AT daybreak, on the morning of Tuesday, the 8th of February, 1249, the crusaders, assembled on the bank of the Achmoum, awaited a signal from the King of France, to attempt a passage. It was at this moment, so important to Louis, to France, and to the Christians in the East, that the Saint-king's brother was guilty of a piece of presumption, that was destined to lead to the ruin of the Christian army.
At all times, it would seem, the Count of Artois was an unreasonable being; and, on this occasion, nothing could satisfy the regal warrior, but the privilege of being first to cross. Aware of the danger of indiscretion at such a moment, Louis attempted to restrain his brother's impetuosity; but the Count, promising patiently to await the main army, placed himself at the head of the van, which was composed of Templars, Hospitallers, and English crusaders; and dashing through the canal, dispersed some hundred horsemen, who appeared to oppose his progress, pursued them, in spite of remonstrances from the Grand Masters of the Temple and the Hospital, towards Djedile, and, entering the camp, created a panic among the Saracen warriors.
When the camp of Djedile was thus invaded, Fakreddin was in his bath, and haying his beard colored. Surprised while in this situation with the tumult, and with intelligence that the Franks were upon him, the Emir rushed out scantily clad, and sprang on horseback to rally his men. Inspired by his example, the Saracens made a brief attempt at resistance. Finding their efforts vain, however, they left their chief to his fate, and rushed in a body towards Mansourah. Disdaining to fly or yield, fighting bravely, and covered with wounds, Fakreddin fell in the midst of his foes; and the Saracens, regarding him as a martyr for Islamism, said that the Franks had sent him to the banks of the celestial river, and that his end was glorious.
The crusaders, under the King, had not succeeded in crossing the canal of Achmoum, when the Count of Artois, the two Grand Masters, and the Earl of Salisbury, stood victors in the camp of Djedile. But, elate with success, and forgetting that discretion is the better part of valor, the Count proposed an immediate attack on the town of Mansourah.
"Gentlemen," said the French Prince, " let us set upon the foe, while affairs prosper in our hands, and they are in dismay. Speed will now be of more avail than strength; and the fewer we are, the greater will be our gain. Forward, then, and crush the Saracens at a blow."
"Hurrah, upon them! Upon them!" shouted an old deaf knight,-who held the Count's rein. "Forward! Forward!"
"Noble Count,' I said the Master of the Templars, we give all praise to your bravery; but be advised. Our men are weary; our horses are wounded; and we must not overvalue our victory, or suppose our enemies are conquered, because they have lost a hand-fui of soldiers. Let us, therefore, return to the King, that we may be strengthened by his counsel and aid. We are in a strange country; and our best instructors are behind. Let us stay for our lantern, and not go forward in the dark."
"Ah! sir Knight," exclaimed the Count, swelling with anger and pride; " you are at the old game. But for the treachery of the Templars, and the sedition of the Hospitallers, and others calling themselves religious men, the Holy Land would long since have been gained."
"Why, noble Count," said the Grand Master, "should we take the habit of religion? Is it, think you, to overthrow the church, and betray the cause of Christ, that we abandon our homes and kindred, and pass our days in a foreign land, amid perils and fatigue? However, standard-bearer, unfurl the banner of the Temple, and let us forward, in God's name, to try all together the fortunes of battle and the chances of death."
"My Lord," said the Earl of Salisbury, addressing the Count of Artois," I pray you to listen to the wholesome counsel of the Grand Master. He has long been in this country, and has learned, by experience, the cunning as well as the strength of our foes. We being strangers are ignorant of our perils; but we know that as far as the East is from the West, so far are we different from the Orientals."
"What cowardice there is in these English!" exclaimed the Count, in a tone so loud as to be heard by hundreds. " But their timid counsel suits not us. Happy, indeed, should I deem our army, if purged from these English tails."
"Sir Bobert de Vere, raise my standard," exclaimed Salisbury, mounting his Flemish charger, and striving to be calm, though the Plantagenet blood boiled in his veins; " and you, Count of Artois, lead on, and see if we are dismayed by the peril of death. The touchstone must tell what is gold and what is brass; and, by good St. George I swear, as I put on my helmet, that we ' English tails' will this day be where you will not dare come nigh the tails of our horses."
