Introduction

"Unfinished Being"

Medieval women, like modern women, were infinitely variable in

character, lifestyle and culture. Each regional medieval society and
each rank had peculiar characteristics. The life of an Icelandic peasant
had little in common with that of an aristocratic nun in Florence.

It is therefore difficult to generalise about Medieval Women as a

single group.

But many thousands of women from throughout the West shared in a

common experience when they joined in those great pilgrimages we
know as the Crusades.

Women of all estates were central figures in the Crusades. These

massive migrations changed fundamentally and forever the ways in
which European women as a whole lived their lives. The Crusades
marked the most far reaching change in European women's lives
between the fall of the Western Roman Empire and the onset of the
Industrial Revolution.

Through examining the lives of some women on the Crusades and in

the Kingdom of Jerusalem we are able to gain a more complete
picture of all medieval women.

Not unexpectedly, there are severely limited sources of information

about women and their participation in the Crusades. Females in the
pages of most medieval chronicles are usually defined in
circumscribed ways, mainly in terms of their sexual identity as wives,
mothers, whores and virginal saints.
 A careful reading of the biographies behind those chronicle pages
nevertheless shows glimpses of complex people: women who were
queens, courtesans, spies, mothers, soldiers, field workers,
industrialists, merchants, religious, poets, lovers, politicians,
housewives, adventurers and creators - in fact, everything it was
possible for a human to be at that time. The modern South American
poet Alaide Foppa wrote of them:

Unfinished being,

Not the remote angelical rose sung by poets of old,

Nor the sinister witch burned at Inquisition's stake,

Nor the lauded and desired prostitute,

Nor the blessed mother...

Women were present at all the major events of the Crusades, and
they helped shape the spirit of the age. For the history of medieval
women is not separate from the history of men. The stories of
medieval women and men are the same story, intertwined and
interessed In the words of the twelfth century visionary, Hildegard of
Bingen:

The woman is the labor of the man.

The man is an aspect of comfort for the woman.

One does not have the capacity of living without the other.1
www.leibbrandt.com/LEIBBRANDT_Archive…Being.htm

1. G. Uhlein, Meditations With Hildegard of Bingen Bear, Santa Fe, 1983.

 Part I

FIRST CRUSADES

Chapter 1:

"Behind It Goes Dona

Ximenes"
A mighty medieval warlord in shining armour rides out of the gates
of Valencia, astride a foam flecked stallion.
In his fist is clasped his lance, at his shoulder the shield which bears
the bloody cross of Christendom.
At the head of a furious army, the white knight gallops into the
maelstrom of besieging Moors, the dark skinned enemies of Europe
and its civilization.

...One who fills them with dread,

Grown more huge than ever,
Who rides on a white horse,
A crimson cross on his breast,
In his hand a white signal;
The sword looks like a flame
To torment the Moors...1

Like foam before the iron prow of a warship, the panic stricken
Moors part before him, and flee for their boats. Not even the fanatical
Moorish leader Ben Yusuf can urge them to stand against this white
knight.
For the knight is dead.
Rodrigo de Bivar, El Cid Campeador, the greatest warrior in Spain,
had died the day before, wounded in a fruitless skirmish with the
besieging Moors.
Yet now, he rides forth once again to do battle. Not even death can
keep him from the service of his Lord.
El Cid's faithful wife, Ximenes, had with assistance from El Cid's
liegemen dressed him in his armour and placed him astride his
famous steed Babieca.

When it was midnight

The body, thus as it was,
They placed upon Babieca
And onto the horse tied it.
Erect and upright it sits,
It looked as thought it were living...2

Lance at rest, El Cid gallops off into legend, while his tearful wife
and children watch fearfully yet proudly from the ramparts. In death,
as in life, El Cid has saved Spain from the invading hordes of Islam.
He becomes the perfect pattern of the chivalric Crusader.

The Cid's corpse rode forth

With a brave company.
One hundred are the guardians
Who rode with the honored corpse,
Behind it goes Dona Ximenes
With all her company,
With six hundred knights

There to be her guard.3

Such is the received version of El Cid's life, and to a large extent, of

that greater clash between two worlds known as the Crusades. It is
commemorated in statues such as the heroic bronze casting of
Richard Coeur de Lion outside the Houses of Parliament at
Westminster: the Crusading knight is glamorous, handsome, heroic,
muscular - and solitary.
This, however, does not seem to accord with the documents of the
Crusading era.
Rather, the case is that women were, from the beginning, active
participants in these world shaking events, at every level and from
every estate. And of perhaps even greater significance: it seems that
it was their lives as individuals and as groups that were deeply
affected by the Crusades, with a profound influence on the rest of
European society.
Take Dona Ximenes, for instance.
In actuality, the famous ride of El Cid was most probably an
invention of balladeers.
Rodrigo had most likely already died of age and wounds before the
siege of Valencia began. It was his wife, Dona Ximenes, who provided
the generalship during the two year siege which began in 1101.4
Ironically, El Cid survives as the perfect type of the feudal vassal
turned defender of Christianity.
His wife ends up as a footnote.

Ximenes Diaz appears to have been the second wife of El Cid

Rodriguez de Vivar (born c.1043), and their marriage settlement is
dated as July 19 1074.5
Rodrigo's first wife may have been Ximenes Gomez, and perhaps
she had died before his second marriage, which seems to have
occurred when he was about 30.
Ximenes Diaz comes through the documents as devoted to her
husband, a fierce protector of her children, and a doughty warrior.
She was also of impeccable descent, perhaps counting the king of
Leon, Alphonso VI, as her uncle and, as her great grandfather,
Alphonso V of Leon. Her mother was Cristina, grandaughter of
Alphonso, who also married beneath her to Diego Count of Oviedo.
Ximenes' descent actually surpassed that of her husband: it seems,
as was the custom, that the king rewarded loyal service by his vassal
Rodriguez by giving him as his bride a young wife of high nobility.6
It has been speculated that it was Ximenes who acquired a place at
the inner sanctum of the court for her new husband, using her
influence with her uncle.7
Although this was an arranged union, a genuine affection and
respect seems to have united the Cid and his Ximenes from the
beginning. The marriage settlement contracted in 1074 was
generous, including three towns in Castile plus properties in 34 other
settlements. This may have been a sign of the respect held for
Ximenes, marking her as a great lady constantly perambulating
between one manor and another. The contract also contains an
unusual phrase: it states that the endowment was made "...in
homage to both her beauty and her maidenhood."8
Legend would have it that the marriage began in turmoil, and that
El Cid killed Ximenes' father in a duel of honour. The storytellers
claimed that the king forced the daughter to marry her father's
murder, and that their love grew through a white hot passion of
opposites.
There appears to be no foundation to these tales, first recounted in
the fourteenth century.9
Everything in their lives points to the opposite, including their
tender regard for their three children, Diego, named for El Cid's
father, Cristina, named for Ximenes' mother, and Maria.
 And the traditional words of Ximenes to her husband at their
enforced parting bear witness to her feelings.
Alphonso's insane jealousy for his greatest vassal culminated in El
Cid's banishment from the kingdom in 1081. The family's parting
moment is the beginning of the famous poem of the Cid. Legend has
it that this occurred at the monastery of San Pedro de Cardena.
Before the assembled followers of her lord, clutching her youngest
infant to her, Ximenes knelt, weeping:
"Good my lord...lying tongues have driven you forth. Too well I
perceive that the hour has come when we must be parted in life as if
by death."10
For the Cid, there was to be a decade of fighting and wandering in
foreign wars, until he was at last recalled by a faithless king
desperate for his aid against Ben Yusuf, leader of the Almoravides.
For Ximenes and her children, there was the same time to be
endured in strait prison, living in constant fear of their lives from a
king who had usurped a throne over the corpse of his own brother.
Like most ladies of medieval war lords, she probably spent more
time alone than with her husband. Certainly, their life together was
to be shortened after his return by the years of fighting and hardship
he had endured. El Cid seized the fortress city of Valencia from the
Moors for Leon, only to die there at about the age of 56 on Sunday
July 10, 1099, from a combination of age, wounds and exhaustion.
Alone, Ximenes maintained Valencia for three years further. She
sought divine intervention on May 21 1101 when she made a gift to
Valencia Cathedral. In more material terms, she was given aid by her
son in law Ramon Berengeria of Barcelona. But when Yusuf came in
person to lay siege in October of that year she was forced to send
Bishop Jeronimo to beg assistance from the aloof Alphonso.11
The king at last came at the head of a relieving army, saw he was
unable to hold the city, and soon afterwards withdrew. Amongst
other relics, he took the swords of the Cid to serve as part of his
regalia. The evacuation took place over May 1 to 4, 1102, and when
it was complete, the king ordered burned to ashes the city that had
cost the blood of El Cid.
Ximenes withdrew to the monastery of Cardena, where that painful
parting had taken place a lifetime before. She placed her husband's
body in its last tomb, and endowed the monastery generously in
keeping with the value she placed on her love for her partner. She
herself spent the remainder of her days at the monastery, where she
died some 15 years later.
The crusading lady remained with her lord in life, and in death she
was buried at his side.
Ximenes was but one of many remarkable women whose lives were
entwined inescapably with the men who took part in that most
fantastic series of events now known as the Crusades: like so many
of those women, she has been condemned to take the role of a
footnote to history.
 Much of the impetus for the movement to the Holy Sites actually
came from the inspiration and actions of a woman: Helena, mother of
Constantine, the first Christian emperor of Byzantium.
Constantine, as part of the establishment of his new religion, began
the process of identifying sites in Palestine associated with Christ.
And so, in the year 327, the fiery Helena, then in her 73rd year, set
off for Jerusalem. She was taken on a tour of the sites by Archbishop
Marcarius. According to the received version of the story, she had a
vision that led her to discover the True Cross in a cistern behind the
temple to Aphrodite. According to the chroniclers. the methodical
empress tested the find's validity by having a dying woman laid
down on it. The woman's miraculous cure proved the worth of the
relic, and distinguished it from two other crosses nearby, apparently
those of the thieves who had flanked Christ at Calvary.12

The Cross was taken in triumph to Byzantium, from where

Constantine sent a piece of it to Rome.
The Empress, with her son's backing, embarked on an even more
ambitious restoration programme at the Holy Sites, including the
construction of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, as well as
endowments for buildings at the site of the Nativity and the Mount of
Olives.
Her enthusiasm fired the imagination of Christendom, and spurred
the interest of Europeans who over the following centuries, despite
the influx of the barbarian hordes and the dangers of long travel
through a crumbling empire, continued to retrace her footsteps. The
memory of the sites she uncovered and defined remained in the
hearts of the Crusaders. One of the first actions of Godfrey when he
took control of Jerusalem at the end of the first Crusade was to begin
a new priestly order to guard the Holy Sepulchre that Helena had
identified. The building of a new basilica on her chosen site began
apace, and was completed by 1149.
Thus, in the footsteps of the Empress came the first flood of
pilgrims, which has continued ever since, despite fluctuations caused
by war and invasions.
Amongst the first notable pilgrims was the redoubtable St Jerome
(d.420) who was accompanied in his pilgrimage to the holy sites by
two female acolytes, the widow Paula and her daughter the young
girl Eustochia. They built a convent at Bethlehem to house female
pilgrims, but so great was the demand that three extra ones had to
be built almost immediately. Other female pilgrims worked at
providing hospitals to tend to the needs of their fellow women
voyagers.
Another significant memorial of the first pilgrims was the
Peregrinatio Silviae, written by the nun Etheria in the fifth century.
Her work describes an elaborate system of pilgrimage sites patrolled
by organized police, and administered by priest guides.13
All this was to reach a hiatus with the collapse of the Western
Roman Empire during the fifth to eighth centuries.
 But with the beginnings of a new civilization in Europe, the
northerners once more turned their eyes towards Jerusalem, and in
the eleventh century came to fruition that great stirring of the West,
now known as the Crusades.
This book examines the lives of some women and their interplay
with these events, particularly during the 100 years of the Kingdom
of Jerusalem.

1. W. S. Merwin (trans.), Poem of the Cid New American Library, New York, 1962, pages xxvi - xxviii.

2. Ibid.

3. Ibid.

4. Ibid., xxiv.

5. Ximenes is also spelled Jimena or Ximena.

6. El Cid was of good birth, but inferior to Ximenes. His father was Diego Larnez, a faithful servant of Leon, who married above his rank to an unnamed woman,

a descendant of Rodrigo Alvarez who assisted at the coronation of Ferdinand I of Leon in 1038. See R.M.Pidal, The Cid and His Spain trans. H. Sutherland,

London, 1934, p.71. R. Fletcher, The Quest For El Cid Hutchinson, London, 1989, has cast some doubts on the details of this interpretation, but the general

outline of Pidal's views remains intact.

7. Ibid., p.133.
8. The Cid and His Spain, p.125.

9. Ibid., p.70.

10. Ibid., p. 173.

11. Ibid., p.408.

12. J.J. Norwich,Byzantium: The Early Years Viking, London, 1988, p.68.

13. R. Pernoud, In the Steps of the Crusaders Constable, London, 1963, p.8.
 Chapter 2:

Women's Faces

"Women's faces look out from every page of the story

of the Crusades and the overseas kingdoms, but they
have not attracted the attention of modern historians."
1

The Crusade was at first a message that was preached to the male
nobles of France, that elite segment of society which was supposed
to take sole responsibility for freeing the Holy Sites of Palestine from
the armies of Islam:
“Beloved Brethren...
...Let those who have hitherto been accustomed to fight wrongfully
in private strife against the faithful, now combat the infidel ... let
those who once were mercenaries for sordid hire now win eternal
rewards; let those who toiled to the detriment of both body and soul
now strive for a double recompense....let the warriors put their
affairs in order and collect what is needful...when the winter is over
and spring come, let them set out with cheerful hearts....”2
They responded immediately. The first to step forward to claim the
right to the pilgrimage was the pope's eminence gris in France,
Adhemar, Bishop of le Puy, followed immediately by a proxy of the
local magnate, Raymond of St Giles, Count of Toulouse. In a frenzy of
enthusiasm, hundreds of other nobles present in the fields outside
Clermont, where the pope delivered his order, swore to go.
"What a sweet and wonderful sight it was for us", says Fulcher, "to
see all those shining crosses, whether of silk or gold or other stuff,
that at the Pope's orders the pilgrims, as soon as they had sworn to
go, sewed on their shoulder of their cloaks, their cassocks of their
tunics."3
This suggests the unremarked presence of women in or near the
field of knights: the seamstresses of Europe - unless of course the
knights of Europe had recently learned the skills of needle and
thread! But women are rarely mentioned in these accounts
describing the slow waking of the barbarian power of Dark Age
Europe.
The documents are written from a male point of view, with the
warriors and priests as their focus. Women appear as asides or as
conventional figures used to establish the sorrow of parting.
Robert of Rheims' account of Urban's speech includes only one
specific reference to the role of women in the journey:
“...nor should women go at all without their husbands or brothers or
official permission: such people are more of a hindrance than a help,
more of a burden than a benefit.”4
In this most misogynistic of ages, clerical writers often regarded
women as unnecessary appurtenances to the serious business of
saving God's Holy Sites.
Ralph Niger in his De re militari (c.1189), for instance, begins with
the bald statement that women are the birdlime of the devil: the
source of temptation by which the devil could catch his prey, men's
souls. For this reason, Ralph did not agree with female participation
in a major campaign to be carried out by men. Nevertheless, he
acknowledged that it was extremely difficult to populate newly
conquered territories without the benefit of women's special
attributes, therefore including women could be considered useful in
order to resettle the conquered lands with a new population. On the
other hand, and more importantly, the outcome of a military
campaign was itself always doubtful. Therefore, it is better to
conquer first, and then bring the women. It would be preferable,
under these circumstances, for the women to stay at home where
they cannot be a hindrance or a danger to the common enterprise.
And the earliest known letter of agreement by the Crusaders, dating
from the Second Crusade of 1147, is similarly suspicious of female
temptation. This agreement was drawn up by northern Crusaders -
Scandinavians, Scots and English - about to set off for Lisbon. Their
agreed regulations forbade any kind of display of clothing -
presumably a direction mainly aimed at women - or that women
should be allowed to go about in public at all (surely a difficult
dictum given that the Crusade involved a journey away from home).5
Clerical antagonism to women crusaders grew out of a social context of confusion and struggle for survival.

Northern Europe at this moment was barely emerging from a period

of instability unparalleled in its recorded history. Following the
collapse of the Western Roman empire in the fifth century, half a
millennium of chaos had ensued, a time when judicial and social
order was achieved only occasionally and briefly. King Charlemagne
became Emperor Charlemagne in 800, and during his lifetime his
armies and his diplomacy had ensured that there was a resurgence
of the arts of civilization in the Frankish lands of Western Europe.
In Britain, the Anglo Saxons - having first extinguished the last
flickering lights of Roman life - set about building their own
civilization amongst the ruins. This reached a peak of learning and
domesticity under the crown of Alfred in the ninth century.
In Rome itself, the Papacy had barely kept alive classical arts and
learning as barbarian horsemen from the North raged at the city
gates.
But despite such attempts to bring about a measure of regulated
justice, of peaceable arts and of refined living, the barbarians
remained dominant throughout the world between the Arctic Sea and
the Mediterranean. The last major Viking incursion into the heartland
of medieval Europe had been defeated only in 1066. Many of the
men who took up arms for Christ in 1097 were the sons of those
Northmen who had devoted their lives to rapine and slaughter.
Eleventh century castles, one of the most symbolic architectural
structures of the middle ages, were mainly stockades made from
wood and dirt. Buildings for domestic use were small and crudely
designed. There were few retail outlets for consumables, such as
markets. Most purchases by castle dwellers would have been from
the occasional travelling chapmen. Medicine was all but non-existent.
Clothing was made from wool, the skins of animals or from linen
made in Ireland. Monasteries were usually remote from the few major
settlements, turning their back on the half-savage people who were
as much of a threat to the monks as they were possible fields for
sewing the word of God. There was virtually no consistent application
of laws. Learning was crude and limited: the monks responsible for
the well-being of parishes were often as ignorant as those whom they
professed to guide. Villages were frequently isolated from the wider
world: incestuous marriages were therefore a commonplace. Pagan
practices took place side by side with the Christian practices that had
been loosely imposed by the Church, so that eventually pagan and
Christian became indissolubly intertwined.
All this was likely to continue as long as Europe continued to be
battered by the bands of roving land pirates thrown up by a society
dominated by uneducated men with a lust for gold, glory and blood.
William the Conqueror, most successful of the land pirates, had a low
opinion of his own Norman French, who made up the largest and
most influential part of the knights' army of the First Crusade. He
thought that when under the rule of a kind but firm master, they
were the most valiant of people, but otherwise they brought ruin on
themselves by raiding each other.
"They are eager for rebellion, ripe for tumults, and ready for every
sort of crime..."6.
This was the universally held assessment of medieval observers.
And the evidence suggests that Frankish women shared all the best
and worst qualities of their menfolk.

BETTER TO DIE THAN BE CONQUERED

The reasons for Urban calling for a military expedition to the East
are complex and have been widely debated. They range from
political expediency to changes in the turbulent social structure of
Europe.
There was, for example, a surplus of mainly young, warlike men,
attested in the words of the pope and of many other commentators.
Violence for its own sake was a habit of life that took centuries to
harness and subdue. As Bertrand de Born wrote in the twelfth
century, fighting and bloodshed was the sole delight of noble young
men:

I love to see amidst the meadows, tents and pavilions spread,

and it gives me great joy to see, drawn up on the field, knights
and horses in battle array... Maces, swords and helms of
different colours, shields that will be split and shattered as soon
as the fight begins and many vassals struck down together, and
the horses of the dead and wounded roving randomly. And when
battle is joined, let all men of good lineage think of nothing but
the breaking of heads and arms, for it is better to die than to be
conquered and live. I tell you, I find no such pleasure in food, or
in wine, or in sleep, as in hearing the shout 'On!' 'On!' from both
sides, and the neighing of riderless steeds, and the cries of
'Help!' 'Help!' and in seeing men, great and small, go down on
the grass.

It may have been the continual disruption to peaceful life by such

wandering warriors that prompted the pope to call the crusade:
“...Let those who have hitherto been accustomed to fight wrongfully
in private strife against the faithful, now combat the infidel... “
Another seed of the call to arms may have been the continual
attacks on Christian pilgrims to the Holy Sites surrounding Jerusalem
in Palestine, and especially a particularly outrageous attack on a nun.
Islamic Arabs had overrun Jerusalem, former outpost of the Roman
Empire, in the seventh century. At first, Arabic overlordship had been
characterized by tolerance and benign dictatorship. Pilgrims moved
through the region with relative freedom, until in the eleventh
century a new group, the Turks, infiltrated the region from the east.
With the arrival of these nomads in the Holy Land there were
increasingly frequent disruptions to the pilgrim routes. This included
the misfortunes that befell a major German pilgrimage of 1065 led by
Bishop Gunther. During this journey, the pilgrims were attacked in
Syria. Especially shocking was the rape of an abbess. She was
described by the chronicler of Bishop Altmann of Passau as a noble
woman, physically imposing and spiritually minded. Against all the
best advice, she resigned her post and took the pilgrimage. She was
captured by Arabs and in the sight of all, raped until she died. This
event, says the author, was a scandal to the Christians everywhere.7
Thus, there was a situation where a desire to protect non-
combatants coincided with the rise of a large fighting force charged
with restless energy but no direction.
But the response of the warriors gathered at Clermont in 1095 was
immediately overshadowed by the pilgrimage of the hitherto unseen
people of Europe.
It was not the knights but the ordinary men, women and children
who straightway decamped en masse for the east.
Here was a revolution that dwarfed in comparison the later peoples'
uprisings of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. For untold
centuries they had been subjugated by the locust nobles. Now, they
seized their destinies, despite the call to arms not being directed at
them.
And all seems to have been due to the work of a ragged hermit, who
won a special place in the hearts of medieval women.

PETER'S ARMY SETS OUT

Peter the Hermit emerges mysteriously from the shadows in the
north of France as soon as the pope's speech was made in the south.
Later suggestions were that the very idea of the crusade was his in
the first place, a concept developed from his personal experiences in
the Holy Land.8
Other suggestions have it that he was simply a runaway monk with
an eye to the main chance.9
Howbeit, while the great men slowly made their preparations during
the winter, the ordinary people threw off the bondage of their
poverty and followed in the train of Peter.
Peter was a remarkable character, a mixture of evangelist and
charlatan. Dressed in a simple woollen tunic covered with a
homespun cloak, he rode a mule. His arms and feet were bare, he
ate no bread, but lived on wine and fish. He wandered through the
smaller towns of northern France preaching everywhere to the
commons. They showered Peter with gifts and praised his saintliness
with unparalleled fervour, perhaps explained by centuries of
repression combined with recent decades of famine, plague and
storm wrack. At the moment that Peter appeared, there was a
general shortage of food, affecting even the nobles.
The people were ripe for a sea change in their lifestyle, and they
focussed their hopes on Peter. He responded with Messiah-like
humility, giving back all the gifts. And Guibert notes that he was
particularly attentive towards the women, acting as a kind of
marriage broker. He persuaded prostitutes to return to their
husbands, aiding reconciliation by giving the couples gifts from those
offered to him. Guibert comments that his wonderful air of authority
enabled him to restore peace and good understanding between those
men and women who had become estranged. He bore a charisma, so
that everything he did seemed to have a touch of divinity about it,
and people began to pluck hairs from his mule as relics.
Within weeks, the whole of northern France was in a ferment, the
people inflamed with burning zeal to rescue the holy places. No
matter the cost, people freed themselves of the shackles of their few
possessions. Some of them had nothing, or almost nothing, with
which to buy the many things they needed.10
One of the immediate results of the peoples’ frenzy to equip
themselves and set out was massive deflation. Previously expensive
goods were sold at buyer's prices. Guibert reports seven sheep
being sold for five deniers, whereas usually the price for a single
sheep was at least six.11
The equipment of this peasant's army was laughable to the
commentators of the day.
"...poor people shoeing their oxen as though they were horses,
harnessing them to two-wheeled wagons on which they piled their
scanty provisions and their small children, and which they led along
behind them. And as soon as these little children saw a castle or a
town they eagerly asked if that was the Jerusalem towards which
they were journeying." 12
William of Malmesbury wrote that:
"...not only were the Mediterranean countries fired by the
enthusiasm, but all who dwelt in the utmost lands or among savage
nations. The Welshman left his forest hunting, the Scotsmen forsook
his friendly lice, the Dane abandoned his endless drinking bouts, the
Norwegian deserted his raw fish. The husbandman left the fields,
houses were emptied of their inmates, whole cities went abroad...you
might have seen husband and wife and all their children on the
march; you would have laughed to see them, furniture and all,
setting off in carts. The roads were too narrow, the ways too strait,
for those who took the journey.13

These comments make it clear that the peasant's pilgrimage was for
everybody, not just the noble men, which was contrary to the
expectations of the church. The pope's views that only men were
expected to go are further suggested in a letter written to the
inhabitants of Bologna on 19 September 1096 about provisions for
clerics and monks to go on crusade. They were to go only with the
authority of their bishop. No mention is made of nuns in these
instructions. Similarly, the pontiff provided for civilian men to go only
under the condition that if they were newly married, they had to
have their wives' consent: the expectation was obvious that this
journey was to be solely a male activity.14
Later promulgations attempted to clarify the position more clearly:
the second Crusade forbade the presence of concubines, and the
third forbade women of any rank or station.
But Peter's pilgrimage was for all classes, estates and people, and
for Christians from throughout the north. Even the Scots, says
Guibert, savages unversed in the arts of war, came bare legged
wearing cloaks of shaggy skins and carrying sacks of provisions
hanging from their shoulders.
The gathering of nations was unequalled since the building of
Babel's Tower. The participants, unable to communicate in their
myriad of languages and dialects, communicated at first through
crude sign language. Some, unable to make themselves understood,
laid one finger beside another in the shape of a cross to show that
they wished to join the pilgrimage.15

AN UNCOOKED GOOSE
These unsophisticated people attracted the sneering comments of
clerics, such as Guibert of Nogent. He described rather
condescendingly and as a nine days wonder how a "little woman"
(presumably meaning a peasant woman) had undertaken the journey
to Jerusalem. Waddling behind her "...taught in I know not what new
school..." and acting in a way that its unreasoning nature should not
have permitted, came a goose.
The report spread with lightning speed through castles and cities
that geese had been sent by God to conquer Jerusalem, and people
began to believe that the woman was not leading the goose, but
rather that the goose was leading the woman.
The validity of this most medieval reasoning was tested at Cambrai.
The woman walked through a gauntlet of onlookers into the church
right up to the high altar, and the goose followed under its own
volition.
Guibert relates that the goose died in Lorraine soon afterwards. The
wretched beast, he adds, would have been more sure of getting to
Jerusalem if its mistress had eaten it on the eve of the departure for
the East.16
Pell mell, the throng raced eastwards, gathering more adherents in
Germany, and plunging into the land of the Hungarians.
Here took place the first of the tragic encounters that was to mar
this first great movement towards freedom by the peasants of
Europe.
(The killing of Jews in Germany in May 1096 although sparked by the
crusaders' passage, can not be attributed to their doing. It was really
a local incident carried out by recalcitrants).17
The men and women who had laboured as virtual slaves or who had
eked out meagre existences in crude towns and villages as artisans
were suddenly freed. Had not the Pope promised at Clermont, in a
speech repeated in many forms subsequently:
"If those who go thither lose their lives on land or sea during the
journey, or in battle against the pagans, their sins will at once be
forgiven; I grant this through the power of God conferred on me..."18
Here was an offer which, given some consideration, placed
temptation in the path of those with little to lose by yielding. If every
sin was forgiven through the act of pilgrimage, what was forbidden?
Freed from the obligation to work for the rest of their (brief) lives,
why should the fruits of the earth not be taken at will? And where
they were going to was itself Heaven: Jerusalem was seen as the
interface of Heaven and Earth, a golden city in the epicentre of the
universe. It was here that the Tree of Life had been planted in the
earthly paradise, from which grew the Cross which later served as
the sacrificial instrument for the Son of God, through which he had
purged the world and offered the hope of a new life in Heaven. 19
To survive all and reach Jerusalem - just beyond the next ridge or
through the next forest - was to take a direct short cut to eternal
bliss.
For those peasants who gave it any thought at all, the prospects
must have sent their senses reeling.
In the sun lit summer of Hungary, the peasants at last broke out,
their greed for the good things in life, without the obligation of work
or guilt, set free. Guibert of Nogent testifies to their excesses. It was
apparently the custom in Hungary for several years' grain harvest to
be stored in ricks in the fields, a sight to delight the pilgrims, who in
recent years had found grain harder to come by than ever. The
hospitable inhabitants of the region readily handed out to the first of
the newcomers provisions of every kind.
But not content with the kindness with which they were received
and "impelled by a kind of fury that was a madness", the foreigners
began to trample underfoot the provisions they were offered and
then the very inhabitants of the country. The pilgrims torched the
granaries, and fearless of the consequences, the men raped the
young girls of the country, kidnapped wives from their homes, and
heaped contempt on their husbands and fathers. 20
The rapine was checked only when a representative of the Greek
empire, Nicetas, beat off an attack on Sofia, and turned the tables on
the pilgrims, driving many of them into a river where they drowned.
Presumably, many pilgrim women and children died in this attack
along with their men. Men, women and children were also seized in
the aftermath of the battle and spent the rest of their lives in slavery
in the region.21
Meanwhile, Peter escaped in the company of some Germans and
about seven thousand other survivors who pressed on to safety in
Constantinople. There he was reinforced by a band of Italian pilgrims
who had advanced before him and by countless other pilgrims who
had followed separate routes.
The scattered bands of Peter's surviving followers had arrived at the
hub of the medieval world.
 What they saw surpassed their imaginings, and many must have
been convinced that they had already reached the Holy City on
earth.
The metropolis of Constantinople-Byzantium was the true heir of
the Roman Empire. Girded in an impenetrable fortress on the shores
of the Bosphorus sound, this city state had held the barbarians in
check while Rome's Forum decayed into a cow pasture. Hundreds of
thousands of people lived in prosperity and amidst a flowering
culture, and through its port passed the wealth of the world's trade.
The extant Emperor, Alexius Comnena, was a powerful politician and
an expert military strategist, as well as a respected soldier.
He had dammed the invasions of the Turks as they pressed across
what is modern day Turkey to the very shores of the Bosphorus. And
he had sent to the Pope for a mercenary Frankish army to bolster his
mighty multinational forces in turning the tide to regain
Constantinople's territory, lost in living memory. Again, this may be
read as one of the incentives prompting the Pope's call to arms at
Clermont.
Alexius' chagrin and horror can be imagined when the promised aid
appeared, not in the form of serried ranks of knights, but in a rag tag
of footsoldiers, farmers, women and children. His opinion is
undoubtedly echoed in the words of his daughter, the historian and
chronicler Anna Comnena. In her biography we encounter not only a
startlingly fresh account of the Crusaders from an outsider's point of
view, but also the writings of a woman.
Anna Comnena (1083-1153) set out to record and celebrate her
father's achievements: in so doing she produced one of the most
literate, readable and convincing studies of medieval history.
Unfortunately, she seems to have no special interest in her fellow
women, mentioning them only in passing. The focus of her book is
her father the emperor, and later Bohemund of Antioch, the Norman-
Sicilian antihero of the Crusades.
"Those people, as though aflame with divine fire, flocked in crowds
about Little Peter with their horses, their arms and their
provisions...Behind the Celtic warriors could be seen a countless
throng of ordinary people with their wives and children, all with the
red cross on their shoulders. They outnumbered the grains of sand
on the sea-shore....To look at them was like seeing rivers flowing
together from all sides...They made up a throng of men and women
such as had never before been seen..." 22
The Emperor acted with his usual far sightedness, ordering his army
to control the throng, rather than attempt to turn it back. He realised
that the fervour of the pilgrims would have made inveitable a bloody
conflict at the heart of his empire. Instead, he offered for sale as
many provisions as they could use. He also offered wise advice,
suggesting that they were too ill prepared to cross the Bosphorus
and try conclusions with real soldiers, the Turks.
The pilgrims refused to listen, or to take in good faith that which was
offered. Perhaps they had simply grown used to taking what they
wanted, or indeed, a kind of mob mentality that no one could hope to
quell had taken over, so that their progression eastwards was as
inevitable and as mindless as a mighty river, a matter of gravity
rather than will.
Rather than buying, the pilgrims simply took. Their initial awe of the
mighty city was soon overcome by small minded profiteering. They
behaved, says Anna, with the utmost insolence, pulling down the
palaces in the town, setting fire to public buildings, and stealing the
lead from the roofs of the churches and selling it back to their hosts.
The Emperor's patience was soon tried sufficiently. The pilgrims
arrived on August 1 1096. The emperor shipped them across the
Bosphorus on August 6.
The countryside changes almost immediately one crosses into Asia
from Constantinople. The rolling, semi fertile plains of Europe soon
give way to the sheer, rocky walls of the mountains ringing the Black
Sea to the north, and the desolate plateaus of the central regions of
Turkey. The winters are wet and freezing, the summers scorching
and dry. Subsistence is possible, but even today it is a hard life in the
outback of Turkey. Without maps, guides, or any real understanding
of the countryside or its inhabitants, the peasants were doomed from
the beginning.
They were about to clash with a newly arrived culture which might
be fairly described as equally barbaric, but better organised and
having the advantage of local knowledge. The Turks were a group of
nomadic horsemen who had arrived in the region half a century
before. Their roving bands of lightly armed horsemen had shattered
the remnants of Byzantine military organisation in the region. Now
their scouts were to be seen on the shores of the Bosphorus, within
sight of the City of Alexius.
Peter advanced as far as the village of Helenopolis, where he
pitched camp. By this time, the army was such in name only: if it had
ever had any semblance of military discipline, it had long since
disappeared. It was no more than a locust like plague, consuming all
that it encountered. (Anna claims that a plague of locusts always
preceded the pilgrims). Many of the villages they advanced through
were Christian: it made no difference to the Christian pilgrims - they
plundered all and killed all that they encountered. According to Anna,
a body of French crusaders separated from the army and with the
utmost cruelty plundered the countryside around Nicaea, the capital
of the Turkish emir, Kilij Arslan. She says that they dismembered
some babies, and spit roasted others. This outrageous behaviour
demonstrates not only the contempt with which the Franks held the
pagans, but also the results of the loosening of the bonds of
behaviour which accompanied the notion of Crusade. It was to
become depressingly familiar in the years ahead.
The elderly captives of the Crusaders were tortured.
The incensed Turks inside Nicaea came to the rescue of their
people. The Crusaders won a pitched battle, driving them back and
taking to camp a great deal of plunder.23
After this victory, some German pilgrims, confident of God's support,
seized the small castle of Xerigordon.
 This was the beginning of the end for the peasants.
The local sultan, Kilij Arslan, now sent his army to deal with these
troublesome invaders. They surprised the Germans at Xerigordon,
killing many and driving the rest into the citadel.
There, the unfortunate Germans endured the hell of thirst, until they
were forced to the straits of drinking blood and urine, before
surrendering to thier anticipated fate.24
Meanwhile, the remaining peasants had fortified themselves at
Civetot. Peter seems to have left them at about this time, to return
for further discussions with the emperor at Constantinople.
Throughout, he seems to have displayed a remarkable skill at self
preservation, a nose for danger that stood him in good stead in many
a tricky spot.
Kilij Arslan, knowing that the Franks lusted for gold, set ambushes
between Civetot and Nicaea. He then had it rumoured throughout the
Frankish camp that Nicaea had fallen and was ready for plunder. 25
At the news of plunder, says Anna, all the men abandoned their
women and children and raced towards Nicaea, forgetting all military
discipline. The few hundred men who might have been accorded the
rank of knight did not even bother to wear armour. The Turks simply
shot down the horsemen from ambush, and the rest of the rabble
were then slaughtered by hand.
Thus, thousands of peasant soldiers were massacred on October 21
at a place called Drakon: so many died, says Anna, that their
collected remains made not a hill, but a mountain.26
Her words might seem an exaggeration, were they not to be
confirmed by Fulcher of Chartres, who saw mounds of skulls when
he passed through the killing fields the following year.27
The remaining women and children were easy prey for the Turks:
perhaps twenty thousand fell victim when the Turks rode down upon
the non combatants who were preparing food in the camp at Civetot.
28

Their fate is not documented, but is easily pieced together.

Those who were too old to be of use died immediately. The younger
women and the boy children would be herded off into a life of
slavery. They would be sold through the markets of Damascus and
Antioch, and traded throughout the Arab world. Undoubtedly, the
more attractive young women would have been prized possessions in
harems. The boys would have been castrated for use in the women's
quarters, or perhaps brainwashed to the point where they would
eventually become more fanatical than their Islamic captors.
Eventually, huge regiments of Christian slaves known as Janissaries
were formed for use against their own people. The children of mixed
marriages - Turks and Christian - were known as Turcopoles, and
throughout the period might be fighting on either side.
The horror of what it meant to become a slave is captured in an
anecdote told by Ibn al Athir. After the seizure of Jaffa by Saladin in
1189, its population was sold into slavery. Al Athir bought one young
Frankish woman at a slave auction held in Aleppo. She had, says al
Athir, a one year old child. One day, as the Frankish woman was
carrying the child, she fell and scratched her face, and immediately
burst into tears. Her Arab master tried to comfort her, telling her that
the wound was not serious, and there was no reason for such bitter
tears over such a trifle. The woman replied that this was not why she
was crying, but rather because of the misfortune that had befallen
herself and her family. Her six brothers had all been killed: as to her
husband and her sisters, she had no idea of their fate.29
The emir, merchant, scholar and soldier, Usama ibn Munqidh 1095 -
1188, gives an account of slavery early in the twelfth century. He
shows a similar picture of despair, mingled with a quiet, burning
defiance:
He tells of some young Frankish girls brought as slaves to his father's
house. Usama's father chose a particularly beautiful young girl and
instructed his housekeeper to make her bathe, tidy herself and dress
for a journey. The girl was then sent in the care of one of his squires
to the Emir Salim ibn Malik, lord Kalat, with a letter describing the girl
as part of his share in the booty taken from the Franks.
The Emir was charmed by the girl's beauty, and she eventually bore
him a son named Bardan. This mixed breed son later became lord of
Kalat, on his father's death. As for the mother, after a lifetime of
captivity, she plotted with a few men, who helped her escape from
the citadel by sliding down a rope. She then fled with the men to
Frankish Saruj, where she eventually married a Frankish shoemaker.
Another story is that of a family which had been sent to Usama's
parental home. The head of the family was an old woman, who was
accompanied by one of her daughters and a young, strongly built
son. The son, Raoul, became a Moslem, and made a great pretence
of fervour in his prayer and fasting. He was apprenticed to a sculptor
of marble, and was rewarded for his loyal service by a marriage to a
woman from a pious Moslem family. This woman bore her converted
husband two sons. When the children were both still under seven
years of age, their father fled, taking all their household possessions.
He returned to the Franks at Apamea, and became as fervent a
Christian as he had been a Moslem, and disregarded his Islamic
marriage in favour of a new marriage to a Christian woman.
These anecdotes illustrate the struggle of slaves to deal with the
horrors of their unfortunate situation, a spirit familiar from stories of
slaves in other countries, where the yearning for freedom survives a
generation of captivity and denial of a cultural inheritance.30
We may speculate that these stories could be multiplied a thousand
fold to account for the misfortunes of the survivors of the debacle of
Peter's Crusade.
Only about three thousand pilgrims escaped the massacre, taking
refuge in a castle near the sea coast. They refortified this stronghold,
and were able to beat off attacks, the only large group to survive the
debacle.
Thus, within months the tidal wave of humanity which surged to the
East had spent itself, dashed and dissipated on the rocks of Anatolia,
less than half way towards completing its intended journey.
1. R. Pernoud, The Crusaders E. Grant (trans.), Oliver and Boyd, London, 1963, p.86.
2. The words of Pope Urban II at Clermont on November 27, 1095, as reported by Fulcher of
Chartres, in A History of the Expedition to Jerusalem F. R. Ryan (trans.), University of
Tennessee, Knoxville, 1969, pp. 65-7.
3. Ibid.
4. J. Riley Smith ed., The Crusades: Idea and Reality Edward Arnold, London, 1981, p.44. 5.
E. Hallam (ed.), Chronicles of the Crusades Weidenfeld and Nicolson, London, 1989, p.168.
Riley Smith, The Crusades, p.161.
6. Ordericus Vitalis in English Historical Documents II ed. D. C Douglas, Eyre and
Spottiswoode, London, 1978, p.306.
7. Hallam, Chronicles of the Crusades, p.35.
8. This explanation is offered by Anna Comnena in her book The Alexiad E.R.A.Sewter
(trans.), Penguin, Harmondsworth, 1969, p.309. The Archbishop of Tyre 100 years later gives
credit to Peter for the original idea of the Crusade. William of Tyre says that Peter met the
patriarch of Jerusalem during a private pilgrimage to the Holy Land. After seeing first hand
the tribulations of the Christian people, he returned bearing the patriarch's pleas for help to
speak to Pope Urban at Bari, before going further north to summon the common people.
Pernoud,The Crusades, pp.36-9.
9. Guibert of Nogent says he heard that Peter was a hermit from Amiens or some place
nearby. Op. cit. p.27.
10. Ibid., p28.
11. Ibid. Trying to make sense of coinage is difficult. However, there is one form of money
that seems to be reasonably consistent, used by Saracens and Franks alike: the bezant. This
is a gold coin of 24 carats, worth approximately $US20 in 1995 money.
Smaller units include a silver denier and an obol. There were 96 deniers to a bezant, and the
bezant was worth roughly a month's food supply for an individual. A twelfth century knight's
pay for a year was around 500 bezants.
12. Pernoud, The Crusades, p.27.
13. A.E.Blane (ed.),The Normans in England Bell, London, 1917, p.67.
14. Pernoud, The Crusades, p.25.
15. Ibid., p.28.
16. Ibid., pp.44-5.
17. Ibid., pp.29-30.
18. Ibid., p.24.
19. "The Legend of the Tree of Life", in P. Matarasso (trans.),The Quest of the Holy Grail
Penguin, Harmondsworth, 1971, pp.222-35.
20. Pernoud, p.31.
21. S. Runciman, The First Crusade Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 1981, p.74.
22. Pernoud, p.33. and Chronicles of the Crusades, p.67.
23. Ibid., p.67.
24. Ibid., p.34.
25. A. Malouf, The Crusades Through Arab Eyes Shocken Books, New York, 1984, p.7.
26. Chronicle of the Crusades, p.68, The Alexiad, p.313.
27. Pernoud, p.35.
28. Malouf, The Crusades Through Arab Eyes, p.8.. P. Tudebode, Historia de Hierosolymitano
Itinere J.H. and L.L. Hill (trans.), American Philosophical Society, Philadelphia, 1974, p. 19
clearly refers to both massacre and enslavement.
29. The Crusades Through Arab Eyes, p.195.
30. Pernoud, p.110.
 Chapter 3

The Spoils of War

The cataclysmic impulse of the Great Crusades was merely in its first
throes when Peter's Crusade was checked. At least two more waves
of primitive energy were yet to impel countless thousands of people
eastwards before the end of the eleventh century.
The most bloodthirsty and terrifying of these outbursts is what is
perhaps most commonly thought of as the First Crusade.
The body of pilgrims led by the Archbishop of Le Puy gathered like
the wakening kraken, deep in the heartlands of medieval Europe:
the Low Countries under Godfrey of Bouillon; the southern French
under Raymond of Toulouse; the Sicilian Normans under Bohemond;
and the northern French under Robert of Normandy and the king's
boastful and inadequate brother, Hugh of Vermandois.
The journey began in the spring of 1096.
Once again, women made up a significant part of the body of the
army, despite the pope's express intent that it should be only for
noble men. Those women who went on the journey were to face a
difficult and uncertain future, full of as many hardships of those of
their menfolk who went with them. 1 But most women - wives,
mothers, daughters - remained at home, farewelling their sons,
husbands and brothers amongst storms of tears, according to the
conventional descriptions of chroniclers.
In the words of Fulcher, who participated in the journey, grief was
everywhere, expressed in sighs and sorrowing. There was weeping
amongst the loved ones to be left behind when the husband parted
from the wife so dear to him, as well as his children, father, mother,
brothers, grandparents, and his possessions. Wives counted the time
until their husbands should return. The husband gave his wife into
God's keeping, kissed her and promised as she wept that he would
return. She, fearing that she would never see him again, weak with
grieving, fell senseless to the ground, mourning her living husband as
though he were dead. He, compassionate, went away with a
determined mind and suffered secretly, despite the weeping of his
wife and friends.2
For some women, the loss of husband or father would have been
threatening or heart breaking. For others, even love and
companionship, let alone familial responsibility, took second place to
Crusading zeal. The result was often an emotional battleground
between those who would go and those who would stay.
Gerald of Wales, who preached the Third Crusade throughout
western Britain in 1188, recounts the story of Rhys ap Gruffydd, lord
of south Wales, who was so inspired by a sermon at Bangor that he
immediately went home determined to make the journey. For nearly
a fortnight, he applied himself energetically to raising funds,
collecting pack animals and sumpter horses and urging other men to
go with him. However, he had reckoned without his wife Gwenllian,
who put a sudden stop to his plans by exercising her womanly
charms and playing upon his masculine weakness, as Gerald
describes it.
Another time, Gerald described how after a sermon at Hay on Wye, a
great number of men who wanted to take the cross came running
towards the castle, leaving their cloaks clutched in the hands of their
wives and friends who had tried to hold them back.3
Many women were thrust by such departures into roles of
unparallelled responsibility and loneliness.
Countess Clementia of Burgundy is an example of those left behind.
Her husband Count Robert I of Flanders relied on her to administer
the family estates. It was to be three years before they were
reunited.
It was to this same count that the emperor Alexius wrote in a letter of
1093 trying to persuade the Franks to come to Constantinople. His
letter told them that if the conquest of the Holy Places was not
sufficient inducement, they should remember also the women of the
East, the most beautiful in the world: the incomparable beauty of
Greek women, wrote the emperor, should have been sufficient
inducement in itself to attract the armies of the westerners to the
plains of Thrace, he said.4
Here was a reminder, if one was needed, from the very pinnacle of
medieval society that women were and remained part of the spoils of
war. It also suggests the mental anguish caused by long separation
of sexual partners. One of the greatest trials faced by the women
who stayed and home, and of the men who were absent from them,
would have been the anguish of contemplation of the temptations
placed before one's absent lover.
Throughout Europe, the wealthier ranks of society were busy urging
each other on to begin the great journey.
It was not as simple for them as it had been for the peasants led by
Peter, who had few possessions to dispose of, and who had fewer
people depending on them. The nobility retreated to their castles and
manors, waiting for the spring to thaw the snow, and for messages to
be sent to finalise the arrangements for departure. According to
William of Tyre, the time of departure was carefully agreed, as were
meeting places and routes to be followed. Experienced military
campaigners that they were, the northerners allocated their
provisions according to the length of the journey. Scarcely a single
house was idle throughout the west. In some places the whole
household was preparing for the journey.
At last, in the spring, the separate journeys began. The crusaders
tore themselves from the arms of their friends and relatives, and in
the midst of the tears and sighs which were an accompaniment to
medieval life, both for men and women, they bade farewell forever.
The presence of women is marked by the drowning of many of them
- perhaps eighty or so - during the capsizing of a vessel in the
entourage of Stephen of Blois during the crossing from Italy to
Greece.5
Elsewhere, the legions of Europe discovered the Journey: through
the Alps, across the Hungarian plains, over the Adriatic, amongst the
Greek Islands, and down the spring-green roads that led to
Constantinople.
Once more the Greeks had to contend with unruly mobs that ate up
the landscape like human locusts, and once again, the Emperor
Alexius tried to keep some kind of grip over the swarms of Franks
invading his land. The Crusaders were soon exchanging blows with
his men, horrified to learn, amongst other things, that he had
mercenary Moslims serving in his army, who were used as police to
control the Christians.

THE BARBARIAN AND THE PRINCESS

Of course, not every crusader had set off with a heavy heart.
Perhaps this applied most readily to Count Bohemond of Sicily, who
was to become the greatest figure of the Crusade.
He had already fought many campaigns in the East, particularly
against the Byzantine emperor Alexius. Now, he set out on a journey
with one clear goal in mind: land. He left nothing behind him, and
had no regrets, having been, he believed, cheated out of his
ancestral land in Sicily.
Bohemond was one of the first to arrive in Constantinople, where the
barons were greeted coolly by the emperor with a simple proposal:
swear allegiance to me and hand over any land you capture on your
journey, or go without the support of the empire.
His daughter, Anna, has left for posterity her remarkable account of
the Celts, of her father's reaction, and perhaps most strikingly, her
own.
She recorded that the Emperor dreaded the arrival of the Celts, as
she called them, because of their unstable temperament, and
knowing how greedy they were. The reality proved more horrible
than their first fears: the entire western world between the Adriatic
and Spain seemed to emigrating en masse, complete families
marching together towards Asia.
The knights came with their horses, arms and complete military
equipment, full of ardour and impetuosity as they swarmed over the
roads. They were accompanied, says Anna, by a multitude of
unarmed people carrying palms and with crosses on their shoulders.
These were the women and children. The sight of them she says was
like waves, flowing from all directions, as numerous as leaves and
flowers in spring, all babbling barbarous sounds that were both
unpronouncable and offensive to the delicate ears of the princess.
But, for her, the most memorable of all the newcomers was to be one
individual, the most barbaric and untrustworthy of them all. Despite -
or perhaps because - Bohemond appeared to be incarnate evil, he
seems to have made an indelible impression on the teenage
princess.
Never, she says, was there anyone like Bohemond of Sicily, so tall
that he towered over the tallest by half a meter, neither slender nor
stout, but with wide shoulders, a well developed chest, and strong
arms. His form, indeed, matched the dimension of the perfect model
of mankind, from his strong hands, to his firm stance, to his robust
neck and physique.
His skin was pale white, remarked the princess, but his face was
marked with the flush of blood. His pale hair - she describes it as
white or very light brown - was cut short around his ears, in
contradiction to the current fashion. It was impossible to tell of the
colour of his beard, however, whether red or otherwise, because the
razor had left it as as smooth as marble - yet it certainly seemed to
be red. Courage and dignity shone from his blue eyes, and he
breathed through wide nostrils, a generous organ in keeping with the
size of his chest, just as his chest was in proportion to his nose.
Anna drew breath, and then admitted that there was about this
warrior a certain charm, hindered only by the air of menace that
emanated from him. For everything about him, even his laugh, made
one shiver, everything in his being, body and soul, courage and love,
was bent on war.
Like other Normans, he was tricky, convoluted and always ready to
deceive. Everything he said was carefully thought out and his
answers full of double meanings.
No one surpassed him in anything, whether it was luck or eloquence,
except Alexius, her father.6
It is tempting to interpret Anna's attitude to Bohemond as best fitted
for the pages of a popular novel.
And indeed, it is all too tempting to read thwarted sexual desire
between the lines of Anna's description, both because of the physical
intimacy of the details, as well as the fact that Bohemond is the only
barbarian described by her at any length. Even Raymond of
Toulouse, whom her father valued above all the rest, she dismisses
merely with the epithet that he was prized for his superior intellect,
untarnished reputation and purity. Many references are contained to
Bohemond throughout the pages of the Alexiad. This is the point:
Bohemond is the antichrist to her father's colossal stature, he is the
devil whom her father's saintliness eventually overcomes. Her
literary style requires her to build up the image of a superhuman
arch criminal, a worthy opponent for Alexius. Her vivid description of
Bohemond actually comes from towards the end of her memoires, at
the point where his defeat by Alexius becomes certain.
Ultimately, there was to be no escape from the cloister of the
Byzantine world for Anna, if indeed she ever desired it. She was first
betrothed to Constantine Ducas, who died before the marriage could
be completed. Instead in 1097 she married Nicephorus Bryennius,
whom she describes adequately but without affection as an
extremely handsome man, very intelligent and in his precise speech
far superior to everyone else of the time. Nicephorus had begun a
biography of Alexius while on campaign with Anna's brother, the new
Emperor John. 7
Anna in her later years saw it as her duty to continue and refine the
story, so her account of Bohemond is all the more remarkable in that
it was written as late as the year 1148, when she was 65.
Whether she pined for the crusader, or not - her will says she married
against her will, preferring to remain single - she lived harmoniously
with John for 40 years, producing four children.
Whatever the case, Bohemond and his fellow crusaders had met
their match in Alexius, who cajoled, flattered, and threatened them,
until eventually they virtually all agreed to swear allegiance to him,
in return for his military and logistical support.
The situation more or less resolved, the most potent army ever
unleashed by the Franks, swelled by the emperor's army and rich
with equipment, began the initial advance into enemy territory.
This time, the Turks were confident that they could easily deal with
the invaders. The sultan wrote to his people at Nicaea that there was
nothing to fear from the great hosts, worn out as they were by the
length of the road and the labours they had endured, and without
even horses able to stand the shock of war. Besides, he boasted, the
Turks had already easily dealt with 50,000 in a single day. Why, the
Franks could be beaten by the seventh hour of the day. The words
were to redound on his head. 8
Unfortunately for the Turks, this was a severe underestimation of the
quality and preparedness of this second wave.
The army that sat down before the lakeside capital of the Turks,
Nicaea, on May 6 was prepared physically and mentally for the long
haul. The ultimate sign of their determination to succeed was when
they hauled boats overland and attacked the city from its weaker,
waterside, approach.
The Turks soon realised that they could not succeed in siege
warfare, the work the Franks knew best. So they surrendered.
To Alexius.
The Crusaders were outraged. At dawn on the very day they were to
accept the city's capitulation, the Greek flag was flying from the
ramparts.
Meanwhile, the women in the army were becoming familiar with the
true nature of the hardships they would continue to face. During the
siege, food became so scarce that a loaf of bread sold for up to 30
deniers, at a time when a sheep could be bought in Europe for about
six deniers.9
While men concerned themselves with military matters, the women
had an essential role to play in supplying the wherewithal to keep the
army going.
For while the nobles issued forth from their tents each day to do
combat with the infidel, life continued for the rest of the pilgrimage in
a somewhat similar way to what it had at home in Europe. Each petty
noble, let alone the princes, had a household and a following
consisting of many knights, foot soldiers and servants. Together with
close relations, this war band lived under the judicial and
psychological protection of the lord's banner. As well, there was a
floating population of people not officially attached through
vassalage or ties of blood, who moved from camp to camp. These
included people with various skills - blacksmiths, cooks, laundry
workers, entertainers, thieves - of whom a great many took the
cross. And prostitutes.10
The needs of this throng of people was great, and it was met as it
had been in European cities by daily markets, where produce
gathered from the local countryside was bartered or sold. In friendly
countries, such as Hungary, the markets could be replenished by
plunder or by friendly local entrepeneurs, usually selling at vastly
inflated prices. In any case, in Europe, particularly around the
Danube, there had been plenty for all. Here, in the serrated, dusty
wilderness, where the snows had barely receded to distant mountain
tops, and where the first bite of summer could be felt in the sun, it
was a different story.
And it was to get worse.

