Moved by the discourse of the Grand Master, the king consented to march to the relief of Tiberias, and at morning’s dawn the tents of the Templars were struck, and the trumpets of the order sounded the advance. In vain did the count of Tripoli and the barons oppose this movement, the king and the Templars were resolute, and the host of the cross soon covered, in full array, the winding road leading to Tiberias. The count of Tripoli insisted upon leading the van of the army, as the christian forces were marching through his territories, and the Templars consequently brought up the rear. The patriarch Heraclius, whose duty it was to bear the holy cross in front of the christian array, had remained at Jerusalem, and had confided his sacred charge to the bishops of Acre and Lidda, a circumstance which gave rise to many gloomy forebodings amongst the superstitious soldiers of Christ.
As soon as Saladin heard of the advance of the christian army, he turned the siege of the citadel of Tiberias into a blockade, called in his detachments of cavalry, and hastened to occupy all the passes and defiles of the mountains leading to Tiberias. The march of the infidel host, which amounted to 80,000 horse and foot, over the hilly country, is compared by an Arabian writer, an eye-witness, to mountains in movement, or to the vast waves of an agitated sea. Saladin encamped on the hills beyond Tiberias, resting his left wing upon the lake, and planting his cavalry in the valleys. When the Latin forces had arrived within three miles of Tiberias, they came in sight of the Mussulman army, and were immediately assailed by the light cavalry of the Arabs. During the afternoon of that day a bloody battle was fought. The Christians attempted, but in vain, to penetrate the defiles of the mountains; and when the evening came they found that they had merely been able to hold their ground without advancing a single step. Instead of fighting his way, at all hazards, to the lake of Tiberias, or falling back upon some position where he could have secured a supply of water, the king, following the advice of the count of Tripoli, committed the fatal mistake of ordering the tents to be pitched. “When the Saracens saw that the Christians had pitched their tents,” says the chronicler, “they came and encamped so close to them that the soldiers of the two armies could converse together, and not even a cat could escape from the Christian lines without the knowledge of the Saracens.” It was a sultry summer’s night, the army of the cross was hemmed in amongst dry and barren rocks, and both the men and horses, after their harassing and fatiguing march, threw themselves on the parched ground, sighing in vain for water. During the livelong night, not a drop of that precious element touched their lips, and the soldiers arose exhausted and unrefreshed, for the toil, and labour, and fierce warfare of the ensuing day.
At sunrise the Templars formed in battle array in the van of the Christian army, and prepared to open a road through the dense ranks of the infidels to the lake of Tiberias. An Arabian writer, who witnessed the movement of their dense and compact columns at early dawn, speaks of them as “terrible in arms, having their whole bodies cased with triple mail.” He compares the noise made by their advancing squadrons to the loud humming of bees! and describes them as animated with “a flaming desire of vengeance.”[68] Saladin had behind him the lake of Tiberias, his infantry was in the centre, and the swift cavalry of the desert was stationed on either wing, under the command of Faki-ed-deen (teacher of religion). The Templars rushed, we are told, like lions upon the Moslem infidels, and nothing could withstand their heavy and impetuous charge. “Never,” says an Arabian doctor of the law, “have I seen bolder or more powerful soldiers; none more to be feared by the believers in the true faith.” Saladin set fire to the dry grass and dwarf shrubs which lay between both armies, and the wind blew the smoke and the flames directly into the faces of the military friars and their horses. The fire, the noise, the gleaming weapons, and all the accompaniments of the horrid scene, have given full scope to the descriptive powers of the oriental writers. They compare it to the last judgment; the dust and the smoke obscured the face of the sun, and the day was turned into night. Sometimes gleams of light darted like the rapid lightning amid the throng of combatants; then you might see the dense columns of armed warriors, now immoveable as mountains, and now sweeping swiftly across the landscape like the rainy clouds over the face of heaven. “The sons of paradise and the children of fire,” say they, “then decided their terrible quarrel; the arrows rustled through the air like the wings of innumerable sparrows, the sparks flew from the coats of mail and the glancing sabres, and the blood spurting forth from the bosom of the throng deluged the earth like the rains of heaven.”... “The avenging sword of the true believers was drawn forth against the infidels; the faith of the UNITY was opposed to the faith of the TRINITY, and speedy ruin, desolation, and destruction, overtook the miserable sons of baptism!”
