In the early Middle Ages Europe was one great realm as it has never been since. It was not strictly Europe, but Christendom. There were so many little states that they did not matter. A man counted himself first a Christian, then a Norman or a Saxon, and after that a Frenchman or an Englishman as might be.
The mass of the people were serfs, labouring on the land, without effort to change. They were full of strange fear, a fear of death, and of a curious excitement, expecting something wonderful to happen. The dark forests, the cold winters with flashing northern lights, the storms, the sudden plagues, the famines, the wild beasts, the seething of a changing world, all helped to fill men in those days with a dread of life, and a vision of something more beautiful, delightful, or more marvellous, more exciting. The clergy came and taught them of the life after death, Heaven which was so lovely to a sordid, wretched, frightened serf, and Hell which was so awful. In those days men believed passionately in Heaven and the angels, they longed for the grandeur of the angelic city, the living in the brightness, speaking beautifully with the noble and splendid angels, wearing delicate white clothes and looking on the face of God. They believed just as strongly in the Devil. Angels hovered among them as they toiled in fields or forests, devils tempted them from the bushes or out of the darkness of night, monstrous and wonderful things were semi-hidden everywhere.
It was the great Church which offered the supernatural terrors and beauty and hope and marvels to men whose soiled, heavy, imprisoned lives were not satisfying to them. Still, in places, peasants worshipped the dreadful old gods of fear, sacrificing to trees and springs of water. But alter so much fighting and gruesomeness, in the midst of so much hopelessness, the thought of Almighty Jesus and of Heaven was almost unspeakably wonderful to men. At the same time, they still loved their own wild, fierce, brutal ways. So that with one half of themselves they turned with ecstasy to the teachers of Heaven and love, the priests of the Church. With the other half, they still wanted the satisfaction of violence and lust, the bloody excitement of fighting and killing, and superstitious sacrifice.
There were only two great powers above the people — the barons and the clergy. The barons, seated in their castles, meant serfdom and war and the excitement of adventure. The clergy, with their Christian teaching, meant mystery, submissiveness, and humble labour, with the great glamour of an after-life beyond.
But to make war costs money, and the barons were always short of money. So we have the Jewish moneylender, a very important figure in those days, when money- lending was forbidden to Christians. And besides the money-lender the merchant rose up in the towns, under the protection of the barons. For the merchants paid heavily for the barons’ shelter and protection.
Lastly, among the clergy themselves, were the monks. The people of that day had two kinds of heroes: first, the great fighter who made himself renowned on earth; secondly, the great saint, who would have power in heaven. Men who were soldiers would suddenly put off their armour to enter a monastery, to find the eternal salvation. And men who were soldiers mocked at the folded hands and bowed, shaven heads of the monks, who, they said, were neither men, women, nor good cattle. Then again, in time of danger, monks would put on armour under their habits, and sally forth to fight, ferocious as any men-at- arms. Thus all Europe swayed between two passions — the passion of fighting and violence, and the passion for blissful holiness.
So we have the life: fierce castles on the rocks, great monasteries by the streams and ponds: and between the two, the villages of miserable huts, with a parish priest and perhaps a church or chapel, and a people full of fear, misery, superstition, delight, and excitement.
It was necessary for the Church to become more powerful, for the Church was the great civilising influence, teaching men the arts of peace and production. And yet in the hearts of men was an absolute necessity for fighting and adventure. How were the two to go together? The Church would have to satisfy the fighting instinct in her people, otherwise she would never hold them, would never succeed in quieting them and bringing them to order.
Mahomet had begun to preach in Arabia in 609. His followers had soon grown powerful, had overrun Asia Minor and were attacking Constantinople. They, of course, seized Jerusalem and the holy places in the far East. Now the Christians had made pilgrimages to Jerusalem from early times. This making of pilgrimages was a pagan custom. The old Greeks would travel far to a sacred shrine or temple where they wished to make a vow or a supplication. So the Christians went to Jerusalem.
After the Arabs took the Holy Land, they still allowed the Christian Patriarch to hold the Holy Sepulchre. For the Arabs allowed that Jesus was a prophet, but a much smaller prophet than Mahomet. So vast numbers of people came from Europe to Jerusalem, each one paying a certain fee which enriched the Mohammedans. They came in comparative safety, particularly in Charlemagne’s days, for Charlemagne was a friend of the great Caliph or Prince Haroun al Raschid; moreover as yet the Mohammedans felt no holy hatred of Christianity. Every spring whole caravans of Christians, princes, bishops, poor people, travelled across Europe and Asia to Jerusalem.
