A.D. 1248-1255.
WHILST the Christian army was forgetting in its sojourn at Damietta
both the laws of discipline and the object of the holy war, Alphonse,
count of Poictiers, prepared to set out for the East. All the churches
of France still resounded with pathetic exhortations addressed to the
Christian warriors; the bishops, in the name of the sovereign pontiff,
conjured the faithful to second, by means of charity, the enterprise
against the Saracens; an apostolic brief, granted to the brother of the
king not only the tribute imposed upon the Crusaders who repurchased
their vow, but all the sums destined by testament to acts of piety,
the object of which was not distinctly signified. These sums must have
been considerable, but could scarcely suffice for the expenses of an
expedition which bore the appearance of another crusade. The knights
and barons who had not been affected by the example of Louis IX. showed
but very little enthusiasm, or else wanted money for so long a voyage.
Piety and the love of glory were not powerful enough to seduce them to
join the banners of the holy war. History has preserved an agreement,
by which Hugh Lebrun, count of Angoulême, consented to set out for
the crusade with twelve knights, but on the express condition that
the count of Poictiers should feed them at his own table during the
expedition; that he would advance the seigneur Hugh Lebrun the sum of
four thousand livres; and should pay him, in perpetuity, a pension of
six hundred livres tournois. This agreement and several other similar
ones were innovations in the military usages of feudalism, and even in
the usages consecrated by the holy wars.
The English nobles, however, were impatient to follow the example set
them by Louis IX. We read in Matthew Paris, that the English lords
and knights had already sold or empawned their lands, and placed
themselves entirely at the mercy of the Jews; which appeared to be
the preliminary of a departure for the Holy Land. It is not out of
place to add here, that this impatience to set out for the East, arose
less from a religious motive than from the spirit of opposition that
animated the barons against their monarch, Henry III., who was accused
of being desirous of taking advantage of the absence of Louis IX., and
did all in his power to retain the barons and lords of his kingdom; and
as the latter resisted his solicitations with contempt, he resolved
to employ the influence of the Church; “so that,” says Matthew Paris,
“like a young child who, having been ill-used, goes to its mother to
complain, the king of England carried his complaints to the sovereign
pontiff, adding that he proposed to go himself, and lead his barons
shortly to the Holy Land.” The pope, in his replies, forbade Henry III.
to undertake anything against the kingdom of France; but, at the same
time, he threatened with the thunders of the Church, all the knights
and barons that should leave the kingdom against the will of the king.
Henry, supported by the authority of the pope, ordered the commanders
at Dover and the other ports to take measures that no Crusader should
embark. Thus the court of Rome on one side preached the crusade, and on
the other prevented the departure of the soldiers of the cross; which
must have tended to dissipate all the illusions and annihilate the
spirit of the holy war.
Baymoud, count of Thoulouse, had likewise taken the oath to combat
the infidels; but the inconstancy of his character, and the policy of
the pope, soon led him into other enterprises. His age had seen him,
by turns, full of zeal for the Church, ardent to persecute it; the
apostle of heresy, and the terror of heretics: sometimes abandoned to
the furies of revolt, sometimes submissive to servitude; braving the
thunders of the court of Rome, afterwards seeking the favour of the
pontiffs; pursued by unjust wars, and himself declaring war without a
motive. At the epoch of which we are speaking, the count of Thoulouse
had given up all idea of fighting against the infidels, and was
preparing to minister to the personal vengeance of Innocent IV., by
turning his arms against Thomas of Savoy, who had recently married a
daughter of the emperor Frederick, in opposition to the commands of the
pope. He had already received the money necessary for his preparations
from the pope, and had taken leave of his daughter, the countess of
Poictiers, about to depart for the East, when he fell sick at Milan.
From that time all the projects of his ambition faded away, and, to
borrow the expression of a modern historian, _he went into another
world to learn the result of the incomprehensible varieties of his
life_.
With him the illustrious house of Thoulouse became extinct, a house of
which several of the princes had been heroes of the holy wars, others
deplorable victims of crusades. The county of Thoulouse thus became
a property of the family of the king of France, and whilst Louis IX.
was dissipating his armies and his treasures in vain endeavours to
make conquests in the East, conquests less brilliant, but also less
expensive, more useful and more durable, were increasing the power of
the monarchy and extending the limits of the kingdom.
Germany, Holland, and Italy, filled with troubles, at that time
occupied all the attention of Frederick II., and did not allow him to
turn his thoughts towards the East. He sent the count of Poictiers
fifty horses and a quantity of provisions, delighted, as he said, to
seize an opportunity of acquitting some of the obligations he had
received from France; he put up prayers for the success of the crusade,
and deeply regretted his inability to take a part in it. Frederick had
lived as the count of Thoulouse had done, and like him, he was soon, in
another world, to behold the end of his ambition, of the inconstancy of
his designs, and of the vicissitudes of fortune.
Although the count of Poictiers was little favoured by circumstances,
he finished his preparations and got together an army. The new
Crusaders embarked at Aigues-Mortes, at the moment the news of the
taking of Damietta arrived in the West. The Christian army expected
them in Egypt with greater anxiety, from the circumstance of the Sea of
Damietta having been, for more than a month, agitated, unceasingly, by
a furious tempest. Three weeks before their arrival, all the pilgrims
had put up prayers on their account; on the Saturday of each week they
went in procession to the seashore, to implore the protection of Heaven
in favour of the warriors about to join the Christian army. At length,
after a passage of two months, the count of Poictiers disembarked
before Damietta, His arrival not only diffused joy and hope among the
Crusaders, but permitted them to leave their long and fatal state of
inactivity.
Louis IX. assembled the council of the princes and barons, to consult
them on the line of march most advisable to be taken, and upon measures
for perfecting the conquest of Egypt. Several of the leaders proposed
to lay siege to Alexandria: they represented that that city had a
commodious port; that the Christian fleet would there find certain
shelter; and that they could there procure munitions and provisions
with great facility: this was the opinion of all that had experience
in war. The headstrong youth of the army, persuaded that they had
sacrificed sufficiently to prudence, by remaining several months in
idleness, maintained that they ought to proceed immediately against
Cairo; they thought nothing of the dangers the Christian army must
encounter in an unknown country, where they must expect to meet with
enemies irritated by fanaticism and despair. The count d’Artois put
himself particularly forward among those who wished them to attack
the capital of Egypt. “When you wish to kill the serpent,” cried he,
“you ought always first to endeavour to crush his head.” This opinion,
expressed with warmth, prevailed in the council; Louis himself partook
of the ardour and hopes of short-sighted youth, and the order was given
for marching towards Cairo.[303]
The army of the Crusaders consisted of sixty thousand fighting men,
more than twenty thousand of whom were horse. A numerous fleet ascended
the Nile, laden with provisions, baggage, and machines of war. Queen
Marguerite, with the countesses of Artois, Anjou, and Poictiers,
remained at Damietta, where the king had left a garrison under the
command of Olivier de Thermes.
The Crusaders encamped at Pharescour the 7th of December; terror had
preceded their triumphant march, and every thing seemed to favour
their enterprise. One circumstance, of which they were ignorant, would
have increased the security and joy of the Christian knights if they
had known of it; Negmeddin, after having struggled for a long time
against a cruel malady, was at length dead. This death might have
produced serious trouble in both the Egyptian nation and army, if it
had not been carefully concealed for several days. After the sultan had
breathed his last, the Mamelukes guarded the gates of his palace as if
he had been still living; prayers were put up, and orders were issued
in his name: with the Mussulmans, nothing interrupted the preparations
for defence or attention to the war against the Christians. All these
precautions were the work of a woman—a woman who had been purchased as
a slave, and had become the favourite wife of Negmeddin. The Arabian
historians are eloquent in the praise of the courage and talents of
Chegger-Eddour, and agree in saying, that no woman surpassed her in
beauty, and no man excelled her in genius.
After the death of Negmeddin, the sultana assembled the principal
emirs; in this council the command of Egypt was given to Fakreddin, and
they acknowledged as sultan Almoadam Touranschah, whom his father had
banished to Mesopotamia: some authors assert that in this council it
was resolved to send ambassadors to the king of the Franks, to propose
peace in the name of the prince of whose death he was still ignorant.
The ambassadors, in order to obtain a truce, were to offer the
Christians Damietta with its territories, and Jerusalem with several
other cities of Palestine. It was not probable that this negotiation
should succeed; the Christians had advanced too far, and had too much
confidence in their arms, to listen to any proposition.
The Christian army pursued its march along the banks of the Nile,
and entered the town of Scharmesah, without meeting any other enemy
than five hundred Mussulman horsemen. These horsemen at first evinced
nothing but pacific intentions, and, from the smallness of their
numbers, they inspired no dread.[304] Louis IX., whose protection
they seemed to implore, forbade the Crusaders to attack them; but
the Mamelukes, abusing the confidence that was placed in them, and
taking advantage of a favourable opportunity, fell all at once upon the
Templars, and killed a knight of that order. A cry to arms immediately
rung through the French army, and the Mussulman battalion was assailed
on all sides: such as did not fall beneath the swords of the Crusaders,
were drowned in the Nile. In proportion with the approach of the
Christians to Mansourah, the anxiety and terror of the Egyptians
increased: the emir Fakreddin exposed the dangers of the country in a
letter that was read at the hour of prayer in the great mosque of the
capital. After the formula, “_In the name of God and of Mahomet his
prophet_,” the letter of Fakreddin began by these words of the Koran:
“_Hasten, great and small, the cause of God has need of your arms and
of your wealth._” “The Franks,” added the emir, “the Franks (Heaven
curse them) are arrived in our country with their standards and their
swords; they wish to obtain possession of our cities and ravage our
provinces: what Mussulman can refuse to march against them, and avenge
the glory of Islamism?”
Upon hearing this letter read, all the people were melted to tears;
the greatest agitation prevailed throughout the city of Cairo; the
death of the sultan, which began to be known, added greatly to the
general consternation; orders were sent to raise troops in all the
Egyptian provinces; war was preached in all the mosques, and the imauns
endeavoured by every means to awaken fanaticism, in order to combat the
depression of despair.
The Christian army arrived before the canal Aschmoum Theriah on the
19th of December. The Mussulman army was encamped on the opposite
shore, having the Nile on its left, and behind it the city of
Mansourah; close to them, in the direction of Cairo, the Saracens had a
numerous fleet upon the river. That of the Christians had advanced to
the head of the canal. Everything seemed to announce that the fate of
the war would be decided on this spot. The Crusaders marked out their
camp in the place in which the army of John of Brienne had encamped
thirty years before. The remembrance of a great disaster ought to have
served them as a lesson, and, at least, have tempered the excessive
confidence that the too easy conquest of Damietta had given them.
The canal of Aschmoum was of the width of the Seine, its bed was deep,
and its banks steep. In order to cross it, it was necessary that a dike
should be constructed: the work was begun, but as fast as they heaped
up the sand and stones, the Saracens dug away the earth in front of the
dike, and thus removed further back the opposite bank of the canal; in
vain the causeway advanced, the Crusaders had always the same distance
to fill up, and each of the trenches dug by the enemy tended to make
their labours useless. In addition to which, they were night and day
interrupted in their works, and were constantly exposed to the arrows
and javelins of the Saracens.
Although the Mussulman general had fled without fighting at the first
appearance of the Franks, the chronicles of the times speak very highly
of his bravery and military talents. They add that he had been made
a knight by Frederick II., and that he bore the arms of the emperor
of Germany with those of the sultans of Cairo and Damascus upon
his escutcheon. These distinctions might draw the attention of the
multitude; but that which was for Fakreddin a true title of glory is,
that he was able, by his speeches and his example, to reanimate the
courage and confidence of a conquered army.
Scarcely had the Crusaders seated themselves down in their camp,
and begun the works necessary for the passage of the Aschmoum, than
Fakreddin sent a party of troops to Scharmesah, to attack the rear of
the Christian army. The Saracens, by this unexpected assault, spread
disorder and terror through the camp of their enemies. The first
advantage redoubled their audacity, and soon after an assault was made
upon the Christians, along the whole line of their camp, extending
from the canal to the Nile. The Mussulmans several times passed the
intrenchments of the Crusaders; the duke of Anjou, Guy count of Forest,
the sieur de Joinville, and several other knights, were compelled to
exert all their bravery to repulse from their camp an enemy whom every
fresh combat taught that the French were not invincible, and that it
was at least possible to stop them on their march.
Conflicts took place every day in the plain and upon the river.
Several vessels belonging to the Christians fell into the hands of the
Mussulmans; the Arabs, constantly prowling round the camp, bore away
into captivity every man that ventured to stray from his colours. As
the emir Fakreddin could only learn from the reports of prisoners the
state and disposition of the Christian army, he promised a recompense
for every captive that should be brought into his tents: all the means
that audacity and cunning could suggest were employed to surprise
the Crusaders. It is related that a Mussulman soldier having buried
his head in a melon that had been hollowed out, threw himself into
the Nile, and swam down the stream. The melon, which appeared to
float upon the water, attracted the eyes of a Christian warrior, who
sprang into the river, and as he stretched out his hand to seize the
floating melon, he himself was seized and dragged away to the camp of
the Mussulmans. This anecdote, more whimsical than instructive, is
related by several Arabian historians, who scarcely say anything of the
preceding combats. Such are the spirit and character of the greater
part of oriental histories, in which the most frivolous details often
take the place of useful truths and important events.
