Gettin’ By With A Little Help From my Friends

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Siege of Antioch, 1098. (Image Credit)

So this is a paper I wrote for school about the Crusader State of Antioch (I tried to find an excuse to mention a holy hand grenade, but to no avail). It isn’t due for a few weeks yet, and I haven’t written anything of this sort in a few years, so my hope in posting it here is that one or more of you fine folks will look it over and give me some useful feedback. Really, any feedback is useful feedback. I have such a poor barometer for the quality (or lack thereof) of my own work, and obviously my fellow classmates are consumed with writing their own papers so I’m hesitant to ask any of them. I’m not expecting much, I realize the interest in this sort of thing is somewhat limited beyond the really intense history dork, but if anyone wants to read it and leave a critique (no matter how short or long, I’d take even general impressions) in the comments, I’d certainly appreciate it.

Koinonia Politike on the Levant – Crisis Management and Interdependence in the Principality of Antioch, 1098-1119

Scholarship concerning the crusader state of Antioch has tended to bypass the question of its relatively lengthy lifespan as an undermanned foreign colony amid an almost-uniformly hostile geopolitical environment.[1] Writers addressing the concept at all have focused on Muslim disunity and other external factors beyond the control of the crusaders,[2] or alternatively, have provided incomplete, unsatisfying explanations regarding the Principality’s stability. Asbridge, for one example, argues that Antioch’s early independence was a chief contributor to its long-term political cohesion, citing Bohemond I’s use of the title Princeps as evidence that Antioch’s first Frankish ruler was determined to remain independent from Jerusalem.[3]

While Muslim disunity inarguably played a role in the extended Frankish presence in the Levant,[4] another thread emerges upon a close examination of the Principality’s early period, particularly within the Antiochene response to existential crisis. That common thread of behavior – involving diverse types of emergencies and several different city leaders – suggests a collaborative administration, accepting of the pragmatic realities of governing a new state far from its leadership’s original power base. Contra Asbridge, this paper will argue that cooperation – that is, the sacrifice of a certain degree of independence – was of greater importance and value to the Principality’s endurance in the first two decades of its existence. The crusader states of the Levant behaved in many respects as individuals within a single Koinōnia Politikē,[5] partners interdependent upon one another and dependent upon supporters in mainland Europe.

Before proceeding with the examination of Frankish administration in Antioch, it is worthwhile to explore what is conveyed by the word “independent.” Pedantic though it seems on its face, the question is not as obvious as it appears. It is clear from the context that Asbridge refers to political independence, but, in the pre-Westphalian era in which the borders of a polity are never well-defined (if conceived of at all[6]) and therefore could easily become jumbled, social and economic independence merit at least brief consideration. Situated on a trade route between the East and the Greco-Roman world, since its inception the “fair crown of the Orient”[7] had stood at a crossroads of cultures,[8] set upon by successive waves of cultural influence from its eastern and western flanks. In the centuries prior to Frankish arrival, Pagans lived alongside Jews, Eastern Christians,[9] and later Muslims.[10] In the space of three hundred years the reins of the city’s leadership passed from the Byzantine Empire, to the Persians, to the Arabs, back to the Empire and then, just fifteen years prior to the Crusade, to the Seljuk Turks,[11] and it is safe to assume the city retained a cultural impression from each successive takeover.

The evidence suggests that in good times at least, prior to and throughout the crusader period, peaceful coexistence was not an impossibility. Ibn al-Athir records Emir Yaghi Siyan banishing the Christians from Antioch in 1097 when he heard tell of the oncoming crusader army. Al-Athir credits the Emir with protecting the wives and children of the exiled Christians (suggesting that only adult men were expelled).[12] Even if he exaggerates the generosity of the Muslim ruler, Yaghi Siyan is presented otherwise as something of a cowardly bumbler,[13] and that even an ineffectual ruler is credited this act of tolerance – when it would have been no doubt easier to order a massacre – speaks volumes about the city’s cosmopolitan culture. Raymond D’Aguilers differs in his account by not letting Yaghi Siyan out of the city (that is, Al-Athir has him doubling back to Antioch after fleeing, while in Raymond’s account he never left the city), but Raymond and Al-Athir agree that the Emir was killed either by one or many local Armenian peasants. Raymond speculates that this was because Yaghi Siyan had decapitated many Armenians,[14] but it could equally have been an attempt to curry favor with the city’s new occupiers, who were not known for their reserve when it came to violence towards perceived enemies.[15] Even if the Emir was unkind to the Armenian population, the fact remains that there was a substantial Armenian population in the region during the brief Turkish period of rule.

Frankish rule apparently did little to alter Antioch’s diverse character – Walter the Chancellor describes the population at the time of the great earthquake of 1115 as “Latins, Greeks, Syrians, Armenians, strangers and pilgrims.”[16] The sources paint Antioch as an overlapping Venn diagram inclusive of every major surrounding society of the period, a cosmopolis which cannot be considered culturally independent by any definition.

What of economic independence? The evidence suggests that the Byzantine economy was a sophisticated interwoven network, involving primarily agrarian activity but also a variety of other commerce. Rural farmers would sell their surplus at urban markets, using the proceeds to pay dowries, rent, and taxes to the distant Imperial Government.[17] If a city within an empire would find its economy interconnected with those around it, an imperial city on a major trade route (“the chief meeting place of Greek and Muslim commerce” in the early second millennium[18]) would presumably experience the same phenomenon more pronounced. The ancients record merchants from as distant as Rome doing business in the Levant,[19] and coins minted in Antioch found their way as far east as the Parthian city of Dura.[20]

This economic interconnectedness and multiplicity of influences continued into the crusader era. Recent studies of medieval vegetation patterns in the region indicate a sudden spike in wine grape production at the beginning of the crusader period, implying that the Europeans imported their own economic products into the preexisting system.[21] Further, the frequency and focus placed on tributary payments[22] suggests that they became an important source of revenue and resources for the principality. Walter indicates that these payments went both ways, Frank to Muslim and vice versa, creating a de facto system of cash/goods-for-protection transactions.[23] Granted, these transactions could take on the appearance of a mob shakedown – Ibn al-Kalanisi records Tancred ravaging Aleppo and taking prisoners, after which the Aleppine King Fakhr al-Muluk Rudwan agreed to pay Antioch an annual tribute of 20,000 dinars and ten head of horse.[24] Whether forcibly compelled or the result of legitimate treaty, whether official or unofficial, a practical result of these tributary payments was an interconnected flow of capital upon which both Frankish and Muslim leaders came to depend to varying degrees. From antiquity through the period of the principality, no evidence suggests that Antioch’s economy was ever isolated or independent.

