77 Chapter 12: The Siege of Antioch

            “We still have one hundred thousand men in armor, besides the common throng, though many were lost in the first battles. But what is this? What is one man in a thousand? Where we have a count, the enemy have forty kings; where we have a company, the enemy have a legion; where we have a knight, they have a duke; where we have a foot-soldier, they have a count; where we have a camp, they have a kingdom.”

            -Letter from the Patriarch of Jerusalem to the Church in the West, January 1098

            “Again and again I beseech you, readers of this letter, to pray for us, and you, my lord archbishop, to order this to be done by your bishops. And know for certain that we have captured for the Lord 200 cities and fortresses. May our mother, the western church, rejoice that she has begotten such men, who are acquiring for her so glorious a name.”

            -Letter from Anselm of Ribemont to Manasses II, Archbishop of Rheims, 10 February 1098

            The march from France to Western Asia was a journey through time. The armed pilgrims and their fellows left behind medieval buildings, most only a few hundred years old, and stepped back into Antiquity. Constantinople showed them the glory of the Roman Empire at its apex. As they continued into Anatolia they saw the ruinous collapse of great civilizations dating back to the Caesars. Once their feet touched Middle Eastern ground they encountered a world that even Classical Rome called ancient.

After spending months marching across Anatolia’s mountainous terrain the Iron Men of the West arrived at the legendary city of Antioch. Perhaps a few of the more learned among them knew about Antioch’s history. Seleucus I, the most successful of Alexander the Great’s successors founded the city in 300 BCE. Antioch served as the capital of an empire that stretched from the western coasts of Anatolia into what is today western Afghanistan. At its height the city boasted half a million citizens, soldiers and slaves. Subsequent invasions by the Romans, Persians and Arabs reduced the city’s population to 40,000; a fraction of its former self, though still more populous than virtually any Western city at the time of the First Crusade.

            Antioch was not just a historic metropolis but one of the most important holy cities in Christendom. The Book of Acts Chapter 11 Verse 26 recounts that it was at Antioch that the disciples of Jesus first became known as Christians. It was there that Saint Peter founded a church before travelling to Rome. Many of Antioch’s patriarchs used their historic position to claim supremacy over the whole Christian church. However, the Eastern Roman Emperor’s support of the Patriarch in Constantinople, and Western monarchs’ backing of the Pope in Rome kept Antioch from being the heart of Christianity. Conquest by Islamic forces ended any hopes for the city’s spiritual leaders to oversee the faith. Yet, the city remained an important place in the hearts of Christians in the East and West.

            Antioch’s geography, combined with its high walls, made it a nigh-impregnable fortress. The Crusaders entered a valley split east to west by the Orontes River. To their north a high mountain rose up, while across the river to the south lay the city, which stretched across Mount Silpius. Above the city proper, 300 meters up on the mountain’s shoulder, stood the citadel. There, governor Yağısıyan looked down upon the foreign invaders. The Turkish leader was frightened by the large force, yet he chose to remain and defend the city, trusting in its defenses. Its legendary walls were twenty meters tall, 2 meters thick and stretched for five kilometers in a rough oval shape. 400 towers crowned the walls, offering no easy point of access for any would-be assailants. The western walls of the city reached all the way to the Orontes River, further stifling enemy movement. There was space northeast of Antioch where the Crusaders could theoretically set up camp, but there was no permanent bridge there and the land was marshy.

Even though the Turkish garrison of 5,000 was horrendously outnumbered, their morale remained as firm as their stone defenses. The city could not easily be starved out, as there was so much space within its walls that its people could grow food. Moreover, Yağısıyan was well aware of the Crusaders’ plan and had stocked the city with supplies. Finally, Yağısıyan had sent out riders calling for help from across the Seljuk Empire. If ever there was a moment to trap the Christian soldiers and smash them utterly, it was in the narrow confines of the Orontes Plain. The Crusaders’ only option was to somehow take the city before a massive reinforcing army arrived, one which would catch them as between hammer and anvil.

            The Iron Men did have one advantage. Yağısıyan did not burn the outlying crops before retreating into the city. He must have been confident that the enemy army would fail and so left fields teeming with apples, grapes and wheat. The chaplain of Raymond of Toulouse wrote that at the start of the siege, “[We] ate only the best cuts [of meat], rump and shoulders, scorned brisket and thought nothing of grain and wine. In these good times, only the watchmen along the walls reminded us of our enemies concealed inside Antioch.”