THE NUN
Already, however, in that remarkable symbiosis that has
characterised armies wherever they have travelled and fought,
fraternisation was beginning between the warring parties.
While the fighting around Nicaea was at a lull, and negotiations were
going on for its surrender, prisoner exchanges were arranged.
Among the prisoners released, it was discovered, was a nun from the
convent of St Mary at Trier. She claimed she had been captured after
the debacle of Peter's Crusade, and she complained bitterly that she
had been put into a vile, detestable union - raped - by one Turk after
another.
Her voice speaks of the fate of the women of the Peasant's
Crusade. And the nobility's reaction to her request merely reflects
the attitude of that age to rape. A violated woman was required to
undergo a ritual purification to cleanse herself of the act that had
been committed upon her.
 Standing amongst a circle of nobles, the nun bemoaned her state,
until she suddenly caught sight of a German noble, Henry of Castle
Ascha. She spoke to him tearfully and in a low voice, begging him to
aid her in her purification.
The chronicler Albert of Aachen says that the Henry recognized the
nun at once. The count was so affected by her misfortune that he
employed diligence and every argument of pity with Duke Godfrey,
until at last the bishop of le Puy advised her on how to gain
purification.
When she had cleansed herself, she was granted forgiveness for her
unlawful liasion with the Turk, and the penance she was to undergo
was made less burdensome because she had endured this hideous
defilement by those wicked and villainous men under duress and
unwillingly.
Thus far, her tale might be taken as an instance - horrific but not
unexpected - of eleventh century society's view of rape as being
largely the fault of the victim.
But there is a twist to the nun's story.
Shortly afterwards, says Albert, she was invited again very
persuasively and with coaxing promises to an unlawful and unchaste
union by an intermediary of the same Turk who had violated and
enslaved her. For that same Turk, he says, had been inflamed with
passion for the nun's incomparable beauty, and was excessively
annoyed by her absence. Indeed, he had filled her mind with
promises of rewards which entrapped her so much that she returned
to this abominable husband.
The Turk had even gone so far as to swear to become a Christian if
he could be freed from the emperor's prison in which he was
currently languishing.
Albert's judgement is that this most wretched woman, who may have
been forced to do wrong before, now was deceived by flattery and
vain hope and rushed back to her unlawful bridegroom and her false
marriage. No one in the whole army knew what cunning or lewdness
had been used to lure her away from them.
After this she joined the Turk in exile, and no more was heard of her.
The chronicler is baffled by her behaviour, coming to the conclusion
that her choice can have only been the outcome of lust.11
Perhaps from the vantage point of a different culture, we might take
into account her harsh treatment by her fellow Christians as an
explanation as to why she chose outlawry in the company of a man
who was faithful to her through extremity.
Or perhaps her case is of a type familiar enough to the modern world,
whereby the kidnap victim eventually aligns herself with the views of
her kidnappers. There have been numerous instances of this, of
which the most infamous was the kidnap and eventual conversion of
the heiress Patty Hearst to the radical lifestyle of her kidnappers
during the confused days of the 1960's.
In any case, the nun's chosen life with the Turks was undoubtedly
preferable to the fate awaiting most of her former companions on
the journey to the East.
 For the rest of the women, the most testing and scarifying hours of
the Crusade were just about to begin: before them lay the desert
crossing into the Holy Land itself.

1. Walter Porges argues that only a few noblewomen and one nun represented the better
class of women. The rest, he says, were camp followers and harlots. There seems no reason
to support this view: it is not possible to tell from the sources whether the women were of
high moral virtue or not, nor whether there was only one nun amongst their numbers. At the
least, one would expect some of the greater ladies to have included some nuns amongst
their personal followings, not to mention their own serving ladies, cooks and seamstresses.
W. Porges, "The Clergy, the Poor and the Non-Combatants on the First Crusade" in J. A.
Brundage ed. The Crusades : Motives and Achievements D.C. Heath, Boston, 1964, p.50.
2. Fulcher p.74. The famed chastity belt which supposedly locked away the freedom of the
women left behind by the Crusading men seems to be a post-medieval fantasy. There
appears to be no direct evidence of such a dreadful impediment.
3. Gerald of Wales, The Journey Through Wales/ The Description of Wales L. Thorpe (trans.),
Penguin, Harmondsworth, 1980, p.80.
4. A.Hopkins, Knights Grange, London, 1993, pp.81-2. There is some debate as to the
authenticity of this letter.
5. Porges "Non-Combatants on the First Crusade", p.51.
6.The Alexiad, p.422.
7. Ibid., p.19.
8. Pernoud, p.53.
9. Ibid.
10. Billings, M., The Cross and The Crescent BBC Publications, London, 1987, p.48.
11. Chronicles of the Crusades, p.73.
 Chapter 4:

"Oh, God, Come to Our Aid!"

The march of triumph and death towards Antioch began on June 26

1097.
The Crusading army left the relatively fertile city of Nicaea and split
into two groups, foraging for what little water and grain there was.
One group was under the leadership of Godfrey, Raymond and
Adhemar, the other following Bohemond, insofar as each individual
acknowledged any leadership.
Bohemond's forces spent the evening of June 29th in a long valley
not far from the trade town of Dorylaeum. Adhemar and Raymond
were on the northern side of the range which made up one wall of
the valley, a day's ride away.
As the sun's first rays probed along the valley early the following
morning they revealed an appalling sight: the vast army of Kilij
Arslan, silhouetted against the light.
It was to be a set battle, which threatened to end the Crusade as
bloodily as had the massacre of the peasants. The Turkish forces
lunged at the Crusading army, shrieking and shouting, with a sound
that was devilish to the Franks.
The Franks set up their tents near a reedy water hole, quickly
dropping their packs, saddles and baggage in their eagerness to
come to grips with the Saracens.
First, Bohemond ordered the hastily mounted knights to dismount
and prepare to receive the charge along with the footsoldiers. He
passed along the lines the command that all should stand fast, put
their trust entirely in Christ and the Holy Cross, "...because today you
will all, God willing, be made rich men."
Meanwhile, he sent a messenger to find Adhemar's army, begging it
to come to his rescue.
But as the sun rose, the knights remounted and charged up the
valley at the Turks, who scattered and evaded them like smoke, until
the floundering warhorses had to be halted and withdrawn behind
the sheltering ranks of the infantry.
Almost immediately, the reformed Turks charged back down the
valley until they were resisted by the pikemen. The Turks let fly their
arrows in a cloud that darkened the sun and fell like hail, wounding
many of the heavily armoured Franks. When the first rank had
emptied their quivers, the second came on to replace them. This kind
of fighting was unusual amongst the Europeans, more used to a wild
cavalry melee or the steady work of axemen. Seeing their invaluable
horses falling beneath the rain of arrows, and themselves bristling
like pincushions, they were unable to maintain order: a fruitless
charge ensued, until once more the Franks had to withdraw.
All the time the Franks were within the precincts of the camp, the
women were running out from the wells with buckets of water for the
horsemen and the infantry. "Our women were a great help to us on
that day, since they kept on bringing water for our embattled men to
drink, and bravely comforted them as they resisted," says the
chronicler of the Gesta Francorum.1
Here, for the first time, was the Christian army working as a single
unit of knights, infantry and non combatants, and together they
would prove irresistible: arguably, it was the presence of the women
which turned the tide of battle. Without their work, more men would
have had to have left the battle line to get water, or else the men
and beasts would have been unreplenished and therefore have
become exhausted more completely.
In the full heat of the morning, the men became heatstruck, the
situation grew desperate, especially because the Turks began to
infiltrate past the sides of the Christian army, and launch an attack
across the swamp at the tents. Here they pillaged the baggage and
massacred many people, a large proportion of whom were
presumably the women. At this stage, there is no mention of women
fighting amongst the ranks of Crusaders, as there were in later
campaigns. Fulcher of Chartres pictures the Franks huddling together
like sheep in a pen, the air resounding with the piercing screams of
men, women and children alike, as they feared the worst.
At this desperate moment, the aged bishop, dressed in white, rode
into the valley at the head of the second column. In the best
romantic tradition, relief came in the nick of time, and now it was the
turn of the Turks to feel the despair of defeat. Caught like butterflies
on an anvil, the huge army of Kilij Arslan, assembled from throughout
his kingdom, was crushed and annihilated, and his power broken
forever. At the sixth hour of the day - about six o'clock in the evening
- the Turks were driven into the mountains by the fearsome Frankish
horsemen yelling their war cries. The chase did not end until the
Turkish camp was found and pillaged, bringing sorely needed
supplies for the Frankish pilgrims. Meanwhile, the pilgrims who
remained in the camp with the Bishop crowded around him in their
thousands to receive his blessing and confess their sins.2
The way was open to Antioch, at the gate to the Holy Land, but first
they must pass the gates of hell.
After leaving Dorylaeum on July 14, 1097, they crossed a sunbaked,
desolate plateau, parching in the heat of early summer, encountering
a hell the like of which they had never dreamed and for which they
were all but completely unprepared.
The women in particular suffered.
By August, the heat was at its worst. Many pregnant women, their
throats dried up, the very veins in their bodies feeling dried with the
indescribable heat, gave birth and abandoned their newborn babies
in the middle of the road, in full view of everyone.
Bizarrely, the nobles continued to ride as if they were at home in the
green and pleasant lands of Europe. Many of them still rode with
their hawks on their wrists, as if they were out hunting - that is, until
the prize birds fell dead with heat and thirst from the wrists of their
masters, and the hounds at the lords' heels, panting and miserable,
had to be destroyed by their owners.3
The Gesta Francorum records how there was nothing to eat except
thornbushes, which the pilgrims pulled up and rubbed in their hands
to soften. Most of the horses died there, so that proud knights now
went on foot, or used oxen as destriers and goats, sheep and dogs as
beasts of burden. Richard the Pilgrim describes how each day
dawned bright and clear, and by midday was searing. The knights
had to ride in full armour, exposed to the sun's heat like bacon on the
griddle, because they were just learning to adopt the Saracen cotton
garment, the burnous. This garment was over the centuries to be
transformed into the surcoat worn by all knights and ladies, and
which formed the canvas where heraldry was to be displayed.
When Tancred's knights began to plead for water, their noble
countrywomen rolled up their sleeves and cast aside their long
dresses. Dressed in working garments, they carried water out to the
knights in any receptacle they could find: pots, pans, and even
golden bowls. The refreshed knights were therefore enabled to carry
on with their task of guiding the line of march.4
 Somehow, the bulk of the army struggled through to the foothills of
the Anti-Taurus mountains. Here, they were plagued by the opposite
extremes of freezing weather. Fulcher of Chartres considered this a
crowning misery, as lack of tents - presumably dumped on the march
through the desert - meant that many people could not find shelter.
He saw many men and women, as well as animals, frozen to death.
But at last, encounters with friendly local Christian Armenian and
Syrian communities, and the sheer doggedness of the Crusading
people, allowed them to skirmish their way through the mountains to
the coast.
On October 21 1097, the army, split into smaller groups, began to
reassemble before the historic and mighty city of Antioch.
Here, their iron strength, forged in the fires of the desert, was to be
tempered to a steel hardness in one of the most ferocious sieges in
medieval history.
Stephen of Blois wrote a number of letters while on campaign to his
wife Adela, daughter of William the Conqueror. This redoubtable
woman from a formidable family had been left in charge of his
estates while he was away. The separation seems to have been
particularly trying for Stephen. Given that most medieval marriages
were arranged, and that the idea of romantic love was in its infancy
at this time, it is significant that he always addresses her in the most
endearing and familiar terms in his letters as his "sweetest and most
beloved wife," as his "dearest", and comments that his message is
sent to her "most loving heart".
He described to her and his children through his letter how Antioch
was enormous beyond belief, and very strong and well fortified, held
by five thousand Turks who showed no signs of surrender. As well,
the Crusading camp was being constantly threatened by forces of
Turkish cavalry coming from throughout the kingdom of the local
emir, Kerbogah.
Antioch is in fact an ancient Greco-Roman city, built on the banks of
the Orontes river, a short distance upstream from the sea. The entire
city was enclosed by a wall 13 kilometres long, strengthened by
three hundred and sixty towers each the size of a European castle.
Above the streets of the city rose a mountain capped by a citadel.
This was a metropolis suitable for the throne of a prince, and so it
was to prove. All the great Crusaders lusted after the power it
represented, including Stephen, who could not resist boasting to his
wife how he had been made commander in chief of the entire army,
by the vote of the leaders. This was a claim best made at a distance
of several thousand kilometres: it had in strict point of fact, no truth.
Rather, each of the powerful men - Raymond, Bohemond, Stephen,
Robert and Hugh - were competing to see who would get the prize,
and none was prepared to entrench the eminence of any of the
others. The foolish Stephen earned the title because he was a man of
straw who could easily be disposed of when the need arose.
Stephen also makes it apparent in his letter that the finances he
used on his expedition were provided by his wife, presumably from
the large dowry that would have been settled on her by her royal
family. Stephen thanks his well beloved and tells her that he has
doubled the gold, silver and other riches - jewels and provisions? -
that in her love she had handed him when he had left. He closes the
letter, which contains lengthy descriptions of the various bloody
actions fought by the Crusaders, with the touching remark that as he
can not tell her what is in his thoughts (the letter was written by his
secretary), he merely counsels her to act well, to watch carefully over
his lands, and to do her duty rightly to children and vassals. "You will
see me again as soon as I can return to you. Farewell."
The formulas are those of public feudal duty: there is no doubt that
behind them is encoded a sincere affection from husband to wife.5
The letter also makes light of a situation on the knife edge of disaster
- the usual state of affairs for any of the Crusading armies, and this
one in particular.
Archbishop Daimbert of Pisa, Duke Godfrey and Raymond of
Toulouse wrote a joint letter to the pope in September 1099
describing the arrival of the Frankish army before Antioch: it was so
large, they said, that it would have covered the whole of Romania.
Yet at first, food was so abundant that a ram sold for a penny and an
ox of less than twelve pence.
But because no order was kept in the camp, after nine months of
siege there was such famine and pestilence that there were scarcely
one hundred fit horses in the whole army.6
Meanwhile, the ordinary people, and especially the women and
children, suffered the anguish of a siege during the freezing winter
and the boiling summer. Threat of attack was constant, supplies were
evaporating, and epidemics struck in the unsanitary and crowded
temporary town. Compounding the problem, the Turks drove out of
Antioch the citizens of the town in whom they could place no faith
because of their Christianity - Greek, Syrians and Armenians who for
generations had lived and traded there peacefully, who now added to
the burden of supply in the camp.

By the end of the third month of the siege, scarcity was pre eminent.
The men reacted by forming themselves into bands and hoarding the
few supplies that remained to them. Worse, there were rumours that
"some could scarcely abstain from eating human flesh."7
In addition, spies had begun to infiltrate the camp, thinking
themselves safe amongst the melange of cultures and races that now
made up the Crusading army. Thus, distrust was added to the misery
of mud, hunger and disease.
By Christmas, the nobles had enough. Supplies were so short that
Bohemond and Robert of Flanders led a large force into enemy
territory on an unsuccessful raid for food. The poorer people died,
unable to purchase rations at unheard of rates. An ass load of food,
for example, sold for the stupendous price of 120 shillings, more than
a knight's income for a year.
The clerics turned on the women's camp, their fear heightened to
hysteria by earthquake lights the glowed in the sky for three days.
Chroniclers blamed lust and fornication whenever the army suffered
a reverse. Months earlier when the siege of Nicaea had proved
difficult, the brothel section of the camp had been closed down. By
the time the army had settled down before Antioch, the brothels
were in business once more. The Council of Princes met and decided
that God's Will made it imperative to clear the women away from the
siege. Thus, all women, married and umarried, were driven away
from the army, lest the defilement and dissipation they caused
should bring God's wrath. Thousands of women - no matter their
status or character - had to take refuge some distance away from the
main camp, where they remained until Antioch surrendered.
A reform program was laid down by which there were to be severe
penalties for a range of transgressions against God's will, including
using false measurements in the markets, as well as for theft,
fornication and adultery.
These punishments were enforced, including the branding, shaving
and chaining of some transgressors, and the whipping around the
camp of a couple taken in adultery.
Simultaneously, messages were sent back to Europe by the leaders
that women were no longer welcome to join the Crusade, a message
subsequently confirmed by clerics such as Bruno de Lucca when he
returned to Italy.8
Yet there were women on the journey who excited the good wishes
of even the most pious observers, when they conformed to the
behaviour expected of them.
During the siege, Baldwin of Flanders had been making the best of
his situation by carving out his own kingdom.
Already, while the rest of the army had been advancing through the
mountain passes towards Antioch, he had struck out alone at the
head of his following of knights into Armenia.
His wife had died, together with his children, during the march
through the Taurus mountains. Baldwin's wife's death occurred
between the 13 and the 15th of October 1097 at Marash. This
unfortunate woman's real name is unknown, although it is thought
that she was an English/Norman woman named Godvere or perhaps
Godechilde of Tosny and Conches. She was perhaps the daughter of
Ralph II, Lord of Tosny, and had separated from her first husband,
Robert de Beaumont, count of Meulant. Godvere is also mentioned
under the names of Godhild, Gertrude and Ginievre. Her story thus
serves as an example both of the anonymity of most medieval people
in an age when individuality was not prized, but especially of the
secondary value placed on the women.
This long suffering and all but anonymous woman had already played
a major part in the Crusade: when the Crusaders were marching
through Hungary, she had been sent to Hungaria's King Coloman as
hostages for the good behaviour of the pilgrims.
The epitaph of William of Tyre is that
"Godechilde, worn out by long suffering, died peacefully at Marash
and was there buried."9 She was, he said, a woman worthy of the
highest praise for her life and character.10
Baldwin was absent from his wife's side up until the moment of her
death, or perhaps until shortly after. He had set off in September on
the trail of Tancred, nephew of Bohemond. Tancred had struck west
into Cilicia, capturing the important city of Tarsus. Baldwin arrived
shortly afterwards with a larger army than Tancred's. By a simple
arithmetical computation, he convinced him to hand over the city to
himself, Baldwin, and flee for his life. After a short stay, during which
he allowed another Christian force to be slaughtered outside his walls
rather than risk letting them in, Baldwin decided Tarsus was not
suitable for him. He returned to Marash and his dying wife.
Freed from his ties by his family's death, the restless Baldwin set out
immediately on a new adventure.11
It is worth following his personal story, because of his relationships
with so many women of Outremer: William of Tyre - who would have
known people who knew Baldwin intimately - says that Baldwin was a
true descendant of Adam, an heir of the original curse, and had
struggled in vain against the lustful sins of the flesh. All the accounts
show Baldwin's was a vigorous personality, which regretted nothing.
William of Tyre has left us a very detailed description of his
appearance and personality, all but unique for its depth and attention
to detail. William describes Baldwin as fired with ambition to exceed
the achievements of his golden haired brother Godfrey, yet untrusted
by his fellows for his haughty insolence. At the end of Baldwin's life,
another description of him is recorded: exceedingly tall, pale of skin,
with an aquiline nose, with dark brown hair and beard, and almost
monk like in the simplicity of his costume and the apparent gravity of
his demeanour.
Nothing appears to have been further from the truth than the latter
judgment.
At the time of the stopover in Marash, Baldwin had a friend, an
Armenian noble name Pakrad, whom he had met after the latter had
escaped from the emperor's prison at Nicaea. This duplicitous fellow
became Baldwin's constant adviser, persuading him to invade the
neighbouring county of Edessa.
Baldwin set out with a small force, to find himself welcomed by the
local Christian farmers, who turned the defence of their country over
to him. Rumour flew before this dark angel. When Baldwin and his
two hundred knights reached the capital Edessa, they were
welcomed by the Greek governor, Thoros. This governor was not a
military man: he had been a puppet ruler under the occupying forces
of Kilij Arslan. The Turks had fled after the defeat of Arslan, and
Thoros had assumed a feeble rule. Baldwin was in no hurry to enter
the service of Thoros, however: he diverted himself and his men by
drinking and dalliance in the neighbouring towns, until eventually
Thoros offered to adopt him as his son and share the government of
his lands with him.
Meanwhile, Baldwin had set a watch on his erstwhile companion
Pakrad, and had found he was plotting his overthrow with the aid of a
local robber baron, Vasil the Thief. Before the plot could be enacted,
Baldwin had Pakrad seized, tortured, and driven into outlawry in the
mountains.
A wiser ruler than Thoros might have taken sufficient note of this
conduct. He was not wise.
When Baldwin and his men marched into Edessa, Thoros greeted his
new son effusively. They then may have carried through a formal
adoption ceremony. The popular version has it that Baldwin and
Thoros, both naked, were put inside an oversize shirt and embraced.
Baldwin then repeated the ceremony with Thoros' much younger
wife, to the reputed nervousness of the Greek governor.
Events then moved with great swiftness. Baldwin set about subduing
the remnants of Turkish military activity in the county. Meanwhile,
the local people seized the moment to rebel against the oppression
of Thoros. They attacked Thoros’ stronghold, and the Greek begged
Baldwin to rescue his wife and him, offering Baldwin all his treasures
to save their lives, and allowed them to escape to the palace of the
father of the princess in Melitene. Baldwin's reaction was lukewarm.
He took the money, but pleaded that his forces, previously strong
enough to defeat a Turkish army, could not hold out against the
citizens. He advised Thoros to flee. Thoros took refuge in a tower,
which was surrounded by the mob: at last, he attempted to get out
by lowering himself down on a rope. But he was immediately spotted,
and torn to pieces.
The Princess does not appear in the records: she may have been
allowed to return home.
Baldwin certainly made no further use of her. Rather, he cemented
his regional position by marrying Arda (Artha?), the daughter of the
ruler of Marash, where his wife had died. Arda's father may have
been Thatoul, also known as Taphnuz or Tafroc. He was a wealthy
landowner, who gave his daughter a dowry of sixty thousand
bezants, plus a promise that she might inherit his lands.12
Now the first Crusader to benefit from the conquest of Outremer,
Baldwin set about establishing himself: throughout May he held off
an army led by the Emir of Mosul, and he also set about the punitive
taxation of his new subjects, who found themselves eminently worse
off than under the tyranny of Thoros.13

1. Anon. Gesta Francorum: The Deeds of the Franks R. Hill (trans.), Clarendon Press, Oxford,
1962, p.19.
2. Tudebode, Itinere pp.35-7; Fulcher, pp.84-7; Pernoud, p. 53-60.
3. Chronicles of the Crusades, p.74.
4. Ibid., p.76.
5. Pernoud, p.66.
6. C.J. Barry (ed.) Readings in Church History, vol.I Newman Press, Maryland, 1966, p.329
7. Ibid.
8. Porges "Non Combatants on the First Crusade", p.51.
9. William of Tyre, A History of Deeds Done Beyond the Sea E. A. Babock (trans.) Two
Volumes, Columbia, New York, 1943, I, p.415.
10. Ibid., p.177.
11. There seems no reason to support the theory of H. E. Mayer that Baldwin was a
homosexual, and that he had no children by Godehild. Other sources concur that they did
have children, and that he was actively heterosexual throughout his life. See "Etudes sur
l'Histoire de Baudoin Ier Roi de Jerusalem" in Melanges Sur L'Histoire de Royaume Latin de
Jerusalem Imprimerie Nationale 1984, p.50. According to Mayer, the couple married circa
1090. The marriage had been actively sought by the Tosny family to improve their status:
Baldwin acceded in order to establish an entree with William II of England, ally of his bride's
family. See pp. 39-40.
12. Runciman, The First Crusade, p.151. R. L. Nicholson, Joscelyn I, Prince of Edessa
University of Illinois Press, Urbana, 1954, p.48, concludes that the next prince of Edessa,
Joscelyn Courtenay, married the (unnamed) sister of Baldwin's wife, and that these women
were the sisters of Leo the Armenian, brother of the emperor Constantine. The Courtenay
marriage produced at least one child, Joscelyn II, but was over by 1119, by which time
Joscelyn I had married Marie, sister of Roger of Antioch.
13. R. Susskind, The Crusades Anchor, New York, 1965, Chapter 3.
 Chapter 5:

An Undivine Madness

While Baldwin grew used to taxing his new dependants in Edessa,

he unwittingly saved the Crusade. Apparently unaware of what was
happening back with the main army, he busily defended his kingdom
against Moslems and Christians alike.
Similarly unheeding of the activities of Baldwin, Bohemund had
been secretly negotiating with an inhabitant of the city of Antioch to
let the Crusaders into the city through an unguarded tower on the
walls.
Meanwhile, the besieging Crusaders on the plains outside Antioch
were at their last gasp, unprepared to give battle on two fronts, their
supplies all but exhausted.
In the hinterland, the Turkish emir of Mosul, Qawam ad-Daula
Kerbuqa, had mustered his forces and was advancing rapidly
towards the helpless siege army. However, he could not afford to by-
pass Edessa during his advance.
For three weeks he laid siege to Baldwin's capital, without success.
Chagrined, and his uncertain power over his chieftains dented,
Kerbuqa was forced to advance anyway on Antioch - too late.
Just before the Turkish army arrived on June 3 1098 the Crusaders
had slipped into the lower town during the night, let in by a traitor
amongst the Moslems. Unfortunately for the Christians, they were
unable to seize the upper citadel. But once inside the city, they were
for the moment they were safe, if constrained.
Kerbuqa's army arrived outside the walls on June 7.
Baldwin’s inadvertent presence had rescued the Crusaders from
certain destruction.
Once again, the Crusading army was subject to the rigours of a
siege, but this time on the receiving end. For nearly a month the
pilgrims held out, as they descended to eating grass, the bark of
trees, the skin of animals and refuse.
 A small bread roll cost a knight's monthly wages, and one of the
brazel nuts that the Crusaders had discovered as a local foodstuff, a
denier, or a substantial part of a day's wage.
All endured 26 days of suffering, all that is, except for Stephen of
Blois, who on June 2 had fled for home, taking with him the curses of
his fellows and his own army.
Alas for Stephen: after all his time on Crusade, having struggled
nearly to the holy land, assuming briefly the title of leader, and
making it back to Normandy once more, he was met with the
disapproval of his strong willed wife, who made it plain even in their
embraces, that she wished him elsewhere. Orderic Vitalis imagines
"this wise and proud woman" whispering to Stephen:
"...take up the weapons of the glorious army for the salvation of
many thousands, so that there may be a great rejoicing arising from
Christians..."1
It is doubtful that Orderic was privy to the intimacies of the lordly
bedchamber, but one imagines that Adela made her feelings known
publicly on the matter.
It is possible that this second youngest daughter of the Conqueror
was quite happy to rule without the interference of a husband who
never distinguished himself by his strength of character, or perhaps
it was that she really wished him to undertake the spiritual journey,
on both their behalves.
Be that as it may, he soon afterwards retraced his steps and rejoined
the Crusading army - surely the most reluctant Crusader of them all.
With the immediate threat from Islamic resistance removed,
Baldwin began to find his new family difficult.
Late in 1098, it was revealed to him that there was a plot against his
life, perhaps partly led by his father in law Taphnuz.
Baldwin dealt with the two leading traitors by depriving them of their
noses and feet, and by blinding them.
Others were permanently imprisoned and their fortunes confiscated.
Taphnuz headed for the mountains, taking all of his daughter's
dowry with him, except for 700 bezants he had already handed over.
For the Crusaders in Antioch, life was much more difficult. In fact, it
might be considered that an undivine madness or a group hysteria
had overcome them.
After eighteen months of constant struggle, shortage of food, cold
and heat, fear mingled with hatred, hopes constantly raised yet to be
dashed again, suspicion of each other and their leaders, and a
constant struggle for the few remaining provisions, the Crusading
army now alternated daily between mystical elation and
overconfidence, and utter, damned despair.
How else can one explain the fervour that greeted the
announcement that a Provencal peasant - a follower of Raymond of
St Giles - had located the original Holy Lance that had pierced the
side of Christ? Three days of fasting prepared the Crusaders for the
ultimate test of this remarkable gift. Then the entire Crusading army
- every single man - issued from the walls of the city behind
Raymond of Aguilers (a priest of Raymond of St Giles) or possibly
Adhemar. Miraculously, the Turkish army was crushed without the
death of a single Crusader. Or perhaps not so miraculously: Kerbuqa
was betrayed by his own men, who had come reluctantly to the
battlefield, and hated his imperiousness. Not wanting to fight, they
had fled at the first onset: all sought their safety, except thousands
who died where they stood, having come to the field deliberately
seeking martyrdom.2
Swept up once more on the slippery wheel of Fortune, the Crusaders
exulted, as they loaded themselves with the treasures of the Orient,
found in Kerbuqa's abandoned tents, which were themselves an
introduction to the Crusaders of the luxury that was now theirs to
accumulate. This tent, says William of Tyre, was constructed like a
town, adorned with towers, wall and ramparts, and covered with
sumptuous hangings of silks of many colours. Passageways opened
from the central tent like covered roads, leading to other tents which
served as inns of dwellings. As many as two thousand people could
have been housed in luxury which the marching army of the
Crusaders could scarcely imagine.3
Like a bolt from the hard blue sky of the East, had come deliverance.
The Crusaders had triumphed against certain defeat, and the way to
their goal lay open to them.
But just as suddenly, they were seized with a lassitude of spirit: after
a year with their minds fixed on one goal, the holding of Antioch,
they had expended their strength and their will.
Quarrels grew daily, and the army descended into chaos and deep
madness. The situation was compounded by a plague that set on
through the fierce heat of summer, claiming amongst others,
Adhemar of le Puy. This virtuous old man had been the spiritual
leader of the Crusade: with his death, there was nobody who could
balance the competing avarice and jostling for precedence by men
such as Raymond, Bohemond, Godfrey, Robert of Normandy, and the
rest.
Many of the leading knights set off on adventures of their own,
leaving the bulk of the army in Antioch, where food supplies again
began to tighten.
Godfrey suggested to Raymond that they join an adventure to fight
on behalf of the lord Azaz, a town in the direction of Edessa. Godfrey
had made friends with a follower of Omar, the ruler of Azaz. Omar
had revolted against his lord, the ruler Ridwan of Aleppo, who had
despatched an army to crush him. The link was made by a
commander in Omar's army, who had fallen in love with a Frankish
woman whom he had captured. This unnamed woman was the
widow of a knight of Lorraine, and it was she who made the
suggestion to Omar that he appeal to Godfrey for help.
The outcome of the woman's negotiations was that Omar welcomed
Godfrey's help and accepted him as his overlord.4

Thus, the Crusade had become simply a series of land grabs, as the
Crusaders’ original goal of securing the Holy Sepulchre receded.
The insanity culminated in the attack on Maarat an-Numan, also
known as Marat or Maara, a fortress town which lay on the route to
Jerusalem.
The city was taken by treachery after a sustained assault. Bohemond
on behalf of the Crusaders promised free passage to the inhabitants
if they should surrender, which took place on Saturday December 11,
1098. Men, women and children took refuge in a palace inside the
city walls. The following day, the Crusaders poured into the town,
killing everyone inside, including those who had taken Bohemond at
his word.
But worse was yet to come.
Bohemond and Raymond were wrangling over the future of the
expedition. Raymond wanted to leave immediately, with himself in
charge. Bohemond knew that every moment he could put off the
continuation of the pilgrimage meant the weakening of Raymond's
army, so he took every step to delay him.
The princes met at the town of Rugia to resolve their differences.
At Maarat, the poor outcasts of the army took affairs into their own
hands. Guibert of Nogent blamed a destitute Norman knight, who
had observed the poor, who wandered about barefoot and
defenceless, with absolutely no money, entirely filthy and naked,
swarming before the main army in search of roots and plants to
eat.5
Amongst these, we might expect to find many women and children,
superfluous to the needs of the warriors, and beyond their capacity
or desire to aid.
Guibert says the knight humbled himself and became the leader of
these poor, whom he took to Maarat. Finding corpses of the Saracens
left there by the slaughter, he roasted the bruised body of a Turk
over a fire in plain view of everyone.
Other writers were not so circumspect in attributing wholesale
cannibalism to the ordinary people.
Godfrey and Archbishop Daimbert confessed to the Pope the
following year in an official letter that the army had fed itself upon
the Saracens. The leaders blamed the actions of their followers on
dire necessity, caused by a terrible famine that wracked the army.
Another participant in these events, Albert of Aix, went further: he
wrote that not only did the Crusaders eat the dead Saracens, but
they also caught and ate dogs, a food almost as abhorrent to the
Christians as human flesh. Radulph of Caen tells of children being
spitted and roasted.
Here then, was the Crusade at the nadir of experience: a Boschian
nightmare in which princes wrangled for precedence over an army
consisting of ragged mad people, wandering across a torched
landscape they had themselves created, venting their rage and
frustration by feeding on festering corpses.
As winter once more descended from the mountain peaks, the
women and the ordinary people of the Crusade rioted and
demonstrated their will. They could not face another winter exposed
and hungry. They demanded that the princes cease their squabbling
and lead them to their objective.
Three days later on January 13, 1099, Raymond of St Giles, barefoot
and in his shirt, took the first step on the road to Jerusalem from
Antioch.
In the face of the open hostility of his people, he could do no other.6
Threatened by the supernatural insanity of the Crusaders' behaviour,
local resistance between Antioch and Jerusalem proved patchy.
A group of knights led by Tancred raced ahead and occupied the
supposed birthplace of Christ at Bethlehem.
Finally, on June 7, the crusading army was once more encamped in a
siege, this time at the last stage of its advance.
Again, the Crusaders found themselves short of supplies, in this
case, water. The hides of oxen and buffalo were sewn together and
used to carry water ten kilometres from the nearest well. However,
the Saracens lay in wait for the water carriers and cut them to
pieces.
The Crusaders also lacked timber for siege machines, until one day
Tancred - while relieving himself, plagued as he was by dysentery -
saw just opposite him a cave containing hundreds of pieces of
timber.
Thus "...from a vile affliction (was) made a remedy more precious
than gold."7 Or at least, that is a tale told by the chroniclers.
As the siege dragged on, the children began to play a part and
imitate their elders, as was the case at another great siege during
the following century. According to Guibert of Nogent countless
children were now orphaned as a result of the privations suffered on
the journey. But even though their parents were dead, they
continued to follow the crusade, bearing their afflictions as sturdily
as if they were adults. At last, they formed a battalion of their own,
and took the names of their heroes, such as Hugh of Vermandois and
Bohemond, just as modern children imitate their football heroes.
Whenever the children found themselves short of food, they
approached their namesakes and asked for supplies. These were
given freely. At last, the youthful militia began to harry the children
of Jerusalem, each armed with long reeds and carrying a shield
woven from osiers, as well as little bows and arrows. The childrens'
armies met in a plain, while their parents on both sides watched
them, the guards leaning over the ramparts, and the knights coming
out of their tents. The children yelled war cries as they fought,
inflicting bloody blows on each others, and frequently inspiring their
elders to rejoin their desperate combat in the broiling heat of mid
summer.8
There were also darker forces at work, including reports of Saracen
women attempting to cast spells on the Crusaders, and especially on
the great siege machines built from the fortuitously discovered
timber. According to William of Tyre's vivid description of the siege,
the Saracens hurled inflammable material in every kind of vessel in a
desperate attempt to hinder the monstrous machines as they
lumbered ever closer to the walls. Meantime, the Crusaders fired
back with their primitive catapults. In the maelstrom of fire and
missiles, many were hurt: some were crushed to atoms by missiles
hurled from the engines, others collapsed, suddenly pierced by spear
or arrow, some fell beneath sharp rocks. Others struggled away,
nursing shattered limbs. One of the Crusading machines in particular
caused dreadful slaughter, yet proved impervious to attack. The
Saracens, perceiving this, obtained two sorceresses who tried to
bewitch it and with their magic incantations render it powerless. The
women with three female assistants were on the ramparts engaged
in their necromancy when suddenly a stone from the same machine
they were trying to silence exploded amongst them, killing them all
in an instant.9
Such beliefs in sorcery were common to both sides: there are several
mentions of sorcery committed by women.
Usama, a sophisticated merchant, a scholar, and a relatively
scientific observer of his world, tells of a battle early in the twelfth
century against Bohemond II of Antioch. During the fighting, an old
servant woman called Buraika who was in the service of a Kurd was
standing amongst the Moslem horsemen on the river bank. She was
holding in her hand a drink for herself and the fighting men. Most of
Usama's companions were fleeing from hordes of Franks, but "the
old hag" remained, in no way appalled at the onrushing Franks,
strengthened as she apparently was by her “magic” drink.
Later that night, says Usama, one of his companions, a man named
Bakiyya entered the town planning to go to his house. Suddenly, he
saw amongst the tombs by the light of the moon "a living creature
which seemed to be neither man nor wild animal." Afraid, he kept his
distance. At last summoning his courage, he laid down his sword,
shield and spear and advanced step by step, hearing the creature
sing and speak. When he was quite close, he threw himself upon the
spectre with a dagger in his hand and took hold of it roughly.
It was Buraika, her head bare, her hair standing on end, astride a
branch, whinnying like a horse and wheeling around amongst the
tombs.

Bakkiya demanded what she was doing there at that late hour.

"Sorcery", she replied.

Bakkiya cursed her in the name of Allah, but apparently left her to
her dealings with the devils.10

Such anecdotes, shared by men of both sides in the conflict, indicate

the beginnings of that supernatural fear associated with women,
which eventually burst forth in the horrendous witchcraft trials of the
Renaissance era.
In Jerusalem in the middle of that burning summer, however, horrors
more real and more lasting were occurring. At last, after another
ferocious assault, the city fell on July 13, and the Crusaders poured
through the breached walls.
There followed an orgy of slaughter rarely equalled in recorded
history, as the full fury of the Franks exploded like an atom bomb of
flesh and blood. No quarter was given, there was no distinction
between holy ground or pagan ground, male and female, young or
old, Saracen, Christian or Jew: everyone within the walls was laid to
the sword in three days of blood letting that was without reason or
reward.
The Christians later boasted of how their horses had waded in gore
up to their knees inside the walls of the Temple of Solomon, while
the rest of the army - "both male and female" - ran through the
streets looting the houses, seizing whatever they chose, and at the
same time every Frank rejoiced and wept with joy.11
William of Tyre described how the knights ran through the streets of
the city, covered with blood from head to foot.12
At last, when their fury was expended, the Franks directed the few
surviving Saracens to drag the bodies of their friends and families to
the gates of the city, where they were piled into funeral pyres as big
as houses.13
The Crusade was accomplished.
Now began the process of living.
While the men and women of the knights crusade were discovering
their new homes, or beginning the long journey back to Europe, a
third wave of the Crusade was on its way.
This set out with an equally large force in September 1100.
accompanied by the disappointed Stephen and his companion in
retreat, Hugh of Vermandois.
Meanwhile, smaller groups of pilgrims continued to pour east.
Amongst them was the Duke of Aquitaine, William IX, a singer of love
songs which are reported to have shocked many of his fellow
pilgrims.
Writing from Constantinople, Raymond of Toulouse offered the
advice that they should all follow the well established route through
Anatolia.
Instead, the members of the third group struck off further east into
an even more desolate and waterless high plateau.
The result was a disaster.
Three quarters of the army was captured or killed: slave markets
were reported to be choked with Frankish women and children.
With the failure of the main group of the third wave, the direct land
routes through Anatolia to Antioch were effectively closed.
For the next ten years, the Franks devoted their efforts to securing
their sea lanes with the help of the Pisans, Genoese and Venetians.
The result was completely unforeseeable - no less than the opening
of Europe to an unprecedented influx of merchandise, and the
beginnings of a social revolution that was to change forever the lives
of Frankish women.14
For the victors and survivors of the First Crusades, life in the East
continued to be as unpredictable and frenetic as it had been since
that electrifying moment at Clermont three years before.
 Poor Stephen of Blois, disgraced in the eyes of his fellows,
humiliated by his wife, made poor by the vast expenses of campaign,
made his way back to Outremer. Two years later, he burned away his
shame by achieving death in a doomed charge against
overwhelming forces at the siege of Ramleh. Stephen's widow
continued as an enthusiastic supporter of the Crusades.
The only survivor of the siege of Ramleh, Baldwin, capped off a
career worthy of the most Machiavellian of politicians by accepting
the Crown of the new kingdom of Jerusalem, a post which he
savoured for many years.
Bohemond found holding onto his princedom of Antioch more
difficult than earning it in the first place. Amongst his other trials, he
suffered a lengthy captivity at the hands of moslems. Eventually he
returned to Europe to raise more troops, this time for an invasion of
Byzantium. Here he was enthusiastically aided by Adela, who
introduced the legendary Crusader to her brother Henry, the king of
England. Henry met the veteran in Adela's Normandy at Easter 1106.
Adela worked for her new favourite to marry the divorced Countess
of Champagne, Constance. It was to be a double alliance, with the
hand of Constance's younger, illegitimate sister Cecilia to go to
Tancred.
The rulers of Antioch took their brides with them to Italy, where they
planned their attack on Byzantium. With papal blessing, this was to
be a Crusade, of a type that was to become horribly familiar during
the centuries to come: a war against fellow Christians under the
guise of religion.
When the war began, the emperor despatched his fleet under Isaac
Contostephanus to Dyrrachium on the Dalmatian coast.
Unfortunately for the admiral, he mistook his way and instead landed
at Otranto. Anna Comnena tells how the place was defended by a
woman - perhaps it was Bohemond's sister, mother of Tancred.
Tancred's mother was Bohemond's sister Emma, wife of Marquis
Odo. In any case, the Greeks anchored below the city walls, but the
defender, a highly intelligent, level headed woman says Anna, had
foreseen this possibility. She had already sent a message to one of
her sons asking quick assistance.
The Greek fleet seemed about to conquer the fortress, so the woman
ordered her citizens to acclaim the Emperor loudly. At the same
time, she sent an embassy to Isaac acknowledging her allegiance to
Emperor Alexius and promising to negotiate. She promised to come
to Isaac herself to work out the final details. But all this was a mere
ploy for time.
Shouts of acclamation rang through the harbour as "this woman
gladiator" maintained a delicate equilibrium with her lying promises.
Her plan worked: her son arrived with a relief force, fighting off
Contostephanus and beating him conclusively. The sailors, unused to
land warfare, were driven into the sea, and a group of Scythians with
the Greeks lost interest in the battle and went off to plunder. Half a
dozen of these were captured, and brought to Rome by Bohemond in
triumph.15
Unfortunately for Bohemond, he was out generalled and defeated in
the subsequent campaign. Forced to surrender to the emperor, his
spirit was broken.
He returned to Italy, where he died with the ashes of ultimate defeat
in his mouth.
While the victorious knights settled down to squabbling over the
carcass of the Holy Land, more groups of Crusaders set out from
Europe, But they were never to achieve success again, not in any of
the hundreds of years of conflict that lay ahead. The capture of
Jerusalem was to prove the pinnacle of Western conquest until
modern times.

1. Chronicles of the Crusades, p.97.

2. Compare the account by Ibn Al Athir with that of Raymond of Aguilers: F. Gabrieli, Arab
Historians of the Crusades E. J. Costello (trans.) Dorset Press, New York, 1989, p.6: cf
Pernoud, p.78-9.
3. Ibid., p.80.
4. Runciman, First Crusade, p.198.
5. Chronicles of the Crusades, p.85.
6. Pernoud, p.82.
7. Chronicles of the Crusades, p.88.
8. Pernoud, p.85.
9. William of Tyre I, p.50.
10. Usama, in Pernoud , pp.121-2.
11. Fulcher, p.123 cf Chronicles of the Crusades, p.93.
12. Pernoud, p.91.
13. Chronicles of the Crusades, p.93.13
14. Billings, The Cross and the Crescent , p.69.
15. Alexiad, p.389.
 Chapter 6:

Bearing the Burden

A Profile of Women on Crusade

It is tempting but inaccurate to generalise about women of the

Crusading era and their experiences.
Anecdotal or documentary information about Crusading women is
always painfully meagre, especially from the First Crusade. We can,
however, speculate regarding some characteristics of the various
kinds of women who joined in the great journeys.
The Crusading women were drawn from a complete cross section of
medieval society, and what they experienced and the way they
experienced it - while filtered through their own unique life
experiences and their individual personalities - would have been
largely dependant on their rank and function.
The First Crusade in particular would have been unique for most
women: new landscapes, new cultures, languages, customs opened
up before the eyes of people who had known nothing except the
drudgery of a village life, or the confines of a small town or the
strictures of a castle built as a military camp.
Now, they and their families seized freedom from the tyranny of
vassalage.
Writers agree that the poorest pilgrims were at first seized with a
spirit of religious conviction and set their thoughts on nothing but
Jerusalem. This purer idealism withered gradually because of the
peculiar circumstances of the journey.
Anna Comnena says "...the simpler folk were in very truth led on by a
desire to worship at Our Lord's tomb and visit the Holy Places, but
the more villainous characters...had an ulterior purpose, for they
hoped on their journey to seize the capital itself..."1
The sordid pleasure of loot, pillage and sexuality was an eventuality
that seems to have dawned on some pilgrims in Hungary and
Yugoslavia. It appears to have completely transformed the peasants
by the time they were in Anatolia.

But amidst all the accounts or brutality and robbery, we imagine

women bearing the burden of marching, feeding, giving birth,
attending needs of children and men, rather than as warriors.
In the first journey led by Peter, the peasant women were to remain
onlookers at the wars, for no mention is made of their experience of
battle during the Peasant's Crusade. Peasants were generally
forbidden the knowledge and use of arms, and peasant women in
particular were not trained to war. On the other hand, some of their
noble sisters were. One such person was the Lady Gaita, also known
as Sigelgaita, who was not a Crusader, but who lived and operated in
this region at about this time. Gaita - the wife of Count Robert of
Sicily - is described by Anna as a formidable sight when she donned
armour and went on campaign with her husband.2
Gaita was thus a suitably spirited mother for her child, none other
than the ferocious crusader Bohemond. The interpretation of the
influence of a mother on the development of her son's personality is
fraught with danger. But suffice it that of all the Crusaders, Gaita's
son proved himself the most adamant, ruthless and rationally cruel in
the pursuit of his military and economic goals.
Noble women were raised in military strongholds. The practice of
war was part of their culture, and women of higher rank were often
used to conducting their own armies, as well as leading defence
forces in case of sieges in the absence of their lords.
Thus, their lives were exceptional almost by definition.
But for the great majority of peasant women there was no chance
of martial deeds or a glorious military outcome to the adventure.
Rather, the one characteristic that applied most commonly to the
various ranks and estates of women of the First and later crusades
was the variety of their cultural backgrounds. This applies to noble
women as well as those of low estate.
Pilgrims came from as far north as the Arctic Circle, as far west as
Ireland, and from the East, Czechs and Germans. The only relatively
coherent group was the French, insofar as they shared any cultural
values apart from a very loose allegiance to a central crown and a
recognisably common language. Women from an Icelandic farmstead
would have had little to share with German nuns - not even the
experiences of marriage and raising children.
The interchanges between such disparate groups as they grew to
know each other must have been fascinating, stimulating and
confusing.
 Women of Scandinavian descent, for example, were used to a
greater range of independence and legal rights than women of
central France. Thus, the tenth century Viking woman, Aud,
travelled around Scotland, Norway and the northern Atlantic,
exploring new countries and leading her band of warriors in search of
a homeland. She spurned the hospitality offered to her by her
brother, because he would allow her to keep only half her war band
with her. Her story hints that her sibling feared her notorious temper,
hence his meagre offer.3
The story of the Viking descended William The Conqueror and his
wife Mathilda is also illustrative. Tradition has it that the tiny woman
- barely over four feet tall - was continually beaten by her husband,
on one occasion with a horse bridle, although the rumour of her
death by having William's spur driven into her breast was untrue. She
lived to old age, and gave birth to a dozen children, and often
brought William to heel through the strength of her character. The
truth is that the various members of the family of William and
Mathilda were as fierce a brood as any in Europe at that time. They
rose to the top of the heap of European nobility because of their
ruthlessness, in which Mathilda shared. She seems to have been
fiercely loyal to her brutal husband. She it was who is credited with
instigating that unique record of eleventh century life, the Bayeux
Tapestry, which celebrates in painstaking detail the achievements of
her royal mate.

Even though Scandinavian women had relatively high status, it should not be automatically
assumed, however, that the women of the kingdom of France were simply in a state of
absolute subservience and inferiority to men. Their history is also often one of rugged female
individualism as women fought to live beside their men in a strange and savage world.

Their heritage was a full blooded one. An example of the strength

of individual women in Frankish history is the story of Queen
Fredegund (flourished around 580). According to Gregory of Tours,
while she was living in the cathedral at Paris her servant Leunard
came to tell her of certain wrongs done to her daughter at Tours.
Leunard confessed that he had failed to protect the Princess Rigunth,
and that she had been despoiled of her possessions. Leunard had
fled with the bad news.
Fredegund reacted by having Leunard stripped of all his possessions
on the spot, tearing the clothes from his back and the baldric which
was his badge of office. Anyone who had been involved in the
expedition, right down to the cooks, she had mutilated, stripped and
manacled. She was currently involved in a feud with a Bishop,
Badegisil, and she managed to strike at him by charging him with
stealing the King's treasures. The king had to intervene to stop her
casting the bishop's brother Nectarius into a deep prison.
She was a women, judged Gregory, with no fear of God, and was the
prime mover in many outrages.4
Her spiritual descendants proved no less strong minded, whether it
was Heloise choosing to stand by her mate Abelard through the most
extreme experiences, or Eleanor of Aquitaine affronting the
sensibilities of the papacy, or the queens of Outremer who ruled and
wrangled where they would.

A comparison might be drawn with the career of a German lady,

Hadawig, an eleventh century princess, and her interaction with the
men around her. According to Ekkehard, Hadawig was the daughter
of the duchess of Swabia and Henry Duke of Bavaria. She was, says
Ekkehard, a lady of rare beauty, but most severe with her own men
and feared far and near. Thus, as a little girl she had been affianced
to the Byzantine crown prince - possibly Romanus II - and was to
have her portrait painted. When the painter came to study her face,
however, she screwed up her face so that her intended groom could
not be given a flattering picture of her.
After this, she studied Latin literature, before being married to Duke
Purchard. But the duke was weighed down with age and "...it is said
he knew her not..." Dying soon after the marriage, he left the girl
with a dowry and a duchy.
Now footloose and free of fancy, she visited shrines, including St
Gall, where Ekkehard was a monk and teacher. Catching sight of him,
she demanded him as her tutor - a plan in which the writer of the
story readily concurred. With the abbot's agreement, Ekkehard was
taken to the lady's home at Hohentwiel, where she led him by the
hand to a chamber adjoining her own. Thus, she could converse with
her teacher day or night without arousing a suspicion of impropriety,
and the two were often found busy in their reading together.
Yet it was not a sinecure for Ekkehard. He found her manners harsh
and savage, including the time she threatened to have him shorn
after he had his lavish bed hangings removed - as a sign of humility
no doubt on his part. Ekkehard escaped back to his cloister, but the
other servants were not so lucky, being scourged severely on the
duchess's orders.5
Noble women of this era were generally no shrinking violets.

DUTIES OF THE MEDIEVAL WOMAN

The duties incumbent on the shoulders of a medieval woman of
means make those of her modern sister seem pale in comparison.
In particular, a wealthy woman had to be ready to defend her
husband's property during his absence on war, crusade, business or
pleasure. In reality, no theories of chivalry usually protected the
damsel in distress.
In the Middle Ages, says Eileen Power, men made no bones about
attacking a castle defended by a lady. The Countess of Buchan, for
example, held Berwick Castle against Edward I, and when defeated,
she was hung up in a cage on the ramparts to be mocked. Annals of
the Hundred Years War, in Power's words, glitter with deeds of
warlike ladies, of whom the best known, but not the only one, is Joan
of Arc.
 In the meantime, the husband might be captured while at war, in
which case his wife had to sell land or other commodities to raise his
ransom.
"In theory, there was the romantic, lovely and capricious lady of
chivalry, flirting and embroidering and playing chess; in practice
there was more often an extremely hard worked woman and a very
hard nut to crack for her enemies."

