Sultan Quṭuz knew that if the invader was to be dealt a decisive blow, it was now or never. The Egyptian army thus began by assaulting the Mongol garrison at Gaza. Taken by surprise, the invaders barely resisted. The Mamluks next advanced on Acre, not unaware that the Franj of Palestine had been more reticent than those of Antioch towards the Mongols. Admittedly, some of their barons still rejoiced in the defeats suffered by Islam, but most were frightened by the brutality of the Asian conquerors. When Quṭuz proposed an alliance, their response was not wholly negative: although not prepared to take part in the fighting, they would not object to the passage of the Egyptian army through their territory, and they would not obstruct supplies. The sultan was thus able to advance towards the interior of Palestine, and even towards Damascus, without having to protect his rear.
Kitbuga was preparing to march out to meet them when a popular insurrection erupted in Damascus. The Muslims of the city, enraged by the exactions of the invaders and encouraged by the departure of Hülegü, built barricades in the streets and set fire to those churches that had been spared by the Mongols. It took Kitbuga several days to reestablish order, and this enabled Quṭuz to consolidate his positions in Galilee. The two armies met near the village of ‘Ayn Jālūt (‘Fountain of Goliath’) on 3 September 1260. Quṭuz had had time to conceal most of his troops, leaving the battlefield to no more than a vanguard under the command of his most brilliant officer, Baybars. Kitbuga arrived in a rush and, apparently ill-informed, fell into the trap. He launched a full-scale assault. Baybars retreated, but as the Mongol gave chase he suddenly found himself surrounded by Egyptian forces more numerous than his own.
The Mongol cavalry was exterminated in a few hours. Kitbuga himself was captured and beheaded forthwith.
On the night of 8 September the Mamluk horsemen rode jubilantly into Damascus, where they were greeted as liberators.
14
God Grant That They Never Set Foot There Again!
Although less spectacular and displaying less military inventiveness than Ḥiṭṭīn, ‘Ayn Jālūt was nevertheless one of history’s most decisive battles. It enabled the Muslims not only to escape annihilation, but also to reconquer all the territory the Mongols had taken from them. The descendants of Hülegü, now settled in Persia, soon converted to Islam themselves, the better to consolidate their authority.
In the short term, the Mamluk upheaval led to a settling of accounts with all those who had supported the invader. The alarm had been sounded. Henceforth there would be no more aid and comfort to the enemy, whether Franj or Tartar.
After retaking Aleppo in October 1260 and easily repelling a counter-offensive by Hülegü, the Mamluks planned to organize a sequence of punitive raids against Bohemond of Antioch and Hethoum of Armenia, the principal allies of the Mongols. But a power struggle erupted within the Egyptian army. Baybars wanted to establish himself as a semi-independent ruler in Aleppo; fearing his lieutenant’s ambitions, Quṭuz refused. He wanted no part of a rival regime in Syria. To nip the conflict in the bud, the sultan assembled his army, Baybars included, and set out to return to Egypt. When he was three days’ march from Cairo, he gave his soldiers a day of rest. It was 23 October, and he decided to spend the day at his favourite sport, hare hunting, along with the chief officers of his army. He was careful to make sure that Baybars came too, for fear that he might otherwise take advantage of the sultan’s absence to foment a rebellion. The small party left camp at first light. Two hours later, they stopped for a brief rest. An emir approached Quṭuz and took his hand as if to kiss it. At that moment, Baybars drew his sword and sunk it into the sultan’s back. The two conspirators then leapt on their mounts and rode back to camp at full gallop. They sought out the emir Aqṭāy, an elderly officer universally respected in the army, and told him: ‘We have killed Quṭuz.’ Aqṭāy, who did not seem particularly upset by the news, asked, ‘Which of you killed him?’ Baybars did not hesitate: ‘I did’, he said. The old Mamluk then approached him, invited him into the sultan’s tent, and bowed before him to pay him homage. Before long the entire army acclaimed the new sultan.