            As the main host feasted, a separate force broke off and marched west along the Orontes River until it reached the port of Saint Simeon. It captured the town and used it as a base for supplies from Byzantium. Between the plentiful fields and the Byzantine goods from Cyprus the Crusaders believed that they could hold out longer than the city.

            The siege of Antioch began with a blockade. This initially proved successful and the Antiochenes began to feel the squeeze. Yet, the city was far too great to be fully cut off from the rest of the world, even by a host as large as the holy war. Before long, smugglers successfully circumvented the Christians, bringing all kinds of goods into the city. Well-fed, well-armed horsemen burst from the gates to harass those waiting outside. When the Crusader forces followed the swift cavalry would speed back across the bridge and into the city. Any armed pilgrims foolish enough to follow would be struck by javelins or arrows from the high walls.

            It soon became apparent to the armed pilgrims that they could not starve out Antioch. Within a matter of weeks the Christian armies ran low on supplies. The men ate through their provisions and those they scrounged from nearby villages. The horses, so prized by the French, chewed the grasses down to stubs. Foucher of Chartres wrote of this time that, “the starving people devoured the stalks of beans still growing in the fields, many kinds of herbs unseasoned with salt, and even thistles which because of the lack of firewood were not well cooked and therefore irritated the tongues of those eating them. They also ate horses, [donkeys], camels, dogs and even rats. The poorer people ate even the hides of animals and the seeds of grain found in manure.”

            As the Crusaders became more desperate they widened their area of pillage, ravaging any town that might have even the smallest morsels of food. By now the local Turkish and Arabic populations were wary of the Westerners and laid traps for them. Historian Peter Frankopan writes, “One young knight, Abelard of Luxemburg, ‘a very high-born young man of royal blood’, was found ‘playing dice with a certain woman of great birth and beauty in a pleasure garden full of apple trees’. He was ambushed and beheaded on the spot; his companion, seized by Turks, was repeatedly violated and also decapitated. The heads of both were then catapulted into the Crusader camp. The Turks demonstrated their confidence no less forcefully by hanging John the Oxite, the patriarch of Antioch, upside down over the walls, beating his feet with iron bars in sight and within earshot of the western army.’”

When the French and their allies could not find anything to eat they turned to local Syrians and Armenians, who sold food from their hidden stocks at exorbitant prices. A single donkey’s load of food cost 960 gold coins. To put that in perspective, some cavalrymen might make one gold coin for a month’s service. The locals were trading crumbs for stacks of gold. Of course, many did so at great danger to their own lives; Muslim raiders in the surrounding areas could target anyone aiding the Christian forces. Finally, the more food the locals sold to the Western armies the more they risked their own starvation. The hunger that took place on the fields of Antioch soon rumbled far beyond.

Then disease raised its ugly head. The malnourished Crusaders were perpetually bitten by lice carrying typhus. Once infected, men fell ill with flu-like symptoms and developed a rash that spread from their torso across their entire body, sparing only the face, palms and soles of their feet. Worse than typhus was cholera. The infected developed uncontrollable diarrhea and vomiting. What little food those men could eat was soon gone, and then some. Severe dehydration resulted in men’s skin turning grayish-blue, a sure sign that death was not far behind. 

The heavy rains of late Autumn turned the lowlands into a marsh. Soldiers trudged through mud and wet grass as they set up their rotting tents to gain some reprieve. But no sooner had they set up their tents then harsh winds knocked them down. In the end, perhaps 1 out of 5 armed pilgrims who made it to Antioch died in the wave of starvation and disease.

Such abundant calamity convinced many that God had turned his back on the host. The poorest sort began to desert. Then the middling sort, who feared that if they stayed they would either die in the muck or return home as beggars. The French love of their horses as vehicles of war and faithful companions was so great that many would go hungry rather than kill them. Soon horses starved alongside their riders.

