Prince of Legend (27 page)

Regardless of what carpentry skills were employed, such a construct, built in such a place, had to be flawed. No amount of effort could take all the potential hazards out of the ground over which it must travel, and to the men at the top, not only in the most danger, it seemed to sway alarmingly and that put a heavy strain on joints that were secured by no more than glued and hammered-in wooden dowels. Fire also led to structural weakness and the tower before the Zion Gate had been set ablaze several times.

In the end it was the combination that caused the tower to partially collapse, leading to a hurried exodus by those manning the top levels, few because the greater the number the higher the weight that had
to be moved. Slowly, with much creaking, Raymond’s tower began to sag and if it was still capable of being employed, no exhortations of his or even offers of gold could get his men to trust to it, for the very simple reason that if it fell apart completely, and it looked as if it might, then those fighters manning it would be doomed to die in the wreckage.

In the fog of war the failure of Raymond’s attack looked like a setback too far; there was no point in the construction of a replacement tower, never mind the time it would take to build, given the way the first one had so spectacularly failed. Added to that, such a fiasco could only embolden the defenders, given the part morale played in battle.

Yet through that thick mist, if only the Count of Toulouse could have gazed, he would have seen that the two-pronged attack, albeit brought about by discord rather than strategy, had achieved more than was obviously visible.

Godfrey de Bouillon nearly died well before his tower got anywhere near the northern wall, where it adjoined the gate tower, the top of that set at a slightly higher elevation than the ramparts. The man standing beside him on the top platform, employed by archers to suppress the defence, was killed instantly by a huge rock that crushed his head and cracked his neck like an eggshell.

The Duke was holding a crossbow and was quick to retaliate and kill one of his opponents, but even he could see the sense that for him to be in such an exposed position, loading a weapon that took time, was folly: if he fell, such was the regard in which he was held, the whole endeavour might do so as well.

For all that he had to be dragged to the steps that went down to the next level, where he joined Tancred and Robert of Flanders, as
well as the party of the twenty knights who would commence the initial assault if the tower could get into the right position. On this platform he was blind, before him a stout wooden screen, riddled with metal spikes on the face that would drop onto the ramparts at the right moment and hopefully pinion some of the defenders. From there he was unable to see if Gaston of Béarn’s other innovations were aiding the assault.

The usual practice was to line the exterior of the tower with wattle screens and animal skins, which Gaston had done, but, and this was different, he had made them with stout frames and created angles so that they protruded out from the siege engine on all sides. This rendered useless most of the inflammables hurled at his construct for they glanced off instead of sticking and fell to the ground.

Yet it was nip and tuck as the rocks rained down, for they were harder by far to deflect and some crashed through his defences. Added to that, however well built was Gaston’s tower it still had the inherent defects of all such weapons of war. Heavy stones and the movement over uneven ground were likely to put excessive pressure on the joints and cause them to fail.

The fighting men knew when they had reached an arc of relative safety, merely by the diminution of the noise, the lack of thundering cracks as the mangonel rocks fired by the Fatimids battered their crawling conveyance. Yet that also told them they were close, which had knights tensing muscles and taking practice sweeps with their swords, thudding them on the screen before their faces. Tancred, holding his axe in one hand, a lance in the other, remained stationary and in prayer.

‘Greek fire!’

That shout had him open his eyes, for there was good reason to
be fearful of such a weapon, a fluid that once ignited could not be doused by water. It was a piece of good fortune that had given them information that it might be employed as a last line of defence, this from the Christians Iftikhar had expelled from the city. That made possible for them to have ready the one substance that could counter it: impervious to water it might be but vinegar, which they had in tubs on each floor, was able to quench Greek fire.

An increase in the swaying motion, though it had never been still and was exaggerated by the height at which they stood, told Godfrey and Tancred that they were passing through the gap cleared of rubble where had once stood the curtain wall and the charred remains of their battering ram. Soon it would be time to let go their screen and begin to fight against massively unfavourable odds until behind them more knights would rush up the internal ladders to their aid.

