their dykes with great solemnity and let it flow over the land; and it was
remembered with sadness in the Christian camp how they had used it for the
destruction of the crusading army in the enterprise which had failed only a
few years before.
The queen and her sister, with their ladies in attendance, were lodged in
one of the palaces in the city, and the pilgrims who had come in the hope
of reaching Jerusalem in another; but the king remained in his tent outside
with the army.
The crusaders soon began to suffer from the intense heat of the climate,
and the flies and noxious insects which infested the camp.
The report of the sultan's death had been false. Saleh was still living,
but almost at his last gasp; and finding he could not dictate to the King
of France the hour when a battle should take place between them, he devised
a sure method of annoyance by offering a reward of a besant of gold for
every head of a Christian which should be brought to him. The Arabs or
Bedouins undertook to perform this service. Clad only in the skins of wild
beasts, they would suddenly appear in the camp, and vanish on their
swift-footed horses as soon as they were seen. On dark nights they used to
put their ear to the ground, as the Arabs do to this day, and listen if
the night watch had gone its rounds before they began their dread work; and
as there were always people sleeping on the outskirts of the camp, who had
gone out in search of prey, scarcely a night passed but some heads were
missing at daybreak. The king, to mislead them, ordered the night watch to
be made by foot soldiers instead of horsemen, but it did not prevent the
maurauders from coming, and at last the crusaders had to dig a deep trench
all round the camp as a surer means of keeping them away.
Louis was anxiously awaiting the arrival of his brother Alphonse, Count of
Poitou, Prince John being left in France to assist the queen-mother in the
cares of the government. The Count came at last, bringing with him the wife
of Robert of Artois. The time was wearing on, and a council was held to
determine which way they should next proceed. Robert, who was as zealous in
the crusade as Louis himself, but who had not his brother's patience and
calmness of mind, strongly advised that they should pursue the road to
Cairo, or Babylon, as it was then called, and so aim a blow at the whole
dominion of the Sultan in Egypt. The king yielded to his wishes, and
leaving the queen and the princesses in the city, with a sufficient number
of guards to protect them, he set out from Damietta, although he was in
weak health from the effects of the climate. The army crossed the bridge of
boats, but it could only go slowly along; there were so many things, such
as engines, arms, harness, and provisions, to be transported. The crusaders
imagined that they were going to Babylon, the great city of the East, on
the banks of the Euphrates; but the city they were approaching was only so
named by some settlers from the Eastern Babylon, and was what is now called
"Old Cairo," although in those days it was almost as great a place as
Memphis, the ancient capital of Egypt. They were much astonished at the
abundant vegetation on the shores of the Nile, and the treasures to be
found even in its waters; for the Sire de Joinville tells us how the
country people used to throw their nets into the river at evening, and take
them up in the morning filled with cinnamon, aloes, ginger, rhubarb, and
things of a like nature; the common belief being that these riches dropped
from the trees in the garden of paradise, and were wafted up the river to
their feet!
The Egyptian fleet was stationed at Massoura, a city nearly a third of the
way between Damietta and Cairo. The sultan was now dead, but his widow
would not let it be known until her son could arrive to take the government
into his hands, for fear that the people should get discouraged.
The crusaders had not gone far from Damietta, when they found their passage
barred by the Thanis, a branch of the Nile, the opposite shore of which was
guarded by a body of five hundred Saracen horsemen. The Thanis was the
river they had to cross; it was deep near its steep shores; there was no
bridge, neither did they know of a ford, so they encamped on the ground
which formed the extremity of the angle between the two rivers, only
separated from the town of Massourah by the stream and a part of the plain.
