The bishop of Nazareth, touched by their despair, raised the cross, imploring the mercy of Heaven,—and, at the moment the direction of the wind was changed. The flames and the smoke which desolated the Christians were immediately wafted against the Mussulmans. The Franks pursued their march, persuaded that God had wrought a miracle to save them. A knight, whom they had never before seen, mounted on a white horse, and bearing a red standard, preceded the Christian army, and conducted it out of danger. The people and the soldiers took him for an angel from heaven, and his miraculous presence reanimated their strength and their courage. At length the army of Baldwin, after having undergone all sorts of misery, returned to Jerusalem, where the inhabitants rejoiced at its arrival, singing these words from the Scriptures, “Let us give ourselves up to joy, for that people that was dead is resuscitated; it was lost, and behold here it is found again.”
But whilst the inhabitants of Jerusalem were rejoicing at the return of their warriors, the Christian states lost one of their most important places, and experienced an irreparable misfortune. Zengui, whom the caliph of Bagdad and all true Mussulmans considered as the buckler and the support of Islamism, extended his empire from Mossoul to the frontiers of Damascus, and was continuing without intermission the course of his victories and conquests. The Christians made no effort to stop the progress of so redoubtable a power. Zengui, who united with bravery all the resources of a skilful policy, left them in a deceitful security, and determined only to awaken them from their long sleep when he had it in his power to give a mortal blow to their empire. He knew, by experience, that nothing was more fatal to the Christians than too long a repose; the Franks, who owed everything to their arms, were almost always weakened by peace, and when not fighting against the Saracens, generally fell out among themselves.
The kingdom of Jerusalem had two formidable barriers, the principality of Antioch and the county of Edessa. Raymond of Poictiers defended the Orontes from the invasion of the Saracens, and old Josselin de Courtenay had been for a long time the terror of the infidels on the banks of the Euphrates; but he was recently dead. He had fought to his last breath, and even on his bed of death made his arms and his bravery respected.
Josselin was besieging a castle near Aleppo, when a tower fell down near him and covered him with its ruins. He was transported in a dying state to Edessa, and as he lay languishing on his bed, expecting nothing but death, it was announced to him that the sultan of Iconium had laid siege to one of his strong places; upon which he sent for his son and commanded him to go instantly and attack the enemy. Young Josselin hesitated, and represented to his father that he had not a sufficient number of troops to meet the Turks. The old warrior, who had never acknowledged the existence of obstacles, was determined before he died to leave an example to his son, and caused himself to be borne in a litter at the head of his soldiers. As they approached the besieged city, he was informed that the Turks had retired, whereupon he ordered his litter to stop, raised his eyes towards heaven as if to return thanks for the flight of the Saracens, and expired surrounded by his faithful warriors.
His mortal remains were transported to Edessa, the inhabitants of which city came out to meet and join the funeral procession, which presented a most affecting spectacle. Here were to be seen the mourning soldiers bearing the coffin of their chief; and there a whole people lamenting the loss of their support and defender, and celebrating the last victory of a Christian hero.
Old Josselin died deploring the fate of Edessa, about to be governed by a weak and pusillanimous prince; for from his childhood the son of Courtenay had been addicted to drunkenness and debauchery. In an age and a country in which these vices were sufficiently common, the excesses of young Josselin had frequently scandalized the Christian warriors. As soon as he was master, he quitted the city of Edessa, to take up his abode at Turbessel, a delicious retreat on the banks of the Euphrates. There, entirely abandoned to his vicious inclinations, he neglected the pay of his troops and the fortifications of his forts, equally heedless of the cares of government and the menaces of the Saracens.
Zengui had been for a length of time watching for a favourable opportunity of surprising the city of Edessa; as this conquest would not only flatter his pride and ambition, but would render him dearer to all the disciples of Mahomet. In order to retain Josselin in his fancied security, the prince of Mossoul feigned to make war against the Saracens; but at the moment he was supposed to be most busily engaged in an attack upon several Mussulman castles in the east of Mesopotamia, he appeared at the head of a formidable army before the walls of Edessa.[260] A great number of Curds and Turcomans, wandering and barbarous tribes, had joined his standard, attracted by the hopes of a rich booty. At the first signal given by Zengui, the city was surrounded on all sides; seven enormous wooden towers were raised higher than the ramparts; numbers of formidable machines unceasingly battered the walls, or hurled into the city stones, javelins, and inflammable matters; whilst the foundations of the towers of the fortifications were being undermined by the infidels. The walls, which were only supported by slight, ill-fixed posts, were falling to pieces, and, covering the earth with their ruins, seemed ready to offer an easy passage to the Mussulman soldiers.
When on the point to give the signal for destruction, the fierce Mussulmans stopped, and summoned the city to surrender. The sight of the death which threatened them did not at all weaken the courage of the inhabitants, and they answered that they would all perish sooner than give up a Christian city to the infidels. They exhorted each other to merit the crown of martyrdom: “Let us not fear,” said they, “these stones launched against our towers and our houses; he who made the firmament, and created legions of angels, defends us against his enemies, or prepares us an abode in heaven.” Animated by such discourses, the inhabitants of Edessa exerted themselves to destroy the towers and the works of the besiegers, the hopes of being succoured redoubling their zeal and courage. They expected, says an Armenian author, assistance from a nation which they called the valiant, and every day looked to see, from the height of their walls, the standards of the victorious Franks.
The hoped-for succours were vainly expected. When Josselin learnt the danger of his capital, he aroused himself from his sloth, and sent information of it to Raymond of Poictiers, and the queen regent of Jerusalem. But the prince of Antioch, who disliked Josselin, refused to assist Edessa, and the troops of Jerusalem, although set forward on their march, could not arrive in time. Josselin ought to have devoted himself to repair the consequences of his faults, but he had not the courage to seek death under the walls of a city he could not save, and whose defence he had neglected.
On the twenty-eighth day of the siege, several towers fell down with a horrible crash; and Zengui at once ordered his army to enter the place. To paint the frightful scenes of this last attack, I must borrow the words of a contemporary author: “The moment at which the sun began to shine above the horizon, appeared like a night illumined by the fires of the storm. As soon as the ramparts and towers fell, all the city was filled with terror. Nevertheless the defenders of Edessa thought not, for a moment, of flight, but all joined in the cry of the brave, conquer or die. Some employed themselves in propping up the walls, whilst others boldly flew to meet the enemy; the clergy, clothed in helmet and cuirass, marching at their head. The bishops, bearing each a cross in his hands, bestowed their benedictions on the people and animated them to the fight.”
The enemy advanced uttering frightful cries; even amidst the din of a general assault, the voices of the Saracen heralds-at-arms were heard encouraging the soldiers, and promising the pillage of the city to the conquerors. Then, to employ the expression of an Armenian poet, the pusillanimous were seen shedding torrents of tears, whilst the brave, heedless of the stroke of the sabre, rushed amidst the ranks of the Mussulmans.