From this generalized background illustrating a tradition of Antiochene economic and cultural interdependence, one can more narrowly and clearly assess the political. An examination of three incidents of political crisis in the principality’s first twenty years of existence – each of which involved reasonable doubt of its survival – reveals a willingness (or perhaps the acknowledgement of a necessity) to cooperate and rely on external assistance. Those particular three incidents are appropriate to the revelation of a pattern of administration among the principality’s early leadership, for a number of reasons. The incidents in question occur across a wide enough temporal span that the principal leadership varies, but narrow enough that those individuals are part of the same generation, and would have known each other. A narrower data set would be too specific, unequal to the task of drawing a comprehensive behavioral pattern. Finally, the three events involve the Antiochene leadership dealing with a different enemy, and seeking assistance from a different external source.

The events surrounding the 1098 successful crusader siege of Antioch and Kerbogha’s (the governor of Mosul[25]) subsequent siege of the half-conquered city[26] would seem initially to refute the idea of Antiochene interdependence. The newly-occupying forces in Antioch appear to have dealt with Kerbogha’s siege on their own, absent outside assistance. However a closer reading indicates that the solution of that crisis may have precipitated the greater pattern of later Antiochene reliance on external aid.

To briefly recount, a multi-headed crusader army[27] besieged the city for over a year in 1097-8. In the summer of 1098 Bohemond established contact with a guard[28] who allowed the crusaders to pass through Antioch’s formidable defenses, ending the siege in a Frankish victory, and Kerbogha arrived almost immediately afterward to siege the now crusader-held city. Mayer puts the irony of the situation succinctly: “Once the besiegers, they now found themselves besieged in a city suffering from a shortage of food.”[29] The reasons given for the outcome of that altercation (a Frankish victory over Kerbogha) fall into two distinct sets, in both the primary documents and secondary studies: Kerbogha’s bad timing and poor leadership on one hand,[30] and on the other the Provencal pilgrim Peter Bartholomew’s fortuitously-timed discovery of the Holy Lance, which gave the Europeans the motivation necessary to repel the Turkish army beyond their walls.[31] The truth behind the crusader victory almost certainly involved a variety of causes, among which two were renewed crusader vigor following the discovery of the lance, and Kerbogha’s poor luck and poor decision-making.

The entirety of these events occurred prior to the principality’s formal constitution in late 1098/early 1099[32] – The Franks captured the city on 3 June,[33] Bartholomew produced the lance on 14 June, and the decisive battle with Kerbogha took place on 28 June[34] – but it still ought to be regarded as the principality’s earliest existential crisis. The reason for this is simple – had the Franks lost, there never would have been an Antiochene principality. The sources paint a portrait of Bohemond – the central figure in the principality’s embryonic period[35] – as exceedingly ambitious and opportunistic,[36] a highborn frustrated by his prospects in Europe, who viewed the eastern excursion as a chance to punch his ticket.[37] There can be little doubt that while the principality did not exist yet in actuality, it existed in the consciousness of at least its first ruler (whose every action seems dedicated to its realization) and, presumably, increasingly in the collective conscious of the crusaders at large. Kerbogha had an opportunity to smother the principality in its crib, but, faced with a famine-weakened, undermanned crusader army, managed to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory.

There is of course no way to know whether the crusaders could still have been victorious without their manufactured miracle, but the eyewitness accounts appear to answer that question resoundingly in the negative. The Gesta Francorum tells the story of what must have been a harrowing late-June: On the tenth he records the desertions of William of Grandmesnil, Guy Trousseau and Lambert the Poor.[38] Worse, with Kerbogha’s army at the gates, Stephen of Blois – previously elected commander – feigned illness and fled to Alexandretta. In a development that might be connected to the sudden spike in miraculous events late that month, the last two weeks of June became truly desperate – The Gesta Francorum author records men surviving on leaves, vines, thistles and animal skins.[39] Raymond D’Aguilers is too proper to give a full account, citing misfortunes “too unpleasant to report”[40] in written form. There is no evidence to suggest that the Franks were in a state other than desperation, well-primed for the morale boost of divine intervention via such a powerful holy relic. In a joint letter to Pope Urban II dated September 1098, Bohemond himself cites it as the turning point: “Our spirits were so revived and strengthened by [the lance’s discovery] and many other divine revelations, that we shed our previous fear and apprehensions.”[41]

Al-Kalanisi agrees that the Franks were in dire straits – “reduced to eating carrion” – but he offers no speculation as to the reason for their victory. As a Muslim historian he has good cause to ignore the holy lance story (which he does), but he also presumably has motive to let Kerbogha and the defenders of Islam off the hook. However he does no such thing – by the Damascus Chronicler’s reckoning the Franks were “in the extremity of weakness” while the armies of Islam were “at the height of strength and numbers.”[42] In other words his description of the situation seems to suggest a likely Turkish victory, but, frustratingly, Al-Kalanisi offers no personal opinion as to why the opposite occurred. Al-Athir points to Kerbogha’s dithering and the rivalries in his camp,[43] but he also provides an Islamic account of the lance incident, treating it with amusingly cynical realism. A monk “of some influence” among the Franks, he writes, first claimed to have had a vision of the lance assuring their victory. According to Al-Athir this monk – presumably Bartholomew – had buried the lance there and then led the digging party to where they would “discover” it.[44] While Al-Athir almost mockingly dismisses the event’s authenticity, he does not dispute its motivational effect.

Ralph of Caen treats the lance discovery with disdain so similar in tone to Al-Athir’s, it seems likely he was a source of the later Muslim author. Ralph’s Gesta Tancredi provides the most detailed explanation of the lance discovery’s political implications[45] – Peter Bartholomew was a Provencal, from a region of France ruled by Raymond of Toulouse, Bohemond’s chief rival for control of the city. Ralph writes that Bohemond vocally doubted the lance’s authenticity from the outset, and that Peter is subjected to a trial by fire after the battle, proving him to be a liar. Crucially, though, all of this takes place after the city is secured, and the lance has already served its purpose. The particulars of the Gesta Francorum’s and D’Aguilers’ accounts are more-or-less identical to Al-Athir and Ralph’s, absent the cynicism – Raymond D’Aguilers is so overcome by the moment he kisses the blade of the lance.[46] For the Gesta Francorum author, salvation is at hand: “Let us be brave and courageous in all ways, because soon God will come to help us.”[47] From the competing tones of the eyewitnesses, a clear picture emerges – Bohemond’s camp accepted the lance story while it was useful, but after dealing with Kerbogha, Raymond’s people could not be allowed the glory of having saved the cause.