Whilst the armies were thus in face of each other, the Crusaders
pursued the work they had begun upon the Aschmoum. Towers of wood and
machines were constructed, to protect the workmen employed in making
the dike upon which the Christians were to cross the canal. On their
side, the Mussulmans redoubled their efforts to prevent their enemies
from completing their work. The dike advanced but very slowly, and
the wooden towers that had been constructed in front of the causeway,
could not defend either the workmen or the soldiers against the arrows,
stones, and fiery darts that were being constantly launched from the
camp of the Egyptians. Nothing could equal the surprise and terror
that the sight alone of the Greek fire caused the Christian army.
According to the relation of ocular witnesses, this redoubtable fire,
cast sometimes through a brass tube, and sometimes by an instrument
that was called the _perrière_, was of the size of a tun or large cask;
the flaming tail, which it drew after it, was many feet in length;
the Crusaders imagined they beheld a fiery dragon flying through the
air; the noise of its explosion resembled that of thunder, which
rolls in repeated peals. When it was launched during the night, it
cast a lurid splendour over the whole camp. At the first sight of
this terrible fire, the knights set to guard the towers, ran here and
there, like men bewildered; some called their companions to their aid,
whilst others threw themselves on the ground, or fell on their knees,
invoking the celestial powers. Joinville could not conceal his fright,
and thanked Heaven with all his heart when the Greek fire fell at a
distance from him. Louis IX. was not less terrified than his barons
and knights, and when he heard the detonation of the fire, he burst
into tears, exclaiming: “Great God! Jesus Christ, protect me and all my
people!”[305]
“The good prayers and orisons of the king,” says his historian, “were
of great service to us;” nevertheless, they were not able to save
the towers and wooden works constructed by the Crusaders: all were
consumed by the flames in sight of the Christian army, without their
having any power to arrest their devastation. This misfortune was a
lesson by which they ought to have profited; the Christians ought to
have perceived that they had undertaken an impossible enterprise, and
that they ought to seek for some means, more easy and more certain, of
crossing the canal. But, unhappily, the leaders persisted in causing
other erections to be made, which shared the fate of the first. They
thus lost much time, and the futility of their attempts assisted in
raising the pride and confidence of the Saracens.
The Mamelukes at this time learned that their new sovereign had
arrived in Damascus, and that he was hourly expected in his capital.
This arrival gave them fresh hopes, and rendered them more confident
of victory. To redouble the ardour of his soldiers, Fakreddin often
repeated, with a tone of assurance, that he should soon go and sleep in
the tent of the king of the Franks.
The Christians had been a month before Aschmoum, exhausting themselves
in useless efforts. Their leaders never took the trouble to examine
if it were possible to ford the canal, or cross it by swimming, as
the Egyptian cavalry had done. They were beginning to despair, when
chance revealed to them a means of extricating themselves from their
embarrassment, a means they might have known much sooner, if they
had had less obstinacy and more foresight. A Bedouin Arab came to
propose to Imbert de Beaujeu, constable of France, to show him, at a
distance of half a league from the camp, a ford, by which the Crusaders
might cross without danger or obstacles, to the opposite bank of the
Aschmoum. After having ascertained that the Arab told the truth, they
paid him the sum of five hundred golden byzants, which he had demanded,
and the Christian army prepared to profit by this happy but late
discovery.
The king and the princes his brothers, with all the cavalry, began
their march in the middle of the night; the duke of Burgundy remained
in the camp with the infantry, to observe the enemy, and guard the
machines and the baggage. At daybreak, all the squadrons that were to
cross the canal, awaited the signal on the bank. The count d’Artois
was ambitious of crossing first; the king, who knew the impetuous
character of his brother, at first wished to restrain him; but Robert
insisted warmly, and swore upon the Gospel, that when he arrived on
the opposite shore, he would wait till the Christian army had passed.
Louis imprudently placed faith in the promise of a young, fiery, and
haughty knight, to master his warlike transports, and resist all the
temptations of glory on the field of battle. The count d’Artois placed
himself at the head of the van, in which were the Hospitallers, the
Templars, and the English. This van crossed the Aschmoum, and put
to flight three hundred Saracen horsemen. At the sight of the flying
Mussulmans, young Robert was on fire to pursue them. In vain the
two grand masters represented to him that the flight of the enemy
was perhaps nothing but a stratagem, and that he ought to wait for
the army, and follow the orders of the king. Robert feared to lose
an opportunity of triumphing over the infidels, and would listen to
nothing but his ardour for conquest. He rushed on to the plain, sword
in hand, drawing the whole van after him, and pursuing the Saracens to
their camp, into which he entered with them.
Fakreddin, the leader of the Mussulman army, was at the moment in the
bath, and, after the custom of the Orientals, was having his beard
coloured. He sprang on horseback, almost naked, rallied his troops, and
resisted for some time; but soon, left almost alone on the field of
battle, he was surrounded, and died, covered with a thousand wounds.
The whole Mussulman army fled away towards Mansourah. How was it
possible to resist the inclination to pursue them? What was to be
feared from enemies that abandoned their camp? Might it not be believed
that the Saracens fled as they had done at Damietta, and that terror
would prevent their rallying? All these thoughts arose in the mind
of the count d’Artois, and would not permit him to wait for the rest
of the army to complete his victory. The grand-master of the Temple
in vain renewed his representations; the young prince replied with
great heat to the counsels of experience. In his passion he accused
the Templars and Hospitallers of maintaining an intelligence with the
infidels, and with wishing to perpetuate a war that was advantageous to
their ambition. “Thus, then,” replied the two grand masters, “it would
appear that we and our knights have abandoned our families and our
country, and would desire to pass our days in a foreign land, amidst
the fatigues and perils of war, in order to betray the cause of the
Christian church!” On finishing these words, the master of the Templars
sternly bade the standard-bearer of his order to unfurl the banner of
battle. The earl of Salisbury, who commanded the English, ventured to
speak of the danger to which the army would be exposed, thus separated
from its van; but the count d’Artois interrupted him by saying,
sharply, “Timid counsels do not suit us!” Then the quarrels that had so
often disturbed the discipline of the army were renewed, and the heat
of debate completely stifled the voice of prudence. Whilst they were
thus inflaming each other, the ancient governor of the count d’Artois,
who was deaf, and who believed they were preparing for battle, never
ceased crying, “Ores à eux, ores à eux!”[306] (Hurrah! on them! hurrah!
on them!) These words became a fatal signal for warriors, urged on at
once by anger and impatience for victory. The Templars, the English,
the French, all set forward together, all flew towards Mansourah,
and penetrated into the city abandoned by the enemy; some stopped to
pillage, whilst the others pursued the Saracens along the road to Cairo.
If all the Christian troops had crossed the canal at the moment that
the count d’Artois entered Mansourah, the defeat of the enemy could
have been complete. But the passage was made with much difficulty and
confusion; and when the French army had crossed the Aschmoum, a space
of two leagues separated it from its van.
The Mussulmans, who had been driven from their camp, at first believed
they had fought with all the forces of the Crusaders, commanded by the
king of France; but they soon became aware of the small number of their
enemies, and were astonished at having been put to flight. From the
very bosom of peril and disorder, a skilful leader arose among them,
whose presence of mind all at once revived their courage.[307] Bibars
Bondocdar, whom the Mamelukes had recently placed at their head, having
perceived the imprudence of the Christians, rallied the Mussulmans, led
a part of his army between the canal and Mansourah, got possession of
the gates of the city, and, with a chosen part of his troops, poured
down upon the Crusaders, who were pillaging the palace of the sultan.
“_The Mamelukes, lions of fights_,” says an Arabian historian, “_rushed
upon the Franks, like a furious tempest; their terrible maces dealing
deaths and wounds in all directions_.” The Christians, dispersed
about in the city, had scarcely time to rally; pressed together in
narrow streets, they could neither fight on horseback nor make use of
their swords. From the roofs of the houses and from the windows, the
Mussulmans hurled stones and other missives, or poured down upon them
heated sand and boiling water. The gates of the city were closed, a
multitude of Mussulmans occupied all the roads, and there remained not
a single hope of salvation for warriors who had so recently put to
flight a whole army.
This first disaster brought on several others; and soon the Christian
army, which had just crossed the canal, found itself in the greatest
danger. As fast as the Crusaders arrived on the other bank of the
Aschmoum, some learned that the count d’Artois was pursuing the enemy,
others that he was shut up in Mansourah, and most of the barons and
knights, who burned, according to what they heard, to share his glory
or aid him in his danger, without waiting for those who followed them,
flew first towards the camp of the Saracens, and then towards the city.
The count of Brittany was one of the first who moved forward, and he
was quickly followed by Guy of Malvoisin, the sieur de Joinville, and
the bravest knights of the Christian army. They advanced in great
haste, and without the least precaution, through a country covered with
enemies; they were not long in being separated from each other, when
some retraced their steps, but the greater part were surrounded by the
Mussulmans. A thousand combats were fought at once upon the plain;
here the Christians were conquerors, further on they were conquered;
in every direction they, by turns, attacked their enemies or defended
themselves, at one moment putting the Saracens to flight, and the next
flying before them.
All at once a cloud of dust arose from the bank of the Aschmoum, and
the sound of trumpets and clarions arose, mingled with the neighing
of horses and the shouts of warriors; it was the main body of the
Christian army advancing. Saint Louis, marching at the head of the
cavalry, halted on the summit of an acclivity, where all eyes were
turned towards him. The knights scattered about at the foot of the
hill, no longer able to resist the Saracens, believed they saw the
angel of battles come to their assistance; Joinville, in particular,
who, though pressed hard by the enemy, was, nevertheless, struck by
the majestic aspect of the monarch. Louis wore a golden helmet, and
held in his hand a German sword; his armour was resplendent, and his
noble bearing animated all his warriors; “in short,” says the ingenuous
seneschal, in whom, perhaps, the feeling of danger increased that of
admiration, “I declare that a more noble armed man was never seen.”[308]
Many of the knights who accompanied the French king, seeing the
Christian warriors engaged with the Saracens in all directions, broke
from their ranks, and rushed down to the _mêlée_. Then the confusion
proceeded fast to its climax; every one hastened forward without
knowing where the enemy’s army was, and they very soon became equally
ignorant where that of the Christians was, or the king that commanded
it; there was no one to issue an order, and no signal was given, except
that of peril. In this horrible tumult, prudence and caution were
useless, strength and skill in arms alone were triumphant; the mace and
the battle-axe dash polished casques and proudly-deviced shields to
fragments; some knights sink covered with wounds, others are trampled
to death beneath the feet of the horses; the cry of the French,
“Montjoie, St. Denis!” and that of the Mussulmans, “Islam! Islam!”
are confounded together, and mingle with the plaintive voices of the
dying, and the menacing clamours of the triumphant, with the clash
of cuirasses, lances, and swords. From the canal to Mansourah, and
from the Nile to the shore whereon the Crusaders had just landed, the
country presented but one vast field of battle, where fury and despair
by turns animated the combatants, where torrents of blood were shed on
both sides, without allowing either Christians or Mussulmans to claim
the victory.
The Crusaders had the advantage in almost all the combats, or more
properly duels, as the fights were generally man to man; but their
army was in a great measure dispersed. At this moment, Bibars, having
left in Mansourah a sufficient number of troops to triumph over the
resistance of the count d’Artois and his knights, set forward with all
his forces, directing his course towards the canal, for the purpose of
sustaining the Mussulmans, who were beginning to fly, or to bring on
a decisive battle. Louis and the leaders that surrounded him at once
perceived the movement and the plans of the enemy. It was immediately
decided that the Christian army should draw near to the canal, in order
to prevent its being surrounded, and, at the same time, to preserve
some communication with the duke of Burgundy, who remained on the
opposite bank. The oriflamme, at the head of the battalions, already
pointed out the direction the army was to take, when the counts of
Poictiers and Flanders, who had advanced into the plain, sent word
to the king that they must succumb unless speedily succoured: at
the same moment, Imbert de Beaujeu came to announce that Robert of
Artois was perishing in Mansourah. Struck by the conflicting demands,
Louis hesitated for a moment, and in that moment a crowd of impetuous
warriors, unable to wait for his orders, galloped off, some to the
succour of the Poitevins and the Flemings, others to the aid of the
count d’Artois; the Saracens completely covered the country, and the
French warriors, who had thus separated themselves from the king,
were totally unable to contend with such a multitude of enemies, and,
falling back upon the Christian army, produced disorder and created
terror.
Amidst the general confusion, a report was spread that the Mussulmans
were everywhere victorious, and that the king had given orders for
retreat. Several squadrons disbanded, and rushed towards the canal. In
an instant the waters appeared covered with drowning men and horses. In
this extreme peril, Louis in vain endeavoured to rally his troops. His
voice was scarcely heard, no one executed the orders he endeavoured to
give. He then precipitated himself into the thickest of the fight, and
so impetuously was he carried forward by his ardour, that his squires
had great difficulty in keeping up with him; at last he remained alone,
surrounded on all sides by Saracens. Thus situated, he had to defend
himself against six Mussulman horsemen, who were determined to take
him prisoner. Louis defeated all their endeavours, and succeeded in
disengaging himself, and putting them to flight. This brilliant act
of bravery reanimated the flying Crusaders that witnessed it; they
crowded after their gallant king, recommenced the fight, and once more
dispersed the Mussulman battalions.