But in the year 1000 the Turks began to move out of Asia against the Arab Mohammedans. About 1070 they captured Asia Minor, and Jerusalem fell into their hands. The Turks became Mohammedans, but they by no means treated the Christians as the more civilised wise caliphs had done. They fell upon the Christian caravans, robbed and tormented them. Every step was danger and misery. At last some wretched pilgrims returned wasted and spent, to tell of their sufferings at the hands of the Turks. Great numbers never returned at all.
About 1090 a hermit of France, called Peter, reached Constantinople on his return from the Sepulchre. He was a battered pilgrim, a monk. He had been a gentleman. He and the Patriarch of Constantinople wept together over the sufferings and shame of the Christians, whose most holy places must lie in the hands of cruel heathens. The Patriarch could get no help from the weak, vicious emperors of Constantinople.
‘ I will rouse the martial nations of Europe in your behalf,’ cried Peter. The astonished Patriarch gave him letters of credit, and Peter hastened west. He kissed the feet of the Pope in Rome, and proclaimed his mission. He was a mad fanatic, but wonderful as a preacher and an inspirer of the people. Pope Urban II. saw that it would be wise to let him rouse Christendom to one great united act, and he gave Peter his blessing, and encouraged him to proclaim the deliverance of the Holy Land.
Peter the Hermit was a small, insignificant-looking man, but his soul flamed, his eyes were flashing, he was wonderful in exhortation. Riding on an ass, he carried a heavy crucifix before him. His head and feet were bare, he wore a coarse dark garment, his body was thin and worn with fasting and vehemence. And so he traversed Italy, then France, then Germany, preaching to great crowds in the churches, in market-places, by the roadside, telling the sufferings of the pilgrims, wailing the shame to Jesus that the sacred Sepulchre was defiled by the Turks, calling to Christ and the Mother of God, as if he saw them in the air above him, weeping and crying to them to be with this people, to lighten their steps. He went into cottages, or castles, or palaces alike, and whether it was a poor man eating his grey porridge, or a baron before his venison and wine, he cried on the inmates of the house to gird their loins and prepare for the holy expedition. And peasant or baron, farmer or bishop, they all listened alike, and groaned and wept as if they saw Jesus in trouble, and vowed themselves to this service of the dear God. For in those days men felt Jesus as if He were suffering and beautiful amongst them, they defended Him as if He were a delicate, most wonderful heart’s-brother. And all men shared this feeling — serfs, barons, kings, bishops: when it came to the wonderful, sweet, delicate Jesus and His tender Mother, all hearts burned alike, all men were filled with one great hot yearning. And this passion for Jesus united men and made them one, across all the difference of serfdom anil tyranny. They were united in one passion, slave and lord alike, their hearts beat the same. It has never been so again, since the strange passionate days of the early Middle Ages.
Pope Gregory VII., the great Hildebrand, had already begun to arm Europe against the Mohammedans: but it was Urban the Second who was the great maker of the movement. He called a council of two hundred bishops of Italy, France, Burgundy, Suabia, and Bavaria; four thousand of the clergy, and thirty thousand of the laity attended the vast meeting, which was held on the plain outside Placentia. The ambassadors from Constantinople told the sad tale of the East, the shame that lay on Bethlehem and Calvary, the tale of the misery and suffering of the eastern Christians, till this vast assembly, thousands of men, burst into tears and wept. The most eager declared their willingness to march at once to rescue God and His servants. But Pope Urban knew that a short delay would gather greater hosts and stir the feeling deeper. Meanwhile in every parish the clergy preached the mission. Another great meeting was arranged at Clermont, in Aquitaine. When Urban mounted the high scaffold in the market-place, masses of people had gathered to hear him. And as he spoke and urged and persuaded them, suddenly one great cry went up from the hosts. Deus vult! Deus vult! cried the clergy, in pure Latin. Diex el volt! Diex el volt! cried the poorer people from the north. Deus lo volt! Deus lo volt! cried the people from the south. But it was all one cry, and had one meaning — ’ God wills it! God wishes it! ‘
‘ It is indeed the will of God,’ replied the Pope; ‘ and let this memorable word, surely inspired by the Holy Ghost, be ever your battle cry, you champions of Christ. Christ’s cross is the symbol of your salvation — wear it, a red, a bloody cross, on breast or shoulder, as an eternal mark of your irrevocable pledge.’
