Baldwin III was one of the key Christian leaders who were involved in the Second Crusade, although one of its first acts was a failure in front of the walls of Damascus.
Of all the kings of Jerusalem Baldwin III is the one we know
best. Contemporary historians were awed by the young king who seemed to have no
vices, to be at once intelligent, deeply religious, and gentle to all people.
Moreover, he possessed the gift of command. He was born at exactly the right
time, for his kingdom was in danger of dissolution, and only by superb ability
and great gifts of mind could it be maintained. Even so, before he died he may
have known that the end was in sight.
William of Tyre, who described him minutely, remembered that
in his youth he was an inveterate gambler and that throughout his life he was
astonishingly frank, abruptly rebuking high officers of state in public rather
than in private, making enemies unnecessarily. These were dangerous elements in
his character, and they were to have dangerous consequences.
One of his major gambles took place in 1152, when he quarreled
violently with his mother, who had held the regency for seven years which was
past the time when Baldwin should, by law, be the single sovereign. Baldwin at
twenty-two performed all the military offices demanded of him, presided over
the court, and acted in public as though he possessed the real power. Yet he
remained under the tutelage of his formidable mother. It was an absurd
situation, and the king at long last decided to assert himself.
Queen Melisende was at that time under the influence of a certain
Manasses of Hierges, a clever nobleman from the region of Liege, whom she had
appointed Constable of the kingdom. Manasses was rich, powerful, and insolent,
determined to retain his privileged place at all costs.
Baldwin set about his assumption of real power in two
stages. First, he had himself crowned secretly in the Church of the Holy
Sepulchre, in the presence of only a handful of his knights, thus preventing
his mother from being crowned with him. Secondly, the king decided on war.
Manasses was closely besieged in his castle at Mirabel near Jaffa. He was
captured, brought into the king’s presence, and spared on condition that he
leave the kingdom and never return. Queen Melisende fortified Jerusalem against
the king’s army and barricaded herself in the citadel, appealing to the people,
the nobles, and the clergy for their assistance in her righteous war against
her son. The people and the nobles had grown weary of her; the clergy were
deeply indebted to her. After a few days of token resistance, she surrendered
and was allowed to leave for Nablus on condition that she, too, never return to
Jerusalem. Baldwin had been perfectly prepared to take the citadel by force; he
had mounted siege engines and hurled rocks against the walls, and, if
necessary, would have killed his mother. This was a gamble that had to be taken
to save the kingdom.
In Antioch, the Princess Constance still ruled, headstrong,
improvident, pleasure-loving, and without any skill in government. A new Prince
of Antioch had to be found for her, and Baldwin presented her with a list of
three noblemen who possessed the requisite qualities of courage and
resourcefulness. She wanted none of them. In her own good time she would choose
a husband suitable to her needs. She found such a husband in Reynald of
Châtillon, the feckless younger son of the count of Gien, who had accompanied
Louis VII during the Second Crusade. Reynald was young, handsome, possessed of
great courage, and to all outward appearances he would have made an excellent
Prince of Antioch. Constance was in love with him and appears to have married
him secretly even before securing the permission of the king, who was her
suzerain. Baldwin appears to have permitted the marriage reluctantly. He had
hoped she would marry someone closer to her own rank.
Reynald of Châtillon was one of those men who rise from
obscure origins and somehow change the course of history. He, more than anyone
else, was responsible for the fall of the kingdom. He endangered everything and
everyone who came near him and seemed oblivious to the damage he caused. He
could be counted upon to do improbable, absurd, and terrible things with a kind
of casual grace, never realizing the cost.
He proved very early that he could be extremely vicious. As
Prince of Antioch he regarded himself as the sole ruler whose judgments must
never be questioned. The Patriarch Aimery of Limoges sometimes did question
them in private, and unhappily these private conversations were reported to the
prince. Reynald had the patriarch stripped and scourged till the blood came,
then had him placed on the roof of the citadel and smeared all over with honey
so that flies settled all over him while the sun burned him. The patriarch was
in ill-health but remarkably resilient. Somehow he survived the punishment.
