upon each other as well as upon the
Christians, and the unhappy people of both religions had to bear the
brunt.

Hearing that the Sultan had already seized Jerusalem, some of the
Crusaders determined to revenge themselves by an attack upon the
territory round Gaza.  In vain Theobald urged them to act together and
not to waste their strength; they pushed on until they came to a region
shut in by barren sand-hills, where they alighted {215} to rest.
Suddenly the silence of the desert was broken by the shrill notes of
war-music, and the shouts of the foe.  Beset on all sides, a few
managed to escape; the rest remained to sell their lives or freedom
dearly, and incidentally to weaken the forces of Theobald of Navarre by
their loss.

The blow was a crushing one, and Theobald seemed now to lose all heart.
A vain attempt was made to negotiate a treaty which both sides would
accept.  All was in confusion, and during the turmoil Theobald quietly
retired from the scene with his men, and went home, confessedly a
failure.

The position of the Sultan himself, however, was little less difficult.
He was beset by civil strife within his dominions, and when a more
dreaded adversary appeared upon the scene he was in no condition to
offer effective resistance.  The new-comer was Richard, Earl of
Cornwall, a namesake and nephew of Richard Lion-heart, whose name was
still a terror to the children of Islam.  The reputation of the English
Earl as a redoubtable man of war had preceded him, and the Sultan
showed great anxiety to come to terms.  He offered almost immediately
to surrender all prisoners and the Holy Land itself, and to this
Richard readily agreed.

For the third and last time the Latin kingdom of Jerusalem was
established, and for the next two years it remained in Christian hands.
Then, just as Pope Innocent IV. succeeded Gregory IX., came a terrible
rumour of a new and more dangerous foe than the Saracens.

"In the year 1240," says Matthew of Paris, "that human joys might not
long continue, an immense horde of that detestable race of Satan, the
Tartars, burst forth {216} from their mountain regions and making their
way through rocks almost impregnable, rushed forth like demons loosed
from hell; and over-running the country, covering the face of the earth
like locusts, they ravaged the eastern countries with lamentable
destruction, spreading fire and slaughter wherever they went."

Descending upon the region of the Caspian lake, they drove out the no
less savage shepherd people of that district, and these hurled
themselves upon Syria.

"Whatever stood against them was cut off by the sword or dragged into
captivity; the military orders were almost exterminated in a single
battle; and in the pillage of the city, in the profanation of the Holy
Sepulchre, the Latins confess and regret the modesty and discipline of
the Turks and Saracens."

Such is the gloomy picture painted by Gibbon of this terrible invasion.
Christians and Moslems for the first time fought side by side against
the foe they had in common, but they could do nothing.  The army left
to guard Jerusalem, as well as all the inhabitants, save the old and
sick, fled at sight of the savage hordes, who, nevertheless, by a cruel
trick obtained their fill of slaughter.

Entering the city they hoisted the Cross and the flags of the Crusaders
upon the walls of the Holy City, and rang the bells of the different
churches all at once.

The Christians heard, paused in their headlong flight, and seeing the
red cross flag streaming from the citadel, cried, "God has had mercy on
us and has driven away the barbarians."

Thousands of them at once returned, and directly they had entered their
homes, the foemen rushed upon them from secret hiding-places and killed
or threw into prison every person they found.

{217}

In a great pitched battle fought near Gaza the allied armies of the
Moslems and the Christians were almost entirely destroyed.  Amongst the
prisoners was the Prince of Joppa, who was forthwith led before the
walls of his own city, placed upon a cross, and threatened with instant
death if he would not command his people to surrender.  But this brave
man only cried to the men upon the walls, "It is your duty to defend
this Christian city, and mine to die for Christ," and so, rather than
surrender, he suffered death at the hands of a howling mob.

Nevertheless, Joppa was taken, and every other Christian city; and not
until the rulers of Egypt and Syria united with each other as well as
with the few Christians left, was there any hope of driving the
invaders from the land.  But even when this was at length accomplished
the Holy City remained in the hands of Islam, and all that the Seventh
Crusade had accomplished was entirely swept away.




{218}

CHAPTER XIX

  The Crusade of St Louis
  (The Eighth Crusade)


  _Some grey crusading knight austere
  Who bore St Louis company
  And came home hurt to death...._
              MATTHEW ARNOLD: _A Southern Night._


A hundred years earlier, the news of the destruction of Jerusalem would
have stricken all Europe with horror and roused her to action.  It was
not so now.  That earlier fervour of religion which had sent pilgrims
rejoicing to an almost certain death had died away, and had been
replaced by a more practical form of faith which found its outlet in a
zeal for converting the souls of men, and healing their bodies, rather
than in a thirst for the blood of infidels.

In the narrow dirty lanes of cities the inspired monk or eager friar
was still to be found; but the followers of St Francis of Assisi or St
Dominic were soldiers of the Cross in a more Christ-like, if a less
military, spirit than Peter the Hermit or Bernard of Clairvaux, and
stirred up the people rather to cleaner and healthier lives than to
take arms for the Holy War.

Amongst the sovereigns of Europe at this time, of whom Frederick II.
was a fair example, there yet remained one of the old type, one who was
filled with the purest zeal {219} for religion mingled with the desire
to win glory as became a true knight.

This was Louis IX. of France--the St Louis of the Eighth Crusade--who,
if he accomplished nothing towards establishing Christian rule in the
Holy Land, yet remains to us in history as an example of the very few
who took up the Cross and carried on the war, inspired only by holy and
unselfish motives.

"Louis and his fair queen appear, indeed, as brilliant stars, shining
through the blackness of a sky overcast with clouds; but they could not
dispel the darkness, or lend more than a transitory gleam of brightness
to illumine the gloomy prospects."[1]


[1] W. E. Dutton.


King Louis found a devoted hero-worshipper and chronicler in the Sire
de Joinville, a great French noble, who accompanied him upon the Eighth
Crusade, and whose story will often be told here in his own words.

Louis IX. came to the French throne at no easy time, for he was but a
boy of ten, and the powerful French barons were eager to win their
independence of the royal power.  But they found their match in the
Queen Regent, Blanche of Castile, who, for the first time, put her
dependence upon the people of her land, and trusted to them to defend
their young king against the rebellion of the nobles.  She also, as we
have seen, won over to her side Count Theobald of Champagne, by whose
help the rebels were soon forced to yield, and who, for love of her,
afterwards became one of the leaders in the Seventh Crusade.

The young Louis was brought up by her more as a monk than a king, and,
as he grew older, his own tastes turned entirely in the same direction.
"You are not a {220} king of France," cried a woman who was trying to
win his favour in an unjust cause, "you are a king only of priests and
monks.  It is a pity that you are king of France.  You ought to be
turned out."

"You speak truly," was the gentle answer, "it has pleased God to make
me king; it had been well had He chosen some one better able to govern
this kingdom rightly."

Yet he was one of France's wisest rulers, taking a personal interest in
the troubles of her people that was rare, indeed, in those days.

"Ofttimes it happened that he would go, after his mass, and seat
himself in the wood of Vincennes, and lean against an oak, and make us
sit round him.  And all those who had any cause in hand came and spoke
to him, without hindrance of usher or any other person.  Then would he
ask, out of his own mouth, 'Is there anyone who has a cause in hand?'
And those who had a cause stood up.  Then would he say, 'Keep silence
all and you shall be heard in turn, one after the other.'  And when he
saw that there was anything to amend in the words of those who spoke on
their own behalf, or on behalf of any other person, he would himself,
out of his own mouth, amend what he had said."

His love of justice is seen in his answer to the Pope, when Gregory,
after a second violent quarrel with the Emperor Frederick, had deposed
him and offered the crown to Louis' brother.  Gentle as was the King's
usual speech, he replies now, "Whence is this pride and daring of the
Pope, who thus disinherits a king who has no superior nor even an equal
among Christians--a king not convicted of the crimes laid to his
charge?  To us he has not only appeared innocent, but a good neighbour;
{221} we see no cause for suspicion either of his worldly loyalty or of
his Catholic faith.  This we know, that he has fought valiantly for our
Lord Christ both by sea and land.  So much religion we have not found
in the Pope, who endeavoured to confound and wickedly supplant him in
his absence, while he was engaged in the cause of God."

There can be no doubt that it was in his character as a Crusader that
Frederick mainly attracted Louis, for he had little else in common with
him.  For a long time the French King nursed in secret his desire to
follow his hero's example, since his mother would not hear of his
deserting his own kingdom.  But at length the clear call came.

"It happened, as God so willed, that a very grievous sickness came upon
the king in Paris, and brought him to such extremity that one of the
ladies who was tending him wished to draw the cloth over his face,
saying he was dead; but another lady, who was on the other side of the
bed, would not suffer it, saying that the soul was still in his body.
And as he listened to the debate between these two ladies, Our Lord
wrought within him and soon sent him health, for before that he had
been dumb and could not speak.

"And as soon as he could speak, he asked that they should give him the
Cross, and they did so.

"When the queen, his mother, heard that speech had come back to him,
she made as great joy thereof as ever she could.  But when she knew
that he had taken the Cross--as also he himself told her--she made as
great mourning as if she had seen him dead."

Not even his mother's grief could hinder this ardent soldier of the
Cross, whose chief wish now was to {222} persuade his nobles to follow
him.  At the Christmas of that year he presented each of his barons
with a new robe.  When these were put on, they were found to have the
red cross embroidered between the shoulders.  The wearers had "taken
the cross," and must accompany their king.

Two years were spent in preparing supplies, and at the end of the year
1248, King Louis, with the Queen, his wife, embarked and sailed to
Cyprus, where he remained until the spring of 1249.  On landing in
Egypt at the Point of Limesol, he met with a strange occurrence.

"The king," says Joinville, "landed on the day of Pentecost.  After we
had heard mass, a fierce and powerful wind, coming from the Egyptian
side, arose in such sort, that out of two thousand eight hundred
knights, whom the king was taking into Egypt, there remained no more
than seven hundred whom the wind had not separated from the king's
company, and carried away to Acre and other strange lands, nor did they
afterwards return to the king of a long while."

This sounds like a story from the "Arabian Nights," and one can
understand the King's haste to escape, with the remnant left him, from
the region of this mysterious wind of the desert.  So he sailed to
Damietta, "and we found there, arrayed on the seashore, all the power
of the Sultan--a host fair to look upon, for the Sultan's arms are of
gold, and when the sun struck upon them they were resplendent.  The
noise they made with their cymbals and horns was fearful to listen to."

[Illustration: _The Landing of St Louis in Egypt_]

Waiting only until he saw his ensign of St Denis safe on shore, "the
king went across his ship with large steps, and would not leave from
following the ensign, but leapt into the sea, which was up to his
arm-pits.  So he went, {225} with his shield hung to his neck, and his
helmet on his head, and his lance in his hand, till he came to his
people who were on the shore."

Seized with panic at the sight of the many brave ships and the landing
of the Crusaders, the garrison of Damietta fled without striking a
blow.  Says Joinville, "The Saracens sent thrice to the Sultan, by
carrier-pigeons, to say that the king had landed, but never received
any message in return, because the Sultan's sickness was upon him.
Wherefore they thought that the Sultan was dead, and abandoned Damietta.

"Then the king sent for all the prelates of the host, and all chanted
with a loud voice, _Te Deum laudamus_.

"Afterwards the king mounted his horse, and we all likewise, and we
went and encamped before Damietta."

There they remained until they were joined by the King's brother, the
Count of Poitiers; and after that a march was made upon Babylon,
"because, if you wanted to kill the serpent, you must first crush its
head."

Now when they tried to cross the delta of the Nile, which at that part
of Egypt lies between four "branches" of the river, they encamped
between the stream that flows to Damietta, and that which flows to
Tanis, and found the whole host of the Sultan lying upon the farther
side of the latter, and ready to defend the passages.