Given the emphasis placed upon it in the eyewitness accounts, it is reasonable to assume that without this contrived act of God, the crusaders in Antioch may not have survived this ordeal. We have no way of knowing with certainty whose idea it was to miraculously discover the lance with timing so conducive to the boosting of crusader morale,[48] in the midst of what must have been among the most difficult fourteen-day periods of the crusading experience. If a theory is formed based on who had the most to gain from its discovery, it would point towards Raymond of Toulouse. The discovery of the lance by a man from his lands would lend his claim to Antioch an undeniable air of holy legitimacy. Ralph of Caen records Raymond’s angry retort to Bohemond’s doubts about the relic: “The bridge and the gates open to me. The lance is mine and my forces are large.”[49] The implication of that statement is clear – God helped my faction. Whatever its role in a later political quarrel, though, it seems clear that for the men defending Antioch against Kerbogha, the lance meant they were not alone.

Indeed, Raymond D’Aguilers seems to indicate that divine support stood in as surrogate for the earthly support that never came. “As we have reported, heavenly assistance came to our defeated, burdened and distressed Christians through Peter Bartholomew…”[50] Once battle is joined, it is not hard to envision the lance held aloft like a banner pole missing the banner: “In the fourth [battle line] was the Bishop of Puy,[51] who carried with him the lance of the savior, along with his men…”[52] The lance functions as a banner of sorts, drawing the prayers of its loyalists rather than governing their physical location. For D’Aguilers these prayers go beyond the typical exhortations for God’s favor; this is nothing less than tangible support from an involved and active warrior deity. “Superior in numbers [the Turks were] they neither wounded anyone nor shot arrows against us, no doubt, because of the protection of the Holy Lance.”[53] In the singular instance of the crusaders in Antioch facing emergency on the strength of their own material resources, we have an accompanying carefully manipulated illusion of supernatural intervention. Absent material interdependence, absent the ability to call upon friendly neighbors in time of crisis, the crusaders engineered a situation in which they could call upon the Almighty.

Beyond the less tangible support of the divine, though, there is another layer to the events of June 1098 – the crusaders did not expect to have to take Antioch alone. The sources indicate that, from the outset, they believed material support was en route. Kostick points to an imagined conversation in the Gesta Francorum between the retreated, cowardly Stephen of Blois and Alexios I Komnenos, in which Stephen persuades the Byzantine emperor that the crusade has surely perished in Antioch, and his in-progress military expedition in support of the Franks would be in vain.[54] Whether this conversation actually occurred (obviously the Gesta Francorum author was not present) is irrelevant. In a single passage it reveals substantial bitterness against the Chicken Little Stephen, and it lets the Empire off the hook for not riding to the rescue of the beleaguered Frankish army (a rescue they assumed would otherwise be forthcoming). Even before the situation had gone truly wretched, while the crusaders were still sieging the city, Raymond recounts a rumor of the Emperor approaching at the head of an army. The Byzantine general Tacitius (who was travelling with the crusaders) started the rumor as a pretext for fleeing the cause,[55] but the fact remains that the story was plausible enough to garner widespread belief. There is a hint of wishful thinking in the crusaders’ credulity.

Bohemond himself would seem to have disagreed with Asbridge that independence in his new principality was a helpful situation. He closes the letter to Urban II on 11 September by essentially begging the pope for reinforcements: “We need you to strengthen us by your arrival and that of all the good men you can muster.”[56] Asbridge notes that it is clear that after August 1098 Bohemond faces no more serious threats within the Frankish camp; he has bested Raymond of Toulouse and the city is his.[57] It seems that Antioch’s new princeps can see the writing on the wall by 11 September; especially now that it is clear Raymond of Toulouse would not win the prize of the city, the crusade would be moving on to the Holy Land. Assistance from the lands of Christendom – particularly since it had not come from eastern Christendom, in spite of rumored Byzantine assistance – would be a welcome relief.

The complex relationship between the crusaders and the Byzantine Empire defies easy characterization. It seems fair to say that Emperor Alexios Comnenos viewed the armies of Franks passing through his borders as a necessary, useful evil, acceptable only if he could direct their energies against the growing Muslim threat to his south. Various secondary studies have analyzed the information Anna Comnena provides regarding the sad state of the army her father inherited when he came to the throne in 1081.[58] Even if we allow for a modicum of exaggeration on Anna’s part (her objective is to laud Alexios, and how better to laud than to illustrate a strengthened military on his watch?), it is not unreasonable to assume the central truth of Byzantium’s relatively weakened military. Such would help explain – better than their mutual Christianity – why Alexios would seek common cause with men like Robert Guiscard and his son Bohemond, who he’d been fighting against as recently as the early 1080s.[59]

The dates are also instructive. Antioch had been an Imperial possession as recently as 1084.[60] Though it perhaps owed something to his predecessors having left the army in such disrepair, the great city of Antioch – one of the ancestral incubators of Christianity – had technically been lost to the Turks on Alexios’ watch. Antioch was not some distant memory of a previous golden age – it had not belonged to his grandfathers; it had belonged to his empire. There can be no question that Alexios viewed Antioch as rightly and properly Byzantine. Why take the Franks at their oaths that they will expend the blood and effort to conquer one of the finest cities in the region, and then simply turn it over to him? In his early forties by the late eleventh century, previously a general in the army, Alexios had seized power in a coup in 1081 with the help of his wife’s family and spent his first decade as ruler fighting wars on every front.[61] It strains credulity to suppose that he did not see the double-cross coming from a mile away. So why involve the Crusaders at all?

Clearly he needed the manpower. Having taken the reins of a weakened empire with an economy in tatters,[62] Alexios simply did not have the resources to take back Imperial possessions himself. The Emperor officially claimed no credit for the initiation of the Crusade, but some have speculated that this is only because his gambit for Antioch failed[63] – that is, had the city come back into Imperial possession, Alexios might have been more public about the fact that he had in fact asked Urban II for military aid against the Turks at the March 1095 Council of Piacenza.[64] In that moment of the crusade’s outset, at least, the crusaders and the Byzantine Empire were interdependent upon each other. This relationship would fluctuate over the early years of the principality, for the simple reason that the manpower the Emperor had requested at Piacenza had arrived, but with a different mission than he had in mind. The power struggle between the two was well-exemplified by a story circulated by Guibert of Nogent about the Emperor’s sorceress mother predicting Alexios’ death at the hands of a man of Frankish origin.[65] But Alexios’ attitude towards the crusaders would crystallize in the 1108 Treaty of Devol, presaging the principality’s later dependence upon the Empire.

