As the soldiers bearing the body of King Baldwin entered the city at one gate, his cousin, Baldwin du Bourg, Count of Edessa, came in at another. He was in time to be present at the funeral. Immediately afterwards a council was held to determine on his successor. On the one hand, by the laws of succession, and in accordance with the king’s own request, Eustace, his brother, should have been the heir. But Eustace was in France. It would have been many months before he could be brought to Palestine, and the state of affairs brooked no delay. While the minds of the electing council were still uncertain what to do, Jocelyn stood up and spoke: “We have here,” he said, “the Count of Edessa, a just man, and one who fears God, the cousin of the late king, valiant in battle, and worthy of praise on all points; no country could furnish us a better king; it were better to choose him at once than wait for chances full of peril.”

Jocelyn was the old enemy of Baldwin; he was supposed, but unjustly, to bear him a grudge for the ill-treatment he had received at the count’s hands; his advice, therefore, bore the more weight, as it seemed entirely disinterested. Arnold, the patriarch, seconded him, and Baldwin was chosen king unanimously. Whether Jocelyn’s advice was altogether disinterested may be doubted. At all events he received from the new king the investiture of the principality of Edessa, as a reward for his services. Baldwin was crowned, like his predecessor, in Bethlehem, on Ascension Day.

The new king, the date of whose birth is uncertain, was the son of Count Hugh of Rethel and his wife Milicent. He was the cousin of Godfrey, with whom he started for Palestine. He had two brothers, one of whom was the Archbishop of Rheims, and the other succeeded his father, but dying without children, the archbishop gave up his episcopate, and married, in order to continue the family. Baldwin himself was above the ordinary stature, wonderfully active, skilful in horsemanship, and of great strength and bravery. His hair, we are told, was thin and fair, and already streaked with grey. He was married to an Armenian princess, by whom he had several daughters, but no sons. He wore a long Oriental beard, but though he conformed in many respects to Eastern habits, he had not forgotten his early piety, and scrupulously obeyed the rules of the church, insomuch that we are told that his knees were covered with callosities, the result of many prayers and penances. He was already well-advanced in years.

Count Eustace, hearing in France of his brother’s death, set off at once to take possession of the kingdom which was his by right of succession. But on arriving in Apulia, he heard the news of Baldwin’s succession, and immediately turned back, content to spend the rest of his days in obscurity, rather than disturb the peace of Palestine by an unseemly rivalry.

The first year of the king’s reign was marked by the customary invasion of the kingdom from Egypt and the dispersion, this time without a battle, of the invaders. The next was a year of calamity. For Count Roger of Aleppo, with his little army, was utterly defeated by the Turks, the Count himself being slain, and a large number of his knights taken prisoner and treated with the greatest cruelty. Nor was this all. Ilgazi, the Prince of Aleppo, who had defeated Roger, died, and was succeeded by his much abler nephew, Balak, who made an incursion into the territory of Edessa, and captured Count Jocelyn with his nephew, Galeran, and sixty knights. Thus the two most important out-lying provinces were deprived of their rulers. Moreover, the whole country was afflicted with countless swarms of locusts and rats, which devoured every green thing, so that the Christians were threatened with famine. Baldwin called together a general council at Nablous, and the patriarch preached to the people on the sinfulness of their lives, pointing out that their afflictions were due to their own crimes and excesses, and calling on them to amend and lead better lives. After confession and protestations of repentance, the king and his army moved northwards to Antioch and defeated the Turks in their turn.

Certain small changes in the internal administration, only of importance as pointing to the decadence of the old ferocity against the Saracens, were introduced by the king in Jerusalem. For, besides remitting the old heavy dues on exportation and importation, so far as the Latins were concerned, Baldwin granted a sort of free trade to all Syrians, Greeks, “and even Saracens,” to bring provisions of all kinds into the city for sale without fear of exaction. His wise idea was to increase the population of the city, and therefore its strength, by making it the most privileged town in his realm, and the central market of Palestine.

But in 1124 a misfortune fell upon him which might have been fatal to his kingdom. For, after Jocelyn’s capture, he led his forces into Edessa, and there, marching one night in February, without taking proper precautions, his men being allowed to dispersedisperse in various directions, he fell into an ambuscade, and was made prisoner himself by Balak, who sent him in irons to the fortress of Khortbert.

