“Then said Balian to Saladin, ‘Sire, you have fixed the ransom of the rich; fix now that of the poor, for there are twenty thousand who cannot pay the ransom of a single man. For the love of God put in a little consideration and I will try to get from the Temple, the Hospitallers, and the bourgeois, as much as will deliver all.’ Saladin said that he would willingly have consideration, and that a hundred thousand byzants should let all the poor go free. ‘Sire,’ said Balian, ‘when all those who are able have ransomed themselves, there will not be left half of the ransom which you demand for the poor.’ Saladin said that it should not be otherwise. Then Balian bethought him that he should not make so cheap a bargain by ransoming all together as if he ransomed part at a time, and that by the help of God he might get the rest at a cheaper rate. Then he asked Saladin for how much he would deliver seven thousand men. ‘For fifty thousand byzants.’ ‘Sire,’ said Balian, ‘that cannot be; for God’s sake let us have reason.’
“It was finally arranged that seven thousand men should be ransomed for thirty thousand byzants, two women or ten children to count as one man. When all was arranged Saladin gave them fifty days to sell and mortgage their effects and pay their ransom, and announced that he who should be found in the city after fifty days should belong to the conquerors, body and goods.
“All the gates were closed except that of David. Guards were placed at this to prevent any Christian from going out, the Saracens being admitted to buy what the Christians had to sell. The day on which the city was given up was Friday, the 2nd day of October, 1187. Saladin placed officers in the town of David to receive the ransom, and ordered that no delay was to be granted beyond the fifty days. The patriarch and Balian went immediately to the Hospital and carried away the thirty thousand byzants for the ransom of the poor. When this was paid, they summoned the bourgeois of the city, and, choosing from their body the two most trustworthy men of each street, they made them swear on the relics of saints that they would spare neither man nor woman through hatred or through love, but would make one and all declare on oath what they had, and would allow them to keep back nothing, but would ransom the poor with what remained after their own ransoms had been paid. They took down the number of the poor in each street, and making a selection, they made up the number of seven thousand, who were allowed to go out of the city. Then there was hardly anything left for the remainder.... But when all those who were ransomed were out of the city, and there remained yet many poor people, Seif-ed-dín went to Saladin, his brother, and said to him, ‘Sire, I have helped to conquer the land and the city. I pray you to give me a thousand slaves of those that are still within it. Saladin asked him what he would do with them. Seif-ed-dín replied that he would do with them as seemed him best. Saladin granted his request, and his brother released them all. When Seif-ed-dín had taken out his thousand captives, the patriarch prayed Saladin to deliver the poor which yet remained. He gave the patriarch seven hundred. Then Balian asked Saladin for some of those left. He gave Balian five hundred. ‘And now,’ said Saladin, ‘I will make my own alms.’ Then he commanded his bailiffs to open the postern towards Saint Lazarus, and to make proclamation through all the city that the poor might go out by this way, only that if there were among them any who had the means of ransom, they were to be taken to prison. The deliverance of the poor lasted from sunrise to sunset, and yet there were eleven thousand left. The patriarch and Balian went then to Saladin and prayed him that he would hold themselves in hostage until those who were left could obtain from Christendom enough to pay their ransom. Saladin said that he would certainly not receive two men in place of eleven thousand, and that they were to speak no more of it.”
But Saladin was open to prayers from all quarters. The widows and children of those who had fallen at Tiberias came to him weeping and crying. “When Saladin saw them weeping, he was moved with great pity; and, hearing who they were, he told them to inquire if their husbands and fathers were yet living, and in prison, those who were his captives he ordered to be released; and, in those cases where it was proved that their husbands were dead, he gave largely from his own private purse to all the ladies and the noble maidens, so that they gave thanks to God for the honour and wealth that Saladin bestowed upon them.” Clearly a magnanimous prince, this Saladin, and one who was accustomed to return good for evil.
There were so many Christians who came out of the city that the Saracens marvelled how they could have all got in. Saladin separated them into three divisions; the Templars led one, the Hospitallers another, and Balian the third. To each troop he assigned fifty of his own knights to conduct them into Christian territory.... These, when they saw men, women, or children fatigued, would make their squires go on foot, and put the wearied exiles on horseback, while they themselves carried the children. Surely this is a tender and touching picture of the soft-hearted soldiers of Islam, too pitiful to let the little children cry while they had arms to carry them, or to drive the weary forward while they could walk on foot themselves.
When the exiles got to Tripoli they found themselves worse off than on the march. Raymond would not let them enter, but sent out his knights, who caught all the rich bourgeois, and brought them prisoners into the city. Then Raymond deprived them of all that they brought out of Jerusalem. The poorer of them dispersed into Armenia and the neighbouring countries, and disappear from history. The names of the Christians linger yet, however, in the Syrian towns, and many of their descendants, long since converted to the faith of the country, may be found in every town and village between Antioch and Ascalon.
Jerusalem was fallen, and the kingdom of the Christians was at last at an end. It had lasted eighty-eight years. It had seen the exploits of six valiant, prudent, and chivalrous kings. It was supported during all its existence solely by the strength and ability of its kings; it fell to pieces at once when its king, a poor leper, lost his authority with his strength. Always corrupt, always self-seeking, the Christians of the East became a by-word and proverb at last for treachery, meanness, and cowardice. It was time that a realm so degraded from its high and lofty aims should perish; there was no longer any reason why it should continue to live; the Holy City might just as well be kept by the Saracens, for the Christians were not worthy. They had succeeded in trampling the name of Christian in the dust; the Cross which they protected was their excuse for every treachery and baseness which a licentious priest could be bribed to absolve. The tenets and preaching of their faith were not indeed forgotten by them, for they had never been known; there was nothing in their lives by which the Saracens could judge the religion of Christ to be aught but the blindest worship of a piece of wood and a gilded cross; while the worst among them—the most rapacious, the most luxurious, the most licentious, the most haughty, the most perjured—were the very men, the priests and the knights of the orders, sworn to chastity, to self-denial, to godliness. It appears to us that Christianity might have had a chance in the East against Islam but for the Christians; and had men like Saladin been able to comprehend what was the religion which, like an ancient painting begrimed and overladen with dirt and dust, lay under all the vices and basenesses of the Christianity they witnessed, the world would at least have been spared some of the bitterness of its religious wars.
As for Guy de Lusignan, it matters very little what became of that poor creature. He made one or two feeble attempts to get back something of his kingdom, but always failed. He finally sold his title to King Richard, in exchange for that of King of Cyprus, and ruled in great tranquillity in his new kingdom for a year, when he died.
So disastrous an event as the fall of Jerusalem must needs be accompanied by signs and wonders from heaven. On the day that the city surrendered, one of the monks of Argenteuil, as he remembered afterwards, saw the moon descend from heaven to earth. It is remarkable that nothing was said at the time of this very curious phenomenon. In many churches the crucifixes shed tears of blood, which was their customary and recognised way of expressing regret when the monks thought anything was going wrong with the power of the Church. And a Christian knight saw in a dream an eagle flying over an army, holding seven javelins in its claws, and crying, “Woe, woe to Jerusalem.”