The King at once gave orders to build a causeway across the river; but
as fast as this was made the Saracens dug holes and let in the water
which had been dammed up, thus washing away the work.  They constantly
harassed the camp also, and tried to cut off the French army in the
rear; and when they began to use Greek fire also, the hearts of the
Crusaders began somewhat to quail.

{226}

"The fashion of the Greek fire was such that it came frontwise as large
as a bottle of verjuice, and the tail of fire that issued from it, was
as large as a large lance.  The noise it made in coming was like
Heaven's own thunder.  It had the seeming of a dragon flying through
the air.  It gave so great a light because of the great abundance of
fire making the light, that one saw as clearly through the camp as if
it had been day....

"When my Lord Walter, the good knight who was with me, saw this, he
spoke thus: 'Lord, we are in the greatest peril that we have ever been
in, for if they set fire to our towers and we remain here, we are but
lost and burnt up; while if we leave these defences which we have been
sent to guard, we are dishonoured.  Wherefore none can defend us in
this peril save God alone.  So my advice and counsel is, that every
time they hurl the fire at us, we throw ourselves on our elbows and
knees, and pray to our Saviour to keep us in this peril....'

"Every time that our saintly king heard them hurling the Greek fire, he
would raise himself in his bed, and lift up his hands to Our Saviour,
and say, weeping, 'Fair Lord God, guard me my people.'

"And verily I believe that his prayers did us good service in our need.
At night, every time the fire had fallen, he sent one of his
chamberlains to ask how we fared, and whether the fire had done us any
hurt."

At length, when things were getting very serious for the Crusading
army, there came a Bedouin, or Arab of the desert, to the camp, and
offered to show them a ford over the river if they would pay him five
hundred besants.

Risky as was the undertaking--for the offer might have been a mere
piece of treachery, with the object of placing the host in an entirely
unprotected position, and {227} of drowning most of their number--the
King decided in its favour, and determined to lead the way, with his
three brothers, across the ford.

"Then, as the dawn of day was appearing, we collected from all points
and came to the Bedouin's ford; and when we were ready we went to the
stream and our horses began to swim.  When we got to the middle of the
stream, we touched ground and our horses found footing; and on the
other bank of the stream were full three hundred Saracens, all mounted
on their horses.

"Then said I (the Sire de Joinville) to my people, 'Sirs, look only to
the left hand, and let each draw thither; the banks are wet and soft,
and the horses are falling upon their riders and drowning them.'
Thereupon we moved in such sort that we turned up the stream and found
a dry way, and so passed over, thank God! that not one of us fell; and
as soon as we had passed over, the Turks fled."

But disaster was at hand.  The Templars had been given the post of
honour in the vanguard, and close after them came the Count of Artois,
brother to the King, with his men.

"Now it so happened that as soon as the Count of Artois had passed over
the stream, he and all his people fell upon the Turks, who had fled
before them.  The Templars notified to him that he was doing them great
despite in that, while his place was to come after them, he was going
before them, and they besought him to suffer them to go before, as had
been arranged by the king.  Now it chanced that the Count of Artois did
not venture to answer them because of my Lord Foucaud of Merle, who
held the bridle of his horse; and this Foucaud of {228} Merle was a
very good knight, but heard naught of what the Templars were saying to
the Count, seeing that he was deaf, and was all the while crying, 'Out
on them!  Out on them!'

"Now when the Templars saw this, they thought they would be shamed if
they suffered the Count to outride them, so they struck spurs into
their horses, helter-skelter, and chased the Turks, and the Turks fled
before them, right through the town of Mansourah and into the fields
beyond towards Babylon.

"But when the Crusaders thought to return, the Turks threw beams and
blocks of wood upon them in the streets, which were narrow.  There were
killed the Count of Artois, the Lord of Couci, who was called Raoul,
and so many other knights that the number was reckoned at three
hundred.  The Temple, as the Master has since told me, lost there
fourteen score men-at-arms, and all mounted."

The whole blame of this disastrous affair must be laid at the door of
the Count of Artois, in spite of Joinville's attempt to put it on the
shoulders of Lord Foucaud.  When the Grand Master of the Templars had
warned the Count of the risk of pursuing men who had but given way to a
moment's panic, the latter openly accused him of treachery.

"Do you suppose," cried the Master, "that we have left our homes and
our substance and taken the habit of a religious in a strange land,
only to betray the Cause of God and to forfeit our salvation?"

And with that he prepared to go to almost certain death.  Then William
Longsword, son of the Earl of Salisbury, did his best to turn the Count
from such a course of destruction, and was met with insult.  "See {229}
how timid are these tailed English!  It would be well if the army were
purged of such folk!"  "At least," returned Longsword, "we English
to-day will be where you will not dare to touch our horses' tails."

Longsword fell that day with his face to the foe, Artois, in trying to
escape, and the whole force must have been destroyed had not the King's
division come to the rescue, while Joinville, who tells the tale,
managed to hold the bridge across to the town.  Says the latter, "We
were all covered with the darts that failed to hit the sergeants.  Now
it chanced that I found a Saracen's quilted tunic lined with tow: I
turned the open side towards me and made a shield of it, which did me
good service, for I was only wounded by their darts in five places, and
my horse in fifteen.  And it chanced again that one of my burgesses of
Joinville brought me a pennon with my arms and a lance head thereto,
and every time that we saw that the Turks pressed too hardly upon the
sergeants, we charged them and they went flying.

"The good Count of Soissons, in that point of danger, jested with me,
and said, 'Seneschal, let these curs howl!  We shall talk of this day
yet, you and I, in ladies' chambers.'"

At sunset, when the King's crossbow men came up, the Saracens fled, and
Joinville, hastening to Louis, conducted him with loving care to his
tent.  "And as we were going, I made him take off his helmet, and lent
him my steel cap, so that he might have air.

"When he had passed over the river, there came to him Brother Henry,
Provost of the Hospitallers, and kissed his mailed hand.  The king
asked if he had any tidings of the Count of Artois, his brother, and
the Provost said that he had news of him indeed, for he {230} knew of a
certainty that his brother, the Count of Artois, was in Paradise.

"'Ah, sire,' said the Provost, 'be of good comfort therein, for never
did King of France gain such honour as you have gained this day.  For,
in order to fight your enemies, you have passed swimmingly over a
river, and you have discomfited them, and driven them from the field,
and taken their war-engines and also their tents, wherein you will
sleep this night.'

"Then the king replied, 'Let God be worshipped for all He has given
me!' but the big tears fell from his eyes."

In spite of the Provost's cheering words, the King's army was still in
a position of great danger.  That very night an attack was made upon
the camp, which was but the first of a series of attacks which cut
Louis off entirely from Damietta and forced him to retreat to the
"Island."

"When I was laid in my bed," says Joinville, "when indeed I had good
need of rest because of the wounds received the day before--no rest was
vouchsafed to me.  For before it was well day, a cry went through the
camp, 'To arms!  To arms!'  I roused my chamberlain, who lay at my
feet, and told him to go and see what was the matter.  He came back in
terror, and said, 'Up, lord, up: for here are the Saracens, who have
come on foot and mounted, and discomfited the king's sergeants who kept
guard over the engines, and have driven them among the ropes of our
tents.'

[Illustration: _The Last Fight of William Longsword_]

"I got up and threw a tunic over my back and a steel cap on my head,
and cried to our sergeants, 'By St Nicholas, they shall not stay here!'
My knights came to me, all wounded as they were, and we drove the {233}
Saracens from among the engines, and back towards a great body of
mounted Turks."

A day or two later, the Saracens, encouraged by the sight of the
bloodstained coat of arms belonging to the Count of Artois, which they
were told was that of the King, and that Louis was now dead, came
together in a great battle against the French host.  In this fight so
many on both sides were killed that the river was full of the dead.

Then a worse thing fell upon them, for, says Joinville, "because of the
unhealthiness of the land--where it never rains a drop of water--there
came upon us the sickness of the host, which sickness was such that the
flesh of our legs dried up and the skin became spotted, black and earth
colour, like an old boot; nor could anyone escape from this sickness
without death."

Famine followed, for the Turks had cut off all sources of supplies from
Damietta; and, in desperation, an attempt to treat with the enemy was
made.  The conditions proposed were that Louis should give up Damietta
in return for the kingdom of Jerusalem; and when the Saracens asked
what pledge they offered that they should regain the port, the French
offered them one of the King's brothers.

They promptly replied that they would be satisfied with no one but the
King himself, whereupon, "my Lord Geoffrey of Sargines, the good
knight, said he would rather that the Saracens should have them all
dead or captive than bear the reproach of having left the king in
pledge."

When Louis saw that there was no alternative but death or retreat,
since none of his officers would agree that he should be given up, he
once more gave the order {234} to try to return to Damietta.  The King
could have easily escaped thither by means of a little boat, but he
would not abandon his people, many of whom were very sorely sick.  But
Louis himself was weak with illness, so that he could scarcely sit upon
his horse; yet he persisted in trying to guard the river banks while
Joinville and others got the sick men on board.  What happened then was
told by Louis himself to his faithful friend.  "He told me that of all
his knights and sergeants there only remained behind with him my Lord
Geoffrey of Sargines, who brought him to a little village, and there
the king was taken.  And, as the king related to me, my Lord Geoffrey
defended him from the Saracens as a good servitor defends his lord's
drinking-cup from flies; for every time that the Saracens approached,
he took his spear, which he had placed between himself and the bow of
his saddle, and put it to his shoulder and ran upon them, and drove
them away from the king.  And then they brought the king to the little
village; and they lifted him into a house, and laid him, almost as one
dead, in the lap of a burgher-woman of Paris, and thought he would not
live till night."

Thus did Louis fall into the hands of the Saracens, and was left in
sorry plight indeed.  He was sufficiently conscious to beg Lord Philip
de Montfort to try once again to make terms of peace, but while this
was being done, "a very great mischance happened to our people.  A
traitor sergeant, whose name was Marcel, began to cry to our people,
'Yield, lord knights, for the king commands you; and do not cause the
king to be slain!'

"All thought that the king had so commanded, and gave up their swords
to the Saracens.  The Emir (the {235} officer of the Sultan), saw that
the Saracens were bringing in our people prisoners, so he said to my
Lord Philip that it was not fitting that he should grant a truce, for
he saw very well that we were already fallen into his hands."

Meantime Joinville and his men had fared no better by water than his
comrades had by land.  He himself, indeed, had the narrowest possible
escape from death, and was only saved by the generosity of a Saracen,
whose former dealings with Frederick II. of Germany had made him favour
the Crusaders.  Joinville was exceedingly weak and ill, but as his boat
was in mid-stream he hoped to escape to Damietta with those of the sick
whom he had been able to rescue.

"My people," says he, "had put on me a jousting hauberk, so that I
might not be wounded by the darts that fell into our boat.  At this
moment my people, who were at the hinder point of the boat, cried out
to me, 'Lord, Lord, your mariners, because the Saracens are threatening
them, mean to take you to the bank!'  Then I had myself raised by the
arms, all weak as I was, and drew my sword on them, and told them I
should kill them if they took me to the bank.  They answered that I
must choose which I would have; whether to be taken to the bank, or
anchored in mid-stream till the wind fell.  I told them I liked better
that they should anchor than that they should take me to the shore
where there was nothing before us save death.  So they anchored.

"Very shortly after we saw four of the Sultan's galleys coming to us,
and in them full a thousand men.  Then I called together my knights and
my people, and asked them which they would rather do, yield to the
{236} Sultan's galleys or to those on land.  We all agreed that we
would rather yield to the galleys, because so we should be kept
together, than to those on land, who would separate us and sell us to
the Bedouins.

"Then one of my cellarers said, 'Lord, I do not agree in this
decision.'  I asked him to what he did agree, and he said to me, 'I
advise that we should all suffer ourselves to be slain, for then we
shall go to Paradise.'  But we heeded him not."