And now the country was without a ruler. In this emergency, the barons assembled at Acre and elected as Regent, Eustace Garnier, the Baron of Sidon and CÆsarea, who proved worthy of their confidence. The story of the king’s captivity is like a chapter of a romance. For while he was in fetters with Jocelyn at Khortbert, certain Armenians, fifty in number, swore a solemn oath to one another that the king should be released. Disguising themselves as monks,^[59] and hiding daggers under their long robes, they went to the citadel, and putting on a melancholy and injured air, they pretended to have been attacked and robbed on the road, and demanded to be admitted to the governor of the castle, in order to have redress. They were allowed to enter, and directly they got within the walls they drew out their weapons, slaughtered every Saracen, made themselves masters of the place, and released the king from his fetters. But not from his prison, for the Turks, furious at the intelligence, which spread quickly enough, gathered together from all quarters, resolved to bar their escape till Balak could send reinforcements strong enough to retake the place. After a hurried council, it was resolved within the fort that Jocelyn should attempt the perilous task of escaping. Three men were deputed to go with him, two to accompany him on his road, and one to return to the king with the news that he had safely got through the enemy. Jocelyn took a solemn oath that he would lose no time in raising an army of assistance, and swore, besides, that he would neither shave his heard, nor drink wine, till the king was released. He then slipped out under cover of the darkness, and the king, resolved to defend the castle till the last, set to work on his fortifications.

That night Balak had a fearful dream. He thought that he met the terrible Jocelyn, alone and unprotected, and that the Christian knight, hurling him to the ground, tore out both his eyes. Awaking with fright, he sent off messengers in hot haste to behead Jocelyn at once. They arrived too late. The castle was taken and the bird was flown. But the flight of the count was full of dangers. He got safely enough to the banks of the Euphrates, but here an unforeseen difficulty met him, for he could not swim. How to cross the river? They had two leathern bottles. These, inflated, they tied round Jocelyn’s body, and the other two men, who could swim, steering by the right and left, managed to get him across the water. Then they went on, bare-footed, hungry, and thirsty, till Jocelyn could travel no farther, and, covering himself with branches, in order to conceal himself, he lay down to sleep. One of the attendants, meantime, was sent off to find some inhabitant of the country, and either beg, buy, or rob provisions of some kind. He met an Armenian peasant loaded with grapes and wild figs, whom he brought along to his master. The peasant knew him. “Hail, Lord Jocelyn!” he cried, at sight of the ragged knight. “At these words,” says Foulcher, “which the count would fain not have heard, he replied, all in alarm but nevertheless with mildness, ‘I am not he whom you name; may the Lord help him wherever he be,’

“‘Seek not,’ said the peasant, ‘to conceal thyself. Fear nothing, and tell me what evil has befallen thee.’

“‘Whoever thou art,’ said the count, ‘have pity on me; do not, I pray, make known my misfortune to my enemies; lead me into some place where I may be in safety.... I am a fugitive and a wanderer.... Tell me what property thou hast in this place, and what is its value; and I will give thee property of far more worth in my own dominion.’

“‘Seigneur, I ask nothing,’ replied the other. ‘I will lead thee safe and sound where thou wishest to go; once thou didst deprive thyself of bread to make me eat. It is now my turn. I have a wife, an only daughter of tender years, an ass, two brothers, and two oxen. I will go with thee and carry everything away. I have also a pig, which I will bring here immediately.’

“‘Nay, my brother,’ said the count, ‘a whole pig may not be eaten in a single meal, and we must not excite suspicions.’”

The peasant went away, and presently returned with all his family—though, curiously enough, Foulcher says nothing at all about his wife. Perhaps she was left behind, like Creusa. The count mounts the ass, takes the child in his arms, and they start. On the road the child began to cry, and “to torment the count with its wailing.” He did not know how to appease it; “for Jocelyn had never learned the art of soothing infants by caresses;” he began at first to think of throwing away the baby, or of leaving it by the wayside, and so getting rid of a travelling companion who might bring them all to grief; but “perceiving that this project did not please the peasant, and fearing to afflict him,” he continued, with the greatest consideration, to endure “this new trouble,” till they arrived at his castle at Turbessel, where there was great rejoicing. Can there be a quainter figure than this of the count mounted on the ass, carrying the squalling baby, and divided between rage at its screams and gratitude to the peasant, his deliverer?