The ingratitude displayed toward the victor of ‘Ayn Jālūt less than two months after his brilliant exploit does not speak well for the Mamluks. In extenuation of the officer-slaves’ conduct, however, it should be added that most of them had long considered Baybars their real chief. Had he not been the first to strike the Ayyubid Tūrān-Shāh back in 1250, thus announcing the Mamluks’ determination to assume power? Had he not played a decisive role in the victory over the Mongols? Indeed, his political perspicacity, military skill, and extraordinary physical courage had earned Baybars a position of primacy among them.
Born in 1223, the new Mamluk sultan had begun life as a slave in Syria. His first master, the Ayyubid emir of Hama, had sold him because of some superstition, for he was unnerved by Baybars’s appearance. The young slave was very dark, a giant of a man, with a husky voice, light blue eyes, and a large white spot in his right eye. The future sultan was purchased by a Mamluk officer who assigned him to Ayyūb’s bodyguard. There his personal qualities, and above all his complete absence of scruples, rapidly brought him to the top of the hierarchy.
At the end of October 1260 Baybars rode victoriously into Cairo, where his authority was recognized without opposition. In the Syrian cities, by contrast, other Mamluk officers took advantage of the death of Quṭuz to proclaim their independence. In a lightning campaign, the sultan seized Damascus and Aleppo, thus reuniting the old Ayyubid domain under his authority. This bloody-minded and untutored officer turned out to be a great statesman, the architect of a genuine renaissance of the Arab world. Under his reign, Egypt, and to a lesser extent Syria, again became centres of great cultural and artistic brilliance. The Baybars who devoted his life to destroying any Frankish fortress capable of standing against him also proved to be a great builder, embellishing Cairo and constructing roads and bridges throughout his domain. He also reestablished a postal service, run with carrier-pigeons and chargers, that was even more efficient than those of Nūr al-Dīn and Saladin. His government was severe, sometimes brutal, but also enlightened, and not in the least arbitrary. From the moment of his accession to power, he took a firm attitude toward the Franj, determined to reduce their influence. But he differentiated between those of Acre, whom he wanted merely to weaken, and those of Antioch, who were guilty of having made common cause with the Mongol invaders.
Towards the end of 1261 he planned to organize a punitive expedition against the lands of Prince Bohemond and the Armenian King Hethoum. But he clashed instead with the Tartars. Although Hülegü was no longer capable of invading Syria, he still commanded sufficient forces in Persia to prevent the punishment of his allies. Baybars wisely decided to wait for a better opportunity.
It came in 1265, when Hülegü died. Baybars then took advantage of divisions among the Mongols to invade Galilee, reducing several strongholds, with the complicity of part of the local Christian population. He then turned sharply north and moved into Hethoum’s territory, destroying all the cities one by one, in particular Hethoum’s capital, Sis, a large part of whose population he killed, apart from carrying off more than forty thousand captives. The Armenian kingdom would never rise again. In the spring of 1268 Baybars launched a new campaign. He began by attacking the environs of Acre, seized Beaufort Castle, and then, taking his army north, arrived at the walls of Tripoli on the first of May. There he found the ruler of the city, none other than Bohemond, who was also prince of Antioch. The latter, well aware of the sultan’s resentment against him, prepared for a long siege. But Baybars had other plans. Some days later he set out northward, arriving at Antioch on 14 May. The greatest of the Frankish cities, which had held out against all Muslim sovereigns for the past 170 years, now resisted for a mere four days. On the night of 18 May a breach was opened in the city walls not far from the citadel, and Baybars’s troops spread through the streets. This conquest bore little resemblance to those of Sa
ladin. The entire population was massacred or sold into slavery, the city itself ravaged. Previously a prestigious metropolis, it was reduced to the status of a desolate village, sprinkled with ruins that time would shroud in grass.
Bohemond learned of the fall of his city from a memorable letter sent to him by Baybars, though it was actually written by the sultan’s official chronicler, the Egyptian Ibn ‘Abd-al-Ẓāhir:
To the noble and valorous knight Bohemond, prince become a mere count by dint of the seizure of Antioch.