When Joinville saw that he must be taken either way, he threw his
casket of jewels into the river, and turned to find one of his mariners
urging, "Lord, if you do not suffer me to say you are the king's cousin
they will kill you all, and us also."  So he told him he could say what
he pleased.  The sailor at once cried out loud, "Alas, that the king's
cousin should be taken!" with the result that the Saracens on the
nearest galley at once anchored near their boat.

But help of an unexpected kind was at hand.  A Saracen, who had lived
on land in the East belonging to the Emperor Frederick, swam aboard,
and throwing his arms round Joinville's waist, said, "Lord, if you do
not take good heed you are but lost; for it behoves you to leap from
your vessel on to the bank that rises from the keel of that galley; and
if you leap, these people will not mind you, for they are thinking only
of the booty to be found in your vessel."

So he leapt, but so weak was he that he tottered and would have fallen
into the water had not the Saracen sprung after him and held him up in
his arms.

A rough reception awaited him, however, for they threw him on the
ground and would have killed him had {237} not the Saracen held him
fast in his arms, crying "Cousin to the King!"

He was certainly in sorry case, for he had no clothing save for the
steel hauberk, which the Saracen knights, pitying his condition,
exchanged for a fur-lined coverlet and a white belt, in which he girt
himself for lack of proper clothes.  Still under the protection of "his
Saracen," Joinville saw with sad eyes the slaughter of the sick upon
the bank and in the boats, and was himself subjected to a sore trial of
faith.  For his protector, who was evidently a man of some authority,
tried to tempt him to embrace the religion of Islam by causing all his
mariners to be brought before him, telling him that they had all denied
their faith.

"But I told him never to place confidence in them, for lightly as they
had left us, so lightly, if time and opportunity occurred, would they
leave their new masters.  And he answered that he agreed with me; for
that Saladin was wont to say that never did one see a bad Christian
become a good Saracen, or a bad Saracen become a good Christian.

"After these things he caused me to be mounted on a palfrey and to ride
by his side.  And we passed over a bridge of boats and went to
Mansourah, where the King and his people were prisoners.  And we came
to the entrance of a great pavilion, where the Sultan's scribes were;
and there they wrote down my name.  Then my Saracen said to me, 'Lord,
I shall not follow you further, for I cannot; but I pray you, lord,
always to keep hold of the hand of the child you have with you, lest
the Saracens should take him from you.'"

Truly, in his case, for the sick and sorry Joinville, as well as for
the protection he provided for the little lad, {238} the "child called
Bartholomew," that unknown Saracen showed himself worthier of the name
of Christian than many of those who fought under the banner of the
Cross.

When the French lord entered the pavilion with his little charge, he
found it full of his brother barons, "who made such joy that we could
not hear one another speak, for they thought they had lost me."

Joy was soon turned to grief, however, for many of their number were
taken by the Saracens into an adjoining courtyard and asked, "Wilt thou
abjure thy faith?"

"Those who would not abjure were set to one side, and their heads were
cut off, and those who abjured were set on the other side."

Then the Sultan sent to ask what terms they were willing to make.
"Would you give, for your deliverance, any of the castles belonging to
the barons oversea?"  But they replied that they had no power over
these castles, which belonged to their sovereign King.  Then he asked
if they would surrender any of the castles belonging to the Knights
Templars and Hospitallers.  But they answered that this could not be,
for when the knights of the Temple or the Hospital were appointed to
these castles, they were made to swear, on holy relics, that they would
not surrender any of them for man's deliverance.

"The council of the Sultan then replied that it seemed to them that we
had no mind to be delivered, and that they would go and send us such as
would make sport of us with their swords, as they had done of the
others belonging to our host.  And they went their way."

With Louis himself the counsellors of the Sultan had gone still
further, threatening him with torture if he did not do as they willed.
"To their threats the King {239} replied that he was their prisoner,
and that they could do with him according to their will."

Finding that they could not terrorise the King they came back to him
once more and asked how much money he was willing to pay for a ransom,
besides giving up Damietta.

To this Louis replied that if the Sultan would accept a reasonable sum,
he would see if the Queen would pay it for their deliverance.  This
answer, to those who held the Eastern idea of women, was astounding,
and they asked, "How is it that you will not tell us definitely that
these things shall be done?"  To which Louis replied, with spirit that
he did not know if the Queen would consent, seeing that she was his
lady, and mistress of her own actions.  Then they took counsel with the
Sultan, and brought back word that if the Queen would pay five hundred
thousand _livres_ (about £405,000) he would release the King.

"And when they had taken the oath that this should be so, the King
promised that he would willingly pay the five hundred thousand _livres_
for the release of his people, and surrender Damietta for the release
of his own person, seeing that it was not fitting that such as he
should barter himself for coin."

When the Sultan heard this, he said.  "By my faith, this Frank is
large-hearted not to have bargained over so great a sum!  Now go and
tell him that I give him a hundred thousand _livres_ towards the
payment of the ransom."

The prospects of the unfortunate Crusaders seemed therefore to be
brightening, when, as they were being conveyed down the river to the
Sultan's camp as a preliminary to being set free, all was suddenly
darkened {240} again by the murder of their generous captor at the
hands of some of his own traitorous Emirs.

One of these, indeed, came to King Louis, with the heart of the Sultan,
all reeking with blood, in his hand, and said: "What wilt thou give me?
For I have slain thine enemy, who, had he lived, would have slain thee!"

"But the King answered him never a word."

Nothing now but death seemed the probable fate of the despairing
prisoners, who meantime, were thrown into the hold of the galley and
"so pressed together that my feet came against the good Count Peter of
Brittany, and his came against my face."

But the Saracen Emirs seem to have thought that more profit could be
made out of them alive than dead, and were ready to observe the terms
already proposed, if the King would renew his oath to this effect,
"that if he did not observe his covenant he should be as dishonoured as
a Christian who denies God and His law, and who spits upon the Cross
and tramples on it."

Though he fully meant to keep his word, the pious soul of Saint Louis
revolted against so blasphemous a declaration, and he absolutely
refused to take such an oath.  They threatened him with instant death,
but he replied tranquilly that he "liked better to die as a good
Christian rather than to live under the wrath of God."

By the exercise of further fiendish cruelty the Saracens attained their
object.  They took the old white haired Patriarch of Jerusalem, and
tied him to the pole of the pavilion with his hands behind his back,
and so tightly "that the said hands swelled to the size of his head,
and that the blood started from between the nails."  Then the Patriarch
cried to the King, "Sire, for the love of God, swear without fear; for
seeing that you intend to hold to {241} your oath, I take upon my own
soul whatsoever there may be of sin in the oath that you take."

It seems certain that by his firmness and courage Louis had earned the
respect and admiration of the Saracens.  Joinville says that they
wanted to make him their Sultan, and only desisted because they said he
was the most steadfast Christian that could be found.  "They said that
if Mohammed had suffered them to be so maltreated as the King had been,
they would never have retained their belief in him; and they said
further that if their people made the King to be Sultan, they would
have to become Christians, or else he would put them all to death."

In spite of this, however, their fate still hung in the balance, for
some recalled the precept of Mohammed, "For the assurance of the faith,
slay the enemy of the law."

But better counsels prevailed, and on the day after Ascension Day, in
the year 1250, all were released save the Count of Poitiers, who
remained as hostage till the ransom should be paid.

Many of the Crusading barons no sooner regained their ships than they
set sail for France, but the King remained behind, to see that the
ransom was paid.  In connection with this ransom Joinville tells us of
an incident that marks even more emphatically Louis' upright character.

"When the money had been counted, there were those of the council who
thought that the King should not hand it over until he had received his
brother back.  But the King replied that he would hand it over, seeing
that he had agreed with the Saracens to do so, and as for the Saracens,
if they wished to deal honestly, they would also hold to the terms of
their agreement.  Then Lord Philip {242} of Nemours told the King that
they had miscounted, by ten thousand _livres_, to the loss of the
Saracens (but without their knowledge).

"At this the King was very wroth, and said it was his will that the ten
thousand _livres_ should be restored, seeing he had agreed to pay two
hundred thousand before he left the river.

"Then I touched Lord Philip with my foot, and told the King not to
believe him, seeing that the Saracens were the wiliest reckoners in the
whole world.  And Lord Philip said I was saying sooth, for he had only
spoken in jest, and the King said such jests were unseemly and
untoward.  'And I command you,' said the King to him 'by the fealty
that you owe me as being my liegeman--which you are--that if these ten
thousand _livres_ have not been paid, you will cause them to be paid
without fail.'"

Nor would Louis listen to those who advised him to leave the river on
account of its proximity to the Saracens, and go to his ship, which
waited for him out at sea.  But he had promised his foes not to go away
until the payment had been made, and no considerations of personal
safety would induce him to break his word.

"So soon, however, as the ransom was paid, the King, without being
urged thereto, said that henceforth he was acquitted of his oaths, and
that we should depart thence, and go to the ship that was on the sea.
Then our galley was set in motion, and we went a full great league
before we spoke to one another, because of the distress in which we
were at leaving the Count of Poitiers In captivity.

"Then came Lord Philip of Montfort in a galleon, and cried to the King:
'Sire!  Sire!  Speak to your brother, the Count of Poitiers, who is on
this other ship!'  Then {243} cried the King 'Light up!  Light up!' and
they did so.  Then was there such rejoicing among us that greater could
not be.  The King went to the Count's ship, and we went too.  A poor
fisherman went and told the Countess of Poitiers that he had seen the
Count released, and she caused twenty _livres_ to be given to him."

Nor was Louis the only star to shine in the dark firmament of the
Eighth Crusade.  All those anxious weeks there lay at Damietta the poor
young Queen, in terrible anxiety for the fate of her husband, and for
the future of those who were with her in the city.

In the midst of her grief and trouble was born her little son Tristan,
the "child of sorrow," and he was but a day old when she heard that all
the men of the five cities of Italy, who were with her in the city,
were minded to flee away.  With heroic courage she sent for them to her
bedside and urged them not to leave Damietta to its fate, for if so the
King would be utterly lost.

To this they replied: "Lady what can we do?  For we are dying of hunger
in this city?"  But she told them that for famine they need not depart,
"for," said she "I will cause all the food in this city to be bought,
and will keep you all from henceforth at the King's charges."

Thus did the brave Queen keep Damietta until it had to be given up
according to the terms of the treaty; upon which she went to Acre,
there to await the King.

The release of the prisoners was, for all practical purposes, the end
of the ill-fated Eighth Crusade, but Louis could not bear to return to
France without even a glimpse of the Holy Land which lay so very near
his heart.

His brother had deserted him, but the faithful Joinville was still at
his side, and with the latter was now to be found the little child,
Bartholomew, who had in so {244} strange a manner been placed under his
protection.  There were not wanting those who urged the King to return
to France, and look after the affairs of his kingdom, but Louis was
firm.  The Queen Mother, Blanche, was well able to fill his place, and
he was determined not to leave the kingdom of Jerusalem while any hope
remained of striking a blow on its behalf.  Again and again he had
urged Henry III. of England to bring an army to its relief, he had even
promised to give up Normandy if he would do this; and he could scarcely
believe that he would persist in his refusal.  If he should fail there
was yet a faint hope that the Pope himself might lead an army in the
cause of God; while there was the slightest chance, therefore, he would
hold himself ready to act.

So Louis went first to Acre to rejoin his Queen, and then set to work
to rebuild the fortifications of the seaports, Cæsarea, Joppa, and
Sidon, which had been destroyed by the Saracens, though they were still
ruled by Christian chieftains.  And then four more years passed away.

It was while Louis was engaged in fortifying Joppa that he was told
that the Sultan was willing that he should go to Jerusalem under a
"sure and safe conduct."  It was the King's dearest wish to visit the
Holy Sepulchre, but after grave consideration, acting on the advice of
his council, he determined not to do so.  His reason was the same as
that of Richard of England in the Third Crusade.  "For if he, the
greatest Christian King, went a pilgrimage without delivering the city
from God's enemies, then would all other kings and pilgrims, coming
thereafter, rest content with going on pilgrimage after the same manner
as the King of France, and give no heed to the deliverance of
Jerusalem."