The dispute having thus come to an end, the Count of Artois and his comrades put on their head-pieces and mounted their steeds; and French, Templars, Hospitallers, and English, dashed towards Mansou-rah. Meeting at first with no opposition, they penetrated into the city; while the inhabitants fled in terror along the road to Cairo. But, at that moment, the keen eye of Bibars Bendocdar perceived the imprudence of which the crusaders had been guilty; and rallying the flying Saracens, the Mameluke chief led them down upon the conquerors of Fakreddin. Few as the crusaders were, in comparison with the swarming foe, they fought gallantly and well; fighting as became knights and soldiers of the cross. But, against the host under Bibars Bendocdar, their courage proved in vain; and now, seeing the folly of which he had been the author, the Count of Artois tought of retreat.
"Earl William," cried the French Prince, riding up to Salisbury, " God fights against us -- we can no longer resist. Let us consult our safety by flight, and escape while our horses can carry us."
"Fly!" exclaimed the English Earl scornfully; " God* forbid, Count, that my father's son should fly from the face of a Saracen."
By this time, the plight of the Christians was desperate; but, though wounded and exhausted, they maintained the struggle for hours. Nearly fifteen hundred knights fell in the conflict; nearly three hundred of whom were of the order of the. Temple.
But no man bore himself more bravely than the Earl of Salisbury. Resolved to sell his life at the dearest rate, he faced the Saracens with desperate valor, dealing death all around him. At length his horse's feet Were cut off; and the steed bore his rider to the ground. Even then, Salisbury, raising himself from the ground, fought with disdain and fell with dignity.* Robert de Vere, seeing the Earl fall, folded the English standard round his body and lay down exhausted to die by his leader's side. The Count of Artois had disappeared; but it is somewhat uncertain whether he fell in the carnage or was drowned while attempting to save himself by flight. The most probable account, however, is, that finding the struggle vain, he turned his horse's head, spurred off, with a vague hope of regaining the main army, and sank with his steed, never more to rise, while attempting to swim one of the branches of the Nile.
Of the many hundred knights, who, at daybreak on Shrove Tuesday, crossed the canal of Achmoum, two only escaped the carnage at Mansourah. One was the Master of the Temple, the other the Master of the Hospital. Perceiving that all his knights were slain, and that the day was lost, the Templar made for the camp of the Christians. Finding himself left alone on the field, and despairing of escape, the Hospitaller yielded himself prisoner to the Saracens. It was ten o'clock in the morning when the conflict commenced; it was three in the afternoon ere all was over.
Meanwhile, the main body of the French army had, under the King's auspices, with great difficulty crossed the canal of Achmoum. Ere the passage had been effected, however, intelligence reached the King that the Count of Artois was hard pressed by the Saracens. Without delay, the Count of Brittany and a multitude of knights rushed to the rescue, fighting as they went; for the distance they had to travel was two leagues, and the plain between the canal and Mansou-rah was covered with Saracens.
At length, the sound of trumpets and clarions announced that the French had crossed the canal; and Louis, halting on an eminence, surveyed the scene.
"I saw the King arrive," says Joinville, " with all his attendants, and with a terrible noise of trumpets, clarions, and horns. He halted on an eminence, with his men-at-arms, for something he had to say; and I assure you, that I never saw so handsome a man under arms. He was taller than any of his troops by the shoulders; and his helmet, which was gilded, was handsomely placed on his head; and he bore a German sword in his hand." While the King was still hesitating what to do, the Constable of France spurred forward, and informed him of the peril in which the Count of Artois was placed.
"Sire," said the Constable, " your noble brother is surrounded at Mansourah. He holds out gallantly; but is much in need of aid."
"Constable," said Louis, "spur forward to his rescue, and I will follow thee."
The King and his knights now galloped towards Mansourah; but ere they reached the town the aspect of affairs became much more threatening. In fact, Bibars Bendocdar, having defeated the Count of Artois, came with a mighty force to encounter Louis; and ere the crusaders comprehended what was occurring, they were separated from each other, and found themselves face to face with countless foes. A strange tumultuous fight then took place; and the plain shook with a thousand combats. " Montjoie, St. Denis! "the war-cry of the French, was answered by the Saracens with shouts of " Islam! Islam!" and all was carnage and confusion from Mansourah to the Achmoum.