The cry came from those who could see and the men tasked to drop the screen released the ropes that held it in place. Down it crashed onto heads and bodies that could not get clear of its spikes for the numbers crowding onto the parapet eager to engage, their screams of pain the first thing to register. The second thing to register was more sobering, for to their front as they advanced onto that platform stood a mass of screaming Fatimids, who had only one aim: to kill as many of these Latins as they could.

T
he first task was to advance to near the leading edge then to hold the platform, which was resting on the very top of the crenellated battlements, not easy as the defenders quickly employed long pikes kept on the parapet to prevent that very manoeuvre, the points of these countered by both broadswords and swinging axes lopping off spikes aimed at taking away their legs. At the same time shields had to be held high to protect against arrows, loosed over Fatimid heads, potentially dangerous given they were being fired at short range.

That meant a tight line in which advance, once the primary moves had been completed, was secondary; let the enemy die as they sought to clamber up to make contact at a level much higher than their fighting parapet, leaving them vulnerable at a time when their weapons could not be properly employed. That they did so, despite the risks, was either testimony to their zeal or the same quality of
those to their rear, so eager to get into battle that they pushed their own men onto the Crusader weapons.

Those initially pierced by a lance, or in a second wave taken by sword and axe, presented a barrier to the mass of their fellows, who solved this problem by seeking to shift them out of their path, regardless of the fact that to do so was to heave them off the platform edge into thin air, the screams of those still living adding to the cacophony of noise, that silenced as they hit the pile of rubble below.

Once fully supported from below, Godfrey, Robert, Tancred and their confrères, the most puissant knights from each of their contingents, could seek to advance, which was carried out in the standard tactic of one pace at a time and that only possible when the whole line could move as one; a dog-leg here was more dangerous now than the same predicament on an open field, until they got to the very edge and from there sought to clear enough space to get onto the walls themselves.

To aid the whole endeavour, Gaston of Béarn had fashioned another innovation, the ability to cast off the wattle screens on the next floor down, deliberately made wider than the top storey, and from there, using extension planks and ladders, to get men onto the flanks in order to stretch a defence that was short on numbers, it being forced to do battle on two fronts so far apart that mutual support was not possible.

That was about to become more telling in a wider sense too: with the siege tower fully employed and sucking in the enemy defenders, the mass of the attackers, hitherto idle, could assault the walls using stout ladders with which to clamber up to the level of the ramparts, the situation and stretched defence giving them a good chance of getting over the battlements and onto the wooden parapet.

Once there in sufficient numbers, complete success became a real possibility, not that it was ever guaranteed, for it was an axiom of such an action that the defence would always outnumber the attackers, and if the Muslims held their nerve and fought with brio, to drive the Latins back off again was achievable. Perception was all: if men thought they were losing, whichever side they were on, they would slacken off their efforts, half concerned with escape rather than wholly committed to victory.

Tancred’s height played a part as it always did, his reach being that much greater than those who lined up beside him, which meant he had to show restraint so as not to advance too quickly. But right now it was the billowing smoke blowing across the platform, stinging his eyes and affecting his vision, that seemed the greater problem. Right before him a gap appeared, he having chopped the lower arm of his immediate opponent, who was so immobilised by the loss that he temporarily blocked the way to those at his rear. That allowed for the briefest glance to right and then left, which engendered an immediate shout.

‘My Lord Godfrey, look to our left.’

Having made that call Tancred was forced to once more fully engage with the enemy, and with Godfrey likewise fighting hard there was a gap before circumstances allowed him to comply with the cry from the younger man. Yet when he did, what he saw had a similar effect on him: the top of the eastern tower that framed the St Stephen’s Gate was emitting a great mass of smoke, which, caught by the wind was blowing across to envelop the combatants.

‘Close up!’ Godfrey shouted, immediately pulling back, a command obeyed by both Tancred and the knight on de Bouillon’s left, Ludolf of Tournai.