The greatest excitement spread over Europe. People were mad to release the holy places of the Saviour, to succour God and to behold the towers of Jerusalem the Golden, to know the wonders of Jordan, to touch the olive-trees for themselves, where Jesus had wept, to see His lilies. All Europe also had heard of the marvellous palaces of the caliphs, of the gold and jasper and emeralds of the magical Arabians, of sweet groves of cinnamon, and of the lovely dark-eyed women of the East. So adventurous souls were fired. They wanted to capture these marvellous palaces, to seize these jewels and this gold, to taste the spices, to know the soft-eyed women. Sure of great treasure from the East, as well as of everlasting glory in heaven, princes mortgaged their estates, barons their castles, peasants sold their cattle and implements. Horses and armour and weapons became enormously expensive, cows, land, furniture very cheap. Every man except merchants, clergy, Jews, wanted to go. Every man must provide himself with staff, and wallet for food. Each must sew on the shoulder of his garment the red cross. The rich sewed scarlet silk with gold thread and gems, the poor stitched on coarse red flannel. Some men branded their naked shoulders with hot irons.
The 15th August, 1096, was fixed for the day of departure. But early in the spring sixty thousand people of the poorer classes, men, women, youths, girls, were gathered in the east of France and in Lorraine, clamouring to be led by Peter the Hermit, at once to set off. In front eight horsemen led fifteen thousand foot pilgrims. The others followed in vast detachments. Behind these again came fifteen thousand German peasants, led by the monk Godescal. And away behind these came many thousands of the worst, most villainous people in Europe, hanging round for robbery and crime. All thoughtful men knew that such an expedition was wickedly foolish. Some counts and gentlemen, with three thousand horse, attended the multitude for its salvation. But in the very front of the mad host were carried a goose and a goat, emblems which were supposed to be possessed with the Holy Spirit. So the mad, raging, shameless mob trailed across Europe.
Peter led the way along the Moselle and Rhine. The first thing to do was to massacre the Jews. At Verdun, Treves, Metz, Spires, Worms, many thousands of these unhappy people were slaughtered and pillaged for having crucified Jesus. In these great border towns the Jews had prosperous trading quarters. These were wiped out. So the terrible hosts moved on, devouring the land, to the Danube. There they had to turn south, through Hungary and Bulgaria, making for Constantinople. The Hungarians, Huns and Magyars had not much food, save their herds, for still they grew little com, and depended on milk and flesh. Therefore in the vast reedy plains there was small supply for the hosts. The Crusaders demanded provisions, seized the scanty stocks, and speedily devoured them. The Hungarians, newly Christianised but still pagan by blood, in anger mounted their swift little horses, and led by their king darted round the moving hosts, showering them with arrows. The Bulgarians also attacked the vast mob. There was some ugly murdering and fighting. About a third of the defenceless Crusaders, with Peter the Hermit, escaped to the mountains of Thrace. The rest perished, strewing their bones down the Balkan Peninsula.
The forces of the Greek emperor led the refugees to Constantinople, and settled them there to await their real leaders, the more noble Crusaders. But the mob of pilgrims so shamelessly robbed and broke into the houses of Constantinople, that Alexius the Emperor tempted them over to the Asiatic side of the Bosphorus. There, like a herd of savages, they rushed towards the Turks who occupied the way to Palestine. The Sultan tempted them on. In a plain of Nicaea they were overwhelmed by Turkish arrows, and a pyramid of bones stood to show to the later Crusaders, the nobler and more regular host, the place of this defeat. Three hundred thousand of this first mob had perished before the true Crusaders were ready to start: and nothing at all had been done against the Turk.
The band of the true Crusaders contained many great lords. Godfrey of Bouillon, Duke of Lorraine, was one of the greatest: then came Hugh, Count of Vermandois; Robert, Duke of Normandy, brother of William Rufus — he had pawned Normandy for about £25,000, in order to be able to go; Robert, Count of Flanders; Stephen, Count of Chartres; these four were the chief leaders of the Norman, British, and North French pilgrims: the Southern French were led by the Bishop of Puy and Raymond, Duke of Toulouse; Bohemond, son of Robert Guiscard, led ten thousand horse and twenty thousand foot from South Italy, his nephew Tancred being his partner, a very famous and perfect knight; there were innumerable other nobles, too many to mention. The wives and sisters of the gentry wished to go with them. They converted their possessions into bars of gold and silver, and, mounted on horseback, gathered together. Princes and barons took with them hounds and hawks to amuse their leisure. The hosts were too many to go together, they would never find food, so they agreed to take separate routes, and meet near Constantinople.