Their situation soon became very dangerous, because the Saracens were
constantly attacking their side which was unprotected by the waters: the
machines of the enemy, too, were better than their own, and poured upon
them a continual volley of stones, darts, javelins, arrows, and heavy
pieces of wood. Then at night the Saracens would throw upon them their
terrible Greek fire, which appeared with a loud hissing noise, "like a
fiery dragon flying through the air," and rendered the camp as light as
day. The Saracens were more skilful in the art of making fireworks than the
Europeans, and always employed them in warfare. The basis of the Greek fire
was naphtha, a clear, thin mineral fluid, which is very inflammable, and
burns with much smoke. When it came, the Christians would throw themselves
down on the ground and hide their faces, and the king, whenever he heard it
explode in the night, would rise in his bed and say, "Blessed Lord God,
save my people!" and every night he would send round the camp to inquire
who had been injured by it. Sometimes it was put out with vinegar and sand,
but it usually occasioned great harm, not only to the people in the camp,
but also to the machines.
The king, having tried in vain to construct a dyke, had now to think
seriously of returning to Damietta, or of remaining in this corner between
the rivers, surrounded by the enemy, and almost in total want of
provisions. He was about to retreat, notwithstanding the sorrow and
disappointment it cost him to give up the enterprise, when a Bedouin, who
had abandoned the Saracens, came to the camp and said that he knew of a
ford which the horsemen might pass, and would show it to them for the sum
of five hundred besants of gold, but not until he had the money safe in his
hand.
The king joyfully accepted his offer, and arranged that the Duke of
Burgundy should be left with the infantry to guard the camp, whilst he,
with his brothers and all the rest, should attempt the passage. The Count
of Artois begged for the honour of passing first, and the king somewhat
reluctantly granted him his request, on condition that he should not
venture to fight until the whole army had assembled; he knew so well his
brother's ardent spirit and rashness.
Before daybreak they all set out for the ford, with the Arab marching at
their head, and went out of the straight road to avoid being seen by their
foes. The Arab plunged into the water first of all, and as he knew the way
perfectly it was not difficult for him to cross, but Robert of Artois did
not find it so easy to effect a footing, the opposite shore being high and
slippery from the richness of its soil. Next to him went the Templars, and
then William, Earl of Salisbury, surnamed "Longue Epee," who had joined the
crusade with two hundred English knights. Ah! little those brave men knew
they were going to their death, and that of all who crossed in hope and
ardour that morning, only enough should survive to come back and tell the
tale!
The sight of the Arabs fleeing who guarded the ford, made Robert forget the
oath he had sworn to his brother; he rushed after them in pursuit; the Emir
Facardin coming out to ascertain the cause of alarm, was quickly surrounded
and killed, and numbers of the Saracens, in dismay at the loss of their
leader, left their camp to their foes, and retired in disorder to Massoura.
Meanwhile the king had passed the ford in his turn, with all the rest of
the horsemen, and was greatly surprised that he did not find his brother
and the advance guard waiting for him on the other side. Fearing some
misfortune had happened, he told ten of his knights to go in search of
Count Robert, and remind him that he was to attempt nothing until the whole
army had assembled. After this he set out quickly in the direction of the
Saracens; but what was his astonishment when he found that instead of being
able to stand against them, he was surrounded by them on all sides, whilst
the air was filled with their hideous cries, and the noise of their
barbarous instruments! The Saracens, terror-stricken at first by the
approach of the Christians, had now rallied in multitudes, and completely
closed in the army of the crusaders between the river and the town of
Massoura. The king, undismayed, prepared for immediate battle, although his
knights and nobles tried to persuade him that it would be hopeless to
combat so large a force. Just at that moment the constable Imbert de
Beaujeu rode up to tell him that the Count of Artois was besieged in a
house at Massoura, and would perish if succour did not arrive. The king
sent a body of troops to his aid, and promised that he would soon be with
him himself; and then he turned to his people and exhorted them to keep
their ranks firm; and told them that the soldiers of Christ ought not to
fear a set of miscreants like those who were crowding around them. The
whole aspect of the king that day inspired courage; his face was calm, his
eyes shone with a steadfast light; he had a helmet of gold on his head,
which from his great height towered above the ranks of his army; his
double-edged sword was so heavy, that to strike a blow with it, he had to
grasp it with both hands.