Able to retire to a point from which he could assess the situation, the gap the Duke left was quickly filled by a supporting knight from the reserve. This was Ludolf’s brother Engelbert, who moved up and called to be allowed to act as a replacement, entering the line with his vigour fresh and his passion for the fight at full stretch.

Godfrey, to get a better view, dropped down one level and, cutting through what remained of the wattle screen, peered out of the side of the siege engine. What he saw lifted his already bubbling spirits: if the gate tower was on fire that meant the interior wooden frame that formed the support for the stonework was ablaze. Such a conflagration, being embedded, would be impossible to extinguish.

If weakened enough, and it would be as the fire progressed, it was only a matter of time before the whole edifice collapsed, which would take with it the supporting pillars of the gate itself, causing that to sag open, thus fully opening the way into the city for the whole mass of Godfrey’s fighters. An added danger lay on the wooden parapet on which the defenders fought: that too could catch fire, and being constructed the way it was, with open slats, it would burn quickly and ferociously.

The panicked cries from above, albeit they were in Arabic, indicated to the Duke of Lower Lorraine that he was not alone in seeing the danger and drawing the requisite conclusion. To seek to hold a section of the walls when the means to outflank you were imminent, and the ground beneath your feet could disappear, was madness. A call from one of his knights, telling him that the Fatimids were weakening, posed the possibility for Godfrey that he would not be in action at the most vital moment.

Slashing at the wattle and knocking one of his own men out of the way, he was on a ladder and climbing at a furious scrabble, able to
catch sight of his men, now standing on the very top of the ramparts. By the time he joined them they were on the parapet, now doing combat with an enemy that seemed more intent on disengagement than continued resistance.

All along the battlements the men led by Godfrey, Robert of Flanders and Tancred were pushing over the crest of the walls and occupying a wooden fighting platform on which only those trapped by the inability to get clear were still contesting the ground. Massively outnumbered, they were to die for that, while it soon became apparent that the remainder of their comrades had fled.

Before the Zion Gate, Raymond of Toulouse was seeking by personal example to inspire an attack rapidly running out of energy. His voice was hoarse from shouting that his men should continue to advance in the face of a defence that had not lost one iota of its power since the previous day. If anything it seemed more potent. There was no weakening of Raymond’s sword arm for it had yet to be employed; no one, him included, could get close enough to the walls.

With his siege tower unusable – his men refused to enter it and climb – there were only ladders with which to seek to overcome the Egyptians, that and the rocks fired by his lighter mangonels and they were as nothing compared to what the Fatimids were raining down in response on his stuttering advance.

Much as he hated to contemplate retirement there seemed little choice, and in doing so he knew he would be faced with a complete rethink of the ways needed to take the city, which was complicated by the fact that time must be short. The Vizier al-Afdal must be aware that the city was besieged and that would force him to leave Cairo and come to its rescue. The Crusade, still without the walls of
Jerusalem, faced possibly a worse dilemma than they had at Antioch.

Suddenly the air, which had been full of rocks and arrows, was clear of both. Looking up at the battlements there were no heads peering over, bows at the ready and eyes roving to pick a target. It took time to register, time before the advance broke from a stumbling walk into a run, men amazed, none more so than Raymond himself, that they could raise their ladders without interference, even more so when that applied to their ascent and the crossing of the ramparts themselves.

The parapet, when they occupied it, was empty, which induced an amazed pause as the likes of Raymond sought to glean some meaning from what had just occurred. It did not take too long to realise that the defence had collapsed because it was breached elsewhere, which meant Godfrey and his men were inside Jerusalem, and with a head start on the sack of the city. From the fervour of battle, it soon became the Provençal purpose to be equally dedicated to the pursuit of plunder.

Jerusalem paid a high price for its resistance, with later chroniclers, such as Aguilers, seeking to exalt the success, claiming that ten thousand Muslims gave up their lives to appease God. That this was an untruth was not allowed to interfere with the glory of the capture of the Holy City, yet there were those who later spoke the truth: if that number died, to be eventually burnt in great mounds outside the walls, the frames of the siege engines used as kindling, there were as many Christian victims as Muslims.