{245}

A pilgrimage in sackcloth to Nazareth was all, therefore, that the king
would allow himself, and meantime his hopes of aid from Europe grew
fainter and fainter.

Then came bad news from France.  Queen Blanche, who seems to have been
more to the king than wife or children, was dead, and Louis must return
to his deserted kingdom.  On St Mark's day (April 24th) of the year
1254, the king and queen sailed from Acre, but they were not destined
to reach France without further adventures.

"On the Saturday we came in sight of the Isle of Cyprus, and of a
mountain in Cyprus which is called the Mountain of the Cross.  That
Saturday a mist rose from the land, and descended from the land to the
sea; and by this our mariners thought we were further from the Isle of
Cyprus than we were, because they did not see the mountain above the
mist.  Wherefore they sailed forward freely and so it happened that our
ship struck a reef of sand below the water; and if we had not found
that little sandbank where we struck, we should have struck against a
great mass of sunken rocks, where our ship would have been broken in
pieces, and we all shipwrecked and drowned.

"As soon as our ship struck, a great cry rose in the ship, for each one
cried 'Alas!' and the mariners and the rest wrung their hands because
each was in fear of drowning.

"When I heard this, I rose from my bed where I was lying, and went to
the ship's castle with the mariners.  As I came there, Brother Raymond,
who was a Templar and master of the mariners, said to one of his
varlets: 'Throw down the lead.'  And he did so.  And as soon as he had
thrown it, he cried out and said.  'Alas, we are aground!'  When
Brother Raymond heard that, he {246} rent his clothes to the belt, and
took to tearing out his beard, and to crying: 'Ay me!  Ay me!'"

In marked contrast to this not very helpful master of mariners stands
one of Joinville's knights who "brought me, without a word, a lined
overcoat of mine, and threw it on my back, for I had donned my tunic
only.  And I cried out to him, and said, 'what do I want with your
overcoat that you bring me, when we are drowning?'  And he said to me,
'By my soul, lord, I should like better to see us all drowned than that
you should take some sickness from the cold, and so come to your
death.'"

An effort was made to get the king off the threatened ship by means of
the galleys, but the latter held off; and in this they acted wisely,
seeing there were full eight hundred persons on board the ship who
would have jumped into the galleys to save their lives, and thus have
caused the latter to sink.

Morning came and found the ship fast aground, and seeing there was much
damage done to her keel, the servants of the king implored him to
embark in another vessel.  By his decision Louis showed once again that
wonderful unselfishness which forms one of his best claims to the title
of Saint.

After hearing the opinion of the master mariners, and his nobles, he
called together the seamen and said to them.

"I ask you, on your fealty, whether, if the ship were your own, and
freighted with your own merchandise, you would leave her?"

And they replied all together "No!" for they liked better to put their
bodies in peril of drowning than to buy a new ship at great cost.

{247}

"Why then," asked the king, "do you advise me to leave the ship?"

"Because," said they, "the stakes are not equal.  For neither gold nor
silver can be set against your person and the persons of your wife and
children who are here; therefore we advise you not to put yourself or
them in danger."

Then the king said, "Lords, I have heard your opinion and that of my
people, and now I will tell you mine, which is this: If I leave the
ship there are in her five hundred people and more who will land in
this Isle of Cyprus, for fear of peril to their body--since there is
none that does not love his life as much as I love mine--and these,
peradventure, will never return to their own land.  Therefore I like
better to place my own person, and my wife, and my children in God's
hands than do this harm to the many people who are here."

Their next adventure might have been more serious, at least for some of
the crew.  Sailing away in comparative safety in the damaged ship they
came at length to the island of the sea called Pentelema, which was
peopled by Saracens who were subjects of the King of Sicily and the
King of Tunis.

"The queen begged the king to send thither three galleys to get fruit
for the children; and the king consented, and ordered the masters of
the galleys to go thither, and be ready to come back to him when his
ship passed before the island.  The galleys entered into a little port
that was on the island; and it chanced that when the king's ship passed
before the port, we got no tidings of the galleys.

"Then did the mariners begin to murmur among themselves.

{248}

"The king caused them to be summoned, and asked them what they thought
of the matter.  The mariners said it seemed to them that the Saracens
had captured his people and his galleys.

"'But we advise and counsel you, sire, not to wait for them; for you
are between the kingdom of Sicily and the kingdom of Tunis, which love
you not at all.  If, however, you suffer us to sail forward, we shall,
during the night, have delivered you from peril, for we shall have
passed through the strait.'

"'Truly,' said the king, 'I shall not listen to you, and leave my
people in the hands of the Saracens without at least, doing all in my
power to deliver them.  I command you to turn your sails and we will
fall upon them.'

"And when the queen heard this, she began to make great lamentation and
said, 'Alas! this is all my doing!'

"While they were turning the sails of the king's ship and of the other
ships, we saw the galleys coming from the island.  When they came to
the king, the king asked the mariners why they had tarried; and they
replied that they could not help themselves, but that the fault lay
with certain sons of burgesses of Paris, of whom there were six, who
stayed eating the fruit of the gardens, wherefore they had been unable
to get them off, nor could they leave them behind.

"Then the king commanded that the six burghers' sons should be put into
the barge a-stern; at which they began to cry and to howl, saying,
'Sire, for God's sake, take for ransom all that we have, but do not put
us there, where murderers and thieves are put; for we shall be shamed
to all time.'

{249}

"The queen and all of us did what we could to move the king; but he
would listen to none of us.

"So they were put into the barge, and remained there till we came to
land; and they were there in such danger and distress that when the sea
rose, the waves flew over their heads, and they had to sit down, lest
the wind should carry them into the sea.

"And it served them right; for their gluttony caused us such mischief
that we were delayed for eight good days, because the king had caused
the ships to turn right about."

So at length Louis came to his own land of France; but his heart was
full of longing for the "holy fields" of Palestine, and he was not
content to live a life of luxury at the court while Jerusalem was yet
in the hands of the infidel.

"After the king returned from overseas, he lived in such devotion that
never did he wear fur of beaver or grey squirrel, nor scarlet, nor
gilded stirrups and spurs.  His clothing was of camlet and blue cloth,
the fur on his coverlets and clothing was deer's hide, or the skin from
the hare's legs, or lambskin.  He was so sober in his eating that he
never ordered special meats outside what his cook prepared; what was
set before him that did he eat.  He put water to his wine in a glass
goblet, and according to the strength of the wine he added water
thereto by measure; and would hold the goblet in his hand while they
mixed water with his wine behind his table.  He always caused food to
be given to his poor, and after they had eaten, caused money to be
given to them."

Thus, for the next fifteen years the king fulfilled the duties of his
royal position in France; and all the while {250} the voice of the East
was calling, calling with insistent voice, as news of lost cities,
quarrels between those who should have united themselves against the
Saracens, and invasions of new and hostile races reached his ears.




{251}

CHAPTER XX

The Story of the Fall of Acre


_"Because the chasuble is of red serge," said he, "that signifies that
this Crusade shall be of little profit."_
                  LE SIRE DE JOINVILLE: _Memoirs of St Louis._


During the interval between the Eighth and Ninth Crusades, affairs in
the Holy Land had gone from bad to worse.

The knights of the Hospital and Temple spent all their time in private
quarrels and combats, and the merchants of Genoa and Pisa followed
their evil example.  The Moguls were continually harassing both
Saracens and Christians, and when they were driven out by the combined
forces of the two latter, the Sultan Bibars took the opportunity to
seize the few towns that were left when the Crusade was over.

Nazareth was almost destroyed, Cæsarea, Joppa and Antioch fell, Acre
was sorely threatened.  In vain did Jerusalem call upon the Pope for
help; his attention was fixed, not on Palestine but on Constantinople,
where the Latin Empire had vanished, and a new Greek dynasty had been
set up under Michael Palæologus.  Absorbed in his desire to gain
acknowledgment from this quarter, Clement IV. gave only half-hearted
encouragement to a Ninth Crusade, yet he did succeed in stirring up
enthusiasm in a somewhat unexpected quarter.

{252}

To England, still in the turmoil of the Baron's War, came the message
of Clement reminding Henry III. of his old promise to take up the
Cross; and the answer came, not from Henry, the inert and ineffective
king, but from young prince Edward, his eldest son, moved perhaps
rather by the expediency of employing his treasonable barons than by a
keen desire for the freedom of Jerusalem.

One there was, however, who needed no urging, and had no base motives
in his longing to start upon a Ninth Crusade.  Saint Louis, as we have
seen, had left his heart behind him in the Holy Land, and when he
summoned all his barons to Paris in the Lent of 1267, it was not hard
to guess the reason.

Among those who responded to the call went the Sire de Joinville, and,
seeing how well he knew the mind of the king, it was no wonder that he
should dream on the night of his arrival that he saw Louis on his
knees, before an altar, whilst many prelates, duly vested, placed upon
his shoulders a red chasuble of Rheims serge.  Calling his chaplain, a
very wise man, Joinville told him of the vision, and the priest at once
said:

"Lord, you will see that the king will take the Cross to-morrow."

Joinville asked why he thought so; and he answered that it was because
of the dream; for the chasuble of red serge signified the Cross; which
was red with the blood that Christ shed from His side and His feet and
His hands.  "And because the chasuble is of Rheims serge," said he,
"that signifies that the Crusade shall be of little profit, as you
shall see if God gives you life," for Rheims serge was but poor and
common material, and worth but very little.

{253}

So Joinville went to the king's chapel, and heard two knights talking
there, one to the other.  Then one said, "Never believe me if the king
is not going to take the Cross here!"

And the other made answer, "If the king takes the Cross, this will be
one of the most dolorous days that ever were in France.  For if we do
not take the Cross we shall lose the king's favour; and if we take the
Cross we shall lose God's favour, because we shall not take it for His
sake but for the sake of the king."

"So," adds Joinville, tersely, "it happens that on the following day
the king took the Cross, and his three sons with him; and afterwards it
befell that the Crusade was of little profit, according to the prophecy
of my priest."

With this second expedition of Louis, Joinville himself had scant
sympathy.  He refused to join it on the ground that he owed a higher
duty to his own poor and ruined people.  And he held that those who
advised the King to go "seeing how weak he was of body, for he could
bear neither to drive nor to ride," were guilty of mortal sin.

"So great was his weakness that he suffered me to carry him in my arms
from the mansion of the Count of Auxerre, where I took leave of him, to
the abbey of the Franciscans.  And yet, weak as he was, if he had
remained in France, he might have lived longer and done much good and
many good works."

However that might have been, Louis' work as a Crusader was well-nigh
over.  He left France accompanied by the Kings of Navarre and Aragon,
and by many of his barons, and by sixty thousand of his men.  Driven
{254} by a tempest to Sardinia, the leaders decided to turn aside to
Tunis, whose king was suspected of being willing to become a Christian.
Landing on the site of the ancient town of Carthage, they had but
pitched their tents when a plague of sickness broke out in the camp,
and the King and his son were the first to be struck down.

When he knew that his end drew very near, St Louis caused himself to be
laid upon a bed of ashes, in token of his penitence, and all through
that last night they heard him murmur at intervals, with longing in his
voice, "Jerusalem!  Jerusalem!"

But resignation to the Will of God was not difficult to a man whose
character had been formed by a life of prayer and unselfish devotion.

"I will enter Thy house, O Lord, I will worship in Thy sanctuary," were
the words of joy upon his lips, as he breathed his last.

"And it was at the same hour that the Son of God died upon the Cross
for the world's salvation," says Joinville, who adds, moreover, the
following touching tribute to the good king.