The sources for the Treaty are frustratingly narrow. Anna Comnena gives us the only existing copy of the text,[66] likely written decades after the agreement was signed (Anna was still working on the Alexiad in 1148[67]). The Gesta Tancredi ends its account as Bohemond is leaving on the expedition which would end in his defeat resulting in the Devol Treaty,[68] so it is silent on the subject. The Gesta Francorum and Historia Francorum both end too soon, and Walter the Chancellor begins too late. Al-Kalanisi mentions the events surrounding the Treaty indirectly, caring about the contest between Bohemond and the Emperor only insofar as it kept them from fighting Muslims.[69] Fulcher of Chartres gives us only that “Bohemond swore … to observe peace and loyalty to the emperor in all things.”[70] So the Byzantine princess gets the last word on the subject. However bearing in mind Anna’s intent to glorify her father, one can surmise a level of reliability in her account, given that the Treaty is not a very bad deal from Bohemond’s perspective. Even if a few of the particulars might have been lost to time and Anna’s memory, it seems safe to assume the basic truth of an equitable agreement for both the Empire and the Prince of Antioch (though notably not for any other Frank hoping to rule the city).

In the winter months of 1104-05 Bohemond traveled to Western Europe on a recruiting drive[71] and, while in Italy, received Pope Paschal II’s blessing to press the Frankish position against Constantinople.[72] Bohemond’s 1107 siege of the Byzantine port city of Dyrrachium was unsuccessful, and in September 1108 the Prince of Antioch and Alexios met at Devol to form the peace terms of the Devol Treaty. The details of the treaty involved an exchange of cities – Cilicia and Latakia would return to Imperial possession, while Bohemond would be allowed to keep any territory taken from the hands of Muslim-controlled Aleppo.[73] In what appears to be a gradual strategy of Byzantine reclamation of the Levant, Alexios included a provision allowing Bohemond to remain ruler of Antioch, but as dux – a Byzantine office – not as princeps.[74] Had the treaty ever been enforced, the result would have been a feudal relationship between the vassal state Antioch and its lord in Constantinople.[75] The treaty’s piece de resistance, the provision which essentially doomed it from ever being enacted, was that Antioch would return fully to the Imperial fold upon Bohemond’s death.[76]

As Asbridge points out, there was no chance whatsoever of this becoming reality. Tancred had ruled as regent while Bohemond was imprisoned by the Turks 1101-03, and was keeping the seat of the princeps warm while his uncle was in Europe calling men to the cause.[77] By 1108 Antioch was as much Tancred’s as it was Bohemond’s (if not more so), evidenced by the great territorial expansion which took place under the rule of the nephew.[78] Ralph of Caen seems to suggest that Tancred was unlikely to take his previous oath to Alexios all that seriously: the hero of the Gesta Tancredi treats Alexios with nothing better than scarcely-contained hostility, even suggesting Bohemond forced him to swear to the Emperor prior to taking Antioch in 1098.[79] The Treaty of Devol applied only to Bohemond, who never returned to the Levant and died in Italy in 1111.[80] It was, from the outset, a toothless policy.

Asbridge[81] and Lilie[82] differ over whether Alexios believed the Treaty could ever have succeeded. Lilie argues that the Emperor couldn’t have known that Bohemond would never return to Antioch, therefore rendering the Devol agreement null. If we are to believe Anna’s depiction of her father as a wise and intellectually energetic skeptic,[83] it is difficult to imagine such naivety on the Emperor’s part. Alexios went to great pains to soften the blow to Bohemond’s credibility among his people, constructing the Treaty in entirely moderate terms.[84] After all, assuming they toed his line, delegating the administration of Imperial cities to the Franks wasn’t such a bad thing from Alexios’ perspective – they created a buffer between the Empire and the Muslims, and provided sword arms which just a few years earlier the Byzantines had been desperately lacking. But no amount of circumspect moderation could alter the fact that Tancred had no good incentive to relinquish his position. Chastened and weakened after his defeat by the Byzantines in 1107, it is not at all clear that Bohemond could have taken the city back, even had he returned.

Given this interpretation that even Alexios likely its outcomes were unenforceable, Asbridge discounts the historical relevance of the Devol Treaty.[85] He goes too far in doing so. Clearly the Treaty served a symbolic function, akin to a non-binding resolution, illuminating the future interdependent relationship between the Empire and the Principality in several important ways. Anna spends a great deal of energy detailing the introductory arrangements upon Alexios’ and Bohemond’s meeting to discuss the Treaty. This can feel initially trivial, but a closer reading reveals a hashing-out of where the two leaders stand relative to each other: Bohemond demands that the Emperor rise when he enters, that he not have to bow, and that Alexios take his hand and lead him to his seat. The Emperor’s envoys deny the first two and grant the last.[86] The subtext here is clear: I am the master in this relationship, but you are an important subordinate, worthy of my respect. The text of the Treaty (to which the obstinate Bohemond swears the following day, after a late-night conversation with Anna’s husband[87]) sounds overtly like an utter subjugation to the Empire. If the ruler of Antioch wished to maintain any pretense of independence, that would be the case. But if Antioch’s dux accepted his status as an employee of Constantinople, then the terms of the treaty were quite fair – a free hand to fight the Muslims for territory, the incomes from various eastern towns, annual payments from the Imperial treasury.[88] There are benefits to going corporate.

If both sides almost certainly knew that the Treaty would never be enforced, what was the point? For Bohemond, it need be no more complicated than trying to save his skin. He had blown off a solemn agreement with the same Emperor previously (when he’d sworn to return former Imperial possessions to Constantinople) and there is little reason to assume he would suffer any compunction about doing so again. But even if he had any greater political designs beyond simple survival, it is an open question whether his reputation and past as ruler of the city was enough to convince Tancred to give his uncle back the keys to the kingdom a second time, particularly given the opposite trajectories of their careers at that moment.