Christine de Pisan, herself a widow making her own way in the

world, described in her Book of the Three Graces (c.1406) the tasks
of a woman of high estate: she must be skilled in the legalities of
feudal law and tenure in case the lord's rights were invaded; she
must know all about estate management to supervise the bailiff, and
as a housewife must be able to budget wisely. This budget should
consist of five aspects - almsgiving, household expenses, payment
of officials and women, gifts, and miscellaneous expenses such as
dresses and jewels.
On top of all this, she must behave as a perfect lady, and be willing
to act as executor of her husband's will in the final extreme.
On the other hand, duties as a mother may have weighed less
heavily. Although large families were general, death rates were
high for infants, and new born children were in any case customarily
handed on to wet nurses. The training of noble offspring as young
squires and young ladies also meant that they were usually farmed
out to foster parents at a very young age.
Household management loomed as a much larger task: domestic
servants were plentiful, but they had to be constantly supervised, as
well as fed and clothed. Wheat had to be grown for bread, and then
ground and baked, ale brewed in the brew house, butter and cheese
made in the dairy, candles in the larder, bacon cured and winter
meat salted down. Clothes had to be spun, often from wool grown
on the estate. The lady had to look ahead to the household stores to
be bought in markets as far away as the capital, or at fairs in various
parts of the kingdom.
Christine de Pisan's theoretical lady also had to understand the
choice of labourers, the seasons for different operations, the crops
suitable for different soils, the care of animals and the best markets
for farm produce.6

Manorial ladies were well trained and responsible managers, with

their husbands away at war or Crusade. A woman in that case had to
manage large tracts of land, supervise hundreds of people, settle
disputes, store food and goods, dispense medicine and even defend
home and hearth if attacked.
Outside the privileged ranks of noble women, Frankish burger
women enjoyed greater economic and social power than women from
the countryside. Urbanised women frequently worked with men and
worked in a wider ranger of occupations than may be generally
assumed - blacksmiths, painters, sculptors, carpenters, doctors,
pharmacists, brewers, bakers, miners, roadmenders. Townswomen
thus carried out all the tasks belonging to male burghers, including
barbering, art work, silkwork, armour making, tailoring and doctoring.
In some cases, women were even permitted to join trade guilds,
otherwise exclusively the prerogative of men.7
Peasant women, those who would have made up the bulk of females
on the First Crusade, were similarly diverse. They most frequently
worked on or ran farms, carrying out a host of heavy tasks, including
dairying, ale brewing, plowing, and especially spinning and weaving.
The distaff, a simple pole arrangement used for spinning wool, was
the constant accompaniment of a woman whose hands were
otherwise momentarily idle. It became in itself the symbol of
womanly work. If they were widows, women had to continue
farmwork and pay their share of produce to the land holder.
The Crusades would have emphasised the importance of women as
independent workers, in much the same way as the world wars of the
twentieth century meant that women became factory workers and
primary producers in the absence of the traditional male workforce.
It is therefore not surprising that the documents collected by Riley
Smith suggest that throughout the crusades, women were most often
left behind to carry on mainstream life, often in the most difficult
financial straits. In 1249 Walter the Tailor sold all his possessions
including his wife's dowry to go on Crusade, leaving his wife Christian
with nothing. In 1268, a woman named Margaret was left with no
money to pay her debts after her husband was killed on crusade.
There were also great physical dangers for those left behind. In
1190, William Trussel joined king Richard's crusade, leaving a wife
who was then murdered by his half brother. It would appear that
close relatives were often a threat to deserted women and their
families. In 1128, for example, Baldwin de Vern d’Anjou had his
brother sign a statement in front of ten witnesses that he would not
harm Baldwin’s lands, possessions, wife or daughter while the
Crusade occurred. In England, Ralph Hodeng returned to find his wife
and daughter had been forcibly married to peasants on his lands.
Sometimes, Crusading men showed great care for the well being of
their wives and families. In 1120, Geoffrey of Le Louet put his wife in
the care of the nuns of Le Roncevrny d’Angers, providing well for her
future without him. Stephen of Blois - who was undoubtedly heartsick
at parting from his wife and family - gave the gift of a wood to the
abbey of Marmoutier to buy God’s protection for his family.
On the other hand, some women took the opportunity to make the
best of it: a woman named Cecilia married a William Luvel, despite
her husband being alive and well on crusade in 1220.
Still others suffered along with their husbands, as did the wife of
Reginald of Sugestaple. The couple in 1208 mortgaged their land to
go on the journey, but when they returned alive, they found that
their land had been sold altogether, and they were unable to recover
it.8

Amongst the most tragic of all the stories of women affected by the
Crusades is that of Elizabeth of Thuringia.
 Elizabeth was the daughter of St Hedwig of Silesia, who had become
famous for founding hospitals, part of the reaction caused by the
opening up of the West to Eastern medical practices in the twelfth
century.
Elizabeth was born at Pressburg in 1207: according to semi
legendary history, she was carried as a baby in a silver cradle to
Eisenach to be betrothed to her future husband, Louis, the heir of the
Landgrave of Thuringia and Hesse.
When she was still a child, her mother Hedwig was killed in a
factional war: Elizabeth claimed that the dead woman appeared to
her to ask for intercession for her tortured soul.
The story goes that the child Elizabeth was subjected to the
harassments of a jealous mother in law, Sophia, who made her life a
misery and tried to have the marriage annulled. But the young Louis
remained utterly attached to his future bride, and accompanied her
on her charitable visits to the impoverished. He acceded to his
father's lands in 1216, and in 1221 the couple were at last married:
he was 21, she was 14.
Her charitable efforts redoubled under the protection of Louis.
Amongst other bizarre events, Louis one day found placed in his bed
to die a repellently disfigured leper: he did not complain. The couple
seem to have complemented each other in their caring for the
outcasts of society. Alas, in 1227 Louis joined the Emperor
Frederick's crusade, only to die of fever on the island of St Andreas.
Sophia brought Elizabeth the signet ring of Louis as proof of his
death.
Elizabeth was now the widowed mother of three children. What was
worse, Henry, tyrant brother of Louis, took over the rule of Hesse,
and Elizabeth and her children were reduced to living in a derelict hut
beside a tavern. It was only when Louis' companions returned to
Hesse with his body in 1228 that Henry was forced to provide for her
upkeep.
Meanwhile, Elizabeth had come under the influence of Conrad of
Marburg, a member of the Inquisition. Under his regime, she was
flogged and made to undertake harsh penances.
She eventually surrendered her children - one of whom went to a
nunnery, and herself became a nun, perhaps joining a branch of the
Franciscans. She left the castle given to her by Henry, and living in
squalid quarters, at last built a hospital. Elizabeth tended to the sick
with her own hands and gave up her blankets to those in greater
need.
Her work received international recognition, including the gift of a
worn cloak sent to her by St Francis.
But her impoverishment, the hard life, and the extreme conditions
proved too much for her.
Thus, the woman who had been borne in a silver cradle between the
hands of knights as a child, died in rags on November 19, 1231, aged
24.
That antipapal emperor, Frederick, whose crusade had cost the life of
Elizabeth's husband, personally made amends as best he could in
1236. He came to Marburg where she was buried and had her
reinterred in a golden coffin in a church named for her.9

PROPORTIONS ON CRUSADE
According to the study made by Riley-Smith, women might have
made up generally around 5-10 per cent of the crusading army, after
the First Crusade. One group he cites from the late twelfth century
consisted of two women out of 43 crusaders leaving from
Lincolnshire. An approximately similar proportion of women - 42 out
of 453 - about 10 per cent of a crusading party, was aboard a ship,
the St Victor, which sailed from France in 1250.
As well, this evidence suggests a strong degree of self-motivation
amongst the pilgrim women: the party comprised 14 knights with 90
retainers, plus seven clerics, and 300 male commoners. Of the 42
female commoners aboard, just over half seem to have been
travelling independently. Of the whole group of women, only fifteen
were travelling with their husbands, two with their brothers and one
with her father.10
Motivations for joining the Crusades may have varied according to
social caste.
It may have been that proportionately more noble ladies than
commoners joined in the journey, because they had relative
economic power to travel, or because their husbands insisted on
their presence for dynastic reasons, rather than for companionship.
Most of the great noble leaders of the First Crusade took their
families, including the aged Raymond of Toulouse, who made it clear
that he and his wife Elvira of Aragon intended to stay in Outremer
and to found a family line there. Eleanor of Aquitaine took a leading
role in the Second Crusade because as a countess she had more
military power available for such an activity than did her husband
King Louis, burdened as he was with responsibilities of defending a
country.
For many of the noble women who went on the First Crusade, the
pilgrimage was also an outcome of complex family relationships
which impelled them to travel from their homes. An example of this
is the Puiset family of Orleans.
This was the family of Alice of Montlhery and Hugh of Le Puiset. Of
their children, four brothers went on crusade at various times
associated with the First Crusade. One of these, Hugh the Younger,
went east with his wife Mabel in 1107.
Of the daughters in the family, Odeline, the eldest daughter, married
Joscelin who went on Crusade in 1107. Humberge, the second eldest
daughter, married Walo and together they set out in 1096, followed
by their son Drogo in 1101.
 The eldest boy in the family, Everard, also went on the First Crusade,
leaving behind his wife Alice. Everard and Alice's son (another
Hugh!) followed his father to the East in 1128.9
This Alice (of Montlhery) was the sister of Melisende, the mother of
Jerusalem's King Baldwin II. Her son Hugh le Puiset the younger, or
Hugh I, led a revolt against Louis VI of France. As a result, the family
castle at Le Puiset was destroyed in reprisal, and he was deprived of
his lands.
He therefore took with him his wife Mabel or Mabilla - the daughter
of Hugh Count of Roucy and Sibylla, the daughter of Robert Guiscard
- and followed his older brothers to the Holy Land. On the way Hugh
and Mabilla's son - also known as Hugh! - fell ill and was left at the
court of Bohemond II. This Bohemond was Mabilla's first cousin, and
he lived in Apulia, Italy. Hugh I died soon after reaching Outremer,
and his widow Mabilla was passed on to Albert of Namur, a Walloon
knight. But Mabilla and Albert also died.

And so at last the boy, who was perhaps as young as sixteen, arrived in Jerusalem as an
orphan. Fortunately, he was left in the care of King Baldwin II. This trustworthy king handed
over the lands bequeathed to the boy by his parents, and adopted the boy into his own
household, raising him as if he were his own child.11 Not all guardians of the time were so
true to their role.

This, therefore, was the polyglot, cosmopolitan throng of women

who joined in the Crusades: their experiences were as different and
as varied as the numberless stars to which Anna Comnena compared
them. Some came for glory, some for gold, many for God and not a
few to pick through the leavings of the great. Perhaps most women
came because their mates or their families made the journey.
Together, they left indelible traces for any who would look for their
marks.

1. Alexiad, p.311.
2. Ibid, p.66.
3. R.I.Page, Chronicles of the Vikings British Museum Press, London, 1995, pp.64-5.
4. Gregory of Tours, The History of the Franks L. Thorpe (trans.) Penguin, Harmondsworth,
1982, p.399.
5. G.G. Coulton, Life in the Middle Ages Vols. III and IV Cambridge University Press,
Cambridge, 1967, pp.58-9. E. Power, Medieval Women M.M. Postan (ed.) Cambridge
University Press, Cambridge, 1988, pp.43-6.
6. S. Fox, The Medieval Woman Thames and Hudson, London, 1994, introduction.
7. P.Kernaghan, The Crusades: Cultures in Conflict, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge,
1993, p.29.
8. J.T. McNeill, Makers of the Christian Tradition Harper, New York, 1964, pp.86-91.
9. J. Riley-Smith, What Were The Crusades? MacMillan, London, 1977, p.63: Kernaghan, The
Crusades, p.51. Riley Smith (ed.), Oxford Illustrated History of the Crusades Oxford
University Press, Oxford, 1995, pp.72-3.
10. Kernaghan, The Crusades, p.52. For more on the le Puiset family, see Settling the New
Land below.
11. S. Runciman, A History of the Crusades II Penguin, Harmondsworth, 1971, p.190.
 Part II

SETTLEMENT

Chapter 7:

Outremer: "This Royal City"

The land to which the Crusaders voyaged was an outrageous

combination of fantastic dreams and cruel reality.

Take the road to the Holy Sepulchre, rescue that land from a
dreadful race and rule over it yourselves, for that land that, as
Scripture says, floweth with milk and honey, was given by God as a
possession to the children of Israel.
 Jerusalem is the navel of the world, a land fruitful above all others,
like a second paradise of delights. The Redeemer of the human race
made it famous by His birth, embellished it by His life, sanctified it
be His passion, redeemed it by His death, left His seal upon it by His
burial.

This royal city, placed at the centre of the world....1

The fantasy was that Jerusalem was in the most real sense the
centre of the medieval universe, that it stood at the portals of
heaven, and that it contained magical, mystical qualities.

The twelfth century mystic Hildegard of Bingen addressed the city as:

O Jerusalem, City of Gold,

adorned with royal purple...

As the literal centre of Creation, Jerusalem became also the symbolic

heart of the spiritual universe. And so the city of Gold was much
more than a physical location. It became the prime motivator of
peoples' thoughts and dreams during the twelfth century.

The Holy City could in theory confer all kinds of benefits on those
pilgrims lucky enough to find their way to the centre of the medieval
universe.

Yet miraculous cures on earth and eternal life in bliss were merely
some of its remarkable quantities.

It was, after all, the birthplace of humankind and of Man's saviour,

Jesus Christ. The garden of Eden was where Adam was created from
dust, and his woman Eve from his rib. Here in the garden, Eve had
tempted Adam, at the promptings of the serpent Lucifer, to partake
of the fruit of the tree of knowledge, to be God like himself. The rest
was Biblical history: woman's pride and man's blinding to her faults
led to the fall of humans from their state of Grace. Several thousand
years of misery - recorded in the Bible - ensued, until the son of God
was born at Bethlehem, a humble village near the capital of the
region, Jerusalem.

In triumph and despair, the Son was crucified by the Jews, on the
very spot and on the self same Tree that had produced the fruit of
knowledge. He died to purge humanity of its sin, and to proffer the
gift of eternal life which had been sacrificed by Adam, at the
temptation of Woman. Most miraculously, Christ rose from his tomb,
at the foot of the Cross where He died, and ascended to be in Heaven
with His Father, and later, His earthly mother, the Blessed Virgin
Mary, chief amongst the saints.

At every turning of the road, place names reminded the Franks of

this Biblical vision of the world, from Bethlehem to the Holy Sepulchre
to the River Jordan and beyond to Tarsus and Antioch, each rock and
crumbling wall seemed to have an association with the life of Christ
and His Mother, the Virgin Mary.

The mundanity of this supernaturally charged region was nearly as

remarkable as the fantasy.

Geographically, the eastern seaboard of the Mediterranean is

diverse yet compact.

To the east and south are inhospitable deserts and tangled mountain
ranges. To the north, the plateaus and ridges of Armenia, equally
inhospitable for much of the year. The Holy Land itself is a relatively
narrow strip of coastal plain: moderately fertile, adequately watered,
hot in summer, cold and wet in winter, it is strung in a thin strip from
the ancient city of Antioch at the gates of Armenia to the increasingly
hostile landscape that borders modern day Israel and Egypt in the
south.

In less than a day, a rider could travel east from the fertile shore of
the Mediterranean to mountainous desert impassable to all but the
hardiest.

This was not a country where a living was to be made easily: even
with modern technology, it is a marginal economic region.

Except that its location set it at the hub of the world, the heart of the
medieval universe, literally as well as religiously.

To enter Europe, Africans and eastern Asians had to pass through

Outremer, unless they were to travel by sea - and vice versa.

It was the logical limit of westward marches by nomadic armies from

the wilderness of Central Asia. It was a stepping off point from
Mediterranean traders seeking to establish links with the riches of
China and the Indies.

As a consequence, in this region there had existed since time

immemorial a babel of tongues, cultures, races and religions.
 Three major ideologies had jostled for pride of place amongst its
holy sites for nearly a thousand years: Judaism, Christianity, and most
recently, Islam.

The Roman empire invaded the land of the Jews with their gods.
Then, the Romans converted to Christianity at the beginning of the
fourth century. For nearly three hundred years, the Holy Land was
dominated by Rome and its new official religion. All this ended when
Islamic warriors took Jerusalem in the seventh century.

The new emperors of the region practised a relatively benign rule

until the eleventh century, when a new nomadic group of horse
warriors established dominance of Asia from Afghanistan to the
western sea. From 1055 on they held the successor of the Prophet
Mohammed - the Caliph of Baghdad - as their puppet. In 1071 at the
battle of Manzikert they crushed the army of the Romans, and from
that time on all the land south of the Bosphorus came under their
sway. They were no beneficent despots, but ruthless and only barely
civilized bandits.

The Crusading Europeans of the eleventh century stamped their own

pattern on the pre-existing geographical, cultural and political
patterns.

Thus, the northern county of Edessa was centred on the Euphrates,

and remained a land only ever sparsely populated with Crusaders, its
people mainly consisting of relatively amenable Christian Armenians.

To the east of this was the principality of Antioch, formed around the
rule of invading Norman Italians presiding over a local population of
Orthodox Syrians and Armenian Christians, as well as Moslems.

To the south, Raymond of Toulouse founded the county of Tripoli

along the coastal strip. Most of the European settlers in this area
were southern French, dominating Moslems and some Maronite
Christians.

Below Tripoli, the kingdom of Jerusalem was composed of a variety of

smaller counties. The kingdom's border went from just north of Beirut
to the Red Sea, and extended inland to the edge of the desert. This
vast territory had a mixed population including Moslems, Christian
sects and Jewish communities.2

A scaffolding of law held together this rickety edifice, a western style

feudal system imposed on the whole region, attempting to dominate
very independently minded fief holders. No copy of these laws
survives in entirety, but there are detailed near contemporary
descriptions of them.
The counts of Tripoli and Edessa were direct vassals of Jerusalem and
the lords of Palestine were generally required to render military
service to the King of Jerusalem and to accept his judgements in the
High Court. The Court consisted of his chief vassals. The states
virtually governed themselves, however, and large tracts of land and
towns and castles were often granted by the king to fief holders who
ruled with free lordships.

In the long run, this was to help bring down the kingdom in the face
of concerted Moslem pressure under their supreme ruler, Saladin.

The mainstay of the economy was trade, rather than agriculture as in

Europe. The Crusader states were at the crossroads of world trade,
and they grew wealthy from the caravans bringing spices from India
and China to the royal ports such as Acre.

The conquest had been bloody, but the settlement promised to be

more peaceable. An Islamic commentator, Ibn Jubayr, travelled
through Palestine early in the twelfth century, and commented
favourably on the treatment of his fellow Moslems. He described a
series of villages and cultivated lands inhabited by the Moslems living
in great well-being under the Franks, paying less tax than they had
previously.

Eastern commentators were highly critical of the Franks, yet they

generally agreed that the first groups of Christian settlers attempted
to live more or less peaceably with the previous occupants of the
land.

The real trouble was to come when late arrivals came, interlopers
who had not experienced the mighty struggle of the first journey
which had in its own way bonded Christian and Moslem in a
ceremony of blood.

But all together, they created a fabled land which was to inspire
changes in European culture across the complete spectrum of life: in
trade, urban landscapes, food, literature, costume, music,
architecture, domestic and religious activities, medicine, philosophy
and the relationships of the sexes.

Of course, the exact extent to which the Crusades were the key
element in bringing East in contact with West is debatable.
Subsequent chapters will deal at greater length with issues such as
whether it was purely the impact of Crusading which triggered off
changes in castle architecture.

What does seem clear, however, is that the flow of ideas was largely
one way traffic. Thus, Seward says:
... the (Norman) reconquest touched off a series of military
aggressions against Islam in which all Europe soon joined. Ironically,
the Crusades not only failed in their objective, but also accelerated
the flow of Eastern ideas to the West. To Europe, the Crusades were
an event of epochal importance. To Islam, they were as routine as
the border wars that periodically engaged their forces on the frontiers
of the empire."3

The influence of the East appears in every significant aspect of post

eleventh century European life.

Frankish warriors learned new military skills, some of which they

invented and some borrowed from long times inhabitants of the holy
Land. Siege tactics developed rapidly, as did communications learned
from the Moslems, such as carrier pigeons.

Moslem martial games and armorial bearing were echoed in

tournaments and heraldic devices.

As well, there was an enormously expanded demand for Middle

Eastern goods, and Normans brought home a taste for sesame seeds,
carob beans, maize, rice, lemons, melons, apricots, and shallots.

Muslins from Mosul and baldachins from Baghdad, damasks from

Damascus introduced new clothing materials as did cotton or kutn.

Persian tapestries and carpets, glass mirrors, face powder, brilliant

dyes such as lilac and carmine enlivened appearance.

Cleanliness was reintroduced through regular bathing, and the

Church imported through the agency of St Dominic the rosary, which
was inspired by the chains of beads used by Moslems to read off the
names of God.4

One should be cautious, however, in linking the Crusades too directly

or in a completely overarching way with the changes occurring in
Europe after the eleventh century. The great transmission was
probably occurring at various times and places and through many
means right throughout that period following the collapse of Rome
and the exploration of the New World.

There were at least two other major sources of the influx of Eastern
ideas and produce into Europe which were separate to the journey
known as the First Crusade: the cultures of Spain and Sicily.

Arguably, each of these had greater, influences on European

development than the journeys of those who founded the Kingdom of
Jerusalem.
 Spain, for example, was the home of Ibn Rushd or Averroes, whose
commentaries on Artistotle were revived in a Europe which had
forgotten them, laying the groundwork for St Thomas' Summa
Theologica.

Arabic Spain also perhaps inspired the troubadours of Provence. The

troubadours sang in rhymed stanzas invented by Moslem poets who
spoke of love in similar Platonic terms to those used by the
troubadours. It may be that the concept of chivalric love that was the
mainstay of troubadour culture was invented by the aristocrats of
Cordoba. An exhaustive treatise on this was written by an Arab
theologian Ibn Hazm in The Ring of the Dove. It explores all the
nuances of desires and concluded that the noblest of loves comes
through patience, restraint and chastity: a union of souls which was a
sublime bliss, a lofty rank a permanent joy and a gift of God.

The great age of formal romantic love is the twelfth century, and the
region most associated with it is the south of France, the Languedoc,
a country from which many of the most important Crusaders
originated or in which they had family ties.

In addition, medieval scholars deliberately involved themselves in

encounters with the Moors of Spain at the beginning of the great age
of Love.

Abbot Peter of Cluny wrote to inform Bernard of Clairvaux in the

twelfth century that while he was staying in Spain for a visitation of
the Cluniac places he had translated from the Arabic into the Latin
"all the unholy sectarian documents and the detestable life of its very
bad inventor Mohammed" so that it might be known how foul and
worthless this heresy is. The Cluny establishments of France were
brought into Spain just before the First Crusade.

The work was done under Peter of Cluny's auspices by Master Peter
of Toledo. Because Peter of Toledo was not as familiar with Latin as
he was with Arabic, he was assisted by another brother, Peter of
Poitiers.

As well, translations were made by an Englishman, Robert Ketton,

who then became archdeacon of the church in Pamplona, and
Herman of Dalmatia. Peter the Venerable had found these two
brothers around the Ebro River, studying astrology. Peter the
Venerable had hired them to do the work by means of a very large
remuneration. It is not impossible to imagine their work being spread
more widely through their contacts in England and the Balkans.5

The transmission of Arabic culture into central Europe was, therefore,

in part a deliberate undertaking done at a time when the Crusades
were exciting the interest of the Christians in a group of previously
remote heretics.
At the same time, it should not be assumed that this exchange was
purely the result of an abrupt discovery made in 1095. Contact
between East and West had never entirely broken down.
Charlemagne was in contact with African rulers in the ninth century,
and an Arab travelled with the Vikings at the same time.

By the mid eleventh century, groups of Norman adventurers were

sacking and settling amongst the Saracens in places such as Sicily.
Vikings travelled easily and frequently between Iceland and
Constantinople, trading, exploring, plundering and serving as
mercenaries.

The Normans who conquered Sicily under Roger de Hauteville of

Normandy, were mesmerized by its two century old Moslem culture.
They found an admirable administrative system in place, a silk
weaving industry, and the cultivation of sugar cane, flax and olives.

De Hauteville's son Roger II or Roger the Pagan had a coronation

robe decorated in Arabic inscriptions. His court's leading scholar was
a Spanish Arab Idrisi, who amongst other things produced a model of
the world suggestive that it was round. By the time of Frederick II
(1197), Arabic was one of the kingdom's four official languages. In
1224 Frederick founded the first chartered university in Europe, the
University of Naples, endowed with his collection of Arab writings. St
Thomas Aquinas was a student there.6

And it is strange that more direct influence did not reach Europe
proper from Spain at an earlier date. Nearly all the foodstuffs and
luxuries - paper, silks, large stone castles, comfortable houses -
seized upon by the Franks during the First Crusade had been known
in Spain for a hundred years or more.

Yet there is little direct evidence to suggest that they were filtering
their way north before the Crusade.

An example of how the little things accumulated into a tidal wave

that swept away the old defences of European conservatism was the
humble piece of paper.

Right throughout the period leading up to the Renaissance the

transmission of ideas was stifled by the high cost, equalling the lack
of availability, of material for transmitting ideas. Parchments were
the main elements of medieval books, and were related in value to
their high cost of production.

Paper, made from rags and vegetable matter, had been known in
Baghdad by 794, and had contributed the explosion of Arabic culture
by providing a cheap, high quality means of sending and recording
ideas. Thus, Thabit ibn Qurra (825-901) working in Mesopotamia
translated into Arabic about 150 books on logic, mathematics,
astronomy and medicine contained in the writings of ancients such as
Archimedes, Euclid, Ptolemy and Theodosius. Another writer and
scholar, Hunayn ibn Ashaq (809-73) translated Galen's medical
studies into Syrian and Arabic.7

The scope of reading amongst easterners is shown in the experience

of the Arabic writer Usama, who in the twelfth century complained
bitterly of the loss to Frankish pirates of 4,000 books in paper, a mere
part of his personal library.

The process of paper making was learned by a Crusader, Jean

Montgolfier, in Damascus while he was a prisoner after being
captured on the Second Crusade. He apparently produced paper after
his return from Crusade to France in 1157. However, for whatever
reason, he did not produce commercial quantities of this marvellous
new product. That was left to Italian merchants, whose products
became more widely available in the thirteenth century.

It was on paper that some of the most exquisite artefacts of the

Renaissance were later produced, including the cartoons of Leonardo,
Durer and Michaelangelo, and on which Leonardo, amongst others,
committed to posterity those ideas which we still treasure to this day.

But the process of change was usually slow and fitful.

Rather than assuming that the myriad riches of the East were
brought to Europe solely in the saddlebags of returning Crusaders, it
seems more likely that they reached the Christian homeland through
a number of avenues - Spain, the Aquitaine, Russia, Italy - at about
the same time.

The cross cultural contacts were inevitable: the effect of the

Crusades was perhaps mainly to hasten the process.
1. Robert of Rheims account of the speech of Urban in Riley Smith, The Crusades: Idea and
Reality, p.45.

2. Billings, The Cross and the Crescent, pp.70-1.

3. D. Seward, Early Islam Time Life, Netherlands, 1969, p. 145

4. Ibid., pp.146-7.

5. Barry, Readings in Church History, pp.331-2.

6. Seward, pp.144-5.

7. A. S. Atiya, Crusade, Commerce and Culture Peter Smith, Massachussetts, 1969, pp.213-4.
 Chapter 8:

"Now We Are Easterners"

"We used to be Westerners; now we are Easterners. You may once have been a Roman or a
Frenchman: here, and now, you are a Galilean or a Palestinian. For we have forgotten the
lands of our birth: to most of us they are now strange, foreign countries. Some people are
now in possession of their own houses and servants as if they had inherited them by right;
others are married not only to girls from back home, but also to Syrians, Armenians and even
Saracens - but of course only the baptised ones."

Fulcher of Chartres.1
 Soon after the first invasion, further waves of settlers arrived in
Outremer from Europe. Fulcher, writing in around 1125, says that
friends and relatives of the original invaders came in time to acquire
great riches. Those who had little money in Europe found themselves
possessed of countless bezants, those who did not have a house now
possessed a city.

"Therefore why should one return to the Occident who has found the
Orient like this?"2

However, Fulcher's famous description of the comfortable

transformation of the Crusaders as they colonized and were colonized
by their new home hides a human problem.

Christians and Saracens were anathema to each other. Each

regarded the other as spawn of the devil and various kinds of
infection crawling about the earth.

Yet each side was intensely curious about every aspect of each
other, including and perhaps especially, each other’s sexuality.

The result scarcely needs emphasising. Lurid descriptions of romantic

liaisons and curious sexual practices resulting between the men and
women of Christendom and Islam are recounted elsewhere.

And the Christians had another serious problem involving sexuality. If

no more than one in ten of the Crusaders was female, how were they
to increase the population they so desperately needed in order to
defend and maintain their new possessions?

Cohabitation seems to have begun almost immediately upon the

beginning of the conquest, as is suggested in the story of the
wayward nun. And this illicit conjunction of the sexes continued
throughout the history of the Kingdom. A memorial plaque on a tomb
in Erfurt Cathedral, for example, shows Ernest of Gleichen Count of
Thuringia between two women. One - at his right hand - clasps to her
breast what is apparently a psalter. The woman on the left is empty
handed. Tradition has it that Ernest had been captured on Crusade in
1228. He met and fell in love with an Islamic woman who helped him
to freedom. The happy couple returned to Europe, and to honour his
promises of love, a menage a trois was set up by Ernest with the
Christian and Islamic ladies, until his death in 1246.3

Male Franks who settled in the East married where they could to local
Syrians, Armenians, even Moslems - the hint is that the conversions
may have been rather superficial - and to European women who
followed the first wave of conquest looking for new homes and new
lives.
 Again, Fulcher suggests another historical problem: how did the
men and women of these different cultures converse with each other
in order to make their marriages work? The answer seems to be that
a new language was created through cross cultural collisions of all
kinds, the lingua franca or language of the Franks, a kind of pidgin.
Fulcher says that ... "Words of different languages have become
common property known to each nationality."4

The law belatedly recognised intermarriage as a fait accompli, and

gave the unions a degree of legality, as witnessed in a thirteenth
century treatise on law as it applied to the middle class settlers of the
towns: The Book of the Courts of the Burgesses (Livre de Assises de
Bourgeouis). This study appears to have been written by a legal
practitioner living in Acre in around 1240, and may well have been a
commentary on legal practices which became customary about 100
years earlier. One of its provisions deals with the question of mixed
marriages, where either the bride or groom was infidel. Taking a very
realistic attitude, it provides merely that three conditions are
necessary for such a marriage to be legal, whether it be of lady,
knight or burgess:

-that the partners be of a suitable age (13 for both male and female);

-that consent is given;

-and that the degrees of relationship are observed.5

Such practices reflect the gradual development of a culture

specifically that of the Crusaders out of the chaos of Palestine as it
was at the end of the conquest.

And this chaos was immense. Chroniclers hint at the insanity of

murder that occurred in the streets of Jerusalem: at first, all was a
haze of blood and plunder. Arab or Syrian, man or woman, aged or
infant, all fell before the Frankish sword in three unholy days of
brigandage.

By contrast, the chroniclers’ words seem pale and listless when

talking about the hangover that came in the days after the party of
death.

Fulcher writes that following the great slaughter in Jerusalem, which

he graphically delineates, the mob broke into the houses of the
citizens, seizing whatever they found. They then squatted in the
house or palace, claiming it as their own.

Thus, the poor became wealthy.

Others raced from site to site, looking for relics. A Syrian revealed a
family treasure, a splinter of the Cross, which had been long hidden.
 Set in gold and silver and fashioned into a cross, the relic was
gleefully seized upon by the Crusaders, who bore it triumphantly to
the Sepulchre, all the time giving thanks to God for His treasure.6

After the orgy of blood and slaughter around the Sepulchre, and the
outpouring of fervour associated with the completion of the
pilgrimage, the men and women only gradually began to awake to
the task of settling what they had conquered.

The outcome was an untidy fusion of Byzantine, Arabic and Western

styles of life which was peculiar to the Crusading Kingdoms.7

At the same time, the Franks stamped their own way of life on their
new land, often violently, sometimes peaceably.

Gigantic Roman statues were dismantled and reused as foundations

for new buildings: the head of one ancient sculpture required four
horses to drag it to its new resting place. The supposed tomb of
Christ itself was not immune: souvenir hunters began immediately to
chip away bits of it as souvenirs, some of them complaining about
the hardness of the rock! 8

While the settlers began to make their colony a concrete reality,

intellectuals began to create literary versions of society, borrowing
ideas from their Franks homeland. Archbishop William of Tyre wrote
history of a standard that has stood the test of the centuries, while
law makers embodied their vision of society in works such as the
Assize of Jerusalem.

At the same time, one senses the culture shock that comes with any
attempt at colonising a foreign land, coupled with the dawning
realisation once the mists of religious fervour had settled that the
Holy Land was no Paradise.

The Jerusalem described by the pilgrim Fulcher is not Eden, but a real
settlement on the edge of survival:

"The city of Jerusalem is located in a mountainous region which is devoid of trees, streams
and springs, excepting only the pool of Siloam, which is a bowshot from the city. Sometimes
it has enough water, and sometimes a deficiency due to a slight drainage."9

It is not by accident that Fulcher began his description of Jerusalem

with a survey of its water supply, rather than its fabled holy sites. A
siege in mid June was all but enough to break the Crusaders' spirit: it
was certainly a contributing factor in the mind wrenching bloodshed
that followed the breaching of the walls.

Soon, wide ranging expeditions were being mounted to discover the

surrounds of Jerusalem. One party went to Ascalon. Another went to
bathe in the river Jordan and to collect palm branches near Jericho.
After this, most began to prepare to journey home to Europe once
more, including the armies of Robert of Normandy and Robert of
Flanders, who went by ship to Constantinople. Within a few months,
the whole kingdom was capable only of fielding an army of a mere
300 knights, whereas at the height of the pilgrimage the cavalry had
been numbered in tens of thousands. For the rest of its brief history,
the new kingdom was to be plagued by a shortage of settlers and
workers, whether European or native.

The degree to which the Franks were absorbed into Eastern life is a
matter of debate. Despite the claims of Fulcher, modern observers
such as Runciman are more circumspect. It was the latter’s
conclusion that the contributions of the Crusades to western Europe
were disappointingly small. This he attributed to a lack of intellectual
interaction between the locals and the invaders because financial
difficulties and wars prevented the intstitution of real centres of study
where native learning could be assimilated. Intellectual life remained
the life of Europe: local science and medicine were held in suspicion
by the newcomers.10

It is certain the Islamic natives of the region took virtually no

intellectual interest in the Christian invaders, at least if evidence from
translation of manuscripts (almost non-existent) is concerned. The
Christians of the West and North had very little either mental or
material culture that the people of Islam wanted.

The one exception was human flesh: the Moslems were allowed to
use slaves, but not people of their own faith.

The Christians were not allowed to keep slaves, but they could trade
in them.

An amicable arrangement had been met long since whereby a

thriving trade in humanity was possible. Thousands of people
originating in France and Italy were sold in Spanish markets by their
fellow Christians. Most, however, came from the Slavic lands, to such
an extent that eventually the word Slav and slave became
interchangeable.

So successful was this symbiotic relationship that it was allowed to

continue by the Moslems both during and long after the struggle for
the Holy Land.11

It is likely, therefore, that when we read about slaves in the hands of

Moslems - particularly witches engaged in various kinds of sorcery -
they are in fact Christian women sold by their fellows.

It may be overstating the situation a little, however, to deny a lively

cultural interchange between the newcomers and their reluctant
hosts.
 Rather, it may be that the settlement of Outremer was a reflection of
the universal experience of European colonisation of new worlds.

The Europeans, whether in Africa, Asia, America or Australia, have

tended to attempt to transplant the culture of "Home" into the new
settlements, ordinarily looking down on the local civilization.

Thus, in Australia, the Europeans built mansions that were redolent

of the home countries. The settlers then continued a lifestyle
consciously imitating the behaviour of the gentry in the old country.
But the mansions soon had verandahs built on them, the most visible
sign of a concession to the climate of a new land, and in clothing, diet
and habits were many other signs of the beginnings of a compromise
on the part of the settlers. Subtle changes were wrought in the
colonisers and the lands they colonised.

This was also the case in Outremer early in the twelfth century.
Frankish women still spoke their mother tongue, but into it was
introduced a plethora of new words - sugar, cotton, orange,
damascene, mascara - all hinting at the subtle transformations that
were being wrought in the psyches of the Franks by their new home.

A BURNING LAND HUNGER

For many of the great people who arrived at the end of the eleventh
century there was a burning land hunger that meant they could not
stop in the Holy City. Through their eagerness to put down roots
wherever land was available, the Franks opened themselves to the
influence of their new home.

Thus, Raymond of Toulouse with his wife Elvira of Leon and Castile
immediately after the taking of Jerusalem went north to Laodicea on
the lookout for a kingdom for themselves. There, Raymond broke up
a siege of the Greek inhabitants of the city being carried out by
Bohemond and the Bishop of Pisa. Peace established, Elvira remained
behind in Laodicea while Raymond pressed on to visit Constantinople
once more to seek the aid of the Emperor in his land grab.

Others who remained scattered throughout Outremer also began to

build a way of life in the midst of overwhelming difficulties.

Not only were they cut off and surrounded by implacable enemies,
but they found themselves in a mostly arid land that was as foreign
to them as the Americas were to prove to their spiritual descendants,
the Conquistadores.
Several main types of settlement have been identified as occurring in
the next few years.

There were, for example, isolated fortresses on the frontiers with

Arab lands, usually inhabited by men only, and consisting of a simple
European style stone tower of no great size occupying a naturally
defensible site, such as Montreal. These often grew into much larger
fortifications, of which the most famous is the Kerak de Chevaliers,
attracting a more diverse residential population, as well as local
settlements near the protecting walls of the fortress.

As well, there were fortresses built on sites less important

strategically, and with few natural defences, which were built partly
for the purposes of colonising waste lands. An example of this is
Ramleh. This was an agricultural site with an additional religious
significance, supposedly being the burial place of St George. Around
the existing fortress a low but defensible wall was thrown up in 1100,
enough to house 15 knights and protect the Syrian settlers and their
houses. During the next two years, the Syrian farmers and artisans
were joined by families of Frankish men and women. Their main
produce was from a vineyard controlled by the clerics into whose
hands Ramleh had been given. The settlers were given their land in
return for a rent paid to the Church in the form of produce.12

Thus, at first, the work of building had a purely defensive impetus,

gradually transformed into more peaceful architecture. Stone walls
were needed for protection from the real and expected onslaughts of
the Moslems, temporarily driven from a land they had held for four
centuries. Tripoli, formerly an open market town, was girded with
frowning stone walls, as were others.

Once the immediate needs of fortification were met, for many of the
women of the First Crusade, life would have taken a new but
essentially familiar turn. The noblewomen had been ladies of castles
and manors while in Europe: in the Holy Land, they replicated their
task. The lady of Outremer was expected to do everything that her
counterpart in Europe had to do.

But there were many differences: for one thing, the strongholds
were on the edge of what the Europeans knew. The settlers were
frontierswomen, and at their castle gate might begin a hostile,
unconquered strangeness of a kind not known in the heartlands of
Europe, although it was to be encountered still on the outlands of the
European settlements, such as the border with Scotland or the Baltic
region.

The other difference was that the castles had to be built literally
around them and on a scale unprecedented in Europe.
 The Europeans were familiar with the concept of stone castles, such
as the White Tower of William the Conqueror. But there was nothing
in Europe to compare with the elaborateness of Byzantine
fortifications they saw at Constantinople, Antioch and other sites. The
first European castles in the east were replicas of their homeland
fortresses: they soon transformed into something new. The pilgrims
began to develop such castles of their own, at fantastic cost.

The Castle of Saphet, for example, built by the Templars, cost 1.1
million bezants at a time when a knight's income was 500 bezants a
year. Each subsequent year, the builders spent about 40,000
additional bezants in maintenance and extensions. Every day, the
castle had to provide for a minimum of 1,700 people. Some 12,000
mules laden with barley and wheat as well as other foodstuffs and
cash for payment to the mercenaries were brought into the castle
each year, beside other horses, munitions and armour.12

The ladies and women of Outremer encountered strange new ways

of living in such strongholds and in the towns which were more
frequently their usual place of residence.

Some of these customs they adopted readily - at other times they

flaunted their European way of life in front of the outraged local
inhabitants. Usama, for example, complained about the way women
in the streets of Acre and Jerusalem went out of their homes with
their faces bare, in contrast to the Moslem women who were always
veiled.14

Many Christian women did in fact adopt the veil - but only when they
felt it necessary to preserve their complexions against the extremes
of the climate.

Most women’s lives were cast in the customary Frankish mould - but
informed and enriched by the culture they encountered. Bathing, for
example, was now possible, not only because the milder climate
would have made undressing fully more comfortable year round -
anyone who has bathed even today in the average English house
during the middle of winter knows that it requires forethought - but
because elaborate water systems made it convenient to do so. Even
the rough mercenaries who came in search of plunder luxuriated in
steam heated baths in their quarters as a matter of course, as at the
remote castle of Belvoir near the southern end of the sea of Galilee.

The new settlers soon adopted much of the opulence of the East into
their homes, creating a degree of luxury still unknown in the
cramped, shabby and smelly keeps of European castles. Willbrand of
Oldenburg, for example, commented during his pilgrimage that the
castle of Beirut had walls covered with beautiful marble panelling.
The vaulted room of the main hall was painted to resemble the sky. A
colourful marble fountain in the middle of the room added coolness
and the gentle music of falling water. 15

This was a far cry from English and French castles, with their arrow
slit windows, flinty walls, and a fire burning in the centre of the hall
simultaneously fumigating and toasting the inhabitants.

BAZAARS AND VINEYARDS

The towns and cities of the Holy Land would have been more usual
habitations for most non combatants than the remoter castles.

It is estimated that ninety per cent of the Frankish settlers chose to

settle in urban areas. These cities and villages contained splendours
undreamed of in the pitiful hamlets of Europe. The Moslem town of
Aleppo, for instance, as described by Ibn Jubayr in 1184, was both
immense in size and planned with meticulous care. It had vast
bazaars set out in regular, adjacent rows. Each row was reserved for
a particular trade, and the shopper could go from one to another until
purses were light and feet heavy. These bazaars were covered with
shady wood roofs that were also beautifully designed, so that even
busy people passing by would stop to gape in admiration. The main
bazaar was like a gracious and beautiful enclosed garden,
surrounding the chief mosque. Its shops were principally of wood,
each in an original design.

As well, settlers were encouraged to move into empty lands in new

towns with a purely economic reason for existence. A similar
description to the one of Aleppo survives of a much smaller new
town, Dunaysar in northern Syria. It was on a vast plain and was
surrounded by sweet smelling herbs and irrigated market gardens.
Without walls, it had retained a rural look. Crowds of shoppers came
from all the outlying regions to its bazaars seeking the produce of its
surrounding farms. In order to get to the markets, which were held
regularly from Thursday to Sunday, the shoppers passed by a series
of smaller villages and inns lining the two roads that approached the
township.16

Dunaysar seems to be typical of many of the small townships dotting

the region, some of them established by the Crusaders in order to
maintain their domains and to attract Christian settlers from Europe.
Men and women who emigrated to the east could settle in newly
established villages such as Qalansuwa, which is in the hinterland
just behind Caesarea, and Qubeiba, half a day's walk from Jerusalem.
Typically two storey houses of European style were built on either
side of a long, wide street. At the end of the street was an
administrative centre and town square. The administrative centre
contained a courthouse, a defensive tower, and a series of
storerooms. Between the houses and the centre stood the small
parish church. Here, there was a simulacrum of European life in the
semi desert of the Holy Land, designed to ease the culture shock for
new settlers.

Old inhabitants of the land had few kind words for these later
arrivals: the emir of Shaizar amongst others saw the earliest
crusaders as the elite, who settled down on their newly won vast
domains and set about preserving their considerable fortunes. They
were content with their lot, seeking calm and peace, and soon all but
forgot their original country.

After them, he bemoaned, there came swarms of pilgrims of every

sort and quality, drawn to the east by the lure of booty, seeking an
easy fortune, full of ambition and appetites, and devoid of scruples.
The older settlers they treated as cowards and traitors. Whereas the
first settled amongst the Moslems from the start and cultivated
friendship, becoming good neighbours and honest partners, the
recent arrivals were arrogant, brutal and ill mannered.17

Such settlers - whose intolerance became legendary - came from all

over the European world.

At Beit Jibrin, for example, 32 families arrived from Europe in about

1153, encouraged by liberal land holding arrangements. They
included settler families from the Auvergne, Gascony, Lombardy,
Poitou, Catalonia, Burgundy, Flanders, Carcassone, as well as two
from Jerusalem.18

Each settler in this settlement was given over 60 hectares of land to

build upon and cultivate, in return for some cash payments, an
annual rental in produce, and a tithe. As well, they were encouraged
to plunder the Saracens, in order to pay a share of their rental in loot.

Special laws were passed to deal with what were anticipated as the
two main social problems of such a colony: thieving of each other's
produce, and adultery. The importance of these two causes of social
disruption is to be seen in that the remainder of the colony's judicial
institutions were adopted in their entirety from traditional law. Theft
was to be punished by confiscation and imprisonment: adultery by
lashing and expulsion. Obviously, the latter was considered to be the
more serious offence.18

Yet another kind of settlement involving women were large scale

settlements carried out by wealthy churches, such as the Church of
the Holy Sepulchre's foundation at al-Bira. Here, the Church used
some of its funds to set up a colony, mainly of free families. By the
middle of the twelfth century, this consisted of ninety families
engaged in vineyard cultivation. Amongst the settlers were "fratres
and sorores", people who surrendered themselves and their land to
the Church. These brothers and sisters were people who enjoyed
special protection under the auspices of various Church groups, such
as the Templars. Their exact relationship to the Church is unclear, but
it is possible that the men would serve as sergeants in time of war,
and otherwise the families would be given the sort of protection owed
by a feudal lord to a vassal. In return for their devotion, the church
allowed them to live in their own houses for the rest of their lives. It is
apparent that this standing could apply to a woman as well as a man.
Thus, Prewar cites the example of a case in the court of the Patriarch
in 1134-5 involving the Church of the Holy Sepulchre's client Maria,
as well her husband Roger, and her daughter's husband Bernard.20

And women as well as men sometimes gave the Church land on

which to establish religious foundations and colonies. Thus, in 1180,
Ahuhisa, lady of Palmarea, gave the abbot of the monastery on
Mount Tabor estates and privileges in the area.21

The second wave of settlers also gradually adopted some of the

Palestinian customs of dress and life, so that the Bishop of Acre came
to criticise them as soft and effeminate, more used to baths than
battles, unclean and riotous, and dressed in womanish soft robes.

Such luxuriousness, as many of the Westerners became Easterners,

was in the minds of many Church commentators in itself an
explanation for the eventual destruction of Outremer - a Divine
punishment for a modern Sodom and Gomorrah.
1.Riley Smith, Atlas of the Crusades, Times Books, London, 1991, p.39: Fulcher, p.271.

2. Ibid., p.272.

3. M. Erbstosser, The Crusades C.S.V. Salt (trans.), David and Charles, Newton Abbot, 1978,
plate 119.

4. Riley Smith, Atlas, p.271.

5. Prawer, J., Crusader Institutions, Clarendon, Oxford, 1980, Appendix A. A complete version
of the Assize is also given in Recueil des Historiens des Croisades Imprimerie Royal, Paris,
1871, Volume 1.

6. Fulcher, pp.123-5.

7. T.S.R. Boase, Castles and Churches of the Crusading Kingdom Oxford University Press,
London, 1971, p.1.

8. Ibid., p.4

9.. Fulcher, p. 116.

10. Runciman, History of the Crusades III, Appendix 2.

11. B.Lewis, The Muslim Discovery of Europe Phoenix, London, 1982, Chapter VII.

12. Prewar, Crusader Institutions, pp.114-5.

13. Riley Smith, Atlas, p.106. The 1.1 million bezants has been estimated at approximately
equivalent to $Aus90 million (1987): Billings, The Cross and The Crescent, p.82.

14. Aziz, The Palestine of the Crusaders, p280

15. Billings, p.3.

16. Pernoud, p.101.

17. Aziz, p. 282.

18. Prewar, Crusader Institutions, p.121.

19. Ibid., p.122.

20. Ibid., pp.128 and 313.

21. Ibid., p.137.

 Chapter 9:

Transforming Europe

The Crusading movement of the eleventh century was a decisive

influence in forcing open maritime and land trade routes that had
been closed for two centuries. Consequent on this was an explosion
of marketing accompanying the development of ubranised trade
centres.

Thus was made possible a burgeoning of European culture that

particularly benefited and affected women.

The Dark Age chaos ensuing from the collapse of the Western Roman
Empire had brought large scale produce movement to a standstill - a
hiatus that lasted from the fifth through the eleventh centuries.
People were forced from city to country, where they voluntarily or
involuntarily entered the land based yoke of feudalism.

"It was only in the twelfth century that, gradually but definitely,
Western Europe was transformed. The economic development freed
her from the traditional immobility to which a social organisation,
depending solely on the relations of man to the soil, had condemned
her."1

Part of the curtain that separated the relatively resource poor

Europeans from the cultural richness of India, China and the Indies
had been erected by Islamic forces straddling the land and sea routes
into the Mediterranean. The great upsurge in these military cultures
had occurred in the seventh century, almost at the very moment
when Europe's calamity was most extreme. Thus, these eastern
cultures were able to establish their own barriers to trade between
the orient and the occident very firmly before the European revival
had begun.

In the eleventh century Islam gave way little by little before the
counter attack of Christianity. The conquest of Corsica (1091),
Sardinia (1022) and Sicily (1058-90) took from the Saracens bases of
operations they had held since the ninth century and which had
enabled them to blockade the West. In 1097 a Genoese fleet sailed to
Antioch bringing reinforcements and supplies. Two years later Pisa
sent out vessels under orders from the Pope to deliver Jerusalem.
From that time on the whole Mediterranean was opened to western
shipping. As in the Roman era, communications were re-established.

Genoese and Pisan ships kept these routes open. They were
constant patrons of eastern markets where the products of Asia came
by caravan and ship from the Red Sea and the Persian Gulf, and they
frequented the port of Byzantium.

At the same time, there were incursions into the Mediterranean by

the descendants of Vikings, such as the Normans.

These northern merchant-pirate adventurers aroused the ire of the

Italian powers that had already begun to establish themselves. The
Normans became a major mercantile and military power in the south
of Italy and adjoining regions.

This stirred Venetian jealousy. Venice at this moment was merely a

rising new power on the eastern seas, but it would brook no rivalry. In
the spring of 1100 a Venetian squadron ambushed the Pisan fleet
from Jerusalem at Rhodes. Thus began eternal strife between the
rival sea powers, both on ship and on land, culminating in open war.

By the twelfth century, sea commerce reached France and Spain.

After long stagnation, the old port of Marseilles took on new life. The
Spanish ports Catalonia and Barcelona - out of which the kings of
Aragon had driven the Moors - profited in turn.

Inland, passes such as the St Bernard and the Brenner opened to the
North. Italian merchants were present in Paris in 1074, and at the
beginning of the twelfth century, the fairs of Flanders were also
drawing numerous Italian traders.2

Trading vessels were instrumental in spreading sugar, that most

significant cultural item. Crops were traded from Egypt and were
being grown in Cyprus in the tenth century, and from there were
taken to Sicily in the eleventh. Henry the Navigator brought the
magic granule to Madeira, and thence it was planted throughout the
Atlantic islands.3

The islands played a similar role in the dissemination of silkworms

and some related cultural movements.

"It was by way of Cyprus and the sumptuous court of the House of
Lusignan, that there came to the West, more slowly than the light of
some stars reaches the earth, the costumes of the ancient bygone
China of the T'ang dynasty"
Fashions, the barometer of cultural change, which travelled these
routes included the long pointed shoes and the hennins (pointed
hats) that had been fashionable in China in the fifth century. These
same items did not become the height of fashion in Europe until the
late fourteenth and early fifteenth centuries.4

Alexandria and the Syrian settlements were the place where

Western traders, following on the heels of the Crusaders, collided
with another world.

Here they met Arabs who brought spices from India: Tunis was the
terminal for caravans bringing gold across the Sahara from Palola;
Caffa and Tana in the Crimea were where Italians traded with
Russians and brought Chinese silk from Mongolian cameleers. Italian
merchants preferred not to venture further than this, despite the
claims of Marco Polo that it was safe.5

Through trading ports such as this poured the nectar of trade that
was to play a major role in awakening the lives of European women
to almost forgotten possibilities of luxury and variety.

FAIRS AND MARKETS

In order for women to benefit from this awakening of commerce,

there had to develop a means by which they could obtain produce for
their daily use. Long before there were shopping malls or
supermarkets, women bought the produce of the world at their own
doorstep, in fairs and markets.

The fair is to be distinguished from a market. The former was a

periodical gathering of merchants to sell particular items. Markets
were regular and localised more or less permanent selling centres.
Both of these ways of marketing produce were very vulnerable in the
face of social upheaval.

The women of Europe relied on a tough, hard working, hard fighting,

adventurous, and not too scrupulous sub culture of merchants to
bring the goods to market. Rapidly, after the First Crusade, the
numbers of merchants increased, as did the size and frequency of
their markets and fairs, and the range of goods they sold increasingly
included materials drawn from the Middle East.

A picture of the life of such a merchant is in Reginald of Durham's

story of the life of St Godric of Finchale (d.1170), who earned his first
money as a beachcomber. He then joined a merchant company
trading in the North Sea. Buying a ship from his earning, he went
abroad as captain. Favoured by luck, he acquired shares in other
vessels. Then he settled in a port and sent others in his place. Late in
his life, he surrendered his wealth and became a hermit.

St Godric achieved fortune after beginning life in poverty, due to his

constant hard work, quick wit, and according to Reginald, his
unfailing piety when turning a coin. Reginald describes him as
vigorous and strenuous in mind, whole of limb and strong in body,
medium height, broad shouldered and deep chested, with a long
face, grey eyes, clear and piercing, a handsome nose, a pointed chin
(covered by a long, thick beard). Godric had a short, thick neck,
knotted with veins and sinews, slender legs, and his whole skin was
rough beyond the ordinary, until softened by old age.6

The continued refinement of culture introduced by the returning

Crusaders relied on such men trading goods through the fairs and
markets of Europe

But according to Professor de Roover, the development of these

means of exchanging produce presents no uniform picture.7

During the Dark Ages, trade did not disappear altogether, although it
fell to a low ebb. Thus, the Muslim ambassador Ibn Yaqub who visited
Germany and France in 953 is dismissive of most of what he saw,
commenting that the people of Schleswig customarily drowned their
surplus children as a means of saving expense, and that their diet
was mainly fish. He is more polite about other centres, noting that
Mainz had coins that had been minted in Samarkand only 50 years
before. He also mentions that the same city had spices from the far
East, including pepper, ginger, cloves, spikenard, costmary and
galingale. However, he mentions the presence of these products
because they are exceptional, not because they are part of normal
trade.8

Thus, what little trade that did survive the collapse of Rome was at
first haphazardly carried on by groups of travelling merchants who
catered for the rich by selling them luxuries or who exploited the
poor with high prices during famines.

TRADE AND TOWNS

Trade revival was also coincident with and dependent upon the
recommencement of large scale town dwelling.
 When urban life began again it started most obviously in Italy and
Flanders, taking its momentum from what was happening in these
two centres.

The Crusades gave the growth of towns and trade further impetus:
Latin merchant colonies were established all over the Levant, to be
followed by the Venetians, the Genoese and the Pisans.

City walls were extended by 14 major burgs in France and Germany,

including Bourges, Grenoble, Utrecht and Strasbourg, during the
twelfth century, as compared to eight during the eleventh century
and three during the tenth century. In Italy there was virtually no
expansion during the period 1000-1050; increasing expansion during
the latter part of the eleventh century; and an expansion rate c.150
per cent greater during the twelfth century.9

Although merchants often continued to be itinerant, travelling to

fairs and markets, the new towns provided a useful distribution point
for their goods. In some cases, however, relatively unsettled areas
became the major focus of trade. Thus, in the twelfth and thirteenth
centuries, the travelling trade fixed on the fairs of Champagne.10

Yet some markets and fairs continued throughout the Dark Ages.
There are indications of foreign trade taking place in Narbonne in 589
and in Spain in 693.11 The market at St Denis near Paris may date
from c.635. In Germany, there are indications of 29 markets in the
eighth century.12

Specific mentions of markets and fairs are, however, rare until the
Carolingian period, when they become numerous.13

Thus, the growth of marketing is one of chaos and spontaneous

growth combined with various local factors.

But the regular growth in large markets and fairs is really a

phenomenon of the eleventh and twelfth centuries, coinciding with
expansion towards the East. Thus, a new fair known as the Lendit fair
emerges near Paris in the eleventh century. The first Parisian fair was
established by the abbey of St Denis - lasting from the second
Wednesday in June until St John's Eve - and a second fair was
established after 1109 by Louis VI. This latter one lasted for three
days per occasion, until 1213 when it merged with the original fair.14

Another great regional circuit of fairs were those of Champagne,

which were six fairs held in four towns. They are pre-twelfth century
in origin but are only recorded from 1114 on. All the regions of France
sent merchants there as did northern and central Italy, Flanders,
Hainault, Brabant, Spain, England, Germany, Switzerland and Savoy.
Goods included cloths and woollens from northern France, silk from
Lucca, leather from Spain, Pisa, Africa and Provence, furs from
Germany, linens from Champagne and Germany, and Italian trade in
the form of spices, wax, sugar, alum lacquer and dye woods. There
are also several mentions of cotton, grains, wine and horses.15

All of this adds up to a marketing revolution, compared to the

previous dearth of reliable and varied produce. The depth and nature
of this change in European trade wrought by the Crusades is clearly
demonstrated in archeological remains, such as the Dark Age Sutton
Hoo treasure trove.

This seventh century burial site of an Anglo Saxon chieftain in East

Anglia contains loot from Byzantium in the form of small silver bowls
and a Roman-style bowl. These objects seem to have been gathered
as casual plunder, or possibly through contact with evangelising
Christians. Silver spoons and twelve silver bowls may well indicate a
temporary or incipient conversion of the Anglo Saxon war lord who
owned the materials.

The same image of casual gathering of items applies to records of

the Vikings who travelled the waterways of Europe two centuries
later, right up until the First Crusade.

