Jerusalem, the City of Herod and Saladin

by Walter Besant; Edward Henry Palmer

“Peter knelt again, and making the sign of the cross he reached the flames without appearing afraid. He remained one moment in the midst of the fire, and then came out by the grace of God.... After Peter had gone through the fire, and although the flames were still raging, the people gathered up the brands, the ashes, and the charcoal, with such ardour that in a few moments nothing was left. The Lord in the end performed great miracles by means of these sacred relics. Peter came out of the flames without even his gown being burned, and the light veil which covered the lance-head escaped uninjured. He made immediately the sign of the cross, and cried with a loud voice, ‘God help!’ to the crowd, who pressed upon him to be certain that it was really he. Then, in their eagerness, and because everybody wanted to touch him, and to have even some little piece of his dress, they trampled him under their feet, cut off pieces of his flesh, broke his back-bone, and broke his ribs. He was only saved from being killed there and then by Raymond Pelot, a knight, who hastily called a number of soldiers and rescued him.

“When he was brought into our tent, we dressed his wounds, and asked him why he had stopped so long in the fire. ‘Because,’ he said, ‘the Lord appeared to me in the midst of the flames, and taking me by the hand, said, ‘Since thou hast doubted of the holy lance, which the blessed Andrew showed to thee, thou shalt not go out from this sound and safe. Nevertheless, thou shalt not see hell.’ After these words He sent me on. ‘See now the marks of fire on my body.’ And, in fact, there were certain burnings in the legs, small in number, though the wounds were great.”

Peter Bartholomew died the day after—of the fire, said Bohemond, the doubter, who continued in his disbelief, in spite of the ordeal; of the injuries he had received in the crowd, said Raymond of Toulouse. But the authority of the lance was established, and it was to do good service in the battles to come. The faith of the Crusaders was kept up by many other visions and miracles. One that had the greatest effect was a vision seen by Anselm. To him appeared by night Angelram, the young son of the Count of Saint Paul, who had been killed at Marra. “Know,” said the phantom, “that those who fight for Christ die not.” “And whence this glory that surrounds you?” Then Angelram showed in the heavens a palace of crystal and diamonds. “It is there,” he said, “that I have borrowed my splendour. There is my dwelling-place. One finer still is preparing for you, into which you will soon enter.” The next day Anselm, after telling of this apparition, confessed and received the sacraments, though full of health, and going into battle, was struck by a stone in the forehead, and died immediately.

On their way to Tripoli,[^[52]] where they first saw the sugar-cane, the impatience of the soldiers manifested itself so strongly that the chiefs could not venture to sit down before the place, but pushed on, after making a sort of treaty with its governor. Here messengers arrived from Alexis, entreating them to wait for him, and promising to bring an army in July. But the time was gone by for[for] negotiation and delay, and taking the sea-shore route, by which they ensured the protection of the fleet, they marched southwards to Beirout. Sidon, and Tyre, and Acre, were passed without much opposition, and the Crusaders arrived at Cæsarea, which is within sixty miles of Jerusalem. By marches quick rather than forced, for the enthusiasm of the army was once more at its height, they reached Lydda, where the church of Saint George lay in ruins, having recently been destroyed by the Turks, and thence to Ramleh. Here an embassy from Bethlehem waited for them with prayers to protect their town. Tancred, with a hundred knights only, rode off with them. The people received them with psalms of joy, and took them to see the Church of the Nativity. But they would not stay. Bethlehem is but four miles from Jerusalem, and Tancred rode on in advance, eager to be the first to see the city. He ascended the mount of Olives unmolested, and there found a hermit who pointed out to him the sacred sites. The little troop rode back in triumph to tell the Crusaders that the city was almost within their grasp. The soldiers, rough and rude as they were, and stained with every vice, were yet open to the influences of this, the very goal of their hopes. From a rising ground they beheld at last the walls of the Holy City. “And when they heard the name of Jerusalem, the Christians could not prevent themselves, in the fervour of their devotion, from shedding tears; they fell on their faces to the ground, glorifying and adoring God, who, in His goodness, had heard the prayers of His people and had granted them, according to their desires, to arrive at this most sacred place, the object of all their hopes.”

[52]. While they were considering which road was the easiest for their march to Jerusalem, the Crusaders received a deputation from a Christian people, said to be sixty thousand in number, living in the mountains of Lebanus. They offered their services as guides, and pointed out that there were three roads: the first by way of Damascus, level and plain, and always abounding in provisions; the second over Mount Lebanon, safe from any enemy, and also full of provisions, but difficult for beasts of burden; and the third by the sea-shore, abounding in defiles, where “fifty Mussulmans would be able, if they pleased, to stop the whole of mankind.” “But,” said these Christians, “if you are of a verity that nation which is to overcome Jerusalem, you must pass along the sea-shore, however difficult that road may appear, according to the Gospel of St. Peter. Your way, such as you have made it, and such as you must make it, is all laid down in that Gospel which we possess.”

What was this Gospel? or is it only one of the credulous stories of Raymond d’Agiles?

