On the day following the departure of Louis VII., the pilgrims, who were expecting the escort and the guides that had been promised them, saw the Turks come upon them, eager for murder and pillage. Archambaud and Thierri for a moment reanimated the courage of the Crusaders, and several times repulsed the infidels. But the Turks returned to the charge without ceasing; every day the Christians sustained fresh encounters without being able to compel their enemy to retreat. The Greeks would not consent to receive them into the city, and there remained to the Crusaders no means of safety. Despair stifled in their breasts even the sentiments of humanity; every one of these unfortunate wretches became insensible to the fate of his companions, and felt nothing but his own ills, saw nothing but his own dangers. The soldiers did not endeavour to rally or to succour each other; they no longer recognised or followed leaders; the leaders themselves were no longer guided by the spirit of religion, or governed by the love of glory. In the midst of the general desolation, Archambaud and Thierri, only anxious to avoid death, threw themselves on board a vessel which was going to join the fleet of Louis VII. The horrible disorder that then reigned among the miserable remains of the Christian army and the sick in the city of Attalia, is perfectly beyond description.
Two troops of pilgrims, one of three thousand and the other of four thousand, resolved to brave all dangers and march towards Cilicia. They had no boats to cross overflowing rivers; they had no arms with which to resist the Turks, and they almost all perished. Others who followed them shared the same fate, whilst the sick in the city of Attalia were ruthlessly massacred. It has been a painful task for the historian to record even a few details of these frightful disasters; and it is in this place we find the words of the old chronicles so applicable “God alone knows the number of the martyrs whose blood flowed beneath the blade of the Turks, and even under the sword of the Greeks.”
Many Christians, bewildered by despair, believed that the God who thus left them a prey to so many ills could not be the true God;[280] three thousand of them embraced the faith of Mahomet and joined the Mussulmans, who took pity on their wretchedness. The Greeks were soon punished for their perfidious cruelty; pestilence uniting its ravages with those of war, left the city of Attalia almost without inhabitants, a very few weeks after the departure of Louis VII.
When Louis arrived in the principality of Antioch,[281] he had lost three-fourths of his army; but he was not the less warmly welcomed by Raymond of Poictiers. The French who accompanied him soon forgot, in the midst of pleasures, both the dangers of their voyage and the deplorable death of their companions.
Antioch could then boast of having within its walls the countess of Thoulouse, the countess of Blois, Sibylla of Flanders, Maurille countess de Roussy, Talquery duchess de Bouillon, and several other ladies celebrated for their birth or their beauty. The fêtes which Raymond gave them received additional splendour from the presence of Eleanor of Guienne. This young princess, daughter of William IX. and niece of the prince of Antioch, united the most seducing gifts of mind to the graces of her person. She had been much admired at Constantinople, and had found no rival in the court of Manuel. She was accused, and with some reason, of being more desirous of admiration than became a Christian queen. It was neither sincere piety nor an inclination to perform penance, that had led her to make a pilgrimage to Constantinople. The fatigues and dangers of the journey, the misfortunes of the Crusaders, the remembrance of the holy places, always present to the minds of true pilgrims, had not in the least abated her too lively taste for pleasures, or her strong inclination for gallantry.
Raymond of Poictiers, amidst the fêtes given to Queen Eleanor, did not forget the interests of his principality; he was anxious to weaken the power of Noureddin, the most formidable enemy of the Christian colonies, and ardently desired that the Crusaders would assist him in this enterprise. Caresses, prayers, presents, nothing was spared to engage them to prolong their sojourn in his states. The prince of Antioch addressed himself at first to the king of France, and proposed to him, in a council of the barons, to besiege the cities of Aleppo and Cæsarea, in Syria. This enterprise, which favoured his ambition, offered real advantages to all the Christian states of the East, which were threatened by the constantly increasing power of Noureddin; but Louis VII, who had been only brought into Asia by a spirit of devotion, answered Raymond that he could engage himself in no war before he had visited the holy places.
The prince of Antioch did not allow himself to be discouraged by this refusal; he employed every means to touch the heart of the queen, and resolved to make love subservient to his designs. William of Tyre, who has left us the portrait of Raymond, informs us that he was “mild and affable of speech,[282] exhibiting in his countenance and manner, I do not know what singular grace and behaviour of an excellent and magnanimous prince.” He undertook to persuade Queen Eleanor to prolong her stay in the principality of Antioch. It was then the beginning of spring; the smiling banks of the Orontes, the groves of Daphne, and the beautiful skies of Syria, doubtless added their charms to the insinuating speeches of Raymond. The queen, seduced by the prayers of this prince, infatuated with the homage of a voluptuous and brilliant court, and, if historians may be believed, too much disposed to pleasures and indulgences unworthy of her, warmly solicited the king to delay his departure for the holy city. The king, in addition to an austere devotion, possessed a jealous and suspicious disposition; the motives therefore that made the queen desirous of remaining at Antioch strengthened his determination to go to Jerusalem. The instances of Eleanor filled his mind with suspicions, and rendered him still more inexorable; upon which Raymond, disappointed in his hopes, was loud in his complaints, and determined to be revenged. This prince, says William of Tyre, “was impetuous in his will, and of so choleric a disposition, that when he was excited he listened to neither rhyme nor reason.” He easily communicated his indignation to the mind of Eleanor, and this princess at once boldly formed the project of separating herself from Louis VII., and of dissolving their marriage, under the plea of relationship. Raymond, on his part, swore to employ force and violence to detain his niece in his dominions. At length the king of France, outraged both as a husband and a sovereign, resolved to precipitate his departure, and was obliged to carry off his own wife, and bear her into his camp by night.
The conduct of the queen must have scandalized both the infidels and the Christians of the East; and her example was likely to produce fatal effects in an army in which there were a great number of women. Among the crowd of knights, and even of Mussulmans, who during her abode at Antioch by turns were favoured by her partiality,[283] a young Turk is particularly mentioned, who received costly presents from her, and for whom she desired to abandon the king of France. In such affairs, ingeniously remarks Mézerai, “more is frequently said than there is; but sometimes also there is more than is said.” However that may be, Louis VII. could not forget his dishonour, and felt obliged some years after to repudiate Eleanor, who married Henry II., and bestowed the duchy of Guienne upon England, which was for France one of the most deplorable consequences of this second crusade.
The king and the barons of Jerusalem, who dreaded the stay of Louis VII. at Antioch, sent deputies to conjure him, in the name of Jesus Christ, to hasten his march towards the holy city. The king of France yielded to their wishes, and crossed Syria and Phœnicia without stopping at the court of the count of Tripoli, who entertained the same projects as Raymond of Poitiers. His arrival in the Holy Land created the greatest enthusiasm, and reanimated the hopes of the Christians. The people, the princes, and the prelates of Jerusalem came out to meet him, bearing in their hands branches of olive, and singing the same words as the Saviour of the world was saluted with “Blessed be he who comes in the name of the Lord.” The emperor of Germany, who had left Europe