The lake of Tiberias was two miles distant from the Templars, and ever and anon its blue and placid waters were to be seen calmly reposing in the bright sun-beams, or winding gracefully amid the bosom of the distant mountains; but every inch of the road was fiercely contested; the expert archers of the Mussulmen lined all the eminences, and the thirsty soil was drenched with the blood of the best and bravest of the christian warriors. After almost superhuman exertions, the Templars and Hospitallers halted, and sent to the king for succour. At this critical juncture the count of Tripoli, who had always insisted on being in the van, and whose conduct, from first to last, had been most suspicious, dashed with a few followers through a party of Mussulmen, who opened their ranks to let him pass, and fled in safety to Tyre. The flight of this distinguished nobleman gave rise to a sudden panic, and the troops that were advancing to the support of the Templars were driven in one confused mass upon the main body. The military friars, who rarely turned their backs upon the enemy, maintained, alone and unaided, a short, sharp, and bloody conflict, which ended in the death or captivity of every one of them excepting the Grand Master of the Hospital, who clove his way from the field of battle, and reached Ascalon in safety, but died of his wounds the day after his arrival.
The Christian soldiers now gave themselves up to despair; the infantry, which was composed principally of the native population of Palestine, men taken from the plough and the pruning-hook, crowded together in disorder and confusion, around the bishops and the holy cross. They were so wedged together that they were unable to act against the enemy, and they refused to obey their leaders. Brother Terric, Grand Preceptor of the Temple, who had been attached to the person of the king, the Lord Reginald of Sidon, Balian d’Ibelin, lord of Naplous, and many of the lesser barons and knights, collected their followers together, rushed over the rocks, down the mountain sides, pierced through the enemies’ squadrons, and leaving the infantry to their fate, made their escape to the sea coast. The Arab cavalry dashed on, and surrounding, with terrific cries, the trembling and unresisting foot soldiers, they mowed them down with a frightful carnage.
In vain did the bishops of Ptolemais and Lidda, who supported with difficulty the Holy Cross in the midst of the disordered throng, attempt to infuse into the base-born peasantry some of that daring valour and fiery-religious enthusiasm which glowed so fiercely in the breasts of the Moslems. The Christian fugitives were crowded together like a flock of sheep when attacked by dogs, and their bitter cries for mercy ever and anon rent the air, between the loud shouts of Allah acbar—“God is victorious.” The Moslem chieftains pressed into the heart of the throng, and cleft their way towards the Holy Cross; the bishop of Ptolemais was slain, the bishop of Lidda was made captive, and the cross itself fell into the hands of the infidels. The king of Jerusalem, the Grand Master of the Temple, the Marquis of Montferrat, the Lord Reginald de Chatillon, and many other nobles and knights, were at the same time taken prisoners and led away into captivity. “Alas, alas,” says Abbot Coggleshale, “that I should have lived to have seen in my time these awful and terrible calamities.” When the sun had sunk to rest, and darkness had put an end to the slaughter, a crowd of Christian fugitives, who survived the long and frightful carnage, attempted to gain the summit of Mount Hittin, in the vain hope of escaping from the field of blood, under cover of the obscurity of the night. But every pass and avenue were strictly watched, and when morning came they were found cowering on the elevated summit of the mountain. They were maddened with thirst and exhausted with watching, but despair gave them some energy; they availed themselves with success of the strength of their position, and in the first onslaught the Moslems were repulsed. The sloping sides of Mount Hittin were covered with dry grass and thistles, which had been scorched and killed by the hot summer’s sun, and the Moslems again resorted to the expedient of setting fire to the parched vegetation. The heat of a July sun, added to that of the raging flames, soon told with fearful effect upon the weakened frames of the poor Christian warriors, who were absolutely dying with thirst; some threw away their arms and cast themselves upon the ground; some cried for mercy, and others calmly awaited the approach of death.
