KING AMAURY. A.D. 1162-1173.
“I had thought I had had men of some understanding
And wisdom, of my council; but I find none.”
_Henry VIII._
At the death of King Baldwin the personal unpopularity of his
brother among the barons caused at first some hesitation as to his
election, but this was overruled by the influence of the clergy, and
Amaury was duly crowned in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. He was
at the time of his succession to the crown twenty-seven years of
age. He had been named by his brother first Count of Jaffa, and
afterwards, when the place was taken, Count of Ascalon. He was a man
somewhat above the middle height; like his brother he had an
aquiline nose, brown hair falling back from his forehead, and would
have been as handsome as Baldwin but for his premature corpulence.
He was inordinately fat, in spite of extreme temperance in eating
and drinking. As for his faults, they were many. He was morose and
taciturn, rarely speaking to any one, and never showing any desire
to cultivate friendships; he was avaricious, always trying to
accumulate treasure, a habit which he defended, honestly enough, on
the ground that it was the duty of a king to provide for
emergencies, a duty which he was the first King of Jerusalem to
recognise. At the same time, he was always ready with his money in
cases of necessity. He seldom laughed, and when he did, he seemed to
laugh all over, in a manner as undignified as it was ungraceful. He
had, too, a slight impediment in his speech, which prevented him
from speaking freely, and was probably the main cause of his
taciturnity. He was unchaste, and made no secret of his
incontinence. He was a violent enemy of what his biographer calls
the liberty of the Church—in other words, he insisted on the
property of the Church bearing the burden of taxation equally with
all other property. He had little education, but loved reading,
especially the reading of history, and was fond of asking questions
on curious and recondite questions. Thus, he once startled William
of Tyre by asking him if there was any proof, apart from revelation,
of the doctrine of a future world. The priest proved to him, by the
Socratic method, he says, that there was; but he confesses that he
was greatly exercised in spirit at the king’s asking such a
question. He was well versed in all questions of law, and in
military matters was generally a prudent leader, and always patient
of fatigue and suffering. “Being so fat,” we are told, “the rigours
of cold and heat did not trouble him”—a very odd result of
corpulence. He obeyed all the ordinances of the Church, and showed
his magnanimity by never taking the least notice of things said in
his disfavour, when they were reported to him. He loved not dice or
gambling, and had, indeed, but one sport of which he was really
fond, that of falconry. Evidently a gloomy kind of prince, with his
mind overwhelmed by all sorts of doubts and questions of morality
and religion, perplexed by the cares and anxieties of his position,
void of enthusiasm for the crown which he wore, but resolute to do
the best he could for his kingdom; more prudent and far-seeing than
any who had preceded him, but without the dash and vigour of his
ancestors, slow of thought, and consequently liable to ill-success
for want of promptness, a man something like our William III., who
had a few who admired and respected him, but who, to the many, was
unpopular and distasteful.
He had married Agnes, the daughter of Jocelyn the younger, by whom
he had three children, Baldwin, afterwards king, Sybille and
Isabelle. On his accession it was discovered, one wonders why the
Church had not interfered earlier, that the marriage was unlawful,
because his own and his wife’s grandfather, Baldwin du Bourg, and
Jocelyn the elder, had been first cousins. He was therefore
compelled to get a divorce from Agnes, who married again, first Hugh
of Ibelin, a gallant fighting man, and afterwards Renaud of Sidon,
also a marriage within the limits, only this time the Church did not
think proper to interpose her authority.
Like all the kings of Jerusalem, Amaury began his reign with an
expedition, by way of winning the spurs of gallantry. The
Egyptians—the Fatemite dynasty being now in its last stage of
decay—failed to pay the tribute which had been agreed upon after the
taking of Ascalon. Amaury led an army to Pelusium, which he took and
plundered, and returned home laden with spoils and glory.
The Fatemite Caliphs, degenerate now, and sunk in sloth, left the
whole government of their rich empire to their viziers, who had
taken the title of sultan. Dhargam, the vizier at this time, had a
powerful rival named Shawer, whom he managed to turn out of his
government and banish from the kingdom. Shawer repaired to Damascus,
and representing to Nûr-ed-dín the weakened state of the kingdom,
urged him to send an army which should in the first instance place
himself in the seat of Dhargam, and in the next make Egypt a sort of
appanage to Damascus. The project was tempting. If Egypt could be
made even an ally of Damascus, or more properly speaking, of
Baghdad, to which Caliphate Nûr-ed-dín belonged, the way was clear
for united action against the Christian kingdom on three sides at
once. Nûr-ed-dín did not hesitate long. Deputing his ablest general,
Shírkoh, to lead his forces, he despatched a formidable army to
Egypt, to support the rebellious claims of Shawer. But Dhargam in
his turn was not idle. He sent messengers to King Amaury, offering
conditions, almost any which the king might dictate, in return for
assistance. But while the negotiations were pending, and Amaury was
making up his mind how to act, Shírkoh and his army were already in
Egypt. Dhargam led his troops to meet the enemy, and in a first
engagement entirely routed the Syrians. The next day, however, these
rallied, and the unfortunate Dhargam was killed by a chance arrow in
the battle. Shawer entered into Cairo in triumph, killed all
Dhargam’s relations—a summary and efficacious way of preventing any
possible future claims on the part of his descendants—and allowed
Shírkoh to establish himself in Pelusium, where the Syrians settled
down, and refused either to quit the kingdom, or to acknowledge the
authority of the caliph. Shawer found himself thus in the position
of one seeking to be delivered from his friends, and saw no way of
escape but by the intervention of the Christians. He sent
ambassadors to Amaury, making overtures similar to those proposed by
his late rival, even offering greater advantages if the previous
terms were not sufficiently liberal; but Amaury accepted them, and
marched with all his forces into Egypt. These allied forces of
Shawer and Amaury besieged Shírkoh in Pelusium, but were not strong
enough to get more than a conditional surrender, the Syrian general
being allowed to depart with all the honours of war, and to return
to Damascus. And at the same time Nûr-ed-dín received a defeat near
Tripoli, which raised the spirit of the Christians to the highest
point. Next year, however, he avenged himself by defeating young
Bohemond of Antioch, Raymond of Tripoli, the Greek governor of
Cilicia, and the Armenian prince Toros. It was a shameful rout. “No
one bethought him of his former courage, or of the deeds of his
ancestors; no one sought to avenge the insults of the enemy, or to
fight gloriously for the liberty and honour of his country. Each, on
the other hand, hastening to throw away his arms, endeavoured by
indecent supplications to preserve a life which it would have been a
thousand times better to sacrifice by fighting valiantly for his
country. Toros the Armenian got away by flight: Bohemond and the
rest were all taken prisoners, while they were shamefully running
away.” In the midst of the consternation produced by this disaster,
Thierry, Count of Flanders, who was continually coming into the
country like a _Deus ex machinâ_ in the midst of calamities, arrived
opportunely with a small following of knights. He could not,
however, prevent Nûr-ed-dín from taking the Castle of Banias, which
in the absence of its seigneur, Humphrey, who was away in Egypt, had
been consigned to the care of one Walter of Quesnet. Walter gave up
the place, which he was too weak to defend, and in these degraded
times was of course accused of having received bribes for the
purpose from Nûr-ed-dín. Perhaps he did.