The sack was brutal as every Crusader sought personal enrichment, many succeeding given Jerusalem was a place full of the means to do so: rich in gold, even more so than in metal, as well as silver,
fashioned into objects designed to venerate the memory of Jesus Christ, a massive number given as gifts by pilgrims that had preceded the Crusade in more peaceful times.

Following the frenzy of acquisition men would later gather to pray and hear Mass in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, a church from which they were quick to eject any who adhered to another branch of the Christian faith – Armenians, Copts, Nestorians and Maronites. They did not ask for forgiveness for the acts of barbarity which they had just carried out: houses invaded and left wrecked, women ravaged, babies dashed against pillars and young children slain, bodies of both sexes sliced open to seek any wealth that might have been consumed to hide it from view.

The Crusaders did not see the need: what they had done had been carried out for the greater glory of the god they worshipped and one who had shown them divine favour, not a single worshipper present doubting this to be an absolute truth. Three years had passed since they took their crusading vows and left their homes, hearths and wives to fulfil that pledge, three years in which they travelled a thousand leagues, conquered disease, hunger, battle, despair and the elements. How else could they have overcome such obstacles without that their God had strengthened their resolve as well as the arms with which they wielded their blessed weapons?

Conquest did not end dispute, for there still existed the vexed question of to whom control of Jerusalem should devolve. The churchmen demanded it be a divine, yet that faltered on the fact that there was no one of sufficient stature to fill the office of bishop, a man who could command the necessary respect.

In a break with previous intentions, and at the instance of both
Godfrey de Bouillon and Raymond, one cleric called Arnulf was appointed to the See of Jerusalem. He being bound to take Mass in the Roman rite, that was a message to Byzantium and the Emperor Alexius Comnenus that whatever vows had been taken in Constantinople were now void.

Secular dissension was unabated: Raymond of Toulouse, always with an eye on how to exert pressure on his confrères, had quickly occupied the Tower of David, into which Iftikhar ad-Daulah had fled with his best troops, a detachment of Egyptian cavalry. In order to secure it peacefully, Raymond had given Iftikhar and his men safe passage to the west, which was seen as folly, given any attempt at recapture must come from that direction.

Not that Raymond was bothered: the Tower of David acted as the citadel of Jerusalem as much as that which Bohemund had held fast did for Antioch. Without it the Holy City was not secure and when called upon to give it up, Toulouse refused, still hoping that by his action he could claim title to the whole. In this he was thwarted by his own unpopularity set against that of the man who could claim to have engineered the capture.

Godfrey de Bouillon was the choice of the host for his personal piety. A degree of political wisdom had him listen to the priests who insisted that no man should allow himself to be called ‘King’ in the city of which God was the only sovereign. Accepting the title of Advocate of the Holy Sepulchre, he knew that what he had taken on was a fief in all but name, a wealthy one and one that would require to be defended: it was a prize of incalculable importance to three faiths.

In a huff Raymond decamped to an encampment in Jericho, leaving the Tower of David to be held by Bishop Peter of Narbonne; he promptly betrayed the man who had favoured him with the See
of Albara and handed it over to Godfrey. Yet Jerusalem was not secure: scouting to the west, Tancred had caught wind of a huge army landing and gathering around the port of Ascalon. It was under the personal command of the Vizier of Cairo and further enquiry produced the alarming proportion that the Crusade, even combined, was outnumbered by a measure of four to one.

‘Here I can invoke the name of Bohemund,’ Tancred insisted, once more back in the Holy City and able to alert the new advocate to the looming threat. ‘If we stay inside the walls of Jerusalem it will be a repeat of what we faced with Kerbogha.’

‘Even if the gate of St Stephen is fully repaired?’ asked Normandy.

‘We overcame it, My Lord, and therefore we must accept that others might follow our example.’

‘Do they have our spirit,’ Godfrey mused, ‘… or our ability?’

‘What they have is numbers and I would say what my uncle always advocated, if there is to be a battle let us choose the ground on which it is to be fought.’