In March of that year 1190 they crossed the narrow strait which divides the world between Europe and Asia, marking a fruitful limit.
So they approached Iconium, riding unaware toward pagan hostility. For the sultan had despatched messengers to Frederick while the army loitered in Greece, professing amity, urging Frederick to cross over, masking the venom in his heart while he longed for a cup of Christian blood. Indeed, the sultan accused Greeks of duplicity while proposing himself a devout and faithful servant, offering a market for Germans to buy what they needed en route to the Holy Land, vowing to set himself and all he owned at their disposal, pledging safe passage. Frederick, measuring others by himself, trusted the sultan.
With these Germans went one archbishop, two royal dukes, nineteen counts, three marquises. As to knights and common soldiers, Geoffrey de Vinsauf lists the former at three thousand, the latter at eighty thousand. To avoid disaffection in such a host Frederick divided them, making of his army a head, a trunk, and a tail. The duke of Swabia, his son, proceeded first. Next came those charged with the care of animals and baggage. Emperor Frederick himself came last. Hence all was judiciously arranged, pleasant to behold.
They entered Parthia, dominion of Turks, experiencing no difficulty save asperities of the road because the sultan wished to entice them. But he had populated the gorges, thickets, and mountain heights. His troops opposed Frederick with arrows and stones. Such was the safe passage promised, the promised market. During the night javelins pierced German tents, killing Jerusalemfarers while they slept. For six weeks these Germans did not remove their coats of mail. If a horse died they pounced on the flesh and drank the blood, pretending they dined on veal and swallowed good wine.
They came to a passage between high rocks. But here lay Turks in ambush and rushed from hiding once the duke of Swabia went through. When this news was brought forward the duke wheeled about red with rage and led his cavalry heedlessly into the defile, shouting his father’s name. Turks knocked off his helmet and broke out most of his teeth, as could be seen later when he opened his mouth to talk. Yet his bare gums proved consolation of a sort, testifying to victory since the Turks retreated.
Whitsunday they got to Iconium. But the sultan, not anxious to meet Frederick Barbarossa, had shut the gates, so they were obliged to camp outside. Next morning here was God’s enemy at every flank. What with shouting, whistling, thundering drums, the mighty blast of trumpets, and a clash of swords fit for purgatory, these Turks made noise enough to waken Antioch. The sultan meantime arranged himself comfortably in a barbican to enjoy the spectacle his cunning mind devised. So confident were these misbelievers that some carried chains in place of weapons. However, Frederick’s troops quickly took the city. Heaps of dead infidels clogged the streets. Then the sultan, observing how matters stood, professing himself innocent, offered as much gold as Frederick wanted. The emperor, too lenient, took what was promised and let him go. It would have been more honorable to slay so great a villain.
Next to Armenia, rejoicing that a malevolent kingdom lay behind. Surely these pilgrims rejoiced to enter Armenia, a land where Christ our Lord was known to rule.
Anon they reached the fabled river Cydnus which long ago claimed the life of Alexander. And when they came to the water Frederick hesitated, mindful of that omen deduced by his astrologer. It is said he asked the guides how he might avoid crossing the bridge, if there might be a different road. They told him of a way, if he would ford the river. The ford is good, the water is not swift, they assured him. We will go ahead, they told him, and show you where to cross. So he went with them and watched while they crossed the Cydnus. When they had safely returned he ordered them to lead his son across, which they did, and again returned. Frederick now urged his mount into the river, following two knights. But when he was half across the animal stumbled, throwing him from the saddle. And the water being cold sucked away his strength, the veins of his body opened and he drowned. At this ford no other horse stumbled. How often things occur that amaze or confuse us, but there is meaning in our bewilderment since it encourages us to recognize and venerate the Author of every circumstance.
Frederick was old, near seventy, moderately tall, red hair turning gray, and the red beard that begot his sobriquet. His shoulders and chest were broad, as was his face, manly in all respects. His eyelids protruded above sparkling eyes, and about him was something both dreadful and distinguished, as was told of Socrates. His look denoted resolution undiluted by anger, sadness, or pleasure. If the heights of Gilboa where Saul was killed should be deprived of rain, why should the river Cydnus be deprived? It brought down a pillar from the temple of Christendom. All in his army felt afflicted, yet all agreed that Frederick Barbarossa gained admittance to heaven because he served worthily in the ranks of our Lord, pledged to retrieve the Holy Land. All gave thanks he did not expire in the realm of infidels. Some say that place where he drowned was marked with fatality. Here was an inscription from ancient times prophesying that a sovereign would come to grief.
Chronicles do not explain how Turks besieged at Acre learned of Frederick’s death, but they whistled with delight, beat
