When the bishop of Langres had ceased to speak, several knights and barons raised their voices in reply. The Christians, they said, were come into Asia to expiate their own sins, and not to punish the crimes of the Greeks. They had taken up arms to defend Jerusalem, and not to destroy Constantinople. It was true they must consider the Greeks as heretics, but it was not more just for them to massacre them than to massacre the Jews; when the Christian warriors assumed the cross, God did not put into their hands the sword of justice. In a word, the barons found much more policy than religion in that which they had heard, and could not conceive that it was right to undertake an enterprise was not in accordance with the principles of honour. Neither had they faith in the misfortunes with which they were threatened, and relied upon Providence and their own valour to enable them to surmount all obstacles. The most fervent of the pilgrims dreaded any delay in the march of the Crusaders, and this fear increased their scruples; at length the loyalty of the knights, the general pious impatience to behold the sacred places, and perhaps also the presents and the seductions of Manuel, procured a triumph for the party advocating moderation.
The emperor was nevertheless alarmed at seeing a body of warriors, full of confidence and courage, thus deliberate so near to him on the conquest of his capital. The homage that the barons and knights paid him did not at all reassure him as to their intentions. To hasten their departure, he caused a report to be spread that the Germans had gained great victories over the Turks, and that they had made themselves masters of Iconium. This succeeded even beyond Manuel’s hopes.
When the Crusaders, impatient to pursue the Turks, were leaving Constantinople, they were surprised by an eclipse of the sun. A superstitious multitude saw in this phenomenon nothing but a fatal presage, and believed it to be either the warning of some great calamity, or of some new treachery on the part of Manuel; and the fears of the pilgrims were not long in being realized. Scarcely had they entered Bithynia when they were taught how to appreciate the false reports and perfidy of the Greeks. Louis, when encamped upon the shores of the Lake Ascanius, in the neighbourhood of Nice, received information of the complete defeat of the Germans. The sultan of Iconium, on the approach of the Christians of the West, had assembled all his forces, and at the same time solicited the aid of the other Mussulman powers to defend the passages of Asia Minor. Conrad, whom William of Tyre styles vir simplex, whom le Père Maimbourg compares to a victim crowned with flowers that is being led to slaughter, had advanced, on the faith of some unknown guides, into the mountains of Cappadocia. Impatient to be before the French, for whom he was to have waited, he marched on in perfect ignorance of the roads, and without provisions to feed the multitude which followed him. At a time that he entertained no suspicion of their vicinity, he was surprised by the Turks, who covered the summits of the mountains, and rushed down upon the exhausted and famished Christians.[277] The Mussulmans were lightly armed, and performed their evolutions with the greatest rapidity. The Germans could scarcely move under the weight of their bucklers, corselets, and steel brassets; every day skirmishes were fought, in which the Christians had the disadvantage. Such as were more lightly armed, and bore sheep-skin bucklers, sometimes would rush among the enemy and put them to flight; but the Turks soon rallied upon the heights, and darted down again, like birds of prey, upon the terrified Christians. A crowd of pilgrims, whose arms only consisted of their scrip and staff, created the greatest trouble and confusion in the Christian army. The Mussulmans took advantage of their disorder, and never allowed their enemies a moment’s repose. Despair and terror put an end to all discipline among the Crusaders; they no longer obeyed the orders of their leaders, but every one sought to insure his own safety by flight. At length the rout became general; the country was covered with fugitives, who wandered about at hazard, and found no asylum against the conquerors. Some perished with want, others fell beneath the swords of the Mussulmans; the women and children were carried off with the baggage, and formed a part of the enemy’s booty. Conrad, who had scarcely saved the tenth part of his army, was himself wounded by two arrows, and only escaped the pursuit of the Saracens by a kind of miracle.
The news of this disaster threw the French into the greatest consternation. Louis, accompanied by his bravest warriors, flew to the assistance of Conrad. The two monarchs embraced in tears. Conrad related the particulars of his defeat, and complained the more bitterly of the perfidy of Manuel, from feeling the necessity of excusing his own imprudence. The two princes renewed their oath to repair together to Palestine, but the emperor of Germany did not keep his word. Whether he was ashamed of being without an army, whether he could not endure the haughtiness of the French, or that he dreaded their too just reproaches, he sent back the few troops he had left, and returned to Constantinople, where he was very well received, because he was no longer to be feared.
The French army, in the mean time, pursued its march, and, leaving Mount Olympus on its left, and Mount Ida on its right, passed through ancient Phrygia. The French, on their passage, passed Pergamus, Ephesus, and several other celebrated cities, which the Greeks had allowed to go to ruin. Winter was coming on, and the abundant rains and melted snows had swollen the rivers till they overflowed the country, and made the roads impracticable. The inhabitants of the mountains, a savage, wild people, fled away at the approach of the Christians, taking with them their flocks, and all that they possessed. The inhabitants of the cities shut their gates against the Crusaders, and refused provisions to all who had not full value to give in return. Whilst the French army was crossing Phrygia, Manuel sent ambassadors to the king of France, to inform him that the Turks were assembling in all parts for the purpose of impeding his march. He offered the Crusaders an asylum in the cities of the empire; but this offer, accompanied by menaces, appeared to be only a snare, and Louis preferred braving the enmity of the Turks to trusting to the promises of the Greeks. The Christian army pursuing its march towards the frontiers of Phrygia, arrived at last at the banks of the Meander, towards the embouchure of the Lycus. The Turks, who had destroyed the army of the Germans, prepared to dispute the passage of the river with the French. Some were encamped on the mountains, others on the banks; the rains had swollen the Meander, and the passage was difficult and dangerous.
Animated by the speeches and the example of their king, no obstacle could stop the French. In vain the Turks showered their arrows upon them, or formed their battle-array on the banks; the French army crossed the river, broke through the ranks of the barbarians, slaughtered vast numbers of them, and pursued them to the foot of the mountains. The two shores of the Meander were covered with the bodies of the Turks: the historian Nicetas,[278] who some years after saw their heaped-up bones, could not help saying, whilst praising the courage of the Franks, “that if such men did not take Constantinople, their moderation and patience were much to be admired.”
After the battle they had fought with the Saracens, some pilgrims asserted that they had seen a knight, clothed in white, march at the head of the army, and give the signal for victory. Odo of Deuil, an ocular witness, speaks of this apparition, without giving faith to it, and satisfies himself with saying that the Christians would not have triumphed over the Turks without the protection and the will of God.
This victory gave great confidence to the Crusaders, and rendered their enemies more cautions. The Turks, whom it was impossible to pursue far in an unknown country, rallied again after the battle of the Meander. Less confident in their strength, and not daring to attack an army that had conquered them, they watched for a moment in which they might safely surprise them. The imprudence of a leader who commanded the French vanguard soon presented to them this opportunity. On quitting Laodicea, a city situated on the Lycus, the Crusaders had directed their course towards the mountains which separate Phrygia from Pisidia. These mountains offered nothing but narrow passages, in which they constantly marched between rocks and precipices. The French army was divided into two bodies, commanded every day by new leaders, who received their orders from the king.
Every evening they laid down in council the route they were to follow the next day, and appointed the place where the army was to encamp. One day when they had to cross one of the highest mountains, the order had been given to the vanguard to encamp on the heights,