Whilst the whole Christian army was thus fighting to repair the faults
and save the life of the count d’Artois, this unfortunate prince was
defending himself with heroic bravery; but all his efforts, without
the walls and within the walls of Mansourah, could not free him from
the host of Saracens his imprudence had drawn upon him. Robert, with
his knights, the Templars, and the English, forgetting all their fatal
quarrels, resolved to die together as knights and Christian soldiers.
The combat had lasted from ten o’clock in the morning till three in the
afternoon; the Crusaders, covered with wounds and stained with blood
and dust, fought on bravely, though only sustained by the flickering
strength of exhausted life. They fell almost all at the same time;
Salisbury was killed at the head of the warriors he commanded; Robert
de Vair, who bore the English banner, folded it round him before he
died; Raoul de Coucy expired on a heap of dead; the count d’Artois,
intrenched within a house, defended himself for a long time, but at
length sank amidst carnage and ruins. The Christian warriors had
entered Mansourah to the number of fifteen hundred, and almost all met
with death there. The grand master of the Hospitallers, left alone upon
the field of battle, was taken prisoner. The master of the Templars
escaped by a miracle, and came back in the evening to the Christian
camp, wounded in the face, his vestments torn to rags, and his cuirass
pierced in several places. He had beheld two hundred and eighty of his
knights fall around him.
Most of those who advanced towards Mansourah to succour the count
d’Artois, fell victims to their intrepid zeal. The brave Guy de
Malvoisin succeeded in reaching the walls, but not in gaining entrance
to the city. The duke of Brittany made incredible efforts to gain the
place of combat; he heard the threats, cries, and tumult with which
the city resounded, without being able to force the gates or scale the
ramparts. He returned towards night-fall; he vomited blood in streams;
his horse, stuck all over with arrows, had lost its bridle and part of
its furniture; and every warrior that followed him was wounded. Even in
this state he proved himself terrible to the enemy, killing or driving
away, with powerful thrusts of his lance, all who dared to pursue or
oppose him, and jeering at their abortive attempts.[309]
When night separated the combatants, the prior of the hospital of
Rosnay came towards the king, and kissing his hand, asked him if he had
received any tidings of the count d’Artois. “All that I know,” replied
the pious monarch, “is that he is now in Paradise.” The good knight, to
remove such sad thoughts, was about to expatiate upon the advantages
they had gained; but then Louis, raising his eyes towards heaven, burst
into tears. The prior of Rosnay became silent; the barons and lords
assembled round the king were unable to offer a word of consolation,
but were all oppressed with pain, compassion, and pity at seeing him
weep.[310]
The Christian army, although it had to reproach the count d’Artois
for all the misfortunes of this day’s conflict, sympathized with the
sorrows of Louis. Such was the ascendancy of bravery among the French
warriors, that the greatest faults appeared to them to be expiated by
a glorious death. It was likewise acknowledged in all the crusades,
that they who died with arms in their hands were placed in the rank of
martyrs. The Christian warriors only considered the count d’Artois as a
soldier of Christ, whom God had recalled to his bosom: it was thus that
piety accorded with glory, and that men honoured as saints the same
persons they admired as heroes. Matthew Paris asserts in his History
that the mother of Salisbury saw her son ascending into heaven on the
day of the battle of Mansourah. The same opinion was established among
the Saracens; all who fell in the field of battle, in the wars against
the Christians, passed for martyrs of Islamism. “The Franks,” says the
continuator of Tabary, “sent Fakreddin to the banks of the celestial
river, and his end was a glorious end.”
History has not preserved the names of all the warriors who signalized
their valour at the battle of Mansourah. The seneschal of Champagne was
not one of those who were backward in seeking danger, or in evincing
want of courage; one of six, he defended a bridge against a host of
Saracens. He was twice unhorsed. In such great distress, the pious
knight did not forget his patron saint, and exclaimed to him: “My lord,
great sire, St. James, I supplicate thee, aid me and succour me in this
my need.” Joinville continued fighting during the whole day; his horse
received fifteen wounds, and he himself was pierced by five arrows.
The seneschal informs us that during the battle of this memorable day,
he saw several men of high distinction running disgracefully away,
in the general confusion: he does not name them, because at the time
he wrote they were dead, and it does not appear becoming to him to
speak ill of the departed. The reserve with which the historian here
expresses himself, shows plainly enough what was the general spirit of
the French army, in which it was considered as an ineffaceable shame,
and as the greatest of misfortunes, to have ever experienced a single
moment of fear.
The greater part of the French warriors, when in the presence of
danger, were never abandoned by that sentiment of honour that
constituted the spirit and character of chivalry. Erard de Severy,
whilst fighting bravely with a small number of knights, received a
sabre-cut in the face; his blood flowed fast, and it appeared not
at all likely that he would survive the wound; when, addressing the
knights that fought near him, he said, “If you will assure me that I
and my children shall be free from all blame, I will go and demand
help for you, of the duke of Anjou, whom I see yonder on the plain.”
All praised this determination highly, and he immediately mounted on
horseback, pierced through the enemy’s squadrons, reached the duke
of Anjou, and returned with him to rescue his companions, who were
near perishing. Erard de Severy expired shortly after this heroic
achievement: he died, bearing away with him, not the sentiments of
a vain glory, but the consoling certainty that no blame, as he had
desired, should stain his name, or that of his children.
That which at the same time astonishes and charms us in the relations
of the old chroniclers who have spoken of this battle of Mansourah is,
to find, amidst scenes of carnage, traces of French gaiety, of that
gaiety which despises death and laughs at peril. We have spoken of six
knights who defended the passage of a bridge against a great number
of Saracens; whilst these _preux chevaliers_, surrounded by enemies,
maintained such a perilous post, the count de Soissons, addressing
Joinville, exclaimed: “Seneschal, let us leave this rascally _canaille_
to cry and bray as they please, you and I will yet talk of this day,
and in ladies’ bowers too.”
The Mussulmans having retired, the Christian army occupied their camp,
which the van had taken possession of in the morning, and which the
Arabs had plundered during the battle. The camp of the enemy, and
the machines of war they had left in it, were the only fruit of the
exploits of this day. The Crusaders had shown what valour could effect,
and their triumph would have been complete if they had been able to
rally and fight together. Their leaders had not sufficient ability or
ascendancy to repair the error of the count d’Artois; the Mussulman
leaders, who proved themselves to be more skilful, were also better
seconded by the discipline and obedience of the Mamelukes.
When they became fully aware of the losses they had experienced, the
Christians gave up all idea of celebrating their victory. To appreciate
the result of so many bloody conflicts, it was quite sufficient to
contemplate the contrast between the sentiments that animated the two
armies. A melancholy sadness prevailed among the conquerors; whilst the
Saracens, on the contrary, although driven from their camp, and obliged
to fall back upon Mansourah, considered it a triumph to have stopped
the march of their enemies; and, reassured as to the issue of the war,
they abandoned themselves to the greater joy, from having, before the
battle, entertained the most depressing fears.
In fact, nothing can paint the consternation which the first attack of
the count d’Artois had created among the infidels. At the beginning of
the day, a pigeon that was sent to Cairo, conveyed a message expressed
in these words: “At the moment this bird is dispatched, the enemy is
attacking Mansourah; a terrible battle has been fought between the
Christians and the Mussulmans.” At this news the people of Cairo were
seized with the greatest terror; and sinister reports soon added to
the alarm. The gates of the city were left open all night, to receive
such as might have fled; and all of these exaggerated the danger to
excuse their desertion. It was believed that the days of Islamism were
numbered, and many were already abandoning the capital, to seek an
asylum in Upper Egypt, when, on the morrow, another pigeon arrived,
bearing news calculated to raise the spirits of the Mussulmans. The
fresh message announced that the God of Mahomet had declared himself to
be against the Christians; then all fears were dispersed, and the issue
of the battle of Mansourah, says an Arabian author, _was the note of
joy for all true believers_.
During the very night that followed the battle, the Mussulmans made
several attempts to recover their camp and the machines of war that
remained in the hands of the Franks. The Christian warriors, oppressed
by fatigue, were repeatedly aroused by cries to arms; the continual
attacks of the enemy would not allow them to repair their strength by
sleep; many among them were so weakened by their wounds, they could
scarcely put on their cuirasses; nevertheless, they defended themselves
with their accustomed bravery.
The day after the battle was Ash-Wednesday, and the priests performed
the ceremonies ordered by religion for the opening of Lent. The
Christian army passed a part of the day in prayer, the rest of
it in preparations for defence. Whilst the soldiers of the cross
prostrated themselves at the foot of their altars, or prepared to
repulse the infidels, images of mourning were mingled in their hearts
with sentiments of piety and bravery. Whilst remembering their past
victories, they could not forbear dreading the future; and the symbol
of human fragilities, that the Church offers to each of her children on
that solemn day, must have kept up their sad presentiments.
On the same day they employed themselves in throwing a bridge over the
Aschmoum, in order to form a junction with the camp of the duke of
Burgundy. The leaders and soldiers all lent a hand to the work, which
was finished in the space of a few hours. The infantry, which had been
left on the other side of the canal, came to reinforce the army, which
was fated to be soon engaged in fresh contests.
Bibars, who had the command of the Mamelukes, hastened to take
advantage of his first successes. When the body of the count
d’Artois was found, the Mamelukes exhibited his cuirass, sown over
with _fleurs des lis_, and declared it was the spoil of the king of
France. They carried about the heads of several knights in triumph,
and heralds-at-arms repeated in a loud voice: “The Christian army is
nothing but a trunk without life, like the heads you behold on the
points of these lances.”
This spectacle completely inflamed the ardour of the Mussulmans. The
leaders and soldiers, with great cries, demanded to be led against
the Christians. The Mussulman army had orders to hold themselves in
readiness for battle on the morrow, the first Friday in Lent.
Louis IX. was warned of the intention of the Saracens; he gave orders
to the leaders to fortify the camp, and prepare their troops for the
conflict. On the Friday, by daybreak, the Christians were all under
arms; and at the same time the leader of the Mussulmans appeared in the
plain, ranging his men in battle-array. He placed his cavalry in the
front, behind them the infantry, and still further back, the reserve.
He extended or strengthened his lines according to the positions he
saw his enemies take. His army covered the plain from the canal to the
river. At midday he unfurled the banners and sounded the charge.
The duke of Anjou was at the head of the camp on the side towards
the Nile; he was the first attacked. The infantry of the Saracens
commenced by launching the Greek fire. This fire seized the clothes of
the soldiers and the caparisons of the horses. The soldiers, enveloped
in flames they could not extinguish, ran about uttering the most
frightful cries; the horses broke away, and created confusion in the
ranks. By means of this disorder, the enemy’s cavalry opened themselves
a passage, dispersed such as were still fighting, and penetrated
within the intrenchments. The duke of Anjou was unable to resist the
multiplied attacks of the Saracens; his horse having been killed under
him, he fought on foot, and, nearly overwhelmed by the number of his
enemies, he at length sent to Louis IX. for aid.
The king, himself engaged with the Mussulmans, redoubles his ardour
and his efforts, drives the enemy back on to the plain, and then flies
where other dangers call him. The knights who follow him precipitate
themselves upon the Mussulman battalions which were attacking the
quarter of the duke of Anjou. Louis is not stopped, either by the
numberless arrows shot at him, or by the Greek fire, which covers his
arms and the caparison of his horse. In the account of this battle,
Joinville is astonished that the king of France escaped being killed,
and can in no other way explain this species of miracle than by
attributing it to the power of God: “Then it may well be believed”
(we let the seneschal of Champagne speak) “that the holy king had
his God in remembrance and wish: for, in truth, our Lord was then a
great friend to him in his need, and aided him so effectually, that he
delivered his brother, the duke of Anjou, and drove away the Turks.”
On the left of the duke of Anjou, the Crusaders from the isle of Cyprus
and Palestine were encamped, under the command of Guy d’Ibelin and
his brother Baldwin. These Crusaders had not been engaged in the last
battle, and had lost neither their horses nor their arms. Near them
fought the brave Gauthier de Chatilion, at the head of a chosen troop.
These intrepid warriors were proof against all attacks, and remaining
firm at the post confided to them, contributed greatly to the saving of
both the camp and the army.
The Templars, having lost the greater part of their knights in
Mansourah, formed an intrenchment or barricade in front of them, of the
wood of the machines taken from the Saracens; but this feeble defence
was of little avail against the Greek fire. The enemy rushed into the
camp through the flames; the Templars formed an impenetrable rampart of
their bodies, and resisted the violent attacks of the assailants during
several hours. The conflict was so severe at this point, that the earth
could scarcely be seen behind the spot occupied by the Templars, so
completely was it covered with arrows and javelins. The grand master
of the Templars lost his life in the _mêlée_, and a great number of
knights died in defending or avenging him. The prodigies of their
bravery at last succeeded in arresting the progress of the enemy, and
the last who fell in this hardly-contested battle had the consolation,
when dying, to see the Saracens fly.