Godfrey of Bouillon, Duke of Lorraine, with his Germans and North French, came by the Danube and down Bulgaria to Constantinople. Having listened to the account of the crimes and the miseries of his forerunners, Godfrey made a treaty of peace with the King of the Hungarians. He arrived in the eastern capital without any bloodshed. Raymond of Toulouse with his Provengals came by Turin and Venice, round the head of the Adriatic, and down through Dalmatia, forty days’ wretched march through perpetual fog and half-hostile mountain natives, having little food to eat and no peace, till he too arrived at Constantinople. The Normans, French, and British under Robert of Normandy and Hugh of Vermandois marched splendidly over the Alps, along the Roman roads to Rome, feasted and welcomed in all the Italian towns. Their ranks were thinned by desertion, for the northerners could not withstand the temptation of remaining in the beautiful Italian cities. After a great display in Rome, this host passed on to Brindisi, where it had to wait till spring for a crossing, and did not reach Constantinople till the early summer of 1097.
Meanwhile the fourth host, the Normans of Sicily with the South Italians, under Bohemond and Tancred, kept near the sea, for they were a well-armed host and well attended with ships. The inhabitants of these old lands were Greek subjects of the Emperor, but they did not like this crusading invasion. Bohemond was fierce. He stormed the castles that interfered with his progress, and pillaged the lands of such offenders.
Poor Alexius, who had pleaded for help from the Roman Christendom against the Turks, now had tidings of the approach of host after host of terrible and ruinous friends who devoured the land. Twenty-four knights in golden armour rode in advance into Constantinople to announce the coming of Hugh of Vermandois, commanding the Emperor to revere the general of the Latin Christians, the brother of the King of Kings, Philip of France. Alexius was astonished and indignant at this announcement, for to his imagination the King of France was a barbarian, not much more important to him than an African chief to us. He waited. There was no preventing the advancing armed bands of northerners from ravaging the lovely Greek estates. Proud and insolent arrived Count Hugh, so unbearable that at last the Emperor had him imprisoned, before his forces had come up. Godfrey of Bouillon, the best and strongest leader, came down after his wretched, weary journey through the Balkan Peninsula to hear such news. He was very angry, and fell on the suburbs of the glittering city of Constantinople. Poor Alexius was at his wits’ end, finding the Christians far worse than the Turks. He was accused by the Crusaders of intending to starve and drown their hosts.
But peace was made, and at last the Emperor persuaded Godfrey to allow his army to be conveyed over to the Asiatic side of the Bosphorus. This was done, and the ships immediately returned to Constantinople, so that no Crusaders could come back. Then the army of Hugh was transported. As fast as one army arrived, the Emperor had it conveyed across, so that it should never join forces with the next comers in the great capital. He dreaded lest they should seize and sack the finest and wealthiest city in the world, his beloved Constantinople. The leaders remained his guests in Constantinople, while their armies or hosts were on the Asiatic side of the water.
One after the other, the great princes were presented at court. Bohemond and Raymond of Toulouse on their arrival urged Godfrey to unite with them and attack Constantinople. Godfrey refused. He had come as a Crusader — not as a marauder. So the poor Emperor trusted to Godfrey, even adopting him as his son. And in this way relations were more or less friendly with the Greek court, Alexius doing his best to conciliate the fierce chiefs. Bohemond, whom the Greeks dreaded, was lodged in a splendid palace, and served like an emperor. One day, as he passed through a gallery, a door left carelessly open showed an interior where gold and silver, gems, silk, and curious furniture were piled in disorder in great heaps. ‘ What conquests,’ said greedy Norman Bohemond, ‘ might not be achieved by the possession of such a treasure.’ ‘ It is vours,’ said the Greek attendant. And Bohemond was greedy-spirited enough to accept it, and the Greeks now felt he had submitted to them. Robert of Normandy, Stephen of Chartres, Raymond of Toulouse, one after another they bowed before the pompous and resplendent throne of the Byzantines.
They all marvelled at the splendours of the court of Constantinople, looking with wonder on such things as they, from their rough northern castles, could not even imagine. They were like the barbarians at Rome. But they hated having to do homage to the eastern Emperor. It was necessary, for they could not cross the Bosphorus without his ships, and they needed his support and guidance through Asia Minor, where his empire extended. So they bowed the knee before him as he sat on his high golden throne. But they hoped in their hearts that, when once in Asia, they could turn their swords against him.