The eleventh century Norwegian Viking king, Harald Hardrada, for

example, went to Byzantium from Norway initially on a journey to
escape persecution, and subsequently for adventure. His journey
took about 12 years, from 1030 to 1043, and the goods he brought
back were plunder rather than trade. His biographer particularly
mentions gold as well as valuable treasure of all kinds.16

As well, although Harald encountered Saracens, he did not settle

amongst them, and as a war chief of the Byzantines, his main
interest in them was conquest rather than exchange.

The Crusades, in contrast to Harald's voyage, happened relatively

quickly and directly: Stephen of Blois made the journey twice in three
years.

And after the Crusade, trade and towns expanded simultaneously to

change forever the social and physical landscape of Europe.

If at first, the Crusaders were interested mainly in reaching their goal

of Jerusalem, settlement and exchange of goods soon loomed large
on their minds.
1. H. Pirenne, Medieval Cities, Doubleday, New York, 1925, pp.71-2.

2. Ibid., pp.64-6.

3. F. Braudel, The Mediterranean and the Mediterranean World in the Age of Phillip II Two
Volumes, Fontana, London, 1981, I p.155.

4. Ibid.

5. R. de Roover, “The Organization of Trade" in Postan et.al., Trade and Industry in the
Middle Ages, p.63.

6. Reginald of Durham, "Rags to Riches", in D.C. and J.H. Trueman, The Merchant's Domain:
The Town McGraw Hill Ryerson, Toronto, 1973, pp. 9-10 and 15 -16.

7. R. De Roover, p.43.

8. B.Lewis, The Muslim Discovery of Europe, pp.186-7.

9. R.L.Reynolds, "Shall We Gather At the River" in Trueman, pp.15 -16.

10. De Roover p.42.

11. Ibid., p.119.

12. Ibid., p.122.

13. Ibid., p.120.

14. Ibid., p.125.

15. Ibid., p.127.

16. Snorri Sturlusson, King Harald's Saga: Harald Hardradi of Norway M.Magnusson (trans.),
Penguin, Harmondsworth, 1982, p.64.
 Chapter 10:

Revealing the Figure

The Crusades and the opening of trade routes which resulted from
them had immediate and long term effects on women's fashion. Not
least of these was an influence on women's attitudes to their physical
appearance.

Women's bodies had long been ignored by an apparently indifferent

male aristocracy consumed by war, or by a clergy which regarded
women's bodies as sacks of (all too tempting) corruption. Now the
female form began to appear through the materials of increasingly
sensual fashion.

Of course, the increasing confidence of women in their own being

was a slow and fitful occurrence. One should not look for an
immediate and consistent change from Dark Age shabbiness to a
High Medieval couture.
 Rather, most of the changes that were wrought took place gradually
over the centuries.

And in particular, the influence of the Crusades led to changes in the

textiles, rather than in design.

Fabrics including silks, damasks, thin cottons and other soft materials
were introduced. These affected styles, leading to costumes which
could be finely pleated and gathered, thus tending to reveal the
figure.1

The connection between the First Crusade and women's clothing, as

well as men's, is apparent.

For centuries before that first journey to the east, clothing for men
and women in western Europe had remained unchanging. The
concept of fashion - changing styles of clothing - simply did not exist.
Clothing was purely functional.

There was a general style of costume, through which the nobility

could establish its pre - eminence simply by using more elaboration
and decoration.

Saxon women, for example, used three basic garments. An

undergarment (chemise); a floor length kirtle or gown, and a super
tunic, long and loose, but sometimes tied up to knee length by means
of a sash. Supplementing this as need be was a large square cloak
fastened at the throat.

Wool and possibly linen were the unvarying ingredients, decorated

with very fine needlework in colours or gold and silver thread.

All women concealed their hair beneath a heavy head cloth, usually
wrapped around the throat as well: bare tresses could only be
displayed by young girls.

With the turmoil resulting from the First Crusade, combined with the
influx of new ideas and new materials, there was a simultaneous
loosening up of patterns of dress. Thus, costume became the most
visible sign of a massive change in European culture.

By the 1130's, clothing was more individualized and more elaborate.

Silk, which had previously been used only on the most formal
occasions, was made more readily available. As well, fabrics such as
gauzes, damasks and cotton were available. But perhaps most
importantly, for the first time since the Dark Ages, women's
physiques were being revealed and enhanced through their clothing.
A simple form of body corsetry was now worn over the torso, placing
greater emphasis on the woman's upper body. This was a sleeveless
quilted waistcoat with back lacing, or alternatively a wide body belt
tightly laced at the back or on the sides.2

As well as the much softer, more clinging and more delicate fabrics,
decoration was enhanced by cunningly tailored sleeves, which hung
to the floor or were knotted up in a way as to create a rippling effect.
Men's clothing was similar bright, sensual and elaborate.

And for the first time in centuries, a woman's hair appeared as part
of her normal costume. A variety of styles were adopted in a fashion
move that might be seen as radical as the flapper's dress of the
1920's, or topless bathing in the 1970's. The hair might now be
centre parted and either arranged in two plaits hanging in front, or
else it was divided in strands interlaced with ribbons. As well, the side
hair only might be plaited, the rest hanging freely down the wearer's
back. In some extreme cases, silk tubes or metal cylinders might be
joined on the end of the plaits so that they reached the floor, and it
was not uncommon to use wigs to add to the illusion of mass and
length.3

Similarly, men's hair was plaited and combed and oiled in elaborate
styles, bringing down the wrath of clerics in particular, who raised the
eternal cry of the decline of civilization, as represented by the overly
sexual and effeminate costumes of the era.

Women's hair as a fashion item disappeared from view once the

turmoil of the early years of the century had subsided. By the mid
twelfth century, hair was concealed under a variety of covering,
including the barbette, which is supposed to have been introduced by
Eleanor of Aquitaine after her return from Jerusalem. This was a
band of linen circling the face and pinned at the top of the head.
Royal and noble ladies were the first to employ this fashion, wearing
it with a small veil or a crown.

By the thirteenth century, it was part of the costume of women of

many different ranks.

Many other fashions were also adopted, variations on the theme,

including coiled hair worn under transparent nets, the fillet, which
was a wide or thin band around the head, or full cloth worn similarly
to the barbette.4

At the end of the twelfth century, major fashions had been

established which were to become universal for the next three
hundred years.

These included dagged edges, first seen in Switzerland and Germany,

parti- colouring in Spain, and the surcoat in Scandinavia and France.
The tabard - adapted from the Islamic burnous - had first been worn
to protect crusading knights, shielding armour against the sun, but by
the end of the twelfth century had been adapted for civilian use as a
loose, rectangular tunic hanging in front and behind over the bliaud.

Eastern textiles were being manufactured in France, Flanders and

Italy, including velvet and silk. The northern cities where textiles
were being manufactured - Bruges, London, Antwerp and the
Hanseatic western cities - were displacing previously dominant areas
in Eastern Europe.5

Germany made fustian, a cotton material woven with linen, and

England manufactured good quality wool. A version of this was called
scarlet, derived from the Persian sawalat. The cloth was most often
made in a brilliant red hue, and so the word scarlet became a
reference to colour rather than a material.6

Thus, fashion was itself the spur to the massive commercial and
industrial development of northern and western Europe, and this
fashion was made possible by the opening up of trade routes and the
changes in womens' consciousness brought about by the Crusades.

It would be, therefore, all but impossible to estimate the cumulative

influence of all of this on the development of western civilization in
the centuries to come. Fashion was caused by trade, and led to
further trade, which led to a demand for more mercantile activity,
which spurred expansion of military and economic interests, which
led to further collisions between cultures, and so on.

And the demand was not simply for cloth. All the accessories
accompanying fashionable costume were introduced into the matrix.

Crusaders returned from the wars in the thirteenth century with

examples of decorative work in the form of fabric buttons, delicate
footwear, purses and bags, girdles, gloves and handerchiefs, which
were then imitated. Venice and Genoa had established themselves as
the entrepot for luxury goods, and it was there that the nobles first
wore perfumed gloves and handkerchiefs. These latter were so rare
that a wealthy noble would only have one. Fans also appeared from
the East, made of ostrich and peacock or painted silk set in handles
of jewels and gold or ivory.7

So elaborate had many of the costumes become by the fourteenth

century that sumptuary laws attempted to limit peoples' costumes
with extreme penalties.

Indeed, the more puritanical elders of Europe, particularly the clergy,

had from the beginning of this movement looked askance at the
decadence represented by changing fashions.
Ordericus Vitalis, for example, complained of Normans who grew
their hair long like women, and crisped their hair and beards, wearing
on their faces "the tokens of their filth and lust like stinking goats."8

In 1175, Prior Geoffrey of Vigeois was attacking the richness and

preciousness of civilian costumes, where clothes were coloured
according to the mood of the wearer, the clothes having their borders
cut into little balls and pointed tongues, so that their wearers looked
like devils in a painting.9

During the mid-thirteenth century, the German Franciscan Berthold

von Regensburg orated satirically against the snares set by women's
costumes: Women, he said, were as well created for Heaven as men,
and need it as much as men; they have more compassion, go to
church more readily than men, and earn indulgences more quickly.

But Woman's one failing is vanity.

Why, he thundered, women would spend as much money on

seamstresses as on the cloth of the dress itself. It must have shields
on the shoulders, be flounced and tucked around the hem, and pride
is shown in the very workings of the buttonholes.

Veils - you twitch them hither, you twitch them thither, you gild
them here and there with gold thread. You will spend a good six
month's work on a single veil - all that a man may praise your
dress.10

And on and on he thunders.

But the genie, as it were, was out of the bottle, or in this case the
cloth was out of the garderobe.

Fashion had arrived, thanks largely to the intercourse between East

and West, and it has remained ever since a major theme of western
life.

The mills of Ypres, the weavers of Bath, the merchant ships of Venice
and the silk stalls of Florence were thundering and chattering and
clattering and racing with the news that the world had changed.
1. D. Yarwood, English Costume Batsford, London, 1961, p.41.

2. M. Hamilton Hill and P.A.Bucknell, The Evolution of Fashion: Pattern and Cut From 1066 to
1930 Batsford, London, 1967, p.10.

3. G. de Courtrais, Women's Headress and Hairstyles in England From AD 600 to the Present
Day Batsford, London, 1973, p.14.

4. Ibid., p.18.

5. Yarwood, English Costume, p.42.

6. Ibid., p.44.

7. Ibid., 46

8. R. Barber, The Knight And Chivalry Cardinal, London, 1970, p.78.

9. Ibid.

10. Coulton, Life in the Middle Ages , p.64.

Chapter 11
 Certain Ripe Plants

Travellers in the army of the Great Pilgrimage made a startling

discovery during their march to Jerusalem. Starving like a Biblical
host in the desert, they stumbled across stands of tall grass.

What they found was to bring about a profound cultural revolution

throughout Europe.

Beset by hunger and thirst, they were reduced to eating thorn

bushes which they picked from the earth and rubbed in their hands.
Many horses died, so that even the knights had to walk. Some used
oxen as battle steeds, while goats, sheep and dogs were used to
carry baggage.1

Almost miraculously, they stumbled on a manna in the desert: sugar

cane. In the cultivated pockets were found "certain ripe plants like
reeds which were called canna mellis (sugar canes) a name
composed of two words, canna (cane) and mel (miel, honey). I
believe that this is the reason why what is skillfully extracted from
these plants is called wild honey. We devoured them ravenously
because of their sweet taste...."2

The wonder of the new food also impressed Albert of Aachen, who
called the canes little honeyed reeds which produced a wholesome
sap called sukkar. The cane, he said, was produced each year
through extremely hard work by the natives. After they harvested the
ripe crop, they crushed it in little mortars, putting the filtered sap into
their receptacles until it curdles and hardens so that it looked like
snow or white salt. Pieces were shaved off the lumps and mixed with
bread and water as a relish which seemed sweeter to those who
tasted it than honey. The use of sugar was adopted almost
immediately, according to Albert, who says that the people, who were
famished, were greatly refreshed by these "little honey-flavoured
reeds” during the sieges of Albara, Maarra and Acre.3

Nowhere is the change in European domestic life demonstrated

more clearly than in the revolution in eating habits wrought by the
humble sugar cane.
 It was to play a part in altering the basic elements comprising social
relationships.

Of course, sugar cane was already known to the Norman conquerors

of Sicily, but, like so many products of the east, it was not familiar to
the wider European population until the breaking down of the barriers
between East and West that was a direct result of the Crusade.

Sugar is itself an ancient part of cooking. It was known in India in

the second millenium B.C., where Europeans made their first
encounter with its properties. In 327 B.C., a commander of Alexander
the Great, Nearchus, reported during the invasion of India a reed
which yielded honey without the help of bees. Four hundred years
later, Christian monks were cultivating cane in the Euphrates region,
and during the eighth century, the conquering Arabs were
introducing it throughout the Mediterranean.

It seems to have remained an unknown quantity throughout the cold

north, however, until the pilgrims of 1097 literally stumbled across it.
Until then, the northerners had relied on sweetening from honey -
also fermented into a drink called mead, and the natural properties of
fruits. These processes continued throughout the middle ages, but
were supplanted eventually by the magical grain, sugar from the
cane.

After the conquest of Outremer, sugar cane was grown and refined
in the Jordan valley near Tyre and Acre for export to Europe. Other
major exporting regions were Syria, Rhodes, Cyprus, Candia,
Alexandria and Sicily.

Eventually, Venice was to monopolise the distribution of this manna

from the desert throughout the north.

Before sugar and other foodstuffs from the East reached the north,
the menu of even the greatest noble was by modern standards dull
and colourless. The Holy Roman emperor Charlemagne was
overweight through the pleasures of the table - but those delights
were confined mainly to roast meats. There is little mention of tasty
sweetmeats. Similarly, a menu for an Anglo Saxon feast might
typically consists of grilled trout, carp in nettle broth, game stew with
barley and herbs, small bird and bacon stew with walnuts and
hazelnuts and - the only desserts - summer fruit, honey and hazelnut
crumble, and steamed carrot and barley pudding. The sweetening in
the latter is provided by the fruit and the honey.3

Throughout the medieval period, local produce still provided the

overwhelming bulk of basic food items, even for the rich and
powerful. The basic ingredients of the marriage feast of Mary Neville
and Gervys Clifton (1530) serves as a model for all: 3 hogsheads of
wine, one white, one red, one claret, two oxen, 2 brawns, 2 swans, 9
cranes, 16 herons, 10 bitterns, 60 pair of rabbits, similar wildfowl, 16
fat capons (castrated rooster), 30 other capons, 10 pigs, 7 calves, 6
wethers, 8 quarters of barley malt, 3 quarters of wheat, four dozen
chickens, as well as butter, eggs, verjuice and vinegar.4

But by the sixteenth century, it would be expected that these basic

materials would be spiced with flavourings originating in the east,
although the infiltration of eastern foodstuffs and technology into
Europe was probably gradual and regionalized according to contact,
customs and availability.

It is unclear how fully and quickly the settlers of Outremer

themselves adopted eastern cuisine. Usama gives anecdotal
evidence that some Franks began to live like muslims, but he says
they were the exception and not typical. He tells of one such person
at Antioch. This was an old knight from the first expedition, and
Usama was invited to his house through a mutual friend. The man
had retired from fighting and was living on the income of his
property.

He displayed a fine table spread with a splendid selection of

appetizing food.

Moslems of course were forbidden pork, a popular dish amongst the

Franks, and at first Usama was hesitant. The knight noticed this and
assured him that he did not eat any Frankish food, and that he had
Egyptian cooks who ate only what they served. No pig's flesh was
ever permitted in the house.

Even if the precise details of infiltration are unclear, after people

returned from the First Crusades gradually many more elaborate and
much sweeter dishes were possible. This was not only because of
sugar - also Eastern spices became more common in the dishes of
the nobility. Spices all but unknown in Europe could easily be
obtained in Outremer, adding to an ever broadening culinary
refinement: spices such as pepper, cumin, coriander, cinnamon,
ginger and mastic (a gum used for liquor).5

Other foodstuffs common in the Holy Land which delighted the

European settlers included dates, bananas, melons, water melons,
gourds, lemons, oranges and pomoloes.

By the early thirteenth century, a wide variety of foodstuffs and other

products generically known as “spices” were being brought to
England. These included sugar, cumin, almonds, brazel (imported
from East Indies), quicksilver, ginger, cetewal ( a stimulant having an
aromatic, warm, bitter taste), lake(insect resin from India), liquorice,
small spices such as cloves, mace, cubebs (Javanese berry) and
nutmegs, vermilion, glass, figs, raisins, sumac, sulphur, ivory,
cinnamon, gingerbread, turpentine, cotton, whalebone, frankincense
(grown in furthest Arabia), peony, anise, dates, chestnuts,
orpiment(pigment derived from arsenic) and olive oil were being
imported through the port of London.6

Again, however, one should not look for a simple uniformity in the
growth of the spice trade.

Table spices were not completely unknown throughout the early

medieval period. The Venerable Bede, for example, bequeathed a
small parcel of pepper in his will.7

But with the opening up of the barriers between East and West
during the Crusades, more exotic foodstuffs were encountered, and
trade routes were set up to import them. Spices from the east were
never cheap, but the better off Europeans sacrificed economy for
taste. Thus, amongst the household expenses of Richard de
Swinfield 1289-90 are listed expensive spices such as cloves, cubebs,
mace, saffron, sugar, galingale, cinammon, raw and preserved
ginger, pepper, cumin, licorice, buckwheat, aniseed, gromil (a stony
seeded plant) and coriander.8

In one year, Sir Thomas Cawarden spent ten pounds on spices for his
household, the same amount spent for beverages. Sugar remained
prohibitively expensive: in the fifteenth century it still sold at up to
three shillings per pound, at a time when a good wage was no more
than a shilling a week. For most people, sugar was at first only used
as a medicine. Not until it became relatively less dear was its used
more generally, and for the great majority, it was never in daily
use.9.

According to Mead, practically all ordinary meats and desserts were

so loaded with cinnamon, ginger, cloves, cubebs, pepper, galingale
(cypress root), mace and nutmeg as to make the constituent of the
dish practically unrecognizable.10

The menus which are recorded from about the early fourteenth
century on might consist of a tart, stuffed bread rolls, a fish jelly,
braised mussels, spit roasted meat with sweet sauce, pigeon pie,
braised fennel in ginger, a salad, cheese pastries, flavoured cream,
quince sweetmeats, and date and ginger sweetmeat. Comfits were
used to sweeten the breath at the end of a meal. These consisted of
aromatic seeds such as fennel, each grain laboriously coated in
sugar, a process taking several days.

Many dishes required the use of sugar. Rosy almond cream, for
example, required 75 grams (three ounces) of sugar, and the sweet
sauce 25 grams (one ounce).11
 As the culmination of a feast, spices were served with wines. Richly
designed gilded plates divided into compartments were loaded with
spices, sugar plums and various other sweetmeats. Usually, the great
spice plate was presented only to the donor of the feast and his
chosen associates.12

And most obvious of the changes to the culinary arts of the nobility
was the introduction of the magnificent accompaniments to the
feasts, made with the aid of sugar and known as subtleties. These
included castles as tall as their bearers, sailing ships, fabulous
monsters, gilded and painted, and placed as the centrepoint to a
feast.

But it is sugar in particular which had a profound an impact on the

lives of European women.

At the very least, the kinds of dishes made possible by sugar

suggest a greater attention being paid to the finer and more delicate
aspects of life within the manor and the castle. The barbarian feasts
of the Dark Ages were strictly men only affairs, where eating was an
accompaniment to deep drinking, boasting, and fighting, followed by
unconsciousness amongst the reeds scattered on the hall floor. Food
was simply the fuel for the men's sport, rather like a pie night at a
football club today. The Anglo Saxon people in particular were noted
for the coarseness of their eating habits, a tradition that they passed
on to the Norman French:

"...they (the Saxons) were wont to eat until they surfeited and to
drink until they were sick. These latter qualities they imparted to
their conquerors..."13

Introduction of sugar helped initiate a major shift in manners. The

food itself is to be enjoyed and savoured, as an accompaniment,
granted, to the rougher entertainments favoured by the warriors, but
also to refined manners, including music, dancing, juggling, and
dancing and (even) flirtation (else why the need to sweeten one's
breath at the end of the meal!) This is confirmed by the rise of the
courts of love of Eleanor of Aquitaine, in which discussion of the most
sophisticated concepts then available to civilization accompanied the
consumption of delicacies.

Two contemporary descriptions of ladies at court attest to this

change. The first is "A Rhyme of Fair Ladies", an Anglo-Norman satire
of the thirteenth century. The writer takes a critical view of noble
ladies disporting themselves in a castle hall - but in attacking the
women reveals much about their lifestyle and demeanour.

The writer - presumably a cleric - describes initially the approach of

the women to the feast, assembling in an ante-chamber, each noting
the other's headgear, usually in this era consisting of the horned style
imported from the east. Their arms are displayed to good effect, as
they make sure everyone notes their kerchiefs of silk and cambric -
yet another eastern importation - or their buttons of coral and amber.
Their talking does not cease as long as they are in the hall, including
their mockery of any unfortunate squire who happens by. The women
are amply served from kitchen and cellar with snacks and drinks
brought to them by two valets.

Having consumed their aperitifs amidst much laughter and

exchange of secrets, the ladies descend the stairs into the main hall,
hand in hand.

At the main meal they refrain from food altogether, but instead sit
coyly, showing their faces, competing to see who can gain the most
attention. Then, having demonstrated the front (of their costumes),
they devise some excuse to turn away from the table, to show off the
costly workmanship on their backs.

All this accomplished, they retire to their bower to entertain each

other with the subtleties of needlework, whereof they loved to talk.
One style much in favour included Saracen style embroidery, notes
the author.

And so the feast accomplished, they set themselves to the work of

preparing themselves and their costumes against the next such
gathering.14

Lives so dedicated to fashion and the arts of social intercourse would

have been unimaginable at the grimmer Saxon and Carolingian
courts of preceeding centuries.

This pales into insignificance, however, in comparison to Rolandino

of Padua's description of a Court of Love held at Treviso in about
1214.

Invitations were issued by the Podesta of Padua, Albizzo da Fiore, to

the greatest knights and ladies in the district. These dames and
damsels garrisoned a fantastic castle built for the occasion. Their
fortress was apparently a huge stage composed of costly furs and
cloths - vair, samite, brocade of Baghdad and ermines. The ladies
dressed with helmets studded with emeralds and pearls. The men
who assaulted the castle did so with missiles made of fruits and pies,
as well as vases of sweet smelling liquids including eastern spices
and essence of fruits such as cardamons, cinnamon and
pomegranates.

Contemporary images of such Castles of Love show that they were

large and elaborate enough to contain as many as a dozen ladies,
and the gates were tall enough for the men to ride into them on
horseback.
 Unfortunately, on this occasion, knights of Venice and Padua who
were in the besieging army became jealous of each other's success,
and the fighting turned real. The event had to be halted, but too late
to prevent the triggering of bitter emnities between the rival nobles
which later on developed into full scale war.15

As so often in medieval noble life, there was only ever a thin line
separating the refinement and cultivation of court life from the
barbarity of men's main passion throughout those centuries: bloody
war.

A MAJOR CHANGE IN EATING HABITS

William of Malmesbury attributes a major change in eating habits to

the effect of the Crusades. He says that Robert Earl of Mellent
introduced to England, and eventually throughout central Europe, the
idea of one substantial meal per day, an idea adopted "...from
Alexius, Emperor of Constantinople, on the score of his health..."

Post Crusade food is also much more labour intensive, not only
because of sugar, but also because of its increasing elaboration. It
requires cultivation of a wider range of vegetables, such as herbs.
This in turn suggests both a larger labour force to tend the crops, and
a more sedentary lifestyle, in order to farm and harvest the foods.

As well, there is the need for a more knowledgable workforce - and

often these were women, who are frequently shown in illuminations
doing skilled work such as pruning and tending gardens. The
knowledge of the powers of herbs is more frequently associated with
women during the later middle ages than with men, as evidenced by
the witchcraft trials of the late fifteenth century on.

Of course, these changes at the upper end of medieval society

would have had little impact on the food habits of the peasants for
centuries. Their food continued to be characterised by monotony,
scarcity and lack of nutrition. All three of these are represented in an
eleventh century document setting out the food to be given to
workers employed for the harvest. The workers' diet on the first day
of reaping consisted of bread, beer, potage of peas or beans, flesh,
cheese and three loaves of wheat and rye split between two men.
The food for the second day consisted of bread potage, water,
herrings and cheese. And so on, for as long as the harvest took. For
those who undertook carrying a load of grain on the back to the
abbey storehouse, there was the reward of an extra second rate loaf
of bread.16
 As a result of the demand for spices, a thriving trade developed with
the East, partly through the Mediterranean by Venetian and Genoese
vessels. The German Hanseatic League established an exchange port
at Visby in the island of Gotland, 100 km east of Sweden. They
delivered delicacies from Russia and the Far East to England, through
the Steelyard docks. Foreign domination of trade continued until the
fourteenth century, so foreign merchants and buyers of English wool
were at every great fair. In the fifteenth century, the English grew to
take part with their own ships, and especially with cloth goods.17

City companies were set up to make sure there was fair dealing. The
Pepperers of Soper Lane by 1316 had ordinances forbidding the
soaking of merchandise such as saffron, alum, ginger, cloves in order
to increase the apparent weight.18

Not only the food eaten from the tables, but the surroundings and
equipment with which they were served improved as the result of
outside contact. Centres such as Thiers in central France began to
produce fine quality cutlery using metal working techniques imported
by the Crusaders. Rich carpets were imported from the east from the
twelfth century on. At first, westerners mistakenly used them as table
coverings: it was a little while, and perhaps not without reason, that
they were used in this position before finding their more normal place
on the floor, amongst the rushes, the dog's droppings, table scraps,
and spilled drinks, a function that would have sorely tested the
maker's art.19

As well, the decoration of the homes of the great and rich began to
be softened in appearance by the introduction of tapestries. Sewn
tapestries existed in Europe before the eleventh century, of which the
most famous is the Bayeux Tapestry, attributed to Queen Mathilda of
Normandy.

But from the twelfth century on, woven tapestries make their
appearance. The actual art of using warp and weft threads to make a
decoration was known in China before Christ. Western imitations are
considered to derive from Coptic Christians flourishing in the east
between the third and seventh centuries.

The transmission link, however, has been not been established,

whether through Spain or with the Crusaders, or through other
means. The oldest dated tapestries in the Coptic style in Europe are
from Germany and Oslo.20

A 12th century work in the cathedral of Halberstadt shows St Michael

slaying a devil: another German tapestry of the same era, now in
Oslo, shows a knight dressed in armour almost identical to that worn
in the Bayeux Tapestry of c.1080. Given that armour changed rapidly
and styles are very specific to an era, it seems likely that this was
made within a generation of the dated work. This would suggest that
tapestry making reached northern Europe very shortly after, or even
possible slightly before, the First Crusade.

Over the next two hundred years, such fabrics became part of
aristocratic life. The fourteenth century romance of Sir Gawain and
the Green Knight describes Sir Gawain as dressed in a padded
undergarment of Turkish weave. A fifteenth century Scottish poem
remarks on a gentleman being placed in "..a coffin /Fitted out with
carpets..."

Such beautiful, civilizing objects d'art increase in frequency and

complexity as the centuries go on, as trade with the East grows, and
as European society and culture began to burgeon through its
opening to the East.

PLEASANTLY COOLED BY FOUNTAINS

The Crusades were also responsible for revolutionising European

horticulture, directly and profoundly, and with it making the lives of
women richer and more luxurious than at any time for half a
millenium.21

The change is encapsulated in the famous Romance of the Rose,

written shortly after the Third Crusade by Guillaume de Lorris and
Jean de Meun.

The Romance speaks of a symbolic garden hemmed within the high

circling walls of a castle, pleasantly cooled by fountains springing
from within secret glades, and planted with "every tree from the land
of the Saracens": pomegranates, nutmeg, almonds, cloves, dates,
figs, liquorice, aniseed, grains of Paradise, cinammon, zedoary and
olive trees, mingling with northern varieties such as pear, quince,
medlars, plums, apples and chestnuts.22

Bruised mint, sweet fennel, periwinkle, rose, violet, pansy, golden

kingcup, pink rimmed daisies and a host of flowers, blue, gold and
red, enlivened the view and sweetened the air.

Such a delightful place for repose and refreshment would have been
inconceivable in the years before the Crusaders encountered similar
gardens in Spain and the east. After the fall of the Roman Empire,
most people in Europe had no time or space for leisure gardens such
as this idealised one. It represents in itself a departure from an era of
practicality and life at the edge of survival towards centuries devoted
more to pleasure and luxury.

One of the only places where gardens as such survived the

devastation of the barbarians was within the protective arms of the
Church.

Thus, St Radegunda, the sixth century Merovingian queen, who had

retired to an abbey, grew roses and other plants to strew on her table
or to hang on the walls in imitation of Roman garlands.

Such plants were limited in variety and quantity, however, by a lack

of time and space - as well as a suspicion of beauty in its own right -
preventing the monks from cultivating a wider range of produce.
Even two hundred years later, a list of herbs and plants ordered for a
monastery garden belonging to Charlemagne contained only two
flowers: the rose and the lily. Other Dark Age lists mention violets,
mint and thyme as suitable for religious decorations, and even a later
twelfth century gardening list from England adds only heliotrope and
paeonies.

By contrast, the first gardening book in English - The Feate of

Gardening written in the fourteenth century - contains 97 plants,
including cowslip, foxglove, gentian, iris, hollyhock and lavender, as
well as coloured water lillies.

Thus, a revolution had occurred, a complete rethinking of the

garden and the purpose of gardening.

The roots of this grew in the gardens of the East, where Arabian and
Persian gardeners had for centuries composed living works of art
which were simultaneously a refuge from the outside world and also
a source of life itself. Islamic science combined with a desire for
cooling oases had produced gardens where fountains played
amongst a cornucopia of plant varieties.

These gardens became known in Europe by reputation. Bishop

Liutbrand, for example, brought back an account of the Byzantine
emperor's golden tree in 968, and in 1167 a German embassy
reported on the splendour of the Sultan's garden at Baghdad.

By the time of the First Crusade, gardens were customarily being

established around castles, again for practical rather than
recreational purposes, and across the moat an orchard for fruit trees
and other kitchen plants, usually placed conveniently close to the
women's quarters.
 Meanwhile, in Sicily the Norman conquerors under Robert Guiscard
had settled into lands from which they expelled the Saracens who
had conquered the island before them. The Norman Sicilians
assimilated the gardens left behind by the Arabs. So enamoured was
Robert of the Arabian gardens that he walled an area some eight
kilometres in circumference around his palace at Palermo and had it
developed as a series of resorts for pleasure, compared by an Islamic
writer to a necklace on the throat of a beautiful girl. Running through
these gardens were beautiful fountains fed ingeniously by canals.

The Crusaders appear to have been astonished by the beauty of

these pleasure gardens when they passed through Sicily, and lords
such as Robert of Artois consciously imitated them. He went to Sicily
in 1270, and when he came back to Europe built a water garden at
Hesdin in Picardy. His garden in turn attracted the admiration of
visitors astonished and delighted by the fountains and the water
tricks it contained.

In future, European gardens were customarily provided with

fountains. Medieval manuscripts of a more worldly kind frequently
show women cooling their feet and even bathing in the pools and
channels they fed.

The gardens and the plant species they housed burgeoned and
became increasingly lavish as the centuries passed. Ladies are now
shown being able to relax and sun themselves in safety, closed within
the expanding walls of the castle gardens. Amongst the best known
illustrations of this are of spring and summer in the Tres Riches
Heures. As well, the garden decorations became more lavish,
including summer houses and herb covered turf seats. Queen Eleanor
upon her return from Crusade in the late thirteenth century built a
large garden at Rhuddlan Castle. This garden included fountains and
turf seats for her ladies. The castle itself was built as part of a chain
of military fortifications to hold Wales: the design undoubtedly
inspired by the castles seen by her husband Edward I during their
journey to the east.

Thus, the Crusading experience softened the harsh life of a military

encampment on the remote frontier of Western Europe.

And so, we find the Dreamer of the Romance of the Rose

encountering men and maids dancing to the tunes of Dame Gladness
in his enchanted garden, stepping daintily with turns and farandoles
upon the tender lawn. Accompanied by flautists and minstrels and
violists they sing a rondelet, a tune from Lorraine. A troop of jugglers
too accompanied the mirthmaking, and girls with tambourines -
another eastern import - marking the end of each tune by throwing
their instruments high into the air, and catching them gracefully on
finger tip. All this is in itself reminiscent of the court music of Arabian
lands, where professional dance troupes had long since enlivened
formal gatherings with performances accompanied by drum, pipe and
stringed instrument.23

Even the very clothes of the maidens - sheerest cloth - owe a tribute
to the east, and their insinuating motions as each dancer
approached, till almost clasping, each one on her partner's darting
lips just grazed.

Evidence from poetry, romance and illumination suggest that the

sweet meadows such as Eleanor’s garden were the most favoured
sites for lover’s trysts: the formal garden of the castle had blossomed
at the right moment to provide a stage for the new rituals of courtly
love.

1. Pernoud, p.61.

2. Ibid., p.60.

3. M Berriedale-Johnson The British Museum Cookbook British Museum, London, 1987, pp

62-71.

4. Mead, The English Medieval Feast, p. 348.

5. Chronicles of the Crusades, p.180.

6. Mead, The English Medieval Feast, p.228.

7. Ibid., p.73.

9. Ibid., p. 78.

10. Ibid., p.74.

11. British Museum Cookbook, pp.89-101. See also L.J. Sass To the King's Taste Richard II's
Book of Feasts and Recipes Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, 1975.

12. Mead, p.77.

13. William of Malmesbury, English Historical Documents II p.316.

14. Coulton, Life in the Middle Ages, pp.52-3.

15. Ibid.,, pp.47-9.

16. Scott, Everyone a Witness, pp.63-4.

17. Mead, p.27.

18. Ibid., p. 40.

19. 'Richard de Templo' The Third Crusade K. Fenwick (ed.) Folio, London, 1978, p.16. There
is confusion over the identity of the author: he may well be also known as Richard the
Canon, Geoffrey de Vinsauf or Ambroise.

20. P. Verlet et al Great Tapestries The Web of History From the 12th to the 20th Century tr.
P.R. Oberson Lausanne, Switzerland, 1965, pp. 38-9.

21. Described more fully in R. King, The Quest for Paradise, Mayflower, New York, 1979,
Chapter 7, passim.

22. Guillaume de Lorris and Jean de Meun The Romance of the Rose trans. H. W. Robbins
Dutton, New York, 1962, Chapter 5.

23. Ibid., Chapter 3. Hourani, History of the Arab Peoples, p.198.

 Chapter 12:

Medicine: The Logical Choice.

As well as enriching European life through a vast range of changes in

lifestyle, when Crusader women insisted on the introduction of
eastern medicine they also began a health revolution .

William of Tyre makes clear the crucial role of women as a group

when he says that the Latin women urged their lords to scorn Latin
medicine and trust only the Jews, Samaritans, Syrians and Saracens.
It was well that they did so, and only logical.

Women endured the rigours of childbirth, for which Eastern medicine

alone had worthwhile assistance, and it was they who most often
suffered the worst of Frankish medicine. This was a compound of
superstition, magic and a crude herbalism, as recorded in the
observations of the Saracen writer Usama. An eastern Christian
named Thabit was called to treat two patients at Moinestre Castle in
the Lebanon. One was a knight with abscesses on his leg, another a
woman with consumption. Thabit began to cure the two with
scientific treatments: a poultice for the leg, which drew out the
abscess, and a cleansing diet for the woman.

However, a Frankish doctor intervened and ridiculed the treatment.

"Do you want to live with one leg or die with two?" he asked the
knight.

The knight preferred a truncated life. So the doctor called in the

services of an axeman, who immediately hacked off the offending
limb with two whacks of his weapon. Marrow spurted from the
mashed bone, and the patient died instantly.

After this very definite resolution of the illness, the Frank then turned
his attention to the woman.

"She has a devil in her head who is in love with her. Cut her hair off!"
said the doctor.

She then reverted to her usual diet of food laced with garlic and
mustard, which worsened her condition.

The doctor pronounced that the devil had entered her brain. So he
took a razor and slashed a cross on her skull, exposing the brain. He
then rubbed salt into the brain, and she joined the unfortunate
knight.

Thabit found himself no longer in demand: he left, having learnt

things about medical methods he had never known.1

The Crusading men seemed relatively slow to acknowledge the worth

of Arab medicine.

King Amalric I, for example, died in 1174 from the bleeding practiced
by Frankish doctors in an attempt to cure him of dysentery.

But by the 1160's some Franks were beginning to acknowledge the

worth of much Eastern medicine. Eastern doctors were licensed to
practice by medical boards headed by the local bishops, and that
same fatally bled Amalric had hired an Egyptian doctor to try to cure
his son Baldwin's leprosy.

In other ways, too, they gradually adapted some Arabic techniques,

including imitating hospital practice. The Moslems had put in place
large, well organized hospitals by the time the Crusaders invaded. By
850 A.D., around 34 medical facilities were operating, some of them
with the support of Caliphs. There were separate hospitals for
women, and in 978 the Damascus hospital was staffed with 24
resident doctors. Schools of medicine were attached to the hospitals,
there were medical libraries, and a regularised system of education
and certification. Perhaps the most famous Arab doctor is Avicenna
(980-1037), who wrote nearly a hundred treatises on medicine and
related topics, containing Greek and Arabic medical scholarship.
Avicenna described 760 drugs, and his study on medicines remained
the standard for centuries. The Knights of St John, known as the
Hospitallers, and their sister order built a 2,000 bed hospital in
Jerusalem, employing four doctors and four surgeons, and using a
proper system of rules for caring for the sick.2

Most importantly for women, the Arabs introduced anaesthetics and

performed the earliest medieval Caesarians, using animal gut for
sutures.

The gradual adoption of aspects of eastern medical practice into

Europe is reflected in Chaucer's fourteenth century portrait of a
doctor. Along with his wax effigies and his fake cures, not to mention
his trust in the efficacy of the zodiac, the doctor is also learned in the
teachings of the ancients. These include Dioscorides, a Greek who
flourished 50 A.D.; Hippocrates, the originator of Greek medicine,
born about 460 B.C.; and the Persian writer Hali ibn el Abbas died
994. As well, there are references to a medical writer named
Serapion, who may have been either an Alexandrian Greek of the
second century B.C., a Christian physician of Damascus perhaps of
the ninth century, or an eleventh century Arabian. Avicenna, already
mentioned, and Averroes were famed not only for their philosophy,
but also for their medical knowledge. There may also be references
to Johannes Damascenus, alluding to two separate ninth century
medical authorities from the east whom the westerners confused into
the one identity. And finally, there is a reference to a monk from
Carthage, Constantinus Afer, who brought Arabian learning into
southern Italy during the eleventh century.

Thus, virtually all the intellectual influences on medical practice

represented by Chaucer's doctor originated in Arabic thinking, or
were transmitted through their writings.3
 The opinions of real life doctor reflects a similar indebtedness. He is
Gui de Chauliac, who in the year 1363 was the Pope's private
physician.

In his History of Surgery, Gui lists the eastern surgeons Rhazes died
c.923, Albucasis died c.1013 and Alcaran (unknown) as the
intellectual heirs to Galen. Gui praises their work for the transmission
of Galen in their books such as Books for Almansor by Rhazes and
Surgery by Albucasis. Avicenna he refers to as "illustrious prince" and
he is praised for the good order of his medical knowledge.

Gui was a doctor who prized scientific medical knowledge: "...(a

doctor) must judge what he has learned by examining it very well for
a long time and perceive all that agrees with the things which are
clearly apparent, and all that disagrees with them, and thus choose
the one and reject the other."

In his treatise on surgery he analyses the various kinds of medicines

being currently practiced, including the disparaging of one sect whom
he describes as all men at arms or Teutonic Knights - in other words,
Crusaders - who treat all wounds with conjurations and liquors, oil,
wool and cabbage leaves, relying on the fact that God had put His
efficacy in words, in herbs and in stones. This would seem to indicate
that the more rational methods of medical treatment had not
completely penetrated the world of the Crusaders.

Gui also despises "...women and many ignorant ones..." who entrust
those who are sick to the saints, relying on the principal that God has
given the illness at His pleasure, and will take it away when it pleases
Him - blessed by the name of the Lord.4

However, as the case of an unlicensed woman doctor from

contemporary Paris makes clear, not all women practiced the kind of
voodoo attributed to "women" by Gui. This woman when questioned
about her practice describes a quasi scientific approach to doctoring.
This included inspecting the urine of patients, and feeling their
pulses, body and limbs as appropriate. She seems to have specialised
in the treatment of ulcers, both internal and external, and to have
treated her patients by administering syrups of either a comforting
nature, or laxative, digestive and aromatic. One patient was treated
by medicinal baths and bandaging, and the prescription of
chamomile and melilot. The former is a herb commonly used today
for the treatment of constipation, while the latter - possibly of
Mediterranean origin although there are Northern varieties - is used
as an antiseptic salve. The doctor also treated her patient by
scattering herbs on charcoal so that the ill person could inhale them,
or else attempting to drive out the illness from the body by inducing
sweating.5
Two hundred years after the unfortunate woman's head was
inscribed with that fatal cross, one therefore finds in Europe a woman
practising medicine that Thabit would have found quite in accordance
with his own reasoned methodology.

1. Gabrieli, Arab Historians, p.77.

2. Aziz, Crusade, Commerce and Culture, pp.232-4.

3. F.N. Robinson (ed.), The Works of Geoffrey Chaucer Oxford University Press, London,
1970, p.662.

4. J.B.Ross and M.M.McLaughlin, The Portable Medieval Reader Penguin, Harmondsworth,

1948, pp. 640-9.

5. Ibid., p.637.
 Chapter 13:

Two Masses of Womankind

Frankish and Islamic women came from entirely dissimilar cultural
backgrounds, and their individual lives varied greatly according to
caste, occupation, region and personality.

A comparison of the two masses of womankind, however, serves to

draw out the similarities and dissimilarities of the factors bearing on
the shaping of all women drawn into the inferno.

Specifically, women of the east and of the west suffered equally in

the sense that both were regarded almost universally as inferior to
men. This was the view of the law, of religion, of society, of custom,
of literature, and, insofar as they adopted the tenets of their own
culture, of many women themselves.

Of the two groups, Islamic women have usually been considered to

have had the most constricted way of life, and hence, enter less
actively into the story of the Crusades than do their Frankish sisters.

Thus, according to Hourani, Moslem society at the time of the

Crusades consisted (in the towns) of a social life based on the
superior power and rights of men.

The practices of urban Islamic society in fact contradicted the

theoretical equality of men and women set out in the Koran in the
phrase: Whoever does right, whether male or female, and is a
believer, all such will enter the Garden.1.

At the time of the Crusades, in Moslem cities the shari'a, or system

of law and ideal morality, both prescribed and severely limited the
rights of women.

They had to have a male guardian, and a marriage was a civil

contract between the male guardian and the bridegroom. The
guardian could give his ward in marriage at his will before puberty.
Her consent was needed after puberty, but if she had not previously
married, silence could be consent. She was to be given a dowry
(mahr) by the bridegroom, and this was her property, as well as
whatever else she already owned or had inherited.

The wife was to obey her husband, but had the right to suitable
clothes, lodging and maintenance and to sexual intercourse with her
husband. Contraception was legally accepted, but a husband could
not practice it without his wife's consent.
 A wife could divorce her husband for good reasons (impotence,
madness, denial of her rights) by recourse to a court of law (qadi) or
by mutual consent.

A husband, however, could repudiate his wife without any reason,

and by repeating a few prescribed words in front of witnesses.

A women could hope to rely then on the support of her male

relations. If repudiated, she could return with her property to her
family home. The children were in her custody, and the duty of
raising them.2

The Koran and subsequently the shari'a placed other limitations on

the rights of women. Men, for example, could have up to four wives
and as many concubines as they pleased: parallel rights were not
accorded to women. Women could inherit no more than one third of
their husband's property, and daughters half the share of a son. In
law courts, a woman's testimony carried only half the weight of a
man's.3

A woman's place was consequently very much limited within Arabic

society. A fourteenth century jurist was of the opinion that women
should only leave her house on three occasions - when her
bridegroom took her to his house, on the deaths of her parents, and
when she went to her own grave.4

It is Professor Hourani's judgment, therefore, that Arabic women

played only a minor part in the economic life of the city, unless they
were from the poorer classes. The wealthier a woman was, the more
she was confined beneath the veil and in a secluded part of the
house called the harim. Only some women were visible, either as
domestic servants, as assistants to their husbands in trade and craft,
as well as entertainers, dancers and singers.5

Frankish women endured similar limitations in many areas, but in

other ways were much freer to be active in their world. And it is
obvious in the few remaining documents about medieval European
women that many of them were not content with their role as second
class citizens. Many women enjoyed a lively, not to say violent and
dangerously thrilling, existence.

Eileen Power says that the position of medieval (European) women

was one thing in theory, another in law, and yet another in everyday
life. The true position of women was a blend of all three.6

In law, ideas about women were formulated by two narrowly based

groups: the clergy and the nobility. One of these groups consisted
largely of celibates, the other of a caste which saw women as an
ornamental asset subordinated to the needs of land possession. In
other words, the two groups least likely to have a clear
understanding of the nature of the mass of womankind.7

The conjunction of the views of these two all determining groups

meant that Woman was seen as subject to Man, and their legal view
of her did not take note of her as a complete individual.

These legal views developed in part from the Christian values

stemming from St Paul, from the Roman idea of tutelage, from the
Teutonic concept of authority in the family, and from the Arab idea of
chivalry.

G.G.Coulton in reviewing women's lives shows that throughout the

heartland of Europe, woman was legally inferior to her husband, to
the extent that he had varying rights to chastise her.

A degree of the council of Toledo (AD 400), for example, says that
the husband is bound to chastise his wife moderately.

The Dominican Nicolas Byard wrote that a man may chastise his wife
and beat her for her correction, for she is of his household, and
therefore the lord may chastise his own, as it is written in Gratian's
Decretum.8

Women's legal rights varied only slightly under this umbrella from
country to country and area to area: the writings of Church fathers on
the subject are depressingly uniform in their condemnation of woman
and their sentencing of her to a life of domination by menfolk.

In England, for example, where the concept of a common law was

not universally established until late in the twelfth century, manorial
or other local jurisdiction still had special clauses to deal with women,
usually disadvantageously. And the common law, while guaranteeing
a more consistent and coherent system of legal rights, openly
discriminated against women.

Thus, under Common Law the married woman was her husband's
property, as were her own goods and chattels. Freehold land she had
held as a spinster passed into her husband's hands, although she
continued to own it in theory and could sue for its return if she
survived her husband. As well, a married woman could not enter into
a binding contract on her own account, although she could do so as
her husband's agent. If she committed a civil wrong, she had to be
sued jointly with her husband.

A woman could not plead benefit of clergy to escape civil punishment

for a crime. The result in this case was that the courts tended to
mitigate the punishments of women who committed crimes in league
with their husbands, on the assumption that married women acted
under duress.9.
 One of the major reasons for the legal inferiority of English and
European women generally had to do with the nature of land tenure,
which was the major thread binding Frankish social institutions. The
generally familiar outlines of the system of land tenure known as
feudalism militated against women's legal standing. Holding of land
from a lord by right of military service obviously omitted women from
the English legal picture during the period 1066 to about 1200.

However, throughout this period, women did play a part in the

system, and increasingly so, because knights' land often passed on to
female heirs. Women could not personally provide military service, so
they had to find a man to serve in their stead, and in addition they
remained responsible for finding the extra men and equipment that
was part of their fief. In the late twelfth century Henry Plantagenet
was forced to regularise the chaos that ensued, which he did by
substituting scutage for personal service, that is the paying of a sum
of money instead of personal attendance as a warrior. The result was
that the whole concept of military service began to change from a
personal to a financial transaction, and women were allowed to
become part of the landholding system in a more permanent way,
allowing for constraints to do with a husband's superior rights.10

However, a real development in women's legal rights should not be

confused with the way certain powerful and privileged groups tended
to regard those rights in beliefs embodied in literature and in
practice.

Aristocratic views of women in the eleventh century - still yet to be

tempered by a concept of courtliness - continued to be largely willing
to see woman as a chattel. The Book of the Knight of La Tour Landry
contains the famous illustrative story of the quarrelsome wife who is
beaten down by her noble husband, and whose face is kicked in and
permanently disfigured for her trouble.11

Women could inherit estates and titles, they could become

baronesses, but not sit in parliament. They had no real testamentary
freedom. The Commons in Parliament in 1344 successfully
complained about serfs and women being allowed to make wills,
"which is against reason..."

Common law ruled that women's testimony could not be admitted in

proof by law courts "because of their frailty."12

Individual gentlewomen continued to be bartered like items on the

stock market floor under the system of wardship and marriage
attendant on the feudal system. When a girl was left without parents,
her next of kin usually acted as her guardian. These guardians, from
the king down to local squires, often abused their rights, selling off
capital items or sequestering rents, which they could legally do until
the heiress was of marriageable age - 14. And even when she was of
age, the heiress had to sue for the return of the property and pay half
a year's profit from the land to her ward.

As well, by the twelfth century, the guardian had the right to choose
a husband for his female ward. Furthermore, a father with no sons
had to obtain his lord's permission for any marriage of his daughters.
Eventually, this abuse was translated into a further abuse of power,
the selling of marriages to the highest bidder by the lord who had the
right of agreeing to the marriage.13

These were not the only impediments placed on female life by the
laws of various European countries.

The law of petty treason also impinged on women, severely in theory

if infrequently in practice. Originally, any plot, but later any killing of
one's lord, i.e. husband, was punishable by death: in Germany by
burial alive.14

Women could not become licensed physicians, and were frequently

forbidden to trade, and some crafts excluded women, usually
because their wages undercut men's.

On the other hand, in many towns, statutes allowed guildsman's

widows to continue their husband's businesses. In some places, such
as fifteenth century Coventry, all single women of able body and
under the age of fifty were compelled into domestic service until they
married.15

Nevertheless, the traffic of rights was not all one way. It was during
the twelfth century as trade and towns developed as a direct result of
the Crusades that slightly less hierarchical views of the upper levels
of the urban middle classes made themselves increasingly heard.

Town law had to take into account women active in trade, most
particularly where married women carried on trade of their own as
femmes soles.16

Thus, women of the middle class fabliaus are depicted in a context,

containing implicit complaints of how women suffered theoretical
subjection to the men, but at the same time enjoyed practical
equality. The works of Boccaccio and Geoffrey Chaucer, not to
mention the Romance of the Rose contain countless anecdotes
pointing to a conscious and lively conflict between men and women,
with the men asserting Biblical rights to superiority and women
asserting a real life equality in the shops, streets, fields and
bedrooms of medieval Europe.

Says the Wife of Bath in Chaucer's tale:

"He gave me all the bridle into my hand,

To have the government of house and land,

And of his tongue, and of his hand also,

And (I) made him burn his book at once, too,

And when I had taken unto me,

By mastery, all the sovereignty,

Thus he said: 'My own true wife,

Do as you wish for the rest of your life,

Keep your honour and keep my estate.'

After that, we had no more debate."

Frequent complaints such as this about the shrewish woman shows

that men did not always enjoy absolute dominance.

The commons’ views, however, remain difficult to ascertain.

Professor Coulton muses that we know how the common men were
used to working shoulder to shoulder with their women: yet on
Sundays in church they heard sermons telling them on the one hand
of woman as the gate of hell, and simultaneously that Mary was the
Queen of Heaven. On feast days they listened to fabliaus ridiculing
women. It was only in the rare moments of revolt when their voices
were heard that they showed they might refuse to see woman as a
betrayer of humanity:

When Adam delved, and Eve span,

Who was then a gentleman? 17

From this, Coulton reaches a conclusion that concurs with Power's

interpretation: where the capacity and the will existed, he writes,
statutory restrictions were constantly swept away by ordinary men
and women, as the cleric John of Ayton admitted in the early
fourteenth century when he expostulated that those attempting to
subjugate nuns might as well beat the air.

And mothers throughout Europe in fact had enormous household

power, ruling their homes as domestic dictators.

"We must not forget...that the medieval lady who might receive
those blows was the true-blooded female of the lord who dealt them:
a sister spirit, it might be, to that countess who killed the architect of
her castle lest he should off and build one equally strong for someone
else."18

This reminds us of how important it is to see women within the

context of their own time, unaware of changes that were to occur in
the centuries to come. They made the best of the conditions they
had, and somehow the sexes survived each other's often jaundiced
views of each other.

SO FAIR THE MAIDS

It is only to be expected that one outcome of the Crusades was a

conflict of views about women and in particular, their sexual nature.

The Muslim view of the proper relationship between men and women
conditioned their views of the intimacies of Frankish behaviour, and
not favourably. It seems that the committed Muslim regarded
European mores with the disapproving air of the puritan.

From the point of view of the cultured but gossip prone chronicler
Usama, the Frankish women were without shame.

He describes with a sense of outrage how the Europeans who settled

in Palestine were without any vestige of sexual honour or fidelity. For
instance, if one of them walks along the street with his wife and
meets a friend, says Usama, this man will take the woman's hand
and lead her aside to talk, while the husband stands by waiting until
she has finished her conversation. If she takes too long about it, he
leaves her with the other man and goes on his way.19

This does not sound like the kind of public conversation that would
have been permitted in a French court before 1100. Our image of the
traditional Frankish court of Northern Europe, is a place where
women were carefully chaperoned and spent most of their life in a
separate part of the building, not unlike a harem. Traditionally,
women servants in a hall were permitted only occasional visits from
their husbands.

But the women of Outremer were in a different case. The original

pilgrims had marched beside their men, had slept and eaten and
given birth amongst the men. They had together walked through hell
to get to the gates of Heaven. It follows that they would have taken a
much more public role in every aspect of life after that experience.

According to Usama, this was a characteristic that extended beyond

the ranks of noble women, who are usually seen as the leaders in
changing sexual mores during the twelfth century. He says that while
in Nablus he heard of a Frankish merchant, a wine seller, who
returned home from his shop one day to find his wife in bed with a
man. In reply to the inevitable question, that man replied that he was
tired, and so lay down to rest, and as the bed was already made, it
was the place he chose. Pressed further, as to the degree of intimacy
with the wine merchant's wife, the weary traveller denied everything,
commenting merely that as the bed belonged to the woman, he could
hardly prevent her getting into her own bed! The merchant seemed
satisfied with this account, confining his expression of jealousy to a
threat of legal action if this was to be repeated.

Usama gives a further account which suggests a degree of physical

freedom unknown to Europeans at home. This, he says, was related
to him by a bath attendant, one Salim, who worked in Marat. Salim
claimed that one day a Frankish knight came in. Apparently, the
Franks sat around in the bath houses naked, unlike the Moslems, who
wore a cloth around their waist. The Frank snatched away Salim's loin
cloth, and saw that he had recently shaved his pubic hair. He was
struck with the artistic results of the operation, considering it to be
magnificent, and demanding the same. He lay flat on his back and
was shaved immediately by Salim. Declaring himself agreeably
smooth, the knight then requested the same for his wife. The wife
was fetched, lay down flat on her back, and her pubic hair was
shaved, while the husband stood by watching.

