Although the secret doctrines of the Ismaelites were taught in nine degrees, there were but two ranks in the order, namely the refik, or “companion,” and dá‘í, or “missionary.” Hassan instituted a third class, that of the fedawí, or “devoted one.” For them the secrets of the order were always covered with an impenetrable veil, and they were but the blind instruments of vengeance or aggression in the hands of their superior. They composed the body-guard of the grand master, and were never for a single moment without their daggers, so as to be ever ready to perpetrate murders at his command.

Marco Polo gives us a substantial, and doubtless exact, account of the ceremonies which took place upon the initiation of a fedawí into the order. Within the precincts of their impregnable fortresses were gardens furnished with all that could delight the eye or appeal to the sensual taste of the voluptuary. Here the neophyte was led, delicious meats and wine of exquisite flavour were set before him, girls as beautiful as the houris of the prophet’s paradise ministered to his pleasures, enchanting music ravished his ears, his every wish was gratified almost before it was uttered, and, intoxicated with delight, he fancied that he had really entered upon the joys of the blessed. An intoxicating drug had in the meanwhile been mixed with the wine, and, by producing a sort of delirium, for a time enhanced his enjoyment, but as the satiety and languor consequent upon excess crept over him he fell back stupefied and insensible, in which state he was carried out of the place. On awaking he found himself beside the grand master, who told him that all the joys he had experienced were but a foretaste of what was destined for those who yielded implicit obedience to his commands. The alternative for those who doubted or hesitated was instant death.

The youth thus “devoted” to the service of the order was carefully trained in all the arts of deception and disguise; he was taught to speak various languages, and to assume a variety of dresses and characters; and, loosed from all trammels of conscience or of creed, he went forth, prepared to plunge his dagger into the breast of his dearest friend, and even into his own, at his superior’s command. Such an association could not but prove a formidable political agent in those troublous times, and the sovereigns of the East feared the secret dagger of the order more than the armies of their foes, and rendered to the grand master whatever tribute and homage he chose to demand. Towards the middle of the twelfth century the power of the Assassins had extended itself from Khorassan to the mountains of Syria, from the Mediterranean to the Caspian. All trembled before it, and submitted more or less to its will. Hassan died in 1124, after having chosen for his successor Kia Buzurgumíd, one of the most strenuous of his dá‘ís; and the dignity of grand master became ultimately hereditary in his family. The order of Assassins continued in its integrity until 1254, when Manjou Khan, grandson of the celebrated Jenghíz Khan, put an end to its existence. As for the association of the Ismaelites in Cairo, the Mejális el Hikmeh, or scientific lodges, they were finally suppressed by Saladin in the year 1171 A.D.

The Grand Master of the Assassins was called simply sheikh, “elder,” or “chief;” and from his rocky fortresses of Alamút and Maziatt he was known as Sheikh el Jebel, “Sheikh of the Mountain.” The Crusaders, misinterpreting the title, always spoke of him as the “Old Man of the Mountain.”

There is little doubt but that the order of Knights Templars, who figure so largely in the history of the Crusades, were a society closely akin to the Assassins. The different grades of rank amongst them correspond exactly with the several degrees of the Ismaelite fraternity. Their dress, white with a red cross, symbolizing innocence and blood, is almost identical with the garb of the Fedawís, while the irreligious practices and secret murders, which are clearly proved against them, all tend to establish the conviction that they were rather Knights of the Dagger than of the Cross.

But to return to our history.

Amaury, the poor harassed king, all whose projects failed, and none of them through his own fault, fell into a fit of rage which nearly killed him, when he heard the news of the murder of the ambassadors of the “Old Man of the Mountain.” What was to be done? what revenge could be taken for a mischief which was irremediable? He called his barons, and poured the whole story into their indignant ears. They chose two of their own body, and sent them to Odo de St. Amand, Grand Master of the Templars, to demand satisfaction in the name of the king and the realm for a crime so extravagant. One Walter du Mesnil was suspected, a stupid man, likely to do whatever others told him without inquiry or doubt. And here appears the pride of the Templars. Odo coldly sent back word that he had “imposed a penance” on the criminal, and that he should send him to the pope. The king went to Sidon himself, seized the suspected man by force, and threw him into prison, in spite of the protestations and fury of Odo. Then followed protest, appeal, and protest again. Amaury succeeded in making the sheikh himself believe in his own innocence, but the sheikh’s enthusiasm for the religion of Christ was quenched, and the opportunity gone by.