Meantime, the king was not prospering. Balak, in a rage that one of his enemies had escaped him, hastened himself to the castle of Khortbert with so large an army as to deprive Baldwin of any hope of success. The fort was built on a chalk hill easy to cut into. Balak sent sappers, who made excavations under the principal tower, and then filling the cavern with wood, he set fire to it. When the wood was consumed the chalk was softened and the tower came down with a crash. Then Baldwin, against his will, surrendered unconditionally. Life was granted to him, to Galeran, and to the king’s nephew. But the poor faithful Armenians, the cause of Jocelyn’s escape and the massacre of the garrison, were treated with the most cruel inhumanity. All were murdered, most by tortures of the most horrid description, of which sawing in halves and roasting alive, being buried alive, and being set up naked as marks for children to fire arrows at, are given as a few specimens. Jocelyn, who had been hastily collecting an army, gave up the design of a rescue in despair, and went to Jerusalem.

And then the Egyptians made a formidable incursion. This time things looked desperate indeed. A rigorous fast was ordered. Even the babes at the breast were denied their mothers’ milk, and the very cattle were driven off their pastures, as if the sight of the sufferings of these helpless creatures would incline the Lord to pity. At least, it inclined the Christians to fury. They issued from Jerusalem to the sound of the great bell, under Eustace Garnier, the Regent, to the number of three thousand combatants only. With them was carried the wood of the true Cross, the Holy Lance, and a vase containing some of the milk of the Blessed Virgin. Again the Christians were victorious, and the army of the enemy fled in panic behind the walls of Ascalon. But the Christians could only act on the defensive. There was not only no chance of extending their dominions, but even only a slender one of keeping them. Relief came, in the shape of a great Venetian fleet.

The Venetians had held serious counsel as to whether they should go on with their old traffic with the Mohammedans, by which they had enriched themselves, or should imitate the example of their rivals, the Genoese, and make money out of the Christians in Palestine. They decided on the latter course, and fitted out a strong and well-armed fleet. On the way they fought two victorious battles, one with their rivals, the Genoese, returning laden with the proceeds of the season’s trade, whom they stripped, and one with the Egyptian fleet, which they cut to pieces. This accomplished, they arrived off Palestine, and offered to make terms for assistance in the year’s campaign. Their terms, like those of the Genoese, were hard. They were to have, if a town was taken, a church, a street, an oven, and a tribunal of their own. Of course these were acceded to. To find money to pay the knights, the Regent had to take all the vessels and ornaments of the churches and melt them down.

Of all the towns on the coast between Antioch and Ascalon, only two remained in the hands of the Mohammedans. But these two were of the greatest importance. For while Tyre remained a Saracen city it could be made the centre of operations against the principality of Antioch on the north and the Kingdom of Palestine on the south; while if Ascalon were taken the Egyptians would be deprived of their means of attack, and would be obliged to invade the country through the desert. Opinions were so much divided on the matter that it was decided to refer the decision to lot, and a child, an orphan, was selected to take from the altar one of two pieces of paper, containing the names of the two towns. The lot fell on Tyre, and Eustace Garnier marched northwards, with all the troops that he could raise.

About this point William of Tyre, who has been gradually passing from the vague hearsay history of events, which happened while he was a child, to a clear and detailed narrative of events of which he was either a spectator or a contemporary, becomes more and more interesting. We cannot afford the space, nor does it fall within the limits of this volume, to give more than the leading incidents in the fortunes of the provinces of the Christian kingdom. We cannot, therefore, linger over the details of this siege, of the greatest importance to the safety of the Christians. The town belonged to the Caliph of Egypt, who held two-thirds of it, and to the Emir, or King, of Damascus, who owned the rest. The Christian army, demoralized by the absence of the king, and disheartened by the reverses which of late had attended their efforts, began badly. They murmured at the hardships and continual fighting they had to undergo, nor would they have persisted in the siege but for two things, the presence of the Venetians, which stimulated their ardour, and the joyful news that the formidable Balak was dead. He was killed by Jocelyn himself, who ran him through with his sword and then cut off his head without knowing who was his adversary. Thus Balak’s dream, says the Christian historian, was in a manner fulfilled, though the Arabs, not having a dream to accomplish, tell the story of his death in another way.