Usama expressed his amazement at the contradictory nature of the

Franks - how they are without jealousy or sense of honour, yet at the
same time, they had the courage that usually springs from a
readiness to take offence against slighted honour.

One senses that the Arab observer may have protested too much
about the apparent lewdness of Frankish women. Usama seem to
have been fascinated with the possibilities of these new women.

We might well say with Lear:

...Strip thine own back;

Thou hotly lusts to use her in that kind

For which thou whipp'st her.

This prurience is felt even more strongly in the writings of Imad ad

Din, Saladin's chancellor. He gives a portrait of Frankish women
immigrants that contains some of the most remarkable pornographic
imaginings in literature, only the least lurid part of which is recounted
here.20

During the siege of Acre (1189-1), he says, three hundred lovely

Frankish women full of youth and beauty, having assembled beyond
the sea, arrived offering themselves for sin.

(They may have indeed been camp followers - or perhaps women

emigrating in search of favourable marriage, adventure, or any of the
other myriad of reasons why a young woman leaves home). Imad ad
Din was in no doubt, however, that these women were prostitutes
who had consecrated their bodies to the physical sustenance of their
expatriate brethren.

...Each one trailed the train of her robe behind her and bewitched the
beholder with her radiance. She swayed like a sapling, revealed
herself like a strong castle, quivered like a small branch, walked
proudly with a cross on her breast, sold her graces for gratitude, and
longed to lose her robe and her honour...They interwove leg with leg,
slaked their lovers' thirsts... They contested for tree-trunks,
wandered far and wide to collect fruit, and maintained that this was
an act of piety without equal, especially to those who were far from
home and wives...

What was worse from Imad ad Din's point of view was that although
many of the besieging Arabs were shocked by such loose behaviour,
a few foolish mamelukes and ignorant wretches slipped away from
the Islamic army and followed the people of error, although, he
claims, many of these deserters later repented of their sins and tried
to retrace their footsteps.

Undoubtedly, the Arab men were fascinated by European women,

many of whom were blonde haired, pale of skin and blue eyed. Such
is the nature of humanity, to long for the exotic. And fraternisation
between the sexes of the two armies continued apace with the long,
terrible siege itself, just as it did throughout the two centuries during
which the Franks occupied the Holy Land.
 ( Other confirmation of the fraternisation comes from the famous
account of how the soldiers on both sides tired of the interminable
fighting, and instead sent their children to do battle in their place.
These children fought with great courage. The vanquished children
were considered prisoner, and their parents gave two pieces of gold
as ransom. "It was no use for the victor to make difficulties about
accepting them; he was told that the vanquished was his prisoner
and he took the money.")21

Imad ad Din's claims about increased sexual activity in Acre might

well be dismissed, were it not for confirmation of his accusations from
the European chroniclers. One of the problems faced by Richard
Coeur de Lion, after he had arrived in Acre in 1191 and managed to
break the siege within a few weeks of his landing, was to tear his
men away from the delights of life amongst the women of Acre, as
commemorated in the poetry of Ambroise.

So delightful was the town,

So good the wine, so fair the maids,

That the soldiers laid them down

And forgot their warlike raids.

Wine and women cast their spell

Sunk in pleasures did they dwell.

Lechery and vice and sin

All were found that town within,

So that wise men looked with shame

On what the soldiers thought a game.22

Due to this reluctance of the men to leave their women Richard was
forced to march with a greatly reduced army on his southward
campaign, and consequently his true genius as a general was
revealed when he led this miniature army to victory over Saladin.
Richard fought a disciplined battle on the sands between Acre and
Arsuf, keeping his men tightly bunched and in a formation so that
they gave each other physical protection as well as moral support.
But the women who arrived at Acre were not only camp followers.

There were also women who came as warriors in their own right.
According to Imad ad Din, a noble woman - he calls her a queen -
arrived accompanied by five hundred knights with their horses and
money, pages and valets. She paid all their expenses and treated
them generously out of her own wealth. They rode out when she rode
out, charged when she charged, flung themselves into the fray at her
side, their ranks unwavering as long as she stood firm.23

Who was this unnamed woman? The available records do not say,
but the story is confirmed in the Itinerarium Regis Ricardi.24

Nor do the sources tell us who were the Frankish women who
charged into battle at Acre in cuirasses and helmets, dressed as men,
who encountered the thick of battle and acted like brave men. Imad
says that during battle, more than one women rode out like a knight
and showed male endurance, despite the weakness of her sex.
Clothed in armour, they were not recognised as women until they
were stripped by captors.25

Some of these captives, he says, were sold as slaves, so that

everywhere (in Arab lands) was full of old women.

Other accounts of the physical bravery of Frankish women during

the siege include an account written by Beha ad Din. When the fall of
Acre became inevitable, Saladin loosed a last desperate attack on the
Frankish camp. During the ensuing bloody struggle, Muslim soldiers
saw a woman dressed in a green mantle who shot at them with a
hand bow. She killed many Arabs before she was overcome and
killed. Her bow was taken and carried to Saladin, who was clearly
deeply impressed by her story.26

Thus, the Frankish women were involved in the greatest struggles of

their age, as generals, courtesans, warriors, labourers, mothers and
lovers.
1.Hourani, A History of the Arab Peoples, p.120.

2. Ibid., pp.120-1.

3. Ibid., pp. 121-2.

4. Ibid., p.120.

5. Ibid., p.119.

6. Power, Medieval Women, p.9.

7. Ibid.

8. G.G.Coulton, Medieval Panorama: The Horizons of Thought II, Fontana, London, 1961,
p.266.

9. A.K.R. Kiralfy, Potter's Historical Introduction to English Laws Sweet and Maxwell, London,
1962, pp.637-9.

10. Ibid., p.488., p.491

11. Coulton, p.268.

12. Coulton, p.269.

13. Kiralfy, p.491

14. Coulton, p.269.

15. Ibid., p.270

16. Power, p.10. S.M. Stuard "Private and Public Roles" in B. Tierney (ed.), The Middle Ages,
Volume II (Knopf, New York, 1983), pp. 206-214, argues that women's freedom generally
declined after greater levels of wealth post-eleventh century freed more women from the
economic demands of survival. Women henceforth were more frequently immured in
increasingly luxurious houses.

17. Ibid., p.11

18. Coulton, p.270-1.19. Gabrieli, Arab Historians, p.77.

20. The full text can be found in Gabrieli, pp. 204-206.

21. Pernoud, p.179.

22. Ibid., pp. 192-3.

23. Arab Historians, p.207.

24. Chronicles of the Crusades, pp. 182-3.

25. This story is confirmed by Ibn al Athir. See Arab Historians, p.207.

26. Ibid., p.218.

 Chapter 14:

Rough Chivalry

During the twelfth century, literature claimed that women had

become the special objects of the new aristocratic cult of chivalry.
Women were now to be adored and served by courteous knights all
too prepared to lay down their lives for the favour of their ladies.

However, chivalry, which was supposedly a code or spirit of the

knights of Europe, is difficult in itself to identify clearly as either an
objective social reality or merely an aristocratic fiction. Sometimes it
appears to be a formal procedure, involving the ladies and lords of
Europe in the moral straitjacket of a codified respect for Truth, Justice
and the protection of Innocence. On other occasions, it appears to be
the dictums of a Church anxious to subjugate warrior horsemen to its
more civilized ways. Frequently, any softening or codification appears
to be completely absent from the lives of rich men and women bent
on survival, on pleasure and on the pursuit of power.

The often spoken of but rarely manifested concept chivalry is

therefore a chameleon or a chimera, never quite concrete, nor ever
totally abstract. This may be partly because the idea of Chivalry
grew coincidentally and interdependently with the cult of the Virgin.
This latter form of veneration of Woman had been present for many
centuries in Christian society, but from the twelfth century on it
became almost hysterical in its frequency and strength.

Power's conclusion was that

"The cult of the Virgin and the cult of chivalry grew together, and
both rose conspicuously to the surface from some time in the twelfth
to the end of the thirteenth centuries...Both were perhaps signs of a
reaction - this time a romantic reaction - against the sombre realities
of an earlier and cruder age."1

We can sense something of this cult’s passionate love of the Virgin

in Hildegard of Bingen's hymn to Mary:

O pulcherrima

et dulcissimo...

...o mater omnis gaudii

All over Europe, traces still remain of the great pilgrimage routes,
milestones on the journey to adore the Virgin. She was made
manifest in stone and glass in places such as Chartres, and in the
lives of the people through the celebration of feast days in her
honour, in the naming of flowers for her, in her countless shrines, in
blazing manuscript illustrations, and in the azure frescoes on church
walls. The Virgin Mother stands at the head of Medieval society, often
seeming to supplant God Himself.

Yet at the same time as she adorned the highest pinnacles of sacred
worship as the undefiled essence of Woman, the Virgin became
virtually indistinguishable from the purest forms of chivalric
idealisation of fleshly Woman:

She whom in all the world I most want

and most love, in heart and faith,

joyfully and willingly hears my words,

heeds and retains my prayers,

writes Bernart de Ventadorn. He addresses his lady - she could just

as easily be the Virgin Mother.

The cult of the Lady at the head of earthly Chivalry is thus the
counterpart of the cult of the Virgin as the real head of the Church.

And this love of the Virgin and the Lady came to inspire much of the
most enduring literature of the Middle Ages, writings and music
centred around newly luxurious noble courts where Women stood at
the focus:
"...there emerged a new style of life in an outburst of art, learning
and literature. The outburst signalled the birth of a polite society. It
was a refined and somewhat idle society, one requiring leisure to
cultivate finer feelings, intellectual subtleties and polished manners.2

Thus, it may be that along with a revival of architecture, cuisine,

manners and medicine accompanying the Crusades came an
unprecedented interest in the valuing of the Virgin Mother and noble
ladies in particular, and perhaps of women in general. This is,
however, difficult to establish with any great certainty.

It is clear that flourishing of worship of the Virgin-Lady is absent

from records of the First Crusade. Knights of the eleventh century
and earlier appear to have had no special veneration for women as a
group, especially the women of enemies. And their grandsons also
displayed little enough respect for the feelings and rights of women.
Any improvement in Woman's status was sectional and occasional,
and did not achieve any great strength until the late twelfth century
at the earliest. And peasant women of any century could expect little
mercy from the lords.

Their betters might be treated with a degree of respect only if it

suited their men's interests. Thus, Baldwin I was merely typical in his
abuse and misuse of women: he had no hesitancy in sacrificing his
wife or any other woman if it served his political or military interests.
He seems to have paid little heed to the death of his first wife in
Syria. And he married his second wife, Arda, purely to further his
political and military interests, not to mention the huge dowry. He
divorced her when it became apparent that she would not produce an
heir - despite her loyalty to him throughout their marriage.

There are rumours about Arda's infidelities during their life together
early in the twelfth century, including the suggestion of dalliance with
some Moslem pirates during her journey from Syria to her new home
in Jerusalem! Such behaviour was tolerated in a man - in a woman it
was considered inexcusable. Nevertheless, it was Arda who ruled the
kingdom after Baldwin was captured by the Moslems, and it was she
who raised his ransom.

Baldwin's tribute to her years of companionship was to accuse her of

adultery, divorce her, and confine her to the convent of St Anne in
Jerusalem.

Baldwin enjoyed a vigorous bachelorhood for some time, until he was

made aware of his financial embarrassment. He solved the problem
through marriage to the most eligible widow of the time, Adelaide of
Salona, relict of Roger of Sicily. She had been ruling in the name of
her son Roger II when Baldwin proposed. The Queen accepted
readily, apparently glad of the new role of Queen of Jerusalem. Part of
her pre-nuptial contract was an agreement that Roger should become
the successor to Baldwin's throne.

Adelaide arrived at her new home amidst splendour reminiscent of

the journey of an earlier Queen of the Nile. Her bed aboard her galley
was a carpet of golden thread: her ship parted the billows with a
prow plated with silver and gold.

Her vessel was escorted by equally splendid triremes, leading seven

argosies crammed with treasures.

Baldwin met the new queen at Acre in August 1113, leading a train
clad in silk, their steeds garnished in the colours of an emperor.

The streets were paved with costly carpets, and purple banners
fluttered from the balconies above the roadways of Acre and the
towns along the road to Jerusalem.

Alas, this was no act of chivalry, but a statement of political power on

Baldwin’s part, and the marriage was no fairytale. Baldwin sank the
golden treasures into purchasing the stones of his new fortresses,
and once the gilded glamour wore off it was discovered that the
Queen was advanced in years.3

The Patriarch Arnulf contrived a double cross.

He stood condemned for performing the wedding ceremony, which

many people regarded as bigamous. Under immense political
pressure, he demanded that the king reinstate Arda, and annulled
the later marriage. The King, virtually on his death bed, agreed. Arda,
however, refused to give up the pleasures of her life in
Constantinople, whence she had contrived her retirement.

Adelaide slunk home, shorn of title, wealth and marriage, and ever
after the Sicilians were reluctant to aid the Kingdom of Jerusalem.

Thus, through his pettiness, selfishness, greed, lack of concern for

others, not to mention ungracious behaviour unfitting for any preux
chevalier, Baldwin lost two queens, destroyed the credibility of his
patriarch, and sacrificed a key international alliance.

But Baldwin never ceases to surprise. He exhibits the lightning strike

capability of all humans to surprise by their variability. Thus, the
behaviour of Baldwin in 1101 tends to contradict the belief that he
along with the other barbarian warriors of the North had no special
tenderness towards women as a group.

In the spring of that year he led a raid on a rich Arab caravan that
was travelling through Oultrejourdain. He killed most of the men in
their tents, and enslaved the women and children, as was the usual
custom. Among the captives, however, was the wife of a sheik. She
was on the point of giving birth.

Baldwin released her with a maid servant and two camels and
sufficient food and drink for the journey home. She began the
journey, and some time later was found by her husband giving birth
by the side of the road.

He was so overcome that he hurried after Baldwin to thank him and

promised to repay his kindness, in itself a remarkable instance of the
feelings of companionship and brotherhood in arms that quickly
developed between the knights of Christendom and Allah.

Baldwin's reactions are unrecorded. If he was pleasantly surprised, it

was as nothing to the monetary reward he gained. He ransomed back
his captives for 50,000 bezants, sufficient to ease the critical financial
problems besetting his nascent kingdom, and enable him to continue
its defence against overwhelming odds.

So encouraged was he by his easy success in 1101 that he attacked

an entire Arab army the following year, assisted only by his personal
mesnie of knights. They lasted only so long as it took the much larger
military forces of the local Arabs to convince themselves that this
was not merely a scouting party they were fighting.

Baldwin took refuge at Ramleh, a nearby fortress. During the night,

the Arab whose wife he had treated with such relative courtesy
warned him to flee. The gift of charity was repaid: Baldwin fled the
fortress on his famous, swift footed battle steed Gazelle. Narrowly
evading the Arabs, he took refuge in the mountains, where he
disappeared and was given up for dead by his Queen Arda, who
watched for him daily from the battlements of Jerusalem.

LOVE SONGS AND LADIES

To her relief, he eventually returned, tattered, travel stained, but

triumphant, a king saved by an instinctive act of chivalry towards an
enemy woman.4

This, however, should not be interpreted as a harbinger of a more

respectful and valuing attitude to women in general by the eastern
Franks, but rather as remarkable and uncharacteristic.
The much more elaborate and complex worship of ladies, currently
known under the general title of Courtly Love, was to come a
generation later from the western Franks at home in Europe.

A twelfth century lady writes of a certain knight who has caused her
great distress.

She wants it known, she says, that she has loved him too much - and
now he has betrayed her.

How she would like to hold him one night in her naked arms, and see
him joyfully use her body as a pillow! For she is more in love with him
than the famed Floris and Blanchefleur were with each other. She
offers him her heart, her love, her mind, her eyes and her life.

But in return, he must promise to do whatever she may wish.

These are the thoughts of the anonymous countess of Die, one of the
few women recorded to have turned her hand to that great literary
form of the twelve century, the poetry of the troubadours.

Troubadour thought appears to have grown from a fusion of

economic and social circumstance with the music and philosophy of
southern Europe at its frontier with the eastern cultures of Spain and
Outremer.

In southern France at the start of the twelfth century, the Aquitaine

provided a land of wealth and leisure, a relatively luxurious
architecture derived from the Romans, a certain scepticism about the
authority of the Church. Contact with the Moorish writers of Spain,
who were writing about an idealised relationship between a man and
a woman, imported a view of love as an ethereal, uplifting passion.

Scholars have debated at length whether the sentiments of

troubadour celebration of women was purely a European invention,
or whether it was imported to the Aquitaine through contacts with
Spain.

By the time of the first Crusade, troubadours from the south of

France were already writing rough and frequently obscene lyrics
about women. But these resemble the later poems only in basic
format. They dwell on the gross physical details of a relationship:

May God grant that I live long enough

To have my hands beneath her cloak...

...Others may vainly boast of love:

But we two hold the bread and knife...

writes William of Aquitaine, usually described as the first troubadour.

His father had fought against the Moors, thus establishing a contact
with eastern thought long before the first great journey to Outremer.

There are other signs of a link between Islam and the Aquitaine in the
creation of this culture. There are apparent musical influences - for
the poetry of love was a lyrical one - including the introduction of
certain musical instruments. In some cases, these physical remains
are a guide which are historically more reliable than the ideas they
represent, for they can be dated with some certainty. Thus, the first
bowed instrument in medieval Europe is directly borrowed from
Moorish Spain. This is the rebec, rather resembling a violin. A
manuscript from Christ's Church Canterbury which is dated to around
1070-1100 contains a picture of one of these instruments.5

Another arrival from the east was the 'ud, known since antiquity in
the East, but only present in northern Europe from around 1300,
where it is nowadays known as the lute.6

Other eastern musical instruments which were adopted into popular

music in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries include the kettle drum,
which the Crusaders first encountered when it was used as an
instrument of terror on the battlefield. The English called these
instruments nakers (Arabic: naqqara) after they adopted them in the
thirteenth century.7

Such points of contact suggest an interchange of popular culture

between the two spheres, which might support the view that
Europe's courtly love traditions were borrowed from or heavily
influenced by eastern traditions, particularly those of Spain.

It was not until after the first generation which had been on Crusade
had returned, and especially not until the time of Eleanor of Aquitaine
and the courts presided over by other great ladies, that the spiritual
aspect of love triumphed. However, it has been pointed out that
there is very little evidence of intellectual exchange between Islamic
and Christian cultures in Spain until the mid twelfth century.

Thus, the first translation of the Koran into Latin did not happen until
about 1140. The famed concentration of scholarship at Cordoba was
indeed just that: until the beginning of the eleventh century, Cordoba
remained self absorbed. Christian and Jewish scholars did come
searching for knowledge - but they tended to be from the eastern
Mediterranean rather than the North.8
As well, there was a physical and cultural wasteland separating
Christian and Islamic Spain throughout most of this era, which only
began to break down in the twelfth century. There was indeed a flood
of Islamic scholarship in manuscript form that was released into
Europe - but this was by the 1130's. On the other hand, the Arab
intellectual world seems to have been remarkably incurious about
western thought.

It should also be acknowledged that the troubadour sentiments of

twelfth century poetry were unique. They may have owed much to
Platonic ideals of a spiritual love, transmitted through Arabic
manuscripts and poetry, and they may have asserted delight in the
pastimes of earthly sexuality, as in the Carmina Burana. But what
originated in the cauldron of Aquitainian culture was earthier than
Platonic love, and more spiritual than the eroticism of the wandering
scholars.

Henceforth, the lady was to be in the ascendant in the contract

between the lovers, and she combined in her person the idealised
qualities of supreme femininity. At once terrible, beautiful, compliant,
aloof, eternally pursued and never captured.

There are hundreds of love songs on this theme, echoing down

through the ages into the lyrics of our own age.

Here indeed is the remote angelical rose of Alaide Foppa's poem, too
precious to exist, but so powerful that she is never quite obscured by
reality.

In the writings of the Countess of Die, we hear - as all too rarely - the
voice of the woman in relation to this faery land of love.

In her writing, the position is reversed: it is the lady who is

disappointed and betrayed, a role usually attributed to the poor male.
It is the lady who is faithful to the uttermost, and who will love when
there is no longer cause for hope.

She sends a message reproving her handsome friend for his

haughtiness.

But she also sends a message reminding him that she is ultimately in
control - and too much aloofness can cause much great damage.9

The Countess of Die has never been identified. The note

accompanying the manuscript of her four extant poems claims that
she was the wife of William of Poitiers and was both beautiful and
gracious. She fell in love with Raimbaut d' Orange and wrote fine
poems for him.10
Five separate Williams of Poitiers have been identified and two
Raimbauts.

Two of the Williams are said to have belonged to the younger branch
of the Counts of Poitiers and became counts of the area in which Die
is located. Die is a town in the foothills of the Alps near Valence. One
of these counts died around 1188 and his grandson of the same
name in 1226.

The poet Raimbaut III had a grand nephew Raimbaut IV who died in
1218 and who may have also written poetry. Raimbaut III (born 1144)
was lord of Orange and Courthezon, and was, according to the
manuscript of his work, a clever and well educated knight. He was
said to have long loved a woman of Provence named Maria de
Vertfuoil, for whom he wrote many songs and performed many
deeds. Perhaps this was the enigmatic countess of Die.

Or perhaps she was another woman he loved, the Countess of Urgell

of the house of Monferrat, the daughter of the Marquis of Busca. This
lady was honoured above all other ladies, says Raimbaut's
biographer, and Raimbaut fell in love with her without ever having
seen her, simply from the reports of her deeds.

Having loved her from afar, as was the duty of the good lover, he
died without the pleasure she would have granted him - to touch her
bare leg with the back of his hand.

The disappointed but ennobled Raimbaut died (1173) without male

heir, leaving his county to his two daughters, who may have been
illegitimate.

Here is the doomed but entrancing life of the troubadour and his
lover, captured in the real life stories of two mysterious people.

This region which gave birth to courtly love was a hotbed of

conflicting philosophies and ideas, in much the same way as northern
Italy became a centre for new artistic ideas in the fifteenth century.

Dominating our view of this southern French world, as of so much of

the medieval world, is the presence of Queen Eleanor.

As in real life she was the controller of kings, so in literature she

became the epitome of desire:

Were the lands all mine

From the Elbe to the Rhine,

I'd think little of their charms

If the Queen of England

Lay in my arms.

After her separation from her unfaithful husband Henry in 1168,

Eleanor created under her jurisdiction the famed Courts of Love at
Poitiers, where women ruled supreme over men, and where living
was for pleasure, of which the highest and purest was lovemaking.11

Whether these were true feudal courts with women acting the role of
dukes and barons, hearing legal points of love where men were the
defendants, has not been shown by primary source evidence. The
tradition of the troubadours was for two jongleurs to argue a point of
love in a performance of a musical piece known as a sirventes.
Perhaps indeed Eleanor, Marie of Champagne, Isabel of Flanders,
Ermengarde of Narbonne and Emma of Anjou took the musical
performance a stage further and formalised it into a hearing with
themselves on the dais, or perhaps they simply dressed up an
existing musical show with parades, jousts and other formal
occasions.

But it is known that Eleanor's court was glamorous in the extreme.

To the disgust of the older generation, such as John of Salisbury, the

young people with whom Eleanor surrounded herself took
wholeheartedly to the fast way of life associated with lovemaking. It
was not just the fashionable haircuts and the licentious clothes, it
was also the flattery, the politeness, the table manners, the
polyphonal singing, the mummery and the mimes of actors, dancers
and magicians.

The chronicler Geoffrey of Vigeois complained that whereas the

nobles of Limoges and Comborn were once content to go about in
sheep and fox skins, in Eleanor's day the humblest would have
blushed to be in anything but clothes of rich and precious stuffs, in
colours to suit their humour. They snipped the cloth in rings and
slashes to show the underlining, and their sleeves trailed like monk's
habits.

And as for the women - they went about with trains so long that they
looked like snakes.12
The influence of the importation of boatloads of eastern luxuries was
reflected in the quantity and types of gifts the ladies expected from
their lovers: handkerchiefs, a fillet, a gold or silver wreath, a brooch,
a mirror, a purse, a girdle, a tassel, a comb, sleeves, gloves, a ring, a
powder box, little dishes, or any small object suitable for the toilet of
the lady.13

Yet it was not only Eleanor who focussed the energy of the poets.

Of almost equal importance is her daughter by Louis, Marie Countess

of Champagne, born in 1145.

She came to her mother's court at Poitiers, where she established her
intellectual influence in unforgettable style.

She had been married at the age of 19 to Henry of Champagne, later

to become King of Jerusalem at the conclusion of the Third Crusade.

At the age of 30, Marie was living an independent life in the English
Queen's court. Here she met her half brother, then Count of Poitou,
later Richard the Lionheart, and he fell in love with her, even though
she was many years his senior, and his half sister. It was to her that
he wrote his poems during his sad years in captivity.

Under Marie's influence, two monumental literary works were

generated: Andreas Capellanus' The Art of Courtly Love, and the
Arthurian stories penned by Chretien de Troyes. Both writers
acknowledged her direct inspiration of their writing. Chretien says at
the outset of his story of Lancelot that the countess - a noble lady
worth as many queens as gems are worth pearls - commanded him
directly to make the book, and that she had furnished him with the
material and treatment of it. He may simply have been flattering his
patron, but there is no reason to think otherwise than that it was she
who instigated the telling of this ground breaking story.14

Andreas' work seeks to reconcile the Roman thoughts of lovemaking

encapsulated in the writings of Ovid with the practice of the Courts of
Love. He describes many cases involving problems of love, and
suggests solutions to them according to a set of precepts welding
Roman and medieval practice.

Chretien introduces to the world the stories of history's most famous

lovers, for the first time telling at length of Arthur, Guinevere and
Lancelot, in their doomed triangle of passion and betrayal.

He also formulated the story of Percival's Quest for the Holy Grail, the
spiritual essence of the highest form of love, and in itself a metaphor
for the search for the secrets of the Holy Land.
The effects of the writings of Andreas and Chretien, under the
direction of Marie, on the history of the middle ages and of the
Crusading movement is immeasurable and immense. The Arthurian
tales and their acting out of the precepts of Love, together with their
search for earthly perfection through suffering, permeates
aristocratic life from that moment on. It was no accident that Richard
Lionheart took the reputed sword of Arthur, Excalibur, on the Third
Crusade with him.

He was merely enacting the fantasy created for him and all the other
nobles of Christendom by his ladies.

The ideology of love making translated itself into the real world of the
knights and ladies. From a distance, it seems that the conventions of
love and its intimately related practice of chivalry were a polite fiction
to cover the brutality of relationships between living men and
women. For every act of obeisance, there are a hundred in which the
Crusading men proved themselves brutal and uncaring in their
treatment of women.

This unpleasant truth should not blind us to the parallel truth - that
actual men and women did live their lives according to the
conventions, when it was possible.

Thus, a beautiful chanson by a Crusading knight in the service of a

lord of Gisors laments the parting from his lady Isabel. It is a poem
which talks about everyday reality in terms of the spiritual obsession
of the true lover.

He must exchange, he says, the perfect joy of paradise for one

whose body is noble and spirited, face fresh and lovely, and to whom
his true heart is surrendered. Throughout the long nights and days in
the land of the paynim, he will remember her and the pleasure he
had in holding her body:

...if anyone ever died for loving loyally

I do not think I will survive even as far as the sea-port.

For just as the blossom springs from the branch,

Springs from you the great sorrow which torments me...15

1. Power, Medieval Women, p.19.

2. A.Bonner, Songs of the Troubadours George Allen and Unwin, London, 1973.p.93: Power,
Medieval Women, pp.21-2.

3. Runciman II, pp.103-4.

4. Ibid., p.72. R. Grousset, The Epic of the Crusades N. Lindsay (trans.), Orion, New York,
1970, p.46.

5. M. Remnant, Musical Instruments of the West Batsford, London, 1978, p.44.

6. Ibid, p.30.

7. Ibid, p.163.

8. Fletcher, The Quest for El Cid, p.23 and 51.

9. Bonner, Songs of the Troubadours, 1973.

10. Ibid., p.110.

11. A.Kelly, Eleanor of Aquitaine and the Four Kings Vintage, New York, 1950, pp.130-1.

12. Ibid., p.210.

13. Ibid.

14. W.W. Comfort (trans.), Chretien de Troyes Arthurian Romances Everyman, London, 1970.

15. Riley-Smith, The Crusades,: Idea and Reality, pp.157-9. The song is untitled and
undated.
 Chapter 15:

The Cold Crucible

The rantings of Church writers and the brutal behaviour of warriors

might suggest that noble medieval women were widely regarded as
low on the scale of creation at the time of the Crusades. The
tempting assumption is that Frankish women especially were
relegated to a secondary role in shaping the social order.

But some historians have argued to the contrary, that evidence from
the twelfth century shows a relatively widespread medieval view of
woman as the superior of man.

And other evidence - apart from that related to the fictions of Courtly
Love - indicates that women often had great influence on the creation
of the characters of their children, and in particular on those men
from whose numbers the ranks of Crusading armies were formed.

Given the current practices related to childrearing amongst the

Franks, this is in itself rather unexpected. It was considered de rigeur
for noble males to be separated from their mothers at the earliest
possible age, to be brought up in the equivalent of an all boys school.
In a practical sense, many boys and girls were apparently brought up
without direct influence from their mothers at crucial stages in their
lives.

Theoretically speaking, however, some medieval writers seem to

have been convinced of the importance of mothers in the
development of the next generation.

Quasi scientific theories as to the influence of women on the

development of male children, for example, are present in La
Chanson du Chevalier du Cygne et de Godefroid de Bouillon.

This romance purports to tell the story of Count Eustace of Boulogne

and his wife Ydain, daughter of the Knight of the Swan. Three sons
were born to the couple: Eustace, Godfrey and Baldwin. Through her
devotion to her husband, Ydain (unusually for the time) suckled the
babes herself.

Because of her love, two of the boys rose to the greatest heights of
success. Godfrey became the Defender of the Holy Sepulchre:
Baldwin succeeded him as the first King of Jerusalem.

The unfortunate Eustace, however, remained a mere count.

According to the legend, Ydain had insisted on suckling the children.

But one day she went to hear mass, and left her sons in the care of
her maidens. Eustace woke and cried, at which a damosel fed him
from her breast: the Countess returned and noticed the babe's chin
was wet.

She inquired as to the cause of this, and her servant told her about
the baby being fed during her absence.

Distraught, the countess collapsed into a chair, her heart shaking,

and she bewailed that she was virtually a leper. Trembling with rage,
she snatched up the baby, her face as black as coal with rage.

On the castle's huge table, she spread a purple quilt, and upon the
quilt she rolled the baby back and forth on its stomach until it
belched up its meal.

Despite her precautions, however, from that day the child Eustace
proved less than his brothers, and the maid was forced to flee the
presence of the wrathful countess for many months.1

At the heart of this confection is a fervent belief in the special

powers of the mother in shaping the character of her son.
 Observed from a distance, it might be judged that the life of
medieval women was passive, when really noble women were very
active, especially when it came to raising children. This may have
been because women of the time were often very strong willed,
determined people, with a view of existence often very different from
our own.

According to Garreau there was in the middle ages a close

resemblance between the manners of men and women: the rules
separating the sexes - which largely apply even in the present era -
had not been finally settled.

Men might dissolve in tears, and women speak without prudery.

Women were perceived as intellectually superior, and great men and
fierce warriors learned their behaviour from women, as in Richard
Coeur de Lion, St Louis - brought up exclusively by Blanche of Castile
- and Louis' fellow crusader Joinville, the pupil of his widowed mother.

Adams goes further when he claims a medieval belief in the

superiority of women. Women, he says, ruled the household and the
workshop, cared for the economy, supplied the intelligence and
dictated taste.

Ultimately, he claimed, women always overcame the men.

William the Conqueror was so exasperated with Queen Mathilda's

flaunting his bastardy that he dragged her behind his horse. But in
the end he so regretted his behaviour that he gave her the money to
build the Abbaye aux Dames: she won in the long run.2

One might comment that a rebellious slave is still a slave, and even
the money required to build an abbey may be only partial
compensation for being dragged behind a horse.

However, even though women lacked political, legal and frequently

economic and military power, it is beyond question that many women
were influential individuals in their own right, and that a great many
of the most famous men of the time - and particularly those involved
in the Crusades - were under the inspiration of a woman of strong
character.

It is a commonplace of history now that Richard the Lionheart was

overawed by his mother, who conducted his education, and whose
guidance was strong during his conflicts with his father and later
during his Crusade.

Popular belief - for which there is little or no documentary proof - has

it that the relationship went beyond the acceptable bounds of mother
and son, and that Richard as a result grew up self destructive and
unable to form a relationship with people in general and women in
particular. Finally, he brought about his own destruction through a
kind of Oedipal rage created by his mother.

Similarly, the passionate force behind the Second Crusade was

Bernard of Clairvaux, the man who was also largely responsible for
refining the religious concepts eventually embodied in the ideals of
chivalry.

In the opinion of historians of the Church such as J.T. McNeill, St

Bernard represents the peak of the monastic spirit. The saint of
chivalry was goaded by the influence of his mother. It was a vision of
his mother that drove 22 year old Bernard from his worldly pursuits
into the monastic way of life.

His mother Aleth traced her line to the ancient dukes of Burgundy.
Aleth's father had educated her for a life in the cloister, an intention
interrupted by marriage to Tescelin the Fair Haired, master of
Fontaines-les-Dijon. Aleth and Tescelin produced six sons and a
daughter, and in these children Aleth instilled some Latin and a great
deal of piety, while denying them luxuries such as sweets. Her chief
ambition rested with Bernard. Thus, she went to Chatillon with him
when he went to school. During their time together at home in Dijon,
she customarily had a company of priests to an annual dinner.

During one of these dinners, she fell ill, and, as her guests became
her choir to intone a litany, she peacefully yielded up her spirit.

Bernard continued in his noble profession of arms after his mother's

death, but at the same time it was his regular habit to say the seven
penitential psalms for his mother, in silence, every day.

One day, while riding to aid his brothers in a siege, he saw his
mother's face before him, with a look of reproach and
disappointment. He immediately decided to devote himself to a
monastic way of life. He chose the austere rule of the new order of
Cistercian monks, who made their way of life in the purer air of the
untamed wilderness. His companions were four of his five brothers,
and thirty other young men.

In the years to come at Clairvaux, he attacked the rigours of a

monastic existence in the forests with the vigour of a knight on a
military campaign. The men subsisted on a diet of barley and beech
leaves, without much sleep, and with a regime of fasts and vigils of
the type his mother had imposed.

Out of this cold crucible, impelled by his mother's inspiration, came

the fire and passion of the great sermons by which Bernard inspired
the second great crusade.3
Bernard also came under the influence of another remarkable
woman, one who touched the lives of all those great ones who were
direct or indirect participants in the Second Crusade.

This woman was Hildegard of Bingen (1098-1179), who is regarded

as a saint in many parts of Europe, although she was never officially
canonised.

Hildegard was in correspondence not only with Bernard during the

formative period leading up to the Crusade, but also with Eleanor of
Aquitaine and later with Frederick Barbarossa.

Hildegard's faith was fervent and mystical, and is most felt to this
day in her remarkable music, which continues to be played and
recorded.

She took the veil at the age of eight in order to join a Benedictine
community founded by a noble woman named Jutta, who lived as a
recluse in a building next to the church of St Disibod. From this time
on, Hildegard began to have visions and prophecies, which she
shared with kings and queens, emperors and popes. Much of her
writing was about the current decline in the standards of church life,
which she combined with contemporary beliefs about the coming of
the anti Christ. Hildegard was a great leader of women as well,
becoming the head of her community in 1136, and having to move to
larger premises near Bingen in 1147-50.

Her writing was voluminous and all encompassing, starting with her
visions of divine revelation by a fire from heaven, and continuing on
to deal with moral decline and the causes of mental illness, which she
noted could be sometimes caused by physical ills rather than a devil.

The Devil loomed large on the minds of medieval people, particularly

during the twelfth century. They saw signs of his handiwork
everywhere, believing that a sad decline in people's morality - as
evidenced in Church and State corruption - heralded the coming of
the Anti Christ. Hildegard's writings were full of such eschatological
musings, and in turn St Bernard believed that opponents of Innocent
III were servants of the Devil.4

Her letter written to Henry after he was crowned king of England is

typical in its portents and remarkable in its direct and forthright
comments to a powerful monarch:

Great gifts have been given to you so that governing, guiding and
protecting your kingdom and providing for its needs you will achieve
the kingdom of Heaven.
 And yet I saw a bird of ill omen coming from Hell and it tells you
have power to do anything you wish - do this, that or whatever you
please:

“Give little heed to justice, for if you observe its precepts you are a
mere slave and not a master.”

Your Highness must beware of such desires...5

Hildegard had powerful visions on this theme, which she

communicated to people such as Barbarossa, St Bernard and Eleanor:
amongst her dreams was the horrifying image of a torn and bleeding
woman - the Church - naked, bearing the head of the Antichrist in her
lap.6

Without fear or favour she berated pope, emperor and kings about
the corruption of their personal lives, of their state, and their religious
practices, and these great rulers paid her honour and sought her
advice.

"...in wise counsel and a consecrated spirit, (she) conquered the

respect and allured the obedience, not of the retired and studious
alone, but of the wild soldier, the martial baron, the imperious
prince..."7

Bernard was heavily influenced by her, praising her gift of prophecy:

"For you are declared to search out heavenly secrets, and to discover
things above human knowledge, by the illumination of the Holy Spirit.
Wherefore I the more entreat and pray that you will have the
remembrance of me before God..."8

In his preaching of the Crusade, with frequent references to the

coming of the Anti Christ, there are strong echoes of Hildegard's
sentiments.

In fact, many of the great ecclesiasts of the time had associations

with women of great strength - usually their mother - who shaped
their religious life. These include St Anselm, who was influenced by
his mother Ermenberga; Eberhard Archbishop of Salzburg, whose
mother (unnamed) built her own church, working barefoot; and an
associate of Bernard, Peter the Venerable who was brought up under
the control of his mother.

A similar pattern can be discerned in the life of Abbot Guibert of

Nogent, as recorded in his psychologically tortured memoires.

Guibert was a chronicler of the First Crusade, and he was also the
most reliable source that we have for the launching of the First
Crusade at Clermont by Urban. It is largely through his eyes that our
vision of that fatal moment is transmitted through the centuries.

In his autobiography, he explores at length the most important

relationship of his life, his connection with his mother.

Guibert's father he names as Evrard, a knight, a warrior who amongst

other distinctions was captured in the wars of the King of France
against William the Conqueror.9

Evrard's influence on Guibert's life was to be powerful, yet indirect,

for he died a mere eight months after the child was born. Thus, what
Guibert remembers about his father are the details of his own
conception, as passed on to him by his mother. Guibert's father and
his (unnamed) mother entered into what might be considered an
unusual conjugal relationship. Guibert's mother is remembered by
him as beautiful, proud, intelligent and determined, able to hold her
own against domineering relatives and the brutality of her husband.
She told Guibert how as a girl she had received, as if with a blow, the
understanding that she must dread the more carnal details of her
marriage. The mysterious result was that her husband was struck
with impotence and thus the marriage remained unconsummated for
years. Some rich neighbours tried to seduce her, while others tried to
arrange a divorce in order to seize the couple's property, but she
remained obdurate in the face of their pressure, and also the
knowledge of everyone that she had bewitched her young husband.
At last, the knight broke the enchantment by conceiving a child on
another woman. After that, a fleshly relationship developed between
the husband and wife.

Guibert adds a twist to his vision of his mother's marriage by

claiming that the witchcraft was in fact laid by an envious stepmother
(also unnamed) who had some nieces of great nobility whom she
planned to slip into Guibert's father's bed.10.

The link between Guibert and his mother grew immensely strong, as
with St Bernard and his mother. She became his whole world,
transferring her attention to him, while simultaneously withholding
her affections. She raised him and supervised his education, even
insisting that he be taught by his tutor without the company of other
students. At the same time, she also appears to have made it clear
that his birth was a long and painful one, nearly resulting in her own
death.

BETWEEN DEVIL AND ANGEL

But she also deserted him when he was twelve, the age of puberty,
withdrawing completely from the world to take the veil. Guibert was
forced into the life of the monastery, despite a rebellious nature that
sought after the pleasures of the world, until he could subdue that
side of his personality with prayers and fasting.

The upshot of this for one thing was that Guibert has left a very
detailed account of his mother's psychology. One important instance
was a moment of religious experience that occurred several years
before his own birth. Guibert's father was a prisoner of war in
Normandy, with very little hope of parole. His mother pined, unable
to eat, drink or sleep. As she lay on her bed one night, the Old Enemy
came and bore his weight down on her, almost crushing the life from
her. She lay pinned to the bed, unable to move or speak. At that
moment, a good spirit approached, and a battle ensued between the
Devil and the Angel, so violently that it awoke sleeping maidservants
in another room. The Devil routed, the angel returned and bade her
"Take care to be a good woman."

Her attendants found her with the blood drained from her face, and
the strength crushed from her body.

Surviving this experience gave her the strength, says Guibert, to

endure her later widowhood. When Guibert was barely six months
old, she was left to fend for herself, which she resolved to do.

So when his father's relatives came to seize his fiefs and possessions,
she fought them. They fixed a court day on which to formalize the
handing over of her property. She withdrew into a church, where she
was found by one of the plotters, standing before the crucifix. He
approached and ordered her into the court: she refused, saying she
would take part only in the presence of her lord.

"Whose lord?" asked the man.

She pointed to the image of Christ and replied: "This is my Lord, this
is the advocate under whose protection I will plead."

According to Guibert the man and his henchmen were so chastened

that they left off their evil intent, and the matter dropped.

Similarly, his mother evaded instructions to remarry, saying that she

would only marry again if it was to a noble of higher rank, knowing
that this was unlikely.

At last, the baffled relatives left her to her own devices. These
included the filling up of the youthful Guibert's mind, which she
apparently totally reserved to herself and his grammarians, with
horrible visions of life, death and sex.
One of these involved a story of herself leaving her body and being
dragged toward a pit by men whose heads were being eaten by
snakes or worms. Again, a spirit appeared to rescue her, a spirit
whom she perceived as the young Evrard. She asked the spirit if he
was indeed Evrard, as he plainly appeared to be, but he said he was
not. Guibert interprets this in a theological fashion - spirits have no
substance requiring individual titles.

We might see the story in psychological terms.

Another story from the mother involved a vision of a newborn baby,

terribly wounded on its arms and its sides. Guibert thought of this
vision as relating to Evrard's youth when he was bewitched, and had
turned to other female company.

"...having wickedly attempted intercourse with some loose woman

unknown to me, he begat a child which at once died before baptism.
The rending of his side is the breaking of his marriage vow; the cries
of that distressed voice indicate the damnation of that evilly begotten
child."12

Guibert's Memoires are riddled with a sense of revulsion, amounting

to illness, for anything to do with the human body and sexuality in
particular. His memories are filled with accounts of his own suffering
with his burgeoning sexuality, which he spent his life controlling and
subduing, and also with stories relating to excrement. These stories
usually result in tragedy for the participant, such as the old monk
who has to get up in the middle of the night to answer a call of
nature, but who neglects to dress himself adequately. As a result and
because he spends so long in the lavatory, he catches a chill and
dies.

Another equally illustrative story involves a monk at Guibert's abbey

who received a gift of money from a certain noble lady. Soon
afterward he fell sick of dysentery. The abbot came to visit him in his
last extremes. At that moment, however, the monk yielded to a call
of nature, and since he could not walk was placed on a cask. The
abbot saw him "in a disgusting condition, sitting on it in pain." The
abbot was ashamed at meeting the man in such circumstances and
after they stared at each other for a moment, the man was left alone
to die. He was indeed strangled by the Devil:

"And thus he died, unshriven, unanointed, and without making

disposition for his cursed money."13

Such is the recorded mental framework of Guibert of Nogent, one of

the key agents in determining our views of the First Crusade.
FREUD'S VIEWS

The temptation is to interpret his character in Freudian terms: that

the domineering mother, and the absence of a father, retarded
Guibert at an anal or phallic stage, where fixations on sexuality and
other bodily functions developed to a degree that they clouded his
vision of the world and impeded him from functioning as a "normal"
adult.

And indeed at the beginning of this study, I was working with the
assumption that his was a mentality that we might fairly see as
largely the creation of his mother. Further, my suggestion was to be
that this and other anecdotal evidence may well form a generalised
picture of many of the great figures of the time - people who were
shaped by the strong, single minded, and indeed obsessive women of
the eleventh and twelfth centuries, and were obsessed and single
minded in their turn.

There are, however, some important qualifications of this view.14

For one thing, an adequate sample is not really available to support

such an assertion: how many great men and women were
characterised by dysfunctional behaviour? How many were not? Jean
de Joinville, chronicler of St Louis' Crusade, for example, was
deprived of his father at infancy and was raised by his strong minded
mother, and yet he does not appear to have been particularly
troubled by obsessions or dysfunctions relating to women, sexuality
or himself.

The Freudian view has it that "maladaptive" behaviour in adults

results from unresolved conflicts during early childhood, resulting in
the twig of personality being bent at an early age.

Freud's views, however, are not grounded in scientific analysis, nor

have modern psychologists who have attempted such an analysis
found any necessary connection between domineering mothers and
dysfunctional sons.

Instead, it may be preferable to interpret this patchy evidence as

tending to indicate that given women's inferior status generally in
medieval society, it is hardly remarkable that some of them became
obsessive, particularly if they had otherwise strong, motivated
personalities. And despite their apparent irrelevance, noble women
actually often intervened in the lives of their children, particularly
those of their sons.
 Further, it is tempting to assume that where two strong willed
people enter into a very close relationship - as in Richard Lionheart
and Eleanor; St Bernard and Aleth; Guibert and his mother, and in a
number of other examples - then there will be influences in shaping
character and determining world views.

As well, however, it should be considered that there were many

other factors at play in the development of the characters of those
involved in the Crusades. Thus, Richard Lionheart certainly had some
character defects - impetuosity, ferocity, luxuriousness and
selfishness - but at the same time, he was courageous, a brilliant
general, a superb athlete, a musician, philosopher, ruler, and finally,
a son who loved his father beyond the grave.

Not a bad achievement, if it was his mother's doing.

But as well as some domination by his mother, it should be

remembered that Richard had one of the most remarkable figures of
that or any age as his father, and he certainly learned much from
Henry about being a man. Further, Richard was also surrounded from
childhood by nurses, playmates, henchmen, a considerable mesnie,
pages, princes, paupers and a host of people of all ages and ranks, to
whom he would not have been blind.

The construction of character was as complex an event in the Middle

Ages as at any other time.

1. Coulton, Life in the Middle Ages, pp.29-30.

2. H. Adams, Mont - Saint - Michel and Chartres Hamlyn, Sydney, 1980, p.125.

3. J.T.McNeill, Makers of Christians Tradition Harper, New York, 1964, pp.33 ff.

4 Peter Munz, Frederick Barbarossa: A Study in Medieval Politics Eyre and Spottiswoode,
London, 1969, p. 376.
5. Bowie, F. and O. Davies, Hildegard of Bingen: An Anthology SPCK, London, 1990, p. 140.

6. Ibid, p.385.

7.Storrs, R., Bernard of Clairvaux: The Times, The Man and His Work Scribner, New York,
1912, p.146.

8. Ibid., p.144.

9. Guibert de Nogent, Memoirs J.F. Benton (trans.), Harper, New York, 1970. p.93. Benton
argues that there is some doubt about this identification.

10. Ibid., p.64.

11. Ibid., p.71.

12. Ibid., p.94.

13. Ibid., p. 105.

14. I am grateful to Meg McKone, Head of Psychology at Hawker College, for her valuable
insights which inform this section of the study.

Chapter 16:

The Virgin’s Home

The most inspiring architecture known to humankind is arguably that
which is modelled around the pointed arch, commonly known as
Gothic.

This enlightening and graceful form has cemented itself into the
consciousness of humanity as symbolising sacredness, and is
recognised as such wherever it has been imprinted, whether on the
African veldt, in an outback town, at the portals of the Andes, or in
the immense and overwhelming cathedrals such as Chartres, York,
Rheims, Cologne and Salisbury - creations that beggar the
imagination and still the mind with their boldness.

The Gothic style is symptomatic and symbolic of the fantastic burst

of intellectual and spiritual energy which had its nascence in the
twelfth century, flowered in the fourteenth century, and transformed
itself into something unrecognisable by the time Columbus' fleet
touched new lands in the West, in the period known as the
Renaissance.

Gothic architecture is the perfect setting for the imagery of the

Virgin Mother, whose cult had its origins before the First Crusade, but
which reached its apogee with the arrival of the great aisled
cathedrals of the high middle ages and in countless lyrics meant for
recital in the churches:

Saintly Mary, Virgin,

Mother of Jesus Christ the Nazarene,

Take, shield, help your Godric,

Receiving him, bring him on high with you to God's Kingdom.

Saintly Mary, Christ's bower,

Purest maiden, of all mothers the flower,

Wipe away my sin, reign in my heart,

Bring me in bliss with that very same God.1

The Virgin occupies a complex and confusing picture at the centre of

medieval theology. She is at once the perfect, removed saint,
interceding between earthly creatures and the highest heavenly
hierarchy, and simultaneously she is the desired and remote beauty
who is the prime mover of chivalry.

Thus, even the saintly Hildegard addressed the Virgin in terms

heavily overladen with eroticism:

...generous,

glorious,

and unviolated maiden,

you pupil in the eye of chastity,

you embodiment of sanctity,

pleasing to God...

...O most beautiful

and most sweet;

how greatly God has delighted in you!

in the clasp of his fire

in you he has planted his son

so he might be suckled by you.

The proper seat of this most unobtainable maiden is the multi

layered text of Chartres cathedral, and her abstract faces are the
blinding rose windows of Notre Dame and Westminster. Above all,
she is the spiritual light of the Crusades, the ultimate role model for
femininity in that age, the wise mother-woman-guide of the knights.
Known in Europe and celebrated at sites such as Chartres for two
hundred years, her cult may have well been given its greatest
impetus by the Crusaders who returned inspired by the imagery of
Byzantium, saturated as it was in celebration of God's mother.
 As with so much of the cultural change occuring from the twelfth
century on, it is arguable as to whether the transforming architectural
style that made this vision possible was brought back from Palestine
by Crusaders. Were they indeed touched by the sight of pointed
arches in Arabic mosques? It is certain that the pointed arch was
present in Arab buildings dating to at least the tenth century.2
Whether the Crusaders learned directly from Eastern styles is less
certain.

Runciman, for example, is of the opinion that the introduction of the

pointed arch was a direct outcome of the Crusades, pointing to the
building of two churches in about 1115 by Ida of Lorraine. She was
the mother of Godfrey and Baldwin, and when she built her chapels
her other son Eustace had only just recently returned from the East.
The churches were Wast and Saint Walmer at Boulogne, and it is
Runciman's view that:

"It is difficult not to believe that returning architects popularized the

new device in the West, where it was developed to suit local
structural needs."3

The weakness in the equation of Crusader expansion with

importation of the pointed arch is the existence of the pointed stone
arches to be found in buildings such as Durham Cathedral, in the
north of England. This particular edifice was begun as early as 1093,
two years before the address at Clermont.

It may be that earlier encounters between East and West had

introduced an architectural style which was to come of age when it
was needed, after the First Crusade, or that Europe's architects
invented the arch themselves, without prompting from the East.

The great name associated with the first large scale employment of
the elements of the Gothic style is Abbot Suger of Paris, servant of
Louis and Eleanor, regent of the kingdom during their absence on the
Second Crusade.

He makes clear in his writings the crucial part played by the

crusades in his architectural planning. In the years after the First
Crusade, the French were taken over by an unprecedented wave of
religious fervour, inspired by the success of the first pilgrims. On
feast days, hordes crushed into the ancient basilica of St Denis,
desperate for a glimpse of a relic. No one could move so much as a
foot, as the mobs strained in opposite directions, nor do anything
except to stand like a marble statue, numbed, or in the final resort,
scream. The women's distress was so great that they could be seen
squeezed in the mass of strong men as if in a winepress, their faces
bloodless as death. They cried horribly, as though in labour. Several
of them, trodden underfoot, might be lifted above the heads of the
crowd, while others could be seen panting for breath where they
were placed in the cloisters. The brethren whose job it was to display
the relics often had nowhere to turn, but had to make their escape
with the relics through the windows. This had been going on ever
since the First Crusade: Suger says he heard of it in his youth. In his
maturity, he strove to correct the situation by enlarging the building.

Faced with dire necessity, the abbot embarked on his epoch making
building program, tearing down much of the Romanesque work of
Charlemagne and replacing it with the more spacious aisles made
possible by the pointed arch. Whatever its origins, the Gothic style
had found its reason for being, a reason created by the crusading
movement.4

The splendid result of Suger's innovation was built between 1135 and
1140 and confirmed in 1144, marking the beginning of the
movement towards a new and more vigorous intellectual culture
throughout Europe. Within decades, Gothic buildings were springing
like wildflowers from the fertile soil of Europe: at Sens (1144-68),
Chartres (1160), at Autun, at Nevers, at Senlis (1156), Soissons and
Laon (1160), and at Notre Dame de Paris (1163).5

The pointed arch, the ribbed vault, the flying buttress, all the
elements which together make up this twelfth century architectural
form, are merely the concrete embodiment of the startling new
intellectual crop that sprang unexpectedly from the stony ground of
the eleventh century, and which enriched the lives of all the
generations to come, both men and women.

THE HUMBLE CASTLE BECOMES A HOME

A similarly dramatic revolution occurred in both military and

domestic architecture.

Thus, the carpenter Lodewijck of Bourbourg described a fortified

house he built for Arnold of Ardres in the Pas de Calais in 1117. The
tower was built on a mound or motte, and consisted of a first storey
built on the ground surface, where there were cellars and granaries,
casks and barrels and other domestic utensils. In the next storey
were common living rooms in which were larders, rooms for bakers
and butlers, and a great chamber in which the lord and his wife slept.
Next to this complex was a private room, the dormitory of the waiting
maids and children. In the inner part of the great chamber was a
private room in which a fire was lit at certain times early in the
morning or in the evening, during sickness, at time of blood letting,
or for warming the maids and weaned children.

In the upmost storey was a garrett, with rooms on one side for the
sons, when they wished it, and on the other side for the daughters,
whether they wished it or not. The watchman and other servants
guarding the house used to sleep there on occasions.

High up on the east side of the house, easily reached, was a chapel,
painted like the tabernacle of Solomon. Stairs and passages went
from storey to storey, room to room, from the house to the kitchen,
and from the house to a loggia where the household used to sit in
conversation or recreation.6

Here we see the beginnings of the importation of domestic life into

the grim military strongholds of European feudal society as the new
castle architecture, tempered by the Crusades and brought into
Europe by returning Crusaders, changed the lives of medieval
women.

For one thing, the new European castles of the twelfth century were
immensely big in comparison to the previous fortress towers: there
was simply more space in which everyday life, especially that of a
non military nature, could be transacted.