Anna Comnena, daughter of the Emperor, a young, clever princess, wrote her memoirs in which we may still read her account of the visit of these Crusaders to her father’s capital. She did not like the counts and nobles of the north. She thought them the merest barbarians, insolent, overbearing, vulgar, gaping greedily at the treasures of the palacc. Their rude manners disgusted the delicate little lady, their very names, so uncouth, offended her Greek tongue. Some, she allows, were handsome, but all were uncivilised. She liked Raymond of Toulouse best, and hated Bohemond of Sicily. And she writes as if all these great chiefs of the north were but paid soldiers whom her father had hired.
But she is thankful when at last they are all transported over the Bosphorus, for she is staggered by their numbers. All Europe was loosened from its foundation, she says, and hurled against Asia. More than the stars in heaven or the sands of the shore these people came, and they passed like devouring locusts.
Indeed the hosts were countless. Most came from France, but all countries sent their bands. Even there were naked savages from Ireland and Scotland, for it was forbidden to prevent even the poorest Christian from making this holy excursion. It is impossible to say how many died of disease in the hot southern countries, how many perished from thirst and hunger in Syria. For the Greeks in the provinces of Asia Minor were unfriendly, the thoughtless masses devoured their provisions at once, and famine set in. It is said in their anguish of hunger they even roasted and ate their prisoners. Spies who found their way into Bohemond’s kitchen were shown human bodies, bodies of Turks or Saracens, turning on the spit. But this was probably a trick of Bohemond’s to make his name more feared. All the while the enemy hung round, cutting off all stragglers, making sudden attacks on unready bands. All the while the European soldiery had to protect the unarmed masses.
The great hosts divided. Nicaea, the Sultan’s capital near the sea of Marmora, was besieged and at last taken. Another party moved on. When they were far from the sea and fainting with heat they were attacked by the Turkish host, swift darting horsemen loosing their arrows. Bohemond, Tancred, and Robert of Normandy held the fight, and just as all seemed lost, the rest of the sacred army, under Godfrey and Raymond, sixty thousand horse, came up from Nicaea, and a great battle was fought. Four thousand Christians were pierced with Turkish arrows. But as evening approached the swiftness of Asiatic horsemen yielded to the slow but invincible iron strength of the Franks, and Soliman’s forces were routed, his camp with all its treasures seized.
Both the Turks and the northerners felt supreme contempt for the unwarlike Greeks and the soft people of Asia Minor. But in each other they met a worthy adversary. Now at last the Turks learned to respect the invincible slow power of the Franks, for as such they named all the Crusaders, since indeed the greater part of the knights were of Germanic, Norman or Frankish origin. And at last the Crusaders found themselves faced with dauntless, skilful soldiers in the Turks.
The Crusaders crossed Lower Asia, through a land deserted and wasted by the retreating enemy. In the desert places they suffered from thirst, and gave silver for a draught of water. When they came to a river, low in its banks, multitudes rushed, pressing each other, treading each other to death down the steep slopes, pushing many victims into the water. Then they wearily climbed the steep, slippery sides of Mount Taurus. Godfrey of Bouillon had been torn by a bear, and was carried in a litter. Raymond of Toulouse was borne along, grievously sick. Winter was coining on.
In October 1097 they began the great siege of Antioch. Though all scattered bands were called in, still the Crusaders were not sufficiently numerous to surround the city, which still retained much of its Roman greatness. They knew they could not take the walls by force. They knew they could not starve the town into submission. February arrived, 1098, and no progress had been made. The Crusaders were dying off by the thousand. They were utterly starving.
It was agreed that whichever chief captured the city should possess it. Bohemond was most ambitious, he madly desired the prize, for it was a very great one. He defeated an attacking force of the Moslems. Then he sought all manner of means of success. The native population of Antioch was Christian, had been Christian since Roman days. These native Christians had had the Mohammedan religion forced on them, but were ready to turn Christian again as soon as possible. Bohemond contrived that one of them, a Syrian renegade who commanded three towers, should admit him and his bands into the city. Early one June night scaling-ladders were thrown down from the walls, Bohemond and Duke Robert, with their armies rushed silently up, assembled, and seized the town. In the morning the Crusaders saw Bohemond’s flag flying over the city. The poor perishing Crusaders felt they were saved.
But Antioch was a trap. The citadel still held out, and there was seen arriving a huge army under the Emir Kerboga, multitudes of dark warriors advancing over the plains. The Christians felt that they were lost. Famine or slaughter seemed the only alternative. Many fled from the city in despair. The rest of the Crusaders shut the gates and manned the walls, prepared to stand siege and starve.