News of Reynald’s act of revenge reached Baldwin III in Jerusalem. The king was
outraged and at once sent two of his councillors posthaste to Antioch with
orders that Aimery should be released from captivity and permitted to resume
his patriarchal functions. Reynald obeyed. Aimery left Antioch, and it was many
years before he returned.
Reynald was the prince of the second most important city in
the Holy Land. Left to itself. Antioch could have added to its great wealth and
stability. Reynald, however, possessed the instincts of a bandit chieftain. The
Byzantines were warring against the Armenians in Cilicia; Reynald joined the
Byzantines, hoping to add Cilicia to his princedom. When it became clear that
the Byzantines regarded Cilicia as their own, he turned against them and sent
an expedition to Cyprus, which belonged to Byzantium. The expedition was well organized
and had one purpose: to obtain booty. The Cypriot army quickly collapsed;
monasteries and nunneries were seized; nuns were raped; costly vestments, gold
and silver vessels, and jewels were heaped up and carted away to the waiting
ships. The raiders remained on the island for only a few days, but the damage
was incalculable. Manuel Comnenus, the Byzantine emperor, then busy in Europe, quietly
decided to take revenge upon an insolent and treacherous prince.
Meantime, Nur ed-Din continued to attempt to forge a united
Muslim army against the Christians. Like his father, Zengi, he could be cruel
and implacable; unlike him, he possessed a deeply contemplative temperament. He
lived like an ascetic, fasted, and sometimes found himself in a state of
religious exaltation. He was a man who lived on many levels: administrator,
warrior, mystic. His mysticism was perhaps given strength by his chronic
ill-health, while his intense religious feeling gave strength to the holy war
he conducted against the Christians.
Baldwin III had a profound understanding of his most
implacable enemy. His spies gave him accurate reports, and he sometimes took
advantage of the periods when Nur ed-Din was bedridden. In theory the prince of
Antioch was charged with defending the northeast, while the king defended
Samaria, Judaea, and the Negev. In fact Baldwin III was in overall command of
Christian territory in the Holy Land.
From the beginning of his reign Baldwin III meant to conquer
Ascalon, which was heavily defended by the Egyptians because it was their
northernmost outpost along the Palestinian coast. The people of Ascalon were
all trained in arms. High walls, barbicans, and towers protected thecity on the
landward side, and it was not easily approachable by sea because there were low
shelving sands, the winds whipped up high waves, and there was no proper
harbor. Nevertheless supplies could be brought into the city on small boats.
Baldwin proceeded with great care and intelligence. The navy
of the kingdom patrolled the sea approaches; the royal fleet was under the
command of Gerard of Sidon, and consisted of fifteen ships. Other ships were
bought, stripped of their masts, and disassembled: from the wooden strakes they
made siege engines and moving towers, covered with hides to prevent them from
catching fire. On January 25, 1153, the king with his entire army, together
with the grand masters of the Hospital and the Temple, the archbishops of Tyre,
Caesarea, and Nazareth, and the patriarch holding high the True Cross, appeared
outside the walls of Ascalon. With this formidable army it was hoped that
Ascalon would yield within a month.
It took much longer, for the people of Ascalon were far
better prepared than the Christians had expected. They could not be starved
out, they had plentiful supplies of fresh water, and no surprise night attacks
were possible because they had ingeniously lit up the walls with oil-lamps
which were shielded against the wind by glass containers. But more important
than anything was the fact that the defenders were in high spirits and believed
their walls were impregnable. They had excellent sources of information, and
they knew that the army outside their gates were outnumbered two to one by
their own army. One day an Egyptian fleet of seventy vessels appeared, and the
small Christian fleet made no effort to attack them. The Egyptians landed
supplies and provisions, and Ascalon was stronger than ever.