Alexios’ motives are more politically complex, the evidence suggesting again that his strategy for Antioch’s reclamation was always intended to be gradual. The Emperor pursued a policy of diplomatic isolation against Tancred after Bohemond’s nephew refused to honor the Treaty’s terms, achieving only limited success.[89] Alexios was consumed with fighting the Turks at the time the Treaty was formed,[90] and it seems fair to guess that he would have preferred to avoid opening a drawn-out military campaign on a second front. Asbridge writes that we have no record of the Emperor using the Treaty as a pretext for the diplomatic campaign against Antioch, instead referring to the 1097 oaths.[91] This absence-of-evidence argument is a fair point. But Anna does record a furious reaction by the Emperor at Tancred’s intransigence.[92] If we combine the extreme unlikelihood that Tancred would abide the Treaty terms with the Emperor’s anger when that scenario unfolds exactly as it seemed it would, a new portrait emerges. Alexios’ fury begins to feel contrived, one move in a diplomatic game of eleven-dimensional chess. Expecting the Treaty to fail, Alexios feigned outrage when it did, hoping to cajole the other Latin rulers (and the Turks[93]) into helping him reassert Byzantine influence over the region. Dispensing Bohemond as a threat seems to have been part of the aim, but another aspect appears to have been the renormalization of the concept of a Byzantine Antioch.

Lilie argues that one can draw a direct correlation between the Devol Treaty and the Treaty of 1137, which made the Principality a feudal dependent of Constantinople.[94] Asbridge disagrees, believing that the oaths of Bohemond’s alluded to in the 1137 accounts refer to the 1097 oaths prior to taking the city.[95] Viewed from the perspective of Antiochene crisis response, however, it is irrelevant whether the 1137 Treaty was directly based on the thirty-year-old legally defunct Devol agreement. The later document is clearly an intellectual descendant of the other, containing ideas similar in content to the Devol Treaty but had evolved over the course of the intervening years. The Treaty of Devol was the first serious Byzantine attempt to begin retaking Antioch, and it formed the basis – spiritually, if not directly – for agreements which would result directly in a dependent relationship with the Byzantine Empire.

A feudal relationship entails an outsider indirectly exercising authority via the actions of sworn subordinates. Even more indicative of interdependence is the direct rule of an outsider, which is precisely what occurred in Antioch in 1119, following the military disaster known as the Battle of Ager Sanguinis, also known as the Battle of the Field of Blood.[96] Ager Sanguinis offers perhaps the clearest stark contrast in outcomes resulting from independent and interdependent Antiochene behavior.

The battle took place 28 June[97] 1119, in the Ruj Valley in modern-day Syria. Tancred died in 1112[98] and the Principality was now under the regency of Roger of Salerno, governing in the stead of Bohemond II, ten years old and still living in Italy. Roger had defeated the Turks four years previously at Tell Danith, leading some scholars to read Antioch’s regent as exhibiting overconfidence going into the confrontation with Il-Ghazi and the Artuqid Turks. The battle ended in utter disaster for the Franks, their lord and much of their host killed, war prisoners tortured and slaughtered, Antiochene territory relinquished hand over fist.[99]  Il-Ghazi’s army took back several key towns in a cluster between Aleppo and Antioch, going so far as to raid settlements perilously close to Antioch, which was left leaderless and defenseless.[100] Il-Ghazi did not press on to Antioch,[101] however, giving Baldwin II of Jerusalem enough time to arrive with a reinforcing army (also in the company of the archbishop of Caesarea, adding another layer of interdependent talent transfer to the ailing city[102]), effectively saving the principality from certain demise.[103]

Put simply, Roger’s acting independently was the catalyst of this crisis. Antioch’s Latin Patriarch Bernard of Valence advised Roger to wait for reinforcements from Baldwin and Count Pons of Tripoli. Rather than follow Bernard’s advice Roger set out alone, willfully departing the protection of the well-supplied, well-defended fort of Artah for a nakedly vulnerable position[104] at which he would meet the Turks in the open field. [105] At Ager Sanguinis Il-Ghazi easily surrounded the undermanned Franks,[106] and, in spite of brief moments where the Franks believed they had won the day, Walter the Chancellor records a total Frankish defeat.[107] Of course we cannot answer the counterfactual as to whether the reinforcements from Tripoli and Jerusalem would have made the difference against Il-Ghazi. Numerous secondary studies and primary accounts discuss the poor Frankish position at Ager Sanguinis,[108] and Walter seems to suggest an extraordinarily lopsided outcome, so it is possible that even doubling or tripling the Frankish forces present might have yielded the same result.

What is abundantly clear, however, is that the ruler of Jerusalem bailed Antioch out of an exceptionally precarious position. Walter the Chancellor certainly seemed to have believed the Principality was in mortal danger.[109] As a contemporary Antiochene, it is unsurprising that Walter is so complimentary of Baldwin II, seemingly calling him their savior every time he is mentioned: with Bohemond’s son still a child residing in Western Europe, the principality had nowhere else to turn but to Baldwin, already feudal lord of Edessa and Tripoli. Bringing Antioch under his purview, the King of Jerusalem in that moment controlled the entirety of the Latin east.[110] The crusaders were no longer a metaphorical Koinōnia Politikē; Ager Sanguinis had forced the metaphorical to give way to the literal. Admittedly this meant that Baldwin was spreading himself thin, particularly given what Riley-Smith speculates was a need to prove himself to Latin Christendom by adopting a constantly aggressive posture towards his southern Muslim neighbors.[111] Even with Baldwin splitting his time roughly equally between Antioch and Jerusalem, the effect of Ager Sanguinis was dramatic – the Principality went from being one of the two strongest crusader states to the weakest.[112] In the context of dependence and survival, none of that matters. Life support is still life. The Antiochene willingness to depend upon Jerusalem clearly kept the principality afloat through the difficult period following 1119.

If one is to accept the theory that Il-Ghazi did not press on to Antioch because he had already accomplished the strategic goals of his campaign,[113] then the question remains: Why did Il-Ghazi remain in the region? Neither the completed mission-theory nor the drunkenness-theory is terribly satisfying, nor is the proposition that Il-Ghazi found an attack on the city unfeasible, given that he had just destroyed the better part of the city’s army. A Saladin-like policy of clemency is a more compelling third possible solution,[114] though even that is based upon the thin evidence of Il-Ghazi returning stolen clothing to some priests. Whatever the case of Il-Ghazi’s reluctance to attack Antioch, it seems clear from the Chancellor’s account that the Antiochenes believed an attack was coming. Walter devotes a great deal of effort to detailing the new regent’s preparations for defense of the city.[115] That the attack did not come at the logical moment – after Ager Sanguinis but before Baldwin’s arrival – and that the Antiochenes were still convinced it was forthcoming, invites the theory that Baldwin saw the Field of Blood as an opportunity for increased support for his own campaigns. For if it had not come when the Principality was at its weakest, why would it still come? Yet Walter has Baldwin riding out from Antioch to confront Il-Ghazi on the pretext of Antiochene security.[116] Even ruled by the king of Jerusalem, they are united in defense, united in offense.