Notwithstanding the disadvantage at which they were, the French warriors fought with gallant bravery, and wrought many memorable exploits. Joinville, with six other knights, had the perilous duty of defending a small bridge against a host of Saracens; and main-tamed his post with characteristic courage. Observing the Count of Soissons, who was his kinsman, approach, the Seneschal hastened to secure his aid.
"Sir Count," he cried, " should this bridge be lost, the King will at the same time have his enemies both in front and rear. Wherefore, I beg you to remain and guard it."
"Willingly, Seneschal," answered the Count, as he placed himself on Joinville's right hand.
While the defenders of the bridge were sitting on horseback, prepared to keep it against all comers, a Saracen, galloping suddenly up, felled one of the knights with a battle-axe, and crossed to his own people, thinking Joinville would follow. But the Seneschal perceived the stratagem, and would not be decoyed from his post. After having been fearfully annoyed, however, by a crowd of half-armed Saracens, Joinville and his friends made a charge. The Saracens fled from the place; but turned when at a safe distance, and shouted out a defiance. " Seneschal," said the Count of Soissons gaily, as the knights resumed their post, " let the rascal rabble bawl and bray as they please, by the Cresse Dieu, you and I will live to talk of this day's exploits in the chambers of our ladies!"
While the Count of Soissons indulged his gay humor in the midst of peril and perplexity, a knight, mounted on a short, but strong horse, came galloping towards them from Mansourah. His plight was unenviable; for his face was wounded; blood was rushing from his mouth; and the reins of his bridle were cut, so that he was under the necessity of supporting himself by his horse's neck. The wounded knight was the Count of Brittany; and he was closely pursued by Saracens. "Yet," remarks Joinville, "he does not seem to be afraid of them; for he frequently turns round and gives them abusive words by way of mockery."
Meantime, all over the plain, the battle was going on; and the King, becoming alarmed, ordered that the French should draw near the canal. The oriflamme had already indicated the direction to be taken, when messengers arrived from one side to announce that the Count of Artois was in danger of perishing, and from the other to say that the Count of Poictiers must succumb unless rescued; and while the King, perplexed by these messages, remained in thought, some of his knights spurred off in one direction and some in another, till the utmost confusion prevailed.
When matters reached this stage, Louis made every effort to restore order, but in vain. His voice was scarcely heard amid the din of battle. Anxious and apprehensive,he endeavored to save his army; and, fearless of personal danger, he soon found himself in the thick of the fight and environed by foes. He seemed, indeed, to have sealed his fate; and six Saracens, rushing forward at once, attempted to seize his bridle, and take him prisoner. At this point, however, Louis, who with all his saintly theories, was a warrior of mettle, exerted all his strength, and beat off his assailants with an energy that Godfrey or Richard might have envied, till the French knights, observing their King's danger and animated by his courage, spurred to the rescue, and robbed the Saracens of their prey.
Night, at length, put an end to the conflict; the Grand Master of the Templars, with his vestments torn to rags, his cuirass pierced, and his face wounded, reached the army of crusaders, and described the scene in which he had enacted a part. When, therefore, Bibars Bendocdar retired to Mansourah, and Louis, retreating to Djedile, took possession of the Saracens1 camp and their engines of war, the Prior of the hospital of Ronnay, wishing to break the news gently, presented himself, and kissed the King's gauntleted hand.
"Have you any tidings, Sire," asked the Prior, "of your noble brother, the Count of Artois?"
"Yes," answered Louis, sorrowfully; "I know all."
"Sire," said the Prior, thinking to convey comfort," no King of France has ever reaped such honor as you have done. You have crossed a dangerous river to combat your enemies; you have gained the day; you have put them to flight; and now you conclude the business by taking possession of the camp which they occupied."
"God be praised for all the good He has granted me," said Louis.
The voice of the saintly King faltered as he spoke; and tears, rolling down his cheeks, expressed more touchingly than words could have done the melancholy feeUngs at his heart. The Prior of Ronnay might, indeed, talk cheeringly of Mansourah, and use fine words to make it seem a victory; but Louis was in no mood to be deluded by phrases. Reflecting on the losses sustained that day by the soldiers of the cross, he could not help feeling that such a victory was almost worse than a defeat; and it was doubtless with sadness and sorrow, that the royal warrior that night laid his head upon a pillow and commended his soul to God.
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From John G. Edgar
The Crusades and the Crusaders, 1860