The pre-Crusade stone fortifications of Europe are distinguished by

their space saving functionality. As in the Tower of London, Windsor,
Dover or Chepstow Castles, the characteristic form is a square or
oblong tower, perhaps with a square tower at each corner, with a
basement or undercroft ground floor for storage, a middle floor
serving as a great hall, also known as a solar, and perhaps an upper
storey reserved for the lord and his family. These were replaced by
either new forms of fortification learned from the Crusading
experience, added to until their original form became all but
unrecognisable, or built along new lines modelled on the castles of
the east, The most striking combination of all these factors is the
famous chateau Gaillard, built by Richard the Lionheart on his return
from the Holy Land, which consists of a more decentralised series of
buildings with extra rooms for comfort and repair.

Historians initially considered that the Christians, and especially the

Hospitallers, were more heavily influenced by Byzantine military
architecture than by Arabic styles, especially in the building of
fortresses such as the Kerac des Chevaliers, Tortosa and Chateau
Pelerin. The Byzantine style had in turn been inherited from the
Romans. In the construction of Syrian fortresses, the crusaders
adopted double enclosures flanked by towers, and putting large
towers on each side of outlying defences, such as gates. This was
perhaps the origin of the bastilles found two centuries later in Europe.

The Templars, by contrast, imitated Saracen castles, as at Safita and

Areymeh. In both cases, however, the new fortifications placed less
emphasis on the fortress like nature of the central keep, which was
thus able to be made more spacious and pleasant.7

Recent analysis, however, tends to emphasise an echoing and

amplification of existing knowledge in both spheres, with the
Christians adapting their Roman heritage of fortification to the local
eastern conditions, and being inspired by their eastern experience to
build in a more adventurous fashion upon their return home.8

...AND THE HUMBLE HOME BECOMES A

CASTLE

In residential townhouses and rural manors, there was also a

transformation.

In England, the standard Anglo Saxon hall was large, rough and
draughty, so draughty indeed that King Alfred's candles were
continually blown out by the wind whistling through his palace! On
another occasion, the witan - the high council - of England fell
through the roof of the upper chamber of the hall at Calne, except
archbishop Dunstan, who saved himself by clinging to a supporting
beam.9

The pre-conquest English house was essentially a large hall divided

into aisles by the posts supporting the roof beams. This hall was
typically mounted on a ground floor. There may have been a
separate bed chamber for the lord and lady, but this was usually at
the main entrance, so that they had to transverse the length of the
building through hosts of retainers and guests to seek privacy.

Twelfth century houses, by contrast, gradually featured retirement

chambers behind the dais, so that withdrawal could be made more
easily and less obviously. Total privacy was, however, not to be
imagined. The Norman house at Christchurch in Hampshire, for
example, built around 1150, has the hall on the first floor, and has
large windows closed by shutters. There are no private rooms,
although there is a good, large fireplace, and there are kitchens at
the end of the hall. There are also garderobes or lavatories coming
off the hall at right angles in the corner near the kitchens.10
Similarly, Old Soar at Plaxtol in Kent, built around 1290, has a single
large hall on the first floor, a separate garderobe at one end and a
chapel at the other.11

Birth, the creation of life, and death were all public affairs throughout
the middle ages. Servants characteristically shared the bedchamber
of the lords and ladies, sleeping on trundle beds that could be stored
in the daytime underneath the main bed. The lord and lady would be
likely to share their own bed with immediate members of their family,
enjoying whatever measure of privacy they might have from the
servants by the simple refuge of a curtain around the bed.

But gradually, even if modern ideas of privacy can not be imagined in

houses throughout the medieval period, there was an increased
number of private chambers in Northern houses. Separate rooms for
daily living and for eating, and the growing size and complexity of
houses all point to the increased possibility of an inner life.

Houses were not only slowly becoming more complex and more
private, but also more pleasant.

At sites such as Bisham Abbey (c.1280), the private chambers are set
over the service rooms, and off set to one side, so that the end of the
hall can be pierced with large windows to let in light.12

And some private houses of the twelfth century, such as Clarendon

Palace in Wiltshire, were made more pleasant by the addition of
chimneys, a simple device which made possible the drawing off of
excess smoke without letting in wind and rain. Earlier houses, and
especially castles, had made do with simple holes in the roofs,
sometimes more elaborately protected with louvres and shutters.

But it should always be borne in mind that the impact of new wealth
and new technology did not transform medieval life overnight.

Fireplaces, for example, were known in northern Europe by the

twelfth century, but did not become common until the fourteenth
century, and open hearths were still in use in the great inns of the
church in the fifteenth century.

Whether the new style of housing was due directly to Crusader

architecture is again difficult to prove. It may simply have been that
increased trade resulting from the opening of the Mediterranean
routes, coupled with changes in social customs and increasingly
settled existences in towns and cities all converged to create this
image of more luxurious domesticity.
Yet by the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, women were gradually
becoming freed from the burden of lives lived constantly in the
presence of warriors. No longer was it necessary for men and women
to live constantly cheek by jowl in a single, badly lit room. With the
addition of solars and bedrooms, they could retire, especially when
the men's games grew more boisterous later in the evening. In
relative comfort, there was room to read, to listen, to discuss, to
contemplate.

A room of one's own, as Virginia Woolf reminds us, has a special

significance for women, as a place whence springs an inner life.

1. Twelfth century lyric by St Godric in R.T. Davies (ed.), Medieval English Lyrics: A Critical
Anthology Faber and Faber, London, 1971.

2. Atiya, Crusade Commerce and Culture, p. 236.

3. Runciman III, pp.379-80.

4. E. Stone ed., A Documentary History of Art Princeton University Press, Princeton, 1981, p.
37.

5. T. Copplestone (ed.), World Architecture: An Illustrated History Hamlyn, London, 1963,

p.217.

6. W.Anderson, Castles of Europe: From Charlemagne to the Renaissance Omega, Ware,

1984, pp. 52-3.

7. Aziz, The Palestine of the Crusaders, pp. 140-3.

8. Anderson, Castles of Europe, pp.134 ff.

9. M. and C.H.B. Quennell, Everyday Life in Roman and Anglo Saxon Times Dorset, New York,
1959, p.213-4.

10. Ibid., p.184.

11. M. Wood, The English Medieval House Ferndale, London, 1981, p.69.

12. Ibid., p.73.

 Chapter 17:

Educating a
Crusading Princess
The upbringing of notable individuals such as Eleanor of Aquitaine
and Hildegard of Bingen suggests much about the formation of the
characters of the noble ladies involved in the Crusades.

Evidence about women's education during this period indicates

surprising degrees of empowerment through learning, given an
educational regime that stressed rigidity, religious orthodoxy -
"education was the creature of religion" - and the essential
superiority and hence greater need for learning of the man, and the
man of high rank at that.

In England, for instance, between 598 and 1670, all educational

institutions were exclusively under church control, and for most of
this period the major task of most of these schools was to produce
scholars suitable for the priesthood.1

Occasionally, a parish priest might establish a local elementary

school, or a monastery or some other religious institution might begin
a grammar school in which were taught some philosophy and
theology, or perhaps an almonry school for the instruction of those
wishing to become priests. Professor Coulton estimates as around
26,000 the number of (male) students in such schools at any one
time during the medieval period.2

However, females did have access to education, even in the rawer

years of the early Crusades.

Perhaps the most famous - or infamous - of these was Heloise of

Paris. She fell in love with her tutor Abelard, who was then castrated
at the orders of her uncle and guardian, Fulbert. Abelard and Heloise
then carried on a famous platonic love affair by correspondence.
Through her letters to her former lover Abelard, she displayed not
only a keen mind trained by the finest teacher of that generation, but
also a broad and thorough scriptural and philosophical
understanding.

Is it not remarkable that Heloise - who was possibly the illegitimate

offspring of her guardian's brother - should have been eagerly
sponsored to private tuition under the auspices of the brightest star
of Paris university, Abelard?

Abelard says that her uncle Fulbert, a canon of the university, so

loved Heloise that he did everything in his power to advance her
education in letters, in which she stood supreme. And so, fatefully, he
hired Abelard, and left the girl entirely in his tutelage, with the tragic
results which became the stuff of legend.
 According to Abelard, after they had been forcibly separated by her
uncle, it was Heloise who argued against Abelard's proposal that he
should secretly marry her.

She argued cogently on a number of grounds, including her loss of

honour, but more particularly, because of the detriment to the
Church and the grief of philosophers at the loss to the academic
world that would surely ensue if Abelard married.

She also advanced the Pauline argument of the difficulties of

marriage, quoting verses such as the dire warning:

"...those who marry will have pain and grief in this bodily life, and my
aim is to spare you."

Heloise went on to quote St Jerome in her diatribe against marriage,

all the time appearing to argue on behalf of the one who was begging
her for marriage with the intention of protecting her!

One cannot help feeling at this point that Heloise was enjoying the
argument for its own sake. She enlists the aid of Jerome in his book
Contra Jovinianum, as he described the difficulties inherent in a
philosopher trying to contend with the distractions of domestic life.

And Heloise continued her denial of Abelard's suit with her own
attack on marriage as a hindrance to study.

"What harmony can there be between pupils and nursemaids, desks and cradles, books or
tables and distaffs, pen or stylus and spindles? Who can concentrate on thoughts of Scripture
or philosophy and be able to endure babies crying, nurses soothing them with lullabies, and all
the noisy coming and going of men and women about the house? Will he put up with the
constant muddle and squalor which small children bring into the home?...."

And then she draws on the advice of Seneca that philosophy is not a
matter for the dilettante, but must be pursued to the exclusion of all
else.3

Heloise thus demonstrated a very complete grasp of higher

education as it was then known.

Formal education of a general nature, however, may not have been

the usual experience of women who were taught letters. It is more
probable that when women were taught, they were educated under
the stricter guidance of the Church proper in one form or another.

Hildegard of Bingen, for example, attained a level of instruction

which permitted her to correspond powerfully with the most powerful
figures of the age, and to write with fervour and logic on every topic
under the medieval sun in an extremely wide range of formats from
letters, to disputations to poetry, music, songs and even plays.

Hildegard appears to have had no formal instruction before the age

of seven, as was normal in that age.4 After that, she was dedicated
as an oblate under the supervision of the anchoress Jutta of
Spanheim in a cell at Disibodenberg. The two were literally entombed
together, and Hildegard thus passed her formative years constantly
in the presence of her spiritual guide.

From Jutta, Hildegard received her education, which her official life
describes as learning humility, innocence, the psalms, and how to
pray accompanied by a ten string psaltery.5

In other words, she learned religious values, letters by studying a

book of psalms, and music by playing a psaltery, a musical
instrument rather like a dulcimer.

She was also probably introduced to manual work such as making

clothes and embroidery.

Certain things were not taught to her, however. Hildegard in a letter

to St Bernard says quite specifically that she could not read German.
Obviously, however, she was extremely fluent - indeed a near genius
- in Latin.6

This more intellectual bent may have been provided by having her
copy manuscripts, and it was possibly from this that her remarkable,
if rather zealous and bigoted, understanding of medieval theology
and philosophy derived.

This was despite the fact that she was one of a family of ten, and
that her parents appear to have been rather obscure, although
described as "wealthy and engaged in worldly affairs." Presumably
they were merchants at a time when business enjoyed a low standing
in society.

Indeed, it was possible for a woman to receive some highly

professional education, as evidenced by the case of the woman
doctor investigated by the masters of medicine in Paris in 1322. This
woman, Jacoba Felicie, was amongst a number of people who were
thoroughly questioned after having been arrested for practicing
medicine without a licence.

The doctors charged that she had visited patients, inspected their
urine, felt their pulse, body and limbs and promised to cure them, as
well as administering medicines. Patients were interviewed, including
the lord Odo of the Hospital. He had called on Jacoba and her spouse
Jean to cure him, which they had done by amongst other things
administering doses of chamomile and meliot.
In her own defence, Jacoba argued very fully.

She said that if a statute, decree, admonition, prohibition and

excommunication which the said dean and masters were trying to
use against her had ever been made, this had been only once on
account of and against ignorant women and inexperienced fools,
who, untrained in the medical art and totally ignorant of its precepts,
usurped the office of practising it. From their number she was
excepted, being expert in the art of medicine and instructed in the
precepts of the said art. For these reasons the regulations were not
binding on her.

She further argued that the precept had been made 102 years
before, indeed, sixty years before she was born, against certain
ignorant women living at that time.

As well, she said it was more becoming for a women clever and
expert to visit a sick woman and look into the secrets of nature and
her private parts than a man. A woman would allow herself to die
before she would reveal the secrets of her illness to a man, because
of the virtue of the female sex and because of the shame she would
endure.

Thus, the law held that lesser evils should be permitted so that
greater ones may be avoided.7

One trusts that after her able and spirited defence, the female doctor
was allowed to pursue her calling.

Whether or not she escaped the wrath of the medical fraternity,

however, her case does reveal that women were able to gain access
to higher education if they were willing to persist and to face the
displeasure of their male colleagues.

However, for most women, formal education was probably a rarity,

and all but unimagined if they were from the poorer estates.

And it should not be assumed that girls were any more interested in
the advantages of education than children have been at any previous
or later occasion in history.

But rather than considering that the narrow curriculum of medieval

scholarship and the rigidities of a nunnery school were the
determining factors in shaping the character of the Crusading
woman, one should perhaps instead look to the real life influences of
the times and family upon character.
In the case of Queen Eleanor, one of the most influential thinkers of
her age, details of formal learning seem to be subsumed by her vivid
experiences of childhood in a volatile family. These influences would
have framed her understanding virtually from the moment of her
birth.

It is widely thought that Eleanor's strong personality was largely

formed through interaction with the men of her family, at least as
much as with the women. Like most of the male members of her
family, Eleanor’s character appears tempestuous, passionate, strong
willed and pleasure seeking, as well as persuasive, loving, intelligent,
cultured, creative and fascinating. She was no boneless lady
languishing for love in a tower. Rather, Eleanor was often the lady at
the head of a mighty army, ready to do anything to gain her will.

Her female ancestors also lived their lives to the fullest, but she
may not have had as much direct contact with them as she did with
the men of her family.

Eleanor's grandmother - whom she never knew - was the same

woman whose naked figure is said to have graced the shield of her
grandfather during the First Crusade. It seems that grandfather
William's legal wife, Philippa of Toulouse, found religion while William
was away on his pilgrimage, a taste for piety that did not accord with
his view of life.

So he replaced her with the lady of his shield - who must have won
his affections before the Crusade. Thus, his new countess was
Dangerosa, the lady of Chatellreault.

This well advertised lady was already the mother of a daughter

named Anor. William entrenched his family ties (rather bewilderingly
to a genealogist) by marrying this step daughter to his son William,
born of the previous countess Philippa.

It was this unlikely union of the young William and Anor that
produced a short lived boy named Agret, a daughter Eleanor (born in
1122 somewhere in the south) and another daughter, Petronilla.8

In typical tempestuous family fashion, Eleanor's father William X

later made war on her grandfather William IX over the affair with
Dangerosa, feeling his mother slighted. Eventually, grandfather
Wiliam IX died excommunicated, when Eleanor was five.

Her father, William X, proved himself dangerous and strong willed,

as well as dazzling, in his own right, and his court was a centre for
troubadours from Spain, Italy and as far as Wales.

William’s temper as well as his appetite and physical strength were

legendary: he was said to be able to eat enough for eight men, and
he threatened the saintly Bernard in his own church over a religious
dispute.

Eleanor’s mother Anor had her colour as well, being

excommunicated over the support of an anti pope. She died when
Eleanor was only eight.

It was William X who thus took on the raising of his daughter, after
the death of his wife and his son.

He gave her an enviable upbringing, exposing her to the most

glamorous minds of his time, and to a whirlwind progress through the
fairest and most exciting of Europe's principalities, the Aquitaine,
where scholarship, heresy, beauty, and all the cultivated arts
survived in a way that made the foggy north and Paris seem the
dismal cultural backwater that it was.

As well as being given an unequalled exposure to the hurly burly of

the political world of her time, Eleanor was educated in formal
fashion. Her appearance in Amazonian guise at the launching of the
Second Crusade is proof in itself of her grounding in the classics, such
as they were in those times before the rediscoveries of the
Renaissance. She therefore had skills in the reading of Latin, which
she may also have known how to write, although as a princess and
later a queen she usually had secretaries to do her writing for her. 9.
Thus, her famous attack on the Church for its indifference to her
needs during the Third Crusade was probably in the hand of her
secretary Peter of Blois.

And her own daughter, Marie de Champagne, although a patron of

arts and letters in her own right, gave her ideas to the troubadour
Chretien de Troyes to be penned. As a result, the ideas of Marie
eventually developed through the agency of another writer into the
first great telling of the romantic stories of Sir Lancelot and Sir
Percival.

Great women may not have called upon their formal education as
frequently as their counterparts today.

Nevertheless, formal schooling was probably the least part of

Eleanor's learning. Rather, the whole Aquitaine - that glittering, dark
world - was the school of Eleanor, just as most women of the age
probably gained their learning through direct experiences in a world
that was bloodstained, brutal, and terrifying, but rarely dull.
1. Coulton, "From School To University" in Medieval Panorama, p.7.

2. Ibid., p.11.

3. B. Radice (trans.), The Letters of Abelard and Heloise, Penguin, Harmondsworth, 1984,
pp.71-2.

4. S. Flanagan, Hildegard of Bingen: A Visionary Life Routledge, London, 1990, p.32.

5. Ibid., p.32.

6. Bowie and Davies, Hildegard: Anthology, p. 127.

7. Ross and McLaughlin, Portable Medieval Reader, pp.635-40.

8. Kelly, Eleanor of Aquitaine, p.10.

9. D.Seward, Eleanor of Aquitaine: The Mother Queen David and Charles, London, 1978,
p.18.
 Chapter 18:

Female Hospitallers

Religion was perhaps the dominant force in the lives of medieval

Europeans, and was one of the chief motivations for the Crusades.
The Roman Catholic belief system was imposed on the Holy Land
when the Franks arrived, most visibly by the establishment of a
Patriarch of Jerusalem controlled by the new Western rulers. The
peculiar circumstances of the East had effects on this European
Christianity, sometimes dramatic, some times almost immeasurably
subtle.

There were, for example, new orders founded as a result of the

Crusades, of which the most famous are the fighting monks such as
the Knights of St John of Jerusalem. These warrior priests have
achieved lasting fame: less well known is their female companion
order, the sister Hospitallers.

The fighting monks and their female companions were a new sort of
religious, created directly out of the Crusades. Whereas the lay
pilgrims were committed to the journey only for the duration of the
conquest, these orders were permanently on station, carrying out
their functions as long as their members lived.

The knights combined two theoretically antithetical functions, that of

priest and warrior. Christianity was a religion of peace and love, and
canonical law forbade its priests from shedding blood by the sword. It
was apparent, however, that the extraordinary situation in the East
required extraordinary measures. And thus a special dispensation
was made for a special order of priests of high birth who could double
as military defenders of the Faith. Thus was born the most fanatical
groups of Christian warriors spawned in these bloody wars. Two of
these groups, the Hospitallers and the Templars, became in their zeal
major players in deciding the downfall of the very kingdom they had
been instituted to defend.

The Knights of the Temple emerged as a separate order in about

1118. The Knights of the Hospital had already been at work tending
to the needs of pilgrims before the First Crusade. The nobles who
participated in the First Crusade demonstrated their gratitude by
making large grants of land to the order, of which one of the first was
a gift by Godfrey of Boulogne of the seigneury of Montboire in
Brabant. It is perhaps significant of a family tradition of gift giving to
maintain the impetus of the Crusade, as in the case of Ida of Lorraine,
his mother, when she erected chapels on her lands at Boulogne a
decade later, no doubt also in gratitude for the success of their
affairs.

With such important backers, the Hospitallers, the Templars and

other orders grew in status and military might at a tremendous rate.
Pope Paschal confirmed the Hospitallers as an order in 1113, and
their status as fighting monks was fixed by about 1140.

The Templars went on to dominate not only eastern military affairs,

but also European banking. The Hospitallers grew in their function as
a medical order, and were a significant part of that growth in medical
knowledge in the Frankish East which was of such importance to
women.

And as well as that, the Hospitallers were unusual amongst the

fighting monks in that it consisted of two parts: the brothers and the
sisters. The sisters were gathered into a women's convent.

Husband and wives frequently entered the order at the same time.
The sister Hospitallers originated at the same time as the Hospital,
and credit for this usually goes to a Roman gentlewoman Alix or
Agnes. She set up a hospital in Jerusalem after the First Crusade to
take care of poor and sick women. The patriarch of Jerusalem
approved the foundation of the hospital of St Mary Magdalene by the
order.

The order eventually took root in all the countries of Europe.

They fled Palestine after Saladin's reconquest and took refuge in

their Western priories.

Abandoning their caring functions, they devoted themselves to

prayer. Henceforth, they subjected themselves to the discipline of St
Augustine.
Their lives were cloistered and in their solitude they governed
themselves, directly answerable only to the Grand Master of their
order.1

WOMAN'S REFUGE

The Crusades thus had direct influences on the religious life of some
privileged medieval women.

In a wider sense, the reclusive life of nuns in Outremer was attractive

to many of those women whose wealth and high birth put them in a
position to escape from the chaotic earthly world to a place of
regulation, safety and absence of men.

In an immediate sense, within the Crusading Kingdom itself, there

were a number of religious foundations for women. The oldest of
these was the nunnery of St Maria la Grande which was situated
within the Amalfi compound near the Holy Sepulchre. Such nunneries
were often associated with particular events in biblical history. Thus,
the convent of St Anne was built on the alleged birthplace of the
Virgin, and the convent of Bethany on the spot where Lazarus was
resurrected. There was also one new order of nuns founded in the
Holy Land, the order of St Margaret.

The nun's life was not, however, for every woman. It was almost
always only high born women who could expect to achieve the life of
a nun: entry into an abbey was usually accompanied by some sort of
payment in the form of an endowment or dowry for the upkeep of
the newcomer.

A particularly noble entrant to the nunnery at the Holy Sepulchre was

the Queen of Georgia, who entered there before 1108.

The significance of her arrival is noted in a letter from Anseau,

precentor of the Holy Sepulchre. This document was sent to the
canons of Notre Dame in Paris, together with a letter certifying the
authenticity of a piece of wood accompanying the paper.

It was, said Anseau’s covering note, a piece of the True Cross,

brought by the queen, a woman whom Anseau described as being
revered more for her saintliness than her noble birth.

At the death of her husband, she shaved her head and took the veil.
Then, taking the cross fragment and a large treasure in gold, she
retired to Jerusalem with some companions to end her days in
retirement and prayer.

Part of her gold she gave to the monasteries of the Holy City and as
alms to the poor and pilgrims.

Then, on the advice of the Patriarch, she entered a congregation of

Georgian nuns in Jerusalem. This foundation appears to have been
ancient even at this time, as it was probably the same one founded
by the Georgians in the fifth century. Shortly after entering the
nunnery, at the request of the sisters and the Patriarch, the Queen
became the head of the community.

When a scarcity of provisions occurred, she was in the unfortunate

position of having distributed her treasures elsewhere. It was
apparently expected that she, as head and a former queen, would
have the finances to continue funding her community. Forced into
stringent necessity, she was at last required to sell the Cross to the
Holy Sepulchre, with the result that it was subsequently forwarded to
Notre Dame.2

There was a postscript to the story. After the fall of Jerusalem to

Saladin, the then queen of Georgia, Thamar, offered a ransom of
200,000 gold pieces for the foundation.2

There were other prominent women as well who were associated

with the nunneries of Outremer.

In 1158, there was a remarkable scene at the outer door of the Holy
Sepulchre. Sybilla of Anjou - daughter of King Fulk, the sister of King
Baldwin - and her husband Count Thierry of Flanders had come to
inspect the famous basilica, which had been consecrated only ten
years before. Moved by the sight of this supreme object of pilgrim
veneration, Sybilla begged her husband Baldwin to allow her to
become a nun in the attached convent of St Lazarus of Bethany,
which was governed by a royal abbess, Joveta (Yvette). The nuns of
the abbess were distinguished by a green cross worn on stark white
robes.

Thierry was enraged. Desperate with passion, he forbade this

severing of matrimonial bonds. Sybilla turned to the patriarch of
Jerusalem, Amaury, and the king, begging them in the name of Christ
to assist her. To move the stubborn love of the count and to gain the
renunciation of his conjugal rights, they offered him a priceless holy
relic: a drop of Christ's blood which had been passed down through
the hands of the patriarchs for unknown centuries.

Tears of despair, rage and pity flowed from the count's eyes. His
silence throughout was both savage and eloquent. But at last, as if in
a trance, with an abrupt and trembling hand he seized the relic and
murmured yes in a low voice.

One last time he clutched his wife, and then, bursting into tears, fled
the basilica.

His wife was overjoyed, free at last - the price of her freedom a drop
of blood.

The relic was taken back to Flanders by Thierry, to console his

children for the loss of their mother. Later, he came to treasure
above all his other possessions the relic for which he had exchanged
his wife.3

There are numerous other accounts of noble women of Outremer

who took a special interest in the lives and conditions of the cloister.

The great queen Melisende (d.1161) in the midst of tumultuous times

and a life riven with real physical danger as an outcome of her part in
politics, took the opportunity to endow the Church with many
establishments. The most outstanding of these was the purchase in
1143 of the village of Bethany. Here the convent to which Sybilla
was to retreat was built in honour of Lazarus and his sisters Martha
and Mary, and the new establishment was supplied also with a
fortified tower as well as the income of Jericho and its surrounding
farms.4

Melisende's own sister Joveta was a formidable member of religious

establishments. As a child, she had been captured by Moslems, and
spent nearly a year in captivity. Her father Baldwin II personally
ransomed her back with a cash payment in 1125, when she was five
years old. 5

Joveta may have been effected by this experience: she took to, or
was given to, the life of a nun, at first in the convent of St Anne at
Jerusalem. It was almost certainly for this royal sister that Melisende
established the foundation at Bethany. Joveta lived a long life of great
eminence in her nunnery, dying some time not long before 1178.
Amongst her great achievements was her supervision of the future
Queen Sybilla (daughter of Amalric and Agnes of Courtenay) - a
woman distinguished by her fortitude during the most trying days of
the kingdom - and the nursing of Queen Melisende during her final
days.

Yet another aristocrat to end her life in religious seclusion in

Outremer was Margaret Queen of Hungary. Margaret was the sister of
Philip of France. In her youth, she had married Henry the Younger,
son of Henry II and Eleanor, and had thus been entitled to style
herself Queen of England, in title if not in fact. Henry the Younger
died before he could actually take the throne. After his death,
Margaret was married to Bela of Hungary, who died in 1196. At his
death, Margaret immediately took the Cross, ending her life as a nun
in Acre.6

The life of women during the medieval period was fraught with
danger and trial: it is all but impossible to escape the conclusion that
for many of them, religious life provided a sanctuary from the
desperately dangerous and uncomfortable life of the world.

1 Aziz, The Palestine of the Crusaders, pp.86-7.

2. Pernoud, p.105. The unnamed benefactor may have been the widow of Giorgi II, who was
forced to abdicate due to his incompetence in resisting Turkish incursions. Giorgi gave up
the throne in 1089 in favour of his son David II, known as the Builder. David ruled Georgia
well into the twelfth century. His grandaughter Thamara became an outstanding monarch of
the kingdom during the latter years of the century, virtually rescuing it from oblivion.
D.M.Lang, The Georgians Thames and Hudson, London, 1966, p.111. S. Rusthveli, The
Knight in the Tiger Skin, Progress Press, Moscow, 1977, p.6.

3. Aziz, p.244.

4. Runciman II, p.231.

5. Fulcher, p.281.

6. de Hoveden II, p.394.

 Chapter 19:

Fontevraud: Gift of the

Crusaders

Not only did the Crusading movement give an impetus to religious

life generally, in particular it led directly to the creation in France of
a unique monastery for women, a foundation that was to be woven
through the history of the crusades.

This was Fontevraud (Fontevrault) Abbey, which was to emerge in

the forest near Chinon to become pre-eminent amongst religious
houses for women. It was amongst the most notable examples of
religious life in Europe reacting to the events of the Crusades.

The Royal Abbey of Fontevraud was founded Robert d'Abrissel, a

Breton hermit, who was charged by Urban II with preaching the
crusade around Maine in France. By 1099, his charismatic preaching
had attracted hundreds of people wanting a combination of a life of
good works and a cloistered existence.1
 Instead of joining in the march on Jerusalem, Robert led his people to
Fontevraud, which was then a wilderness. The group settled in the
midst of a mighty forest in a pleasant valley watered by a gushing
spring.

At first, they led a life of contemplation and prayers, living in caves

and huts made from branches. The presence of women amongst the
party, however, forced Robert to consider more permanent, large
scale residences. With the aid of wealthy benefactors, Robert was
able to commission the building of convents, self contained but
conveniently close to each other and the central place of worship.
One of these was called St Mary's, for nuns, and the other St
Benedict, for the sick. The monks built for themselves a separate
monastery, known as the Convent of St John.

The rule was strict: the nuns had to live in absolute silence and on a
meat free diet, and to dress with lowered veils hiding the face.

Robert began the buildings in 1104, essentially in the new Gothic

style. The roof consisted of four great cupolas resting on pendentives
and upheld by tall pillars, the capitals finely wrought with leaves,
fantastic figures and biblical themes. The chancel was consecrated by
Pope Callixtus II in 1119. The work - which is solid and secure rather
than experimental and bold - was completed by 1150, and has
survived war and the cleansing of the Revolution.

Amongst its most striking surviving features are the great kitchens,
an octagonal tower roofed in a peculiar scale fashion. Around the
sides of the tower are holes topped by lantern turrets - the original
chimney stacks. The vast interior measures some thirty meters by
ten, and encloses enough room for six hearths, from which twenty
flues wafted away the smoke.

A busy staff worked in these kitchens to provide food for four

convents, as well as special dishes for banquets when there were
royal or important visitors. Crowds of poor waited at the gates of the
abbey for the distribution of surplus food as alms.

Most of the food was served in the nun's refectory, a separate

building, where the abbess presided on feast days, supervising the
eating of both spiritual and earthly food. While the nuns ate, readings
from the Bible directed their thoughts to their special calling.

The new order that arose in this special combination of dwellings

and people took the name of the Order of the Blessed Virgin Mary,
with the motto "Son, behold thy mother." It was unique in that it
placed all the religious, both men and women, under the control of a
woman, the abbess.
Another unique feature derived from Robert's experiences of the
wretchedness of the life of women in particular, an insight that he
had gained while travelling the countryside during his preaching of
the crusade.

Attempting to imitate Christ, he sought to welcome the most

wretched and despised elements of that society, the lepers and
prostitutes. Two more special convents were built for them, St
Lazarus for the lepers, and St Magdalene for the prostitutes. Thus,
remarkably, these two most downtrodden and outcast categories of
people became part of the normal life of the community, rather than
simply examples of special charity as might be the case in other
religious institutions.

The abbess was normally to be chosen by a chapter of the

community. The first head, however, was Petronilla of Chemille,
chosen by Robert. She and her successors enjoyed remarkable
freedom, as they were answerable only to the pope in spiritual
matters and the to the French king in worldly affairs.

The unique power enjoyed by the abbess gave her total control over
up to 5,000 people, both men and women, in her order during the
twelfth century. These included 300 contemplative nuns, as well as
100 priories scattered around France, England and Spain. Some of
the monks found the power of the abbesses hard to countenance. In
succeeding centuries, the men sometimes rebelled with violence
against her supremacy. But it was to remain unchallenged until the
events of the French Revolution.

The foundation was an elite organisation, despite its chosen

association with the downtrodden. Its heads were characteristically
from the nobility, including Mathilda of Anjou, who was the daughter
of Fulk V, fourth king of Jerusalem. She was the widow of William the
Conqueror's grandson William, and was the aunt of Henry II.

Such illustrious associations had their confirmation when the abbey

was chosen as the burial place of virtually the entire ruling family of
twelfth century England, the Plantagenet clan, starting with Henry II
(1189). His association with Mathilda, and the foundation’s placement
near his favourite castle, made Fontrevaud a not unexpected choice.

Less expected, perhaps, was that his most bitter rivals were to
choose to lie beside him in death, whereas in life they had spurned
him.

This includes most notably his wife, Eleanor of Aquitaine, and his son
Richard Coeur de Lion, as well as that wicked John Lackland who had
been the very instrument of his death.
 Eleanor spent the last 15 years of her life in St Magdalene's amongst
the penitential women, where she died on March 31, 1204. Richard
died in a sordid raid on Chalus in April 1199. On his death bed he
asked to be buried at the feet of his father.2

Fontevraud is thus not only a singular reaction to the Crusades by

and on behalf of women, but also a concrete reminder of the dangers
inherent in any claim to fully understand the mind set of people who
lived a millennium ago.

1. Abbe Pohu, The Royal Abbey of Fontevraud Lescuyer, Lyons, 1967.

2. Roger de Hoveden, Chronicles, II, p.454.

 Chapter 20

The Lord's Wife

Women’s lives in the Frankish East must have been dangerous,

exciting, exotic, intriguing and often luxurious compared to that of
their relatives at home in Europe.

An example is the life of the lady of Caesarea. Archeological

research is revealing much about the life of such women settlers in
Outremer.

Caesarea was a key coastal city lordship located on the

Mediterranean, a day's march to the north west of Jerusalem. Many of
the Crusader's greatest battles were fought at its very doorstep.

The city of Caesarea was captured by the Crusaders in May 1101.

The conquerors occupied an old Byzantine port city, which had
shrunk to a tenth of its original size. The harbour is small, but
adequate, protected on the southern side by a long mole, on which
were remnants of a pagan temple, later to be overbuilt by a neat
crusader castle. The Crusaders set to work refurbishing what was
there and replacing traces of Moslem ownership, particularly the
great mosque, which was torn down and rebuilt as St Peter's, the
seat of an archbishop. The town then served as the stronghold of a
series of Crusader lords.

Lady Emma, the wife of the first lord of Caesarea, Eustace Garnier,
enjoyed the way of life of a virtually independent quasi kingdom. Her
husband, as ruler of one of the 13 second ranking fiefs of the Crown,
kept a court similar to that of the King in Jerusalem, and she had her
own large following of Christian and Moslem servants.

The fief over which they ruled covered some 1,200 square
kilometres, and owed the knight service of 25 men to the Crown.
Around 100 villages lay within the bounds of the miniature kingdom.
Each of the knights represented an annual cost of between four and
five hundred bezants, which had to be recovered through trade and
agriculture. Crusader lords and ladies depended for their survival on
constantly supplying the needs of those dependent upon them.

A document from neighbouring Arsur from the following century

indicates the flow in cash and goods required to maintain the county.
The lord of Arsur calculated that his annual expenditure was 2,448
bezants, of which he spent 1,500 bezants on his knights. As well, he
gave out 127 litres of oil to his subjects of which the bulk, 100 litres,
went to the knights. Vegetable distribution totalled 22 modii (one
modii the equivalent of 176 litres) of which 16 modii went to the
knights; wheat 137 modii (knights 100); and oats 145 modii
(knights 120).1

Most cash payments and produce thus went to the key fighting men,
the knights.

The remainder of the money and goods had to suffice to support the
lesser ranks of fighting men, the sergeants, and the remainder of the
household.

The lady played an essential role in this social contract, as it was

part of her duties to maintain the flow of produce in return for
military service.

The Lady of Caesarea had a rather doubtful start in life: like other
women of Outremer her life was subject to sudden changes in fortune
over which she often had little control.

Her birth was blighted and elevated simultaneously in that she was
the "niece" of the Christian Patriarch of Jerusalem, Arnulf Malecorne
of Rohes. Arnulf, who Runciman describes as "undoubtedly corrupt"
had secured his election in 1112, at the moment when the last cities
of the Moslems around Jerusalem, including Caesarea, were falling to
the Westerners. Arnulf was to play a key role in shaping the new
kingdom of Jerusalem, and it was through his firm agency that the
original plan of the kingdom as a theocracy governed by a secular
ruler was abandoned.2

Like many ladies of her rank, Emma seems to have been virtually
auctioned off to a politically suitable spouse. Emma's husband
Eustace was a seasoned warrior, who used her marriage to secure his
power.

Crusading men like him were a tough lot, and any smoothing of their
attitudes towards the treatment of women generally seems to have
been rather superficial, according to incidents such as an account of
a tournament related by Usamah. Popular fetes known as communal
festivities were held in cities such as Acre, Tiberias and Jerusalem,
and marked the importation of old customs from Europe. There was a
great deal of noisy and rather coarse merrymaking, which shocked
some of the sober minded Moslems.

One witnessed by Usamah saw the knights ride outside the city of
Tiberias to joust with lances. They dragged along two aged women.
The women were placed at one end of the tournament ground and at
the other was hung a pig. The women were then ordered to partake
in a footrace come obstacle course: the horsemen accompanied
them, obstructing their steps. The poor women fell with every step,
then stumbled to their feet as the spectators shouted with laughter.
One finally reached the other end and was able to claim the pig as
her prize.3

Everything in Eustace's life points to him as being the kind of man

who would have appreciated such one sided sport, as is suggested by
his participation in the conquest of Caesarea.

Before marrying Emma, Eustace had taken charge of Sidon, one of

the four great tenancies of the Crown, after participating in its siege
in 1101. This made him one of the great barons of the new land,
committed to sending 100 knights to serve the king whenever called
upon to do so. The conquering Franks worked in concert with a
number of allies, including the Genoese, who extracted a promise
that this and future conquests would earn them one third of the
booty and a right to a street in the bazaar of every captured town.
Eustace allowed the noble Moslems to flee the city: the majority of
poor people were forced to stay, and were soaked for 20,000 bezants
by the Crown. They were relatively lucky.4

For when the Franks turned their attention their attention to

Caesarea on May 2 they were not so merciful. The ancient Byzantine
walls proved no match for their siege machines, and when the walls
were breached on May 17, the citizens were butchered in the Great
Mosque near the southern or Jaffa Gate. The interior of the old
Byzantine church was turned into a lake of blood. Only a few girls and
infants were spared.5

Emma’s husband was a man whose hands were stained with the
blood of innocents, and who had risen to his position with the
ruthlessness of tyranny.

Like many other Crusading marriages, Emma's actual union took

place amongst an atmosphere of danger and bloodshed, none of
which seems to have daunted the women of Outremer: the human
instinct for the celebration of mutual commitment seems able to
survive even the most trying circumstances.

The description of a contemporary Frankish marriage - probably very

similar to Emma’s - is contained in the observations of Ibm Jubayr. In
the city of Tyre he saw Christian men and women formed in two lines
at the bride's door. Trumpets, flutes and all kinds of musical
instruments were played until she emerged proudly assisted by two
of her male relations, each of them holding one of her hands.

Her garb was elegant, a beautiful dress which trailed in traditional

style with a long train of golden silk. On her head she wore a golden
fillet covered with a net of woven gold. A similar arrangement
covered her breast.

She walked proudly, with tiny steps, like a dove, or floating like a
wisp of cloud.

Before her went Christian notables in their finest clothes, their trains
falling likewise behind them. Behind were her peers amongst the
Christian women, also richly apparelled and ornamented.

Leading all was the orchestra, as the bridal procession passed along
the street between ranks of Christian and Moslem onlookers.

And thus everyone went on to the groom's house, where the party
feasted.6

As a noble lady with important connections, Emma's marriage ritual

would have been similarly elaborate. With the solemnisation of
marriage to Emma came Eustace's confirmation as lord of Caesarea.

Emma's first days as lady of the county must have been

paradoxical.

The memory of massacre must have been all too fresh when she
first entered the city, as the bride of a grim warrior twice her age,
who had married her to secure his title to the barony. Perhaps the
arrival was sweetened a little by the thought that she was the wife of
one of the realm's richest barons, and was now wealthy in her own
right should she survive him: her "uncle" the patriarch had given her
as a wedding present a valuable estate at Jericho formerly owned by
the Holy Sepulchre.7

Her marriage with Eustace, now Constable of the kingdom, soon

produced twins, the longer living but younger Walter I and the elder,
Eustace, later lord of Sidon. They seem to have grown up sharing in
their father's taste for war and politics, and as such were entirely
typical of their brothers and sisters in the Holy Land. The third child
of the marriage, Agnes, was married to Henry of Milly, lord of Nablus,
which bordered Caesarea to the south east, and intervened between
Caesarea and Jerusalem. This marriage thus served the conventional
medieval pattern of cementing relationships between feudatories on
the chequerboard of the political world.
A POWERFUL WOMAN

Emma enjoyed an unusually long marriage with Eustace, who was

probably twice her age. But in 1123, his luck ran out. As Constable of
Jerusalem, in May 1123 he led an army from Jerusalem to intercept a
probing Egyptian army at Jaffa. The importance of the campaign was
marked by Eustace taking part of the True Cross with him: alas, its
protection was unavailing. On 15 May, he died while on campaign.

Emma was remarried immediately, on the King's instructions.

Marriages of female heirs of his lands were his to command, and key
strongholds such as Sidon and Caesarea could not be left in the
hands of a woman.

This time, however, the marriage would seem to have been more to
Emma's liking. Her groom was a tall, handsome youth only slightly
older than her sons, a virile youngster on whom she fastened her
affections.

His name was Hugh II of le Puiset, lord of Jaffa, another stronghold

further south along the coast. He had inherited his father's lands and
title after the death of both his father and mother shortly after they
reached Palestine from Europe, where they had been driven from
their previous inheritance. (This is described above).

Emma does not appear to have been Hugh's true love, however. His
affections went to the king's daughter, Melisende, with whom he was
brought up at the court of Jerusalem.

Melisende was the oldest daughter of Morphia, an Orthodox

Armenian who had married King Baldwin II when he was count of
Edessa. Baldwin II was cousin of King Baldwin I and succeeded to the
kingdom at his death.

The couple appear to have enjoyed a happy married life, producing

as well as Melisende three other daughters, Alice, Hodierna and
Joveta (Yveta), but no male heir. Morphia took no role in the public
affairs of Jerusalem, but was a powerful woman in her own right.
When the king was captured by Moslems in 1123, it is said she hired
some of her fellow Armenians who disguised themselves as Turks and
infiltrated the garrison of Kharpart where the king was prisoner. She
was also central to the negotiations for his release in 1124. She
travelled to north Syria and handed over Joveta as a hostage for the
king's ransom.
 Melisende was the heir to the throne, and her name appears with
her father's on official documents, including witnessing a grant by her
father to the Holy Sepulchre.

She was forced by her father to marry Fulk of Anjou, who acceded to
the throne through Melisende's inheritance in 1131. Fulk was chosen
for her by Louis VI of France, and the marriage took place in the
spring of 1129. Unusually, she was made joint heir, rather than
merely queen consort, an act attributed to her father on his death
bed for fear that she would be repudiated by Fulk, who was a
widower with grown sons of his own, and thus quite capable of
stealing the reins of power. Fulk at first gave his wife no role in
running the kingdom, however. What followed may have been purely
a struggle for dominance between the uneasily allied couple, or it
may have been a combination of political struggle with a real passion
between Melisende and Hugh.8.

Hugh and Melisende's affections for each other are said to have
continued after their respective marriages and after the coronation,
until it grew to be so scandalously open that Fulk grew publicly
jealous.

Finally, in the late summer of 1132, Emma's son Walter accused

Hugh of treason over the affair, and challenged him to a trial by
combat - or perhaps the barons had decided the opportunity was ripe
to eliminate Hugh because he was secretly in league with the
Moslems of Egypt. A date was fixed, and Walter retreated to
Caesarea to prepare himself for the coming joust. Meanwhile, Emma
remained in Jaffa with her unfaithful husband, and either she or the
queen Melisende persuaded him not to fight his step son. When the
day of the fight dawned, the discovery was made that Hugh had fled
to his allies in Egypt.

They soon tired of him, seeing no military advantage in an alliance

with him, and handed him over. Thanks to the pleading of Melisende
on his behalf, his sentence was relatively light: three years exile.

His exile began in a leisurely fashion: he returned to Jerusalem to

farewell his friends. While dicing one evening in the door of a shop in
the Street of the Furriers, he was attacked by a knight, and wounded
so badly that he never recovered, even though he was able to leave
the kingdom for Sicily.

Melisende is reported as having been furious: of Emma's reaction,

we hear nothing. Melisende so terrified the murderers of her lover,
that the punishment of the assassin was swift and terrible. He was
hacked to death piece by piece, while being forced to publicly declare
his guilt. The leader of the assassination group, Raourt of Nablus,
dared not walk the streets without an escort. The king feared for his
life too, while at the same time doing everything he could to win his
wife's love, so that he gave way to her in every matter from then on.
9

By the time of the Second Crusade, the formidable Melisende was

ruler of Jerusalem as regent, having assumed power both in title and
reality, and sharing in the government of the kingdom as an equal
with her husband. The unfortunate Fulk eventually met his doom as
the result of a picnic.

Rather late in the season of 1143 - November 7, when the coldest

month of the year was a few weeks away, the queen expressed the
desire to go on a picnic. During the pleasure jaunt, the king galloped
off after a hare, his horse stumbled, and his skull was crushed during
the fall.

Three days later, Melisende was left a widow.

She had two surviving sons, Amalric, and the elder, Baldwin, who was
thirteen. She was the true heiress to the throne, which her husband
had held only in right of her. On the other hand, the barons would not
accept a woman as their ruler.

The unusual step was taken, therefore, of her being crowned along
with her son, and she ruling through him.

The ceremony took place with the full agreement of her council on
Christmas Day.

Melisende took over government and for a time ruled peaceably.

Because she could not lead the army herself, she transferred charge
of it to a cousin, Manasses of Hierges. Her choice is significant of her
desire to retain power in her own hands. Manasses was a new arrival
in the kingdom and had married his way to eminence: he could not
operate independently of his queen, as could the well established
baronial figures if they had been appointed to his post of Constable.

The queen lacked authority, however, in the north of Outremer, as

Runciman points out. She did not have the personal strength to curb
the growing independence of Antioch and Edessa. Amongst other
things, this resulted in her failure to prevent Raymond of Antioch
from launching a war with the emperor over the possession of Cilicia,
and other squabbles with Joscelin of Edessa.10 The muslims, led by
Zengi, chose the appropriate moment and then struck, capturing the
weakened state of Edessa - the first Crusading state - in November
1144, thus triggering the conditions leading to the disastrous Second
Crusade.11

Melisende clung to her authority, however, as demonstrated when

her son came of age. This otherwise significant event was not
marked by public celebrations. By 1150, there appears to have been
a personal breach between queen and king. Melisende was issuing
public documents solely in her own name, and Baldwin was openly
resenting his lack of independence. He fixed the blame for this on
Manasses, while continuing to demonstrate his own readiness for
rule.

At first, his attempts were fruitless. The patriarch refused to crown

Baldwin as sole ruler in Easter 1152, so Baldwin staged a solemn
procession through the streets wearing a laurel wreath as a public
demonstration of his regality.

And Baldwin soon went further, threatening to wreck the fragile

kingdom in his quest for dominance. He requested the high court to
divide the country between himself and his mother, a foolhardy
demand at a time when Jerusalem needed united resources.

Reluctantly, the queen agreed, perhaps in order to avoid bloodshed.

She retained the south, where she had the support of the barons and
the church.

Her ungrateful son immediately raised a northern army and invaded

his mother's lands, bringing on the civil war she had hoped to avoid.
He proved an able general, and opposition collapsed so that he was
quickly admitted to Jerusalem, where he laid siege to his mother and
her few supporters, who locked themselves in the Tower of David.

The defeated queen was allowed to retire to the city of Nablus, where
she enjoyed the support of her son Amalric, and the church.

Beaten, she was not finished.

Muslim incursions had resulted in her niece Constance becoming

ruler of Antioch. The situation of another female ruler could not be
tolerated by Baldwin or the other barons, and a council was
summoned at Tripoli in mid 1152 to decide what should be done.

Melisende arranged to visit her sister Hodierna, who was having

marital difficulties with her husband, Raymond of Tripoli, by happy
coincidence arriving in time for the assembly, from which she could
not now be barred.

The two royal aunts were thus able to be fully involved in the
discussions over the fate of Constance: Melisende was reconciled
with her son and her authority gradually reinstated. By 1154, she was
once more acting as a public figure. By 1157, she was controlling a
military expedition to recover the fortress of El-Hablis.

Melisende's last years, therefore, seem remarkably tranquil

compared to her girlhood, marriage and time as queen regnant. A
great benefactor of religious houses in her later years as well as
patron of the arts (a psalter in the British Museum bears her name),
she died in 1161 and was buried in the shrine of our Lady of Josaphat,
next to her mother.12

HOME ... AND AWAY

Emma's periods of residence in Caesarea were probably only

occasional, as it was necessary for lords and ladies to move
continually from one stronghold to another, to make their presence
felt and carry out their duties.

Lordship was a personal thing. The baron or knight was thus

required to show his presence everywhere in his land at regular
intervals. Caesarea in its 1200 square kilometres of territory owed 25
knights to the crown, and these knights would have been scattered
on their manors throughout the fief.

Courtiers such as Emma and her lord would also have had on
occasions to spend time in Jerusalem, especially at times of political
turmoil, although visits to the capital would have been periodic rather
than semi - permanent. Only about a quarter of the city was occupied
by the invaders after 1098: most Franks went home to Europe within
a couple of months of the conquest, or went to live in outlying
settlements. Jerusalem became a place of pilgrimage and formal
ceremonial.13

But when in Caesarea, she would have enjoyed a comfortable if

somewhat claustrophobic existence. She had running water in her
home. To the small dock in the harbour came continuous trade
between East and West - the spices, clothing, makeup and other
luxury goods - all on a smaller scale than in larger ports such as Acre,
but substantial enough to make life even luxurious. Surplus supplies
were stored beneath her living quarters in huge vaults.

Emma’s castle was flat roofed so that she could enjoy evening
breezes while sitting on glowing Persian rugs, overlooking the sea. It
was as pleasant as a citadel could be, a three storey dunjon
surmounted by a smaller tower, enclosed in a crenellated square, the
corners of which were strengthened with square towers.

To leave the castle on its spit of land out in the Mediterranean, she
crossed a drawbridge and through a watchtower that served as
another gate to the city proper. The houses within the city walls
were even more comfortable: separately built, with shading
cypresses and date palms planted around its walls.

Inside her apartments on hot days, she could look into a spacious
central courtyard cooled by a huge cistern that collected the
rainwater. Her pleasure might be complemented by a troubadour
singing the latest love song from Europe, or by a Muslim author
reading an epic romance of chivalry. The strains of music from
stringed instruments might have hung heavy on the evening air,
blending with the heady smell of incense brought from the hinterland
of the Red Sea at Dhofar in Oman.14.

The town was not large. It was less than three bowshots from the
north to the south gate, but the walls were impressive, with their
twenty one towers, some as massive as a castle.

The lady's circle of acquaintances would include the archbishop,

who lived in a large and comfortable house right next to his
cathedral, which itself was within easy reach of the wharfs, the
castle, and the Jaffa gate. As the well educated "niece" of the spiritual
ruler of Jerusalem, she would have been able to meet with the
archbishop and discuss matters of state freely and knowledgeably.
The archbishop during her time was Evremar of Choques, who
controlled the archbishopric of Caesarea until 1129. Evremar was not
a political ally of Arnulf: an old man, he was also known for his piety
and charity. But Arnulf had in fact many years before conspired to
have him made Patriarch, counting on him not interfering in his plots.
This was a ploy to oust the previous Patriarch, Arnulf's enemy, and it
was successful. Eventually, Evremar was sacked from the senior role
by a papal legate, and retired to the relative anonymity of Caesarea.
A gentle old man who had endured so much must have been a
pleasant companion for Emma.

During the day she might well choose to visit the bazaar which
gathered between the archbishop's house and the wharf, where
Genoese sailors were busy loading and unloading goods, and where
camel trains were being similarly prepared.

A unique feature of Crusading commerce was that markets such as

those in Caesarea tended to be permanent, rather than temporary as
in Europe. This fixed market was usually known as the fonde (funda).
As described in documents from the time, the market would be
characterised by a large central plaza bounded by buildings. In the
streets and alleyways leading from the plaza or platha, there were
narrow rows of stalls and shops. The upper floors were used as
homes by the merchants.

Through the kingdoms there was a degree of specialisation, so that

certain markets and certain areas sold particular goods. Thus
Jerusalem's grain market was situated to the left of the main gate,
near the citadel. As well, there were streets for herbsellers,
fishmongers, poultry, cooks, cattle, and textiles. A similar
arrangement on a smaller scale applied in other settlements,
depending on the specialisation of the region. In Caesarea, a large
proportion of the goods put on the Genoese ship would have been
sugar cane, grown in the orchards and truck gardens on the
sheltered eastern side of the town.

Part of the lady's way to the docks brought her down the specialist
streets, or rues, which arched over her head, with houses built on the
upper story: cool, sheltered alleyways that made the journey safer
and more pleasurable. These new houses were being built for the
Genoese, capitalising on the bargain struck during the conquest of
the region. In the market, she could stride around confidently, her
complexion protected beneath a transparent veil, which she could
push aside whenever she wished to see a market offering more
closely - unlike the muslim women, who were constantly heavily
veiled. And what products there were to barter for: fruits such as
apricots, lemons, grapes and oranges; a myriad of spices and herbs
such as thyme, marjoram, carob, cumin, pepper; exotic vegetables
such as shallots; refined sugar; cosmetics such as face powders,
henna dye, and kohl for the eyes; and a bewildering variety of
textiles ranging from expensive silks and damascene cloth to cheaper
cotton bolts.

Time may have occasionally hung heavy on her hands, for she was
far from her home, and her range of female acquaintances was small,
mainly confined to the ladies of her household.

But usually, she would have been stretched to the limit with the
details of running her husband's lordship, especially when he was
called to serve the king against the Arabs, as was frequently the
case.

She was responsible for co-ordinating the defence and supply of 10

strongholds within the lordship. Regular trains of mule borne supplies
had to be despatched, and the thin military resources of the lordship
moved around in the face of occasional raids by hostile Moslems.

As well, there were over fifty villages throughout the breadth of the
lordship, open to attack, and requiring her supervision. As the lady of
the domain, she was the ultimate overseer in disputes, and had to
make sure that agriculture was being correctly carried on and that
her family's entitlement to the profits from crops and trade were
adequately collected. Planting occurred in autumn in order to catch
the benefits of the rainy season, and harvest began at the start of the
long, hot summer. The harvest had to be gathered quickly, lest it be
stolen, or the crops flattened by unexpected storms. Of course, much
of her work would be done by the dragoman, an Arabic speaking
supervisor who dealt with the headman of the village. She may well
have known many of the villagers by face, if not by name: most
settlements had only 40 male residents, with their families.

Such was the life of Emma, lady of Caesarea, at one end of the
social spectrum. At the other end, it is possible to glimpse the
existence of women settlers of more humble origin as well. One such
is hinted at in a local court record. A woman named Isabella is
described as a colonist of Caesarea. A rare document from the
national Court of the Burgesses mentions her as selling a property
within the walls of the town in 1167. Presumably, she was one of that
class of artisans and merchants into whom the crusades had
breathed life through the opening of trade routes. The Court before
which she appeared was an institution set up to control the affairs of
non noble settlers. It usually sat in Jerusalem, but sometimes
outlying communities also were visited by it. On this occasion the
court was presided over by Hugo, seneschal of the count. Isabella is
recorded as selling her house for 30 bezants 20 mummi (deniers?) or
about the equivalent of 8 per cent of a knight's annual income. She
guaranteed her title to be free and unencumbered, a guarantee
which was supported by a similar declaration by her daughter. These
declarations were made in the presence of a panel of burgesses,
whose task it was to act as living records in an age of limited literacy
and poor recording.15

Why did Isabella and her daughter sell their humble property?

