The First Crusade (24 page)

Baldwin's conquests did not go unnoticed. To the east of the Euphrates, Thoros, the Armenian ruler of Edessa, was having trouble holding on to power. Distrusted by Edessa's populace because of his close links with the Byzantines, and threatened with aggression from his Turkish neighbour, Balduk of Samosata, Thoros needed a new weapon in his arsenal. Impressed by Baldwin's ferocious reputation, he proposed an alliance. Edessa was one of the great cities of Mesopotamia, a fitting capital for Baldwin's new lordship, so in February
1098
he set out across the Euphrates with a small force of knights, his eye open for any opportunity. En route, he only narrowly evaded a large raiding party from Samosata, but on approaching Edessa he enjoyed a rapturous welcome. One of his followers recalled that 'Passing by Armenian towns, you would have been amazed to see them coming humbly to meet us, carrying crosses and banners, and kissing our feet and garments for the love of God because they had heard we were going to protect them from the Turks.'
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Thoros may initially have planned to employ Baldwin as a mercenary, but when the Frank actually arrived to such widespread acclaim he quickly decided to formalise their relationship. Although married, Thoros had no children, so he elected to adopt Baldwin as his son and heir. Baldwin duly submitted himself to the necessary, if somewhat bizarre, public ritual: both men were stripped to the waist;

Thoros then embraced Baldwin, 'binding him to his naked chest', while a long shirt was placed over both of them to seal the union.

Thoros soon looked to exploit this adoption. Within a week, Baldwin and his Frankish troops were dispatched at the head of an Armenian force to deal with the threat from Samosata. Although he was unable actually to capture the town, Baldwin succeeded in garrisoning a nearby fort, largely neutralising the immediate threat posed by Balduk. On his return to Edessa, Baldwin discovered that a group of Edessene nobles were plotting to assassinate Thoros and elevate him in his adopted fathers place. Our view of Baldwins reaction, and the degree of his complicity in what followed, depends on which source we trust. According to one Latin contemporary, 'Baldwin refused with every objection to undertake such a crime
.
But an Armenian living in Edessa at the time recorded that 'they persuaded him to accede to their evil designs and promised to deliver Edessa into his hands; Baldwin approved of their vicious plot'.
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We do know that in early March
1098
Edessa's population turned on Thoros. Terrified, he sought the sanctuary of his citadel. He realised that he could no longer rule the city but, still hoping to negotiate his escape and that of his wife, he turned to Baldwin. The crusader duly swore the most solemn.of oaths, his hands placed upon Edessa's most sacred relics, promising to protect the life of his father, and was allowed into the citadel. But, on the very next day, he let the mob into the fortress. Wild with bloodlust, they seized Thoros and 'threw him down from the top of the ramparts into the midst of a raging crowd' which ripped him to pieces and then paraded the remains of his body throughout the city. It was in this manner that Baldwin of Boulogne became ruler of Edessa. Even his own chaplain could muster only this terse defence of Baldwin's actions: 'The [Edessenes] wickedly plotted to slay their prince because they hated him and to elevate Baldwin to the palace to rule the land. This was suggested and it was done. Baldwin and his men were much grieved because they were not able to obtain mercy for him.'
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Complicit or not, Baldwin had blood on his hands, but he quickly

asserted an iron grip over Edessa and its environs. Within months, Balduk of Samosata had been subdued, becoming a client ruler, while another nearby town, Sorogia, was conquered and entrusted to one of Baldwin's Frankish lieutenants. In the space of less than half a year, with just a handful of men, Baldwin had established the first crusader state in the Near East - the county of Edessa.
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5

BEFORE THE WALLS OF ANTIOCH

The crusaders arrived in Syria, on the northern borders of the Holy Land, in the late summer of
1097.
Jerusalem, their ultimate goal, was nearly within their grasp. It was tantalisingly close, perhaps only a month's journey to the south. Unfortunately for the crusaders, a massive obstacle stood in their way: Antioch, one of the greatest cities of the Orient, guarded the route south to Palestine. The Latins laid siege to this city, entering into one of the most brutal, gruelling and prolonged military engagements of the Middle Ages. The crusade stalled in northern Syria for one and a half years, and at this moment, more than any other, its future lay tortuously balanced between utter annihilation and miraculous success. The very concept of crusading was tested to breaking point in the fires of this conflict and ultimately emerged more powerfully and permanently forged.

Even in the eleventh century Antioch was an ancient city. Founded
300
years before the birth of Christ, in the aftermath of Alexander the Great's conquests, and named for one of his generals, Antiochus, it rapidly became a vital conduit of trade between East and West. At its height, Antioch was the third city of the Roman Empire, with a population in excess of
300,000,
Alongside its economic and political importance, the city also had an impressive

