The Mad Charge That Doomed Jerusalem: 140 Knights vs. 7,000 at Cresson
A Warning Against Christian Disunity and Pride
This week in history witnessed one of the greatest disasters in the entire Crusading era, one that centers on the topics of my latest book, The Two Swords of Christ—namely, the knights of the Temple and Hospital.
It’s worth briefly revisiting—not least as it exposes the dangers of Christian disunity and pride.
By 1185, the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem was surrounded by Saladin’s forces in Egypt and Syria. That same year witnessed the death of the leprous but valiant king, Baldwin IV, passing the throne briefly to the child Baldwin V and then, amid controversy and factional division, to Guy of Lusignan.
The succession deepened existing fractures among the Frankish elite, particularly between Guy and Raymond of Tripoli, whose refusal to accept the new king led to open hostility and political paralysis. By 1187, Raymond had even entered into a temporary understanding with Saladin, granting his forces passage through Galilee.
Guy, eager to reverse matters, sent a delegation of notable personages to parley with Raymond; it included the masters of the Temple and Hospital, Gérard of Ridefort and Roger of Moulins, respectively.
But it was too late: Saladin had already invaded, laid siege to Kerak—where that “greatest of infidels,” Raynald of Châtillon—was holed up, and dispatched a large force under his son to raid the Acre region.
Guy’s delegation to Raymond was unaware of all this when, on April 30, they temporarily divided near Nazareth, with the masters of the Temple and Hospital traveling to the Templar castle of La Fève. Once “the two Masters heard the news that a party of Saracens was over the border, their delicate mission of peace was entirely forgotten, and their fighting instincts took complete control,” writes one historian. “If infidels had had the effrontery to enter Christian lands, there was only one course open to the knights of the military orders,” that is, nonnegotiable war.
On the very next day, May 1, 1187, the two masters mustered all the knights they could—140 in all, with the majority, about ninety, being Templars, along with some auxiliaries—and gave chase. They tracked down the Muslims watering their mounts at the Springs of Cresson, in the environs of Nazareth—all 7,000 of them.
Against such hopeless odds, both the marshal of the Temple, Robert Fraisnel, and the master of the Hospital advised retreat. The Templar master, Ridefort, a notorious firebrand from the start, would have none of it, accusing both men of cowardice.
“You love your blond head too well to want to lose it!” he scoffed at the marshal, to which the wounded army captain coolly replied, “I shall die in battle like a brave man. It is you who will flee as a traitor.”
Outraged by his subordinate’s cheek, Ridefort instantly ordered the trumpets blasted. The cry to battle was heard, and the knights—outnumbered by as much as 40:1—charged to certain death.
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