            As morale plummeted even the Seven Lords began to have misgivings. Bohemond threatened to leave, claiming that he was not a rich lord like some of them, and that the price of food would bankrupt him. Later commenters believe that the giant would not seriously have abandoned the holy war; instead this was a power play. Bohemond’s threat to withdraw a substantial force was a means to extract concessions from those pious men already committed to taking Jerusalem. Then again, who can say what went through the giant’s mind during this dark period? He had gambled everything on the holy war’s success. Even if he never had faith in it or God, as long as he believed he could gain from the bloodshed he would continue to fight on. Yet, even his scant belief began to wane.

Despite his grumbling, Bohemond was not the type to give in to despair. He and the ever-adventurous Robert of Flanders led their knights east into enemy territory to search for food further abroad. As they traveled they caught sight of a massive army marching towards them. This army was led by Abu Nasr Shams al-Muluk Duqaq, the emir of Damascus. Emir Duqaq had raised a Syrian host numbering well into the thousands and marched to save his brother Yağısıyan.

            This new force was substantially smaller than the holy war in its entirety but it far outnumbered the cavalry regiments of Bohemond and Robert. Yet, the armed pilgrims had spotted their foes first and so had time to prepare. The giant claimed that a sudden ferocious attack was their best plan of action to prevent this new army from linking up with the garrison at Antioch. Robert agreed.

            On a sudden the Christian knights burst onto the plains. As their horses broke into a run, the Muslim bands hurried into formation. The Iron Men crashed into them, breaking through their lines. Chaos seized the Syrian host and many dropped their weapons and ran. The Turkish commanders were torn between holding off an enemy assault and organizing a retreat. Many leaders falsely believed that the knights in their midst were simply the opening cavalry charge before the inevitable host of infantry fell upon them. Why else would such a small group of horsemen throw themselves on the blades of their enemies? Believing that the entire holy war was about to descend upon them, the army broke and ran back towards Damascus. This brilliant victory was only possible because Bohemond and Robert had told a false story, charging from a point of weakness, rather than strength. It was a daring gamble which paid off immensely in the foodstuffs and gold left behind by the fleeing enemy.

            Yet, this victory meant little to the besieging host. The holy war was still starving and beset by illness. Duke Robert retired from the siege to rest at a coastal town, claiming illness. Only after much cajoling by his fellows, who denounced him as a coward and a betrayer of oaths, did Robert return to the dismal field of death. A dour Christmas passed with as many prayers for the dead as supplications for deliverance. Again, Bohemond threatened to abandon the siege.

The Gesta Tancredi describes the dismal scene in detail:

“The siege began in the winter and, during its course, the winter brought horrors down on everyone. There were floods of water, sometimes in sudden downpours, and sometimes in continuous streams. There was great movement of both the heaven and earth so that it appeared that the two elements had been joined together with the one rising up and the other coming down. But what about the storms, what shall I say about the raging of the winds? While they were blowing, neither tent nor hut could stand. Indeed, it was hardly possible for the palace and the tower to survive…The winter spared neither…Hunger accompanied all of these tempests, and death accompanied hunger. Death, the comfort of battles, having free rein, was present before people and horses. It was the rare stable in camp, which had one horse in ten remaining with the other nine taken off by hunger. Rust seized hold of all of the iron and steel weapons. Shields lost their nails and leather coverings. Very few spears and stools made of wood remained whole, and many of these had been repaired. No one’s wooden goods were tidy and many people had none at all. Bows lacked their sinews and arrows were bereft of their shafts. Everywhere there was want, calamity and desolation.”

As morale sank yet again, scouts reported that another relieving army was marching towards them, as large as the last, this time led by Ridwan, governor of Aleppo. The Seven Leaders held a great council where they decided that Bohemond, Robert and Étienne of Blois would lead a cavalry force of 700 east to meet them. The leaders assembled their horsemen and left in the middle of the night; had they gone during the day they feared the rest of the men would believe that three great lords had abandoned the siege and lose all hope.

With so many healthy mounted soldiers gone, the Turkish governor of Antioch sensed weakness. Yağısıyan ordered a sneak attack against the remaining Crusader host. The sudden fury caught the Christians off guard and many were killed, but so great a gathering could not be undone, even divided, starving and ill. The army of Raymond of Toulouse held the lines and beat their opponents back to the fortress’ gates.