Earlier this paper briefly outlined Antioch’s tradition of economic and cultural interdependence, already longstanding by the arrival of the crusaders. Situated as it is at the nexus of various world powers and vibrant social influences (at all times throughout its history – if it wasn’t Rome and Parthia, it was Catholic Europe and Islam), the implication may be drawn that it is impossible for a state centered there to be independent in almost any sense, unless it were the dominant regional power. While it might ring true, that hypothesis may be impossible to prove in a systematic fashion, fraught with new variables as it is. Asbridge in his work describes a Latin confraternity in the crusader states of the Levant,[117] but this does not go far enough.

This paper has sought to demonstrate that crisis strategies in the crusader state of Antioch, particularly in its first twenty years of its existence, reveal a behavioral pattern best characterized as interdependent. The Antiochenes sought and received tangible assistance from various outsiders: the Byzantine Empire, Europe, other crusader states and (they believed) the Almighty. Viewed from the perspective of emergency response, a clear picture emerges of the crusaders – despite their rivalries – behaving as an interdependent community when threatened with the prospect of disaster.


[1]  Relative, that is, to the other Levant crusader states. Edessa lasted only until 1149. The Kingdom of Jerusalem outlasted Antioch but in a much differently constituted form, as the city of Jerusalem itself was reconquered by Saladin in 1187. Tripoli outlasted Antioch as well, but in its later years was essentially a protectorate of Antioch in any case. So in spite of being outlasted by other crusader colonies in terms of raw duration, an implied assumption of this paper is that Antioch was the most stable crusader colony, by virtue of remaining consistently constituted as a political entity, headquartered in the same capital throughout its existence.

[2] Ronnie Ellenblum, The Collapse of the Eastern Mediterranean (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012). The entire work is a study of Middle Eastern environmental and political strife throughout the late tenth and the duration of the eleventh, the implication being that this left the region ripe for the crusaders’ picking.

[3] Thomas Asbridge, The Creation of the Principality of Antioch, 1098-1130 (Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 2000), 216.

[4] Hans Eberhard Mayer, The Crusades, trans. John Gillingham (London: Oxford University Press, 1972), 53.

[5] Aristotle, Politics, trans. Benjamin Jowett (Los Angeles: Indo-European Publishing, 2009), 1-18. For a definition of the useful Greek phrase translating to English as “political community,” see Terence Irwin and Gail Fine, trans., Aristotle: Introductory Readings (Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Company, 1996), 330.

[6] Ellenblum, Crusader Castles and Modern Histories (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 145. “The idea of a medieval world as divided into political entities with geographically defined borders was created during the nineteenth century in a world influenced by nation states and nationalist-oriented historians.”

[7] Ammianus Marcellinus, Roman History, trans. J.C. Rolfe (Cambridge: Loeb Classical Library, 1940), XXII:9:13.

[8] Glanville Downey, Antioch in the Age of Theodesius the Great (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1962), 4.

[9] J.H.W.G. Liebeschuetz, Antioch: City and Imperial Administration in the Later Roman Empire (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1972), 224.

[10] Downey, A History of Antioch in Syria: From Seleucus to the Arab Conquest(Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1961), 577

[11] Ralph-Johannes Lilie, Byzantium and the Crusader States, 1096-1204, trans. J.C. Morris and Jean E. Ridings (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1993), 2.

[12] Ibn al-Athir, The Chronicle of Ibn al-Athir for The Crusading Period from al-Kamil fi’l-Ta’rikh, Part One; trans. D.S. Richards (Burlington: Ashgate Publishing Company, 2006), 14.

[13] Al-Athir, Al-Kamil fi’l Ta’rikh, 15. Yaghi Siyan flees the city at the sound of the first trumpet, believing the citadel has been taken. He comes to his senses the next day, and laments having abandoned Antioch’s Muslim population.

[14] Raymond D’Aguilers, Historia Francorum Qui Ceperunt Iherusalem, trans. John Hugh Hill and Laurita L. Hill (Independence Square, Philadelphia: The American Philosophical Society, 1968), 48.

[15] Both Muslim and European accounts record a slaughter of Muslims following the successful Frankish siege, although this was not an uncommon practice in the period. See Peter Edbury, “Warfare in the Latin East.” In Medieval Warfare, ed. Maurice Keen (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), 108.

[16] Walter the Chancellor, The Antiochene Wars: A Translation and Commentary, trans. Thomas S. Asbridge and Susan B. Edgington (Brookfield: Ashgate Publishing Company, 1999), 81.

[17] Mark Whittlow, The Making of Byzantium, 600-1025 (Los Angeles: University of California Berkeley Press, 1996), 56, 104.

[18] Steven Runciman, The First Crusade (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1951), 157.

[19] Downey, History of Antioch, 152.

[20] Downey, History of Antioch, 135.

[21] D. Kaniewski, et.al.; “Medieval Coastal Vegetation Patterns in the Principality of Antioch,” The Holocene 21:2 (2010), 251-262.

[22] Asbridge, Principality of Antioch, 121, 140.

[23] Walter the Chancellor, The Antiochene Wars, 161. The Turk Tughtegin demurs when faced with the prospect of executing Robert Fitz-Fulk, the Lord of Zaldana, because of tributary payments Robert had made to him in the past.

[24] Ibn al-Kalanisi, The Damascus Chronicle of The Crusades, trans. H.A.R. Gibb (Bristol: Burleigh Press, 1932), 106.

[25] Malcolm Barber, The Crusader States (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2012), 8.

[26] The sources indicate that the crusaders held the city, but the Turks still controlled the interior citadel, holding out until Kerbogha’s campaign failed. See Nirmal Dass, trans., The Gesta Francorum et aliorum Hierosolimitanorum (Lanham: Rowman and Littlefield Publishers, 2011), 80. Also D’Aguilers, Historia Francorum, 50.

[27] As reported in various secondary sources and alluded to in the primary accounts, there exists no single chain of command in the crusade at any point. Any attempt to suggest otherwise forces a template upon the situation which doesn’t belong.