The people of Ascalon, “like unquiet wasps, always occupied with the desire of doing mischief,” seeing that the whole army was away at Tyre, and hoping to catch Jerusalem unguarded, appeared suddenly within a few miles of the city, in great force. After ravaging and pillaging for a time, they were seized with a sudden panic, and all fled back to their town, without any enemy in sight.

The siege of Tyre was concluded on the 29th of June, 1124, on the conditions which had now become customary. The Tyrians could go away if they pleased. Those who chose to stay could do so without fear. And the historian tells how, when the treaty of surrender was concluded, Tyrians and Christians visited each other’s camp, and admired the siege artillery on the one hand, and the walls and strength of the town on the other. We are therefore approaching the period of what may be called friendly warfare. Godfrey thought an infidel was one with whom no dealings were to be held, to whom no mercy was to be shown. Baldwin, taught by his Armenian wife, and by his experience in Edessa, went so far as to shock the Christians by an alliance with the Damascenes. His successor could not prevent his men, even if he tried, from friendly intercourse with the enemy.

The changes which had been wrought by time are graphically put forth by our friend Foulcher de Chartres: “Consider,” he says, “how the West has been turned into the East; how he who was of the West has become of the East; he who was Roman or Frank has become here a GalilÆan or an inhabitant of Palestine; he who was a citizen of Rheims or of Chartres is become a citizen of Tyre or of Antioch. We have already forgotten the places of our birth; they are even by this time either unknown to most of us, or at least never spoken of. Some of us hold lands and houses by hereditary right; one has married a woman who is not of his own country—a Syrian, an Armenian, or even a Saracen who has abjured her faith; another has with him his son-in-law, or his father-in-law; this one is surrounded by his nephews and his grandchildren; one cultivates vines, another the fields; they all talk different languages, and yet succeed in understanding one another.... The stranger has become the native, the pilgrim the resident; day by day our relations come from the West and stay with us. Those who were poor at home God has made rich here; those who at home had nothing but a farm here have a city. Why should he who finds the East so fortunate return again to the West?” The plenty and sunshine of Palestine, where every Frank was a sort of aristocrat by right of colour, no doubt gave charms to a life which otherwise was one of constant fighting and struggle. Palestine was to France in this century what America was to Europe in the sixteenth, the land of prosperity, plenty, and danger. How the country got peopled is told by another writer, Jacques de Vitry, in too glowing colours.

“The Holy Land flourished like a garden of delight. The deserts were changed into fat and fertile meadows, harvests raised their heads where once had been the dwelling-places of serpents and dragons. Hither the Lord, who had once abandoned this land, gathered together His children. Men of every tribe and every nation came there by the inspiration of heaven, and doubled the population. They came in crowds from beyond the sea, especially from Genoa, Venice, and Pisa. But the greatest force of the realm was from France and Germany. The Italians are more courageous at sea, the French and Germans on land, ... those of Italy are sober in their meals, polished in their discourse, circumspect in their resolutions, prompt to execute them; full of forethought, submitting with difficulty to others; defending their liberty above all; making their own laws, and trusting for their execution to chiefs whom themselves have elected. They are very necessary for the Holy Land, not only for fighting, but for the transport of pilgrims and provisions. As they are sober, they live longer in the East than other nations of the West. The Germans, the Franks, the Bretons, the English, and others beyond the Alps are less deceitful, less circumspect, but more impetuous; less sober, more prodigal; less discreet, less prudent, more devout, more charitable, more courageous; therefore they are considered more useful for the defence of the Holy Land, especially the Bretons, and more formidable against the Saracens.”

But evil came of prosperity. As for the bishops and clergy, they took all, and gave nothing. To them, we are told, it was as if Christ’s command had not been “Feed my sheep,” but “Shear my sheep.” The regular orders, infected with wealth, lost their piety with their poverty, their discipline with their adversity; they fought, quarrelled, and gave occasion for every kind of scandal. As for the laity, they were as bad. A generation dissolute, corrupt, and careless had sprung from the first Crusaders.^[60] Their mothers had been Armenians, Greeks, or Syrians. They succeeded to the possessions, but not to the manners of their fathers; all the world knows, says the historian, how they were lapped in delights, soft, effeminate, more accustomed to baths than to fighting, given over to debauchery and impurity, going dressed as softly as women, cowardly, lazy, and pusillanimous before the enemies of Christ, despised by the Saracens, and preferring rather to have peace at any price than to defend their own possessions. No doubt the climate of Syria rapidly produced a degeneracy in the courage and strength of the Latin race, but the writer’s style is too full of adjectives. He screams like an angry woman when he declaims against the age, which was probably no worse than its predecessors, and the heat of his invective deprives it of most of its force.