The signal being given, the bravest of the crusaders rushed on the
Saracens; others, less courageous, tried to regain the camp of the Duke of
Burgundy, but were most of them drowned in the attempt. The king was sure
to be found where the fight was the thickest, or where the weak were in
want of succour; and once during the battle he was surrounded by six
Saracens, who seized the bridle of his horse, and yet he freed himself by
his own aid alone.
The Duke of Burgundy and his men heard the conflict going on from the
opposite shore; they longed to fly to the king's assistance, but their very
eagerness hindered them, and it was a long time before any of them could
cross the river. When a body of the king's archers arrived on the plain,
they found that Louis had maintained his ground, and that the battle of
Massoura was won: yet, had it not been for the king's example, the day had
been lost, so great was the fury and strength of the enemy.
Both Christians and Saracens were now utterly wearied out with fighting;
the heat had been intense, and Louis, having waited for all the wounded who
could be assembled, set out at sunset for the Saracen camp on the Thanis.
His golden helmet oppressed him, and he was glad to accept from Joinville a
casque of steel, which enabled him to breathe more freely. He had only gone
a little way on the road when a prior of the knights hospitallers met him
and asked if he knew where his brother was, the Count of Artois.
"Yes," replied the king, "I know that he is in heaven." And then he said
that the Lord should be praised equally for what He gave and for what He
withheld; and in the dark of the evening his tears began to flow, not only
for his own sorrow, but for that of the young Countess of Artois, who had
only come out to the East to bid her husband a last farewell.
For Robert indeed was slain; deaf to the remonstrances of the Grand Master
of the Templars, an old man, whose advice had been well heeded, and to
those of the Earl of Salisbury, he persisted in following the Saracens to
Massoura, and had met there the fate he had drawn upon him by his untimely
zeal and rashness. His brave companions perished with him, with the
exception of the Grand Master, who lost an eye in the conflict, and one or
two others; the Englishman who bore the standard wrapped it around him as
he fell. And as the king appeared to have known beforehand what had
happened, so it is said the mother of the Earl of Salisbury had a vision of
her son ascending to heaven, with a crown of glory on his head, before she
received the tidings of his death.
The king encamped that night close by the machines of the Saracens, and on
the second day after the battle of Massoura, the struggle began afresh. The
Saracens had taken the victory to themselves, and had sent the news of
their supposed triumph to Cairo by their carrier pigeons. Bondocar, the
chief, who had rallied the troops in Massoura appeared on the field in the
coat of arms starred with lilies which Robert of Artois had worn. The Greek
fire was poured forth incessantly from the front line of the Saracens as
they came up in battle array; the king had the crupper of his horse covered
with it once during the conflict, when he had gone to the rescue of his
brother Charles, who was in danger. The Saracens were repulsed a second
time, but the victory was dearly bought, so many men and horses being
wounded, and the crusaders passed a dreary time before Massoura, whilst
their provisions grew less and less; and it being Lent, they lost their
strength by eating only roots, wheat, and fruit; fish they had in plenty at
first, but to their horror they found out that they had fed on the dead
bodies which the Saracens had thrown into the river. A pestilence broke
out, and the camp was like one vast hospital. The king, in mistaken zeal,
had caused the bodies to be taken out of the water, that those of the
Christians might receive Christian burial, and helped to bury them himself.
This only increased the unwholesomeness of the air, and at last Louis fell
ill too. The crusaders now began to despair; the king had been as brave in
misfortune as he had been on the battle-field, and had cheered the spirits
of his followers: he visited the sick day and night, and sat beside the
bedside of the dying, reminding them of their Saviour's love, and
comforting many a poor soul with the hope of heaven. It is recorded how one
of the lowliest of the army declared as he lay dying that he could not
depart until he had seen the kind face of his master bending over him once
more.
The Saracens having prevented the approach of the vessels that were coming
to the camp with provisions, the king, as a last resource, offered to give
up the city of Damietta to the Sultan Malek al Moadhem, if he would agree
to restore Jerusalem to the Christians, the Counts of Poiton and Anjou
remaining in Egypt as hostages.