Perhaps they planned to move to another city, or back to Europe.

Perhaps Isabella's husband had died of age, illness or in one of the
interminable skirmishes with the Saracens. Or perhaps she was
operating as a business operator in her own right, disposing of
surplus property to increase her cash flow or create new investments.

The city established by Emma and Eustace was short lived. In 1191
Saladin, unable to defend the recently recaptured town from Richard
I's advancing army, had it burned to the ground. During the next
century, it was completely destroyed, and ironically, preserved in its
own rubble until the present day when the archeologist's trowel can
once more begin to breathe life into its dead remains.
1. Prawer, Crusader Institutions Clarendon, Oxford, 1980p. 154-5.

2. Runciman III, p.85.

3. Aziz, The Palestine of the Crusaders. The more courtly tournaments which are now
familiar were not yet current. Knightly contests of the eleventh and twelfth centuries were
crude affairs in the extreme, all but untempered by chivalry. Richard Lionheart, for example,
was greatly opposed to them when he was king.

4. Runciman II, p93.

5. Ibid., p.73.

6. Ibn Jubayr in Chronicles of the Crusades, p.162.

7. Runciman, II, p.85.

8. Hamilton, "Queens of Jerusalem", pp.147-9.

9. Runciman II, pp.190-4.

10. Ibid., pp.233-5.

11. See Part III.

12. Hamilton, "Queens of Jerusalem", p.156.

13. Prawer, Crusader Institutions, p.89.

14. T.J. Abercrombie, "Arabia's Frankincense Trail" National Geographic 168 (4) October
1985, pp.474-513.

15. Prawer, p.275. For a description of Crusader markets, see Prawer, The Crusaders'
Kingdom: European Colonialism in the Middle Ages Praeger, New York, 1972, pp.408-9.
 Chapter 21:

This Wicked State of Adultery

 A widely accepted view of medieval marriage is that it was an
unromantic and really rather callous institution. Couples were united
in matrimony with a view to dynastic succession, military alliance and
the conjunction of estates, of which they were simply the human
embodiments. Such seems to have been largely the case with Emma
of Caeasarea and many of the queens of Jerusalem.

But frequently in the stories of the Crusades, cases of grand passion

between men and women are all too evident, even, and sometimes
especially, in wedlock.

Just such a story is the marriage of Bohemond and Sybilla. This

deliberately sought union is also a reminder that women of the
Crusades were villains, as well as heroines - in fact, that women
encompassed every known range of behaviour, not just the limited
characteristics usually portrayed in the chronicles and the
illuminations.

For the mysterious Sybilla all but destroyed the powerful Crusading
principality of Antioch.

Sybilla must have had a remarkable personality. For her love, the
Prince of Antioch, Bohemond III, risked his life and his immortal soul,
as well as the princedom to which he was heir.

Described by the chroniclers merely as a "loose lady of Antioch",

Sybilla was actually much more: she was in fact a spy in the pay of
the new leader of Islam, Saladin, reporting on the strength and
movements of the Christian armies.1

Bohemond came of age after a minority, during which he was at the

mercy of the regents and the king of Jerusalem. His father, the
infamous Reynald of Chatillon, was in a Turkish prison: his mother
Constance was distraught at the loss of her husband.

Bohemond married at least twice during his youth. His first union
was to a woman called Orgillosa of Harenc, who is mentioned in
charters in 1170-5, and by whom he had two children - Alice of
Armenia, and the future ruler of Antioch, Bohemond IV. He was then
united to Theodora, a relative of the Emperor Manuel. Theodora, who
is also sometimes called Irene, stood in some unknown relationship
to the emperor, and may have given birth to a daughter by
Bohemond, named Constance.2
 In any case, Bohemond married Theodora in 1177 to secure the
support of the emperor at a time when Saladin was beginning to
threaten the kingdom.

In 1185, Manuel fell, and with him the need for Bohemond's
marriage.

What followed next threw Outremer into a near fatal turmoil.

Bohemond "put away" Theodora and took his mistress Sybilla as his
second wife (according to William of Tyre) or third wife (according to
Runciman). Apparently this relationship had predated the death of
Manuel. According to William of Tyre, Bohemond had been frequently
urged to leave this "wicked state of adultery" and take back his
legitimate wife. Bohemond turned a deaf ear and refused to listen, so
that eventually he drew upon himself the dread sentence of
excommunication.

Such was his besottedness for his mistress, however, that he paid
scant attention. Rather, he treated the patriarch Aimery and other
prelates as his enemy, and violated the sacred places, both churches
and monasteries, and plundered their wealth. Eventually, he even
laid siege to his own patriarch who had taken refuge in a fortress.

Many of Bohemond's own barons, outraged at his conduct, deserted

him "in utter abhorrence at his wicked deeds". No doubt they also
saw this behaviour as laying Antioch open to invasion, particularly
from the neighbouring Moslem state of Armenia, which was currently
in a state of truce.

"The whole province would again fall into the power of the Turks,
from whom, with God's help, it had been rescued through the work of
faithful leaders and at the expense of untold hardships endured by
the people of Christ."3 The King met with the prelates and the lay
princes to discuss their options. Fearing that further strong measures
might entice the Turks to invade, they preferred appeasement,
trusting that Bohemond would come to his senses.

He did not: he remained in possession of his concubine, who

meanwhile spied for the Saladin.

But the land remained under an interdict. Bohemond might have his
leman: the mass of the population suffered for it.

"Except for the baptism of children, none of the sacraments of the

church were now administered to the people, and the Christians
realized with alarm that present conditions could not continue long
without peril to all."4
By common consent, therefore, it was decided that the patriarch
Heraclius should negotiate personally, in the company of
Bohemond's father, Reynald of Chatillon, and the masters of the
Temple and the Hospital. These were the great men of the kingdom,
and their presence shows how seriously the situation was viewed.

The outcome of the negotiations was a victory for Bohemond and

Sybilla. The interdict was to be lifted on the restoration of the
church's property, except for the personal ban placed on Bohemond.

"...he in his person must patiently suffer the sentence laid upon him
by the bishops, or, if she should seek complete absolution, he must
dismiss his concubine and take back his legitimate wife."5

Bohemond had triumphed.

His mistress was confirmed as his princess. They lived as husband

and wife until after the fall of Jerusalem, and had at least two
children, Alice, who married Guy of Jebail, and Bohemond, who
married the heiress to the lands of Botrun. Sybilla appears to have
had another son, William, by a previous liaison.

Prince Bohemond made his victory complete by purging his city of

the nobles who had questioned his behaviour, including his constable
and chamberlain. These men immediately defected to Roupen, who
shortly after began a concerted and ultimately successful attempt by
Armenia - the neighbouring princedom - to dethrone Bohemond.

Sybilla can be seen to have plotted against Bohemond in 1186,

conspiring with a sometimes ally of Bohemond, Leo prince of
Armenia, to place her son William on the princely throne.

Sybilla also repaid Bohemond's love by betraying the plans of his

cities to Saladin, after the disaster at Hattin. The sultan had no
difficulty in capturing the outlying fortresses and shrinking the
principality to the very walls of the city itself.

And she accompanied Bohemond to Baghras in Armenia to meet Leo

in October 1193 to discuss the details of a truce aimed at securing
the much reduced stronghold. Bohemond's household was
immediately taken prisoner by Leo, and the unlucky prince was
forced into a dishonourable agreement, perhaps through the
persuasion of his consort. He agreed to surrender his princedom to
Leo, to the horror of the citizens at home in Antioch. They rebelled
against Leo's commissioners, sent to put the details in train. After a
violent riot, they set up a commune, which then transferred its
allegiance to Raymond, Bohemund's eldest son. After yet another
round of betrayal and counter betrayals, Leo's grip on the city was
loosened, and Bohemond, by 1197, following the death of Raymond,
was briefly back in control. Bohemond's humiliation was to reach its
completion in 1198 when he was finally betrayed and expelled from
the city forever by his son by Orgillosa, Bohemund.

If there was to be a moral to this story, it is simply that the lords and
ladies were fighting for pre-eminence in a house that was burning
around their ears: their gains were all temporary, and doomed as lost
love.

In contrast to the rather slippery behaviour of Sybilla, there were

women who were models of loyalty and patience, straight out of the
manual of life according to the French writer, the Knight of Tour
Landry. Sybilla's own sister (name unknown) was herself one of
those. Together with her (unknown) husband, she was the ruler of
Bourzey, a small, isolated fortress in the mountains near Antioch. The
castle was besieged in 1188 by Saladin, and Sybilla's sister
participated in the resistance. According to Ibn al Athir, he saw a
woman (Sybilla's sister?) hurling missiles from the castle tower using
a trebuchet. It was she, he said, who made the besieger's efforts
useless. The assault lasted for nearly two days, both day and night,
until Saladin ordered an assault. His army met great difficulties from
the besieged, who rolled boulders down upon them. At last, however,
the Franks were overwhelmed and forced to surrender. In the end,
the Sultan sent Sybilla's sister, together with her husband and fifteen
other members of the family, back to Antioch.6

Another shining example of women's loyalty and endeavour is the

story of King Edward I and his Eleanor, a couple out of fantasy, whose
love transcended death itself. The affair of Queen Eleanor of Castile,
and her mighty husband, Edward of England, Hammer of the Scots,
is commemorated in landmarks and place names to the present day,
such as Charing Cross.

Here is the kind of romantic vision which has covered the Crusades
with a mantle of gilt.

Like most anecdotes of the era, the legend of Eleanor and Edward is
a mixture of fantasy, fallacy, wish fulfilment, and a reminder that all
humans can have redeeming qualities.

It is also, incidentally, yet another instance of how great ladies

participated in the Crusades, along with their husbands.

Thus, Saint Louis of France was accompanied on his thirteenth

century journey to the East by his wife Margaret. She was married to
Louis at the age of twelve, and she matched the young king in the
sweetness and amiability of her disposition. Louis' mother Blanche,
however, was so jealous of this rival for her son's affections that she
forbade the couple to meet without her supervision. They were thus
forced to meet in secret. Joinville says that Blanche hated her
daughter-in-law Margaret above all others and treated her harshly
even after Margaret grew up.

But their love endured and survived, and Margaret remained the
partner of her husband's ventures.7

In the case of Edward and Eleanor, Edward was still only the heir
apparent at the moment when he and his wife set off on Crusade,
spurred on as they were by the urgings of the Old King, the aged
Henry III, and by the fall of Antioch. The couple left England in the
summer of 1271 with a following of about a thousand men.

Eleanor and Edward had married in 1254. Some years later, upon her
mother's death, Eleanor inherited the county of Ponthieu, a coup
which greatly strengthened England in its struggle with the king of
France. She was thus doubly valued, for her person and her lands.

The English found themselves poorly supported by other crusading

powers, and the remnants of Outremer in a parlous state following
the collapse of Antioch, the keystone to the northern part of the Holy
Land.

In May, 1272, Edward signed a truce with Sultan Baibars, the leader
of the Muslim forces. Unfortunately, Baibars wanted to eliminate
Edward altogether, and on June 16, 1272, Edward was stabbed by a
supposed messenger who was handing him a letter, but was actually
an Assassin with a poisoned dagger. Edward is said to have
immediately slain the false messenger.

Edward survived, according to legend because his wife Eleanor

sucked the poison from the wound in his chest. There is a romantic
nineteenth century portrait of the incident by Severn which shows
Edward half naked on a couch beneath some palm trees, surrounded
by anxious courtiers and ladies, while his beautiful wife ministers to
his wound.

Unfortunately, the provenance of this attractive anecdote is doubtful.

The incident is not recounted by contemporary chroniclers: it is first
recorded in the writing of Ptolemy of Lucca one hundred years after
the event.8

All that can be stated with certainty is that Edward, accompanied by

his wife, went to the Holy Land on Crusade, and was severely
wounded during his stay there by a murderer’s attack.

Whether because of the self sacrifice of his wife, or because the

wound was not deadly, Edward recovered, and later that year he and
his wife sailed back to England, where he discovered that he was now
king.

Eleanor lived until 1290 when she died at Hareby in Lincolnshire,

survived by only one of her sons, the young prince Edward, and three
daughters. Edward was heartbroken at the death of his companion,
writing to the Abbot of Cluny that he had loved her tenderly in her
lifetime, and did not cease to do so upon her death. And when her
body was brought back to London for burial, he had crosses erected
at each place where her bier rested, the largest at Waltham in
Herefordshire, the last and most famous at Charing Cross near her
burial place in Westminster.

Edward married again for dynastic reasons in 1299, to Margaret of

France. But it is perhaps significant that in these last years of his life,
he achieved his fearsome reputation for genocide and the grinding
subjugation of Wales and Scotland.

Was it the eternal absence of his lifelong companion and friend that
turned the most admirable of England's Crusader kings into a mean
minded, petty tyrant, determined to wreak a wild vengeance on a
world in which he could no longer find joy?

It is appropriate to end this analysis of the changes wrought by the

Crusades with an account of the human passions involved in the
events. For in the detailed accounts of the later Crusades, considered
in the following chapters, it is clear that great events and
international political entanglements were often the direct outcome
of the peculiar chemistry engendered in the emotions of singular
women and their men.
1. Runciman II, p.429.

2. Ibid., p.419.

3. William of Tyre, Book IV chapter 6.

4. Ibid.

5. Ibid., chapter 7.

6. Kennedy, Crusader Castles, pp. 83-4.

7. R.Vaughan (ed.), The Illustrated Chronicles of Matthew Paris: Observations of Thirteenth

Century Life Corpus Christi College, Cambridge, 1993, pp. 50-1.

8. Runciman III, p.338.

 Part III

THE SECOND CRUSADE

Chapter 22:

The Queen's Crusade

Evidence about the First Crusade is sketchy at best, and often remote from the events
themselves: in twelfth century documents it becomes relatively easier to discern
women participating in the Crusades. Women of this later era are more frequently
recorded by chroniclers writing at first hand than was the case in the eleventh century.
Often, indeed, the scribes were direct participants in the matters they describe.
As well, and not least importantly, the Second and Third Crusades felt the impact of
a particular woman who was remarkable both for her personality and her role in
history.
The Second Crusade may fairly be called the Queen's Crusade, for it was dominated
by the character of the Queen of France, Eleanor of Aquitaine. Her story is woven
through the lives of thousands of others - men and women, great and small: she is too
important to ignore.
Pre-eminent amongst the men and women of her time - more than Suger, Henry II,
Barbarossa or St Bernard - she is the spirit of her century. It is all but impossible to
search the chronicles of the era without treading the paths that she defined.

Eleanor, however, was by no means the first member of her family to embark for
Palestine, although she is the best remembered.
 Never was there such a brawling, self absorbed, fascinating and arrogantly superior
brood as her family. Quite rightly, the Plantagenets - the dynasty she created, along
with her second husband Henry II - are more often associated with the Devil than
with the opposite end of the Christian spectrum.
And much the same held true with her parental family, the rulers of the Aquitaine.
Her ancestors had helped quicken the soul of Europe to the possibilities of Crusade.
It might fairly be said that the blood of Crusaders already ran hot in the veins of the
beautiful and passionate Queen Eleanor when she was still the young bride of Louis,
King of France.
Her paternal grandfather, William IX of Aquitaine, had set the example. William had
belatedly but vigorously joined in the crusades in 1101.
He also seems to have shocked and outraged the more pious residents of Christian
Outremer. William was no choir boy: his exploits are described above. They are
characterised by a supreme indifference to the rights of others, and particularly the
women in his life.Yet, in the most ironical of all twists, he was possibly partly
responsible for bringing to France the idea of singing the praises of women. Music
had previously been almost totally devoted to the praise of god or of battle (often
simultaneously, as in the Song of Roland written c.1050 by a monk).
The Aquitaine was abuzz with that novel idea by the middle of the twelfth century.
Within a generation it had ravished the rest of Europe, and still does in various forms
to the present.
William IX seems to have been the first well known recipient of these ideas, perhaps
garnered during his sojourn in the East, or perhaps infiltrating to his Duchy through
the cultural barriers at the borders of reconquered Spain.
William was no milk and water poet, overawed by the beauty of his mistress's brow.
Quite the contrary. He boasted without shame that he could earn his living as a lover
in any marketplace, and according to William of Malmesbury he planned to build a
nunnery of whores at Niort with the most beautiful of the ladies as its abbess.1
A contemporary described him as the most courtly of men in the whole world, as
well as one of the greatest deceivers. He could write good poetry and sing well, and
was given to wandering the world seducing women.2
Samples of the poems he wrote begin with the boast that he will write of large
portions of joy, love and youth.
He is as good as his lusty word. In one such poem, he imagines himself pretending to
be half witted. Strolling in the street he meets two married women, who like his looks
and try to extract a word from him. He replies in nonsense: they are satisfied that he's
just the man for them, so they hide him beneath their cloak and smuggle him into the
house of one of them. After a spiced supper, with plenty of wine, they begin to have
second thoughts. They decide to test his supposed dumbness. Finding a cat, they
command William to undress, and then drag the cat's claws across his back. He had
more than a hundred wounds that day, but says not a word. His wounds are soothed in
a bath - if he is to be believed, the bathing went on for eight days - and his ardour is
tried no less than 188 times.
William is credited with being the first lyric poet in any modern European language.
Given that his spirit was Byronic rather than Wordsworthian, he must have caused a
stir amongst the ladies of Outremer.
It must be admitted, however, that as a warrior, he was disastrous.
Time and again he and his army found itself in impossible positions in the journey
through Anatolia, ambushes and false marches which William only escaped with the
massive loss of life of his followers and superhuman feats of concealment on his
part.3
Amongst his accomplishments on his journey was the loss of one of Europe's most
famous beauties, Irene the Dowager Margravine of Austria. She joined in his progress
apparently as the closing phase of a life of earthly pleasure, seeking the piety of
crusade during her autumn years. William's army was defeated by bad planning and
dry marches as it crossed the familiar route past Dorylaeum. The Turks fell on the
disordered troops as they broke ranks to race for water at the town of Heraclea.
Nearly all were killed or captured. The aged Irene was probably crushed to death in
the stampede for water, but legend had it that she was captured and placed in a harem,
where eventually she gave birth to the great Moslem warrior Zengi.4
The crusades of William’s grandaughter Eleanor were to prove equally spectacular,
and equally disastrous for the cause of Christendom in the East. It was a characteristic
of the dynasty that it lived the feckless life of the grasshopper.
Unusually for this family, Eleanor's father, William X, did not emulate his father in
taking the Cross, but he seems to have shared the family traits of impetuosity and
willfullness, dying while excommunicated over a dispute with a local bishop.

THE OUTREMER CONNECTION

The tale of the Eleanor's involvement with crusading has its immediate origins in the
melodramatic career of her uncle, Raymond of Toulouse and Antioch.
Raymond was the image of the knight errant: handsome, free spirited, rich and a
reckless gambler with his life and the lives of others.
He was also the close friend of Eleanor, long before she became the wife of King
Louis of France.
Raymond of Toulouse lived a luxurious life, in keeping with his playboy image. He
had charmed Eleanor when she was still a child, growing up in the sunlit courts of
southern France. Later, he dazzled the rulers of Europe, as he wandered from domain
to domain. He was trained to knight service under the special tutelage of Henry I of
England, who gave him the accolade.
But Raymond could not find his place in Europe. It was by a chance, lucky for him
but unfortunate for Bohemond II Prince of Antioch, that he found his niche in the
colonies of Palestine.
In 1130 Bohemond was killed in a skirmish with the Moslems, his severed head sent
back to his widow in his capital. This widow was the formidable Princess Alice,
daughter of King Baldwin of Jerusalem.
Alice’s life shows a noble woman very much in control of her own political
program, acting as military leader, diplomat and head of state, with ultimately no
quarter given in the bloody business of running a country. Her sister was Melisende
of Jerusalem, who in 1131 passed her father's throne to Fulk Count of Anjou by an
arranged marriage made in May 1129. As described above, Melisende was throughout
this time engaged in a notorious love affair with Hugh le Puiset, which was eventually
to result in the death of her lover and her subjugation of her husband to her wishes.
But at the moment of Bohemond II's death, all that was in the future.
 The widowed Alice showed herself to have been made of the same stern stuff as her
sister.
She set out to take over the rulership of Antioch in her own right, with the
unquestioning aid of a compliant new husband.
Instead, she had to contend with Raymond, and with the highest officials in the land,
who aimed to dupe her out of her inheritance. Like the strong minded lady of
Outremer she was, she refused to accept her fate.
Amongst the people she had to fight against was her father King Baldwin, who made
it clear he wanted Alice out of Antioch, with a strong man to take her place.
Alice should have waited for the king to appoint a regent, as was his right as
overlord. Instead, she immediately intervened personally and took charge of the
princedom. People feared for what she might do to her two year old daughter, who
had the hereditary right to the throne. These fears may have had justification, for
shortly afterwards, Alice tried to give her underage daughter in marriage to the Greek
empire in order to secure Byzantium's support for her rule.
Her most desperate step was to send a splendid horse as a gift to Zengi, Saracen ruler
of Aleppo, offering to do him homage in return for his support over her claim to
Antioch.
Neither ties of family, of motherly affection, nor religious conviction could override
her determination for what was hers by right of marriage and inheritance.5
Unfortunately for the envoy in charge of the Princess's gift to Zengi, Alice's father
Baldwin and her brother in law Fulk caught him before he had fairly begun the
journey: the poor man was hanged.
Alice responded by sealing the gates of her city in her father's face. A distribution of
treasure from the city's exchequer seems to have won her the temporary favour of the
locals. Unfortunately, her knights were not so easily bought: they opened the gates to
her father. She took refuge in a tower, to surrender at last only when guaranteed her
safety, and buying her freedom by kneeling shame faced before her father.
He banished her to the lands of her dowry, Lattakieh and Jabala.
King Baldwin died in September 1131: his replacement was Fulk.
But the northern nobles, and particularly Alice, had their reasons not to accept him as
the real heir to the throne. They wanted to establish their independence from
Jerusalem. For Alice, it meant her chance to seize Antioch back again.
Alice organised opposition to Fulk amongst the northerners, reclaiming the title of
regent of Antioch. The court appointed guardian of Alice's daughter Constance was
Joscelin of Edessa, who had died a month after Baldwin, so there was a crucial
interregnum.
Alice struck.
She negotiated with Joscelin's successor, Joscelin II of Edessa. Joscelin II was in a
vulnerable position, as the barons of Antioch refused to confirm his regency, wishing
as they did to preserve Antioch's independence. Alice negotiated with Joscelin,
offering him the prospect of independence if he supported the break from Jerusalem.
Joscelin agreed, and was joined soon afterwards by Pons of Tripoli, who saw his
county gaining its freedom if the others were successful.6
Alice continued to gather support amongst a number of lords of Outremer, but a
majority of her own barons betrayed her, summoning Fulk and his army from
Jerusalem, rather than acceding to a woman's rule.
Meanwhile, Raymond of Toulouse had been selected by the King and the barons of
the principality as the ideal replacement for Bohemond: well titled, but landless and
without ambition. They expected they could manipulate him and simultaneously keep
themselves independent of Jerusalem's direct control. Not all the lords of Outremer
agreed of course: some of them considered themselves candidates for the princely
crown of Antioch, and they attempted to stop Raymond before he ever reached their
land. He had smuggled himself from Europe aboard various ships, and divided his
personal following into small parties so they were not easily spotted.
Once in Antioch, with the aid of the Patriarch, he double-crossed his proponents and
his opponents.
In the time between Raymond being sent for and before his arrival in 1136 in
Outremer, Alice had marched back into Antioch and assumed the role of a sovereign,
with everybody under her sway. She was supported in this by Melisende, who
interceded with Fulk - by now in mortal terror of his queen - not to interfere with her
actions. Alice also gained the support of a number of nobles. Meanwhile, the crafty
patriarch of Antioch, Ralph, persuaded her that Raymond was to be her future
husband, thus securing her favor and influence against his enemies within the clergy.
Alice, says William of Tyre, was credulous enough to readily accept this false hope.
Raymond had meanwhile entered into negotiations with the patriarch, promising to
swear fealty to him, in return for marrying Alice's daughter Constance in order to
secure the principality. It was additionally agreed that if Henry, his brother, should
also come to Antioch, the patriarch would endeavor to secure Alice as his bride,
together with her two cities and the lands attached to them.
The agreement made, Raymond entered the city.
Alice permitted this, supposing that all the arrangements then being made were for
her own wedding. But when he was conducted to the basilica of St Peters, Raymond
instead married the Lady Constance. The young princess was not yet of marriageable
age - under nine years old - but the cynical patriarch nevertheless bestowed her
personally as the bride of Raymond.
Learning that she had been double-crossed yet again, Alice surrendered Antioch and
retired to her own domains, where she spent the rest of her brief life in fruitless hatred
of the new prince.
Raymond, fittingly, in turn double-crossed the Patriarch, eventually withdrawing his
favour and support, aligning himself with the pontiff's adversaries.
Raymond appears to have been an able politician, spending ten years in profitable
rule of his new principality, forgetting all thoughts of his homeland. Like most Franks
in Palestine, he adopted his new land. William has left a vivid pen portrait of him:
tall, young, handsome, his cheeks still covered with the downy beard of youth when
he arrived in Outremer, affable and agreeable in conversation. A patron of letters, he
was devoted in religious matters, and after his marriage careful to observe and
maintain faithfulness in his conjugal relations - at least until the arrival of Eleanor. He
was, however, too fond of gambling, and quick to anger and to act impulsively.
He pursued his interests in Antioch until the neighbouring state of Edessa fell to the
Arabs in 1144, exposing both his lands and the whole kingdom to imminent danger.
Now he turned back to his relatives in Europe, sending them many gifts from the
bazaars of his state to tempt them into aiding him in defending his lands.7
Not that they needed much tempting. In particular his niece, now eight years the wife
of the saintly King Louis, was eager to accept the bait Raymond proferred.

THE BORED AND THE BEAUTIFUL

 Accounts agree that by the time her uncle Raymond asked for help from the West,
the lively Eleanor was thoroughly bored with a husband who spent more than enough
time on his knees in church.
Louis himself was ripe for the call to Crusade, troubled as he was by constant visions
of a vocation to serve the Church. He volunteered to aid in the defence of
Christendom without bothering to secure the assent of all his chief advisors.
The Pope Eugenius III issued the Papal Bull Quantum Praedecessors on December 1
1145. Its stated aim was to recover Edessa, and the Pope called mainly on the French
and Italian knights to undertake the task. Non combatants - women - were expected to
remain at home.
But to the consternation of counsellors such as Abbot Suger, Queen Eleanor did not
share this assumption. She expected to participate actively in the journey.
It was impossible to stop her going - after all, she could raise more troops from her
Duchy of Aquitaine than the king could from his lands.
Eleanor also played a vital role in securing the support of the reluctant barons, who
muttered of folly and the waste of money and life involved in a crusade. She moved
amongst them, cajoling, flattering, and leading the men towards a decision.
So successful was she that once more all of western Europe stirred itself for the
great journey.
She was aided in her insistence by St Bernard of Clairvaux, that "honey tongued"
preacher, who saw the venture as a task for all, and succeeded through the fire of his
sermons in enlisting high and low, male and female, adults and the young for the
journey.
The Crusade was launched by St Bernard at Vezelay in Burgundy in the Lenten
period of 1146. 8
The basilica of Vezelay was a suitable turning point for such a venture: it combined
the old and the new. The western door was crowned by a barely completed sculpture
in the romanesque style, an art form that was even then the hallmark of a past era.
The carving in antique style showed a departure: a triumphant Christ issuing his
apostles forth into the world, just as St Bernard was about to charge anew the knights
of Europe with the task of setting forth on the incompleted work of two generations
before, the reclamation of the holy places. 9
So great was the immediate response, however, that the existing church proved
inadequate. When Bernard of Clairvaux spoke, he did so beneath the limitless vault of
Heaven rather than under the stone arches of Mankind, because the church was too
small to contain the assembly.
Bernard, pale and shaking from his life of fasting, work and contemplation, rose to
give the papal bull: he was flanked by the barons, the bishops, and, in their midst, the
shining, newly shriven, king and queen. His words dissolved in the emotion of the
moment, and so did his audience. The king prostrated himself before the saintly
abbot, and the barons thronged to imitate him in their eagerness to accept the blessing.
After the king came Eleanor, who offered her vassals from Poitou and Aquitaine, and
after her, scores of great ladies including the half sister of the King of Jerusalem,
Sybille, countess of Flanders, as well as other great ladies such as Mamille of Roucy,
Florine of Bourgogne, Torqueri of Bouillon and Faydide of Toulouse.
The male chroniclers who observed these women taking the cross tut tutted the whole
idea, considering that the presence of women on the crusade set a bad example for
females as a whole. After all, had not the papal bull promulgating the crusade
expressly forbade the attendance of concubines?
 The queen appears to have been swept away, however, with the adventure of it all,
bringing to the crusade a form of theatre a century before the first mystery plays were
performed. Crowds of people had gathered to hear and discuss the new great journey.
Suddenly, she appeared amongst the faithful, riding a white horse and dressed as an
Amazon, shod with gilded sandals and her flaming hair bedecked in plumes.
Surrounded by a bodyguard of similarly garbed women, she galloped around the
meeting place, urging the faithful to join in the journey. Her attendant ladies
distributed white distaffs to the fainthearted.
This theatrical symbolism was maintained throughout the crusade, according to
Nicetas, who complained that the women dressed as men, mounted on horses and
armed with lance and battle axe, keeping a martial demeanor as bold as the Amazons
of legend. Eleanor in particular was richly dressed, and as with knights appearing in
disguise at tournaments, she adopted a secret name - the lady of the golden boot.
Eleanor was past the blush of girlish beauty for which she had become famous: now
she was a magnificent warrior queen, the boldness of her manner combined with the
aristocratic elegance of her bearing to make all who saw her think of her as the true
Amazon queen, Penthesilea.10
Why did so many great women take the cross? Some commentators speculated that
rather than choosing to go, they were forced to, especially Eleanor. Knowing her
passionate character, the king feared to leave her behind. More recently, historians
have theorised that her zeal was part of the new spirit of the troubadour, in which
ladies and their courts were seeking relief from their gloomy castles. Journeys along
the pleasant roads to the sunshine of the south were by now common. Pilgrimages had
become the excuse for journeys of dalliance and pleasure.
And the ultimate pilgrimage was to the bazaars of Tripoli and the famous shrines of
Jerusalem.11
This is perhaps a churlish suggestion, however, and rather demeaning to both the
intellectual and spiritual state of Eleanor and her womenkind. It should be recalled
that this was also the moment when Hildegard of Bingen was fervently imploring the
great people of Europe to undertake a spiritual redemption - and Eleanor was one of
those with whom she was corresponding.

1. Bonner, Songs of the Troubadours, p.32.

2. Ibid., p.31.
3. Runciman II, pp.27-30.
4. Ibid., p.7.
5. Ibid., p.183.
6. Ibid., p.188.
7. Kelly, Eleanor of Aquitaine, pp.40-41.
8. William of St Thierry et. al., St Bernard of Clairvaux, G. Webb and A. Walker (trans.), Mowbray, London,
1954, p.110.
9. Pernoud, In The Steps of the Crusaders, M. Case (trans.), Constable, London, 1959, plate 3.
10. Kelly, Eleanor of Aquitaine p.51 and Fraser, The Warrior Queens, pp.23-4.
11. Kelly, pp.45-6.

Chapter 23:

The Goddess of Love

The chaos of 1095 was never to be quite repeated in all its immense, dark power.
Yet in 1147, it seemed that all of Western Europe was swirling in a tremendous, silver
flood towards the Eastern frontier.
According to Odo of Deuil, an eyewitness, Louis had prepared himself for the
departure by visiting a leper colony, a sign of abject humility and submission to the
will of the Lord.
Eleanor, with the king's mother Adela, had gone ahead from the royal residence in
Paris to St Denis on its outskirts. There the army was to be farewelled by the Pope,
Eugenius III, and the formidable Abbot Suger, who was to be viceroy in the absence
of the crown.
The king took up the sacred standard of France, the oriflamme, from the altar, and
was presented with his pilgrim's wallet by the Pope. Then he withdrew into the
monastery for private spiritual preparation.
Eleanor and the Queen Mother were left to their own devices in the crowds outside,
until they all but collapsed with the heat and the emotion involved in such a departure.
While they endured it all, the king dined inside the monastery with the monks.1
For the journey itself, Eleanor and her ladies were better prepared.
Despite the forbidding of falcons and hounds, rich clothes and troubadours, she
managed to make sure her army was a cavalacade of riches as it passed over the
eastern boundary of the Frankish lands. The ladies had baths drawn for them each
evening, and were entertained by the singing of their troubadours. The great assembly
of the army had taken place at Metz on the Rhine: somehow, despite the disapproval
of her husband, not to mention Bernard and Suger, Eleanor arranged for vast supplies
of baggage to be shipped over the barrier of the Rhine.
 And in spite of the burden of clothing, tents, luxury goods and camp followers, the
army kept up a brisk pace, day after day covering 30 kilometres or more. No doubt
this was partly due to the grumbling, headmasterly figure of Louis, who drove the
train from behind, like an over eager shepherd. He was eager to catch up with the
army of Conrad, the German emperor, who had started well before him. His discipline
was severe on everyone but his wife: miscreants who ravished or stole were deprived
of noses and ears, and each day's journey began with a formal religious celebration.
Meanwhile, Eleanor continued to enact the role of the Amazon queen, surrounded by
an admiring throng of landless young knights, the troubadours whose duty and
pleasure it was to sing of the beauty and the charms of their ladies, of whom Eleanor
was the chief.
The tableau is bizarre: Louis, the clumsy husband well out of it in the dust at the rear:
Eleanor, golden, triumphant, and shining in the comfort of the world's eye at the head
of the expedition.
The Goddess of Love seemed to shine her lantern over the vast array, as it proceeded
with gaiety through the warm plains bordering the Danube, and on to the great city.
It was at Ratisbon that Eleanor had her first direct encounter with the inhabitants of
Constantinople. The current ruler was Manuel Comnenus, and it was to the Danube
that he despatched his ambassadors.
Manuel, son of Alexius, shared his father's distrust of the Latins, and had seen his
brother John humiliated by Raymond during the takeover of Antioch. The Germans
who had preceded the Franks had as usual behaved like a locust army, stripping the
countryside of its provender. He had no reason to love Louis or his Queen. Thus, he
treated the crusaders with refined courtesy during their stay, while at the same time
letting them become slowly aware that he despised the Franks. His dependants closed
the doors of their citadels as the Franks passed, but allowed them to buy provisions -
at vastly inflated prices - from baskets let down over the walls.
When they arrived at Constantinople on October 4, the voyagers were forced to
camp without the city, at the very end of the Golden Horn, in a site where they could
see the splendours of copper dome and marbled palace, the beehive throng of the
trading centre of the world, but were only admitted entry in small diplomatic parties.
Gifts of the exotic wonders of the East were brought to Louis and Eleanor, and an
invitation for them to meet the emperor at the imperial palace.
According to Louis' chaplain, the emperor was struck with the true simplicity and
earnestness of Louis, and so he permitted his fellow ruler and his suite to be lodged in
the second palace, the Blachernae.
While Louis busied himself with supplying the insatiable demands of his army,
Eleanor was free to undergo a transformation.
According to Kelly:
"It opened her eyes to vast, lofty, undreamed of possibilities for majesty..."2
Here, at the hub of the world, Eleanor had her first taste of delicacies such as caviar,
and ate meals in which there was no shortage of sauces made from sugar, pepper and
cinnamon. Unfamiliar aids to eating were presented to them, such as wine glasses and
forks. Days were filled with banquets, tours of palaces and churches, and hunts in
which the coursers were tame leopards. Bazaars were filled with silks, oils, perfumes,
carpets and furs from China, India, Arabia, Persia and Russia.3
In all her expeditions, the French Queen was conducted by the empress Irene -
actually a warlike German whose original name was Bertha of Sulzbach.
She showed Eleanor the possibilities of eastern life. Not only scientific medicine,
plumbing, drainage, central heating, but also cosmetics and exotic clothes such as the
turban, which Eleanor may have brought back to France as one of the most significant
fashion changes of the epoch. As well, she saw those tall pointed hats and pointed
shoes which were to set the fashion for centuries to come.4.
There was simply nothing in northern Europe to equal the palaces which Eleanor
experienced. In the Blachernae there were up to three hundred rooms, and more than
twenty chapels, all decorated in glittering gold and mosaics, with jewelled chandeliers
and magnificent tapestries. Within the immense palace grounds were stocks of
animals kept for the hunt.
The chroniclers agree that the chief crusaders were bewildered by the splendour.
Perhaps Eleanor's eyes rested most avidly on the personal splendour of the emperor
and his somewhat frumpy empress. She noted that they were surrounded by ranks of
courtiers and eunuchs as numberless as the seraphim, flunkeys who did not push to
get the scraps from the table, or wipe their noses on their fingers, or dip their fingers
in the sauce.
Frankish kings were born, lived and died in the public eye of the vulgar, unlike the
empireal Byzantine couple who withdrew into private chambers, and were
approached by mighty servants, who prostrated themselves in the presence of
majesty.
By way of comparison to the precise order of the emperor's court, Louis himself
had taken a stick to beat his unruly courtiers into some sort of order when a riot began
during a ceremonial in Paris to mark his departure for the East.
Not all the Crusaders, however, were so overwhelmed by their experience. Odo of
Deuil - not enamoured of his Queen - seems to have been of the opinion that the great
people had the wool pulled over their eyes by the Greeks, whom he regarded as shifty
and decadent. He noted that the palaces of the great people overshadowed the slums
inhabited by most of the population.
And he also noted that sections of the great walls around the city were poorly
defended and indeed rotting, so that whole pieces collapsed before the critical eyes of
the onlookers.
Constantinople, he suggested, was ripe for the plucking - an observation that was to
come too sadly reality in the early years of the following century.5

Eleanor's encounter with the splendour of the world lasted only until the end of
October.
By then, the Frankish army was once more on the march, Louis having been tricked
by Manuel into believing that the German emperor had covered himself in glory
during his advance into Turkey.
The French army crossed the Bosphorus into Asia: its members learned almost
immediately that they had entered a new and far less pleasant world, and that the truth
was far from what Manuel had led them to believe.
It was at the now infamous city of Nicaea that the Franks set up camp early in
November, and the horrible reality began to intrude upon them.
The first stragglers that were the remnants of Conrad's army began to arrive. One of
these was Frederick Barbarossa, later to become emperor in his turn, who told Louis
and Eleanor the truth. The emperor had been defeated by the Turks and his army
decimated.
Conrad was himself a fugitive, accompanied by only a few companions, and
camping, ashamed, a short distance away.
Through the intermediary negotiations of Frederick, a conference was arranged, and
Conrad and his men agreed to join the French army.6
 The original line of march was abandoned. Conrad had tried to go straight through
Asia Minor: the Turks had humiliated him. Now the monarchs moved circuitously
around the coast, always within easy reach of Byzantine ports. The army pressed on,
with the French in the lead, the Germans at the rear, and the women in the centre.
Rigour and luxury were combined, the queen and her ladies taking shelter from the
freezing winter weather in horse drawn litters, sleeping at night in painted beds set in
open pavilions. Gone was the gaiety of the Hungarian plains, and the glittering
palaces of Byzantium must have seemed a bright dream.
The army itself was hard pressed to maintain discipline, the French hurling insults at
the remnant Germans, and Conrad fading with illness and despair, until eventually at
Epheseus he left the march altogether and returned to Constantinople. Conrad and
Manuel were united not only by their titles, but also through the ties of marriage.
Irene was the sister of Conrad's wife, and Irene accompanied Manuel to Epheseus,
where they persuaded Conrad to give up the crusade.
"...the emperor showed Conrad very great favour and, at the special request of the
empress, lavished gifts upon him and his nobles most liberally."7
The French paused in Epheseus to recuperate from the march. Not all went on: Guy,
Count of Ponthieu, an eminent military leader, was one of those who died there.
But the march had to continue.
At the river Meander they met their first serious opposition from the Turks. A sharp
fight for the fords ensued, which the Franks won, ending the battle by plundering the
enemy camp. That night, they made a pleasant camp amidst the green meadows on
the river banks, flushed with battle and counting the rich spoils.
At dawn the journey began again.
In the wilderness, the proud crusaders were reminded once and for all of their mortal
status before the almighty powers of nature.
On Christmas Eve, the army lingered in a pleasant valley close to the sea, making a
camp to celebrate the nativity. As the travellers slept, and the priests rose to sing the
morning service, a violent storm roared in, sweeping away the tents, and swelling the
river instantaneously. The camp was deluged, and lives of humans and animals lost,
as the baggage washed into the sea.
"The aspect of our tents, which the day before had been so gay, offered a desolating
spectacle, showing how great is the divine power, how transitory the delights of
men."8

DRAGGLED IN THE MUD

The army, despairing, all its finery lost or draggled in the mud, fled inland once
more, clambering over a mountain ridge to the city of Laodicea. Alas, here they
found the Greek commander of the city hostile to Franks and friendly to Turks. Their
effort lost, the exhausted pilgrims had no choice but to follow their instincts, making
their way on south as best they could. If at no other time, fear must having been
taking over from rational thought as it became obvious that the journey was now all
but beyond the control of the leaders.
It was, therefore, not unexpected that tactical mistakes would be made if the enemy
was met, and one was. Most unfortunately, it was committed by the queen's vassal,
Geoffrey de Rancon of Poitou, together with the king's uncle the Count of Maurienne.
It was their task on a particular day in early January, as the army struggled through
precipitous mountain passes near Attalia to conduct the march for that day. They were
required to make camp with the vanguard on the top of a mountain, the ascent of
which was the day's march. Geoffrey, however, decided to go on a little further once
he had reached the summit.
But those behind were not informed of this change of plan, and so the whole army
was put in grave danger.
Thinking their journey nearly complete, they lagged a little. The army was therefore
critically divided on the ridge. The Turks, ever alert, seized the moment and the ridge.
From there they fell upon both parts of the Frankish army, using the confusion and
higher ground to their advantage, fighting for once with swords rather than bows.
Those who bore the first brunt of the fighting broke and ran. Those behind were
hindered by steep valley walls and the exhaustion of their horses, but at last, stood
and fought, literally clinging to rocks as they wielded their weapons.
The Turks pressed on to victory: they took prisoners and inflicted casualties,
including Gauchiers de Montjoy, Evrard de Breteuil and Itiers de Meingnac, as well
as killing Germans under the leadership of Otto, bishop of Freising.9
The disaster was laid at the feet of Eleanor.
It is speculated that Geoffrey had pressed on from the mountain top towards a more
sheltered valley at her insistence. Eleanor was almost certainly in the van with
Geoffrey that day, rather than in the middle section of the army, as the records do not
show her or her ladies being in danger, and Geoffrey would not have altered the
march plan without her consent.10
Whether or not she was responsible, the queen that night at first slept unaware in her
tent, while her husband Louis took refuge in a tree, laying about with his sword to
prevent capture by the Turks. As the night went on, however, news was brought by
Odo of Deuil that all was not well. He begged for men to help the king, but they were
unable to help, owing to the darkness of the night, the steepness of the mountain side,
and the intervening enemy, who were stoutly braced against rocks and trees, shooting
from above.11
"The camp resounded with lamentations, and the troops were torn with anguish.
Throughout the entire camp there was not a place which was not filled with mourning
for friends and household companions. One sought his father, another his master.
Here a woman was searching everywhere for her son, there another for her husband.
Those whose search was fruitless passed a sleepless night, burdened with anxious fear
lest the worst had happened to the absent ones. During the night, however, there
arrived at the camp some of each class."12
Amongst the stragglers who came limping in was the king, half dead with fatigue on
a stray nag that someone had captured.
Eleanor had by now apparently tasted sufficiently of the rigours of crusading life, but
they were not to end so soon. From this time there was a shortage of provisions, and
William of Tyre notes that the regular markets that had been part of the crusading life
disappeared. To cap it all, the Crusaders were without reliable guides, and wandered
as best they could amongst the steep mountain passes.
With the Turks lurking behind them in the mountains, the Crusaders hastened to the
gates of Attalia, reaching their goal early in February 1148.
Attalia itself although fertile was constantly subject to Turkish raids, and so could
not supply grain. The famine deepened, so that the poor all but famished with hunger.
Eleanor, Louis, and the other nobles reluctantly decided to cut their losses. They left
the foot soldiers and their companions behind - perhaps seven thousand or more - in
the care of two veterans, Thierry Count of Flanders and Archimbaud de Bourbon.
 Meanwhile Louis, his knights and the women sailed towards Antioch in barely
seaworthy hulks - most of the women able to find the ten silver marks required for
passage. The deserted generals tried to fight their way south. They were forced by
terrain and enemy ambushes to turn back to Attalia. Here, the army took refuge
between the inner and outer walls of the city, denied entrance by the Greek
commander. Plague broke out: the pilgrims, fearing illness more than battle, plunged
into the mountains once again. Here, the Turks took pity on them: they welcomed the
wretched survivors into their ranks, where they vanished from historical record.13
The king's company, says William, was favoured with fair winds, sailing into the
mouth of the Orontes, on the banks of which stands Antioch, but other sources
suggest they were terrified by mountainous seas.14
In fair weather or foul, they landed at St Simeon, some 16 km from Antioch. Inside
the city, Raymond had eagerly awaited his allies. When he heard the news of their
arrival, he summoned all his chief nobles and went out to meet his niece and her
husband, conducting them with the greatest of pomp and ceremony to his home.
Within the city walls of Antioch, Eleanor and her ladies found a new world, in which
the dark Europe of pagan superstition and terrifying Christianity had been only lightly
grafted on a melange of cultures that drew on the ancient Romans, the Greeks, the
Saracens, and every other society that had stamped its footprint on the East.
The shrines of the Christians jostled most unsuccessfully for space next to deities
such as Apollo, and Arab traders busied the bazaars with trade cries that were louder
than the shouts of any Christian sentry.
The women enjoyed the spring, adopting the eastern customs of silken turban and
burnous, their freshly made up faces veiled in Turkish fashion. In this fabled city of
the apostles they encountered once again those luxuries which they must have all but
forgotten during their journey, as well as new delights. There were sheltered
courtyards, gardens on rooftops, water in aqueducts, gilded tables, mosaiced walls,
and ivory coffers. They were treated to novelties such as soap, sugar, lemons,
oranges, pomegranates and persimmons, and cotton, gauze and muslin garments.15
The ladies hunted and picnicked, and were lavished with pageants and delicacies
such as snow cooled wine, and gifts such as the plenteous relics that abounded in
Outremer.
Raymond was counting on Louis' aid in expanding his dominion, in which plot he
relied greatly on the support of his niece.16
But Raymond's hopes and the cordial relationship between the rulers did not long
endure, once Raymond laid his plans before Louis. He had underestimated the single
minded devotion of Louis to his pilgrimage, from which neither the ties of flesh nor
the chances of spectacular wealth through conquest could divert him.
Refused by the king, Raymond conceived a dark hatred towards his royal visitor, and
"...he openly plotted against him and took means to do him injury."17
According to William of Tyre and other enemies of Eleanor, Raymond resolved also
to deprive Louis of his wife, either by force or secret intrigue.
"The queen readily assented to this design, for she was a foolish woman. Her conduct
before and after this time showed her to be, as we have said, far from circumspect.
Contrary to her royal dignity, she disregarded her marriage vows, and was unfaithful
to her husband."18
William of Tyre was opposed to Eleanor, perhaps mainly because of her divorce from
Louis. Ludicrous rumours sprang up in the years after the crusade, including the
suggestion that the queen had slept with an infidel boy slave, and even Saladin
himself, who was thirteen at the time and not within a week's march of Antioch.19
 Nevertheless, even Louis himself at the time clearly believed that there was an
unhealthy closeness between Eleanor and Raymond that had developed during their
ten day stay. Louis was himself not free of the guilt of this coolness. He and his
entourage had by this time hardened into suspicion of the Queen’s advice, the king
bearing in his mind the ghosts of the countless dead on the slopes of the mountains
near Attalia.
Eleanor was shut out of his councils by men such as the monk Odo of Deuil, who
camped like a mastiff outside his master's door.20
Eleanor was thus forced, both by frustration and her own inclination, into the party
of Raymond.
Was she not entitled, both as queen and as the largest contributor of men and
material to the journey, to join in council?
Eleanor compounded the situation by defending Raymond's request long and
passionately in public. The king responded by announcing he would leave
immediately, and reminding Eleanor that her duty as a wife was to accompany him.
She replied that she intended to stay, and that as his fourth cousin, she wanted the
marriage annulled on grounds of consanguinity: she may have even flung the ribald
insult at Louis that he wasn't worth a bad pear.
One of Eleanor's enemies was the Templar Thierry Galeran, whom she had mocked
on account of his sexual dysfunction (he was a eunuch). He advised the king to force
her to leave Antioch. 21
Louis' men therefore broke into the Queen's rooms in the middle of the following
night, and dragged her off to his apartments.
The disconsolate pair departed under cover of darkness, plans for divorce ripe in both
their minds. Louis had written to Suger, whose sage advice was to keep the matter a
secret to himself (one presumes the army had not noticed the unusual midnight
events!) until the king’s return to France, when proceedings might go on in a calmer
light.22

The pilgrimage had still a year to run: the royal marriage was over.

1. Chronicles of the Crusades, p.132. William et.al., St Bernard, p.119.

2. Kelly, Eleanor of Aquitaine, p.55.
3. Seward, Eleanor of Aquitaine, p.44-5.
4. Ibid.
5. Odo of Deuil,De Profectione Ludovici VII in Orientem V. G. Berry Norton (trans.), New York, 1948, p.65.
6. WoT I p.173.
7. Ibid., p.174.
8. Kelly, Eleanor, p.63; De Profectione, p.109
9. WoT I, p.177.
10. Kelly, p.64.
11. De Profectione, pp.116-8.
12. WoT I, p.178.
13. Kelly, p.67.
14. Seward, p.48.
15. Ibid., p.48-9.
16. WoT I, p.179.
17. Ibid.,180.
18. Ibid., 180-81.
19. Seward, p.50.
20. Kelly, p.76.
21. John of Salisbury, Memoirs of the Papal Court M. Chibnall (trans.), Nelson, London, 1962, p.53.
22. Seward, p.51. John, Memoirs, p.53.

Chapter 24:

The Winter Queen

An eloquent silence settles over the remainder of the Queen's stay in the Holy Land.
No doubt the year she spent in Jerusalem had its interests. All the usual visits to holy
sites, the encounters with exotic cultures, the wealth of market life. But the ashes of
defeat would have lain bitter in her mouth. Dragged in the king's train to Jerusalem,
she had been reminded of her station in the most forceful way.
The only relatively direct suggestion as to what the sojourn must have been like is a
legendary account. This has it that Eleanor followed Louis into the basilica of the
Holy Sepulchre at its consecration on July 15, 1148, which seems a reasonable
assumption.
Suddenly, says the story, the procession stopped. To the horror of everyone, an
apparition seemed to spring from the very walls of the building. This terrifying figure
was a living ghost, a zombie, fleshless, hollow cheeked, with flashing eyes and
resounding voice. Dressed in a hair shirt banded to the body in gyves of steel, an iron
band crushing his head, the madman screamed insults at Eleanor, threatening her
because of her criminal intercourse with Raymond and her betrayal with Saracen
emirs. The account has it that the queen raised a trembling hand to a livid forehead.
The king of France half plucked his sword from its sheath, while the royal bodyguard
of knights swayed towards the fiend, irresolute. This hesitation was caused by the
apparition's intermingled words of love: he called the queen "my daughter", and the
king "my cousin." All was revealed. The wild man was in fact Eleanor's father,
William, who had become a voluntary recluse in the basilica, and who had been
hunted from his cave within the temple by the news of the failure of the crusade.
Having chastised his daughter, the hermit then ran off into the mists of legend, to seek
his death in the sun baked deserts of Spain.1
Such speculation has no historical basis: it is at best merely suggestive of the
emotional state of the royal couple during this long, dark period. It is vaguely possible
that the royal entourage was confronted by a hermit of the type who could have
lurked within the labyrinthine enclosure of the Sepulchre. Such raving soothsayers
appear to have been not uncommon in this age.
Whether the account is entirely imaginary or based on some incident, the Queen was
to overcome her present parlous state. Throughout a life of many defeats, Eleanor
always exhibited the patience of a lioness stalking its prey, much more so than any of
her husbands or her children. She knew her strengths and her weaknesses more with
each year, and she was prepared to wait a year, a decade, a lifetime if need be in order
to strike at the right moment.
Eleanor was left behind while Louis departed from Jerusalem with the army of
Outremer to attack the city of Damascus. She was thus spared the rigours of a
pointless and fruitless military venture which has few parallels in military history for
sheer ineptitude.
The whole purpose of the Crusade had been to retake Edessa. Instead, Queen
Melisende persuaded Louis and the Emperor, who had preceded him to Jerusalem, to
attack the Syrian city of Damascus, the allies of her former husband.
The mighty army of the Franks destroyed itself outside the walls of Damascus by
choosing to attack that great city via a vast entanglement of orchards worthy of a
magic thorny forest in the tales of Arthur's knights.
In the Easter of the following year, the couple and their suites celebrated the most
important feast in the Christian calendar together in Jerusalem. Shortly afterwards,
they went down to the port of Acre where, significantly, they took ship separately on
two galleasses, the two masted, oared ships that lurched uncomfortably across the
central sea.
The Crusade was over, but not the drama and adventure that Eleanor seemed to
attract simply by existing.
As the ships passed the Peloponnese in the Aegean Sea, Eleanor's ship was attacked
by a ship belonging to the Byzantine emperor Manuel. The Emperor was now at war
with Roger of Sicily, one of whose ships Louis had just then boarded, in a most
bizarre fateful twist. Louis escaped capture by having the Greek flag run up on this
ship, but his own ship with all his baggage, and Eleanor's ship with all the women
aboard, were carried off by the Greeks. The Sicilians - were they allies or enemies of
the French at this point? - then gave hot pursuit, rescuing the queen and the king's
effects. But the sea carried the queen and the king apart, so that for two months they
wandered separately through the Greek Islands.
 Most bizarre of all, perhaps, was that the abstinent king Louis was sick for the loss
of his queen, and she was bearing his child in her womb.
Presumably, the child had been conceived during a time of reconciliation in
Jerusalem, perhaps coinciding with Easter. The presence of this infant is a reminder to
us that at such a distance, we can never make absolute judgments about people and
their relationships to each other.
In any case, Louis finally emerged on July 29 in Roger's territories, all but dead with
fatigue, with the loss of his queen, and separation from all his possessions and
followers. King Roger was able to reassure him that the queen was safe, albeit too
exhausted to continue her journey for the moment. The winds had blown her as far as
the Barbary coast, and then back to the port of Palermo in Sicily. Here, she
recuperated amidst one of Europe's most splendid, most cosmopolitan, not to say
most heretical courts.
For three weeks the couple were reunited, before going to Potenza briefly to meet
Roger in person.
Roger was the personification of the collision of cultures that occurred when the
Norman invaders settled amongst the Islamic civilization. He had adopted Byzantine
robes of purple, but they were embroidered with Islamic writing and images of
strange beasts. He kept a harem, but he worshipped as a Roman Catholic. His army
was a mixture of Norman knights and Saracen infantry, and his government was a
blend of Norman, Byzantine and Arabic systems.2
From Potenza, the remnants of the Frankish train moved north to reach Tusculum on
October 9 1149. Here they encountered Pope Eugenius once more, he having fled
there, pursued out of Rome by the Emperor's army over yet another of the disputes
between Papacy and Empire.
The pope welcomed them warmly, and listened attentively to Louis' outpourings of
guilt over the question of the consanguineous marriage.
The pope assured him that there was no further need for concern - everything could
be settled if need be by a special dispensation.
Eleanor, however, was not satisfied.
She saw that she had been outwitted by her enemies the monks, who had persuaded
the pope to override canonical law.
So be it.
Instead, she poured out her soul to the pope, expressing in passionate terms the real
reasons for her unwillingness to stay with Louis: that she hated the adviser Thierry
who was poisoning the king's mind against her; that she resented bitterly being carried
away from Antioch; and that she was too restricted at home in France.3
As well, she was telling anyone who would listen that Louis was more like a monk
than a man, a tendency to celibacy that had been merely heightened by his
experiences as a pilgrim.
The pope made a last attempt to reconcile the two, with a gesture that may have
seemed suitably fatherly to him, but would have appeared clumsy in the extreme to
Eleanor.
He prepared a room for them in which there was only one bed, elaborately decorated
with precious brocades of his own. He conducted his spiritual children to the room,
and left nature to its healing way.
It was too late, of course. The pope wept as he gave them a farewell blessing before
they left for Rome.
 The officially reconciled couple experienced the city through a guided tour provided
by specially assigned Cardinals. The procession was followed through the streets by
crowds of citizens who chanted hymns of praise.4
But it was no honeymoon. For one thing, the mighty ruins of Rome must have
seemed dank and desperate compared to the brightness of Antioch, Byzantium, Acre,
Jerusalem and Palermo.
From amongst these mouldering reminders of a past glory, the unloving couple rode
on over the Alps to Paris.
The arrival home took place in November 1149, their journey having lasted 30
months. They were greeted with one of the bleakest winters on record, during which
ice stilled the rivers, a match for the mood of the queen. The utter joylessness of it all
must have been compounded by the pain of childbirth which followed soon after the
return home. It was not a boy, but a second girl, Alice. The barons harrumphed, their
opinions of the fecklessness of the queen confirmed by her oversight in not providing
a male heir.
How Eleanor's world had changed during that time.
Eleanor had left a bored, rich young woman, seeking an avenue of escape. She
returned an independent woman, rich in the experiences of the world, and laden with
the cultural treasures stored in her intelligent mind, ways of living and thinking which
she was to introduce to her homeland, and which would change the Europeans
forever.
Within two years she had fallen in love with a young count 11 years her junior.
Louis, realising the inevitable, called a council of the French clergy which annulled
the marriage on March 21 1152.
The story of Eleanor and the Crusades is far from over. A stage in Eleanor's journey
was complete: a new one was about to begin.
But the glory days of the Crusades were gone: the next generation was to watch the
kingdom born of the blood of their grandparents dry up and be swept away forever.