After two months, Baldwin III realized to his dismay that he
had not even made a dent in the walls of Ascalon. That Easter, the influx of
Christian pilgrims to the Holy Land was much larger than usual. The king
ordered that the pilgrims and sailors must all assist in the siege of Ascalon;
they would be paid from the royal treasury. All ships coming to the Holy Land must
join the fleet of Gerard of Sidon. In this way, the army and the fleet
increased in numbers. But three more months passed before there was any
significant change.
One day toward the end of July, the defenders crept out of
the city and set fire to the great wooden tower which topped the walls of
Ascalon. But as the Christians watched in amazement, the wind changed and the
flames began licking the walls. The Christians decided that if the walls could
be burned by fires the enemy set, how much more would they burn if set by them.
They heaped faggots and cord wood and wood from the surrounding orchards in the
space between the burnt-out tower and the wall, poured pitch and oil on them,
and then set fire to them. About dawn, as they had hoped and expected, part of
the wall fell with a thunderous roar that awakened the army.
Through this breach in the wall some forty Templar knights
rushed into the city, some of them standing guard to prevent any other
Christians from entering. In their madness, a handful of Templars believed they
could conquer the entire city. At first, the people of Ascalon took fright;
then they formed ranks, and it was a simple matter to round up these proud
Templars and butcher them. That night, they mended the breach in the wall with
huge balks of timber from their own ships, while the bodies of the dead
Templars were dangled over the walls in the full sight of the Christian army;
the bodies were left there for the birds to peck at.
Ascalon seemed to be lost. A vast despair seized the Christians,
who debated whether it was worth their while to continue battering a city that
seemed impregnable. The army of Ascalon, thinking the Crusaders would reel
back, made sorties on the third day after the Templars were hung on the walls.
The Crusaders counterattacked with fury and desperation, as though all their
pent-up strength and all their frustration were released in the counterattack.
From their walls, the people of Ascalon, who had been so sure of themselves, so
certain of ultimate victory, witnessed a massacre. The attack was so
devastating that there was scarcely anyone in the city who was not bereaved.
The elders of Ascalon asked for a truce to give them time to bury their dead.
Having counted the dead, they sent envoys to sue for peace. Baldwin III,
sitting in council, agreed that if they left the city within three days, they
could take their movable belongings with them: what he required was total
evacuation. On the third day they poured out of the city in the thousands,
while the king’s standard flew from the highest tower. He gave them guides as
far as al-Arish. Beyond this town, a Turkish chieftain promised to lead them
into Egypt. They followed him willingly and lived to regret it, for once the
king’s guides had returned to Ascalon, the chieftain attacked them and
despoiled them of their possessions. When we last see them they are wandering
helplessly in the desert.
The lordship of Ascalon was given to the king’s younger
brother Amaury, Count of Jaffa. Since Gaza had already been captured by Baldwin
III, the entire coast of Syria and Palestine was in the possession of the
Crusaders. Ascalon was a kingpin, and its capture spread alarm and terror in
the camps of the Muslims.
The capture of Ascalon, however, was offset by the loss of
Damascus to the Christians’ most deadly enemy, Nur ed-Din. For many months, Nur
ed-Din had been at work attempting to undermine the authority of the reigning
sultan. He saw Damascus as the launching ground of an expedition that would
sweep the Crusaders out of Syria. The logic of his argument appealed to the
Damascenes, who were disturbed by the fall of Ascalon; and when Nur ed-Din
entered Damascus, he was greeted like a conqueror who was also a friend. There
were no exactions; and everything went on as before except that there was no
longer any sultan. Nur ed-Din appointed one of his most trusted generals to be
governor of the city.
In May 1157, Nur ed-Din attacked the Crusader castle at
Banyas in the Upper Galilee. The castle occupied an important position at the
foot of Mount Hermon. Nur ed-Din twice captured it, and was twice repulsed. So
much blood was spilt in and around the castle, that it became a symbol of the
intransigence on both sides. There were sudden surprise attacks carried out
faultlessly by the king’s army, and there were equally sudden surprise attacks
by Nur ed-Din’s army.