The king came back glorious with his Egyptian exploit, only to hear
of these reverses, and to march north in hopes of repairing them. He
could do no more than place the best men he had in the fortresses,
while Shírkoh gained possession of a stronghold named the Grotto of
Tyre, by treachery, as was alleged—at least the Christian governor
was hanged for it at Sidon. The fortress of Montreal, in Moab, fell
at the same time, and the king was so indignant that he hung up
twelve of the Templars who had been among the besieged, and had
consented to its capitulation. Nothing, in fact, can explain the
continual reverses of the Christians except the fact of their utter
demoralization and cowardice, and the dwindling away of that full
stream of pilgrim soldiers who had formerly flocked yearly to the
East. The Second Crusade, indeed, was productive of the greatest
harm in this respect to the Christian kingdom. It drained the West
of all the men who wished to become pilgrims; and the fact that so
few returned deterred effectually those who would otherwise have
wished to go. Other causes, of course, were at work. Of these, the
chief were the crusades against the Moors in Spain and the Pagans in
Germany, and the development of pilgrimages to local shrines and
saints. It was much easier and a great deal pleasanter, though not
so glorious, to ride across a friendly country to a saint not many
hundreds of miles away, than to journey in peril and privation along
the long and weary road which led to Jerusalem.
But there was a lull in the incursions of Nûr-ed-dín. He and Shírkoh
had other and vaster projects on hand. They sent to the caliph at
Baghdad, and pointed out the manifest advantages which would accrue
from the extinction of the Fatemite power, the union of both
caliphates into one, and the possession of a country so rich and so
fertile as Egypt, the people of which were enervated by pleasure and
luxury, and absolutely unfitted for any kind of resistance. The
caliph listened. Surrounded as he was by every luxury that the heart
of man could desire, it mattered little to him whether another rich
country was added to his nominal rule or not. But it mattered
greatly that the divided allegiance of Islam should be made to run
again in one stream, and he consented to give all his influence
provided the war were made a religious war. To this Nûr-ed-dín and
his general eagerly assented, and the caliph wrote to all the
princes who owned his sway, commanding them to assist Shírkoh in his
intended invasion of Egypt.
Amaury possessed prudence enough to know that if the Syrians
conquered Egypt his own position would be far worse than before; and
he collected his forces and marched southwards, in hopes of
intercepting the Syrian army in the desert. He missed them; but
Shawer, full of admiration for the good faith which seemed to him to
have actuated the Christians, welcomed them with every demonstration
of gratitude when they arrived in Egypt, and placed, to use the
phrase of the historian, all the treasures of the country at their
disposal. Amaury established his camp near Cairo, on the banks of
the Nile, and then held counsel what next to do. He determined to
make another attempt to intercept Shírkoh, and though he again
missed the main army, he came upon a small rear-guard, which he
either killed or made prisoners. From the prisoners he learned that
a great disaster had befallen the Turks on their way across the
desert, South of Moab there had arisen a frightful storm and
whirlwind, in which the sand was driven about like the waves of the
sea. To escape it, the troops dismounted and crouched behind the
beasts, covering their faces; they lost all their camels, most of
their provisions, and a vast number of their men. Amaury came back
again in good spirits at this intelligence, and thinking of
returning home again, the tempest having done the work of his own
sword. But he overrated the power of the Egyptians, and Shawer,
knowing how utterly unable his own forces were to cope with those of
Shírkoh, shattered as these were, implored the king to remain in
Egypt and help him to drive off the invader. He undertook to give
the Christians a sum of four hundred thousand gold pieces, half to
be paid on the spot, half when the work was done, provided that the
king undertook not to leave Egypt till the enemy had been driven
out. The terms were agreed to; the king gave his right hand, in
token of fidelity, and sent Hugh of Cæsarea, accompanied by a
Templar named Foucher, to receive the personal promise of the great
and mysterious caliph himself, whom no one had yet seen.
The two knights, with Shawer, proceeded to the palace. They were
preceded by a number of trumpeters and swordsmen, and led through
dark passages where gates, at each of which were Ethiopian guards,
continually barred the way. Having passed through these, they found
themselves in an open place, surrounded by galleries with marble
columns, with panels of gold, and pavements of curious mosaic.
There, too, were basins of marble filled with pure and sparkling
water; the cries and calls of birds unknown to Europeans, of strange
shape and glorious plumage, saluted their ears; and going farther on
they found themselves in a menagerie of strange beasts, “such as the
painter might imagine, or the poet, with his lying license, might
invent, or the imagination of a sleeper could fancy in dreams of the
night.”
Passing on still through more corridors, and along other passages,
they arrived at last in the palace itself, where were armed men, and
guards whose arms and martial bearing proclaimed the power, even as
the splendour of the place proclaimed the wealth, of the sovereign
who owned it. They were shown into an apartment one end of which was
hidden by curtains, embroidered with gold and precious stones.
Before the curtain Shawer, the sultan, prostrated himself twice, and
then took the sword which hung from his neck and humbly laid it on
the ground. At that moment the curtains drew apart, and disclosed
the caliph himself, seated on a golden throne, in robes more
splendid than those of kings, and surrounded by a small number of
his domestics and favourite eunuchs. Then the sultan advanced and
explained the object of this visit, and the reasons which had led to
the treaty with the Christians. The caliph replied in a few words
that he agreed to the treaty, and promised to interpret all the
conditions in the manner most favourable to the king.
But Hugh demanded that the caliph should ratify the treaty by giving
his hand, after the manner of the Christians, a proposition which
was received with the greatest horror; nor was it till the sultan
had urged the point with vehemence that the caliph consented,
presenting his right hand covered with a handkerchief. Again the
sturdy Hugh expostulated. “Sir,” said he to the caliph, who had
never been addressed in such a manner before; “loyalty knows no
concealments. Let everything between princes be bare and open....
Give me your uncovered hand, or I shall be constrained to think that
you have some secret design, and possess less sincerity than I wish
to experience from you.” The caliph yielded, smiling, and with a
good grace, while his courtiers were dumb with amazement, and
repeated, in the same words as Hugh, the oath to adhere to the
conditions in good faith, without fraud or evil intention.
“The caliph was in the flower of youth, tall, and of handsome
appearance; he had an infinite number of wives, and was named El
‘Άdhid li dín illah. When he sent away the deputies, he gave them
presents whose abundance and value served at the same time to honour
him who gave them, and to rejoice those who received them from so
illustrious a prince.”
The terms of alliance being thus agreed upon, Amaury proceeded with
his campaign. But Shírkoh was too wary to give him an opportunity of
fighting, and after playing with him a little, withdrew into the
desert, and the Christians occupied the city of Cairo, where they
were allowed to go everywhere, even into the palace of the caliph, a
mark of the highest favour. Shírkoh returned, and trusting to his
superiority of numbers, forced on a battle. He had with him—of
course the numbers must be taken with some reserve—twelve thousand
Turks and ten thousand Arabs, the latter armed with nothing but the
lance. The Christians had three hundred and sixty knights, a large
body of Turcopoles, and the Egyptian army, the numbers of which are
not given.
The battle was fought at a place called Babain, “the two gates,”
about two leagues from Cairo, on the borders of the desert, where
sand-hills encroach steadily on the cultivated soil, and form
valleys between themselves, in which the Christians had to manœuvre.
No ground could have been worse for them. The battle went against
them. At the close of the day Hugh of Cæsarea had been taken
prisoner, the Bishop of Bethlehem, Eustace Collet, Jocelyn of
Samosata, and many other knights, were killed, the Christians,
fighting still, were scattered about the field, and the king found
himself on one of the sand-hills, master of the position for which
he had fought, but with a very few of his men round him. He raised
his banner to rally the Christians, and then began to consider how
best to get away from the field, for the only way was through a
narrow pass, threatened on either side by a hill on which the Turks
were crowded in force. They formed in close array, placing on the
outside those who were the best armed. But the Turks made no attack
upon them, probably from ignorance of the result of the day, or from
fatigue, and the Christians marched all through the night. It was
four days before they all came back to the camp, and it was then
found they had lost a hundred knights on the field.