The significance of Odo’s reply to Amaury lies in his promise to send the criminal to the pope. Just as the Templars, from the very beginning, were free from any episcopal jurisdiction, and owned no authority in ecclesiastical matters in other than the pope himself, so they now arrogated to themselves freedom in things temporal. They would have no king but their grand master, no bishop but the pope; they would have no interference in the government of their own castles and places from any sovereign at all. And this seems the main reason—their assumption of independence—why their destruction was determined on by King Philip of France.

In the year 1173^[66] died Nûr-ed-dín, the greatest man of Saracen story, next to Saladin.

Directly Amaury heard of his death, he laid siege to Banias—it will be remembered how Nûr-ed-dín refused to take advantage of Baldwin’s death—but raised the siege after a fortnight in consequence of entreaties and the offer of large sums of money from Nûr-ed-dín’s widow. On his return he complained of indisposition. This became worse, and a violent dysentery set in. They carried him to Jerusalem, where he died, after all the doctors, Greek, Syrian, and Latin, had been called in successively. He was then in his thirty-eighth year. One feels pity for Amaury, more than for any other of the Kings of Jerusalem. He was, at the same time, so long-headed and so unlucky; so capable, yet so unsuccessful; so patient under all his disasters; so active in spite of his corpulence; so careful of the kingdom, yet so unpopular; so harassed with doubts, yet so loyal to his oaths; and so hopeful in spite of all his disappointments, that one cannot help admiring and sympathising with him. He committed the most gross act of perjury in invading Egypt on pretence of Shawer’s disloyalty. But he was punished for it by the destruction of the fairest dream of conquest that ever man had.

For one thing the present writers must, at least, be thankful to him. He it was who instigated William of Tyre to write that admirable history from which a large part of these pages are taken.

In 1163 the city of Jerusalem was visited by the Jewish traveller Benjamin of Tudela. He tells the following curious story concerning the tombs of the kings. “On Mount Sion are the sepulchres of the house of David, and those of the kings who reigned after him. In consequence of the following circumstance, however, this place is at present hardly to be recognised. Fifteen years ago, one of the walls of the place of worship on Mount Sion fell down, and the patriarch commanded the priest to repair it. He ordered stones to be taken from the original wall of Sion for that purpose, and twenty workmen were hired at stated wages, who broke stones from the very foundation of the walls of Sion. Two of these labourers, who were intimate friends, upon a certain day treated one another, and repaired to their work after their friendly meal. The overseer accused them of dilatoriness, but they answered that they would still perform their day’s work, and would employ thereupon the time while their fellow-labourers were at meals. They then continued to break out stones, until, happening to meet with one which formed the mouth of a cavern, they agreed to enter it in search of treasure, and they proceeded until they reached a large hall, supported by pillars of marble, encrusted with gold and silver, and before which stood a table, with a golden sceptre and crown. This was the sepulchre of David, king of Israel, to the left of which they saw that of Solomon in a similar state, and so on the sepulchres of all the kings of Juda, who were buried there. They further saw chests locked up, the contents of which nobody knew, and were on the point of entering the hall, when a blast of wind like a storm issued forth from the mouth of the cavern so strong that it threw them down almost lifeless on the ground. There they lay until evening, when another wind rushed forth, from which they heard a voice like that of a man calling aloud, ‘Get up, and go forth from this place.’ The men rushed out full of fear, and proceeded to the patriarch to report what had happened to them. This ecclesiastic summoned into his presence R. Abraham el Constantini, a pious ascetic, one of the mourners of the downfall of Jerusalem, and caused the two labourers to repeat what they had previously reported. R. Abraham thereupon informed the patriarch that they had discovered the sepulchres of the house of David and of the kings of Juda. The following morning the labourers were sent for again, but they were found stretched on their beds and still full of fear; they declared that they would not attempt to go again to the cave, as it was not God’s will to discover it to any one. The patriarch ordered the place to be walled up, so as to hide it effectually from every one unto the present day. The above-mentioned R. Abraham told me all this.”

