The city thronged not only with French, Norwegian, German and Italian soldiers and pilgrims, but also with eastern Christians – short-bearded Syrians and Greeks, Armenians and Georgians with long beards and high hats, who stayed in the dormitories of hostels or the many small taverns. Street life was centred around the Roman Cardo, leading from St Stephen’s (now Damascus) Gate, passing the Sepulchre and Patriarch’s Quarter on the right and then entering the three parallel covered market streets, joined by crisscrossing alleyways, smelling of spices and cooked food. Pilgrims bought takeaways and sherbet drinks from the Street of Bad Cooking, Malcuisinat; changed money on Syrian Moneychangers Street close to the Sepulchre; bought trinkets from the Latin Goldsmiths, furs on Furriers Street.
Even before the Crusades it was said that ‘No travellers are as evil as pilgrims to Jerusalem.’ Outremer was the medieval version of the Wild West: murderers, adventurers and whores came out to make their fortunes, but the prim chroniclers tell us little about Jerusalem’s night life. However, the local half-caste soldiers, the Turcopoles, second-generation poor and orientalized Latins known as
Lovely Frankish women, foulfleshed and sinful, appearing proudly in public, ripped open and patched up, lacerated and mended, making love and selling themselves for gold, callipygian and graceful, like tipsy adolescents, they dedicated as a holy offering what they kept between their thighs, each trailed the train of her robe behind her, bewitched with her effulgence, swayed like a sapling, and longed to lose her robe.
Most of them ended up in the ports of Acre and Tyre, with their streets filled with Italian sailors, and Jerusalem would have been policed by officials keen to enforce Christian morals, but all humanity was there.
When pilgrims fell ill, the Hospitallers nursed them in the Hospital, which could hold 2,000 patients. Surprisingly, they also nursed Muslims and Jews and even had a kosher/halal kitchen so that they could eat meat. But death was always on their minds: Jerusalem was a necropolis where old or sick pilgrims were content to die and be buried until the Resurrection. For the poor, there were free charnel-pits in the Mamilla graveyard and the Akeldama in the Valley of Hell. During one epidemic later in the century, fifty pilgrims died each day and carts collected bodies each night after vespers.*
Life revolved physically around the two temples – the Holy Sepulchre and the Temple of the Lord – and chronologically around a calendar of rituals. In this ‘intensely theatrical age in which every technique was used to heighten public feelings through display,’ writes the historian Jonathan Riley-Smith, Jerusalem’s shrines resembled stage-sets and were constantly remodelled and improved to intensify the effect. The capture of the city was celebrated every 15 July when the patriarch led virtually the entire city from the Sepulchre to the Temple Mount where he prayed outside the Temple of Solomon and then led his procession through the Golden Gate – through which that first Crusader, Emperor Heraclius, had borne the True Cross in 630 – to the place on the northern wall, crowned with a huge cross, where Godfrey had broken into the city. Easter was the most exciting set piece. Before sunrise on Palm Sunday, the patriarch and clergy, holding the True Cross, walked from Bethany towards the city, while another procession bearing palms came from the Temple Mount to meet the patriarch in the Valley of Jehoshaphat. Together they then opened the Golden Gate†
and processed around the sacred esplanade before praying in the Temple of the Lord.