It was in Baldwin’s reign that the Knights Templars were founded, and the Hospitallers became a military order.

From very early times an order, known as that of St. Lazarus, had existed, dedicated to the service of lepers and of pilgrims. They had a hospital, at first, in Acre; they were protected by the late emperors, their brethren accompanied the army of Heraclius as a sort of ambulance corps; they obtained permission to establish themselves in Bethlehem, Jerusalem, and Nazareth, and they had a settlement at Cyprus. After the first Crusade they divided into three classes, the knights, or fighting brothers; the physicians, or medical brothers; and the priests, who administered the last rites of the church to dying men. These establishments spread over France, Italy, and Germany; they became rich. The knights appear to have disappeared gradually; they spent their money in sending pilgrims out in ships, and in paying the ransoms of those who were taken prisoner.

The origin of the Knights Hospitallers, originally only the Brothers of St. John, took place just before the first Crusade. The order was founded by a certain citizen of Amalfi, Gerard by name. There are many stories about his life. By some he is confounded with that Gerard d’Avesnes, who, a hostage in the hand of the Emir of ArsÛf, was bound by him to a piece of timber in the place against which the machines were chiefly directed, in hopes that the sight might induce Godfrey to desist. But Godfrey persisted, and Gerard, though pierced with arrows, eventually recovered. Probably, however, this was another Gerard. The order began with a monastery near the Church of the Sepulchre, and in 1113 received a charter from the Pope. Their immediate object, like that of the Brothers of St. Lazarus, was to help the wounded; their bread and meat were of the coarsest, they did not disdain the most menial offices; and, in spite of their voluntary hardships, and the repulsive duties of their office, they rapidly grew, and became wealthy. Raymond Dupuy, grand master in 1118, modified the existing statutes of this order, and made every brother take the oath to fight, in addition to his other duties. Henceforth it was a military order, divided into languages, having commandories for every language, and lands in every country. Its habit consisted of a black robe, with a mantle to which was sewn a hood; on the left shoulder was an eight-pointed cross; and later, for the knights, a coat of arms was added. And this habit was so honourable that he who fled was judged unworthy to wear it. Those who entered the order out of Palestine might wear the cross without the mantle. Riches presently corrupted the early discipline, and pope after pope addressed them on the subject of the laxity of their morals. Their history, however, does not belong to us. How they fought at Rhodes, and how they held Malta, belong to another history. It is the only one of the military orders not yet extinct.

It was in the year 1118 that the proud and aristocratic order of Knights Templars was first instituted. Nine knights, nobly born, consecrated themselves, by a solemn vow, to protect pilgrims on the roads, and to labour for the safety and welfare of the Church. Their leaders were Hugh de Payens and Geoffrey de St. Aldemar. They had no church or place of residence, and the king assigned to them the building south of the Dome of the Rock, now called the JÁmi‘ el Aksa. It was then called the Palace of Solomon, or the Royal Palace, and William of Tyre is careful to distinguish between it and the Dome of the Rock, which he calls the Temple of the Lord. The canons of the Temple also allowed the knights to make use of their own ground, that is, of the Haram Area. For nine years they wore no distinctive habit, and had no worldly possessions. But at the Council of Troyes, where they were represented by deputies, their cause was taken up by the Church, and they obtained permission to wear a white mantle with a red cross. Then, for some reason or other, they became the most popular of all the orders, and the richest. Their wealth quickly introduced pride and luxury, and William of Tyre complains that even in his time, writing only some fifty years after their foundation, there were 300 knights, without serving brothers, “whose number was infinite,” that, though they had kept the rules of their first profession, they had forgotten the duty of humility, had withdrawn themselves from the authority of the Patriarch of Jerusalem, and were already rendering themselves extremely obnoxious to the Church by depriving it of its tithes and first-fruits. Here we see the first appearance of that hostility to the Church which afterwards caused the fall of the Templars. The reception of a new knight was a kind of initiation. The chapter assembled by night with closed doors, the candidate waiting without. Two brothers were sent out, three times in succession, to ask him if he wished to enter the brotherhood. The candidate replied to each interrogatory, and then, to signify the poverty of his condition, and the modest nature of his wants, he was to ask three times for bread and water. After this he was introduced in due form, and after the customary ceremonies and questions, was made to take the oath of poverty, chastity, obedience, and devotion to the defence of Palestine. The following is given as the formula, or part of it:—“I swear to consecrate my speech, my strength, and my life, to defend the belief in the unity of God and the mysteries of the faith; I promise to be submissive and obedient to the grand master of the order; when the Saracens invade the lands of the Christians, I will pass over the seas to deliver my brethren; I will give the succour of my arm to the Church and the kings against the infidel princes; so long as my enemies shall be only three to one against me I will fight them and will never take flight; alone I will combat them if they are unbelievers.”