The Sultan would have no other hostage but the king himself, and Louis
would willingly have sacrificed himself for his people if his nobles had
allowed him to do so. There was no alternative but to retreat to Damietta,
and the army decamped one spring night in the dark, the old people and the
sick and wounded being carried out first, and the king leaving the camp the
last of all with the barons Gautier de Chatillon and Geoffray de Sardines.
He was so weak and ill that he could hardly sit upright on his little Arab
horse; yet he was the bravest among the brave in that troop which went
slowly and sadly along in the dark, defending themselves as they could from
the attacks of the Arabs, who had been bribed for the purpose of molesting
them.
Geoffray de Sardines had to deal many a blow to keep the Saracens from his
master, who soon became too feeble to lift his sword, and they were in the
greater danger because the whole of the Egyptian army was behind them. At
last they reached a little village, and the king, having fainted away, was
carried into the first house they met with, whilst Chatillon stood outside
in the street defending it until he fell mortally wounded.
When Louis had recovered a little, Philip de Montfort came to him, and told
him that he had seen an emir, to whom he had been sent on a mission once
before, and if he liked he would make a treaty with him on the terms
desired by the Saracens.
The king agreed to the plan; De Montfort went to the emir, and all would
have been well if a sergeant belonging to the French army, thinking to save
the king's life, had not cried out to the knights who were standing around,
"Surrender, Sir Knights! the king commands you to do so!" The Christian
warriors, believing that the king had really commanded them to give way,
lay down their swords, and the emir, seeing they were all prisoners, said
there was no further need of a treaty. Then cords and chains were thrown
around them, and they were all conducted to Massoura.
The king was shut up in the house of a scribe; he was loaded with chains,
and strictly watched, while the barons and knights were huddled together in
a court which was open to the sky. King Louis was very unkindly treated by
the Sultan at first; he was only allowed to have one attendant with him;
this man, whose name was Isambert, nursed him tenderly, dressed him, and
made his bread; and said afterwards that he had never heard his master
utter one word of complaint or impatience during the whole time of his
captivity. It was a marvel how Louis ever lived through his illness; his
strength was almost spent; and at night, to add to his discomfort, he had
nothing to cover him as he lay on his wretched bed but an old cloak, which
a poor man had given him out of compassion in Massoura.
After a time, Malek al Moadhem, fearing the reproaches of the European
nations, treated his captive more kindly; he had his chains removed and
sent him his own physicians, and delicate food from his royal table, and to
keep him warm he gave him two robes of black samite, trimmed and lined with
fur, which were plentifully adorned with gold buttons. And best of all he
allowed him to have his almoner and a priest with him, and something like
joy came back to the poor king when the Saracens brought him one day his
missal, or book of prayers, which he had lost and never thought to see
again. And so, comforted and strengthened by prayer, Louis was not unhappy
even within prison walls, away from all he loved, and waited patiently
until the Almighty should see fit to make a way for him to regain his
liberty.
And a way came at last: the sultan agreed to release him on condition of
his giving up Damietta and paying a ransom of a million besants of gold.
Louis agreed to the terms, but he said that the liberty of the King of
France should not be bought with money, and that the gold should be paid
for his people, and the city should be his own ransom. The sultan, struck
with the spirit of his reply, reduced the sum he had asked by two hundred
thousand besants, and a truce was concluded between the Christians and the
Saracens of Egypt and Syria. It was arranged that half the ransom should be
paid at once, and the other half as soon as the king should reach the port
of Acre in Palestine, his brother Alphonse remaining in Egypt as hostage.
Louis was then set at liberty; he had recovered from his illness through
the skill of the Arabian physicians, and he repaired to Acre where the
queen and the princesses had already arrived, having quitted Damietta a
little while before. It was a joyful meeting, for Marguerite had been very
unhappy through all those long sad months at Damietta, not only on account
of the miseries of the crusaders, but also from the constant fear of
falling into the hands of the Saracens herself. And a little son who was
born to her there received the name of "Tristan," in memory of the sorrows
she had endured.