spiritual pedigree, being revered in Christian tradition as the site of the first church founded by St Peter, chief of the apostles. Antioch thrived until the sixth century
CE,
its magnificence enhanced by a massive building programme under the Emperor Justinian, which saw the entire city enclosed within a formidable defensive wall by
560.
Around this time, however, a series of disasters befell the region: Syria has always been prone to tectonic activity and Antioch was rocked by three major earthquakes in this period; the outbreak of plague and a city-wide fire caused further damage; it was sacked by the Persians and finally conquered by the Arabs in
638.
Under the Muslims, Antioch's power was eclipsed by that of two neighbouring cities - Aleppo and Damascus. Then, in
969,
the Byzantines reconquered the city, restoring some of its former glory. For more than a century it was a cornerstone of the Byzantine world, the lynchpin of the empire's eastern frontier. But in the inevitable ebb and flow of power Greek dominion over northern Syria waned with the coming of the Seljuq Turks, and Antioch fell once more into Muslim hands in
1085.
By the end of the eleventh century, then, Antioch was steeped in a labyrinthine history, its walls echoed with the grandeur of a former age, its streets were commanded by Turks but peopled by a cosmopolitan mixture of Greek, Armenian and Syrian Christians, Arabs and Jews.
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When Antioch fell to the Turks, the Seljuqs of northern Syria enjoyed a short-lived period of unity. Malik Shah seized control of Baghdad and, through sheer military ferocity and shrewd political manipulation, bludgeoned the region into submissive unity. His death in
1092
was followed by a succession crisis and the rapid fragmentation of Muslim power. By the time the crusaders arrived in
1097,
the political makeup of the region was incredibly complex. Shah's son was embroiled in a struggle for control of Baghdad, while his nephews, Ridwan of Aleppo and Duqaq of Damascus, fought over Syria and contested control of Antioch. The city itself was governed by a wily and ambitious Turcoman named Yaghi Siyan. One contemporary described his
memorab
le appearance: 'His head was of
enormous size, the ears very wide and hairy, his hair was white and he had a beard which flowed from his chin to his navel.' Eagerly seeking any opportunity to achieve autonomy, Yaghi Siyan vacillated between Aleppo and Damascus, clutching on to the veneer of independence. Seljuq power was further undermined by religious schism: while the Turks were almost all Sunni Muslims, numerous pockets of Shi'ite Arabs dotted the region. In short, faction and instability weakened northern Syria, leaving the Turkish garrison of Antioch in isolation, without immediate recourse to any potent, unified military support.
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In this situation, Yaghi Siyan was understandably disturbed by the news that a massive western European army was approaching his city. They were an unknown quantity so, although he commanded a formidable, well-provisioned garrison, he quickly decided to send his two sons - Shams ad-Daulah and Muhammad - on a series of diplomatic missions begging for military aid from Damascus, Aleppo and the city of Mosul in Mesopotamia. In the interests of safety, he also chose to expel some of the Christians living within the city's walls.

In fact, the crusaders themselves were at first unsure of how to deal with Antioch. In light of the city's international reputation and its location on the pilgrimage route to Jerusalem, the Frankish leaders had no doubt heard of its fame even before leaving Europe, and had probably learned something of its strategic significance and approximate strength from the Emperor Alexius. The princes seem to have decided that Antioch must be taken even before they set foot in northern Syria. But why, given that the crusade's ultimate goal, Jerusalem, lay to the south? More than a year later, when the expedition still had not moved on to the Holy City, ordinary crusaders began to ask the same question. The answer was dictated by strategic reality: Antioch exercised so potent a stranglehold over northern Syria that it would have been virtually impossible for the crusaders to continue their pilgrimage in safety if it had remained in enemy hands. Had they bypassed the city, their lines of communication to the west would have been cut, their forces isolated and surrounded. With Antioch secured, the way would be open for resupply and reinforcement by further waves of European crusaders and the Byzantine army, upon which the Franks were depending.
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So the question was not whether Antioch should be taken, but how. The matter was hotly debated in a council of leaders in mid-October
1097.
Some advocated a cautious policy of distant investment, whereby the Franks would take up a fortified position north of the city, perhaps at Baghras, a former Byzantine stronghold that now lay in ruins. From this position, they could police the region in relative safety, harassing the Antiochene garrison, hampering their lines of supply but avoiding direct confrontation. Having sat out the approaching winter, and with their ranks swelled by expected reinforcements, the crusaders could move to tighten the noose, squeezing Antioch into submission. This policy was probably promoted by the Byzantine Taticius - a similar strategy had worked for the Greeks in
969
and he certainly recommended this approach in January
1098.
In the end, however, those in favour of more direct and immediate action, including Raymond of Toulouse, won the day. Perhaps fearing that their army might break up during a long, inactive winter, the princes agreed to attempt a close siege of the city. Perhaps in the knowledge that this would be no easy task, they each swore an oath not to desert the siege.
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The princes actually showed considerable strategic foresight on their march south to Antibch, taking care to seize its key satellite defences to the north and south before the siege began. Raymond of Toulouse had earlier sent a contingent under Peter of Roaix to secure the Ruj valley, one of the two southern approaches to Antioch. From Baghras the main army could have taken a direct route south to Antioch, but instead they went east around the Lake of Antioch to secure the fertile plains north-east of the city. Robert of Flanders was dispatched with
1,000
troops to capture Artah, a fortified town that lay some twenty-two kilometres from Antioch, on the intersection of ancient Roman roads from Marash, Edessa and Aleppo. As one contemporary noted, Artah was 'the shield of Antioch' - the region s most important fortress - and no army could possibly hope to invest Antioch with impunity if Artah remained in enemy hands. As it was, no crusader attack was necessary. Robert's approach was enough to spark a revolt among the town's Armenian population, its Turkish garrison fled to Antioch and the Franks were welcomed.

To make their final advance on Antioch, the crusaders needed to cross the Orontes, the great Syrian river that divided the region north to south. This could be done with ease only about twelve kilometres north of Antioch, at the Iron Bridge. A contemporary who wrote about the crusade, but never visited the Levant, imagined that it was given this imposing name because of its remarkable metal construction: 'On each side of the bridge two towers overhung, made indestructible by iron and perfectly adapted for defence.' This sounds impressive, but in reality the name probably came from a distortion of the river's local moniker - the Farfar - that became, in Latin, Pons Ferreus (Iron Bridge). The crossing may have been defended by twin forts and the stone bridge itself was certainly strongly built - it survived intact until
1972.
When the Franks arrived it was guarded by up to
700
troops, but they were soon overwhelmed on
19
October
1097
by a crusader vanguard of
2,000
men under Robert of Normandy. At last, the road lay open to Antioch itself.
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