Then a miracle happened. Peter Bartholomew, a cunning Proven9al priest, announced that the Holy Lance which pierced the side of Jesus on the Cross had been buried under the altar of St. Peter’s church in Antioch. St. Andrew had thrice appeared to him in a dream, and commanded him to bring forth the relic. In great excitement the digging commenced. The lance was found. Bohemond’s party plainly declared that it had been hidden there for the purpose by the priest and the Pro- ven9als. But this had no effect on the great body of the Crusaders. They believed.
Five-and-twenty days the Christians besieged in the city had spent on the verge of destruction, for the emir camped against them offered only the choice of slavery or death.
They were but a handful now compared with the hosts that had set out. There in the far East they prepared to lay their bones. But on the twenty-fifth day the lance was discovered — a Saracen lance-head. Wrapped in a veil of silk and gold it was held up to the Crusaders. A great shout of inflamed joy and hope went up from the whole city. Prayers were offered. Then the soldiers were sent to their quarters, bidden to eat the last of their food freely, and to give all provender to the horses, and to be ready at dawn.
By the first light of day the men assembled. When all were ready the gates were thrown open, the battle array marched forth and was marshalled on the plain outside. A procession of monks chanted the psalm: ‘ Let the Lord arise, and let His enemies be scattered.’ And then the Christian Crusaders, mad with religious excitement, broke on the startled Turks. A tremendous victory was won. It is said that the enemy’s army had six hundred thousand men. This vast, clumsy host was broken, it fled in panic. Great treasures were captured. It seemed indeed a miracle. No wonder that the Crusaders believed they had seen angels and martyrs of God come down and fight with them, flashing and glistening in their midst, angels with bright swords thrusting and slaying the dusky Turks.
For the Crusaders were now much diminished. Thousands had died of pestilence and famine during this dreadful siege. In October 1097, sixty thousand crusading horse had been reviewed before the city: in June 1098 but two thousand remained, and scarce two hundred could be mustered for battle. Godfrey of Bouillon, Bohemond, and Tancred had alone kept heart. Yet even Godfrey had had to borrow a horse for the day of battle. He owned none, and could buy none.
The victory won, Bohemond demanded the city as his own. Raymond said it belonged to the Greek Emperor from whom it had been captured by the Turks. But Bohemond insisted, and he had his way. He remained in his city, or county — for he would claim the surrounding land — with a small force of soldiers. The rest rode on towards Jerusalem, a much diminished host, following the coast southwards. Hugh of Vermandois and Stephen of Chartres had already turned back home to Europe. They had had enough.
When the Crusaders came to the seaport of Tripoli, however, not very far from Damascus, Raymond halted and settled down with his forces. It was a pleasant land. He wanted to found a state for himself, a rival to Antioch. Baldwin, brother of Godfrey, had established himself in Edessa. So little did these great leaders care any more for the crusade, so greedy were they for land. They felt they were out on a great colonising adventure, that the East should be made a sort of European colony, themselves as rulers.
The remaining Crusaders, weary of all this, now demanded to be led straight to Jerusalem. They had heard of the decline of the Turkish Empire which they were invading. The Arabs had for thirty years been ousted from Asia Minor by the Turks. Therefore the Caliph of Egypt now watched with joy the crumbling of the power of the Turkish sultans. He wanted his own lands back. While the Crusaders were in Syria he sent his Arab armies against the Turks of Jerusalem, and captured the Holy City. The town was now held, not very strongly, by the Fatimite Arabs from Egypt. The Court of Cairo, after the capture of Antioch, sent ambassadors with robes of silk, and precious vases, and purses of gold and silver to Godfrey and Bohemond, explaining that Jerusalem belonged by right to the Arabs, and that a treaty should be arranged such as had held good in Charlemagne’s days, whereby pilgrims might visit the holy places, by paying tribute.
But Godfrey would have none of this. He proudly declared that Christians would ask no permission to visit Jerusalem, and that it was only by a timely surrender of the city that the Caliph could avert an immediate attack. Yet the winter wasted away. Weary to death, the Crusaders scattered to enjoy themselves in the sweet, luxurious cities of Syria. They were well supplied with food, the emirs paid rich tribute to them. For the Turks were disunited and weakened, they gave presents to their enemies so that they need not fight them.
At last, almost a small band now, led by Godfrey, the Crusaders marched from Caesarea, and in June 1099 they saw Jerusalem on her hills. Then the travel-worn heroes cried aloud, and wept hot tears, seeing the Holy City they had suffered so much to win, the city of God.