Guy de Malvoisin was placed near to the post which the knights of the
Temple defended so bravely; the battalion he commanded was composed
almost entirely of his relations, and in battle presented the spectacle
of a family of warriors, ever united and ever invincible. Guy incurred
the greatest peril; he was wounded several times, but never dreamt of
retiring from the contest. His example and the sight of his wounds
redoubled the courage of his companions, who, at length, repulsed the
Mussulmans. Not far from Guy de Malvoisin, descending towards the
canal, the Flemish Crusaders were posted. William, their count, was at
their head; they sustained the furious shock of the Mussulmans without
giving way in the least: Joinville, with some other knights, fought on
their left, and on this occasion owed his safety to the warriors of
Flanders, to whom he accords the warmest praises. The Flemings, united
with the Champenois, put the Mussulman cavalry and infantry to flight,
pursued them out of the camp, and returned loaded with the bucklers and
cuirasses they had taken from their enemies.
The count of Poictiers occupied the left wing of the army; but as
this prince had only infantry under his command, he was unable to
resist the cavalry of the Saracens. Such were the warriors of these
remote times, that when they were not on horseback, they seemed to be
disarmed, and could not fight even for the defence of intrenchments.
The quarter confided to the Poitevins was attacked by the Mussulmans
at an early period of the fight; the Mamelukes plundered the tents of
the Christians, the brother of the king was dragged out of the camp by
some Saracen horsemen, and was being carried away a prisoner. In this
extreme peril the count of Poictiers could not look to Louis IX. for
any assistance, as he had gone to the succour of the count of Anjou;
nor to the other leaders of the Christian army, all so closely pressed
by the enemy themselves. This prince was adored by the people for his
goodness; and on this occasion received the reward of his virtues,
by owing his deliverance to the love with which he inspired all the
Crusaders. When the workmen, sutlers, and women that followed the army
saw him made a prisoner, they assembled in the greatest fury, and
arming themselves with axes, clubs, sticks, or anything that fell in
their way, flew after the Mussulmans, delivered the count of Poictiers,
and brought him back in triumph.
At the extremity of the camp, close to the quarters of the Poitevins,
fought Josserant de Brançon, with his son and his knights. The
companions in arms of Josserant had all left Europe well mounted and
magnificently equipped: now they all fought on foot, and had nothing
left but lance and sword. Their leader alone was on horseback, and rode
from rank to rank, exciting the soldiers, and flying to every point
where the danger seemed most pressing. This weak troop would entirely
have perished, if Henry of Brienne, who remained in the camp of the
duke of Burgundy, had not caused his cross-bowmen to shoot across
the arm of the river, every time the Saracens renewed their attacks.
Of twenty knights that accompanied Josserant, twelve were left upon
the field of battle. This old warrior had been present in thirty-six
battles, in all of which he had borne away the prize of valour.
Joinville, when relating the exploits of this day, remembers that he
had formerly seen Josserant de Brançon come out victorious from a
combat against some Germans who were pillaging the church of Mâcon; he
had seen him prostrate himself at the foot of the altar, and pray with
ardour for the favour of dying in fight against the enemies of Christ.
And Josserant obtained the blessing he had asked of God; for a few days
after the battle he died of his wounds.
Such was the contest of which Louis IX., in the account which he sent
to France, speaks with such admirable simplicity. “On the first Friday
in Lent, the camp being attacked, God favoured the French, and the
infidels were repulsed with much loss.”
In this battle, as in the last, the Christians had had all the glory,
the Saracens all the advantage. The Christian army lost a great number
of its warriors, and almost all its horses: the enemy was reinforced
every day; the Crusaders could not attempt to march upon Cairo, and
prudence seemed to suggest that they should retrace their steps to
Damietta. Retreat, still easy, offered a means of preserving the army
for a more favourable season: but this plan could only be counselled
by despair, and despair has great difficulty in mastering the hearts
of the brave. Nothing could appear more disgraceful to the French than
flying, or appearing to fly, before a conquered enemy: they resolved to
remain.
Towards the end of February, Almoadam, whom Chigger-Eddour and the
principal leaders of the Mamelukes had called to the throne of his
father, arrived in Egypt, and was received with loud acclamations by
the people, always desirous of change, and always delighted with a
new reign. The emirs and magnates likewise displayed great joy, but
their demonstrations were less sincere; they looked for the coming
of the successor of Negmeddin with more anxiety than impatience;
placing a very high value upon that which they had done for him, they,
beforehand, expected his ingratitude. On the other side, the young
prince was jealous of his authority; and the power of the emirs, the
nature even of their services, gave him alarms that he had not the
prudence to dissemble. It was not long before a mutual mistrust and a
reciprocal estrangement arose between Almoadam and the leaders of the
Mussulman army; the latter repented of having raised to empire a prince
who showed a disposition to rule alone, and the former was determined
to defend his power, even against those who had bestowed it upon him.
This state of things and the disposition of men’s minds, appeared
ominous of new revolutions in Egypt; unhappily these revolutions broke
out too late to allow the Christians to derive any advantage from them.
The Crusaders likewise had soon to contend with calamities more
destructive to them than even the power or the arms of the Mussulmans;
a contagious disease made its appearance in the Christian army. They
had neglected to bury the dead after the last two battles; the bodies
cast confusedly and heedlessly into the Aschmoum, and floating on
its waters, stopped before the bridge of boats constructed by the
Crusaders, and covered the surface of the canal from one shore to
the other. Pestilential exhalations quickly arose from this heap of
carcasses. Louis IX. ordered the bodies of the Christians to be buried
in the ditches dug by the Saracens on the bank; but these spoils of
death, moved and transported without precaution, only assisted the
progress of the epidemic. The spectacle which was then presented to the
eyes of the Crusaders spread the deepest grief throughout the camp,
and awakened a more perfect consciousness of their losses. Christian
soldiers were seen searching among bodies which wounds, the hues of
death, and the action of the sun and air had disfigured, for the
deplorable remains of their friends or companions. Many of those upon
whom friendship imposed this pious task, fell sick and died almost
instantly. The devotedness and grief of one of the knights of Robert
count d’Artois, were conspicuous among these affecting instances. This
inconsolable knight passed whole nights and days on the banks of the
canal, with his eyes intensely fixed upon the waters, braving contagion
and death, in the hope of recovering and burying the young prince,
whose loss was so deeply deplored by the French army.
The fatigues of war did not at all prevent the pious warriors from
observing the abstinence of Lent; and the privations and austerities
of penitence completed the exhaustion of their strength. The contagion
attacked the most robust as well as the most weak;[311] their flesh
withered away, their skin became livid, and was covered with black
spots; their gums were inflamed and swollen so as to prevent the
passage of food; the flowing of the blood from the nose was the sign
of approaching death. Most of the diseased viewed the grim monarch
without fear, and considered his dominions as the wished-for end of all
their sufferings.
Dysentery and dangerous fevers were soon added to the above malady;
nothing was heard in the Christian camp but prayers for the dying or
the dead; nothing was seen but the pale and haggard countenances of
unhappy beings who accompanied their companions to the tomb, and whom
death must soon sweep away in their turn. The soldiers capable of
bearing arms did not suffice for the guarding of the avenues of the
camp. A thing unheard of in Christian armies, the grooms of knights
were seen clothed in the armour of their masters, and taking their
places in the post of danger. The clergy, who attended the sick and
buried the dead, suffered greatly from the epidemic; very quickly there
were not ecclesiastics enough to minister at the altars and perform
the Christian ceremonies. One day, the sieur de Joinville, himself
sick, and listening to the mass in his bed, was obliged to rise and
support his almoner, ready to faint upon the steps of the altar. “_Thus
supported_,” adds the kindly historian, “_he finished his sacrament,
chanted the mass quite through—but never chanted more_.”[312]
We have seen in former holy wars, multitudes of Crusaders a prey to
the most cruel scourges; the bravest of the warriors often despaired
of the cause of the pilgrims, and deserted the banners of the cross;
and many times the excess of their misery drew from them imprecations
and blasphemies. We must here remark that the soldiers and companions
of Louis IX. supported their evils with more patience and resignation.
Not one knight thought of deserting the banners of the crusade, and
not a seditious or sacrilegious complaint was heard in the army; the
example of the pious monarch doubtless strengthened the courage of the
Crusaders, and preserved them from the excesses of despair. Louis IX.,
deeply affected by the evils that desolated his army, employed every
effort to mitigate and end them. If anything could have consoled the
Crusaders in the miserable condition in which they were placed, it must
have been seeing a king of France himself attending the sick, lavishing
upon them every kind of assistance, and preparing them for death. In
vain he was conjured not to expose himself to dangers still greater
than those of the field of battle; nothing could shake his courage
or check the ardour of his charity; he considered it his duty (it is
thus he expressed himself) to expose his life for those who every day
exposed theirs for him. One of his servants, a worthy man, being at
the point of death, and exhorted by a priest to meet his fate like a
Christian, replied, “_I will not die till I have seen the king_.” The
king complied with his desire, and the man died in peace, consoled
by the presence and words of his kind master. But at length he who
consoled all others fell sick himself. The king was not able to leave
his tent; the desolation became more profound and more general; they
who suffered began now to lose all hope; it seemed as if Providence had
abandoned them, and that heaven no longer protected the soldiers of the
cross.
The Saracens remained motionless in their camp, leaving their awful
auxiliaries, diseases, to perform their mission undisturbed; only
Almoadam, in order to add famine to the other evils his enemies
experienced, resolved to interrupt all communication between the
Christians and Damietta, whence they received provisions by way of the
Nile. Having got together a great number of boats, the sultan caused
them to be taken to pieces, and afterwards transported over-land to
the mouth of the canal of Mehallah. A French flotilla came up the
river without suspicion, bearing provisions for the camp, and fell
directly into an ambuscade of galleys, placed behind a small island.
All at once the enemies appear, surprise the Christians, attack them
with fury, kill a thousand soldiers, and obtain possession of fifty
vessels laden with provisions. A few days afterwards, other vessels
coming up the river towards Mansourah experienced the same fate. No one
arrived at the camp; no news came from Damietta, and the Christians
were abandoning themselves to the most melancholy presentiments, when a
vessel belonging to the count of Flanders, which had escaped the enemy
by a miracle, came to announce to them that all the vessels of the
Crusaders had been taken, and that the Mussulman flag dominated along
the whole course of the river.
Famine soon made frightful ravages in the army; and such as had been
spared by disease, were threatened with death from misery and hunger.
Both leaders and soldiers were seized with the deepest despondency;
and the king at length judged it best to attempt to enter into a truce
with the Mussulmans. Philip de Montfort was employed in the embassy
to the sultan of Egypt; commissioners were named on both sides to
conclude a treaty. Those of the king of France proposed to surrender
Damietta to the sultan, on condition that Jerusalem and all the other
places in Palestine, that had fallen into the hands of the Mussulmans
in the late wars, should be given up to the Christians. The sultan, who
dreaded the bravery and the despair of the Crusaders, who, besides, had
reason to fear that his enemies might receive reinforcements, and that
Damietta might hold out for a considerable time, accepted the proposed
conditions. When the question of hostages came to be discussed, the
king offered his two brothers; but whether the sultan placed no faith
in the loyalty of his enemies, or whether he was wanting in it himself,
he required that the king of France should remain in his hands, as a
guarantee of the treaty. Sergines, one of the commissioners, could not
listen to this proposal without anger. “You ought to know Frenchmen
better,” cried he, “than to suppose they would ever allow their king
to remain a prisoner with Mussulmans.” A council was held on this
subject in the Christian army. The king consented to everything, but
the lords and barons exclaimed with vehemence against the giving up of
their sovereign. On one side, the monarch was willing to purchase the
safety of his people by his own personal danger; on the other, a crowd
of warriors all warmly declared they could not suffer such a disgrace,
and that _they would rather die than place their king in pledge_. The
more Louis was beloved by his warriors, the less he was master in this
circumstance; and every one thinking it to his honour, and almost
consistent with his duty, to disobey him, the negotiation was abandoned.
To paint the frightful scarcity that desolated the Christian camp,
contemporary chronicles relate, as an extraordinary thing, that a
sheep was sold for as much as ten crowns, an ox for eighty livres, and
an egg for twelve deniers. Such high prices exceeded the means of most
of the pilgrims; some were obliged to live upon the fish caught in the
Nile, others upon herbs and roots.
Louis IX. preserving his courage and tranquillity of mind amidst the
general mourning and depression, as a means of endeavouring to save the
miserable remains of his army, resolved to repass to the other side of
the Aschmoum. Whilst the Christians were crossing the wooden bridge
thrown over the canal, they were warmly attacked by the Mussulmans.