Shírkoh, whose losses had been very much greater, rallying his men,
marched northwards on Alexandria, which surrendered without striking
a blow. By Amaury’s advice, an Egyptian fleet was sent down the
river to intercept all supplies, and as Alexandria was without any
stores of corn and provisions, it was not long before Shírkoh,
starved out, left the city in the charge of his nephew, afterwards
the great and illustrious Saladin, with a thousand horse, while he
himself took up his old position near Cairo. Thereupon Amaury moved
north to invest Alexandria. The Egyptian fleet held the river and
commanded the port; the allied armies blocked up all the avenues of
approach; the orchards and gardens round the walls, which had been
the delight and pride of the Alexandrians, were ruthlessly
destroyed: fresh recruits poured in from all parts of Palestine, and
the besieged began to suffer from all kinds of privation. Saladin
sent messengers to his uncle, urging him to bring assistance.
Shírkoh, too weak to send any, thought it best to make favourable
terms while he could. Sending for his prisoner Hugh of Cæsarea, he
made proposals of peace. “Fortune,” he said, “has not been
favourable to me since I came into this country. Would to God I
could see my way out of it! You are noble, a friend of the king, and
weighty in counsel; be a mediator of peace between us. Say to the
king, ‘We are losing our time here; it passes without bringing any
profit to us, while there is plenty for us to do at home.’ And why
should the king lavish his strength upon these cowardly Egyptians,
to whom he is trying to secure the riches of the country? Let him
have back all the prisoners whom I hold in irons; let him raise the
siege, and give me back my men who are in his hands, and I will go
out of the country.”
Hugh took the message, and gave the advice that the Saracen wished.
A council was held, and the terms were agreed to. The gates were
thrown open, provisions taken in, and besiegers and besieged mingled
on those friendly terms which were now common in the East. Saladin
went to the camp of Amaury, who received him as a friend, and the
Vizier Shawer entered into the city, and began the administration of
justice; that is to say, he hanged all those who were unlucky enough
to be in power when Shírkoh entered the city, and who had
surrendered a place they had no means whatever of holding. Examples
such as these, common enough in the Middle Ages, might have been
expected to bring civic distinctions into disrepute. Ambition,
however, was probably stronger than terror.
All being finished, the king returned to Ascalon, not entirely
covered with glory, but not without credit.
On his arrival he learned that a bride was waiting for him at
Tyre, Maria, niece of the Greek Emperor, who had been wooed and
won for him—the young lady’s wishes were not probably much
consulted in the matter—by the Archbishop of Cæsarea. He hastened
to Tyre, and on the 29th of the month, nine days after his arrival
at Ascalon, he was married in great state and ceremony. And now
there was peace in Palestine for a brief space. The young Count of
Nevers arrived in Jerusalem, with a numerous following, intending
to offer his arms to the king, and dedicate his life to fighting
the Mohammedans. But a sudden illness struck him down, and after
languishing a long time, he died. A secret embassy was also sent
to Amaury from Constantinople. The emperor had learned the feeble
and enervated state of Egypt, and ignorant that Nûr-ed-dín, a
greater than he, had his eyes upon the same country, sent to
expose his own ambition to Amaury, and to propose terms of common
action. The idea was not new to the long-sighted king, the most
clear-headed of all the kings of Jerusalem. He had had plenty of
opportunities, during his Egyptian campaign, of contrasting the
riches of Cairo with the poverty of Jerusalem, the fertility of
Egypt with the sterility of Palestine. Little as he cared about
the Church, of which he was the sworn defender, it could not but
occur to him to contrast Jerusalem with Mecca, and to consider
that while Mecca was the Holy City, Baghdad and Cairo were the
capitals of the sovereign caliphs. Why should not Cairo be to
Jerusalem what Baghdad was to Mecca? Why should not he, the caliph
of Christianity, sit in that gorgeous palace behind the
gold-embroidered curtains, dressed in robes of purple and satin,
with his guards, his life of indolence and ease, and—his seraglio?
For the customs of the East had struck the imaginations of these
descendants of the Crusaders. They, too, longed for the shady
gardens, the fountains, the sweet scent of roses—and the houris of
the world with whom the happy Turks anticipated the joys of
heaven. Many of them, in their castles far away in the country,
imitated, so far as they were able, the customs of their enemies;
notably young Jocelyn of Edessa. Some of them became renegades,
and going over to the Saracens, got riches, and therefore luxury,
at the point of the sword. All of them—except perhaps the Templars
and Hospitallers, who might do so in secret—openly maintained
friendly relations with the Mohammedans, and partook freely of
their hospitality.
And now Amaury was guilty of an act of perfidy which brought about,
or rather accelerated, the final fall of the Christian kingdom.
Tormented by his own ambitious designs, and the thought of that rich
Empire of Egypt, which seemed to wait for the first hand strong
enough to seize it—without waiting for the Greek Emperor, perhaps,
however, acting in secret concert with him—he declared that Shawer
had been sending secret messages to Nûr-ed-dín, and had thereby
infringed the treaty of alliance. For this reason, as he alleged, he
proclaimed war against Egypt, and led his army against Pelusium. One
voice only was raised against the enterprise. Cruel, ambitious,
avaricious, and haughty as the Templars were, they were never
capable of deliberately breaking their word. The Grand Master of the
Order, Bertrand de Blanquefort, spoke loudly against the expedition.
He, for one, would not allow his knights to join an army which set
out to carry war into a kingdom friendly to their own, bound by acts
of solemn treaty, which had committed no offence, which had
continued loyal and true to its engagements. The Templars remained
behind at Jerusalem. The Hospitallers went with Amaury and his host,
one of the finest armies that the kingdom had ever produced. They
began by taking Pelusium, after a ten days’ march through the desert
along a road which they knew well by this time. The resistance made
by Pelusium was very short, lasting only three days, when the
Christians took the place, and slaughtered, at first, every man,
woman, and child who fell into their hands.
The Vizier, Shawer, was thrown, at first, into the wildest terror.
In the disorganised state of his army there was absolutely nothing
to prevent the Christians from marching directly upon Cairo, and
gaining possession by a single assault of the whole realm of Egypt.
All seemed lost, and Shawer was already preparing for flight, when
it occurred to him to tempt the king, whose cupidity was notorious,
by the offer of money.
Nullum numen abest, si sit prudentia.
Everything is preserved, if only forethought remains. Shawer sent
his messengers. Amaury listened to them. At the same time, as a last
resource, Shawer sent couriers in hot haste to Nûr-ed-dín, exposing
the critical state of the kingdom. To keep the Christians from
advancing, he kept his messengers backwards and forwards, offering,
declining, renewing, increasing the advantages of his terms. Amaury
was to have a quarter of a million, half a million, a million, two
million pieces of gold, on condition that he would give him back his
son and nephew, and quit the kingdom. All this time, the
negotiations being entirely secret, the king was pretending to
advance, but very slowly, and the Christians, not knowing the cause
of the delay, were eager to be led. After eight or nine days of
negotiations, which the sultan had occupied in getting into Cairo
every fighting man upon whom he could reckon, the king moved his
forces to a village five or six miles from Cairo, where he pitched
his camp. Here messengers from Shawer met him, imploring him not to
advance nearer the city, as he was engaged in collecting, with all
possible speed and diligence, the sum of money which he had
promised. Shawer had already got back his son and nephew, giving in
return two grandchildren—children of tender age. Amaury was
completely deceived. Lulled by the assurances of Shawer, dazzled by
his own golden dreams, he saw himself, the successful violator of a
solemn treaty, returning laden with a treasure of gold such as no
king of the West could boast; with this he would bring knights from
Europe; with this he would beat off the Saracens, conquer Damascus,
reconquer Edessa and the strong places of the north; and having
successfully used this mighty treasure, he would violate another
solemn treaty, return to Egypt with a larger and more powerful army
and make himself master of Cairo and all its wealth. There was
plenty of time; he was not yet thirty; life was all before him, and
many years of enjoyment.