Godfrey planted his standard on the first swell of Mount Calvary; to the left lay Tancred and Duke Robert; Count Raymond, who had come along, pitched his quarters between the Citadel and Mount Sion. On the fifth day, they made a tremendous assault, but were driven back by the skilful Arabs with much slaughter and shame. So they had to sit down to a siege. They suffered again bitterly from lack of food and water, but chiefly for want of water, for the hills of Jerusalem are dry and stony. And they could find no timber to make the engines of assault.
At last, however, the movable towers were constructed. These high wooden towers were wheeled close to the walls, and from their summits the crusading soldiers fired arrows down upon the defenders of the ramparts, driving them off. Then a wooden drawbridge was lowered from the high wooden turret of the siege-engine, on to the wall, and on a Friday, July 15, 1099, at three o’clock in the afternoon, Godfrey of Bouillon stood victorious on the walls of Jerusalem. And thus, four hundred and sixty years after the great Arab Omar had captured the city, was Jerusalem set free once more from the Mohammedan yoke.
A terrible massacre took place. Tancred alone showed some pity. For three days the Crusaders savagely slaughtered the Moslems, men, women, and children. It is said the Christians waded up to their ankles in blood. The Jews were burnt in their synagogue. Seventy thousand Mohammedans were put to the sword. After a week or two the infection of masses of dead bodies produced a pestilence.
Bareheaded and barefoot, in a humble posture, when the city was quieted the conquerors ascended the hill of Calvary walking in slow procession, to the loud singing of anthems by the priests. They kissed the stone which had covered the grave of Jesus, weeping burning tears of joy and penitence.
Godfrey of Bouillon became ruler of Jerusalem, with the title of Defender of the Holy Sepulchre. In Europe, Pope Urban had died eight days after the capture of the city. He never heard of the event. So ended the First Crusade, wonderful as the first act of united Christendom, the first great movement of waking Europe.
Godfrey’s successor, Baldwin, became King of Jerusalem. Far away there in the East grew up a number of Latin states. Bohemond, followed by Tancred, governed Antioch as if he were king there, Raymond ruled Tripoli in Asia. The Military Orders rose up, and commanded the cities and seaports of Acre, Tyre, Jaffa, Ascalon.
The Military Orders were associations of sacred knights. The first, the Hospitallers, had been begun to maintain a hospital in Jerusalem and to protect pilgrims. The second, the Templars, which afterwards became so very powerful, was begun in 1119, when a band of eight knights united to defend the Temple and the way to Jerusalem. The knights were fighting monks, monk-knights who had sworn to dedicate their lives to conquering the enemies of God. They were to remain chaste and celibate, they had rules of prayer like monks. All over Christendom they had houses, monasteries almost, where men entered and vowed their lives to God, and, after a certain probation, were clothed in the armour with the sacred red cross on the breast, and sent forth in the service of Christ.
Thus from 1100 to 1200 A.D. a steady stream of powerful warriors flowed out to the East, to guard the holy places and defend the Latin states.
It was partly owing to these Latin states of the East that the great eastern trade of Venice and Genoa and Sicily grew so rich and important. From the Syrian sea-coast, through the Middle Ages ship after ship sailed away for the European ports of Venice, Pisa, Genoa, laden with oriental produce; whilst ship after ship spread her sails from Europe carrying goods to Tripoli, Tyre, Acre, Jaffa, Antioch. For in these eastern cities dwelt European knights and nobles and peoples, settled there and ruling the land and enjoying life, like the English now in India. These Franks, as the Moslems called them, lived and jousted and fought and traded in the East for nearly two hundred years, conquerors possessing the land. Fleets of ships sailed straight for their ports from the ports of Italy, and thus Constantinople, which had been the great port, the only port of the East, gradually declined, being left aside.
There were many crusades, but none like the first. Never again did the same passion sweep Europe. In 1101 a vast host set out to rescue Bohemond, who had been captured by the Turks, and deprived of his Frankish principality of Antioch. This crusade intended also to take Bagdad. But it failed in every respect.
About 1127 the Turkish House of Seljuk, which had been crumbling when it was attacked by the first Crusaders, yielded in the East to the succeeding House of Zenghi. In 1144 Zenghi attacked the Christians of the East, and his rising power threatened the Holy Land. A new crusade was preached by St. Bernard, Abbot of Clairvaux in France, one of the greatest monks the world has seen. Louis VII. of France and the Emperor Conrad III. set off in 1147. They reached Damascus, which the Turks held, and attacked it, but were driven off. This crusade also utterly failed.