The sarcasm did not stop there:
When we left you in Tripoli, we headed immediately for Antioch, where we arrived on the first day of the venerated month of Ramaḍān. As soon as we arrived, your troops came out to join the battle against us, but they were vanquished, for although they supported one another, they lacked the support of God. Be glad that you have not seen your knights lying prostrate under the hooves of horses, your palaces plundered, your ladies sold in the quarters of the city, fetching a mere dinar apiece—a dinar taken, moreover, from your own hoard!
After a long description, in which no detail was spared, the sultan concluded thus:
This letter will gladden your heart by informing you that God has granted you the boon of leaving you safe and sound and prolonging your life, for you were not in Antioch. Had you been there, you would now be dead, wounded or taken prisoner. But perhaps God has spared you only that you might submit and give proof of obedience.
As a reasonable—and now powerless—man, Bohemond answered by proposing a truce. Baybars accepted. He knew that the terrified count no longer represented any real danger, any more than Hethoum, whose kingdom had been virtually wiped off the map. As for the Franj of Palestine, they too were only too happy to obtain a respite. The sultan sent his chronicler Ibn ‘Abd-al-Ẓāhir to Acre to seal an accord with them.
Their king sought to temporize to obtain the best possible conditions, but I was inflexible, in accordance with the directives of the sultan. Irritated, the king of the Franj said to the interpreter: ‘Tell him to look behind him.’ I turned around and saw the entire army of the Franj, in combat formation. The interpreter added, ‘The king reminds you not to forget the existence of this multitude of soldiers.’ When I did not answer, the king insisted that the interpreter ask for my response. I then asked, ‘Can I be assured that my life will be spared if I say what I think?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Well then, tell the king that there are fewer soldiers in his army than there are Frankish captives in the prisons of Cairo.’ The king nearly choked, then he brought the interview to a close; but he received us a short time later and concluded the truce.
Baybars was by this time no longer concerned about the Frankish knights. He was well aware that the inevitable reaction to his seizure of Antioch would come not from them, but from their masters, the kings of the West.
Before the end of the year 1268 persistent rumours were already circulating promising the early return to the East of the king of France, at the head of a powerful army. The sultan frequently interrogated travellers and merchants on this point. During the summer of 1270 a message reached Cairo saying that Louis had disembarked on the beach at Carthage, near Tunis, with six thousand men. Without a moment’s hesitation, Baybars assembled the principal Mamluk emirs to announce his intention of leading a powerful army to the far-off province of Africa to help the Muslims repel this new Frankish invasion. But a few weeks later another messenger arrived seeking the sultan. He had been sent by al-Mustanṣir, the emir of Tunis, to announce that the king of France had been found dead in his camp and that his army had departed, although a large part had been decimated by war and disease. With this danger removed, Baybars decided to launch a fresh offensive against the Franj of the Orient. In March 1271 he seized the redoubtable Hisn al-Akrād, Crac des Chevaliers, which Saladin himself had never succeeded in reducing.
During the years that followed, both the Franj and the Mongols—especially the latter, now led by Abāqā, the son and successor of Hülegü—organized a number of incursions into Syria. But they were invariably repelled. By the time Baybars died (he was poisoned in 1277), Frankish possessions in the Orient had been whittled down to a string of coastal cities completely surrounded by the Mamluk empire. Their powerful network of fortresses had been dismantled. The reprieve they had enjoyed during the years of the Ayyubids was at an end. Their expulsion was now ineluctable.
Nevertheless, there was no hurry. In 1283 the truce conceded by Baybars was renegotiated by Qalāwūn, the new Mamluk sultan. The latter manifested no great hostility to the Franj. He stated that he was prepared to guarantee their presence and security in the Orient provided they would cease acting as the auxiliaries of the enemies of Islam on the occasion of each new invasion. The text of the treaty he proposed to the Kingdom of Acre was a unique attempt on the part of this clever and enlightened administrator to ‘regularize’ the position of the Franj.
If a Frankish king sets out from the West, the text reads, to attack the lands of the sultan or of his son, the regent of the kingdom and the grand masters of Acre shall be obligated to inform the sultan of their action two months before their arrival. If the said king disembarks in the Orient after these two months have elapsed, the regent of the kingdom and the grand masters of Acre will be discharged of all responsibility in the affair.