Not long after setting out, the 700 horsemen spied the approaching army. The Turkish and Arabic force hopelessly outnumbered the French. Yet, the Iron Men held several crucial advantages. First, they had spied the army while remaining undetected, granting them the element of surprise. Furthermore, most of the Islamic forces were lightly-armored infantry while the French were heavy cavalry. Bohemond took command of the force, telling them that at the moment he gave the signal the knights must rush at full speed towards their enemies to break their lines.

One cannot overstate the shock that the Muslim forces must have felt. Slowly and methodically they marched, as if on a pilgrimage, to mop up the remains of what they believed were a dying, starving force of maddened Christians, deluded from their homes in frigid Europe to invade the fringes of the true Holy Land. On a sudden, birds took to flight as a giant urged his warhorse out into the open. Then the whole world trembled as horsemen, clad in iron from head to foot, burst screaming onto the plain. The chronicles recount the episode as follows:

“So Bohemond, protected on all sides by the sign of the Cross, charged the Turkish forces, like a lion which has been starving for three or four days, which comes roaring out of its cave thirsting for the blood of cattle, and falls upon the flocks careless of its own safety, tearing the sheep as they flee hither and thither. His attack was so fierce that the points of his banner were flying right over the heads of the Turks.”

As with Duqaq’s army, this one also broke into riotous confusion. Its commanders were utterly incapable of organizing coherent lines. Those that did not flee formed up into small defensive bands which the French easily picked off. Ridwan’s army broke. Yet again, Bohemond had led a spectacular victory over a numerically-superior force. The Norman giant returned to camp bearing 700 dismembered heads, which the Christians displayed prominently before the walls of Antioch.

Bohemond’s nephew Tancred, who was in desperate need of cash, sold 70 heads to the holy war’s spiritual leader, Adhémar of Le Puy, who rejoiced at such a haul. The bishop was so delighted he gave Tancred all the gold he needed to pay off his debts. Once the heads had been allocated the Christians put them on spikes in front of Antioch’s walls as a grisly warning for what was to come. As one Frenchman affixed a particularly large head to a point he cried out to the defenders on the walls, “Behold your hope, behold your threats, behold the strength called up against the Franks, we are reserving this same payment for you. You are shut in, the chance for flight has been removed, your grain is eaten, hunger has come, aid has been removed, everything is against you.” Meanwhile, the armed pilgrims hailed Bohemond as a hero who had delivered them from two heathen armies.

After the initial euphoria the Christian host again fell into a deep melancholy. Sickness and starvation still gripped them. Antioch held, its walls utterly impervious to siege equipment. Finally, the great lords understood that it was only a matter of time before another relieving army would come to deliver the city. If the sultan of Baghdad or the Vizier of Cairo decided that they had to expel the foreigners and save their brothers in faith they could easily raise an army larger even than the Christian host. The Crusaders had to take Antioch soon or risk being outflanked.

            If morale had been low before, it was even worse in the dead of January. The walls of Antioch defied even the most brutal assaults. There was little the Men of the Cross could do other than dispose of the dead and count the blisters on their feet. Count Raymond and Duke Godefroi were both ill. Pierre the Hermit, who had joined the holy war as a spiritual counselor, tried to quit the camp only to be discovered by a furious Tancred. The young commander dragged the mystic to Bohemond’s tent and forced him to beg for forgiveness. Afterwards, the great lords and their retainers swore an oath that they would not depart until they had taken the city.

            While the Seven Lords were determined to conquer Antioch, the question of how remained unanswered. Adhémar of Le Puy argued that it was the Crusaders’ sins that kept the walls in place and that God would only deliver the fortress to righteous men. He led a three-day fast then a procession around the walls, much as the Biblical Joshua had done with Jericho. He further encouraged regular masses and the reading of psalms. Finally, he urged each man to show greater outward piety, such as stitching the cross on their clothing and shaving their beards. Yet, not even smooth chins could overcome the ancient city, nor were there enough men to surround it entirely, meaning much-needed supplies continued to make their way to the Turkish garrison. The Antiochenes hungered, supplementing their grain with grass. But as they looked out at the mounted heads of their fellows they understood that surrender was not an option.