But there came a rude awakening to the dream. Nûr-ed-dín, hearing of
the expedition of Amaury, and getting the messengers of Shawer, had
for himself two courses open to him. He might take advantage of
Amaury’s absence, and pour all his troops together into Palestine,
so as either to annihilate the kingdom of Jerusalem, or cripple it
beyond power of recovery; or he might send Shírkoh again to Egypt,
this time as the ally of Shawer, and with secret instructions as to
the nature of the alliance. He preferred the latter course. Egypt
was a prey that required courage and promptness; Palestine could
wait; like an over-ripe pear, it was certain, sooner or later, to
drop at his feet. Shírkoh arrived in Egypt. Shawer dropped the veil,
and laughed at Amaury. The king, in an agony of rage and
mortification, hastily broke up his camp and retired to Pelusium.
Thence, seeing that there was nothing more to be done, he returned
in disgrace and confusion to his own kingdom.
As for Shírkoh, he had no intention whatever of going home again
without getting something substantial out of the expedition. He
established his camp before Cairo, and encouraged Shawer to look on
him as one of his best friends, inviting him to enter his camp at
all times, and come without escort. And one day, when Shawer,
relying on the friendliness of his ally, rode in accompanied only by
two or three of his sons and friends, he was seized by the guards of
Shírkoh and beheaded, without any resistance being possible.
Shírkoh, meantime, was taking a walk on the banks of the Nile, so as
to be able to say that he was innocent of the murder. Shawer’s sons
fled to the caliph. But the caliph could do nothing; the house of
Shawer were all cut off, like the house of Saul; and the
representative of the Fatemites was compelled to acknowledge the
servant of his rival as his sultan and vizier, the real master of
Egypt.
“Oh, blind cupidity of men!” cries William of Tyre; “all the
treasures of Egypt were lying at our feet.... There was safety for
those who travelled by sea; there was trade for those who wished to
enrich themselves in Egypt; there was no enemy for us in the south;
the Egyptians brought us their merchandize, and spent their gold in
our country. And now all is changed; sad are the notes of our harps;
the sea refuses us peaceful navigation; all the countries around us
obey our enemies; every kingdom is armed for our ruin. And the
avarice of one man has done this; his cupidity has covered over with
clouds the clear bright sky which the goodness of the Lord had given
us.”
It was some comfort to the Christians to hear that Shírkoh, a year
after his accession to power, was gone out of the world. But a
mightier than Shírkoh came after him, his nephew, Saladin.
And now, indeed, the situation of the Christian kingdom was
precarious. With the exception of Tyre and the towns to the north,
the kingdom consisted of nothing but Palestine between Tiberias on
the north and Ascalon on the south. All the outlying forts, or
nearly all, were already gone. The prestige of Amaury, which had
been raised by his first successful expedition, was entirely gone by
the ill-success of the second. Moreover, Egypt, which had been a
friendly power, was now hostile. By means of a fleet from Egypt the
country might be menaced from the sea as well as from the land;
reinforcements, supplies, might be cut off; pilgrims intercepted.
Under these circumstances, it was resolved to send letters at once
to all the Western kings and princes, calling for assistance. The
patriarch, the Archbishop of Cæsarea, and the Bishop of Acre were
selected to be the bearers of these. The deputies, armed with these
despatches, embarked in a single ship. A frightful storm overtook
them; the oars were broken; the masts all went by the board; and on
the third day, more dead than alive with sickness and fright, the
unlucky ambassadors put back to port, and refused to venture
themselves again upon the sea. The Archbishop of Tyre took their
place, and went away, under better auspices, accompanied by the
Bishop of Banias, who died in France. He was away for two years, but
did not effect anything. Europe, in fact, was growing tired of
pouring assistance into a country, which, like the sea, swallowed
everything, gave nothing back, and still demanded more.
The Emperor of Constantinople, however, who was perfectly aware of
the importance of keeping the Turks employed in fighting against
Palestine, and knew well that, Jerusalem once gone, Asia Minor was
at their mercy, and Constantinople would be the object of their
ambitions, sent a fleet of a hundred and fifty galleys of war, with
sixty large transports, and ten or twelve _dromons_, filled with all
sorts of instruments of war. It would have been better for King
Amaury had this gift, a white elephant, which had to be fed, never
been sent. As it was come, however, he proceeded to make use of it
by invading Egypt a third time. And this time they determined on
besieging Damietta, and Amaury led his army from Ascalon, on the
10th October, 1169, on the most useless expedition that he had yet
undertaken.
A bar, formed by an iron chain, ran across the river, which
prevented the Christian fleet from advancing to the town; they
therefore took up their station outside. The troops on land formed
the siege in regular form, and, if Amaury had given the word, the
town might have been carried by assault; but he let the moment pass,
and reinforcements of Turks poured into the place by thousands.
Towers were constructed and sorties made by the besieged, but no
advantage on either side was gained. But now began the misfortunes
of the Christians. The Greeks had no provisions. They subsisted for
a while by eating that portion of the palm which is cut from the top
of the trunk at the branching out of the leaves, no bad food
provided enough can be obtained, the worst of it being that each
palm contains no more than enough for a single salad (as the
palmiste is now used), and costs the life of a tree. And when the
forest of palms was cut down round Damietta there was no more food
of any kind to be had, while the soldiers of Amaury were unable to
help their allies, having to consider the probability of being in a
few days without food themselves. Then heavy rains fell and swamped
the tents, and even a broad ditch round each one did not wholly keep
out the water. The Greek fleet, too, was nearly destroyed by a fire
boat, which was sent down the river. It set fire to six of the
galleys, and would have destroyed all the rest but for the king
himself, who mounted his horse, half dressed, and rode down to the
bank shouting to the sailors. The assaults were continued, but there
was no longer any heart in the Christian camp, and Amaury signed a
treaty of peace and withdrew his troops to Ascalon, which he reached
on the 21st of December, having been engaged for two months in
convincing the Saracens of his feebleness even when backed by the
Greeks. The fleet was overtaken by a storm, most of the ships were
lost, and of all the magnificent array of galleys that sailed from
Constantinople in the spring, but very few remained after the
campaign of Damietta. The failure of the expedition was probably due
to the fact that the Greek Emperor, who had promised a large sum of
money sufficient for the maintenance of the army, allowed it to go
without any. And the Greek generals, the first to find themselves in
want of provisions, not only had no money to buy them, but could
find no one to lend them money.
The following year was marked by disasters of quite another kind. A
great earthquake, or rather a succession of earthquakes, passed
through Palestine, and by its violence and the frequency of its
attacks, for it returned again and again during a space of three or
four months, filled all men’s hearts with fear; hundreds perished in
the ruin of their houses; grief and consternation spread everywhere.