"A piteous thing and worthy of tears is the death of this saintly
prince, who kept and guarded his realm so holily and loyally, and gave
alms there so largely, and set therein so many fair foundations.  And,
like as the scribe who, writing his book, illuminates it with gold and
azure, so did the said king illuminate his realm with the fair abbeys
that he built, and the great number of alms-houses, and the houses for
preachers and Franciscans, and other religious orders.  And his bones
were put in a casket and borne thence, and buried at St Denis, in
France, where he had chosen his place of burial."

{255}

With St Louis died the deep religious side of the Crusades.  Other
kings had vague longings and desires, but none of them were driven to
take part in the Holy War by the same fervent wish to lay down their
lives for the Cause of God.

The work was now taken up by Edward, eldest son of the English King,
Henry III.  With him marched the great English nobles who had so lately
been involved in the Barons' War; for Edward's main motive was to keep
them employed and deprive them of opportunities for further rebellion.

Edward reached Tunis about seven weeks after the death of Louis, and
found the camp in much disorder.  The French barons were intent upon
forcing the King of Tunis to pay tribute to the Sicilian sovereign, son
of their late ruler, and were quite averse from proceeding at once on
the Crusade.  They all decided at length to go to Sicily for the
winter, but the French Crusaders said openly that they wished the
expedition deferred for at least four years.  The death of the king and
queen of Navarre and of the young queen of Louis' successor Philip the
Bold, threw a gloom over their retreat, and before long all the French
host returned to their native land.

Edward alone remained firm to his purpose, and in the following spring,
with his little force of seven thousand men, he landed in Palestine.
His first act was one of terrible revenge.  Marching to Nazareth he
took the town and put the Saracen inhabitants to the sword.

He then returned to Acre, only just in time to save the city from a
Turkish raid; and there he seems to have had some curious intercourse
with the Emir of Joppa, who {256} pretended that he was anxious to
become converted to Christianity.

But sickness fell upon Edward, and as he lay upon his bed, an assassin,
sent as a bearer of letters from the Emir, gained admittance and struck
the prince in the shoulder with a poisoned dagger.

Weak as he was, Edward had enough strength in reserve to grapple with
the fellow, wrest the dagger from him and stab him to the heart.
Doubtless the skilful nursing of his devoted wife, Eleanor, restored
the prince to health, whether or no the story is true that she sucked
the poison from the wound at the risk of her own life.  The chronicles
of the time give the credit to a clever young English doctor who cut
away the poisoned flesh, but, however that may be, Edward had seen
enough of the Holy Land to realise that his task was both dangerous and
hopeless.  When, therefore, letters from England urged his return on
the score of his father's failing health, he hastened to make a ten
years' truce with the Sultan, and to set out upon his homeward journey.

After his departure the old state of things was revived in the Holy
Land.  None knew who was in truth the rightful king, even in name, of
the ill-fated kingdom of Jerusalem.  The two great military orders of
the Hospital and the Temple spent their time and energies in fighting
with one another over their supposed rights; and the commercial rivalry
of the Christian settlers from Genoa, Venice and Pisa, kept up a
constant state of civil war which left them at the mercy of their
enemies.  In Acre, the one important town held by Christian rulers, so
much fighting went on between the Christian inhabitants that much of
the city had been quite destroyed.

{257}

Yet Acre was now the one hope, the one centre of Christianity in the
Holy Land.  To her walls had fled all those who had managed to escape
when one town after another fell before the victorious march of the
Sultan.

And so it came about that the city was filled with a mixture of
nationalities, each of which claimed to be ruled by a separate
authority.  It was at one time governed by no less than seventeen
rulers, "whence there sprang much confusion."

This wretched state of things did nothing more than stir up a feeling
of mild uneasiness in Europe.  Pope Gregory X., indeed, did his best to
encourage a new Crusade, for he had been an eye-witness in Acre of the
need of some active measure of reform.  But he died before anything
practical could be done.  Some years later the Grand Master of the
Templars made his way to the footstool of Pope Nicholas IV., and
pleaded the cause of the hapless Christians.

The Pope, much moved, sent seventeen hundred mercenaries, or hired
soldiers, at his own cost, to the relief of Acre; but these men,
finding their wages were not paid, took to plundering the Saracen
traders during a time of truce, and so earned for the Christians a
worse reputation than ever.

These outrages, moreover, excited the indignation of the Egyptian
Sultan, who prepared to attack Acre in the following spring, and
meantime sent ambassadors to demand the surrender of the truce-breakers
"under pain of open war."  The Master of the Temple would have yielded
to the justice of his demands, but the other political parties in the
city were against any such idea, saying that it had always been the
custom for the princes {258} of the West to disregard any truce that
might be of force in the East.

The views of the latter prevailed, and an embassy was sent to the
Sultan, offering compensation, and assuring him that the offenders
should be kept in prison till the truce had expired.

The Sultan Khalil listened in grim silence, and after a while replied
with much dignity, "Your words are as the honey and sugar used to
conceal the presence of a deadly poison.  We have ourselves kept the
truce with loyal intent, but such an offence cannot be suffered to pass
unpunished.  You may depart in full assurance that within the time
appointed I will come against your city with a mighty host and destroy
all, from the least to the greatest, by the sword."

Just before the return of the envoys with this threatening message, the
spirits of the citizens had been much revived by the arrival in
Palestine of Sir Otho de Grandison, the secretary and confidential
friend of Edward I., with a small force and the information that Edward
himself would shortly follow him.

The message of the envoys had filled the city with panic that was but
slightly leavened with hope.  They saw at length that their one chance
lay in united action, and they determined to fight together for their
city to the last.  "And surely the princes oversea will send us timely
help when they hear with what peril we are encompassed," was their cry.

Encouraged by their wish for unity the Patriarch sent them to their
homes with the charge, "Be ye therefore constant, and ye shall behold
the great help of the Lord come upon you."

So at length, when it was too late, all manner of {259} energies were
set to work.  The city was refortified, a large store of arms was laid
in, help was sent from Cyprus and the Islands of the Sea, until a force
of nine hundred knights and eighteen thousand foot was within the
walls.  The care of the walls themselves was divided between Otho de
Grandison, Henry, King of Cyprus, and the Master of the Teutonic
Knights and the Masters of the Temple and the Hospital, with whom
served the Masters of the Knights of the Sword and of the Knights of
the Holy Ghost.

"These are the men," says one of the narratives of the survivors, "by
whose prudence and counsel the city was to be governed.  Had they been
of one heart and mind, Heaven is our witness, Acre would still rejoice
in the fulness of her strength."  For alas, the old discord between the
Templars and the Hospitallers had broken out afresh, and there was
little hope of united action within the walls.

In the middle of March, the Saracens first appeared before Acre, "while
making the earth to tremble at the march of their mailed men and to
shake at the noise of their drums and cymbals; while the gilded shields
of the soldiers flashed as the rays of the sun across the hills and
their spearheads danced in the sunlight like stars in the midnight sky."

The din made before the walls was incessant.  "They bellowed like
bulls; they barked like dogs; they roared like lions; and ever, as is
their wont, they drummed their huge tom-toms with their heavy-knotted
sticks."

Then the war-engines were set up "which poured by day and by night a
ceaseless hailstorm of stones upon the walls and city."

{260}

A partly successful sortie returned with some captives and the news
that "the arrows were flying thicker than the flakes of snow in
winter"; and on the Good Friday of the year 1291 Otho and the Templars
planned a more united attack upon the Saracen camp.  But this the
Patriarch, acting on the advice of traitors, absolutely forbade, and so
the last chance of saving the ill-fated city disappeared.

Many of the citizens and some of the fighting men now fled from Acre
whenever they had the opportunity, but a considerable force yet
remained, quite enough indeed to hold the city had they been content to
work together.  This, however, seemed impossible, and Khalil went
boldly on to undermine the walls.  The first direct assault was aimed
at that section which was guarded by Henry of Cyprus, and only the
nightfall prevented the Saracens from forcing an entrance.  During the
hours of darkness the King of Cyprus, with all his followers, crept to
the harbour and secretly sailed away to his own island.  And this he
did, not so much in fear as in despair of ever accomplishing aught,
when the petty quarrels and rivalries within the city left him without
support.

This fatal policy of disunion was even more apparent during the last
four days of that terrible siege.  The Templars would not lift a hand
to aid the Hospitallers; their bitter hostility made them more eager to
fight each other than the infidel.

Meantime the Saracens had bridged the moat, broken through the outer
walls, and driven the defenders to the inner part of the city.  The
captains, who were sitting in council, hastily donned their armour and
rode forth into the midst of the panic-stricken crowd.

[Illustration: _The Fall of Acre_]

{263}

"Shame upon you!" they cried.  "Fools! you are not hurt.  To the battle
with you, by the faith of Christ," and with Matthew de Clermont at
their head, they charged upon the invaders and drove them out beyond
the breach.

For three days this sort of thing continued, the Crusaders patching up
the breach by night that had been broken in by day.  But at daybreak of
Friday, May 18, Khalil made his final assault.  In the midst of the
deafening noise made by his drummers mounted on three hundred camels,
an attack was made upon all parts of the wall at once.  Within a few
hours the Masters of the Temple and the Hospital, rivals in life, were
united in death.  Overwhelmed by their loss, the Christians gave way,
and though Otho de Grandison held out for awhile, it was soon clear
that further resistance was impossible.

In the midst of the horror and confusion of the onrush of the Saracens
through the doomed town, a terrific storm began to rage, while the sea
rose to such a height that it became almost impossible to launch a boat
or escape from the harbour.

The Patriarch had been carried aboard his own galley against his will,
and in his wish to save as many of his people as possible, he allowed
the vessel to be so overcrowded that she overturned, and all on board
were lost.  Many, however, did escape by water, and only a few, who had
no desire save for righteousness, "remained behind to sell their lives
dearly or to bargain with Saracen prisoners for their own lives."

Others held out in the Temple Tower, and when at length it fell,
perished amid the ruins.  Otho de {264} Grandison was among those who
managed to escape to Sidon, and afterwards to Cyprus.

So fell the last remnant of the Kingdom of Jerusalem, founded with such
pride and devotion nearly two hundred years before.




{265}

CHAPTER XXI

The Story of the Fall of Constantinople


  _Men are we, and must grieve when even the shade
  Of that which once was great has passed away._
        WORDSWORTH: _On the Extinction of the Venetian Republic._


No story of the Crusades can be complete without some account of the
last scene in the drama that had been played for so many years between
East and West, and which was ended for the time when Constantinople
fell.

Since the year 1261, the Eastern Empire had passed out of the hands of
Latin rulers, and once more owned an Emperor of Greek origin, Michael
Palæologus by name.  But this fact brought it no accession of vigour or
strength.  Worn out and impoverished, and lacking a great ruler who
would have held the scattered threads of Empire in a firm grasp, the
power of Constantinople was bound to lie at the mercy of a determined
foe.

She had been already threatened, about the middle of the thirteenth
century, by the dreaded Moguls, and only escaped because the latter
first turned their attention to Russia.  But the way to her final
destruction was laid open by Michael the Emperor himself.

The borders of the Greek Empire in Asia had been guarded for many years
past by the natives of Bithynia, the border state, who held their lands
on condition {266} that they kept the castles of the frontier in a
state of defence.

Their task was no easy one, for the Seljukian Turks, who ruled over the
neighbouring district of Iconium, were always on the watch to enlarge
their boundaries; but these border militia were very faithful to their
task, and had kept the invaders at bay.

Now Michael, formerly the Regent, had won the imperial throne by foul
treachery towards the child Emperor, John Ducas, whose eyes he put out
and whom he left to languish for thirty years in a wretched dungeon.
Uneasy lies the usurper's head, and Michael could not rest until he had
disarmed or got rid of all those who were suspected of loyalty towards
the throne of Ducas.

Among these latter were the native "militia men" of Bithynia, whom
Michael now proceeded to disband.  The force substituted to defend the
borderland was quite inadequate for the task; and the weakest spot on
the frontier was thus left practically unguarded.