Gaucher de Chatillon, who commanded the rear, at first repulsed them;
but as the Saracens returned several times to the charge, and as they
had greatly the advantage in numbers, victory was upon the point of
being adverse to the Crusaders. The brilliant valour of the count of
Anjou checked the impetuosity of the Mussulmans. Erard and John de
Valeri performed prodigies of bravery. Jeffroi de Hassemburgh likewise
distinguished himself by heroic actions, and merited the palm of valour
in that day’s fight. Thus glory was always mingled with the misfortunes
of the French Crusaders: but victory procured them no advantages, and
always left them still exposed to the same perils, still a prey to
the same calamities. They were not more fortunate on one side of the
Aschmoum than on the other; and after remaining some days in their old
camp, they were obliged at length to form the disheartening resolution
of returning to Damietta.
As soon as Almoadam was informed of these last dispositions of the
Christians, he himself harangued his troops, distributed provisions
and money to them, and reinforced them with a great number of Arabs,
attracted to his standards by the hopes of booty. By his orders, boats
loaded with soldiers descended the Nile, and joined the Mussulman fleet
that had intercepted the convoys of the Crusaders. Bodies of light
cavalry were distributed along the whole course of the roads which the
French army would take in its retreat.
On the fifth day of April,[313] the Tuesday after the octave of
Easter, Louis IX. ordered everything to be prepared for the departure
of his army: the women, the children, and the sick were embarked
upon the Nile; they waited till night-fall, to conceal these sad
preparations from the enemy. The bank of the Nile presented the most
heart-breaking spectacle; nothing was to be seen but Crusaders overcome
by their sufferings, parting, with tears in their eyes, from friends
they were doomed never to see again. Amidst these painful scenes, the
Arabs, taking advantage of the darkness of the night, penetrated into
the camp, plundered the baggage, and slaughtered every living creature
they met with. A terrified crowd fled on all sides, and cries of alarm
resounded along the whole bank of the river. The mariners perceiving,
by the light of the fires in the boats, this frightful disorder, and
that the Christians were being massacred, became terrified on their
own account, and prepared to depart. The king, who, in spite of his
weakness, was present everywhere, and watched over everything, drove
the infidels from the camp, reassured the Christian multitude, and
commanded the vessels which had left the shore, to put back and take
the rest of the sick on board.
The pope’s legate and several French nobles got on board a large
vessel. The king was pressed to follow this example, but he could not
make up his mind to abandon his army. In vain his anxious and loving
friends represented to him that his state of weakness would not permit
him to fight, and exposed him to the risk of falling into the hands of
the Saracens; in vain they added, that by thus hazarding his life he
compromised the safety of the army. These and many other remonstrances,
dictated by sincere attachment for his person, were not able to make
him change his resolution. He replied, that no danger should separate
him from his faithful warriors; that he had brought them with him;
that he would return with them; or, if it proved necessary, die in the
midst of them. This heroic determination, the inevitable consequences
of which were foreseen, plunged all his knights into consternation
and grief. The soldiers, partaking the feelings of the knights, ran
along the bank of the Nile, crying with all their strength to those
that were going down the river, “Wait for the king! wait for the
king!”[314] Arrows and javelins were falling thick upon the vessels
which continued to go down the river. Many stopped; but Louis insisted
upon their pursuing their course.
Most of the French warriors were borne down by disease and weakened by
hunger. The fatigues and new perils they were about to undergo did not
at all diminish their courage; but they could not endure the thoughts
of abandoning places rendered dear to them by the remembrance of their
victories. The duke of Burgundy set out on his march at night-fall;
and, a short time after, the rest of the troops quitted the camp,
taking away their tents and baggage. Louis, who was determined to
go with the rear-guard, only kept with him the brave Sergines and a
few other knights and barons who were still fortunate enough to have
horses. The king, scarcely able to support himself in his saddle,
appeared in the midst of them mounted on an Arabian horse; he wore
neither helmet nor cuirass, and had no other weapon but his sword. The
warriors who had surrounded his person, followed him in silence; and in
the deplorable state to which they were reduced, evinced still some joy
at having been chosen to defend their king and die by his side.
The retreat of the Christian army was already known to the Saracens.
The king had ordered the bridge of Aschmoum to be broken; but this
order had not been executed, and it furnished the Mussulmans with an
easy means of crossing the canal. In a moment the whole plain which
extended on the Damietta side was covered with enemies. The rear-guard
of the Christians was stopped at every step of its route, sometimes by
the crossing of a rivulet, but more frequently by a charge of Mussulman
cavalry. Amidst the darkness of the night, the Crusaders could not see
which way to direct their blows, and when they did obtain some trifling
advantage, they did not dare to pursue their enemy; they advanced
fighting, and in disorder; fearing to lose themselves, such as were at
any distance from their companions, called upon them by name; such as
adhered closely to the standard, ran against and impeded each other in
their march: over the whole plain nothing was heard but the neighing
of horses, the clash of arms, and cries of rage and despair; but the
most deplorable spectacle in this defeat was that of the wounded lying
stretched along the roads, holding up their hands to their comrades,
and conjuring them, with tears, not to leave them exposed to the fury
of the Saracens. They looked for day with the most anxious impatience;
but the daylight, by discovering the small number of the Christians,
redoubled the confidence of the Mussulmans: it filled the former with
proportionate dread, as it showed them the multitude of their enemies.
Menaced and pursued on all sides, the knights who had taken the route
by land, envied those who had embarked upon the Nile; but these latter
were in no less danger than their unfortunate companions. A short
time after their departure, a high wind arose, and drove back the
vessels towards Mansourah: some of them were run aground, others were
dashed violently against accompanying boats, and were near being sunk.
Towards dawn their flotilla arrived near Mehallah, a place fatal to
the Christians. The Mussulman fleet awaited them there. The archers
charged to proceed along the shore and protect them, had fled, and in
their place appeared a multitude of Mussulman horsemen, launching such
a number of arrows armed with the Greek fire, that it might have been
believed, says Joinville, “_that all the stars of heaven were falling_.”
The wind disconcerted all the manœuvres of the mariners. The Crusaders,
crowded closely in their vessels, could scarcely stand upright, and
were most of them without arms. Turning their eyes, sometimes towards
the shore, where they perceived clouds of dust at a distance, and
sometimes towards heaven, whose mercy they implored, they still hoped
that some unexpected event might deliver them, or else that the army
advancing towards Damietta would come to their succour; thus placing
their last hopes in the miracles of Providence and in those of bravery.
Deceitful illusions! one division of the Christian troops had been
dispersed; the rear-guard, encouraged by the presence of the king, made
incredible but useless efforts to repulse the crowd of Saracens, which
increased from moment to moment. The despair of the French warriors
gave birth to a thousand glorious actions; but so much heroism was only
able to procure them the palm of martyrdom. Guy du Châtel, bishop of
Soissons, giving up all hopes of gaining Damietta or revisiting France,
resolved to seek death, and rushed, followed by several knights, into
the thickest of the ranks of the Saracens, who, according to the
expression of Joinville, _killed them, and sent them into the company
of God_. Gaucher de Chatillon and Sergines still fought on, in the hope
of saving the life of the king of France. Sergines, adhering close
to the side of the king, drove away the enemies with mighty blows of
the sword; danger seemed to have doubled his strength. Contemporary
history, which describes him to us driving away the Saracens that
surrounded Louis, compares him to the vigilant servant who carefully
drives away the flies from his master’s cup.
In the mean time the hope of victory inflamed the enthusiasm and the
fanaticism of the Mussulmans; they were persuaded they were fighting
for the cause of their prophet: their dervises and imauns, who had
preached the war against the Christians, followed them on the field
of battle, pervaded the ranks of the army, and excited the soldiers
to carnage.[315] An Arabian historian, mixing the marvellous with his
account, relates that the scheikh Ezzedin, seeing that victory for a
moment inclined towards the Christians, because a whirlwind of dust
covered the Mussulmans and prevented them from fighting, addresses
these words to the wind: “_Oh wind, direct thy breath against our
enemies!_” The tempest, adds the same historian, obeyed the voice
of this holy person, and victory was the reward of the soldiers of
Islamism. We only report this circumstance here, to show the spirit
that animated the Mussulmans in their wars against the Christians.
The Saracens did not require a miracle to triumph over a dispersed
army reduced to so small a number of combatants. The rear-guard of the
Christians, always pursued and unceasingly attacked, arrived with much
difficulty before the little town of Minieh.[316] The king, escorted
by a few knights, preceded the troops into the city, where he alighted
as weak “as a child in its mother’s lap,” says Joinville. Fatigue,
sickness, and the grief which such disasters caused him, had so
overcome him, that all believed (we still quote the same author) he was
about to die.
The intrepid Gaucher de Chatillon watched over his safety; alone, he
for a length of time defended the entrance of a narrow street, which
led to the house in which his faithful servants were endeavouring to
recall the exhausted monarch to life. At one moment he rushed like
lightning upon the infidels, dispersed them, cut them down; then, after
turning to pull from his cuirass, and even his body, the arrows and
darts with which he was stuck all over, he flew again upon the enemy,
rising from time to time in his stirrups, and shouting with all his
force, “Chatillon, knights! Chatillon, to the rescue! Where are ye,
my gallant men?” The remainder of the rear-guard were still at some
distance; nobody appeared, but the Saracens, on the contrary, came up
in crowds; at length, overwhelmed by numbers, bristling with arrows,
and covered with wounds, he fell; none of the Crusaders could succour
him, not one could witness his heroic end! His horse, one sheet of
blood and foam, became the prey of the infidels, and his last exploits
were narrated by a Mussulman warrior, who exhibited his sword, and
boasted of having killed the bravest of the Christians.
The rear-guard drew up upon a neighbouring hill, and still defended
themselves with some advantage. Philip de Montfort, who commanded them,
came to inform the king that he had just seen the emir with whom they
had treated for a suspension of hostilities at the camp of Mansourah;
and if it were his good pleasure, he would go and speak to him about it
again. The monarch consented, promising to submit to the conditions
the sultan had first required. However miserable the situation of the
Crusaders, they still inspired considerable dread in their enemies.
Five hundred knights remained under arms, and many of those who had
gone past Minieh, retraced their steps to dispute the victory with the
Saracens. The emir accepted the proposition for a truce. Montfort, as
a pledge of his word, gave him a ring which he wore on his finger.
Their hands already touched, when a _traitor_, _a rascal doorkeeper_,
named Marcel, cried aloud: “Seigneurs, noble French knights, surrender
yourselves all, the king commands you by me; do not cause him to be
killed!” At these last words, the consternation became general; they
believed that the life of the monarch was in great danger, and the
leaders, officers, and soldiers, all laid down their arms.
The emir, who had begun to treat for peace, perceived this sudden
change, and he broke off the negotiation by saying: “It is not
customary to treat with conquered enemies.” Soon after, one of the
principal emirs, Djemal-eddin, entered Minieh. Finding the king
surrounded by his weeping servants, he took possession of his person,
and without any regard for royal majesty, without any respect for the
greatest misfortunes, ordered chains to be placed upon his hands and
feet; from that moment there was no safety for the Crusaders. Both the
brothers of the king fell into the hands of the infidels; all those
that had reached Pharescour, were seized, and lost either their lives
or their liberty. Many of them might have gained Damietta; but when
they learnt the captivity of the king, they lost all strength or spirit
to continue their route or to defend themselves. These knights, but
lately so intrepid, remained motionless on the high roads, and allowed
themselves to be slaughtered or manacled, without offering the least
complaint or making the slightest resistance. The oriflamme, the other
standards, and the baggage, all became the prey of the Saracens. Amidst
scenes of carnage, the Mussulman warriors uttered the most horrible
imprecations against Jesus Christ and his defenders: they trampled
under-foot, they profaned by insults, crosses and sacred images—a
crowning cause for scandal and despair for Christians, who, having
seen their king loaded with chains, beheld their God given up to the
outrages of the conqueror!
The Crusaders who had embarked upon the Nile had no better destiny; all
the vessels of the Christians, except that of the legate, were sunk by
the tempest, consumed by the Greek fire, or taken by the Mussulmans.
The crowd of Saracens, assembled on the shore or on board the barks,
immolated all that came within reach of their arms. They spared neither
the women nor the sick. Avarice, rather than humanity, saved such as
could expect to be ransomed. The sieur de Joinville, still suffering
from his wounds and the disease that had prevailed in the camp of
Mansourah, had embarked with the only two knights he had left and some
of his serving-men. Four Mussulman galleys came up to his vessel, which
had just cast anchor in the middle of the river, and the soldiers
threatened them with instant death if they did not at once surrender.
The seneschal deliberated with the persons of his suite upon what was
best to be done in such an imminent danger: all agreed that it would be
most prudent to surrender, except one of his ecclesiastics, who said
it would be best to be killed, that they might go at once to Paradise;
but this the others were not willing to comply with. Joinville then
took a little coffer, and emptying it of the jewels and relics it
contained, he threw them into the water, and surrendered at discretion.
In spite of the laws of war, the seneschal would have been killed, if a
renegade, who knew him, had not covered him with his body, crying: “It
is the king’s cousin!” Joinville, scarcely able to support himself, was
dragged into a Mussulman galley, and from that transported to a house
close to the shore. As they had deprived him of his coat of mail, and
he remained almost without covering, the Saracens, whose prisoner he
was, gave him a little cap, which he placed upon his head, and threw
over his shoulders a scarlet cloak of his own, furred with minever,
which his mother had given him: he was trembling all over, as well
from his disease as the great fear that possessed him. Being unable to
swallow a glass of water that was given to him, he believed himself to
be dying, and called his servants around him, who all began to weep.