The massive skirmishes for Banyas showed that the Crusaders
and the Muslims were evenly balanced. The logic of the situation demanded a
truce. Instead they went on fighting. One small advantage was given to Baldwin
III. Nur ed-Din fell ill. It was not an advantage that could be relied upon,
however, for Nur ed-Din was perfectly capable of directing battles from his
sickbed. On the frontiers of Antioch and in the Galilee, there were continual
raids and excursions, but no real advantages were gained. The war in the Holy
Land seemed to have reached a stalemate.
Baldwin, searching for new allies, had long contemplated an
alliance with Byzantium. From the beginning of the Crusades, such an alliance
had been discussed and for various reasons abandoned. The Emperor Manuel
Comnenus was known to have a high opinion of Baldwin III and the worst possible
opinion of the present prince of Antioch. It would be necessary to tread
cautiously, in the Greek manner, but it was also necessary to break the
stalemate. Baldwin III sent an embassy to Constantinople, asking for the hand
of a Byzantine princess. Discussions went on for many weeks; at last a suitable
princess was found in the person of Theodora, the daughter of Isaac Comnenus,
who was Manuel’s elder brother. Thirteen years old, radiantly beautiful, very
tall, with thick fair hair, she possessed a natural elegance of manner. Her
dowry, her bridal outfit, her wedding gown, her ropes of pearls, the coffers
full of jewelry, tapestries and silken stuffs, carpets and gold vessels, were
worth a fortune.
Thus equipped, and accompanied by her ladies-in-waiting and
the envoys of the king of Jerusalem, she reached Tyre in September 1158. In
great state she traveled to Jerusalem, where she was married to the
twenty-seven-year-old Baldwin, who delighted in his bride and is said to have remained
faithful to her as long as he lived.
That same autumn, the emperor set out from Constantinople at
the head of an immense army, and about the beginning of December he marched
into Cilicia, which the Armenians called Lesser Armenia. The emperor regarded
Cilicia as a province of his empire and he was determined to take possession of
it. The Armenian Prince Thoros had seized Cilicia and his army commanded
strongly fortified castles. The emperor’s army approached so quietly that
Thoros, who was staying at Tarsus, barely had time to flee to the neighboring
mountains. Reynald, Prince of Antioch, realized that he had nowhere to go. The
emperor was determined to punish him for his savagery in Cyprus, and he knew
that the only way to escape punishment was by making a public and humiliating
submission. He therefore hurried to the emperor’s camp at Mamistra in Cilicia,
where he appeared, barefoot, wearing a woolen tunic cut short at the elbows,
with a rope around his neck, and a sword with the point resting on his breast
and the hilt turned outward in his hand. The emperor took the sword by the
hilt, whereupon Reynald flung himself violently to the ground, where he lay
prostrate for a long time. The emperor was pleased by this self-indulgent
theatrical display because he believed in the sincerity of the prince’s
submission. He did not know that Reynald submitted to no authority except his own.
Baldwin III arrived in Mamistra a few days later with a
large retinue. The emperor gave the king the kiss of peace. They spent ten days
together. Among the subjects they discussed was the Armenian Prince Thoros, who
was brave and had fought many battles against the Turks. The king acted as
mediator; Thoros was permitted to retain Cilicia after swearing fealty to the
emperor, who saw himself in those days as the kindly, all-forgiving father of
an empire so powerful that he could afford to be kindly and all-forgiving.
The king returned to Antioch, while the emperor spent Easter
in Cilicia. In April 1159, the emperor descended upon Antioch accompanied by
his army, wearing the imperial jeweled cap with pendants and an embroidered
robe so weighted with jewels he could hardly move. Trumpets blared; drums
boomed; flags waved; and all the dignitaries of Antioch came out to meet the
emperor, riding stiffly on horseback, with Reynald of Châtillon, Prince of
Antioch, walking by his side and holding the bridle in token of complete
submission. Behind the emperor rode the king of Jerusalem and his brother
Amaury. The day of the emperor’s triumphal entry into Antioch was one of
intense celebration and festivity, with gifts showered on the people and
everyone vying for the honor of being able to set eyes on the man who possessed
such vast power and an empire so ancient that it seemed to be a permanent
fixture on earth. All favor and honor flowed from the emperor. During those
days he was lord of Antioch, suzerain of the king of Jerusalem and all the
Christian principalities of the Holy Land.