To enable the reader better to understand what has gone before, it will be as well to review the position of the Turks in Syria during this and the immediately preceding reigns.

By the taking of Jerusalem, and the flight of its Egyptian governor, El Afdhal, the kingdom of Syria was lost for ever to the Fatemite Caliphs. They yet retained possession of Egypt, but the remaining princes of the house were mere tools in the hands of designing ministers, and gave themselves up to luxurious ease in their palaces at Cairo. Nor were their opponents, the ‘Abbassides, in much better case, but lingered idly on in Baghdad, wielding the shadow of their former power, while rival vassals fought and struggled for the substance.

The Seljukian sultans, after lording it over their imperial masters, had shared the same fate; and, having yielded themselves up to the enticements of luxury and wealth, were in turn tyrannized over by their more vigorous Turkish slaves the Atabeks. The founder of this family, a favourite slave of Melik Sháh, had been promoted to the governorship of Aleppo, but perished in the civil disorders consequent on the death of the sultan and the final division of the Seljukian kingdom. His son Zanghí did good service against the Franks at Antioch, and was rewarded by the caliph with the sovereignty of Aleppo and Mosul. His career was one of uninterrupted success, and, in a comparatively short space of time, he had taken Edessa, and wrested from the Franks their possessions beyond the Euphrates. His son Nûr-ed-dín completed the work which his father had begun; he once more raised the prestige of the Mohammedan name, and added the kingdom of Damascus to that of Aleppo and Edessa, which he had inherited. Christian and Mohammedan authors alike testify to the uprightness and integrity of his character, to his impartial justice, and to the austere simplicity of his manners. He rigorously proscribed the use of wine, he wore neither gold nor silk, and on one occasion when his favourite wife requested the indulgence of some feminine fancy, he bestowed upon her “three shops in the city of Hums,” alleging that he had no other private property, and that he dared not alienate the public funds, which he considered as a sacred trust. He is usually designated by Moslem writers by the title of Shehíd the Martyr, not because he fell fighting for the faith, but because his life was spent in one continuous series of holy works.

The Frank occupation of Syria and the Holy Land had spread dismay throughout the whole of Islam; in their distress the followers of the prophet turned to Damascus, and saw in the rising greatness of its sovereign a fresh hope of retrieving their fortunes. Nûr-ed-dín did indeed become the instrument of the final overthrow and expulsion of the Christians; but a slight digression is necessary to explain the circumstances which led to his introduction upon the scene.