            In early 1098 the Christian forces began turning against each other. The Westerners became agitated at what they saw as a lack of Byzantine support. They had won Anatolia for the Eastern Roman Empire, yet what had the Emperor done for them? He had sent his troops east to the major cities of the reconquered territory, rather than send them south to support the holy war. Up to this point the Westerners had been content to pursue Alexios I’s agenda in exchange for provisions and the promise of eastern titles. Yet, the provisions that trickled in from Saint Simeon were not enough and the dreams of eastern lordships seemed less realistic every day.

            In this atmosphere of anti-Greek sentiment, Bohemond warned Tatikios that his life was in danger. The giant told the Greek general that the other great lords were planning to kill him for the perceived abandonment by the Emperor. Tatikios made the mistake of believing the wily Norman and announced that he and his Eastern Roman cohorts were going to the coast to secure supplies and reinforcements. Once he had left, Bohemond then denounced the Greeks, claiming that they had lost faith and betrayed their oaths; this despite the fact that Tatikios had left his baggage behind as a sign he would return. This was all part of the giant’s grand strategy. By this point he had been on the forefront of the holy war, winning its most decisive battles. He had become a legend among the crusaders, who many viewed as their greatest, perhaps only, hope to achieve victory. If the Byzantines had betrayed their oaths then that would give him license to betray his oath to render all conquered territory to the Eastern Roman Empire. If the Crusaders could take Antioch, then Bohemond would claim lordship of the city. If.

            On 4 March 1098, an Eastern Roman fleet landed at Saint Simeon. Byzantine porters delivered much-needed provisions, arms and materials for siege equipment to the Westerners. Noticeably, Tatikios did not return, still fearing for his life. The general’s absence lent credence to Bohemond’s ploy, as he still maintained that the Byzantine leadership had deserted the French and their allies. By Spring Bohemond openly denounced the Emperor, proclaiming to his fellows that Antioch should not be given to the Greeks but to whoever could deliver the city. At first his fellow great lords upbraided him. Yet, as the city held out his peers became more openly frustrated with the Byzantine’s lack of military reinforcement. 

            Then the specter of disaster appeared. The great lords learned that Qiwam al-Dawla Kerbogha, emir of Mosul, marched towards them at the head of an army. Unlike the previous two armies, Kerbogha did not need to link up with Antioch to threaten the Crusaders. His army was supplemented by the Sultan of the Seljuk Empire himself, and was even larger than the Christian forces.

The great lords knew that this new host could annihilate them all by itself and so they kept the news secret from their own men to prevent mass desertions. As the other lords discussed how to take Antioch, Bohemond again raised the prospect that whoever delivered the city should become its new lord. Most balked at talks about the future lordship of Antioch when an enemy army bent on their destruction was approaching. Yet, some began to sense that Bohemond knew something that they did not, and that he was merely biding his time until they agreed to his proposition. Raymond led the opposition; while the Count of Toulouse had been the only major leader not to become a vassal of the Emperor, he had promised him friendship and secretly agreed to oppose Bohemond. Yet, the other lords wavered. Most were homesick, desperate to move on towards Jerusalem and entirely done with the blasted city in front of them. The lords reached a compromise: they agreed that whoever single-handedly took the city would be granted temporary control of it until the Byzantines arrived. This was good enough for Bohemond, who believed he could turn ‘temporary’ lordship into a permanent position for himself. To ensure they stuck to their word he had his fellow lords sign a document attesting to the agreement. The giant then told his fellows that on the 2^nd of June he would launch his plan and by the following day the city would be in their hands. This was too late for Étienne of Blois, who abandoned the holy war the very day Bohemond launched his scheme. Initially claiming he was retiring to Tarsos to rest, he would break his oath to free the Holy Sepulcher and return home.

On 2 June, Bohemond led his forces south, in clear view of the defenders on the walls. This was the beginning of the Norman’s ruse: to make the Antiochenes believe his force was looking to forage for food or perhaps even engage Kherboga’s army. At night, the army approached the western walls where they met up with two other contingents led by Godefroi and Count Robert. There the knights waited until a ladder dropped down from one of the towers. Unbeknownst to all but his immediate counsellors, Bohemond had convinced one of the tower’s defenders to betray the city. The captain, an Armenian named Firouz, had been in contact with Bohemond for weeks, arranging for the turnover of the city.