The Moslem appetite for blood had at this time been slaked; feelings of compassion for the misfortunes of the fallen had arisen in their breasts, and as resistance had now ceased in every quarter of the field, the lives of the fugitives on Mount Hittin were mercifully spared. Thus ended the memorable battle of Tiberias, which commenced on the afternoon of the 3rd of July, and ended oh the morning of Saturday, the 5th. The multitude of captives taken by the Moslems was enormous; cords could not be found to bind them, the tent ropes were all used for the purpose, but were insufficient, and the Arabian writers tell us, that on seeing the dead, one would have thought that there could have been no prisoners, and on seeing the prisoners, that there could be no dead. “I saw,” says the secretary and companion of Saladin, who was present at this terrible fight, and is unable to restrain himself from pitying the disasters of the vanquished—“I saw the mountains and the plains, the hills and the valleys, covered with their dead. I saw their fallen and deserted banners sullied with dust and with blood. I saw their heads broken and battered, their limbs scattered abroad, and the blackened corpses piled one upon another like the stones of the builders. I called to mind the words of the Koran, ‘The infidel shall say, What am I but dust?’... I saw thirty or forty tied together by one cord. I saw in one place, guarded by one Mussulman, two hundred of these famous warriors gifted with amazing strength, who had but just now walked forth amongst the mighty: their proud bearing was gone: they stood naked with downcast eyes, wretched and miserable.... The lying infidels were now in the power of the true believers. Their king and their cross were captured, that cross before which they bow the head and bend the knee; which they bear aloft and worship with their eyes; they say that it is the identical wood to which the God whom they adore was fastened. They had adorned it with fine gold and brilliant stones; they carried it before their armies; they all bowed towards it with respect. It was their first duty to defend it; and he who should desert it would never enjoy peace of mind. The capture of this cross was more grievous to them than the captivity of their king. Nothing can compensate them for the loss of it. It was their God; they prostrated themselves in the dust before it, and sang hymns when it was raised aloft!”
As soon as all fighting had ceased on the field of battle, Saladin proceeded to a tent, whither, in obedience to his commands, the king of Jerusalem, Gerard de Riderfort, the Grand Master of the Temple, and Reginald de Chatillon had been conducted. This last nobleman had greatly distinguished himself in various daring expeditions against the caravans of pilgrims travelling to Mecca, and had become on that account particularly obnoxious to the pious Saladin. The sultan, on entering the tent, ordered a bowl of sherbet, the sacred pledge amongst the Arabs of hospitality and security, to be presented to the fallen monarch of Jerusalem, and to the Grand Master of the Temple; but when Reginald de Chatillon would have drunk thereof, Saladin prevented him, and reproaching the christian nobleman with perfidy and impiety, he commanded him instantly to acknowledge the prophet whom he had blasphemed, or to be prepared to meet the death he had so often deserved. On Reginald’s refusal, Saladin struck him with his scimitar, and he was immediately despatched by the guards. Bohadin, Saladin’s friend and secretary, an eye-witness of the scene, gives the following account of it: “Then Saladin told the interpreter to say thus to the king, ‘It is thou, not I, who givest drink to this man!’ Then the sultan sat down at the entrance of the tent, and they brought Prince Reginald before him, and after refreshing the man’s memory, Saladin said to him, ‘Now then, I myself will act the part of the defender of Mohammed!’ He then offered the man the Mohammedan faith, but he refused it; then the king struck him on the shoulder with a drawn scimitar, which was a hint to those that were present to do for him; so they sent his soul to hell, and cast out his body before the tent door!”