The emperor enjoyed the baths of Antioch, which were among
the most luxurious of their time; he also enjoyed hunting. One day, when he was
hunting with King Baldwin, there was an accident. The king’s horse, racing over
rough ground covered with low-growing shrubs, stumbled and threw Baldwin
headlong to the ground. His arm was broken; suddenly the emperor hurried up,
knelt beside him, and began to tend the broken arm like a doctor. The emperor
prided himself on his knowledge of medicine and he liked to put his knowledge
to use.
These hunting parties, processions, feasts, and visits to
the bathhouses emphasized the bonds between Byzantium and the Holy Land. It was
felt that the eight days spent by the emperor in Antioch implied the promise of
immediate military assistance. Yet it was not so. He had not the least intention
of throwing his army against the Turks; he had come to demonstrate the imperial
power of Byzantium to Christian and Turk alike. He made the motions of
beginning an advance on Aleppo, leading the combined forces of Antioch,
Jerusalem, and the Byzantine empire, and then halted abruptly. Through envoys,
he arranged a truce with Nur ed-Din, who promised an exchange of prisoners, and
then, hearing of a plot against him in Constantinople, he began the homeward
march across Asia Minor.
That he had shown himself without engaging in battle was
entirely in the Byzantine character. The Byzantines were skilled diplomats,
masters of many ruses, and they knew that a show of force was sometimes more
effective than force itself. The emperor’s tactic offered little consolation to
the king of Jerusalem and the prince of Antioch.
BALDWIN III DRAGGED TO PRISON BY THE TURKS
The wild and daring Reynald decided to take matters in his own hands and march at the head of a column into the territory of Nur ed-Din’s brother in the Marash region. Someone told him that there were immense herds of sheep and goats, many Christians, and almost no Turks. This was true, but his progress had been watched and reported to Aleppo. Their lightly armed cavalry was sent against him. The Turks found him in camp, laden with booty. He could have abandoned the treasure, fled, and saved himself. Instead he elected to fight, and he had the bad luck to be captured. Slung on the back of a camel, he was carried off to a dungeon in Aleppo where he spent the next sixteen years of his life. They did not kill him only because they believed he might prove useful in future bargaining. Neither the king nor the emperor made any effort to ransom him, knowing perhaps that the ransom would be so large that they could not afford to pay it. The king became regent of Antioch, and little more was heard of Constance, Reynald’s wife.
The chessboard was being swept clean. Queen Melisende died
of a lingering illness; the king was inconsolable. A few months later the king
fell ill while on a journey through Tripoli, and died, possibly poisoned by a
doctor sent by the count of Tripoli to attend him. His body was borne to
Jerusalem with the appropriate pomp and ceremony, to be buried beside the other
kings of Jerusalem in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. His subjects stood
beside the road in silence; and Muslims came down from the hills to wail and
lament his passing. For eight days the cortege made its way to Jerusalem amid
sighs and lamentations. It was reported that Nur ed-Din was advised by his
captains to attack the kingdom during these prolonged ceremonies. William of
Tyre tells us that Nur ed-Din refused, saying, “We should pity them, for they
have lost such a prince as the world no longer possesses.” It is possible that
he said these words; it is also possible that it was he who paid to have the
king poisoned.
With Baldwin Ill’s death in January 1162, the heroic age of
the Crusades came to an end. He became a legend. In him, there had been
combined a youthful gentleness and a youthful cruelty, reasoned audacity, a
kingly beauty. He was soldier and statesman, student and philosopher, and
William of Tyre was only exaggerating a little when he wrote, “There is no
record in any history, nor does any man now living recall, that such deep and
poignant sorrow was ever felt over the death of any other prince of our own or
other nations.”