Antioch, with nearly its whole population, was entirely destroyed,
even its strong walls and towers being all thrown down; Laodicea,
Emesa, Aleppo, and Hamath shared the fate of Antioch. Tripoli
presented the appearance of a heap of stones, and Tyre, more
fortunate than the rest, had yet some of its towers overthrown. Amid
these disasters there was no thought of war, and for some months, at
least, there was peace. But in December, news came that Saladin was
invading Christian territory in the south. Amaury hastened to
Ascalon, and called all his chivalry together. They assembled at
Gaza, and he found that he could muster two hundred and fifty
knights and two thousand foot. Saladin was besieging the fort of
Daroum, which the king had himself built. But leaving Daroum,
Saladin advanced to Gaza. The Christian army fought their way
through to the citadel, and Saladin, after pillaging the city,
retired with his forces. Probably his object was to accustom his men
by small successes with overwhelming forces for the greater efforts
he intended to make when the prestige of the Christians should have
sunk lower, and the dread which the Saracens still felt for the
strong-armed knights in steel should have wholly, or in great
measure, passed away.
Early in the following year Amaury called a council of his
barons to deliberate on the precarious state of the kingdom.
Every day the number of the enemy increased, every day their
own resources diminished. There was, of course, but one way to
meet the dangers which menaced them, the only way which the
kingdom had ever known, the arrival of aid from Europe. It was
resolved to send ambassadors with the most urgent letters to
all the powers, and to Constantinople a special ambassador
begging for instant aid. Who was to go? The king, after a
short parley with his advisers, declared that he would go
himself. The barons cried out, on hearing this announcement,
that they could not be deprived of their king, that the realm
would fall to pieces without him—to all appearance seriously
alarmed at the prospect of being left alone, or else every man
hoping himself to be appointed as ambassador. But Amaury
terminated the discussion in a manner characteristic of
himself. “Let the Lord,” he said, “defend His own kingdom. As
for me, I am going.” It is tolerably clear that the sovereign
who could permit himself to have doubts on the subject of a
future world, might well have doubts as to whether a kingdom,
so harassed as his own, so devoured by greed, selfishness, and
ambition, so corrupted by lust and licence, was really the
kingdom of the Lord. If it was, of course the Lord would look
after His own; if not, why then Amaury’s hands were well
washed of the responsibility. He went to Constantinople, where
he was received with every demonstration of friendship, and
William of Tyre exhausts himself in describing the favour
shown to him. One thing is noticeable, that the splendour of
the Greek emperor rivalled that of the caliph. On the occasion
of the first interview of Amaury with the emperor, there were
suspended before the hall of audience curtains of precious
stuff and rich embroidery, exactly like what we are told of
the Caliph of Cairo, and as soon as the king arrived the
curtains were withdrawn and the emperor disclosed sitting on a
throne of gold, and dressed in the Imperial robes. Great fêtes
were given to celebrate the arrival of Amaury and his train;
all the sacred relics, including the wood of the Cross, the
nails, the lance—was this the lance found by Peter at Antioch,
or another?—the sponge, the reed, the crown of thorns, the
sacred shroud and the sandals, were shown to the Latins; games
and spectacles were invented for their amusement, including
choruses of young girls and theatrical displays, in which,
says the Archbishop of Tyre, careful lest the king’s example
should be taken as a precedent among his own flock, the
greatest propriety was observed; and at last, treaties having
been signed and promises made, Amaury departed, laden with
valuable presents of gold and other valuables. Alas! it was
not gold that he wanted, but stout hearts and strong hands,
and of these he brought back none but his own.
He returned for more fighting and more disappointment. Nûr-ed-dín
was reported near Banias with an army, and Amaury had to fix his
camp in Galilee to watch his movements. The object of the sultan,
however, seems to have been, like that of Saladin, to accustom his
men to face the Christians, and not yet to force on a decided
engagement.
The Archbishop of Tyre at this time returned from his embassy.
Nothing had been effected. The princes of the West would promise no
help, would give no help. He brought with him Stephen, son of Count
Thibaut of Blois, whom the king intended to make his son-in-law. But
Stephen, after coming to Jerusalem, declined the king’s offer, led a
wild and licentious life for a few months, to the general scandal,
and then returned to Europe.
Then followed three years of war. Toros, the Armenian prince, and
the firm ally of the Christians, died, and was succeeded by his
nephew, Thomas. His brother, Melier, wishing to obtain the dominion
for himself, repaired to Nûr-ed-dín, obtained his help on certain
conditions, and expelled his nephew, with all the Latin Christians
who were in Armenia and Cilicia. The prince of Antioch declared war
against him, and the king marched his army north. But while he was
on the road, news came that Nûr-ed-dín was attacking Kerak in Moab.
Before Amaury could get to Jerusalem, whither he hastened on receipt
of this news, the Saracens were defeated, and the siege raised by
Humphrey the Constable.
Then came Saladin with a large force. It was decided that the
Christian army was not strong enough to meet him, and the troops
were marched, on pretence of seeking the Saracens, to Ascalon, where
they remained, while Saladin went round the south of the Dead Sea
and laid siege to the fortress of Montreal. This proved too strong
for him, and he returned to Egypt. The year after he made another
unsuccessful attempt in Moab, in which, however, he burned the
vineyards and ravaged the country, the king not being strong enough
to follow him. And now follows the most extraordinary and
inexplicable story in the whole history of Jerusalem. We give it in
the words of the historian himself (an account of the sect of
Assassins will be found p. 322).
“During forty years the Assassins followed the faith of the
Saracens, conforming to their traditions with a zeal so great
that, compared with them, all other people would be esteemed
prevaricators, they alone exactly fulfilling the law. At this time
they had for chief a man endowed with eloquence, ability, and
enthusiasm. Forgetting all the customs of his predecessors, he was
the first who had in his possession the books of the Gospels and
the Apostolic code: he studied them incessantly and with much
zeal, and succeeded at length, by dint of labour, in learning the
history of the miracles and precepts of Christ, as well as the
doctrine of the Apostles.
“Comparing this sweet and fair teaching of Christ with that of the
miserable seducer, Mohammed, he came in time to reject with scorn
all that he had been taught from the cradle, and to hold in
abomination the doctrines of him who had led the Arabs astray. He
instructed his people in the same manner, ceased the practices of a
superstitious worship, removed the interdiction from wine and pork,
abolished the Mohammedan fasts, and overthrew the oratories. He then
sent a messenger, one Boaldel, to King Amaury with the following
offer. If the Templars, who possessed strong places in his
neighbourhood, would remit an annual tribute of two thousand pieces
of gold which they exacted from the people round their castles, he
and his would be converted to the faith of Christ, and would all
receive baptism.
“The king received the ambassador with a lively joy. He went so far,
in his readiness to close with the offer, as to hold himself
prepared to indemnify the Templars for the sum which they would
lose. And after keeping the messenger a long time in order to
conclude an arrangement with him, he sent him back to his master,
with a guide to watch over the security of his person. They had
already passed the city of Tripoli, and were on the point of
entering into the country of the Assassins, when suddenly certain
men, brethren of the Temple, drawing their swords and rushing upon
the traveller, who advanced without fear and under the protection of
the king, massacred the messenger of the sheikh.”