The next day Saladin proceeded in cold blood to enact the grand concluding tragedy. The warlike monks of the Temple and of the Hospital, the bravest and most zealous defenders of the christian faith, were, of all the warriors of the cross, the most obnoxious to zealous Mussulmen, and it was determined that death or conversion to Mahometanism should be the portion of every captive of either order, excepting the Grand Master of the Temple, for whom it was expected a heavy ransom would be given. Accordingly, on the christian Sabbath, at the hour of sunset, the appointed time of prayer, the Moslems were drawn up in battle array under their respective leaders. The Mamlook emirs stood in two ranks clothed in yellow, and, at the sound of the holy trumpet, all the captive knights of the Temple and of the Hospital were led on to the eminence above Tiberias, in full view of the beautiful lake of Gennesareth, whose bold and mountainous shores had been the scene of so many of their Saviour’s miracles. There, as the last rays of the sun were fading away from the mountain tops, they were called upon to deny him who had been crucified, to choose God for their Lord, Islam for their faith, Mecca for their temple, the Moslems for their brethren, and Mahomet for their prophet. To a man they refused, and were all decapitated in the presence of Saladin by the devout zealots of his army, and the doctors and expounders of the law. An oriental historian, who was present, says that Saladin sat with a smiling countenance viewing the execution, and that some of the executioners cut off the heads with a degree of dexterity that excited great applause. “Oh,” say Omad’eddin Muhammed, “how beautiful an ornament is the blood of the infidels sprinkled over the followers of the faith and the true religion!”[69] If the Mussulmen displayed a becoming zeal in the decapitation and annihilation of the infidel Templars, these last manifested a no less praiseworthy eagerness for martyrdom by the swords of the unbelieving Moslems. The Knight Templar, Brother Nicolas, strove vigorously, we are told, with his companions to be the first to suffer, and with great difficulty accomplished his purpose. It was believed by the Christians, in accordance with the superstitious ideas of those times, that heaven testified its approbation by a visible sign, and that for three nights, during which the bodies of the Templars remained unburied on the field, celestial rays of light played around the corpses of those holy martyrs.
Immediately after this fatal battle, the citadel of Tiberias surrendered to Saladin, and the countess of Tripoli was permitted to depart in safety in search of her fugitive husband. There was now no force in the Latin kingdom capable of offering the least opposition to the victorious career of the infidels, and Saladin, in order that he might overrun and subjugate the whole country with the greatest possible rapidity, divided his army into several bodies, which were to proceed in different directions, and assemble at last under the walls of Jerusalem. One strong column, under the command of Malek el Afdal, proceeded to attack La Feue or Faba, the castle of the Knights Templars. Nearly all the garrison had perished in the battle of Tiberias, and after a short conflict the infidels walked into the fortress, over the dead bodies of the last of its defenders. From thence they crossed the great plain to Sebaste, and entered the magnificent church erected by the empress Helena, over the prison in which St. John the Baptist was beheaded, and over the humble grave where still repose the remains of St. John and of Zacharias and Elizabeth his parents. The terrified bishop and clergy had removed all the gold and silver vessels from the altars and the rich copes and vestments of the priests, to conceal them from the cupidity of the Moslems, whereupon these last caused the bishop to be stripped naked and beaten with rods, and led away all his clergy into captivity. The wild Turcoman and Bedouin cavalry then dashed up the beautiful valley of Succoth to Naplous, the ancient Shechem; which they found deserted and desolate; the inhabitants had abandoned their dwellings and fled to Jerusalem, and the Mussulmen planted their banners upon the gray battlements of the castle, and upon the lofty summit of Mount Gerizim. They then pitched their tents around the interesting well where our Saviour spoke with the woman of Samaria, and pastured their cavalry in the valley where Joseph’s brethren were feeding their flocks when they sold him to the wandering Ishmaelites. Here they remained to gather some tidings of the operations of their fellow-soldiers on the other side of the Jordan, and then proceeded to ravage and lay waste all the country between Naplous and Jerusalem, “continuing,” says Abbot Coggleshale, “both by night and by day to slaughter every living thing that they met.”