[28] Anna Comnena – who, above all other sources on the period, could turn a phrase – provides an irresistible description of this event. The guard Firouz leans idly over the parapets and Bohemond, the text implies, simply begins chatting with him. Firouz is eventually taken in by Bohemond’s “flagrant cajolery” and agrees to help the crusaders. Anna Comnena, The Alexiad, trans. E.R.A. Sewter (Baltimore: Penguin Books, 1969), 343.

[29] The details of this account are well-known and recounted in numerous primary and secondary sources. This extremely truncated summary draws on a cross-referenced combination of Alan Murray, ed., “Sieges of Antioch,” in The Crusades: An Encyclopedia (A-C) (Santa Barbara: ABC-CLIO, 2006), 79-80; Mayer, The Crusades, 56-58; and Runciman, The First Crusade, 157-201.

[30] Al-Athir, Al-Kamil fi’l-Ta’rikh, 17. For secondary studies see Barber, The Crusader States, 20, and Mayer, The Crusades, 56-7, in which the author points out the rivalries which had broken out in Kerbogha’s army.

[31] All secondary studies cover this extraordinary event to a greater or lesser degree. Particularly useful is Mayer, The Crusades, 12; and Conor Kostick, The Social Structure of the First Crusade (Leiden: Brill, 2008), 121-125, in which each author details the eschatological outlook reflected in the effectiveness of Christian artifacts and ideology. For a primary eyewitness account see Nirmal Dass trans., Gesta Francorum, 78.

[32] Asbridge notes that Bohemond’s control of the city and region was a gradual process taking place over the latter months of 1098, and, in fact, the crusade did not depart again for Jerusalem until early 1099. See Asbridge, Principality of Antioch, 24.

[33] Dana Carleton Munro, The Kingdom of the Crusaders (New York: D. Appleton-Century Company, 1936), 50.

[34] Asbridge, Principality of Antioch, 24-28. On page 15 of Principality of Antioch, Asbridge lists the date of the Battle for Antioch as 28 July. This is a mere typo, as the sources – and Asbridge later in the book – list 28 June.

[35] Mayer, The Crusades, 57.

[36] Accounts of Bohemond’s early life – specifically the birth of a half-brother on the basis of whom Bohemond’s stepmother would deny his patrimony – reinforce this portrait. See Joseph R. Strayer, et. al., ed., “Bohemond I, Prince of Antioch,” in Dictionary of the Middle Ages – Volume 2 (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1983), 308.

[37] According to several secondary studies (notably Mayer, The Crusades, 25), one motive for crusade was somewhat unabashedly economic. The primary accounts are not shy about listing the spoils of warfare, among them D’Aguilers, Historia Francorum, 64.

[38] Respectively a Baron of Calabria, the lord of Montlhery, and the Count of Clermont, according to Dass’ notes.

[39] Dass, trans., Gesta Francorum, 81.

[40] D’Aguilers, Historia Francorum, 59.

[41] Malcolm Barber and Keith Bate, trans., Letters from the East: Crusaders, Pilgrims and Settlers in the 12th-13th Centuries (Burlington: Ashgate Publishing Company, 2010), 31.

[42] Al-Kalanisi, Damascus Chronicle, 46.

[43] Conor Kostick highlights the case of Duqaq, the ruler of Damascus, who would evidently have preferred to see a Frankish-controlled Antioch than to see his rival Kerbogha ruling both Mosul and Antioch. See Conor Kostick, “Courage and Cowardice on the First Crusade, 1096-1099,” in War in History 20(1): 39.

[44] Al-Athir, Al-Kamil fi’l-Ta’rikh, 17.

[45] Ralph of Caen, Gesta Tancredi, trans. Bernard S. Bachrach and David S. Bachrach (Burlington: Ashgate Publishing Company, 2005), 118-120.

[46] D’Aguilers, Historia Francorum, 57.

[47] Dass, trans., Gesta Francorum, 79.

[48] Kostick and Runciman agree that D’Aguilers’ account is sincere and relatively unembellished, in spite of the obvious political and morale impacts of the lance’s discovery. Others disagree and believe D’Aguilers invented the dramatic moment. Kostick, The Social Structure of the First Crusade, 29.

[49] Ralph of Caen, Gesta Tancredi, 121. Emphasis added.

[50] D’Aguilers, Historia Francorum, 59. Emphasis added.

[51] D’Aguilers’ translators, Drs. John Hugh and Laurita Hill, point out that Bishop Adhemar of Le Puy was among those who doubted the authenticity of Peter’s relic. That he both doubted the lance’s authenticity and bore it during the battle is fairly dispositive evidence that the relic was a useful tool of support even to its skeptics.

[52] Dass, trans., Gesta Francorum, 85.

[53] D’Aguilers, Historia Francorum, 63. Emphasis added. To be fair, it’s possible here that as a member of the party charged with bearing the Lance (in Raymond’s account he claims to bear the Lance himself, while other sources grant the honor to Adhemar), Raymond might be emphasizing his contribution to the effort.

[54] Kostick, “Courage and Cowardice,” War in History 20:1 (2013): 38.

[55] D’Aguilers, Historia Francorum, 37. Anna Comnena’s version of the Byzantine general’s departure differs greatly – according to her account, Bohemond tells him the other Frankish princes are plotting to kill him (Anna Comnena, The Alexiad, 343). Without third-party collaborative evidence, it is difficult to discern the truth of Tacitius’ motives.

[56] Barber and Bate, trans., Letters from the East, 33.

[57] Asbridge, Principality of Antioch, 37.

[58] Among them John W. Birkenmeier, The Development of the Komnenian Army: 1081-1180 (Leiden: Brill, 2002), 56. Birkenmeier points out the high level of detail in Anna’s descriptions of the state of the military, and that she was married to the grandson of the rebel Bryennios, against whom her father fought.

[59] Strayer, et. al., ed., “Alexios I Komnenos,” in Dictionary of the Middle Ages – Volume 2 (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1983), 45.

[60] Asbridge, Principality of Antioch, 1.

[61] Strayer, et. al., ed., “Alexios I Komnenos,” in Dictionary of the Middle Ages, 45.

[62] Norwich, Byzantium: The Decline and Fall, 51.

[63] Thalia Gouma-Peterson, ed., Anna Komnene and Her Times (New York: Garland Publishing, 2000), 25-26.

[64] Runciman, The First Crusade, 57.