Thus was lost the most splendid opportunity that ever Christian king
of Jerusalem had. There cannot be the least doubt that, had the
messenger arrived home in safety, a large army of men devoted to any
cause which their chief embraced, sworn to obey or to die, trained
in close discipline, fanatic to the last degree, would have been
transferred to the Christian camp. Moreover, there would have been a
precedent which history lacks of the conversion of a whole tribe or
nation from Islamism to Christianity. What sort of religion the
sheikh of the Assassins contemplated is difficult to tell. But he
could not have been a worse Christian than the defenders of
Palestine. And then comes the question, why did the Templars kill
the messenger? what reason had they for thwarting the sheikh and the
king? why, considering the indemnity they were to receive, should
they wish to prevent the arrangement? And what could have been their
motive for preventing the conversion of the Assassins to their own
religion? One answer only occurs to us. It has always seemed to us
that the Templars, towards the close of the Christian rule in
Palestine, were actuated by a deep and firmly rooted ambition. They
proposed, seeing the weakness of the kingdom, and the worthlessness
of its barons, to acquire for themselves castle after castle, strong
place after strong place, till, when King Amaury was dead, and his
son, already known to be tainted with leprosy, was on the throne,
the kingdom would drop quietly into their own hands, the only strong
hands left in the country. With this end in view they were acquiring
forts in Cilicia and Armenia, all over Phœnicia, and across the
Jordan. Palestine proper was dotted with their manors and fiefs. Nor
was this all. In Europe their broad lands increased every day, and
their income, even now, one hundred and fifty years before their
dissolution, was enormous. There can be no doubt that the Templars,
had they chosen to concentrate their forces, and to get together all
the knights they could muster, might have deferred for long, and
perhaps altogether, the final fall of the kingdom. But they did not
perceive the immediate danger, and while the Mohammedan forces were
uniting and concentrating, they probably still believed them to be
divided and dissentient.
On no other ground than the hypothesis of this ambition can we
explain the singular murder of this ambassador. _The Templars did
not wish to see the king’s hands strengthened._
As this strange association, the Order of Assassins, played a most
important part in the political events of the period of which we are
speaking, a more detailed account of their origin and tenets may not
be out of place here.
The national aversion of the Persians from the religion of their
Mohammedan conquerors gave rise to a number of secret sects and
societies having for their object the subversion of Islam, and in
the hatred which already existed between the two great divisions of
that creed, the Sunnís and Shiahs, the leaders and originators of
these sects found a ready means of securing proselytes and
adherents. In the year 815, a chief named Babek founded a new
religious order and waged an open war against the Caliphs, by whom
he was, however, defeated and exterminated. But while his partisans
fell beneath the sword of the executioner there was living at Ahwas,
in the south of Persia, a certain ‘Abdallah, grandson of Daisán the
dualist, who had inherited the hatred which his grandfather had
sworn against the faith and power of the Arabs. Warned by the fate
of Babek’s followers, he determined to undermine insidiously what he
could not with safety openly attack. He accordingly formed a society
into which proselytes were only admitted upon proof, and after being
sworn to the profoundest secrecy. The initiation consisted of seven
degrees, in the last of which he taught—that all religions were mere
chimeras and human actions indifferent. His missionaries spread over
the whole of the East, and carried their peculiar doctrines into
Syria, where one of them, named Ahmed ibn Eshk‘as el Carmatí,
founded the sect of Carmathians, whose history has been already
traced. ‘Obeid allah el Mehdí, the founder of the Fatemite dynasty,
was a followeŕ of El Carmatí, and from the moment when El Mehdí
made himself master of Egypt the Carmathian tenets prevailed in that
country, under the name of the Ismá̔ilíyeh. They were propagated by
official agents, of whom the chief was named _dái̒ ed do‘át_,
“missionary of missionaries,” and _cádhí el codhát_, “judge of
judges.” In the year 1004, they held public assemblies in Cairo
under the presidency of the last-mentioned officer. These meetings
were called _mejális el hikmeh_, or “scientific meetings,” and were
devoted to instructing those present in the mathematical and other
sciences; but such as were considered worthy, were admitted to a
more intimate participation in their mysteries, and were taught the
secret doctrines of the sect, consisting of a strange _mélange_ of
Persian and Gnostic ideas.
We have already seen how this institution was made to subserve the
interests and pander to the mad fanaticism of El Hákem bi amri
’llah, and indirectly gave birth to the powerful sect of the Druzes.
During the last half of the eleventh century one of the Ismaelite
missionaries, Hassan ibn Subáh el Homáirí, became the founder of the
new sect of the Ismaelites of the East, or Assassins. Hassan was
born in Khorassan; in his youth he contracted an intimate friendship
with Nizám el Mulk and ‘Omar el Kheiyám, and the three associates
took a solemn oath mutually to advance each other’s prospects in
after life. ‘Omar el Kheiyám became celebrated as an astronomer and
poet;[65] and Nizám el Mulk attained to the office of grand vizier,
under the Seljukian Sultán Melik sháh. Hassán es Subah sought and
obtained the assistance of his former companion, and was promoted to
high office in the court. Prompted, however, by ambition, he
endeavoured to supplant his benefactor, but Nizám el Mulk discovered
and counteracted his designs, and Hassan was driven in disgrace from
the kings presence. Not long afterwards he founded the order of
Assassins, and Melik Sháh and his vizier were among the first of his
victims. In 1090, he made himself master of the fortress of Alamút,
built on the summit of a lofty mountain, with steep escarpments, a
little distance from Casbín in the Persian province of ‘Irák. This
castle he fortified and supplied with water, partly from artificial
and partly from natural springs, and, by compelling the inhabitants
to cultivate the surrounding land and store the produce in the
subterranean granaries of the castle, he rendered it capable of
sustaining a protracted siege.
Footnote 65:
His ‘Quatrains,’ stanzas of exquisite polish, but breathing the
most sensual and atheistic philosophy, have been recently
published by M. Nicholas, Paris, 1867.
Although the secret doctrines of the Ismaelites were taught in nine
degrees, there were but two ranks in the order, namely the _refik_,
or “companion,” and _dá‘í_, or “missionary.” Hassan instituted a
third class, that of the _fedawí_, or “devoted one.” For them the
secrets of the order were always covered with an impenetrable veil,
and they were but the blind instruments of vengeance or aggression
in the hands of their superior. They composed the body-guard of the
grand master, and were never for a single moment without their
daggers, so as to be ever ready to perpetrate murders at his
command.
Marco Polo gives us a substantial, and doubtless exact, account of
the ceremonies which took place upon the initiation of a _fedawí_
into the order. Within the precincts of their impregnable fortresses
were gardens furnished with all that could delight the eye or appeal
to the sensual taste of the voluptuary. Here the neophyte was led,
delicious meats and wine of exquisite flavour were set before him,
girls as beautiful as the houris of the prophet’s paradise
ministered to his pleasures, enchanting music ravished his ears, his
every wish was gratified almost before it was uttered, and,
intoxicated with delight, he fancied that he had really entered upon
the joys of the blessed. An intoxicating drug had in the meanwhile
been mixed with the wine, and, by producing a sort of delirium, for
a time enhanced his enjoyment, but as the satiety and languor
consequent upon excess crept over him he fell back stupefied and
insensible, in which state he was carried out of the place. On
awaking he found himself beside the grand master, who told him that
all the joys he had experienced were but a foretaste of what was
destined for those who yielded implicit obedience to his commands.
The alternative for those who doubted or hesitated was instant
death.
The youth thus “devoted” to the service of the order was carefully
trained in all the arts of deception and disguise; he was taught to
speak various languages, and to assume a variety of dresses and
characters; and, loosed from all trammels of conscience or of creed,
he went forth, prepared to plunge his dagger into the breast of his
dearest friend, and even into his own, at his superior’s command.