Louis did not return to France at once, but remained some time at Acre, in
the hope of inducing the Christian powers to enter into a league for the
recovery of the Holy Land, and it was not until the news of his mother's
death reached him, and his presence was required in his country, that he
bade farewell to the East, where he had bravely striven for so much, and
yet had gained so little.
The king was received with great joy by his people on his return to France,
but they were less happy when they saw the cross still on his shoulder, as
a sign that he meant to engage in another crusade when the truce should
have expired. As soon as he arrived he occupied himself in making good laws
for his country, and was so greatly famed for his justice that other
sovereigns were glad to benefit by his example. His laws against evil-doers
were very severe; no murderer or thief dared abide in Paris, and merchants
and tradesmen who gave false measures were punished with extreme rigour.
The king used often to sit beneath an oak in the Bois de Vincennes, or on a
carpet spread in a garden, to hear the complaints and grievances of the
common people, and to administer justice to them. He had always been
charitable from his earliest years: a hundred and twenty poor persons were
maintained in his house, and three poor old men, besides those who were
crippled and lame, dined with him every day at his own table; the king
would cut their bread and meat for them, and pour out their wine, and
would serve them before he ate anything himself. And beyond this, he gave
large sums to hospitals, religious houses, and colleges, and succoured
widows and poor ladies and gentlemen, and all those who by reason of age or
illness could no longer work for their living.
The good king used to employ the morning with the affairs of the state; he
dined at mid-day, and after dinner his readers would come to him, and he
read the Bible with interpreters, or the works of the fathers of the
church: sometimes, instead of reading, he would converse with good and
learned men, who always found a welcome at his court. In the evening,
before he retired to rest, he used to assemble his children around him, and
hear them repeat their prayers and the tasks they had learned during the
day. Then he would tell them of the deeds of good emperors and kings, and
of the fate that generally befel those who were idle, or careless of the
happiness of their subjects. At midnight he would rise from his bed to
attend Matins, and so afraid was he of being asleep when any of the church
services began, that he had candles lighted which only burnt a certain
time, that his servants might not fail to awaken him as soon as they were
spent. His brothers used to share with him works of charity and holy
offices. When Baldwin II., Emperor of Constantinople, sent him as a gift
the Crown of Thorns supposed to be the one worn by our blessed Saviour, and
part of the word of the True Cross on which He died, in return for the aid
Louis had afforded him when he was in great need, we read how the king
received the sacred relics in the deepest humility, and bareheaded and
barefoot carried the Crown of Thorns with his brother Robert of Artois to
the church of Notre-Dame. It was to form a shrine for these relics that
Louis built the beautiful Sainte Chapelle in Paris. Again, we read how,
when a new hospital was completed, the king carried in the first bed
himself, with his son-in-law, the King of Navarre, whilst his brothers
conveyed the remainder of the sick people into the wards. The whole family
were united in deeds of love and compassion. There was no office too lowly
for Louis to perform; no person, however mean and wretched, who had not a
place in his heart. And if we except the harsh laws he made against the
Jews through his zeal for the Christian faith, no sovereign ever showed
more mercy and justice towards his people.
One Good Friday, when the king was going his rounds to all the churches in
Paris, according to his custom, he saw on the other side of the way a leper
who was shunned by every person he met. The king immediately crossed over
the muddy road and gave the poor man some money, and kissed his hand to
show that he loved him, although he was despised and avoided by all others.
The king never resumed his costly robes after his return from the Holy
Land, but wore dark-coloured garments of cloth and silk, and instead of
handsome furs he only wore the skins of hares, rabbits, and squirrels, that
he might have the more money to spare for his charities.
In the summer of the year 1270 the Christians set out once more from the
port of Aigues-Mortes on the seventh and last crusade. Bondocar had become
a very powerful sovereign, and the Saracens were making so great progress
in the East, that all Christian princes became alarmed, and were urged by
the Pope to hasten to the relief of Palestine.