In 1187 Jerusalem fell again. The great Sultan Saladin had added Egypt to his Asiatic possessions. He fell on Syria and defeated the Christians. Just as the first Crusaders, in wild religious enthusiasm, had conquered Palestine owing to the indifference and careless weakness of the Mohammedans, so the fiery, enthusiastic Mohammedans now reconquered it, with all the enthusiasm of a holy war, from the indifferent, careless Franks, who were selfish, stupid, and quarrelsome out there in the East.
A third crusade was organised to save the Holy City. Frederick Barbarossa set out, but was drowned in 1189, and only a remnant of his army reached Antioch. Richard of England, called Coeur de Lion, and Philip Augustus of France, were under vow to go. They set off in 1190. Richard went by sea, wintering in Sicily. In the spring he set out for Acre, conquering Cyprus by the way. The Christians had been besieging Acre for two years, when the French and English fleets sailed up.
Richard was a great leader, a great man: not an Englishman, for he could never speak English: a Frenchman, an Aquitainian, writing and singing his poems in the language of Southern France: a tall, rash man, fair, handsome, brave, a great leader, a terror to the Turks. But he and Philip could never agree. In 1191 Richard took Acre. Philip, declaring his health was broken, returned to France.
Acre had capitulated to Richard, and he held two thousand captives as hostage, till the ransom should be paid according to Saladin’s promises. Saladin failed to pay, Richard massacred the hostages, and marched to Ascalon. But as he moved into the interior, away from his ships and supplies, he became helpless in a barren land, he could do nothing, masterly leader though he was. He pressed on. In the spring of 1192 he was within sight of Jerusalem. His comrades went up the hill to see in the distance the towers of the city. But Richard would not go up, he would not look. For he knew he could get no farther. He returned to the coast in great bitterness.
He gave Cyprus to Guy, King of Jerusalem. Guy reconquered Acre, but Jerusalem was lost to Christendom.
In 1202 another crusade, a Crusade of Barons, set out. It was to go by sea this time, sailing from Venice. In 1203 the fleet reached Constantinople. The Venetians had a quarrel with the Byzantines, and had come on purpose to take the city. The Crusaders besieged Constantinople. This wonderful city, so long inviolate, fell after thirteen days’ siege, and the Venetians and the Crusaders remained in occupation pretending it was too late to proceed east. The Byzantines murdered their emperor, and turning against the Latins, drove them out. In 1204 the city was again taken by the Venetians and the Crusaders, assaulted, stormed, taken, sacked and gutted. Innumerable treasures were destroyed, innumerable lovely statues from old Greece melted down to make bronze money. Then, imitating Godfrey or Bohemond or Guy in the far East, Baldwin of Flanders made himself Emperor of Constantinople, Boniface of Montferrat became King of Thessalonica, other counts and barons became lords of the Morea, of Attica, Boeotia, and parts of Asia Minor. There was a Duke of Athens and a Prince of Achaia — all barons from Italy or the North, most of them Germanic nobles. But Venice was the great gainer. Venice now became mistress of the eastern seas, which Constantinople had been for hundreds of years.
This crusade, called the Fourth, was just a splendid, if rather unholy adventure: a marauding conquest and annexation of the near East, Eastern Europe, by barons from the West and North.
In 1228, as we know, Frederick h. marched to Palestine and made a satisfactory treaty with the Sultan of Cairo, obtaining Jerusalem, Bethlehem, and Nazareth — the three places of pilgrimage. He crowned himself King of Jerusalem. But this was no conquest. It was not even real possession, but rather an occupation by permission.
In 1244 Jerusalem was again lost, and the Latin kingdom of the East was practically destroyed altogether. Louis ix. of France led an expedition in 1248 against the Sultan of Egypt. He took Damietta, and advanced into the Delta of the Nile. The Saracens attacked his army, Louis was captured, and his host surrendered. With the exception of the king and the chief lords, the army was massacred to a man. A great sum was paid for Louis’ ransom, Damietta given up. Then the king went to the Holy Land, trying to strengthen the few remaining Christian positions there, and performing pious works. He returned to France after three years, having done nothing and lost an army.
These crusades to the East were as ruinous for France as the excursions of the German emperors to Italy. But men had to fight somewhere, and perhaps it was better to fight the Moslem abroad than the Christian at home. After the Crusades, Europe never acted again in union. Men ceased to be Christians first and foremost. Nationality now began to count.