Such an association could not but prove a formidable political agent
in those troublous times, and the sovereigns of the East feared the
secret dagger of the order more than the armies of their foes, and
rendered to the grand master whatever tribute and homage he chose to
demand. Towards the middle of the twelfth century the power of the
Assassins had extended itself from Khorassan to the mountains of
Syria, from the Mediterranean to the Caspian. All trembled before
it, and submitted more or less to its will. Hassan died in 1124,
after having chosen for his successor Kia Buzurgumíd, one of the
most strenuous of his _dá‘ís_; and the dignity of grand master
became ultimately hereditary in his family. The order of Assassins
continued in its integrity until 1254, when Manjou Khan, grandson of
the celebrated Jenghíz Khan, put an end to its existence. As for the
association of the Ismaelites in Cairo, the _Mejális el Hikmeh_, or
scientific lodges, they were finally suppressed by Saladin in the
year 1171 A.D.
The Grand Master of the Assassins was called simply _sheikh_,
“elder,” or “chief;” and from his rocky fortresses of Alamút and
Maziatt he was known as Sheikh el Jebel, “Sheikh of the Mountain.”
The Crusaders, misinterpreting the title, always spoke of him as the
“Old Man of the Mountain.”
There is little doubt but that the order of Knights Templars, who
figure so largely in the history of the Crusades, were a society
closely akin to the Assassins. The different grades of rank amongst
them correspond exactly with the several degrees of the Ismaelite
fraternity. Their dress, white with a red cross, symbolizing
innocence and blood, is almost identical with the garb of the
Fedawís, while the irreligious practices and secret murders, which
are clearly proved against them, all tend to establish the
conviction that they were rather Knights of the Dagger than of the
Cross.
But to return to our history.
Amaury, the poor harassed king, all whose projects failed, and none
of them through his own fault, fell into a fit of rage which nearly
killed him, when he heard the news of the murder of the ambassadors
of the “Old Man of the Mountain.” What was to be done? what revenge
could be taken for a mischief which was irremediable? He called his
barons, and poured the whole story into their indignant ears. They
chose two of their own body, and sent them to Odo de St. Amand,
Grand Master of the Templars, to demand satisfaction in the name of
the king and the realm for a crime so extravagant. One Walter du
Mesnil was suspected, a stupid man, likely to do whatever others
told him without inquiry or doubt. And here appears the pride of the
Templars. Odo coldly sent back word that he had “imposed a penance”
on the criminal, and that he should send him to the pope. The king
went to Sidon himself, seized the suspected man by force, and threw
him into prison, in spite of the protestations and fury of Odo. Then
followed protest, appeal, and protest again. Amaury succeeded in
making the sheikh himself believe in his own innocence, but the
sheikh’s enthusiasm for the religion of Christ was quenched, and the
opportunity gone by.
The significance of Odo’s reply to Amaury lies in his promise to
send the criminal to the pope. Just as the Templars, from the very
beginning, were free from any episcopal jurisdiction, and owned no
authority in ecclesiastical matters in other than the pope himself,
so they now arrogated to themselves freedom in things temporal. They
would have no king but their grand master, no bishop but the pope;
they would have no interference in the government of their own
castles and places from any sovereign at all. And this seems the
main reason—their assumption of independence—why their destruction
was determined on by King Philip of France.
In the year 1173[66] died Nûr-ed-dín, the greatest man of Saracen
story, next to Saladin.
Footnote 66:
According to William of Tyre. Others place his death a year later.
Directly Amaury heard of his death, he laid siege to Banias—it will
be remembered how Nûr-ed-dín refused to take advantage of Baldwin’s
death—but raised the siege after a fortnight in consequence of
entreaties and the offer of large sums of money from Nûr-ed-dín’s
widow. On his return he complained of indisposition. This became
worse, and a violent dysentery set in. They carried him to
Jerusalem, where he died, after all the doctors, Greek, Syrian, and
Latin, had been called in successively. He was then in his
thirty-eighth year. One feels pity for Amaury, more than for any
other of the Kings of Jerusalem. He was, at the same time, so
long-headed and so unlucky; so capable, yet so unsuccessful; so
patient under all his disasters; so active in spite of his
corpulence; so careful of the kingdom, yet so unpopular; so harassed
with doubts, yet so loyal to his oaths; and so hopeful in spite of
all his disappointments, that one cannot help admiring and
sympathising with him. He committed the most gross act of perjury in
invading Egypt on pretence of Shawer’s disloyalty. But he was
punished for it by the destruction of the fairest dream of conquest
that ever man had.
For one thing the present writers must, at least, be thankful to
him. He it was who instigated William of Tyre to write that
admirable history from which a large part of these pages are taken.
In 1163 the city of Jerusalem was visited by the Jewish traveller
Benjamin of Tudela. He tells the following curious story concerning
the tombs of the kings. “On Mount Sion are the sepulchres of the
house of David, and those of the kings who reigned after him. In
consequence of the following circumstance, however, this place is at
present hardly to be recognised. Fifteen years ago, one of the walls
of the place of worship on Mount Sion fell down, and the patriarch
commanded the priest to repair it. He ordered stones to be taken
from the original wall of Sion for that purpose, and twenty workmen
were hired at stated wages, who broke stones from the very
foundation of the walls of Sion. Two of these labourers, who were
intimate friends, upon a certain day treated one another, and
repaired to their work after their friendly meal. The overseer
accused them of dilatoriness, but they answered that they would
still perform their day’s work, and would employ thereupon the time
while their fellow-labourers were at meals. They then continued to
break out stones, until, happening to meet with one which formed the
mouth of a cavern, they agreed to enter it in search of treasure,
and they proceeded until they reached a large hall, supported by
pillars of marble, encrusted with gold and silver, and before which
stood a table, with a golden sceptre and crown. This was the
sepulchre of David, king of Israel, to the left of which they saw
that of Solomon in a similar state, and so on the sepulchres of all
the kings of Juda, who were buried there. They further saw chests
locked up, the contents of which nobody knew, and were on the point
of entering the hall, when a blast of wind like a storm issued forth
from the mouth of the cavern so strong that it threw them down
almost lifeless on the ground. There they lay until evening, when
another wind rushed forth, from which they heard a voice like that
of a man calling aloud, ‘Get up, and go forth from this place.’ The
men rushed out full of fear, and proceeded to the patriarch to
report what had happened to them. This ecclesiastic summoned into
his presence R. Abraham el Constantini, a pious ascetic, one of the
mourners of the downfall of Jerusalem, and caused the two labourers
to repeat what they had previously reported. R. Abraham thereupon
informed the patriarch that they had discovered the sepulchres of
the house of David and of the kings of Juda. The following morning
the labourers were sent for again, but they were found stretched on
their beds and still full of fear; they declared that they would not
attempt to go again to the cave, as it was not God’s will to
discover it to any one. The patriarch ordered the place to be walled
up, so as to hide it effectually from every one unto the present
day. The above-mentioned R. Abraham told me all this.”
To enable the reader better to understand what has gone before, it
will be as well to review the position of the Turks in Syria during
this and the immediately preceding reigns.
By the taking of Jerusalem, and the flight of its Egyptian governor,
El Afdhal, the kingdom of Syria was lost for ever to the Fatemite
Caliphs. They yet retained possession of Egypt, but the remaining
princes of the house were mere tools in the hands of designing
ministers, and gave themselves up to luxurious ease in their palaces
at Cairo. Nor were their opponents, the ‘Abbassides, in much better
case, but lingered idly on in Baghdad, wielding the shadow of their
former power, while rival vassals fought and struggled for the
substance.