The army which sat down before Jerusalem numbered about twenty thousand fighting men, and an equal number of camp followers, old men, women, and children. This was the miserable remnant of that magnificent army of six hundred thousand, with which Godfrey had taken Nicæa and punished the massacre of Walter and his rabble. Where were all the rest? The road was strewn with their bones. Across the thirsty deserts of Asia Minor, on the plain of Dorylæum, and on the slopes and passes of Taurus, the Crusaders’ bodies lay unburied, while before and within Antioch, the city of disasters, thousands upon thousands were thrown into the river or lay in unhallowed soil. But they were not all killed. Many had returned home, among whom were Hugh le Grand and Stephen of Blois; many had left the main body and gone off in free-handed expeditions of their own, to join Baldwin and others. Thus we have heard of Wolf, the Burgundian conqueror of Adana. Presently we find that Guymer the pirate of Boulogne, who joined Baldwin at Tarsus, must have left him again, and returned to his piratical ways, for we find him in prison at Tripoli; he was delivered up by the governor of Tripoli to the Christians, after which he appears no more. Then some had been taken prisoners, and purchased their lives by apostacy, like Rinaldo the Italian. And those of the captive women who were yet young were dragging out their lives in the Turkish harems. Probably the boys, too, were spared, and those who were young enough to forget their Christian blood brought up to be soldiers of the Crescent.

The neighbourhood of Jerusalem was covered with light brushwood, but there were no trees; there had been grass in plenty, but it was dried up by the summer sun; there were wells and cisterns, but they had all been closed,—“the fountains were sealed.” Only the pool of Siloam was accessible to the Crusaders; this was intermittent and irregular, and its supply, when it did flow, was miserably inadequate for a host of forty thousand. Moreover, its waters were brackish and disagreeable. And the camp was full of sick, wounded, and helpless.

On the west, east, and south sides of the city no attack was possible, on account of the valleys by which it was naturally protected. The Crusaders pitched their camp in the north. First in the post of danger, as usual, was the camp of Godfrey, Duke of Lorraine. His position extended westwards from the valley of Jehoshaphat, along the north wall. Next to him came the Count of Flanders; next, Robert of Normandy, near whom was Edgar Atheling with his English; at the north-west angle was Tancred; and lastly, the camp of the Count of Toulouse extended along the west as far as the Jaffa Gate. Later on, however, Raymond moved a portion of his camp to that part of Mount Sion stretching south of the modern wall. But the only place where an attacking party could hope for success was on the north. Bohemond was not with the army. He cared less about taking the city than wreaking his vengeance upon the Greek emperor. Meantime, within the city was an army of forty thousand men. Provisions for a long siege had been conveyed into the town; the zeal of the defenders had been raised by the exhortations of the Imams; the walls were strengthened and the moats deepened. Communication and relief were possible from the east, where only scattered bands of the Christians barred the way.

Immediately before the arrival of the Crusaders, the Mohammedans deliberated whether they should slaughter all the Christians in cold blood, or only fine them and expel them from the city. It was decided to adopt the latter plan; and the Crusaders were greeted on their arrival not only by the flying squadrons of the enemy’s cavalry, but also by exiled Christians telling their piteous tales. Their houses had been pillaged, their wives kept as hostages; immense sums were required for their ransom; the churches were desecrated; and, even worse still, the Infidels were contemplating the entire destruction of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. This last charge, at least, was not true. But it added fuel to a fire which was already beyond any control, and the chiefs gave a ready permission to their men to carry the town, if they could, by assault. They had neither ladders nor machines, but, covering themselves with their bucklers, rushed against the walls and tried to tear them down with pikes and hammers. Boiling oil and pitch, the best weapons for the besieged, were poured upon their heads, with huge stones and enormous beams. In spite of heavy losses, they managed to tear down and carry a portion of the outer wall, and the besieged retired to their inner works, which were impregnable, at least to hammers and pikes. One ladder, and only one, was found. Tancred, with his usual hardihood, was the first to place his foot on the ladder, but he was forcibly held back by his knights, who would not allow him to rush upon certain death. Two or three gained the wall, and were thrown from it dead. Night put an end to the fight, and the Christians, dejected and beaten back, retired to their camp. Heaven would work no miracles for them, and it was clear that the city must be taken according to the ordinary methods of warfare. Machines were necessary, but there was no wood. Chance threw into their possession a cavern, forgotten by the Saracens, filled with a store of timber, which went some way. There were still some beams in the houses and churches round Jerusalem not yet burned. All these were brought into the camp, but still there was not enough. Then a Syrian Christian bethought him of a wood six miles off, on the road to Samaria, whither he led the Crusaders. The trees were small, and not of the best kind, but such as they were they had to suffice, and all hands were employed in the construction of towers and engines of assault. They worked with the energy of men who have but one hope. For, in the midst of a Syrian summer, with a burning sun over their heads, they had no water. The nearest wells, except the intermittent spring of Siloam, were six or seven miles away. To bring the water into the camp, strong detachments were daily sent out; the country was scoured for miles in every direction for water; hundreds perished in casual encounters with the enemy, while wandering in search of wells; and the water, when it was procured, was often so muddy and impure that the very horses refused to drink it. As for those who worked in the camp, they dug up the ground and sucked the moist earth; they cut pieces of turf and laid them at their hearts to appease the devouring heat; in the morning they licked the dew from the grass; they abstained from eating till they were compelled by faintness; they drank the blood of their beasts. Never, not even in Antioch, not even in Phrygia, had their sufferings been so terrible, or so protracted. And, as the days went on, as the sun grew fiercer, the dews more scanty—as the miracle, still expected, delayed to come—some lay despairing in their tents, some worked on in a despairing energy, and some threw themselves down at the foot of the walls to die, or to be killed by the besieged, crying, “Fall, oh walls of Jerusalem, upon us! Sacred dust of the city, at least cover our bones!”