Among those who wept the most bitterly, was a young boy, a natural son
of the seigneur Montfaucon. This child, upon seeing the persons perish
who had charge of him, had thrown himself into the arms and under the
protection of Joinville. The sight of abandoned infancy and the despair
of the worthy seneschal, excited the compassion of some of the emirs
that were present, and one of them, whom Joinville at one time calls
the _good Saracen_, and at another the _poor Saracen_, took pity on the
boy, and when he left the seneschal, he said to him, “Be sure to hold
this little child constantly by the hand, or I am certain the Saracens
will kill him.”
The carnage was prolonged for a considerable time after the battle;
it lasted during many days. All the captives that had escaped the
first fury of the Mussulman soldiers, were landed; and woe to such
as sickness had weakened or as exhibited marks of poverty! the more
worthy the victims were of pity, the more they roused the barbarity
of the conquerors. Soldiers armed with swords and maces, charged to
execute the terrible sentence of victory, awaited the prisoners on the
shore. John of Vaissy, the priest, and some other servants belonging
to Joinville, crawled from the ships in a dying state: the Saracens
completed the work before the eyes of their master, saying that these
poor wretches were good for nothing, and could pay for neither their
liberty nor their lives.
In these days of disasters and calamities, more than thirty thousand
Christians lost their lives, killed on the field of battle, drowned
in the Nile, or massacred after the fight. The news of this victory
obtained by the Mussulmans was soon spread throughout Egypt. The sultan
of Cairo wrote to the governor of Damascus, to inform him of the last
triumphs of Islamism. “Let thanks be rendered,” said he in his letter,
“to the All Powerful, who has changed our sadness into joy; it is to
him alone we owe the glory of our arms; the blessings with which he
has deigned to favour us are numberless, and the last is the most
precious of all. You will announce to the people of Damascus, or rather
to all Mussulmans, that God has enabled us to gain a complete victory
over the Christians, at the moment they were conspiring to effect our
ruin.”[317]
The day after that on which the Christian army had laid down their
arms, the king of France was taken to Mansourah on board a war-boat,
escorted by a great number of Egyptian vessels. The trumpets and
kettle-drums carried the notes of triumph to a vast distance. The
Egyptian army, in order of battle, marched along the eastern bank of
the Nile as the fleet advanced. All the prisoners whom the fury of
the enemy had spared, followed the Mussulman troops, with their hands
tied behind them. The Arabs were in arms on the western bank, and the
multitude flocked from all parts to witness this strange spectacle.
On his arrival at Mansourah, Louis IX. was confined in the house of
Fakreddin ben Lokman, secretary of the sultan, and placed under the
guard of the eunuch Sabyh. A vast inclosure, surrounded by walls of
earth, and guarded by the fiercest of the Mussulman warriors, received
the other prisoners of war.
The news of these disasters carried consternation and despair to the
city of Damietta, over the walls of which the standard of the French
still floated. Confused reports at first were circulated; but soon a
few Crusaders, who had escaped from the carnage, announced that the
whole Christian army had perished. Queen Marguerite was on the point of
being confined: her terrified imagination, at one moment, represented
to her her husband falling beneath the swords of the enemy, and at the
next, the Saracens at the gates of the city. Her emotions became so
violent, that her servants believed her to be expiring. A knight of
more than eighty years of age served her as esquire, and never left
her either night or day. This unhappy princess, after having, for a
moment, sobbed herself to sleep, started up in the greatest terror,
imagining that her chamber was filled with Saracens about to kill her.
The old knight, who had held her hand while she slept, pressed it, and
said: “Be not afraid, madam, I am with you.” An instant after she had
reclosed her eyes, she awoke again, and uttered loud and fearful cries,
and the grave esquire reassured her again. At length, to free herself
from these cruel alarms, the queen ordered every one to leave her
chamber except her knight, and then, throwing herself upon her knees
before him, with tearful eyes, she exclaimed: “Sir knight, promise that
you will grant the favour I am about to ask of you.” He promised upon
his oath. Marguerite then continued: “I require you, on the faith you
have pledged to me, that if the Saracens should take this city, you
will cut off my head rather than allow me to become their captive.”
“Certainly, I will do it,” replied the old knight; “I meant to do so,
if the thing should so happen!”[318]
On the morrow the queen was brought to bed of a son, who was named
Jean Tristan, on account of the melancholy circumstances amidst which
he was born. The same day her attendants informed her that the Pisans,
and many Crusaders from the maritime cities of Europe, were desirous
of abandoning Damietta and returning to their homes. Marguerite caused
the leaders of them to be brought before her bed, and said to them:
“Seigneurs, for the love of God, do not quit this city; its loss would
bring on that of the king and of the whole Christian army. Be moved by
my tears, have pity on the poor child that you behold lying beside me!”
The merchants of Genoa and Pisa were at first but very little affected
by these words. Joinville reproaches them with bitterness for their
want of feeling for the cause of Christ, or for that of humanity. As
they answered the queen that they had no provisions left, this princess
gave orders that all the provisions in Damietta should be immediately
bought up, and caused it to be announced to the Genoese and Pisans,
that from that time they should be supported at the expense of the
king. By this means, the city of Damietta preserved a garrison and
defenders, whose presence, more than their valour, produced an effect
upon the Saracens. It is even asserted that the Mussulmans, after the
victory of Minieh, being desirous of surprising Damietta, presented
themselves before the walls, clothed in the arms and bearing the
standards of the conquered Christians; but they were betrayed by their
language, their long beards, and their bronzed countenances. As the
Christians showed themselves in great numbers upon the ramparts, the
enemy drew off in haste from a city which they believed was disposed
to defend itself, but in which, really, nothing but despondency and
fear prevailed.
During this time, Louis IX. was more calm at Mansourah than they were
at Damietta. That which misery and misfortune have of the most bitter
for the exalted of this world, only served to develop in him the virtue
of a Christian hero and the character of a great king. He had no
covering at night but a coarse cassock, which he owed to the charity
of another prisoner. In this state, he never addressed one petition to
his enemies, nor did the tone of his language announce either fear or
submission. One of his almoners afterwards attested upon oath, that
Louis never suffered a word of despair or a movement of impatience to
escape from him. The Mussulmans were astonished at this resignation,
and said among themselves, that if ever their prophet should leave
them a prey to such great adversities, they would abandon his faith
and his worship. Of all his riches, Louis had only saved his book of
psalms, too sterile a spoil to be worth the attention of the Saracens;
and when all the world seemed to have abandoned him, this book alone
consoled him in his misfortunes. He every day recited those hymns of
the prophets in which God himself speaks of his justice and his mercy,
reassures virtue which suffers in his name, and threatens with his
anger those whom prosperity intoxicates, and who abuse their triumph.
Thus religious sentiments and remembrances sustained the courage of
Louis even in fetters; and the pious monarch, surrounded every day by
fresh perils, amidst a Mussulman army that he had irritated by his
victories, might still cry out with the prophet-king: “Supported by the
living God, who is my buckler and my glory, I will not fear the crowd
of enemies encamped around me.”
The sultan of Cairo, appearing inclined to soften his rigorous policy,
sent Louis fifty magnificent dresses for himself and the lords of his
train. Louis refused to clothe himself in them, saying that he was the
sovereign of a greater kingdom than Egypt, and that he would never
wear the livery of a foreign prince. Almoadam ordered a great feast to
be prepared, to which he invited the king. But Louis would not accept
of this invitation, as he was persuaded it was only meant to exhibit
him as a spectacle to the Mussulman army. At length the sultan sent
his most skilful physicians to him, and did all he could to preserve
a prince whom he destined to adorn his triumph, and by whose means he
hoped to obtain the advantages attached to his last victory. Before
long he proposed to the king to break his chains upon condition of his
giving up Damietta and the cities of Palestine that were still under
the power of the Franks. Louis replied, that the Christian cities
of Palestine did not belong to him; that God had recently replaced
Damietta in the hands of the Christians, and that no human power had
the right to dispose of it. The sultan, irritated by this refusal,
resolved to employ violence. At one time he threatened Louis to send
him to the caliph of Bagdad, who would closely imprison him till death;
at another, he announced the project of leading his illustrious captive
throughout the East, and of exhibiting to all Asia a king of the
Christians reduced to slavery. At length he went so far as to threaten
to have him placed in the _bernicles_,[319] a frightful punishment
reserved for the greatest criminals. Louis still showed himself firm,
and, as the only reply to all these menaces, said, “I am the sultan’s
prisoner, he can do with me what he pleases.”
The king of France suffered, though he did not complain; he feared
nothing on his own account, but when he thought of his faithful army,
and of the fate of the other captives, his heart was a prey to the
deepest sorrow. The Christian prisoners were crowded into one open
court, some sick, others wounded, the greater part naked, and all
exposed to hunger, the injuries of the elements, and the ill-treatment
of their pitiless guards. A Mussulman was commanded to write the names
of all these wretched captives, whose number amounted to more than ten
thousand. They led all such as could purchase their liberty into a vast
tent; the others remained in the place into which they had been driven
like a flock of animals, destined to perish miserably. Every day an
emir, by the sultan’s orders, entered this abode of despair, and caused
two or three hundred prisoners be be dragged out of the inclosure.
They were asked if they would abjure the religion of Christ, and those
whom the fear of death induced to desert their faith, received their
liberty; the others were put to the sword, and their bodies were cast
into the Nile. They were slaughtered during the night; silence and
darkness adding to the horrors of the execution. During several days
the steel of the executioner thus decimated the unhappy prisoners.
None were ever seen to return who went out of the inclosure. Their
sad companions, on bidding them farewell, wept beforehand over their
tragical end, and lived in certain expectation of a similar fate. At
length the lassitude of slaughter caused those that remained to be
spared. They were led away to Cairo; and the capital of Egypt, into
which they had flattered themselves they should enter in triumph,
beheld them arrive covered with rags and loaded with chains. They were
thrown into dungeons, where many died of hunger and grief; the others,
condemned to slavery in a foreign land, deprived of all assistance
and of all communication with their leaders, without knowing what was
become of their king, were hopeless of ever recovering their liberty,
or of revisiting the West.
The Oriental historians relate the scenes we have just described with
indifference; many even seem to consider the massacre of prisoners of
war as a second victory; and, as if the misfortune and murder of a
disarmed enemy could heighten the glory of a conqueror, they exaggerate
in their accounts the misery of the vanquished, and particularly the
number of the victims immolated to Islamism.
The barons and knights that were shut up in the pavilion, were not
ignorant of the fate of their companions in arms; they passed their
days and nights in continual terrors. The sultan wished to obtain
from them that which he had not been able to obtain from Louis IX.
He sent an emir to inform them that he would set them at liberty if
Damietta and the Christian cities of Palestine were restored to the
Mussulmans. The count of Brittany replied in the name of all the
prisoners, that that which was asked of them was not in their power,
and that French warriors had no other will than that of their king.
“It is plainly to be perceived,” said the messenger of Almoadam, “that
you care very little for liberty or life. _You shall see some men
accustomed to sword-playing._” The emir retired, leaving the prisoners
in the expectation of an early death. The apparatus of punishment was
exhibited before them. The sword remained several days suspended over
their heads; but Almoadam could make no impression upon their firmness.
Thus, neither the captivity of an entire army, nor the death of so many
warriors, had been able to deprive the Christians of a single one of
their conquests, and one of the bulwarks of Egypt was still in their
hands. The conquerors prayed and threatened by turns; the conquered
resisted all their endeavours, and always appeared masters.
In the mean time several French nobles offered to pay their own ransom.
Louis was informed of this; and as he feared that many, not having the
means to redeem themselves, would remain in chains, he forbade any
particular treaty. The barons and knights, but lately so intractable,
did not persist in opposing the will of an unfortunate king, and
instantly gave up all idea of a separate negotiation. The king said he
would pay for everybody, and that he would never think about his own
liberty till after he had assured that of all others.
Whilst the sultan of Cairo was thus making useless attempts to
overcome the pride and lower the courage of Louis and his knights,
the favourites he had brought with him from Mesopotamia pressed their
master to conclude the peace quickly. “You have,” said they to him,
“enemies much more dangerous than the Christians; they are the emirs,
who wish to reign in your place, and who never cease to boast of their
victories, as if you had not yourself conquered the Franks, as if
the God of Mahomet had not sent pestilence and famine to aid you in
triumphing over the defenders of Christ: hasten, then, to terminate the
war, in order that you may strengthen your power within, and begin to
reign.” These speeches, which flattered the pride of Almoadam, induced
him to make rather more reasonable proposals to his enemies. The sultan
limited his demand to a ransom of a million of golden byzants, and the
restitution of Damietta. Louis, aware that the city of Damietta could
not resist, consented to the proposals that were made to him, _if the
queen approved of them_. As the Mussulmans expressed some surprise at
this, the king added, “_The queen is my lady, I can do nothing without
her consent._” The ministers of the sultan returned a second time, and
told the French monarch, that if the queen would pay the sum agreed
upon, he should be free. “A king of France,” answered he, “is not to
be redeemed by money; the city of Damietta shall be given up for my
deliverance,[320] and a million of golden byzants paid for that of my
army.” The sultan agreed to all; and, whether he was pleased at having
terminated the negotiations, or whether he was touched by the noble
character the captive monarch had displayed, he reduced the sum fixed
upon as the ransom of the Christian army a fifth.