We do not know exactly why Firouz cut a deal with Bohemond. Some sources claim it was because he had come to see the light of Christ and turned against the Muslim faith. Others believe Bohemond had captured Firouz’s son and used him as a bargaining chip. The Gesta Tancredi holds that Firouz feared starvation and was angry at governor Yağısıyan for taking half of his stored provisions to distribute them to the rest of the city. Still others held that Bohemond had promised Firouz incredible wealth. Another account holds that Firouz was a cuckold, whose wife had been seduced by a Turk, a betrayal which drove him to near-madness. Regardless of his motivations, the captain of the tower decided to throw in his lot with the Iron Men.

            At first, the knights refused to climb the ladder, believing it to be another trick. Bohemond was the first to scale the walls. Afterwards, knights scrambled to follow. In their haste the ladder became unstable and fell over with a loud crash, which was mercifully muffled by the wind. The soldiers again raised the ladder and joined their fellows along the ramparts. Bohemond’s force moved from tower to tower, quietly executing its defenders. In the process they even killed one of Firouz’s brothers, who the turncoat chose not to warn. Then the giant signaled to Godefroi and Robert’s men still outside to make their way towards the western gate. With cries of “God wills it!” the Men of the Cross flooded into the city.

            The citizens of Antioch awoke to the screams of their dying compatriots, accompanied by the furious roars of the armed pilgrims. The Iron Men unleashed their pent-up frustrations on the unfortunate Antiochenes. In the darkness no one could tell who was Christian, Muslim or Jew, nor who was Turk, Armenian, Greek or other; the crusaders killed them all. They wreaked such a slaughter that mangled bodies lined every major street. Greek and Armenian soldiers turned on the Turks, either from a desire to kill their occupiers or to show the Westerners they were on the same side.

Alongside massacres came the looting and rape. Poor knights knocked down doors, killed men, defiled the women and seized what gold they could. An entire city screamed and died. Those Turks wise enough to recognize that the streets were lost rushed up, up, up, to the citadel perched along the southeastern limits of the city, resting along the mountain’s shoulders. What few Turkish defenders made it to the high castle closed the gates, leaving desperate citizens to bang on the doors before the Christians cut them down. The weeping Turks within its walls could only listen to the rumble of death echoing up the mountainside and wonder how long before their own doom came. Yet, the citadel would hold, for now. Bohemond recognized that he could not yet take the castle, and so raised his banner from the highest point he could, signaling to all that he was the new lord of Antioch.

            Emir Yağısıyan was among those trapped outside the citadel. He and his bodyguard fought furiously against the invaders. He suffered a sword strike to the head, a spear in his back and an arrow through his leg. Finally beaten down, he and his fellows abandoned the city, urging their mounts out at breakneck speed. Wounded to the point of death, Yağısıyan fell from his horse. Rather than stop and help their governor, his bodyguard continued their mad race to safety. Yağısıyan watched as his men faded into the distance as the sun rose above the lip of the horizon. Despite every motion causing spasms of pain to fly through him, Yağısıyan managed to crawl to a nearby bush. Later that day, an Armenian farmer walked beside him. Weak and dying, the pitiful emir called out to him. Astonished, the lone peasant recognized the emir by his noble dress, ornate belt and sword. The man approached Yağısıyan, raised his club and bashed his head in until his brains spilled onto the earth. He then cut off the Turk’s head and went to Antioch. Walking down streets covered in still-congealing blood, corpses bloating in the morning sun, he proceeded up towards the banner of Bohemond and delivered the head as a prize.

            By midday the holy war had entered Antioch in its full force. As they did, criers on the wall announced the arrival of Kerbogha’s army. Pennants bearing the standards of hundreds of Turkish, Arab and Persian lords fluttered in the wind. Soldiers in fresh clothes, unspoiled by recent campaigns, weapons fresh and shining, assembled along the battle-plain. To the horror of all the Christians along the walls, this new army was enormous, perhaps twice as large as the holy war. The Men of the Cross rushed to close the gates. As they did they realized that they had taken the city too late. They had gone from its besiegers to its defenders. They had little food left, and there was still a Turkish force at their back, in the mountain citadel. Victory at Antioch had brought doom to the holy war.