A few years earlier, a certain Othman, a Turk, had become the vassal of
the Seljukian Sultan, and had been granted a district of the Phrygian
highlands, on the very borders of the Greek Empire, on condition that
he would take up arms against the Greeks.

Not many years passed before Othman, through the death of the last
Sultan of the Seljuk line, had stepped into his place as an independent
prince and the future founder of the Ottoman Empire.  He outlived
Michael Palæologus and his successor, and managed before his death to
push the frontiers of the Turkish Empire forward to the Sea of Marmora.

His son Orkhan completed the conquest of Bithynia--a {267}
comparatively easy task now that the mistaken policy of the Greek
Emperors had turned the troops of "hardy mountaineers into a trembling
crowd of peasants without spirit or discipline."

By the year 1333, nothing remained of the Greek Empire in Asia but the
town of Chalcedon and the strip of land that faced Constantinople
across the straits.

The rule of the Ottoman Turks over their newly-conquered territory was
firm and just enough, and was strengthened by material drawn from the
ranks of the vanquished inhabitants.  One of their demands was that a
yearly tribute of young boys should be paid to them by the Christians.
At first a terrible rumour spread that these children were killed and
eaten by the infidels.  But what really happened was that these boys
were trained very carefully as soldiers, and became the "Janissaries,"
or "New Soldiers" of the Ottoman army, against whom nothing could
stand.  They were forced, of course, to become followers of Islam, and
they were appointed to all the highest offices of state.  But their
chief energy was reserved for the attacks made upon the land of their
origin.

Gradually the Ottoman Turks crept nearer and nearer the heart of the
Eastern Empire.  A certain crafty Prime Minister of Constantinople,
John Cantacugenus, in his determination to supplant his young
sovereign, a child of nine, actually called in their aid and allowed
them to over-run Thrace.

By the time that the usurper had won his way as joint ruler with his
master, to the imperial throne, all that remained of the coveted empire
was Constantinople, the towns of Adrianople and Thessalonica, and the
{268} Byzantine province in the Peloponnesus.  His fatal alliance with
the Turks had been cemented by a marriage between the Sultan Orkhan and
his daughter Theodora; and when John Palæologus, the rightful
sovereign, refused to submit to this arrangement of twin rulers,
Cantacugenus at once called in his son-in-law to his help.

Once more the Ottomans swarmed into Thrace, and, though they found that
Cantacugenus had been deposed and forced to become a monk, they were
not disposed to retreat without some substantial indemnity.  They
seized upon and settled in a province of Thrace, and within two years
had the whole district, together with the city of Adrianople, in their
hands.

The next step was to the threshold of Constantinople itself, but for
this the Turkish chieftain Murad was content to wait awhile.  The
capital was bound to fall in time, and he was first of all eager to
make sure of his ground in Asia Minor.

During Murad's reign he extended his domain to the Balkans and up to
the very walls of the imperial city; whilst the unhappy Emperor without
an empire was thankful to escape for the present by acknowledging his
supremacy, and even by taking up arms at his command against one of his
own free towns.

For the next hundred and fifty years the Ottomans were only hindered
from the invasion of Christendom by the determined action of the
Servians and Hungarians.  And meantime the chance of freeing the Greek
Empire altogether from Ottoman rule had come and gone.

In 1402, when the Turkish Sultan Bajazet was pressing hard upon
Constantinople, the great Tamerlane, chief {269} of the Tartar hordes,
who had already conquered Persia, Turkestan, Russia, and India, came
down like a thunderbolt upon the ambitious plans of Bajazet.  The
latter defied the conqueror, saying, "Thy armies are innumerable?  Be
they so!  But what are the arrows of the flying Tartar against the
scimitars and battle-axes of my firm and invincible Janissaries?"

Alike in their religious faith and in their ambitions, these two men
now became deadly rivals; but not even the "New Army" of the Ottoman
could stand against the Tartar hordes.

One city after another fell and was sacked; Bajazet himself was taken,
and imprisoned, according to one story, in an iron cage.  Another and
more modern version says that the great Tamerlane treated his captive
with the utmost courtesy and consideration; and on the occasion of the
victorious feast after the battle, placed a crown upon his head and a
sceptre in his hand, promising that he should return to the throne of
his fathers with greater glory than before.  But Bajazet died before
his generous conqueror could carry out his promises, and Tamerlane,
taking his place, demanded tribute of his sons and of Manuel of
Constantinople at the same time.

The two elder sons of Bajazet were now at variance over the poor
remains of his empire.  One of these bought the aid of Manuel by
surrendering the coast of Thessaly and the seaports of the Black Sea,
and the Emperor was able to keep these just so long as the war between
the brothers continued to rage.  Even after this had ended in the
triumph over both of Mohammed, Bajazet's youngest son, Manuel could
feel fairly safe, for of late years he had thrown in his {270} lot with
Mohammed and was allowed to hold his possessions in peace.

This period of civil war, was of course, the opportunity for the Greek
ruler to have driven out the Ottomans from his former empire.  But this
opportunity was lost as so many others had been, and after Mohammed
died in 1421, the empire was entirely surrendered to the Ottomans.

Mohammed's successor, Amurath, is thus described by one of his own
historians.  "He was a just and valiant prince, of a great soul,
patient of labours, learned, merciful, religious, charitable; a lover
and encourager of the studious, and of all who excelled in any art or
science; a good Emperor and a great general.

"No man obtained more or greater victories than Amurath.  Under his
reign the soldier was ever victorious, the citizen rich and secure.  If
he subdued any country, his first care was to build mosques and
caravanserais, hospitals and colleges.  Every year he gave a thousand
pieces of gold to the sons of the Prophet, and sent two thousands five
hundred to the religious persons of Mecca, Medina and Jerusalem."

Like the Emperor Charles V, a century later, this "perfect prince" laid
down the reins of empire at the very height of his glory and "retired
to the society of saints and hermits," at Magnesia.  Twice he was
recalled to the field of action, first by an invasion of the
Hungarians, the second time by the insurrection of the "haughty
Janissaries "; and with these latter, now humbled and trembling at his
very look, the great Amurath remained until his death.

Meantime the doomed city of Constantinople had been further weakened by
internal strife.  Hoping to get aid {271} from the Pope, John
Palæologus, the Emperor, had publicly conformed to the Roman Church,
with many of his followers.  But the bulk of the inhabitants of
Constantinople utterly refused to throw over the ancient faith of the
Greek Church, and preferred to disown their Emperor.  As one of them
ominously muttered: "Better the turban of the Turk in Constantinople
than the Pope's tiara."

Disappointed of his hopes of any practical aid from Rome, John worked
on in terrified silence while the brave King of Poland and Hungary
tried in vain to drive back the triumphant Turks.  He died only three
years before the dreaded Amurath, and was succeeded by his brother
Constantine, bearer of the honoured name of the founder of the city,
but destined to be the last Christian ruler of the Eastern Empire.

Before very long, Constantine found himself face to face with the young
Mohammed, the son of Amurath, who was already surnamed the Conqueror.

The all-absorbing desire of Mohammed was the possession of
Constantinople, in order that it might be made the capital of his own
Empire.  Some pretence therefore must be found for a rupture with his
meek vassal Constantine.  At that time there dwelt within the city a
certain Ottoman prince named Orkhan, much given to plots and ambitions,
on whose account the Emperor was paid a considerable sum by Mohammed,
on condition that he was kept from doing any harm.  Very unwisely
Constantine sent envoys to press for a larger payment, and even went so
far as to try to blackmail the Sultan by hinting that Orkhan had the
better right to the throne.

The reply of Mohammed was a prompt order to his {272} engineers to
construct a series of forts between Constantinople and the Black Sea,
and thus to begin the siege by isolating the city from her port and
food supplies.  The actual excuse for warfare was provided in an attack
made by some Greek soldiers on the Turks who were pulling down a
beautiful old church in order to use its stones for their fort.  The
Greeks were promptly cut to pieces, and when Constantine dared to
remonstrate, Mohammed at once declared war.

In vain did the despairing Emperor seek for help from the West.  Even
Genoa and Venice were blind to the approaching loss of all their
Eastern trade, and Rome could do little to help.  When the Emperor made
a strong appeal to his own subjects to rally to the protection of their
city, they listened in sullen silence to the words of one who had
renounced the faith of his ancestors and conformed to the Church of
Rome.  There was never the smallest chance of holding out against the
vigorous young Sultan and his picked troops.

In the spring of 1453 the actual siege began.  Mohammed made use of
that gunpowder which was to revolutionise all the ancient modes of
warfare, and the old walls of Constantinople shuddered and fell before
the shock.

The besieged had their guns too, but they did more harm than good, for
the walls were too narrow to hold them and were so shaken by the
concussion that these weapons had to be abandoned.

Yet for a time, owing largely to the courage and spirit of Constantine,
the city not only held out, but succeeded in sending five vessels into
the midst of the Turkish fleet, sinking and otherwise destroying all
with which {273} they came into contact.  For allowing this to happen,
the Turkish admiral, in spite of his plea of an injured eye as the
cause of the mishap, was sentenced to receive a hundred strokes from a
golden rod in the presence of the angry Sultan.

But this victory was quickly counterbalanced by Mohammed, who had some
of his vessels brought overland across the neck that lies between the
Bosphorus and the Golden Horn, thus shutting out the city from the sea
on both sides.  After a siege of forty days the end came on May 29,
1453.  A special effort was urged by the Sultan in these words: "The
city and the buildings are mine, but I resign to you the captives and
the spoil, the treasures of gold and beauty; be rich and happy.  Many
are the provinces of my Empire; the intrepid soldier who first ascends
the walls of Constantinople shall be rewarded with the government of
the fairest and most wealthy; and my gratitude shall accumulate his
honours and fortunes above the measure of his own hopes."

The answer came loud and strong from every part of the camp.

"Allah is great!  There is no God but Allah, and Mohammed is His
Prophet."

Within the city all was in gloom and despair.  The Emperor was blamed
for not surrendering earlier; many said that the "repose and security
of Turkish servitude" were far preferable to this last stand for
freedom.

The unfortunate Constantine listened in silence, and then went to the
Cathedral of St Sophia, where he partook of his last Sacrament.  Rising
from a brief and troubled rest at dawn, he mounted his horse to ride
back to the {274} breach in the falling walls.  His few faithful
friends and attendants pressed round the master who they knew was going
to his death.  Looking gravely down upon them, "he prayed one and all
to pardon him for any offence that he might knowingly or unknowingly
have committed against any man."

The crowd answered with cries and lamentations as he rode calmly to his
fate.  "The distress and fall of the last Constantine," says Gibbon,
"are more glorious than the long prosperity of the Byzantine Cæsars."

Standing in the gap made in the wall by the Gate of St Romanus, the
Emperor and his little band awaited the rush of the Janissaries.  One
by one his men fell behind him and at his side, until he alone remained.

One more attack was made, and this time the infidels swarmed right into
the town, trampling the body of the Emperor underfoot.  All that long
and dreadful day the wail of the captives ascended to the heavens, and
when a search was made among the dead, only the golden eagles on his
shoes identified the crushed and disfigured form of him who once was
Constantine, last of his race.

The last scene in the grim drama was played when the Sultan came to the
Church of St Sophia, and, riding upon his magnificent war-horse, passed
in through the eastern door and bade the Mullah pronounce the formula
of the faith of Islam from the high pulpit.

"Allah is great!  There is no God but Allah, and Mohammed is His
Prophet!"

The words resounded through the aisles of the great eastern church, as
they had echoed first in the desert of Arabia nearly nine hundred years
before that day.

Through well-nigh nine centuries we have traced the growth of Islam,
and the part played by the Holy War {275} in hindering its progress to
the West; and, having recorded this last and successful attempt of the
Mohammedans at establishing themselves in Europe, we will bring our
story to an end with one last glance at the effect of this great
movement upon Christendom.