Everything was done by threes, because three signifies the mystery of the Trinity. Three times a year the knights were enumerated; three times a week they heard mass and could eat meat; three times a week they gave alms; while those who failed in their duty were scourged three times in open chapter.

In later times the simple ceremony of admission became complicated by symbolical rites and ceremonies. The candidate was stripped of all his clothes; poor, naked, and helpless, he was to stand without the door and seek admission. This was not all. He yet had his religion. He was required to spit upon the cross and deny his Saviour. And then with nothing to help him, nothing to fall back upon, he was to be rebaptized in the chapter of the order: to owe everything to the Templars, to belong to them by the sacred kiss of brotherhood, by the oaths of secrecy, by the memory of his readmission into Christianity, by the glorious traditions of the order, and lastly, as is more than probable, by that mysterious teaching which put the order above the Church, and gave an inner and a deeper meaning to doctrines which the vulgar accepted in their literal sense. It is impossible now to say whether the Templars were Gnostic or not; probably they may have imbibed in the East not only that contempt for the vulgar Christianity which undoubtedly belonged to them, but also whatever there was left of Gnosticism floating about in the minds and memories of men. In that strange time of doubt and restlessness, the revolt against Rome took many forms. There was the religion of the Troubadour, half a mocking denial, half a jesting question; there was the angry protest of the ProvenÇal, that every man is a priest unto himself; there was the strange and mysterious teaching of the Abbot Joachim; and there was, besides, the secret creed, which owned no bishop and would obey no pope, of these Knights Templars.

But this was to come; we are still in the time when St. Bernard can write of them, “O happy state of life, wherein one may wait for death without fear, even wish for it, and receive it with firmness!” This was when their banner BeausÉant was borne in the front of every battle, with its humble legend, “Not unto us, O Lord, not unto us, but unto Thy name give the glory.”

In the thirteenth century, the Hospitallers had nine thousand manors, and the Templars nineteen thousand. Each of these could maintain a knight in Palestine. And yet they did nothing for the deliverance of the country.

After the reconquest of Palestine, and until their final and cruel suppression, they seem to have given up all thoughts of their first vows, and to have become an aristocratic order, admission into which was a privilege, which involved no duties, demanded no sacrifices, and conferred great power and distinction. To be a Templar was for a younger son of a noble house to become a sort of fellow of a college, only a college far more magnificent and splendid than anything which remains to us.

The Teutonic order was founded later, during the Crusade of Frederick Barbarossa. It was at first called the Order of St. George. After a stay of some time at Jerusalem, the knights, who were always Germans, went to Acre. And thence, receiving the provinces of Livonia, Culm, and all they could get of Prussia, they removed to Europe, where they founded KÖnigsberg in honour of Louis IX. of France, and did good service against the pagans of Prussia. The order did not remain a Roman Catholic one, as was decided after the Reformation, and to gain admission into it it was necessary to prove sixteen quarterings of nobility.