The Seljukian sultans, after lording it over their imperial masters,
had shared the same fate; and, having yielded themselves up to the
enticements of luxury and wealth, were in turn tyrannized over by
their more vigorous Turkish slaves the Atabeks. The founder of this
family, a favourite slave of Melik Sháh, had been promoted to the
governorship of Aleppo, but perished in the civil disorders
consequent on the death of the sultan and the final division of the
Seljukian kingdom. His son Zanghí did good service against the
Franks at Antioch, and was rewarded by the caliph with the
sovereignty of Aleppo and Mosul. His career was one of uninterrupted
success, and, in a comparatively short space of time, he had taken
Edessa, and wrested from the Franks their possessions beyond the
Euphrates. His son Nûr-ed-dín completed the work which his father
had begun; he once more raised the prestige of the Mohammedan name,
and added the kingdom of Damascus to that of Aleppo and Edessa,
which he had inherited. Christian and Mohammedan authors alike
testify to the uprightness and integrity of his character, to his
impartial justice, and to the austere simplicity of his manners. He
rigorously proscribed the use of wine, he wore neither gold nor
silk, and on one occasion when his favourite wife requested the
indulgence of some feminine fancy, he bestowed upon her “three shops
in the city of Hums,” alleging that he had no other private
property, and that he dared not alienate the public funds, which he
considered as a sacred trust. He is usually designated by Moslem
writers by the title of Shehíd the Martyr, not because he fell
fighting for the faith, but because his life was spent in one
continuous series of holy works.
The Frank occupation of Syria and the Holy Land had spread dismay
throughout the whole of Islam; in their distress the followers of
the prophet turned to Damascus, and saw in the rising greatness of
its sovereign a fresh hope of retrieving their fortunes. Nûr-ed-dín
did indeed become the instrument of the final overthrow and
expulsion of the Christians; but a slight digression is necessary to
explain the circumstances which led to his introduction upon the
scene.
Dargham and Shawer, rival aspirants to the dignity of prime
minister to El ‘Άdhid le dín Allah, last of the Fatemite caliphs
of Egypt, had, by their struggles for power, involved that country
in civil war. Shawer, finding himself unable to cope with his more
powerful foe, applied for assistance to Nûr-ed-dín, who sent
Esed-ed-dín Shírkóh, governor of Edessa, with a large army into
Egypt. Dargham was defeated and slain, and the victorious Shírkóh
claimed for his master Nûr-ed-dín the reward which Shawer himself
had proposed, namely, a third of the revenues of the country; and,
on payment being delayed, proceeded to occupy Bilbeis, the capital
of the eastern province, as security. Shawer, as perfidious as he
was ambitious, invited Amaury, King of Jerusalem, to aid him in
ejecting his creditor. Shírkóh was obliged to relinquish Bilbeis;
but, having received reinforcements from Damascus, he speedily
returned, marched upon Cairo, and defeated the troops of the
Fatemite caliph, and made himself master of Upper Egypt. His
nephew Yusuf had been, in the meanwhile, sent against Alexandria,
which place he captured, and gallantly defended for more than
three months, against the combined forces of the Egyptians and
Crusaders. At last, both the Christian and Damascene troops
consented to evacuate Egypt, on consideration of receiving each a
large sum annually out of the revenues; and articles of peace were
solemnly drawn up, and ratified by all the contending parties; the
Crusaders were, moreover, allowed to maintain a garrison at Cairo,
ostensibly for the purpose of protecting the Egyptian government
from aggression on the part of Nûr-ed-dín. Fortunate would it have
been for the Christian kingdom of Jerusalem had Amaury held to his
agreement; but the favourable terms which had been accorded him
inspired him with an undue confidence in his own strength, and,
blind alike to his interests and his honour, he determined upon a
fresh invasion. Accordingly, in the latter end of the year 1168,
he led an army into Egypt, took possession of Bilbeis, and marched
upon Cairo. The greatest consternation prevailed in the capital at
the treacherous conduct of the Christian monarch, and the savage
cruelty of his troops. Cairo was hastily surrounded with a wall
and fortifications, and the old city was set on fire at the
approach of the invaders, the conflagration raging for fifty-four
days. In this extremity the Egyptian caliph piteously besought
Nûr-ed-dín to lend him his aid; and, in order still further to
excite his compassion, and depict the miserable plight to which
they were reduced, and the danger to which they were exposed from
the unbridled licentiousness of the invaders, El‘Άdhid enclosed
locks of his women’s hair in the letter which contained his
appeal. Shawer, in the meantime, endeavoured to avert the
immediate calamity by making terms with Amaury, and the latter,
dreading the arrival of the Damascene reinforcements, consented to
raise the siege on receiving an indemnity of a million _dínárs_; a
hundred thousand were paid down in ready money, and the Crusaders
retired, in order to give the vizier time to collect the
remainder. Nûr-ed-dín, on receipt of El ‘Άdhid’s letter, at once
despatched Shírkóh to the relief of Cairo, with an army of eight
thousand men, six thousand of whom were Syrians, and the remainder
Turks, and a sum of two hundred thousand _dínárs_, as well as a
large supply of clothes, arms, horses, and provisions. Shírkóh
requested his nephew Yusuf Saláh-ed-dín (Saladin) to accompany him
upon this expedition; but the latter, remembering the difficulties
and dangers he had experienced at Alexandria, begged to be
excused, and was only induced to accept a commission by an
exercise of authority on the part of the sultan Nûr-ed-dín. El
‘Άdhid met Shírkóh on his arrival with every mark of respect and
gratitude, and conferred upon him a magnificent robe of honour.
The vizier Shawer was also a frequent visitor to the Damascene
general’s tent; and assured the latter that although appearances
had been against him, he had not willingly broken faith with him,
and promised that the former agreement to pay Nûr-ed-dín a third
of the revenue should now be complied with. At the same time he
was plotting how he might best dispose of so troublesome a
visitor; and, having determined upon his assassination, invited
Shírkóh, his nephew, and the rest of his staff, to a banquet, at
which he hoped to execute his treacherous project. Saladin,
however, received intelligence of the conspiracy, and prevented
his uncle from accepting the fatal invitation. Shawer, furious at
being thus foiled sought the tent of Shírkóh, under pretence of a
friendly visit, and would doubtless have murdered him had he not
fortunately been at that moment on a visit to the tomb of the
celebrated Mohammedan saint Es Shafi‘í.[67] Returning from his
fruitless visit, Shawer was met by Saladin and his party, who
threw him from his horse, and carried him to Shírkóh’s camp.
El‘Άdhid, on hearing the news, sent to demand the head of his
treacherous vizier, whom he justly regarded as the cause of all
the troubles that had recently fallen upon Egypt. Shírkóh gladly
acceded to the request, and was installed by the Fatimite caliph
into the vacant post of prime minister, and received the honorary
title of El Melik el Mansúr, “the Victorious King.” and Emír el
Jayúsh, “Commander-in-chief of the Forces.” He did not, however,
live long to enjoy his newly-acquired dignity, but died within two
months and four days after his appointment. He was succeeded by
his nephew Saláh-ed-dín Yúsuf ibn Aiyúb (the Saladin of European
historians), whose life and exploits we shall relate in a future
chapter.
Footnote 67:
On page 204 we gave William of Tyre’s version of this event; the
Mohammedan authors from which the foregoing account is taken
regard it in a somewhat different light.