Yet again, while the season passed, divers and strange things befell the host. More than once those who defended Acre would flaunt holy relics or crosses from churches that they would insult, beat, and spit upon, because nothing in the world do they hate so much. One day here was a Turk skipping along the wall beating a wood cross he had found. For a long while he did this to spite the true faith. But he could not leave it at that, he let slip his drawers to defile the cross. Then a Christian arbalester set a bolt to the string, aimed well, and struck the pagan straight through the gut whereupon he sprang up dead with his feet in the air. So it is clear how malignant designs must fail.
And while the season passed, out from Acre sallied a company of Turks with an emir called Bellegemin who was of high lineage. Frankish knights rode forth to challenge these Turks and drove them back, all save Bellegemin who did not retreat. In one hand he carried a phial of Greek fire since he hoped to burn a petrary. But with one stroke a Christian knight laid Bellegemin to earth and emptied the fire on his genitals. Hence, what this Turk meant for others became the implement of his anguish.
Now as time went by certain pilgrims wearied of attacking the city while others never tired of collecting stones to fill up trenches so Christian engines might advance. The barons, too, brought stones on their chargers and helped to load sumpter beasts. Many women joined this task, rejoicing in service to the Lord. Among these a woman whose name is not remembered, struck in the belly with a Turkish arrow while discharging her burden, who fell down wounded to death. Pilgrims gathered around to lament while she lay writhing on the earth. Then her husband came running. Dearest lord, by your love for me, she said, by your piety as my husband and the faith of our marriage contract, allow my body to rest in this place. I pray and beseech you, since I can do no more, that a faggot be made of this poor flesh to complete the trench. So it was done and the Lord God tenderly embraced her soul.
Numerous engines did the barons construct and the archbishop provided a ram, a costly piece of goods. This ram was like a house, a sturdy mast inside bound at both ends with iron hoops. And those whose task it was to ram the wall did so eagerly. But from the parapet Turks threw liquid fire. Mangonels flung slabs of marble or freestone or beams of trees, buckets of sulfur, tar, pitch, tallow, logs, and then again burning wood. All this and more did Mahomet’s slaves heap on the ram to crush or burn it. They dropped missiles until they broke in the roof, crushed everything, left the archbishop’s ram consumed. Whereupon they jeered and capered and whistled.
Soldiers of Christ next constructed a belfrois four stories in height to look down at the wall, using bronze, iron, wood, lead, and clay. This castle rolling toward Acre frightened the Turks who thought about surrender. But there was an enemy of God from Damascus who had studied naphtha and other fluids that would overcome the resistance of clay and vinegar, who explained his knowledge to the emir Caracusch. It is said Caracusch listened disrespectfully since many experiments had failed, but at length gave permission to do what he wished because Acre was imperiled. This Damascene threw pots of unlighted naphtha at the belfrois, producing no effect. Then the Franks took heart. Bold pilgrims climbed up in the castle to shout defiance. But with another substance thrown against it all at once the liquid burst into flame and these pilgrims burned horribly. Saladin wished to reward the Damascene yet he would not accept payment, telling the sultan that what he accomplished was done for love of Allah and to Allah would he look for gratitude. Infidels assert that all who believe Jesus Christ must burn in this world before burning eternally in the next. Such is the depth of Saracen turpitude.
And with the changing season rain deluged the Frankish camp. Illness spread. Knights, sergeants, common pilgrims, many sickened, teeth dropping out, features bloated. Each day a hundred lay down on their biers. But for herbs and seeds to make pottage nothing could have withstood the wasting. By certain reports Marquis Conrad hastily departed, vowing to send provisions but did not. Not one egg did he send. Rumor held that he forbade any ship to sail for Acre. Hence the pilgrims called him renegade, liar. So now, what with nothing or little to buy, famine loomed, nor the least vessel in sight. Never did bold knights reared among riches tolerate such distress, nor common soldiers, nor gentle ladies accustomed to tidbits. Some would gnaw bones already gnawed by dogs and sucked and licked after they could not find anything to gnaw, seeking the remembered taste of meat. Or, stripped of shame, ate garbage in view of others and called it delicious. And would drop on their knees to chew grass like grazing cattle. Yet this was pardonable since hunger urges men to do what otherwise they would not. God has created all for the use of men that they should not perish while subordinate creatures live. Hence these pilgrims slew good horses, ate meat or skin or brains ravenously, swallowed entrails, drank blood, licked their fingers in lieu of a napkin so nothing might be lost. Fine animals that once carried pilgrims on their backs now found themselves carried about in Frankish bellies.
And here was a merchant from Pisa who kept stacks of grain in his house and would not sell a measure except at monstrous profit. But our Lord knoweth. Fire consumed this house. And the people remarking God’s wrath felt charitably toward one another. Those that had eaten flesh during