The knights and barons were still ignorant of the conclusion of the
treaty, and were revolving in their minds their customary melancholy
reflections, when they saw an old Saracen enter their pavilion. His
venerable figure and the gravity of his carriage inspired respect. His
train, composed of men-at-arms, inspired fear. The old man, without any
preliminary discourse, asked the prisoners, by means of an interpreter,
if it was true that they believed in a God, born of a woman, crucified
for the salvation of the human race, and resuscitated the third day?
All having answered at once that that was their belief: “In that case,”
added he, “congratulate yourselves at suffering for your God; you are
yet far from having suffered as much for him as he suffered for you.
Place your hopes in him, and if he has been able to recall himself to
life, he will not want power to put an end to the evils that afflict
you now.”
On finishing these words, the old Mussulman retired, leaving the
Crusaders divided between surprise, fear, and hope. On the next day it
was announced to them that the king had concluded a truce, and wished
to take counsel of his barons. John of Vallery, Philip de Montfort, and
Guy and Baldwin d’Ibelin were deputed to wait upon the king. It was
not long before the Crusaders learnt that their captivity was about to
end, and that the king had paid the ransom of the poor as well as the
rich. When these brave knights turned their thoughts towards their
victories, they never could conceive how it was possible for them to
have fallen into the hands of the infidels; and when they reflected on
their late misfortunes, their deliverance appeared equally miraculous
to them. All raised their voices in praises to God and benedictions to
the king of France.
All the cities of Palestine that had belonged to the Christians at the
arrival of the Crusaders in the East, were comprised in the treaty.
On both sides, the prisoners of war made since the truce concluded
between the emperor Frederick and Melik-Kamel, were to be given up. It
was agreed, also, that the munitions and machines of war belonging to
the Christian army should remain provisionally at Damietta, under the
safeguard of the sultan of Egypt.
It next became the object to perform the conditions of the treaty of
peace. Four large galleys were prepared to transport the principal
prisoners to the mouth of the Nile. The sultan left Mansourah, and
repaired to Pharescour by land.
After the battle of Minieh, a vast palace, built of fir timber, of
which the chronicles of the times have left pompous descriptions, had
been erected in that city. It was in this palace Almoadam received the
felicitations of the Mussulmans, upon the happy issue of a war against
the enemies of Islamism. All the cities, all the principalities of
Syria, sent ambassadors to salute the conqueror of the Christians. The
governor of Damascus, to whom he had sent a helmet, found on the field
of battle, that had belonged to the king of France, replied to him
thus: “There is no doubt that God destines for you the conquest of the
universe, or that you will proceed from victory to victory; who can
doubt of this when we already see your slaves clothed in the spoils of
conquered kings?” Thus the young sultan imbibed intoxicating draughts
of praise, and passed his time in the festivities and pleasures of
peace, forgetting the cares of his empire, and foreseeing none of the
dangers which threatened him amidst his triumphs.
Almoadam had disgraced, and deprived of their places, many of
the ministers of his father; most of the emirs were in fear of a
similar fall, and this fear even led them to brave everything for
the preservation of their fortunes and their lives. Among these
malcontents, the Mamelukes and their leader were most conspicuous.
This military body owed their origin to Saladin, and they had enjoyed
the greatest privileges under the preceding reign. They reproached the
sultan with preferring young favourites to old warriors, the support
of the throne and the saviours of Egypt. They reproached him with
having concluded a peace, without consulting those who had supported
the burden of the war; and with having bestowed the spoils of the
vanquished upon courtiers, who had only deserved them by coming from
the banks of the Euphrates to the shores of the Nile. In order to
justify beforehand all they might attempt against the prince, they
attributed to him projects of the most sinister nature; and nascent
rebellion inflamed itself by the recital of future persecutions.
The emirs who were to die were designated; the instruments of death
were named, the day was fixed, everything was appointed, everything
was ready. It was asserted that the sultan, in the course of one of
his nocturnal orgies, had cut off the tops of the flambeaux in his
apartment, crying, “Thus shall fly the heads of all the Mamelukes.” A
woman animated the minds of the warriors by her discourse: this was
Chegger-Eddour, who, having disposed of the empire, could not endure
the neglect of the new sultan. From complaints they soon passed to open
revolt; for it was less perilous to attack the prince sword in hand,
than to declaim for any length of time against him. A conspiracy was
formed, in which the Mamelukes and all the emirs who had outrages to
avenge or to fear were concerned. The conspirators were impatient to
execute their project, and fearing that the sultan, if once arrived
at Damietta, might escape them, they resolved to proceed to the
consummation at Pharescour.
The galleys which transported the Christian prisoners arrived before
that city. The king landed, with the princes, his brothers, and was
received in a pavilion, where he had an interview with the sultan.
History says nothing of this conference between two princes, who
equally commanded attention, and whose position was so different; the
one, intoxicated by his victories, blinded by his prosperities; the
other, the conqueror of ill-fortune, coming out much greater from the
ordeal of adversity.
The two sovereigns had appointed Saturday, the eve of the Ascension,
for the giving up of Damietta. According to this convention, the
Crusaders, who had been detained more than a month in chains, had
only to endure the pains of captivity three days longer; but new
misfortunes awaited them, and their courage and resignation were doomed
to further trials. The day after their arrival before Pharescour,
the sultan of Cairo, in celebration of the peace, determined to
give a banquet to the principal officers of the Mussulman army. The
conspirators took advantage of this opportunity, and, towards the end
of the repast, all rushed upon him, sword in hand. Bendocdar struck
the first blow. Almoadam, being only wounded in the hand, arises
in a state of terrified amazement, escapes through his motionless
guards, takes refuge in a tower, shuts the door of it, and appears
at a window, sometimes imploring succour, and sometimes demanding
of the conspirators what they required of him. The envoy of the
caliph of Bagdad was at Pharescour. He mounted on horseback, but the
Mamelukes threatened him with instant death if he did not return to
his tent. At the same moment some drums were heard, giving the signal
for assembling the troops; but the leaders of the conspiracy told
the soldiers that Damietta was taken, and immediately the whole army
precipitated themselves upon the road to that city, leaving the sultan
at the mercy of men who thirsted for his blood. The Mamelukes accuse
and threaten him. He endeavours to justify himself; but his words are
drowned in the tumult. A thousand voices cry out to him to descend;
he hesitates; he groans; he weeps; arrows fly against the tower in
showers; the Greek fire, hurled from every direction, gives birth to a
conflagration. Almoadam, nearly surrounded by the flames, precipitates
himself from the window; a nail catches his mantle, and he remains for
a moment suspended. At length he falls to the earth; sabres and naked
swords wave over him on all sides; he casts himself on his knees, at
the feet of Octai, one of the principal officers of his guard, who
repulses him with contempt. The unhappy prince arises, holding forth
his imploring hands to all the assembly, saying, that he was willing to
abandon the throne of Egypt, and would return into Mesopotamia. These
supplications, unworthy of a prince, inspire more contempt than pity;
nevertheless, the crowd of conspirators hesitate; but the leaders know
too well there can be no safety for them but in completing the crime
they have begun. Bendocdar, who had inflicted the first blow, strikes
him a second time with his sabre; Almoadam, streaming with blood,
throws himself into the Nile, and endeavours to gain some vessels that
appear to be drawing near to the shore to receive him; nine Mamelukes
follow him into the water, and pour upon him a thousand blows, within
sight of the galley which Joinville was on board of![321]
Such was the end of Almoadam, who neither knew how to reign nor how to
die. Arabian authors point it out as a remarkable circumstance, that
he perished at once by the sword, fire, and water. The same authors
agree in saying, that he himself provoked his ruin by his imprudence
and his injustice. But oriental history, accustomed to laud success and
blame all who succumb, repeats the complaints of the Mamelukes without
examining them; and, passing lightly over this revolution, contents
itself with saying, “_When God wills an event, he prepares the causes
beforehand_.”
The Nile and its shore presented, at that moment, two very different
spectacles: on one side was a prince, whilst revelling in all the
pomps of grandeur, in all the triumphs of victory, massacred by his
own guards; on the other, an unfortunate king, surrounded by his
knights, as unfortunate as himself, inspiring them with more respect
in his adversity than when he was encompassed with all the splendour
of prosperity and power. The French knights and barons, although they
had been victims of the barbarity of the sultan, felt more astonishment
than joy at the sight of his tragical death; they could not comprehend
the murderous attack of the Mamelukes; and these revolutions of
military despotism, at war with itself, filled them with dread.
After this sanguinary scene, thirty Saracen officers, sword in hand
and battle-axes on their shoulders, entered the galley in which were
the counts of Brittany and de Montfort, Baldwin and Guy d’Ibelin,
and the sieur de Joinville. These furious men vomited imprecations,
and threatening the prisoners with both voice and gesture, made them
believe that their last hour was come. The Christian warriors prepared
themselves for death, and throwing themselves on their knees before a
monk of the Trinity, asked him for absolution of their sins; but as the
priest could not hear them all at once, they confessed to each other.
Guy d’Ibelin, constable of Cyprus, confessed to Joinville, who gave him
“such absolution as God had given him the power to give.” It was thus,
in after-times, history represents the Chevalier Bayard, wounded to
death, and ready to expire, confessing himself at the foot of an oak to
one of his faithful companions in arms.[322]
But these menaces and violences of the emirs might have a politic
aim. At the conclusion of a conspiracy that had divided men’s minds,
in order to awaken fresh passions, it was necessary for the leaders
to excite the fanaticism of the multitude, and direct the general
fury against the Christians. It was important for them to make others
believe, and they might have believed it themselves, that Almoadam had
endeavoured to find an asylum amongst the enemies of Islamism.
The lords and barons did not meet with the fate they expected; but as
if their understanding with Almoadam had been really dreaded, they were
thrust into the hold of the vessel, where they passed the night with
the terrible images of death constantly before their eyes.
Louis, shut up in his tent with his brothers, had heard the tumult.
In ignorance of what was passing, he concluded that either they were
massacring the French prisoners, or else that Damietta was taken. He
was a prey to a thousand terrors, when he saw Octaï, the chief of the
Mamelukes, enter his tent. This emir ordered the guards to retire, and
pointing to his bloody sword, exclaimed: “Almoadam is no more; what
will you give me for having delivered you from an enemy who meditated
your destruction as well as ours?” Louis made no reply. Then the
furious emir, presenting the point of his sword, cried, “Dost thou
not know that I am master of thy person? Make me a knight, or thou art
a dead man.” “Make thyself a Christian,” replied the monarch, “and
I will make thee a knight.”[323] Without insisting further, Octaï
retired, and in a very short time the tent of the king was filled with
Saracen warriors, armed with sabres and swords. Their demeanour, their
cries, the fury painted on their countenances, announced sufficiently
that they had just committed a great crime, and that they were ready
to commit others; but by a species of miracle, changing, all at once,
both countenance and language at the sight of the king, they approached
him with respect; then, as if they felt in the presence of Louis the
necessity for justifying themselves, they told him that they had been
forced to kill a tyrant, who aimed at their destruction as well as
that of the Christians; now, they added, they had only to forget the
past; all they required for the future was the faithful execution
of the treaty concluded with Almoadam. Then lifting their hands to
their turbans, and bending their brows to the ground, they retired in
silence, and left the monarch in a state of astonishment at seeing
them thus pass, all at once, from transports of rage to sentiments
apparently the most respectful.
This singular scene has made some historians say that the Mamelukes
offered the throne of Egypt to St. Louis. This opinion has rather
gained ground in our days, so easy is it for us to give faith to
everything that appears favourable to the glory of the French name. The
sieur de Joinville, who is quoted in support of this assertion, only
relates a conversation he had held with Louis. The king asked him what
he thought he ought to have done, in case the emirs had offered him the
supreme authority. The good seneschal conceived it was not possible
to accept a crown from the hands of those seditious emirs, who had
killed their sovereign. Louis was not of this opinion, and said that,
truly, if they had proposed to him to become the successor of the
sultan, he would not in the least have refused to be so (_il ne l’eût
mie refusé_).[324] These words alone prove sufficiently that they had
proposed nothing to the captive monarch. Joinville, it is true, adds
to this recital, that according to reports that were circulated in the
Christian army, the emirs had caused the trumpets to be sounded and
the drums to be beaten before the tent of the king of France, and that
at the same time they deliberated among themselves, whether it would
not be best to break the chains of their prisoner, and make him their
sovereign. The sieur de Joinville relates this fact, without affirming
it; and as oriental history preserves the most profound silence
upon it, an historian of the present day cannot adopt it without
compromising his veracity. It is, without doubt, possible that the
emirs might have expressed the desire of having a prince amongst them
possessed of the firmness, bravery, and virtues of Louis IX.; but how
can it be believed that Mussulmans, animated by the double fanaticism
of religion and war, could have, for a moment, entertained a thought of
choosing an absolute master among the Christians, whom they had just
treated with unexampled barbarity; and thus place their property, their
liberty, their lives in the hands of the most implacable enemies of
their country, their laws, and their faith?