If an enemy comes from among the Mongols, or elsewhere, whichever of the two parties first learns of it must alert the other. If—may God forbid!—such an enemy marches against Syria and the troops of the sultan withdraw before him, then the leaders of Acre shall have the right to enter into talks with this enemy with the aim of saving their subjects and territories.
Signed in May 1283 for ten years, ten months, ten days, and ten hours, the truce covered all the Frankish lands of the littoral, that is, the city of Acre with all its orchards, lands, mills, vineyards, and the seventy-three villages dependent upon it; the city of Haifa, with its vineyards, orchards, and the seven villages attached to it . . . As for Saida, the château and the city, the vineyards and the suburbs belong to the Franj, as do the fifteen villages attached to it, along with the surrounding plain, its rivers, brooks, water sources, orchards, and mills, its canals and the dikes that have long served to irrigate its lands. If the enumeration was long and detailed, it was in order to avoid any subsequent quarrel. The entirety of this Frankish territory nevertheless seems derisory: a narrow tapered coastal strip bearing no resemblance to the formidable regional power the Franj once constituted. It is true that the places mentioned in the treaty did not exhaust the Frankish possessions. Tyre, which had broken away from the Kingdom of Acre, concluded a separate accord with Qalāwūn. Further north, cities like Tripoli and Latakia were excluded from the truce.
So was the fortress of Marqab, held by the order of Hospitallers, or al-osbitar, as the Arabs called them. These monk-knights had supported the Mongols wholeheartedly, going so far as to fight alongside them during a fresh attempted invasion in 1281. Qalāwūn therefore decided to make them pay. In the spring of 1285, Ibn ‘Abd-al-Ẓāhir tells us, the sultan prepared siege machinery in Damascus. He had great quantities of arrows and all varieties of arms sent from Egypt, and distributed them to the emirs. He also had iron projectiles prepared, and flame-throwing tubes the like of which existed only in the makhazin (‘magazines’) and dār al-ṣinā’ a (‘the sultan’s arsenal’). Expert pyrotechnicians were drafted, and Marqab was surrounded by a belt of catapults, three of the ‘Frankish’ type and four of the Devil’ type. By 25 May the wings of the fortress were so deeply undermined that the defenders capitulated. Qalāwūn gave them permission to leave for Tripoli alive, with their personal effects.
Once again the allies of the Mongols had been punished without the latter’s being able to intervene on their behalf. Even had they wanted to react, the five weeks that the siege lasted would not have sufficed for them to organize an expedition from Persia. Nevertheless, in that year of 1285, the Tartars were more determined than ever to renew
their offensive against the Muslims. Their new chief, the Il-Khān Arghūn, grandson of Hülegü, had resurrected the most cherished dream of his predecessors: to form an alliance with the Occidentals and thus to trap the Mamluk sultanate in a pincer movement. Regular contacts were established between Tabriz and Rome with a view to organizing a joint expedition, or at least a concerted one. In 1289 Qalāwūn sensed that the danger was imminent, but his agents had not managed to provide him with detailed information. In particular, they were unaware that a meticulous campaign, conceived by Arghūn, had just been proposed, in writing, to the pope and the major kings of the West. One of these letters, addressed to the French sovereign, Philip IV, has been preserved. In it the Mongol chief proposes to launch the invasion of Syria during the first week of January 1291. He predicts that Damascus will fall by mid-February and that Jerusalem will be taken shortly afterwards.
Without actually guessing what was afoot, Qalāwūn was increasingly uneasy. He feared that invaders from either East or West would be able to use the Frankish cities of Syria as a beachhead to facilitate their penetration of the sultanate. But although he was now convinced that the presence of the Franj was a permanent threat to the security of the Muslim world, he refused to assimilate the people of Acre to those of the northern half of Syria, who had proven themselves openly favourable to the Mongol invader. In any event, as a man of honour, the sultan could not attack Acre, which would be under the protection of the peace treaty for another five years, so he decided to go after Tripoli. It was at the walls of that city, conquered one hundred and eighty years before by the son of Saint-Gilles, that his powerful army gathered in March 1289.