{276}

CHAPTER XXII

The Effect of the Crusades


  Oh, East is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall meet,
  Till earth and sky stand presently at God's great Judgment Seat;
  But there is neither East nor West, Border nor Breed nor Birth,
  When two strong men stand face to face, though they come from the ends
        of the earth.
                  RUDYARD KIPLING: Ballad of East and West.


The sacred fire of enthusiasm for the "Cause of God" still flickered
faintly in Europe during the years that immediately preceded the fall
of Constantinople.  Our own Henry V., during his lifetime, sent out a
knight of Burgundy, Gilbert de Lannoy, to see what chances there were
of the success of a new Crusade; and Henry's dying words showed that he
had not forgotten his design.  "Good Lord, Thou knowest that mine
intent had been, and yet is, if I may live, to rebuild the walls of
Jerusalem."

But with the fall of Constantinople, all further hope of wresting the
Holy Land from the infidel came to an end.  Never again did a prince of
the West set out to recover those "holy fields," and to this day they
are ruled by the Sultan of Turkey.

It is said of Columbus that he had in mind the idea of stirring up an
Eastern War in the "Cause of God" before there had dawned upon him the
vision of that Western {277} enterprise which was to open the gate to a
new world.  And that religious zeal did not die with the Crusades is to
be seen in the constant stream of pilgrims to the Holy Land which, for
a hundred years, followed the final defeat of Christendom, and which,
suspended though it was during the spiritual apathy of the eighteenth
century, has continued down to the present day.

But the Age of Warfare was over when Constantinople fell, and with the
dawn of that great awakening of thought and literature which we call
the Renaissance, men turned away from bloodshed to the joys of
discovery and enterprise in a new world.

A little later, when the Wars of the Reformation broke out, and Europe
took up the sword anew, the whole spirit of the Western world had
changed.  The East had lost its glamour, and the antagonism between
religious and political parties had waxed so hot in Christendom that
the old feud between Christian and pagan was entirely laid aside.

Yet the Crusades, in spite of their apparent failure, had done a great
work.  First and foremost they had succeeded in deferring the rule of
the Turk in Europe, and by the constant checks they offered to his
progress, had prevented him from conquering anything but the merest
fringe of the West.  The advantage of this, apart from considerations
of religion, will be seen at once if we compare the condition of the
subjects of the Sultan with that of the more progressive of the
Christian races of Europe.

But the benefits conferred upon Europe by the Crusades are by no means
only of this negative character.  The Saracen of the Middle Ages was a
learned and cultured gentleman, skilled in medicine, in music, and in
various {278} other sciences, and, generally speaking, as much superior
to the rough uneducated Crusader of the Western World as he was to the
savage Ottoman Turk.

Foes though they were in name, there was always a certain amount of
friendly intercourse between the Crusaders and the Saracens, and the
former were bound to be affected in some degree by the civilisation of
the latter.  Sometimes a dark-faced "leech" would return in the train
of a Crusading baron to Europe, and there would teach some of his
mysteries of healing to the rough-and-ready doctors of the West.

To the Arabs we owe our "Arabic" system of numbers, used instead of the
clumsy Roman figures, and the knowledge of the decimal notation, by
which nearly every civilised country except our own reckons its money.
From Architecture to Geography, all those branches of knowledge which
distinguish the educated from the uneducated mind, may be traced back
to the keen and subtle intelligence of the East.

Next perhaps in importance comes the opening up of the East to the West
for purposes of Commerce.  Many a knightly Crusader thought it no shame
to carry on an extensive trade in the silks and spices of Palestine in
order to fill his coffers upon his return and that he might be
recompensed for the expenses of his undertaking.  The constant crossing
and recrossing of the Mediterranean soon set on foot a steady stream of
commercial enterprise between the seaports of Italy and those of Syria,
and the existence of a Latin Empire of Constantinople impelled Venice,
the main cause of its establishment, to still closer communication with
the East.  To her, as "the Southern terminus of a great land
trade-route," was carried the produce of England, {279} Norway,
Flanders, France and Germany as to a huge market, and she distributed
it throughout the Eastern world, receiving in return the wealth of the
latter to be carried back to Europe.  It was only when the discovery of
America opened up an entirely new field of enterprise that this great
stream of commerce began to diminish.

Another effect of the Crusades was upon the great world of literature.
Such a unique event as a Holy War was bound to inspire the writers of
history even in the days when such writers were rarely to be found.
William of Tyre was only one amongst several chroniclers of the First
Crusade, and the story of the Crusades of later days have been vividly
told by Richard of Devizes, Villehardouin and the Sire de Joinville,
many of whose telling descriptions have been quoted in the pages of
this book.

It was but natural that the gallant adventures of the Crusaders should
form the theme of many of the epics and _chansons_ of Chivalry.
Charlemagne, Roland and Bevis of Hampton may never have seen the Holy
Land, but they became the heroes of Crusading exploits nevertheless;
while Richard Lion-Heart and Godfrey of Boulogne, actual leaders in the
Holy War, became the central figures of more or less impossible
legendary adventures.

Through all this stream of literature ran that quickening, inspiring
spirit of hope--perhaps the greatest gift of the Crusades to a world
which, in the years between the Empire of Charlemagne and the
Renaissance, might easily have fallen into a deadened condition of
indifference and disruption.

This is scarcely the place to speak of the great unifying effect upon
Europe, nor of the influence of the {280} movement upon the feudal
conditions of the time; but we have seen enough to know that the
Western World was decidedly the better, spiritually, mentally and
physically, for that gigantic failure which we know as the Crusades.




{281}

List of Books Consulted

The following books have been especially useful in the compilation of
this little volume.  My thanks are also due to Messrs Dent for
permission to use some extracts from Sir Frank Marzials' charming
translation of Villehardouin's Chronicle and that of the Sire de
Joinville in their "Everyman" series.

  Archer and Kingsford.  _The Crusades; the Story of the Latin
      Kingdom of Jerusalem_.
  Chronicles of the Crusaders by _Richard of Devizes, Geoffrey de
      Vinsauf and the Sire de Joinville_.
  F. W. Cornish.  _Chivalry_.
  Sir G. W. Cox.  _Crusades_.
  W. E. Dutton.  _History of the Crusades_.
  J. F. Michaud.  _History of the Crusades_.
  H. Stebbing.  _History of Chivalry and the Crusades_.
  Gibbon's _Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire_.




{282}

Index


  Aaron, 20
  Abraham, 11, 16, 33, 29
  Abu Bekr, 18, 24
  Abu Talib, 12, 16, 18, 20
  Acre, 130, 131, 132, 135, 136, 137, 149,
    152, 153, 154, 202, 210, 212, 243, 244,
    245, 251, 255, 256, 257, 259
  Adam, 20
    "  and Eve, 11
  Adela, wife of Stephen of Blois, 103
  Adhemar, Bishop of Puy, 62, 91, 92
  Aleaume of Clari, 190
  Alexandria, 38, 199
  Alexios, Emperor of the Eastern
    Empire, 54, 58, 64, 65, 70, 73, 74, 77,
    78, 79, 103, 173, 174, 178, 180, 181,
    182, 186, 187, 188
  Allah, 11, 12, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 23, 24,
    28, 29, 31, 40, 273
  Amalric, King of Jerusalem, 119
  Amina, 12
  Amrou, 38, 39
  Amurath, 270, 271
  Andrew, King of Hungary, 201, 202, 207
  Anjou, Men of, 138
  Antioch, 74, 81, 82, 86, 88, 92, 93, 102,
    103, 104, 105, 113, 127, 193, 251
  Arabia, 10, 37
  Aragon, King of, 253
  Arnulf, 97
  Artois, Count of, 227, 228, 230, 233
  Ascalon, 101, 142, 145, 147, 149
  Ascension Day, 241
  Attaleia, 113
  Austria, Duke of, 201
  Ayesha, 27
  Auxerre, Count of, 253


  Babylon, 94, 146, 178, 225
  Bagdad, 43, 54, 103
  Baldwin, King of Jerusalem, 51, 68,
             69, 81, 85, 86, 102, 103, 105, 108, 117, 119
     "     of Bethune, 156
     "     Count of Flanders 162, 192
     "     Son of John of Brienne, 214
  Balian of Ibelin, 123, 124
  Balkans, The, 268
  Barbarossa, Emperor Frederick 126, 127
  Barons' War, The, 252, 255
  Barthelemy, Peter, 90, 92, 93
  Bavaria, Duke of, 201
  Beauvais, Bishop of, 150
  Becco, William, 199
  Bedouins, 139, 226, 227, 236
  Berengaria of Navarre, 128, 130
  Bernard of Clairvaux, 107, 108, 109, 110, 117, 161, 218
     "    of St Valery, 98
     "    the Wise, 43
  Bethlehem, 95, 211
  Bevis of Hampton, 279
  Bibars, Sultan, 251
  Blanche, Queen Regent of France, 219, 244, 245
  Blondel, 158
  Bohemond of Antioch, 73, 74, 77, 81,
    82, 87, 88, 89, 91, 92, 102, 103, 104, 105, 193
  Boniface, Marquis of Montferrat, 167,
    168, 174, 175, 178, 181, 188, 193
  Brindisi, 196, 209, 210
  Burgundy, Duke of, 139, 149
  Byzantine, Province in the Peloponnesus, 268
  Byzantine, Cæsars, 274


  Cadesia, Battle of, 36
  Cæsarea, 102
  Cæsars, Byzantine, 274
  Canabus, 188, 189
  Cantacugenus, 267, 268
  Charlemagne, 40, 43, 279
  Charles, Emperor, 43
     "     V., 51, 270
  Children's Crusade, The, 199
  Church of the Blessed Virgin, 43
     "   of the Holy Sepulchre, 44, 46, 47, 98, 102, 120, 211
     "   of the Nativity, 96
     "   of St Mary, 50
     "   of St Peter, 90, 208
  Clairvaux, Abbott of, 108, 109
  Clement III., Pope, 126
     "    IV., Pope, 251, 252
  Columbus, 276
  Conon of Bethune, 180
  Conrad of Germany, 109, 110, 111, 112,
    114, 117, 130, 131, 135, 149, 150, 151, 156
  Constantine, 35, 271, 272, 274
  Constantinople, 35, 38, 39, 54, 58, 63,
    65, 66, 68, 70, 73, 74, 77, 78, 103, 104,
    110, 112, 114, 173, 178, 179, 184, 185,
    187, 193, 194, 251, 265, 267, 268, 270,
    271, 272, 273, 276, 277
  Couci, Lord of, 238
  Crusades, The, 10, 255; _First_, 10, 44,
    49, 50, 55, 65, 78, 87, 107, 108, 117,
    279; _Second_, 108, 109, 113, 114, 117;
    _Third_, 126, 128, 145, 155, 158, 244;
    _Fourth_, 159, 161; _Fifth_, 161, 163, 173,
    193, 214; _Sixth_, 195, 200, 201;
    _Seventh_, 213, 217, 219; _Eighth_, 219,
    243, 251; _Ninth_, 251, 255
  Cypriotes, The, 129
  Cyprus, Island of, 128, 152, 201, 245, 247, 259, 264


  Damascus, 36, 37, 117, 121, 153
  Damietta, 203, 204, 207, 208, 222,
    225, 230, 233, 234, 239, 243
  Dandolo, 162, 163, 165, 176, 193
  David, Sultan, 66, 79, 81, 85, 88, 91
  Doge of Venice, 162, 163, 164, 165,
    170, 175, 176, 177, 181, 193
  Dorylæum, 82
  Ducas, John, 266


  Edessa, 86, 103, 108
  Edward I., 252, 255, 256, 258
  Egypt, 13, 30, 35, 38, 43, 47, 119, 121,
    194, 203, 204, 207, 217, 222, 225
  El Amin, 13
  Eldred, 47
  Eleanor, 109, 110, 256
  El Hakim, 44, 45, 54
  Emir of Joppa, 255, 256
  Emmaus, 95, 153
  England, 47, 53, 94, 101, 102, 155, 157,
    204, 244, 256, 278
  Euphrates, The, 32, 38
  Eustace, 68
  Eve, and Adam, 11