The supreme power, of which the emirs had shown themselves to be so
jealous, and which they had wrested with so much violence from the
hands of Almoadam, appeared at first to terrify their ambition, when
they had it in their power to dispose of it. In a council called to
nominate a sultan, the wisest declined to rule over a country filled
with troubles, or command an army given up to the spirit of sedition.
Upon their refusal, the crown was given to Chegger-Eddour, who had
had so great a share, first in the elevation, and then in the fall of
Almoadam. As governor with her, in the quality of Atabec, they chose
Ezz-Eddin Aybek, who had been brought a slave into Egypt, and whose
barbarous origin procured him the surname of the _Turcoman_.
The new sultana soon arrived at Pharescour, and was proclaimed under
the name of Mostassemieh Salehieh, queen of the Mussulmans, mother
of Malek-Almansor Khalil. Almansor Khalil, a young prince, the son
of Negmeddin, had preceded his father to the tomb. Thus finished the
powerful dynasty of the Ayoubites, a dynasty founded by victory,
and overturned by an army which the pride of victory had rendered
seditious. Whilst they were thus forming a new government, the body
of Almoadam was abandoned on the banks of the Nile, where it remained
two days without sepulture. The ambassador from the caliph of Bagdad
at length obtained permission to bury it, and deposited in an obscure
place the sad remains of the last successor of Saladin.
The elevation of Chegger-Eddour astonished the Mussulmans; the name
of a woman or of a slave had never till that time been seen engraved
upon the coins, or pronounced in public prayers. The caliph of
Bagdad protested against the scandal of this innovation; and when he
afterwards wrote to the emirs, he asked them if they had not been
able to find a single man in all Egypt to govern them. The supreme
authority, placed in the hands of a woman, could neither restrain the
passions which troubled the empire, nor cause treaties to be respected;
which became very fatal to the Christians, condemned to suffer by turns
from the revolt and the submission, from the union and the discord of
their enemies.
Among the emirs, some wished that the treaty concluded with the sultan
should be executed; whilst others were desirous that a fresh one should
be made: many were indignant that the Christians should be treated with
at all. After long debates, they returned to that which had been done
at first, adding to it the condition that the king of France should
give up Damietta before he was set at liberty, and that he should pay
half of the sum agreed upon for the ransom of himself and his army,
before he left the banks of the Nile. These last conditions announced
the mistrust of the emirs, and might give the Christian prisoners
reason to fear that the day of their deliverance was not yet arrived.
When the observance of the treaty was to be sworn to, the forms of the
oaths caused some discussion. The emirs swore that if they failed in
their promises, “they consented to be jeered at like the pilgrim who
makes the journey to Mecca bareheaded; or else to be as much despised
as he who takes back his women after having left them.” The Mussulmans,
according to their manners and customs, had no more solemn expression
with which to guarantee their sworn faith. They proposed to Louis
IX. the following formula: “If I keep not my oath, I shall be like
to him who denies his God, who spits upon the cross, and tramples it
under-foot.” This formula of the oath which they wished the king to
take, appeared to him to be an insult to God and himself. He refused to
pronounce it. In vain the emirs showed their anger and their passion;
he braved all their menaces. This resistance of St. Louis, celebrated
by his contemporaries, will not perhaps obtain the same eulogies in
the age we now live in; nevertheless it must be considered that the
king was not only restrained on this occasion by the scruples of an
exaggerated devotion, but by a feeling of royal dignity. It may be
remembered, that in the third crusade, Richard and Saladin had judged
it unworthy of the majesty of kings to degrade their word to the
formula of an oath; and had been satisfied with a touch of the hand,
to cement the peace. Seditious emirs, still stained with the blood of
their master, might undervalue the dignity of the supreme rank; but, on
important occasions, Louis never forgot he was a great king; and the
supposition of a perjury, the thought even of a blasphemy, could not
ally itself in his mind with the character of a Christian prince and of
a king of France.
The Mussulmans, irritated at seeing a king in fetters dictate laws
to them, and resist all their demands, began to talk of putting him
to death accompanied by tortures. “You are masters of my body,” he
replied, “but you have no power over my will.” The princes, his
brothers, implored him to pronounce the required formula; but he was
as firm against the entreaties of friendship and affection, as he had
been against the threats of his enemies. Even the exhortations of the
prelates had no more effect. At length the Mamelukes, attributing such
an obstinate resistance to the patriarch of Jerusalem, seized this
prelate, who was more than eighty years of age, fastened him to a post,
and tied his hands behind him so tightly, that the blood sprang from
beneath the nails. The patriarch, overcome by the pain, cried, “Sire!
Sire! swear; I will take the sin upon myself.” But Louis, who was
throughout persuaded that they insulted his good faith, and that they
demanded of him a thing unjust and dishonourable, remained immovable.
The emirs, at length subdued by so much firmness, consented to accept
the simple word of the king, and retired, saying that “this Frank
prince was the most haughty Christian that had ever been seen in the
East.”
All now gave their attention to the execution of the treaty. The
galleys, on board of which were the prisoners, heaved their anchors,
and descended towards the mouth of the Nile; the Mussulman army
accompanying them by land. The Christians were to deliver up Damietta
the next morning at daybreak. It is impossible to describe the trouble,
consternation, and despair that reigned in the city throughout the
night. The unfortunate inhabitants ran about the streets, asking each
other questions, and communicating their fears with breathless anxiety.
The most sinister reports prevailed; it was said that the whole of
the Christian army had been massacred by the Mussulmans, and that the
king of France was poisoned. When they received orders to evacuate the
place, most of the warriors declared aloud that they would not obey,
and that they preferred dying on the ramparts to being slaughtered as
prisoners of war.
At the same time excitement began to prevail in the Mussulman army. It
was whispered that the king of France refused to execute the treaty,
and that he had ordered the garrison of Damietta to defend themselves.
The soldiers and their leaders repented of having made a truce with the
Franks, and appeared determined to take advantage of the least pretext
for breaking it.
The commissioners of Louis IX., however, at length persuaded the
Christians of Damietta to evacuate the city. Queen Marguerite,
scarcely recovered from her confinement, went on board a Genoese
vessel. She was accompanied by the duchess of Anjou, the countess of
Poictiers, and the unhappy widow of the count d’Artois, who, amidst
present calamities, still wept over the first misfortune of the war.
Towards the end of the night, Olivier de Thermes, who commanded the
garrison, the duke of Burgundy, the pope’s legate, and all the Franks,
except the sick that remained in the city, embarked on the Nile.
Geoffrey de Sergines having entered Damietta, brought the keys to the
emirs; and when day broke, the Mussulman standards were seen floating
over the towers and ramparts. At sight of this, the whole Egyptian army
rushed tumultuously into the city. The reports that had been circulated
during the night, had excited the fury of the soldiers, and they
entered Damietta as if the opening of the gates had been the result of
a sanguinary contest; they massacred the sick wherever they found them,
they pillaged the houses, and gave to the flames the machines of war,
the arms, and all the munitions that belonged to the Christians.
This early violation of the treaty, the intoxication of carnage, and
the impunity of license, only served to inflame still further the
minds of the Mussulmans, and to lead them to greater excesses. The
emirs, partaking of the fury of the soldiers, formed the idea of
putting all the Christian prisoners to death. The galleys in which the
French barons and knights were crowded, immediately received orders
to reascend the river towards Pharescour, “which caused great grief
amongst us,” says Joinville, “and many tears issued from our eyes; for
we all believed they were about to kill us.”
Whilst the galleys re-ascended the Nile, the Mussulman leaders
deliberated in council upon the fate of the king of France and the
French warriors. “Now we are masters of Damietta,” said one of the
emirs, “and a powerful monarch of the Franks, with the bravest of his
warriors, may receive from our hands death or liberty. Fortune offers
us an opportunity of securing peace to Egypt for ever, and with it
the triumph of Islamism. We have shed the blood of Mussulman princes
without scruple; why should we then respect that of Christian princes,
who have come into the East to set fire to our cities and reduce our
provinces to slavery?” This opinion was that of the people and the
army; and most of the emirs, actuated by the general spirit, held
similar language. An emir of Mauritania, whose name Joinville has not
preserved, opposed, almost alone, this violation of the laws of war and
peace. “You have,” said he, “put to death your prince, whom the Koran
commands you _to cherish as the apple of your eye_. This death might,
doubtless, be necessary for your own safety; but what can you expect
from the action that is proposed to you, except the anger of God and
the maledictions of men?” This speech was interrupted by murmurs; the
language of reason only added heat to hatred and fanaticism. As violent
passions are never at a loss for motives of self-justification, or for
excuses for their excesses, the Crusaders were accused of perfidy,
treachery, and all the crimes that they themselves contemplated
against them. There was no imputation that did not appear probable,
consequently no violence that did not appear just. “If the Koran
ordered Mussulmans to watch over the lives of their princes, it
likewise commanded them to watch over the preservation of the Mussulman
faith: death ought to be the reward of those who came to bring death,
and their bones ought to whiten upon the same plains that they had laid
waste. The safety of Egypt and the laws of the prophet required that it
should be so.”
After a very stormy deliberation, the terrible sentence of the captives
was about to be pronounced; but cupidity came to the aid of justice
and humanity;[325] the emir who had spoken in favour of the Christian
prisoners, had, in his speech, more than once repeated the words, _Dead
men pay no ransom_; and they at length acknowledged that the sword,
by immolating the Crusaders, would only rob victory of its dues, and
deprive the conquerors of the fruit of their labours. This observation
at length calmed the minds of the assembly, and brought about a change
of opinions. The fear of losing eight hundred thousand golden byzants
caused the treaty to be respected, and saved the lives of the king of
France and his companions in misfortune.
The emirs issued orders for the galleys to be brought back towards
Damietta. The Mamelukes appeared, all at once, to be governed by the
most pacific sentiments; and, as it is natural for the multitude to
pass from one extreme to another, they treated with all the attentions
of hospitality the very men whom, a few hours before, they had wished
to put to death. On their arrival before the city, the prisoners were
treated with fritters cooked in the sun, and with hard eggs, “which,”
says Joinville, “in honour of our persons, were painted of various
colours.”
The knights and barons at length had permission to leave the ships that
had been their prisons, to go and join the king, whom many of them had
not seen since the disaster of Minieh. As they left their vessels,
Louis was marching towards the mouth of the Nile, escorted by Mussulman
warriors; an innumerable multitude followed him, and contemplated,
in silence, the features, the bearing, and the arms of the Christian
monarch. A Genoese galley awaited him; as soon as he was on board,
eighty archers, with their crossbows strung, appeared suddenly upon the
deck of the vessel; the crowd of Egyptians immediately dispersed, and
the ship glided away from the shore. Louis had with him the count of
Anjou, the count de Soissons, Geoffrey de Sergines, Philip de Nemours,
and the seneschal de Joinville. The count of Poictiers remained as a
hostage in Damietta, until the payment of the four hundred thousand
golden byzants, which the king ought to have paid to the emirs before
he put to sea, should be completed. Louis had not enough by thirty
thousand livres; this sum was requested of the Templars, who, to the
great scandal of the lords and barons, at first refused it. They were
threatened with being forced to furnish it; and then complied. The
amount stipulated in the treaty was paid to the Saracens. The count of
Poictiers had left Damietta, and everything was ready for the departure
of the Crusaders, when Philip de Montfort, who had been directed to
make the payment, returned to give an account of his mission, and
told the king that he had contrived to cheat the emirs out of ten
thousand livres. Louis expressed himself much dissatisfied with such
a proceeding, and sent Philip de Montfort back to Damietta, to make
restitution of the money he had kept back—a lesson of justice which
he wished to give to both his enemies and his servants. This last
mission is spoken of by an Arabian author, who attributes it to a very
whimsical and singular motive. He says that Philip de Montfort was sent
to the emirs to tell them that they were deficient in religion and
good sense; in religion, because they had murdered their sovereign;
in good sense, because, for a moderate sum, they had released a
powerful prince, who would have given half of his kingdom to recover
his liberty. This explanation, however improbable it may be, at least
serves to inform us of the opinion then common in the East, that the
Egyptian emirs were reproached with having destroyed their sultan, and
allowed their enemy to escape.
Louis IX., with the miserable wreck of his army, soon passed out at the
mouth of the Nile, and in a few days arrived at Ptolemaïs, where the
people and the clergy were still putting up prayers for his deliverance.
The Egyptians celebrated the restitution of Damietta with public
rejoicings; the Mussulman army broke up their camp, and returned
towards the capital. The sultana, Chegger-Eddour, caused vests of gold
and silver to be distributed to the leaders, and her liberality even
extended to the soldiers. An Arabian poet composed some verses upon
this occasion, which history has preserved, and which contain the
remarkable passage that follows:—
“When thou shalt see this Frenchman (the king of France), tell him
these words from the mouth of a sincere friend:
Thou camest into Egypt, thou covetedest its riches; thou believedst
that its powers would fade away as smoke.
Behold now thine army! see how thy imprudent conduct has precipitated
it into the bosom of the tomb!
Fifty thousand men! and not one that is not either killed, a prisoner,
or covered with wounds!