[65] Natasha R. Hodgson, Women, Crusading and the Holy Land in Historical Narrative (Woodbridge: The Boydell Press, 2007), 175.

[66] Asbridge, Principality of Antioch, 95.

[67] Gouma-Peterson, ed., Anna Komnene and Her Times, 1.

[68] Ralph of Caen, Gesta Tancredi, 170.

[69] Al-Kalanisi, Damascus Chronicle, 92.

[70] As quoted in Asbridge, Principality of Antioch, 95.

[71] This is the departure described at the end of Ralph’s Gesta Tancredi, 168-70.

[72] According to Asbridge, Alexios was leaning militarily on the Principality throughout its early period. Asbridge, Principality of Antioch, 94.

[73] Mayer, The Crusades, 72.

[74] Asbridge, Principality of Antioch, 96.

[75] Lilie, Byzantium and the Crusader States, 120-22.

[76] Anna Comnena, The Alexiad, 423; Mayer, The Crusades, 72; Asbridge, Principality of Antioch, 98-99.

[77] Mayer, The Crusades, 70-71. Mayer writes that Baldwin of Le Bourg – the ruler of Edessa and a rival of the principality – raised the ransom to free Bohemond from prison, because he saw Tancred as the more dangerous opposition and preferred to have Bohemond ruling Antioch.

[78] Asbridge, Principality of Antioch, 59-68.

[79] Ralph of Caen, Gesta Tancredi, 41. Malcolm Barber speculates that Tancred may have seen his rejection of the Devol Treaty as an opportunity to pay back Alexios and Bohemond in one stroke, given the latter’s pressuring of him to swear an oath to the Emperor a decade previously. Barber, The Crusader States, 83.

[80] Lilie, Byzantium and the Crusader States, 81.

[81] Asbridge, Principality of Antioch, 99.

[82] Lilie, Byzantium and the Crusader States, 81-82.

[83] Among other examples, Anna recounts a story of her father staying up all night on the road to Devol to investigate an assassination attempt against himself. Anna Comnena, The Alexiad, 398. She writes that, while he enjoyed battle, he “acknowledged the rule of reason in everything.” Anna Comnena, The Alexiad, 405.

[84] Lilie, Byzantium and the Crusader States, 80.

[85] Asbridge, Principality of Antioch, 99 and 103.

[86][86] Anna Comnena, The Alexiad, 419.

[87] Anna Comnena, The Alexiad, 423. Also described in Lilie, Byzantium and the Crusader States, 77-78.

[88] Anna Comnena, The Alexiad, 432-33.

[89] Asbridge, Principality of Antioch, 100. Tancred’s enemy, Tripoli ruler Bernard of Toulouse, readily sided with Constantinople against Antioch. Baldwin I of Jerusalem and Joscelin of Courtenay were more reluctant.

[90] Norwich, Byzantium: The Decline and Fall, 57. The Treaty bought three years of peace, lasting until 1111.

[91] Asbridge, Principality of Antioch, 100-101.

[92] Anna Comnena, The Alexiad, 439. “To him their conduct was heart-rending, their insolence quite unbearable.”

[93] Barber, The Crusader States, 100-101.

[94] Lilie, Byzantium and the Crusader States, 299.

[95] Asbridge, Principality of Antioch, 102-103.

[96] Jonathan Riley-Smith, The First Crusaders: 1095-1131 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 176.

[97] Interestingly, the same date as the decisive battle for Antioch in 1098. In his footnotes Asbridge speculates that the Antiochenes might have chosen this date deliberately, as it is the Vigil of the Feast for Saint Peter, with whom they shared a close association. Asbridge, “The Significance and Causes of the Field of Blood,” Journal of Medieval History 23:4(1997):302, n.23.

[98] Munro, The Kingdom of the Crusaders, 88.

[99] This summary is taken from a cross-referenced combination of “Ager Sanguinis, Battle of (1119),” in The Crusades: An Encyclopedia (A-C) (Santa Barbara: ABC-CLIO, 2006), 79-80; Asbridge, “The Significance and Causes of the Field of Blood,” 301-316; Asbridge, Principality of Antioch, 142-144; and Walter the Chancellor, The Antiochene Wars, Book II. It ought to be noted that the encyclopedia entry by Susan Edgington uses both Asbridge pieces as sources, but the references were checked and verified.

[100] Asbridge, Principality of Antioch, map on 68.

[101] The reasons given for this vary. Edgington reports a common wisdom that Il-Ghazi was too busy celebrating to bother with attacking Antioch. Al-Kalanisi reports that the Turks were overly preoccupied with collecting booty, and agrees that Il-Ghazi was a drunk. (Al-Kalanisi, Damascus Chronicle, 149 and 161.) Asbridge argues in “Significance and Causes” that Il-Ghazi had accomplished his limited goals and chose to leave well enough alone.

[102] Bernard Hamilton, The Latin Church in the Crusader States (London: Variorum Publications, 1980), 115.

[103] Walter the Chancellor describes Baldwin as the savior of Antioch on numerous occasions, claiming he “delivered them from the lion’s mouth of the enemy.” Walter the Chancellor, The Antiochene Wars, 130.

[104] R.C. Smail, Crusading Warfare: 1097-1193 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1956), 125-126.

[105] This was highly unusual for the crusaders, who were forever facing a manpower shortage. Edbury, “Warfare in the Latin East,” 98.

[106] Mayer, The Crusades, 79.

[107] Walter the Chancellor, The Antiochene Wars, 125-128.

[108] Asbridge points out that the Franks were surrounded on three sides, and Walter the Chancellor reports that the Franks were facing a headwind blowing dust into their faces. Asbridge, “Significance and Causes,” 302, and Walter the Chancellor, The Antiochene Wars, 127.

[109][109] Walter the Chancellor, The Antiochene Wars, 138. “As to the evils and misfortunes which were … threaten[ing] the impending loss of the city…”

[110] Mayer, The Crusades, 79.

[111] Riley-Smith, The First Crusaders: 1095-1131, 177.

[112] Asbridge, “Significance and Causes,” 307.

[113] Asbridge, “Significance and Causes,” 301.

[114] Alluded to in Asbridge and Edgington’s footnotes in their translation of The Antiochene Wars, 136, n. 125.

[115] Walter the Chancellor, The Antiochene Wars, 140.

[116] Walter the Chancellor, The Antiochene Wars, 145.

[117] Asbridge, Principality of Antioch, 104.

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~ by kroveechernila on May 15, 2013.

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