Dargham and Shawer, rival aspirants to the dignity of prime minister to El ‘Άdhid le dín Allah, last of the Fatemite caliphs of Egypt, had, by their struggles for power, involved that country in civil war. Shawer, finding himself unable to cope with his more powerful foe, applied for assistance to Nûr-ed-dín, who sent Esed-ed-dín Shírkóh, governor of Edessa, with a large army into Egypt. Dargham was defeated and slain, and the victorious Shírkóh claimed for his master Nûr-ed-dín the reward which Shawer himself had proposed, namely, a third of the revenues of the country; and, on payment being delayed, proceeded to occupy Bilbeis, the capital of the eastern province, as security. ShawerShawer, as perfidious as he was ambitious, invited Amaury, King of Jerusalem, to aid him in ejecting his creditor. Shírkóh was obliged to relinquish Bilbeis; but, having received reinforcements from Damascus, he speedily returned, marched upon Cairo, and defeated the troops of the Fatemite caliph, and made himself master of Upper Egypt. His nephew Yusuf had been, in the meanwhile, sent against Alexandria, which place he captured, and gallantly defended for more than three months, against the combined forces of the Egyptians and Crusaders. At last, both the Christian and Damascene troops consented to evacuate Egypt, on consideration of receiving each a large sum annually out of the revenues; and articles of peace were solemnly drawn up, and ratified by all the contending parties; the Crusaders were, moreover, allowed to maintain a garrison at Cairo, ostensibly for the purpose of protecting the Egyptian government from aggression on the part of Nûr-ed-dín. Fortunate would it have been for the Christian kingdom of Jerusalem had Amaury held to his agreement; but the favourable terms which had been accorded him inspired him with an undue confidence in his own strength, and, blind alike to his interests and his honour, he determined upon a fresh invasion. Accordingly, in the latter end of the year 1168, he led an army into Egypt, took possession of Bilbeis, and marched upon Cairo. The greatest consternation prevailed in the capital at the treacherous conduct of the Christian monarch, and the savage cruelty of his troops. Cairo was hastily surrounded with a wall and fortifications, and the old city was set on fire at the approach of the invaders, the conflagration raging for fifty-four days. In this extremity the Egyptian caliph piteously besought Nûr-ed-dín to lend him his aid; and, in order still further to excite his compassion, and depict the miserable plight to which they were reduced, and the danger to which they were exposed from the unbridled licentiousness of the invaders, El‘Άdhid enclosed locks of his women’s hair in the letter which contained his appeal. Shawer, in the meantime, endeavoured to avert the immediate calamity by making terms with Amaury, and the latter, dreading the arrival of the Damascene reinforcements, consented to raise the siege on receiving an indemnity of a million dínárs; a hundred thousand were paid down in ready money, and the Crusaders retired, in order to give the vizier time to collect the remainder. Nûr-ed-dín, on receipt of El ‘Άdhid’s letter, at once despatched Shírkóh to the relief of Cairo, with an army of eight thousand men, six thousand of whom were Syrians, and the remainder Turks, and a sum of two hundred thousand dínárs, as well as a large supply of clothes, arms, horses, and provisions. Shírkóh requested his nephew Yusuf Saláh-ed-dín (Saladin) to accompany him upon this expedition; but the latter, remembering the difficulties and dangers he had experienced at Alexandria, begged to be excused, and was only induced to accept a commission by an exercise of authority on the part of the sultan Nûr-ed-dín. El ‘Άdhid met Shírkóh on his arrival with every mark of respect and gratitude, and conferred upon him a magnificent robe of honour. The vizier Shawer was also a frequent visitor to the Damascene general’s tent; and assured the latter that although appearances had been against him, he had not willingly broken faith with him, and promised that the former agreement to pay Nûr-ed-dín a third of the revenue should now be complied with. At the same time he was plotting how he might best dispose of so troublesome a visitor; and, having determined upon his assassination, invited Shírkóh, his nephew, and the rest of his staff, to a banquet, at which he hoped to execute his treacherous project. Saladin, however, received intelligence of the conspiracy, and prevented his uncle from accepting the fatal invitation. Shawer, furious at being thus foiled sought the tent of Shírkóh, under pretence of a friendly visit, and would doubtless have murdered him had he not fortunately been at that moment on a visit to the tomb of the celebrated Mohammedan saint Es Shafi‘í.^[67] Returning from his fruitless visit, Shawer was met by Saladin and his party, who threw him from his horse, and carried him to Shírkóh’s camp. El‘Άdhid, on hearing the news, sent to demand the head of his treacherous vizier, whom he justly regarded as the cause of all the troubles that had recently fallen upon Egypt. Shírkóh gladly acceded to the request, and was installed by the Fatimite caliph into the vacant post of prime minister, and received the honorary title of El Melik el Mansúr, “the Victorious King.” and Emír el Jayúsh, “Commander-in-chief of the Forces.” He did not, however, live long to enjoy his newly-acquired dignity, but died within two months and four days after his appointment. He was succeeded by his nephew Saláh-ed-dín Yúsuf ibn Aiyúb (the Saladin of European historians), whose life and exploits we shall relate in a future chapter.