  Fall of Jerusalem, The, 119
  Fatima, 14, 29
  Flanders, 117, 162, 168, 192, 279
  Flemings, The, 185
  Forduce, 57, 58, 61, 102, 104, 108, 110,
    117, 135, 162, 195, 196, 202, 204, 220,
    245, 253, 279
  Foucand, Lord of Merle, 227, 228
  Frederick II., 194, 207, 208, 210, 211,
    212, 213, 218, 220, 221, 235, 236
  French Crusaders, 255
  Fulk, 162, 167, 175


  Gabriel, 15
  Gate of St Romanus, 274
  Genoa, 195, 196, 251, 256, 272
  Geoffrey of Perche, 167
      "    de Rancogne, 113
      "    of Sargines, 233, 234
      "    de Villehardouin, 163, 164,
              165, 166, 169, 170, 173, 182,
              186, 189
      "    de Vinsauf, 124, 137, 140,
              141, 142, 146, 150, 152
  Gerard, Grand Master of Hospital of
    St John, 50, 121, 122
  Gilbert de Lannoy, 276
  Godfrey of Boulogne, 50, 68, 69, 70,
    73, 74, 77, 81, 91, 97, 101, 102, 105,
    201, 279
  Godwin, Earl, 47
  Golden Gate, The, 191
     "   Horn, The, 273
  Gotschalk, German priest, 66
  Grand Master, of Templars, 228, 257
  Gregory IX., Pope, 209, 212, 214, 215, 220
     "    X., Pope, 257
  Guardian of the Redeemer's Poor, 50
  Guiscard, Robert, 55
  Guy of Lusignan, 119, 120, 121, 123,
    129, 130, 131, 135, 138, 150, 152


  Hamza, 19
  Harmozan, 36
  Haroun-al-Raschid, 40, 43
  Hegira, The, 26, 33
  Helena, 35
  Henry II., 126, 127
    "   III., 244, 252, 255
    "   V., 276
    "   VI, The Emperor, 157
    "   Emperor of Germany, 159
    "   Count of Champagne, 131, 151, 152
    "   King of Cyprus, 259, 260
  Heraclius, 30, 35, 123
  Hildebrand, 55
  Hinnon, 95
  Holy City, The, 10, 31, 35, 38, 43, 55,
          56, 87, 94, 98, 102, 119, 121,
          123, 125, 126, 148, 152, 153, 155,
          211, 212, 216, 217
    "  Father, The, 161
    "  Lance, The, 91, 93
    "  Sepulchre, The, 35, 46, 47, 50,
          51, 101, 138, 180, 216, 244
    "  War, The, 9, 10, 51, 53, 92, 93,
          109, 118, 162, 193, 194, 195, 201,
          209, 218, 255, 279
    "  Week, 191, 210
  Hospital of St John, The, 50
  Hospitallers, Knights, 50, 51, 52, 105,
    117, 137, 138, 140, 141, 204, 210, 211,
    229, 238, 251, 256, 260
  Honorius, 208, 209
  Hugh of Vermandois, 69, 70, 92
    "  the Merchant, 156
  Hungarians, The, 268, 270
  Hungary, 47, 63, 66, 67, 69, 170, 175, 201, 271


  Iblis, 11
  India, 13, 269
  Innocent III., Pope, 161, 162, 194, 195,
    200, 201, 208
  Isaac, Greek Emperor, 127, 129, 173,
    174, 180, 182, 183, 184, 187, 188
  Isabella, Queen, 151
  Ishmael, 11
  Israel, 130
  Israelites, 38, 61
  Italy, 13, 57, 69, 78, 128, 202, 278


  Jacob, 37
  Jehoshaphat, 147
  Jerusalem, 10, 20, 26, 34, 35, 37, 43,
    47, 50, 51, 52, 56, 58, 61, 77, 87, 92,
    94, 95, 98, 103, 105, 107, 108, 114,
    117, 121, 122, 123, 148, 152, 153, 155,
    160, 163, 164, 193, 208, 212, 214, 216,
    218, 233, 244, 249, 251, 252, 254, 256,
    264, 270, 276
  Jews, The, 15, 26, 29, 32, 37, 38, 44, 209
  Joanna, 148
  John of Brienne, 201, 202, 203, 204, 207, 208, 212
    "  of England, 157, 158, 194
    "  St, Knights of, 51
  Joinville, Sire de, 219, 222, 225, 227,
    228, 229, 230, 235, 236, 237, 241, 243,
    246, 252, 253, 254, 279
  Joppa, 94, 142, 145, 146, 148, 153, 155,
    159, 160, 161, 211, 217, 244, 251
  Jordan, The, 121, 147, 202
  Joseph, 20
  Jura Mountains, 168


  Kaaba, 11, 17, 19, 29, 30, 31
  Kadija, 13, 14, 17, 20
  Kerboga, 89, 90, 91
  Khalil Sultan, 258, 263
  Khosru, 34, 35, 36
  Knights Hospitallers, 50, 51, 52, 105,
            117, 137, 138, 140, 141, 204,
            210, 211, 238, 251, 256, 260
     "    of St John, 51
     "    Templars, 51, 105, 117, 120,
            137, 138, 148, 204, 210, 211,
            212, 227, 228, 238, 251, 256


  Laodicea, 104, 105, 112
  Latins, The, 216
  Lebanon, 81
  Leopold, Duke of Austria, 132, 156, 157
  Libanus, Mountains of, 94
  Lombards, 103, 104, 168
  Lombardy, 77, 168, 174
  Louis, Count of Blois, 162, 169
     "   of France, 108, 109, 110, 111,
           112, 113, 114, 117
     "   IX., King, 213, 219, 221, 222,
           229, 233, 238, 239, 241, 242,
           243, 246, 249, 253


  Malek-Camhel, 211, 213
  Mansourah, 228, 237
  Manuel of Constantinople, 269
     "   Greek Emperor, 110, 111, 112
  Marseilles, 128, 168, 196, 199
  Matthew de Clermont, 263
     "    of Paris, 215
  Maynard, 156
  Meander, River of, 112
  Mecca, 10, 12, 14, 16, 18, 19, 23, 24,
    26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 270
  Medina, 20, 23, 26
  _Melech Ric_ (King Richard), 142
  Middle Ages, The, 277
  Mizpeh, Mount, 95
  Mohammed, 12-20, 23, 24, 26-35, 39,
    132, 241, 269, 270-273
  Moriah, Mount, 51
  Moses, 23
  Mosque of Omar, 211
  Murad, Turkish Chieftain, 268


  Navarre, King of, 213, 253, 255
  Nazareth, 211, 245, 251, 255
  Nicæa, 54, 65, 66, 78, 79, 81, 111, 112
  Nicephorus, 40, 43
  Nicholas, 195
      "     IV., Pope, 257
  Nile, The, 194, 203, 207, 225
  Normandy, 136, 155, 157, 244
  Notre Dame, Church of, 167


  Odo, Duke of Burgundy, 166
  Olives, Mount of, 97, 98
  Omar, 36, 37, 38, 39, 211
  Orkhan, 266, 268, 271
  Orontes, River of, 81, 94
  Othman, 39
  Otho of Germany, 194, 207, 208
    "  de Grandison, Sir, 258, 259, 260, 263
  Ottoman Empire, The, 266


  Palæologus, Michael, 251, 265, 266
       "      John, 268, 271
  Pelagius, Cardinal, 204, 207
  Pentelema, Island of, 247
  Persia, 12, 34, 35, 36, 269
  Peter of Brittany, 240
    "   the Hermit, 55, 56, 57, 62, 63,
           64, 65, 78, 91, 96, 98, 107, 161, 218
    "   Lord of Bracuel, 190, 191
  Philip de Montfort, 234, 235
     "   of France, 52, 126, 127, 128,
           130, 131, 132, 135, 136, 157, 194, 207
     "   of Germany, 174, 177
     "   of Nemours, Lord, 241, 242
     "   the Bold, 255
  Placentia, Council of, 58
  Poitiers, Count of, 225, 241, 242, 243
  Poitou, Men of, 138
  Poland, King of, 271
  Porcus, 199
  Prophet, The (Mohammed), 17, 20, 24
    27, 28, 31, 32, 34
  Ptolemais, City of, 199

  Ramadan, 14
  Ramleh, Town of, 94
  Raoul, Lord of Conci, 228
  Raymond, Count of Toulouse, 62, 74,
    77, 78, 80, 81, 90, 92, 93, 96, 101, 102,
    103, 104
  Raymond, of Tripoli, 119, 120, 121, 122, 123
  Red-Cross Knights, 52
  Reinaldo, 65, 66
  Reginald of Châtillon, 119, 120, 121, 123
  Renaissance, The, 277, 279
  Richard, Earl of Cornwall, 215
     "     of Devises, 128, 130, 132, 135, 279
     "     Lion Heart, 127, 128, 130,
             131, 132, 135, 136, 137, 139,
             141, 142, 145-159, 215, 244, 279
  Robert of Clari, 189, 190
     "   of Normandy, 69, 78, 81, 82, 95, 101
  Roderick, "last of the Goths," 39
  Roland, 279
  Rome, 9, 31, 34, 35, 196, 208, 210, 271


  Saladin, 119, 121, 123, 124, 125, 129,
    130, 132, 142, 146-150, 153, 155, 159,
    185, 207, 237
  Saphadim, 124, 146-150, 154, 155, 159
  Seljukian Turks, The, 54, 55, 87, 266
      "     Sultan, The, 266
  Sicily, Island of, 61, 128, 131, 155, 207, 247, 255
  Simon de Montfort, 162, 178
  Sion, Mount, 96
  Soissons, Bishop of, 167
      "     Count of, 229
  St Andrew, 90
  St Chrysostom, 81
  St Denis, 222, 254
  St Dominic, 218
  St Francis of Assist, 218
  St George, 92, 94
  St Louis, 252, 254, 255
  St Mark, 181, 182, 245
  St Nicholas, 230
  St Paul, 85
  St Peter, Church of, 81
  St Sophia, Church of, 188, 189, 192, 273, 274
  St Theodore, 92
  Stephen of Blois, 103, 105
     "    of Chârtres, 89
  Sweyn, Son of Godwin, 47
  Syria, 13, 29, 30, 87, 146, 184, 214, 216, 217, 278


  Tabor, Mount, 202
  Tamerlane, Chief of Tartar hordes, 268, 269
  Tancred, 81, 85, 91, 102, 104, 105, 128, 157, 165
  Templars, Knights, 51, 105, 117, 120,
    137, 138, 148, 204, 210, 211, 212, 227,
    228, 238, 251, 256
  Temple, Church, The, 53
     "    The, 147
  Theobald of Champagne, 219
  Thrace, Plains of, 70, 267, 268
  Tiberias, 121, 122, 123, 132
  Tower of David, The, 101
  Tristan, Knight, 49
  Truce of God, 46
  Tunis, 247, 248, 254, 255
  Turkey, Sultan of, 276
  Turkestan, 54, 269
  Tyre, City of, 87, 94, 123, 131, 135, 150, 151, 155, 160
  Tyrol, The, 158


  Urban II., Pope, 56, 57, 58, 61


  Walter of Brienne, 165
  Walter, Lord, 226
     "    the Penniless, 63-66
  William de Pratelles, 146
     "    Longsword, 203, 228, 229
     "    of Tyre, 279
     "    Longchamp, 158
     "    the Conqueror, 47, 89


  Yolande, Daughter of John of Brienne, 209


  Zeuzhi, Sultan, 108



      *      *      *      *      *



  TOLD THROUGH THE AGES

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  _Other volumes in active preparation_









End of Project Gutenberg's The Story of the Crusades, by E. M. Wilmot-Buxton

*** 