But as the army advanced its difficulties increased.  A Turkish prisoner who was made to act as a guide, being driven in chains before the army, led the Christians into the gorges of almost impassable mountains, sacrificing his life for his cause.  Here, foot-sore and weary, and tormented by thirst and hunger, they were suddenly attacked by ambushed foes, stones being rolled upon them in the narrow gorges, and arrows and javelins poured upon their disordered ranks.  Peace was here offered them by the Turks, if they would pay a large sum of money for their release.  In reply the indomitable emperor sent them a small silver coin, with the message that they might divide this among themselves.  Then, pressing forward, he beat off the enemy, and extricated his army from its dangerous situation.

As they pushed on, the sufferings of the army increased.  Water was not to be had, and many were forced to quench their thirst by drinking the blood of their horses.  The army was now divided.  Frederick, the son of the emperor, led half of it forward at a rapid march, defeated the Turks who sought to stop him, and fought his way into the city of Iconium.  Here all the inhabitants were put to the sword, and the crusaders gained an immense booty.

Meanwhile the emperor, his soldiers almost worn out with hunger and fatigue, was surrounded with the army of the sultan.  He believed that his son was lost, and tears of anguish flowed from his eyes, while all around him wept in sympathy.  Suddenly rising, he exclaimed, “Christ still lives, Christ conquers!” and putting himself at the head of his knights, he led them in a furious assault upon the Turks.  The result was a complete victory, ten thousand of the enemy falling dead upon the field.  Then the Christian army marched to Iconium, where they found relief from their hunger and weariness.

After recruiting they marched forward, and on June 10, 1190, reached the little river Cydnus, in Cilicia.  Here the road and the bridge over the stream were so blocked up with beasts of burden that the progress of the army was greatly reduced.  The bold old warrior, impatient to rejoin his son Frederick, who led the van, would not wait for the bridge to be cleared, but spurred his war-horse forward and plunged into the stream.  Unfortunately, he had miscalculated the strength of the current.  Despite the efforts of the noble animal, it was borne away by the swift stream, and when at length assistance reached the aged emperor he was found to be already dead.

Never was a man more mourned than was the valiant Barbarossa by his army, and by the Germans on hearing of his death.  His body was borne by the sorrowing soldiers to Antioch, where it was buried in the church of St. Peter.  His fate was, perhaps, a fortunate one, for it prevented him from beholding the loss of the army, which was almost entirely destroyed by sickness at the city in which his body was entombed.  His son Frederick died at the siege of Acre, or Ptolemais.