History, about this time, occupied chiefly in relating how the Turks on the north, and the Egyptians on the south, made incursion after incursion, to be beaten back, each time with more difficulty, becomes somewhat monotonous. King Baldwin II., when the enemy found that his capture did not affect the success of the Christian arms, and agreed to accept a ransom for him, directly he got out of prison assembled his army and laid siege to Aleppo. Here he was assisted by the Mohammedans themselves, but in spite of his auxiliaries, was compelled to raise the siege, and returned to Jerusalem, where he was welcomed by his people. If he was unfortunate in attack, he was at least fortunate in repelling invasion, and beat back the Turks near Antioch, and again near Damascus. The Turks were only formidable when they were united; when, as often happened, their forces were divided by internal dissensions among the emirs and princes, the Christians were at rest, and when these discords were appeased an invasion followed. With the Egyptians the invasion was annual, but every year growing weaker. Still, though always beaten back, the Mohammedan troops came again and again, and the crown of Jerusalem was ever a crown of thorns. Among those who came at this time to Palestine was young Bohemond, son of that turbulent Norman who gave Alexis so much trouble. Baldwin gladly resigned into his hands the principality of Antioch, which after the death of Count Roger had been under his own care. Bohemond was young, brave, and handsome. Great things were expected of him. Baldwin gave him his daughter Alice to wife, and for a little while all went well, through the young prince’s activity and prudence. But he was killed in Cilicia, leaving no heir but an infant girl. After this a very curious story is told.

The princess Alice, widow of young Bohemond, resolved, if possible, to keep for herself, by any means, the possessions of her late husband. In order to effect this, as she knew very well that her daughter would become the king’s ward and heiress of all, she resolved to try for the help of the Christians’ greatest enemy, Zanghi. She sent a messenger to the Turk, to open negotiations with him. As a symbol of her good faith, the messenger was provided with a white palfrey, shod with silver, with silver bit, and harness mounted all in silver, and covered with a white cloth. On the way the messenger was arrested and brought to the king, who was travelling in haste to Antioch. He confessed his errand and was executed. But Alice closed the gates of the city, afraid to meet her father. These were opened by some of the inhabitants, who did not choose to participate in this open treason to the Christian cause, and Alice retreated to the citadel. Finally the king was prevailed on to pardon her, and she received the towns which had been already settled on her by the marriage deeds, of Laodicea and Gebail. But she was going to cause more trouble yet.

Another son-in-law of the king was Fulke, who succeeded him. He came to Palestine as a pilgrim, bewailing the death of his wife Ermentrade. Here he maintained in his pay a hundred men-at-arms for a whole year, in the king’s service. Baldwin, who had no sons, offered him his daughter Milicent, and the succession to the crown. Fulke, then thirty-eight years of age, gratefully accepted the offer, and consoled himself for his bereavement.

Baldwin the Second died in the year 1131. He had ruled Edessa for eighteen years, and Jerusalem for twelve, during which time he had spent seven years in captivity. He was lamented by his subjects, though his reign had not been fortunate or successful. Still, by dint of sheer courage, the boundaries of the realm had not been contracted. What was really the fatal thing about his reign was that the Mohammedans knew now by repeated trials that the Christians were not invincible. It was a knowledge which every year deepened, and every petty victory strengthened. The prestige of their arms once gone, the power of the Christians was sure to follow.

Religious as Baldwin was, his piety did not prevent him from asserting the rights of the crown over those claimed by every successive patriarch, and many quarrels happened between him and the prelates, who tried perpetually to extend their temporal power. During one of these, the patriarch fell ill. Baldwin went to see him. “I am,” said the revengeful priest, “as you would wish to see me, Sir King,” implying that Baldwin wished his death, even if he had not compassed it. William of Tyre, a priest to the backbone, relates this incident without a word of comment. It must be remembered that the position of the Latin clergy in Palestine was not by any means so good as that which they enjoyed in Europe. Their lands were not so large in proportion, and their dignity and authority less. On the other hand, they were neither so nobly born, nor so well bred, nor so learned as their clerical brethren of the West. Thus it is reported that a Flemish pilgrim was once raised to the patriarchal seat, simply because, at the imposture of the Holy Fire, his taper was the first to light, and it will be remembered how, after the deposition of Dagobert, Ebremer, a simple and perfectly ignorant monk, was put into his place. And when the pope refused to confirm the appointment, they made him archbishop of another diocese by way of compensation.

We have seen, so far, the growth of this little kingdom, created in a single campaign, sustained by the valour of kings whose crown was an iron helmet, whose throne was seldom anything but a camp-stool in a tent, or the saddle of a horse, whose hands grasped no sceptre but a sword, who lived hardly, and died in harness. We have next to see its decline and fall.

Legends of Baldwin’s prowess grew up as the years ran on. As a specimen of the stories which gathered about his name we subjoin the following translation, almost literal, from a French romance of the fourteenth century. It treats of a visit made by Baldwin with two Mohammedan princes, secretly Christian, to the Old Man of the Mountains:

61. Le Vieux de la Montagne.