DELEGATING THE BLAME

Eleanor was criticised by contemporaries for the series of military disasters that
characterised her Crusade, whereas there was nothing but praise for the courage and
endurance of her husband, Louis.
Roger de Hoveden, for example, said that the crusaders set out with the greatest
pomp, but were annihilated because God despised them. The particular faults which
brought the displeasure of the deity, according to Roger, were the guilt of fornication
and manifest adultery, compounded by many other sorts of crime. His implication
was clear: women, by their presence, had ruined God's plan.5
Similarly, William of Tyre expresses nothing but contempt for Eleanor and her
actions, dismissing her as an empty headed fool whose personal amours put the whole
journey in jeopardy.
In defence of Eleanor it should be stated loudly and clearly: all the Crusades were
bungled.
Her pilgrimage was no worse - nor indeed, any better - than the others. And for
much of the time, the fault for particular details should not be laid at her doorstep, but
rather, those of her military chiefs and her husband, who was personally brave but
displayed all the practical military insight of a child playing at tin soldiers in a
nursery.
In the judgment of William of Tyre, the Crusade marked the effective ebb tide of the
kingdom. Within less than half a century, Jerusalem itself was lost, forever, and all
that the Crusaders had wrought stood on the edge of its final disintegration.
"From this time, the conditions of the Latins in the East became visibly worse...(The
Moslems) no longer feared the Christian forces and did not hesitate to attack them
with unwonted vigour."6
As for Raymond, he died in a fruitless battle. The failure of the Second Crusade
opened the floodgates to the Arab reconquest, and he was amongst the first to fall.
In 1149, Nurredin invaded the princedom. Raymond led his small army to give battle
at the Walled Fountain on June 29.
When most of his men fled from the overwhelming odds, Raymond stood to the last
and "...was slain by the stroke of a sword in the midst of the slaughter he had
wrought."7
Thus he died as only a preux chevalier could, in the tradition of Roland and Arthur,
fighting to the last.
The Turks disfigured his corpse, cutting off his head and his right arm.
The remnant of his body was buried in the same church where he had married his
princess in order to secure his rights to the kingdom.

1. Aziz, The Palestine of the Crusaders, p.240-2. William was of course long dead by this time: he had died in
1137.
2. Seward, Eleanor, p.53.
3. Kelly, Eleanor, p.91.
4. John of Salisbury, Memoirs, p.60.
5. Roger de Hoveden I, p.250.
6. WoT II, p.196.
7. Ibid., p.198.
 Part IV

THE THIRD CRUSADE

Chapter 25:

The Queens At Bay

The history of the kingdom of Jerusalem and its loss is in large part
the history of its queens and princesses.
They were the most strong willed and self evident group of women of
authority between the end of Rome and age of Elizabeth and
Catherine de Medici.

There were nine queens in all from the foundation of the Kingdom of
Jerusalem until its effective extinction at the Battle of Hattin and the
failure to reclaim the Holy City during the Third Crusade.

Anything seemed possible for these remarkable women, including

fairytale romance in the best courtly tradition.

Theodora Comnena, for example, seems to have been determined to

turn her life into a chivalric tale worthy of the pen of Chretien de
Troyes.

She was the niece of the Byzantine emperor Manuel, and was given
in marriage by the Byzantine Emperor to King Baldwin III as a token
sealing their alliance in the summer of 1157.

The negotiations were carried out by Humphrey II of Toron and the

Archbishop of Nazareth, who haggled over the details of the deal. At
last, her dowry was set at 100,000 golden coins, together with
10,000 gold pieces for wedding expenses, plus an extra 30,000 for
"gifts". Her marriage portion from Baldwin was to be Acre if her
husband should die childless.

The splendid ceremony was performed at Jerusalem in the autumn

of 1158.

The thirteen year old bride was attractive and well grown: her
husband gave up his philandering ways and remained faithful to her
for the rest of his life. It was to be brief marriage. Baldwin - a tall,
strong, fair haired man - died suddenly at the age of 33 on February
10 1162.

Poison administered by his political enemies was spoken of.

Theodora was now a childless widow at sixteen. The kingdom passed

to Amalric, Baldwin's brother. She could at this moment have
withdrawn from the stage of public life into respectable widowhood,
or entered a nunnery, as many women chose to do. The life of a nun
might well be an attractive option for women otherwise disillusioned
by the world.

But the life of a nun was not for the adventurous former queen
Theodora. Heading in her direction was a man who would call her to
a life of adventure.

In 1166, the feckless Greek princeling, the 46 year old Andronicus

Comnenus, arrived at Antioch. He had already experienced a lifetime
of adventure in the service of his cousin the emperor Manuel. Sent to
Armenia by Manuel to pacify the locals, Andronicus drifted on to
Antioch. There he began a relationship with Bohemond II's sister
Philippa.

In the great new style of the errant knight, he wooed the princess
Philippa by serenading her beneath her window. She fell for him.

Bohemond was not pleased, and Andronicus was recalled by Manuel.

He decamped, however, abandoning his mistress but keeping a large

share of the imperial revenues he had gathered in the area.

The spurned lady was hastily married off to old Humphrey of Toron, a
widower, and a man much experienced in the arranged marriages of
his country. Their marriage was to prove childless, and the Toron line
passed on through an earlier marriage to an unknown woman. How
stultifying the whole union to Humphrey must have seemed to
Philippa after the glamour of Antioch and the wandering Greek
nobleman.

Meanwhile, the said Andronicus wandered south to Jerusalem, where

he won the favour of king Amalric through deeds of bravery. But first
he impressed the beautiful, carefree Theodora while Amalric was
away on campaign. By the time Amalric first met Andronicus, the
Greek was already the secret lover of Theodora.

The king rewarded the unsuspected betrayer of his trust with the fief
of Beirut. The rather deceitful Andronicus retired to his new
princedom, invited Theodora to visit him from her principality of Acre,
and then abducted her from her escort while she was on her journey.

The eloping couple then fled the kingdom for Damascus and the
court of Nureddin.

There are two possible reasons for this latter piece extraordinary
conduct: one is that Manuel had heard of their liaison, and had
demanded that Amalric end it. Amalric, wishing to court Manuel's
favour, would have acceded. However, Theodora intercepted the
messages between king and emperor, and the couple therefore
thought it wise to decamp, staging a kidnapping to cover their tracks.

A slightly different version has it that Amalric remained innocent of

the fact that Theodora was already living openly with Andronicus, but
that Manuel learned of it, and intended to have his cousin blinded.
This was his only alternative, as the marriage could not be
regularised because of the small matter of Andronicus' wife still living
in Constantinople.

Whatever the reasons for their decamping, a decade of happy life in

the welcoming world of Islam ensued for Theodora and her
paramour. The couple had two children, Alexis and Irene. They
toured widely, as far as Baghdad, and were eventually given a castle
of their own by an emir. Andronicus seems to have been prepared to
risk all for this woman, his greatest love: not only did he eke out his
living by robbery of his fellow Christians, but he was
excommunicated for his elopement. He was thus doubly damned,
both in the eyes of Church and State.1

But if it was a long married life Theodora had hoped for, it was not to
be. She died some time before 1182, barely in her middle age.

Andronicus outlived her, and outshone her in the long run. Through a
sense of the main chance, he marched out of Anatolia in 1182 and
successfully claimed the Byzantine throne. He climbed to the
Emperor's dais over the bodies of his rivals, including the former
Empress and her son the boy emperor Alexius II, both of whom he
murdered.

Andronicus assumed the throne aged 62 in November 1182.

He shared his imperial bed with 12 year old Agnes of France, the
newly created widow of the tragic Alexius.

Andronicus' reign was, however, to prove short lived: another round

of blood letting and treachery in 1184 resulted in this inglorious
career of sexual and political conquests reaching a pathetic end.

Andronicus fled from usurpers, was captured and paraded around

Constantinople on a mangy camel, and then was torn to death by a
mob.

These larger than life adventures of Jerusalem's queens disguise

the fact that they were typical of their fellow female citizens of
Outremer in an important way. Crusading women proved equally, if
not more, tenacious than the males. Christian ladies in Outremer
tended to outlive their husbands, who died in battle, of heat,
exhaustion, or of disease.Thus, six of the nine queens outlived their
kings by many years.

Of these, perhaps the most formidable was Agnes of Courtenay,

sister to the kingmaking baron Joscelin of Courtenay. Strictly
speaking, she was never Queen, only Countess of Jaffa, and is so
described in the documents. But she was the mother of a king and
the wife of a king: at one stage, she all but ruled the kingdom herself.

She married four times: at puberty to Reynald of Marash, who was

killed in 1149; in about 1156 to King Amalric, who repudiated her; to
Hugh Ibelin; and on his death to Reynald of Sidon in 1169. Reynald,
like Amalric, divorced Agnes, on the grounds of consanguinity.

Amalric married Maria Comnena after separating from Agnes. He

died in 1174: Maria remarried to Balian of Ibelin, and outlived him by
a quarter of a century. She herself became a key player in the power
broking surrounding the crown, and she remained bitterly opposed to
the Courtenay faction.

There was no love between these two queens, their husbands and
their children: their family quarrels, rivalries and hatreds brought the
kingdom to dust.

The epic death throes of the kingdom begin with the unfortunate life
of Agnes of Courtenay, who stands condemned by her fellows as
"...a woman hateful to God and a shameless money grabber."
William of Tyre, who wrote this unfavourable summary of her
character sided with the faction opposed to the Agnes: his judgment
is therefore questionable. However, that she was twice divorced
suggests that her strong character did not endear itself to her
companions.

Amalric was prepared to set her aside in order to take the crown.
Reynald simply appears to have tired of her.

On the other hand, Agnes had a clear will when it came to men: she
was famed for the number and range of her lovers, including Amalric
of Lusignan. He was the second son of the count of Lusignan, and
came to Palestine as a knight errant. On the death of Humprey of
Toron the elder he was appointed Constable. Agnes supported this
lover when he persuaded Agnes' daughter Sybilla of the good looks
and charming personality of his younger brother, Guy. Sybilla urged
Amalric to fetch the gilded youth, who turned out to be one of the
vainest, most stupidly wrong headed men ever to travel east. Despite
the opposition of the elders of the kingdom, Sybilla insisted on
marrying him, which she did at Easter 1180. It was rumoured that the
marriage saved Guy's life because Sybilla had already taken him as
her lover, arousing the wrath of the king who wished Guy put to
death but spared him at the request of the Templars, who were
incidentally the allies of Agnes. Guy was rewarded with the counties
of Jaffa and Ascalon.

The kingdom was thus presented with the unusual spectacle of a

Queen mother and a daughter sharing the beds of two brothers.2

But this was only part of the web of sexual politics ensnaring the
fortunes of the kingdom.

Equally outrageous were Agnes' affections for a handsome but

barely literate priest from the Auvergne.

Heraclius was an adventurer, like the Lusignans. His handsome

visage brought for him the reward of the Archbishopric of Caesarea,
and to celebrate his status, the wife of a leading Italian draper as his
well publicized mistress. Her name was Paschia de Riveri, and she
was notable for the way she paraded herself through the streets
dressed as richly as a countess in silks and jewels.

Soon, she was sneeringly endowed with the epithet of Patriarchess,

because on October 16, 1180, Agnes persuaded the Chapter of
Jerusalem to pronounce Heraclius to be the Patriarch.3

Agnes' motivations are often difficult to decipher at this distance. But

certainly, her hatred of William of Tyre had a comprehensible basis in
human relationships. He it was who had forced the annulment in
1161 of her marriage to Amalric. She later repaid him, amongst other
things, by this appointment of Heraclius to the post of Patriarch,
which William believed should have gone to him.

The annulment of that early marriage to Amalric was possible only

because Agnes was promised that her children Baldwin and Sybilla
should have their rights to inheritance recognised. As a result on the
death of his father Baldwin inherited the crown and Agnes became
the Queen Mother.4

The tragedy for the kingdom was that Baldwin's life was doomed to
be short. William of Tyre, who was appointed as his tutor, noted how
impervious the child seemed to the pain of rough boys' games. When
the child king achieved puberty, the archbishop's fears were
confirmed: the boy had leprosy.

This was a sign of the perdition to come. Leprosy was not seen as a
disease: it was a curse, the outcome of great sin.

The boy would undoubtedly have proved an able ruler, and if he had
lived, the kingdom's life would have been extended for some time.
 Raymond of Tripoli was appointed to safeguard the kingdom until
Baldwin IV’s cousin Baldwin V should come of age. This child,
Baldwin V, was the son of Baldwin IV's sister Sybilla.

Agnes' other marriage was also to add to the woes of the kingdom.
Probably at the insistence of Amalric, she had married almost
immediately after their separation to Hugh Ibelin of Ramleh. This was
perhaps because she was in fact penniless, due to some unfortunate
family circumstances, and this relieved the king of the duty of having
to provide for her care.

Agnes detested the Ibelin family, as her later actions make clear, and
it was perhaps fortunate from her point of view that Hugh spent
much of his time on campaign, and died within five years of their
marriage.

The Ibelins took the side of Agnes' enemies in the dispute over the
details of the succession to Amalric. Baldwin IV had been too young
to take control himself immediately.

There was also a row centring on the claim of Miles de Plancy to the
regency. Miles was overruled by the High Court and Raymond
appointed in his place. Miles was assassinated, perhaps on
Raymond's orders, shortly after.

Raymond was the implacable enemy of Agnes, amongst other things

because he probably coveted the Crown for himself, and was
suspected of leaguing with the Moslem enemies of the kingdom, with
whom he claimed an understanding. The Arabs thought highly of
him: Ibn al Athir describes this descendant of Raymond of St Giles as
the wisest and most courageous man, but very ambitious and
desirous of becoming king, something his illustrious grand sire had
refused.5

The two surviving Ibelin brothers had united with Agnes' opponents,
demonstrating this by creating a marriage to Maria Comnena by the
younger of the brothers, Balian. Maria, it will be recalled, was the
rival of Agnes, especially because Maria had a daughter Isabella by
the late Amalric. Maria’s daughter Isabella therefore had some claim
to the throne in rivalry with Agnes’ descendants.

Meanwhile, Agnes' daughter the newly widowed Sybilla in about

1179 had fallen in love with Baldwin of Ibelin, the elder brother of the
family.

Once again, we have the spectacle of Agnes and her daughter in a

sexual relationship with two brothers. And how Agnes must have
gnashed her teeth at the thought of her daughter entering into a
conjugal relationship with her bitterest enemies!
But before the marriage with Sybilla could be arranged, Baldwin was
captured in battle by the Saracens. Sybilla assured him of her love
while he was in gaol, but on his release she reneged, claiming that
the huge ransom he owed was an impediment to marriage. Actually,
thanks to Amalric of Lusignan, she had other things on her mind.

Baldwin set off to Constantinople, where he persuaded the Emperor

to repay his debt: meanwhile Amalric raced back to France to fetch
his brother Guy for Sybilla's inspection.

Thus, Baldwin's hopes were again dashed when he returned to

Outremer early in 1180: Sybilla had already been betrothed to Guy of
Lusignan.

Thus the circle of intrigue, lust and hatred was complete.

Baldwin the Leper was bitterly opposed to his sister's marriage with
Guy. He sought to have it annulled. His attempt to do so, however,
was foiled when the couple refused his summons to court: instead,
they holed up in the fortress at Ascalon. This forced the king to
abandon the case, as matrimonial disputes had to be held in the
presence of the couple.6

Meanwhile, Balian's step daughter Isabella by his wife Maria

Comnena had been married into the fringes of Agnes' faction.

Isabella was eight at the time of her marriage to Humphrey IV of

Toron, heir to the huge landholding of Oultrejourdain.

Humphrey was a man out of time and place. He was thoughtful,

artistic, gentle and loving, and would have been more suited to an
eighteenth century salon or to Bloomsbury.

He was a complete contrast to his step father, Reynald of Chatillon,

staunchest of Agnes' allies.

Reynald, red haired and handsome, had come east like so many
others seeking fortune and adventure. He found it, in spades.

This knight errant had attracted the attention of Princess Constance,

the heiress to Antioch, in 1151 when he had gone there in the
service of King Baldwin.

By 1153, the Princess was a widow, and it was for Reynald's hand
that she begged permission from Baldwin. In fact, they may have
married in secret before the king gave his permission.
 The nobles were outraged, because their candidates had been
passed over in favour of an adventurer.

Their doubts were to prove well founded.

Reynald lives in the pages of history as infamy personified. To the

Saracens, he became known as the Red Wolf of the Desert. To
Saladin, saviour of Islam, he was the essence of evil.

One of Reynald's first acts as ruler of Antioch was to punish Aimery

the Patriarch of Antioch, who had spoken out against the union.
Aimery at first refused Reynald's demands for a share of his huge
fortune, so Reynald gaoled him. The old man was beaten about the
head, and then his wounds were smeared with honey. He was set to
endure the heat of a summer's day chained to the roof of the citadel.
He paid up.7

There was much more to come, including murderous attacks on

peaceful pilgrimage vessels in the Red Sea and the sacking of the
kingdom of Cyprus. Reynald never did anything that ever served
more than his own short term purposes, usually centred on the
gratification of his greed and pride. His rationality was not improved
when he was captured by the Saracens and spent time as their
prisoner, conceiving an insane hatred of everything to do with Islam.

Reynald was a bomb waiting to go off beneath the already fragile

walls of Frankish defence.

Within months of his release from prison, he had remarried, to the

widow of Miles de Plancy, Stephanie, heiress of Oultrejourdain. They
had a hatred of Raymond in common: Stephanie blamed him solely
for her husband's death, while Reynald merely hated him as an
enemy. They indulged a desire for vengeance they shared with other
powerful people, including the Grand Master of the Templars.

Raymond had alienated this highly influential individual over a

trifling matter of money.

According to the author of the Estoire d'Eracles, the Grand Master

Gerard de Ridfort arrived in the east as a humble knight errant from
Flanders in 1173. At first, he was a great friend of Raymond, who
because of their familiarity granted to Gerard the first rich marriage
to come within Raymond's provenance.

Shortly afterwards, William Dorel lord of Botrun died leaving as his

heiress his daughter by his first wife.

Soon after that a rich merchant of Pisa named Plivano arrived at

Tripoli and asked for the marriage.
The Count, unwisely as it turned out, agreed despite his promise to
Gerard. The chronicler interprets this as simple greed for Plivano's
vast wealth. It is said that the girl was put on a balance to be
weighed in gold. Estimates include the suggestion that 10,000 gold
bezants or the equivalent of about 50 kilograms of gold were used.

However much it was, it was too little, because it helped cost the
kingdom.

Gerard was furious and unforgiving. He left for Jerusalem, where he

found his way to the Temple. As luck would have it, the old Master of
the Templars died at that moment: the brothers, recognising
Gerard's undoubted mettle, elected him as the replacement.

All thoughts of a worldly life forgotten, he set his sights solely on the
revenge to his honour.8

These then were some of the main factions in the doomed kingdom,
and at the centre was Agnes.

She continued to live the life of a person who has achieved sudden
wealth and prestige, without responsibility. Apart from her supposed
succession of lovers and her devotion to wealth for its own sake, she
began to interfere more in the conduct of the kingdom.

Her children had been taken from her care when they were young,
as was the normal case with a great lady's important children.

William of Tyre guarded Baldwin until William's death in 1183. Sybilla

was cared for by her great aunt the Princess-Abbess Joveta of
Bethany. Perhaps the latter event is an explanation for Sybilla's lack
of worldly awareness when she was thrust into centre stage by the
events of the 1180's.

Agnes gradually created a power base for herself, working as the

power behind the throne of her leper king son. In October 1180, she
had persuaded Baldwin to appoint Heraclius as Patriarch instead of
William of Tyre. She also succeeded in having her nominees
appointed as the Seneschal and Constable of the kingdom. At the
height of her power, either she, her son or her son in law Guy or her
staunch allies such as Reynald controlled Jerusalem, Acre, Tyre, Jaffa,
Ascalon, Oultrejordain, Hebron, Sidon, Toron and Chastel-neuf. She
was powerful enough to refuse Raymond of Tripoli access to the king
in 1182.9

Her domination continued unabated when her daughter Sybilla

married Guy who by 1183 became regent: he was under her
domination as were most of the other men of her faction.
The marriage at Kerak was seized by Raymond to humiliate Guy and
Agnes by having Baldwin replace Guy as his regent.

Agnes, however, in an admirable feat of political manipulation,

forestalled the project to displace her by having her son the king take
power directly onto himself, despite the advanced state of his
disease. Further, the Leper King was to nominate his heir, excluding
Guy. This should be the child Baldwin.

Agnes' daughter Sybilla had first been married to William Long-

Sword, by whom she had a child later to be Baldwin V. Baldwin IV
made the barons swear loyalty to this child, before his death on
March 16, 1185. This was Agnes' compromise, which satisfied all
parties. It was capped by allowing the tallest member of the court,
Balian of Ibelin, to carry her grandson Baldwin on his shoulders to the
coronation. Honour satisfied, except for the cipher Guy, the royal
army then set out to lift the siege of Kerak.10

Agnes thus satisfied everyone, and retained her own authority.

Unfortunately for her plans, she died sometime before midsummer
1186, shortly before her heir, the child king Baldwin V, who died in
late August or early September 1186.

Sybilla, Reynald, Gerard and Heraclius, without the benefit of Agnes,

hastily assembled some followers in the Holy Sepulchre on a Friday
no later than October of that year, where Sybilla was brought with
her husband Guy. According to Ibn Al Athir it was in fact Sybilla who
summoned the barons to her coronation: her later actions suggest
that she had the strength of character to make this possible, even if
she lacked the insight to regard the greater good of the kingdom.11

Raymond, the Ibelins and most of the loyal barons assembled

outside Jerusalem at Nablus, refused to attend the coronation. They
enjoined the court party to stop the coronation, in the name of God:
Heraclius, Gerard and Reynald foreswore their oaths and said they
would crown the lady as queen.

The Master of the Hospital, who was of the barons' faction, went
back to his monastery, refusing to participate.

The gates of the city were closed, something which had never
happened during a coronation. Meanwhile, two serjeants disguised as
monks sneaked into the Holy Sepulchre and watched the
proceedings. Their observations no doubt form the eyewitness basis
of the surviving accounts of what happened.

They later recounted that Gerard and Reynald took the lady Sybilla
and led her to the Patriarch to be crowned. Prince Reynald went to
the upper part of the church - perhaps indeed climbing the stair to
the very spot where the Cross was originally raised - and addressed
the congregation of citizens of Jerusalem.

He reminded them that Baldwin the Leper had been replaced by his
nephew, now also dead, so that the kingdom was left without an heir
or a governor. He therefore asked on behalf of the great nobles for
the congregation's approval to crown Sybilla, daughter of Amalric
and sister to Baldwin "for she is the most apparent and the most
direct heiress of the kingdom."

The people assented with one voice that they liked King Amalric
better than any other, indicating that it was his direct line which
should be elected to the throne.

At this moment, high theatre became high farce.

The crowns of the kingdom were in a treasure trove, protected by a

triple lock, of which the Master of the Temple had one key, the
Patriarch another, and Roger des Moulins, Master of the Hospitallers
the third. Gerard and the Patriarch produced theirs, but when the
Master of the Hospitallers was sent for, he refused to come with his
key.

He said he would not set foot in the Sepulchre without the

agreement of the barons.

The Patriarch and the Master of the Temple in their regalia, together
with Reynald in his finery, then trooped off to beg the Master of the
Hospitallers to reconsider.

When Roger heard they were coming, he hid himself in his house. It
was nearly three o-clock in the afternoon before he was found. The
triumvirate begged him for the key, but he refused. They continued
to importune him until at last he grew angry, and threw the key away
in frustration, either into the recesses of his house, or out the
window.

To no avail: the key was found, and hurried back to the Holy
Sepulchre.

Two crowns were produced and brought before the Patriarch. With
one he crowned Sybilla, the other he placed on the altar.

When the lady was crowned, the Patriarch said to her that as she
was a woman it was fitting that she should have someone to help her
govern the kingdom, and that this person should be a male.

"Here is a crown. Take it and give it to such a man as can help you
govern your kingdom and knows how to govern."
The new queen took the crown and summoned Guy of Lusignan,
saying:

"Sire, come, receive this crown, for I could not use it better."

And then she placed the crown on his head, creating the last and
least worthy of Jerusalem's kings.

In this she was aided by Gerard of Ridfort, who acted with the worst
of motives. As she placed the crown, Gerard guided her hand,
declaring that this crown compensated for the Botrun marriage. After
a decade of waiting, he was having his thirst for vengeance slaked.

And then the Patriarch anointed the new rulers of the doomed land.

The barons waiting at Nablus were outraged by the news. Baldwin of

Ibelin swore he was leaving the kingdom immediately, for he knew
that Guy was mad and bad enough to lose the kingdom in a year.

And so it proved.

But Raymond was not yet finished. He had another ace yet to play.

Amongst the barons was Isabella, step sister of the old king, and her
husband Humphrey of Toron.

Raymond proposed that they should be crowned as rivals to the

upstarts in Jerusalem, and he would make a truce with Saladin, who
he was sure would even come to his aid.

And so it was agreed. Humphrey and Isabella would be crowned on

the morrow.

Alas, they reckoned without Humphrey's tender personality, which

was made of less stern stuff than his sister in law.

During the night, unable to bear the strain of his proposed role, he
rode secretly to Jerusalem.

He went immediately to the presence of the new queen, and greeted

her.

She, however, kept silent, regarding him disdainfully, because he

had been in the party opposed to her and had been absent from her
coronation.

Humphrey, like an overgrown child before a headmistress, began to

shuffle and scratch his head, blurting out at last:
"Lady, I don't know what to do, for they wanted to make me king by
force."

Relenting a little, Sybilla forgave him, providing he immediately did

homage to the king.

Humphrey thanked the queen for her mercy, and performing the act
of vassalage, stayed in Jerusalem.

Sybilla thus delivered the check mate to Raymond's hopes. When the
news of this latest double cross arrived, he was nonplussed. He
dismissed his barons, telling them merely to keep their word, for
what that was worth.12

Like an animal caught in the jaws of a steel trap, the kingdom

awaited its death blow.

It was to come at the hands of the greatest leader the heirs of

Mohammed were ever to engender: Saladin.

Saladin was a mortal man, and thus fallible. But compared to his
adversaries he was all but god like. Where the Crusaders were
constantly foolish, he was wise. Where they were ignoble, he
behaved with natural courtesy. Where they were greedy for power
without purpose, he exercised power only to achieve his purpose,
even at great personal cost.

Saladin was of Kurdish origin, educated at university in Damascus, a

fervent believer in Islam, general of all the armies of the east, which
he had united beneath his banner, and the inveterate enemy of
Reynald of Chatillon, the Templars and the Hospitallers.

Yet despite a youth spent as a slave to the Christians, he was

capable of a courtesy and a chivalry that was utterly rare amongst
his spiritual enemies.

This had been demonstrated at the wedding of Isabella and

Humphrey of Toron that had taken place at Kerak in Moab in
November 1183.

Isabella had been affianced to Humphrey since she was eight. By

1183, it was time to formalise the marriage. Throughout the late
autumn, guests from throughout the kingdom began to assemble at
Kerak, the castle of Humphrey's mother Stephanie and her husband
Reynald of Chatillon.

The castle of Kerak lay at the south west corner of the kingdom,
dominating the route between Damascus and the Nile. It was from
there that Reynald of Chatillon had launched a murderous attack on
Islamic pilgrims in the Red Sea, and it was from this castle that he
threatened to divide Saladin's forces.

The wedding festivities had barely begun when Saladin approached

the castle with a mighty army on November 20. Soon the castle was
crowded not only with wedding guests in their finery, but also Syrian
settlers from the surrounding countryside, together with their herds
of animals.

The Franks were not to be cowed by the siege, however, and the
dancing and singing continued while Saladin's siege machines flung
rocks against the walls of the citadel.

At last, Stephanie prepared dishes of bread, wine, beef and mutton

for Saladin, which she sent to him with a greeting, reminding him
how he had often carried her in his arms when he was a slave in that
very castle, and she was a child.

Saladin was reportedly delighted by the gifts, expressing his thanks

openly. He asked which tower the wedding couple occupied. When it
was pointed out to him, Saladin had it cried throughout his army that
none should be so rash as to shoot at that tower or attack it.13

Isabella's honeymoon was one of the strangest on record. Married at

eleven to her handsome, delicately sensible husband - vir feminae
quam viro proprior - the forecourt of her bridal bower was crowded
with lowing cattle and shaggy farmers, and the music that
punctuated her happy hours was the throb and thunder of monstrous
siege mangonels threatening to beat down the walls of her new
home.

The threat was withdrawn on December 4 when King Baldwin arrived

from Jerusalem with a relieving army.

But the wedding party was not in any case a happy one, for mother-
in-law Stephanie disliked Isabella's mother Maria, as did Reynald and
the Lady Agnes. Stephanie forbade the bride from seeing her mother
in future: she was indeed a stranger in a strange land, and her
husband was to be her only comfort.

Meanwhile, Saladin was waiting for the right moment to strike at the
heart blood of the tottering kingdom.

His strength grew as truce succeeded truce, and as the factions

brawled and argued.

Saladin's moment came with the crowning of King Guy, which was to
prove the suicide note of a kingdom.
1. Hamilton "Queens of Jerusalem" pp.162-3.

2. Runciman II, p.424.

3. Ibid., p.425.

4. Hamilton,"The Queens of Jerusalem", pp.159-60.

5. Malouf, The Crusades Through Arab Eyes, p.184.

6. Hamilton, p.170.

7. Runciman II, p.346.

8. Pernoud, p. 151.

9. Hamilton, p.168.

10. Ibid., p.169.

11. Malouf, The Crusades Through Arab Eyes, p.185.

12. Estoire d'Eracles in Pernoud, The Crusades, pp.152-5. Runciman II, pp.449-50.

13. Pernoud, The Crusades, p.156.

 Chapter 26:

"I Spy Treason"

In a bittersweet irony, the catalyst for the final destruction of the

kingdom was an argument over a woman, between Reynald of
Chatillon and Saladin.

Raymond of Tripoli, half Moslem in thought and habit, was able for
some time to maintain a fragile truce with Saladin: Reynald of
Chatillon, mad as a hawk in his great castle of Kerak, was set on a
hair trigger, waiting to be snapped. When he exploded, the truce
shattered.

In the cool weather at the end of 1186, a vast caravan was

unsuspectingly tramping the road between Egypt and Damascus. A
spy galloped up to the walls of Kerak, and soon afterwards out
cantered heavily armed knights, with red headed Reynald in their
lead.
The small guard of Egyptian soldiers was bowled over in a moment
by the tank like Franks, and all the merchants and their families,
together with an unprecedented amount of loot, were driven back to
Kerak. When the captives protested their treatment, Reynald
scornfully suggested that they should wait until their Mohammed
came to release them.

Amongst the prisoners was Saladin's sister.

This may have been Sitt es Sham, also known as the Lady of Syria. A
legendary tale has it that she financed Saladin's reconquest with her
own money after he had given away all of his own.1

The news of the slaughter of the migrant train and the capture of his
sister, above all else, caused the final hardening of Saladin's heart
against his enemies and allies in the Frankish kingdom. He
immediately demanded of Guy that his caravan and his sister should
be released, protesting even now that he did not wish to break the
truce.

Reynald scorned the puppet king's orders to return his hostages,

arrogantly proclaiming himself lord of his own land, just as Guy was
in his. He, Reynald, had made no truce with Saracens.2

Early in the following year, Saladin's army began to move. He

marched from Syria to lay waste to Reynald's territory around Kerak
in Moab. Meanwhile, Saladin’s son attacked Acre in the north. After
successfully plundering the scattered Christian territories, Saladin
took muster and estimated his cavalry at 12,000 men. He had a well
equipped army ten times the size of the best the Christians could
hope to assemble.3

The kingdom was in a parlous state, made worse by the insane

behaviour of Gerard of Ridfort.

Despite a day long local truce, he insisted on attacking a Saracen

army as it moved near Nablus. Gerard went into battle at the head
of ninety Templars and Hospitallers. It was all over in minutes.
Gerard was the only survivor of the debacle which in a moment had
blunted the edge of the Christian army by sacrificing its best trained,
most fanatical cavalry.

Balian of Ibelin who was nearby was the first to hear the news. He
immediately sent a sergeant to Nablus to his wife Maria, the former
queen, to give her the news and tell her to send his knights at Nablus
to join him at Nazareth.

Raymond, by now openly siding with Saladin, was brought back to

the fold by the disaster as well as threats of excommunication by the
Patriarch and of the annulment of his marriage to Eschiva of Bures. 4
The Lady Eschiva had brought to the marriage the county of Tiberias,
focussed on a fortress city on the western shore of the Sea of Galilee.
She had been the second richest heiress in the kingdom at the time
of their marriage, which occurred shortly before 1174. She was the
widow of Walter of Saint-Omer, and in 1179 had been able to pay
55,000 dinars for the ransom of her son Hugh of Galilee. This sum
was about one third of a king's ransom.5

Eschiva and Raymond had no children of their own: she had a

daughter Margaret - who had married Hugh, former head of the Ibelin
clan, William, who had previously married Maria of Beirut, widow of
Baldwin of Ibelin - and two other sons.

Eschiva’s marriage would appear therefore to have been one of

economic and political consideration for Raymond, moreso than one
with a dynastic intent, and perhaps least of all a matter of
compatability.

As disaster piled on disaster, Raymond remembered his initial

allegiances, and hurried from Tiberias, along with his step sons to
Jerusalem, where he made his obeisance to the king.

Shortly after, on July 1, Saladin moved around the southern end of

the Lake and attacked Tiberias. The lower town soon fell: Eschiva
took refuge in the citadel and sent urgent messages for help to
Jerusalem.

Meanwhile, she led the forces holding out against the largest army
Saladin had ever brought into the kingdom - some estimate it at
80,000 in total, perhaps more like 18,000, and in any case,
substantially more than the Crusaders could summon.

In Jerusalem, Guy prepared his meagre forces.

In utter desperation, the True Cross - the fragment sold to the

Sepulchre by the impoverished Queen of Georgia? - was brought up
from the depths of the Holy Sepulchre.

The Patriarch Heraclius, ordered to bring the Cross before the army,
made his excuses that he was unwell.

Others whispered that he feared to leave the arms of his

Patriarchess. In any case, he sent the Cross in the care of another,
his Prior.

The army assembled at Acre where a council of the barons planned

the miniscule force's strategy.
Attention now focussed on Raymond, who was the most able and
respected of all the Christian leaders, if also the man suspected of
being a traitor.

His advice was suspiciously ambiguous.

According to the Estoire d'Eracles, the hawk faced, tall yet stooping
baron announced that any damage done to Tiberias was his affair,
and fell on no other, for his wife and children were there, and he
would not for anything in the world that harm should come to them.
So he had advised the garrison, if they thought that Saladin was too
great for them to withstand to go aboard their ships and set out on
the lake of Galilee.

But, continued Raymond, if the king insisted on fighting, he advised

them to go to Acre, so that they could call on its aid if things should
go ill. For he knew Saladin as too proud a man to resist an offer to
fight, even if it meant fighting in enemy territory.

The Master of the Temple replied enigmatically:

"I spy treason."

Raymond was more direct in his advice not to flinch from fighting
overwhelming odds:

"...a large load of fuel will be good for the fires of Hell...

There are curious omissions in the accounts. For one thing, Raymond
had no children by Eschiva. Her sons were said to be with Raymond
on campaign. Perhaps he was referring to his step daughter, or more
probably the account of his speech is a compilation of two or more
speeches given on separate occasions, including a time when his
step children were indeed with their mother.6

The other curiosity is his apparent reluctance to ride to his lady's

rescue, as behoved a husband and a knight. Was the regent putting
the good of his kingdom before his sworn duty as a knight and a
husband? Or was he actually serving the interests of Saladin in
delaying the army? Or did he simply trust in the chivalry of his infidel
friend and rival?

In any case, personal hatred outweighed all considerations of

politics or honour. At Gerard's words, Raymond said:

"Sir, I urge and beg you to go to the help of Tiberias."

At the same moment, an urgent plea arrived from Eschiva, begging

Guy to come to her aid, because of her danger and the danger in
which her people were placed.
When the news was heard, a clamour arose amongst the knights:

"Let us go and succour the ladies and maidens of Tiberias."7

The army moved eastwards to the last oasis before Tiberias, the
Wells of Cresson, where it was decided to await Saladin's advance.
He was a day away across a burning plain: it would be madness for
horses or infantry to attempt to reach him.

And madness it was: acting on the whispers of Gerard, Guy ordered

camp broken in the early hours of July 3, 1187. Relucant men hastily
saddled their steeds or packed their tents and equipment for what
they must have believed to be their final earthly journey.

The beasts were in a particularly bad state, refusing to drink deeply

before the departure. According to the Estoire d'Eracles, an hour's
march from the Wells, some sergeants found an old Saracen woman
on a donkey. They thought she may have been a runaway slave, so
they took her prisoner and questioned her. After some bullying, she
admitted that she was actually Saladin's servant, and was going to
him to be rewarded. She was then put firmly to the torture, and at
last cried out that she was actually a sorceress. For three days and
three nights she had gone around the army casting a spell. Further,
she warned them they were heading for certain death.

It is possible that here was the cause of the strange behaviour of the
animals: certain potions sprinkled in the wells could have
discouraged the animals yet have been undetectable to men.

In any case, she was summarily dealt with. A pyre of thorns and
couch grass was built, into which she was cast. Three times she
attempted to escape a fearsome death: at the third, a sergeant clove
her in two with his Danish axe.8

Meanwhile, Saladin had ended his siege of Tiberias. Ibn al Athir says
his only reason for attacking it had been to lure the Christians into
battle.9

The Islamic army, determined at last to risk all on a battle, moved to

meet the Christians. Saladin's army placed itself between the lake
and the Christians. Unable to turn back, short of water, exhausted
from a day's march, denied access to Tiberias, the Christians made a
glum camp on the low hills of the Horns of Hattin.

The next day, July 4, marked the end of the kingdom of Jerusalem,
and the beginning of the ebb tide of the Crusades.

The Christians fought with the tenaciousness, the blind, stupid

courage, and the iron strength of their barbaric ancestors, and even
until the last moment the battle was in the balance.
But the Muslims won, aided by superior tactics, overwhelming odds,
and the inspirational presence of Saladin.

Most of the Templars and Hospitallers were executed, as was

Reynald by Saladin's own hand. Raymond escaped, to die of wounds
several days later. Many accused him of treachery, even so. Guy and
other nobles were spared and imprisoned.

Eschiva sued for safe conducts - for herself and her children says Ibn
al Athir - and these were granted. She left the citadel with her
companions and her possessions, and Saladin safeguarded her
withdrawal to the coast.10
1. K.S.Walker, Saladin: Sultan of the Holy Sword Dennis Dobson, London, 1971, p.90.

2. Estoire d'Eracles in Pernoud, p.158. Ibn al Athir does not mention Saladin's sister in his
account, Gabrieli, Arab Historians of the Crusades, p.116.

3. Ibid., p.118.

4. Ibid., p.119.

5. Runciman II, p.420.

6. Gabrielli, Arab Historians, p.130: Imad ad Din however says the Countess was
accompanied by her sons, as does Ibn al Athir.

7. Pernoud, pp.163-4: cf Gabrielli, pp.119-20.

8. Ibid., p.165.

9. Ibid., p.121.

10. Ibid., p.124.

 Chapter 27:

"There They Must Live Or Die"

The conquest of the holy city of Jerusalem was the inevitable sequel
to the extermination of the Christian army at Hattin. The restoration
of this most holy site, and particularly the recapture of the Dome of
the Rock, was the immediate goal of the victorious forces of Islam.

Nothing stood between Saladin at Hattin and total victory with the
seizure of Jerusalem, except one knight.

Balian of Ibelin had escaped death at Hattin. He had fled in the

company of Raymond of Tripoli. Now he begged Saladin's permission
to go to Jerusalem to rescue his wife Queen Maria Comnena and
their children. The Sultan granted this, on condition that Balian would
no longer bear arms against him.

Once in the city, however, Balian was begged to succour his fellow
Christians.

A man of honour, he asked for Saladin's advice: Saladin in turn

relieved him of his obligation. And as Balian was busy arranging the
defences, Saladin organized an escort for the wife of the new
commander of the Christian army to return safely to Tyre.1

Supported by a handful of knights and sixty freshly knighted

burghers, Balian led a hopeless resistance.

Amongst the civilians who took up arms to assist the defence was at
least one woman. Her name was Margaret of Beverley, who had
been born while her parents were on pilgrimage to the Holy Land.
Once she had reached adulthood she had retraced her parents'
footsteps to the East and was caught up in the siege.

In her own words, she defended the city like a man, wearing a
cooking pot as a helmet, and carrying water to the men. A missile
boulder wounded her with fragments. But she survived to tell her tale
and to establish herself as a remarkable woman warrior.2

Saladin's army drew up outside the walls of Jerusalem on September

20.

Nine days later, it was all over.

Balian's miniature army had fought with the dogged desperation of

those who were beyond hope. But the Saracens outnumbered them,
and had tunnelled beneath the ramparts. The fall of Jerusalem was
imminent, and with that knowledge must have come the memories of
what had happened the last time its defences had been breached.

For the non combatants - the women and children - the worst was
surely yet to come.
Balian distinguished himself with his coolness and ferocity at the last
throw of the dice.

He led a deputation to Saladin begging quarter: Saladin replied only

that he would return evil for evil.

Balian begged, humbling and degrading himself before the inflexible

Sultan, who had not wished to attack the Holy City, but now that it
was done, intended to fire out its population to the last man and
woman.

Balian then made one of the most inspired speeches in military

history. It was recorded by Saladin's historian, Ibn al Athir:

Know then, O Sultan, that we are infinite in number and that God
alone can guess what our number is.

The inhabitants are reluctant to fight, because they hope for quarter,
such as you have granted to so many others. They fear death and
cling to life; but once death becomes inevitable, I swear by the God
who hears us, we shall kill our women and our children, we shall burn
our riches and we shall not leave you a single coin.

You will find no more women to reduce to slavery, or men to put in

irons.

We shall destroy the Dome of the Rock and the Mosque al Aqsa and
all the holy places.

We shall slaughter all the Moslems, to the number of five thousand,

imprisoned in our walls.

We shall not leave a single beast of burden alive.

We shall come out against you, and we shall fight like people
fighting for their lives.

For one of us who perishes, many of yours will fall.

We shall die free, or we shall triumph with glory.3

Saladin was convinced, or at least was eager to take a path that

saved both bloodshed and honour. His conditions were severe but
remarkably favourable to the Christians.
 The Sultan demanded ten gold dinars for each man, the same per
two women, and the same amount for every ten children. Some
could pay, many were unable to do so. At last, Saladin accepted a
down payment of 30,000 dinars from Balian for the seven to
eighteen thousand poor people of Jerusalem.

The entry to the Holy City took place on October 2, 1187, the
anniversary of the very day on which Mohammed was thought to
have been transported from Mecca to Jerusalem and thence to
Paradise.

Alas, the occasion of religious fervour turned into a veritable meat

market, as the haggling began over the payment of ransoms for the
better off. The leaders became embarassed at the sight of the
thousands of families patiently queuing to pay their ransoms, and so
some of the sheiks and Balian began to pay for hundreds at a time,
from their own purses. Even the venial Patriarch grudgingly agreed to
buy off 700. This proved merely a distraction to his main aim: he fled
the city soon afterwards with cart loads of jewellery and other
treasure. According to Ibn al Athir, he took with him the treasures of
the Dome of the Rock, the Mosque al Aqsa, the Church of the
Resurrection, plus an equal quantity of money.

Saladin was asked by his sheikhs to intervene and relieve the

despicable prelate of his burden, but the Sultan declined, confining
his tax to the agreed ten dinar.4 Alas, the insults of Islam were too
often wasted on the sensibilities of the Christians.

Saladin then freed the remainder of the poor, and restored the
captive knights of Hattin to their wives. To the widows he paid a lump
sum for the loss of their husbands in battle.5

For hundreds, if not thousands of women and children who made it

to the coastal towns, however, slavery ensued as ransoms were not
paid or they were taken prisoner in the melee of people fleeing the
ports. Whole families were bought for a few coins or some barter,
and then parted from each other. Amongst other stories, Ibn al Athir
tells of a Christian slave girl in Aleppo about a year later who was
going with her master to a neighbouring house. All at once she
embraced a woman who had appeared at the door of that house.
Crying, they sat down together and began to talk. They were two
sisters taken in slavery at Jaffa at the same time, and sent to the
same town without knowing it.6

The warrior woman, Margaret of Beverley, had paid her own ransom
but was recaptured on her escape journey and made a slave. Her
jobs included gathering stones and wood, and she was beaten with
switches if she was disobedient. She bore all with patience, but she
bathed her chains in her tears.
Freedom came when she was ransomed by a rich man from Tyre
who was giving thanks for the birth of an heir.

All but naked, she travelled through the isolated hinterland to avoid
recapture, living for five days off a bread roll and on roots for another
five days.

Her one comfort in the midst of her fear of capture and wild beasts
was her psalter, miraculously restored by a Turk who stole it from
her, but who then immediately repented of his actions.

Her troubles were far from over. She reached Antioch, only to be
rearrested by the Moslems on suspicion of stealing a knife. Again, a
Moslem took mercy on her most unexpectedly. Condemned to
death, she was praying to Mary in her cell when her gaoler overheard
her, and for some reason set her free.

At last, she returned to France via Italy and Spain and found her
brother, a monk, to whom she told her remarkable story.7

Not everyone, however, was willing to flee from Jerusalem.

It is a chilling reminder of how brief the Crusading kingdom was

from birth to humbling death that an old man was found within the
city who had accompanied Godfrey of Bouillon. He was granted
permission to end his days within the walls of that city for which he
and his fellows had shed so much blood for such little purpose.8

But if the forces of Islam thought that the reconquest was to be

easily completed, they were mistaken.

Saladin's behaviour was capricious in a military sense. He would take

a strong point, such as Acre, and defend it, but he left others
unassailed until they were too strengthened to be easily conquered.
He argued points of theology with Reynald of Sidon until the castle of
Belfort was reinforced. He neglected the siege of Tyre until its lord,
Conrad of Monferrat, was in a good position to hold it.

And he took King Guy and Gerard of Ridfort at their word when they
promised to leave the Holy Land forever in return for their freedom.

These two slippery customers owed their release to Queen Sybilla.

She had been allowed to rejoin her husband Guy in his captivity at
Nablus.

Maria Comnena, the other royal female, was allowed to go to Tripoli,

accompanied according to Ibn al Athir by a great train of domestics,
slaves and handmaids and with a quantity of gold and precious
stones. He adds that Stephanie, widow of Reynald, also interceded
personally with Saladin for the release of her son Humphrey of Toron.
Saladin agreed, in exchange for Kerak. Stephanie went to Kerak, but
the Franks refused to yield the fortress. Saladin therefore would not
release Humphrey, but did give her back her possessions and her
followers. 9

After Jerusalem had been fully secured, Guy was sent to Damascus,
while Sybilla was permitted to go to Tripoli. From there, she wrote to
Saladin in 1188 reminding him that he had promised to release Guy
and Gerard in return for the surrender of Ascalon. He had been
delivered the city - but the king and the Grand Master were still
prisoners. In July of that year, the two were released, and
immediately prepared for battle. Guy, Sybilla, Humphrey of Toron
and Isabella, Balian of Ibelin and Maria together with the remaining
knights and newly arrived reinforcements - the vanguard of the Third
Crusade - set out on a progress of reconquest.

At first, there was division and setback. The Christian army was
refused entrance to Tyre by its guardian, Conrad of Monferrat, so
they endured months of inaction camped before its walls. 10

Then, in the later summer of 1189, they laid siege to the key city of
Acre, the first to be taken by Saladin after the Battle of Hattin.

And so began one of the greatest sieges in recorded history, the

equal in its own way of that of Illium, or the struggle at Stalingrad.

It also marks the apotheosis of Guy as a leader.

A man characterised by foolishness and wrong headedness, for once

in his life he acted with determination and strategy: how much of this
was due to the presence of his wife, whose life was characterised by
the iron will to survive so characteristic of the women of Outremer?

Saladin had refortified Acre with the aid of the Egyptian general
Karakush. He would not have been overly concerned, therefore, when
King Guy's motley army sat down before Acre's landward gates on
August 28, 1189. Saladin's much larger army arrived two days later,
followed shortly afterwards by a fleet from Conrad in Tyre.

Acre is on a sandstone promontory on the northern end of a bay,

jutting into the Mediterranean like an upside down fishhook. The
landward side of the city was protected by an L shaped wall, with the
longest side towards the North. About 100 metres north of this wall
close to the sea was a low hill, known as Montmusard, an area
subsequently covered with suburbs.

The war was fought on two fronts: Guy attacking the walls of Acre:
Saladin harrying the Christians from inland. Isabella and Guy, says
Hoveden, set up their camp on the western slopes of the hill looking
towards the sea: near the summit of the mountain was Heraclius,
together with Geoffrey, Guy's brother. The sea line was guarded by
the Pisans, on the other side of the mountain were the Germans and
the Templars, the Hospitallers and the rest.11

A set battle - in the end not a decisive victory - between Guy and
Saladin occurred on October 4, resulting in a defeat for the Franks
and the long awaited death of Gerard of Ridfort, who had played
such a leading role in the loss of the Holy Land.

For the most part, however, the siege was a game of gut wrenching
endurance, a match in which the women played a major role. It was
now that women emerged as significant combatants in their own
right. These women - the wives and relatives of the soldiers, as well
as women of lesser rank - donned armour and fought in battle. When
Conrad's fleet arrived, there had been a naval battle off the coast
near Acre. The women involved in the battle had used knives to cut
the throats of Turks whom they had seized by the hair. They then
carried the heads triumphantly ashore.12

As well, the Itinerarium tells of a woman who shared the labour of

building an earthwork close to the city walls. She worked tirelessly,
without stopping, encouraging others by her zeal. Her inspiration
drew many others of all ages and both sexes to assist her in
completing the task as quickly as possible. Alas, she was too
successful, and gained unwelcome notice from the besieged: she was
hurrying to deposit another load when a Turk who was lying in
ambush threw a spear at her. She fell, writhing in agony. Her
husband and others ran to her side, in time to hear her final plea -
she besought him "my love, my dear lord", by their sacred marriage
vows and by the love they had shared not to let her body be moved
from the spot. Rather, let her corpse have a share in the work - let it
lie in the ditch in place of a load of earth. It will soon turn to earth
anyway. 13

One senses that there is some moral embellishment by the author of

her final words, but the story in its essence - the participation of the
woman, and her inspiration of other women as well as the shared
work with her husband, rings true in comparison to other tales of the
great siege.

The camps of the respective armies formed themselves into the

semblance of cities of canvas. An Arab visitor to the camp, Abd el
Latif, described Saladin's camp as containing 140 smithies, kitchens
big enough to hold 28 cooking pots, seven thousand registered
shops, clothes markets of stupendous size, and a thousand baths
supplied from a water table found two meters below the ground.14
The camps would have been brilliant with all the colours of heraldry,
and the flags of all nations waved above cities of war, in which gaiety
mingled with despair, fraternisation with bloodshed, and enmity with
the friendship of shared suffering.

Roger de Hoveden described how the Christians held out behind two
trenches, one facing Acre, the other Saladin "...so that no one could
do them any injury from the opposite side; but the Christians there
were exposed to the winds and rain, having neither houses nor
cabins in which to shelter themselves; nor indeed, if they had sworn
so to do, could they have retreated, but there they must live or
die."15

One of those to die was the queen, and her two daughters. The
accounts are brief: there was the expected epidemic in the summer
of 1190. Amongst the resulting deaths were those of Sybilla and her
two daughters on July 25.

Their deaths complicated the shaky alliance of men greedy for a

crown that was forever to exist only in memory.

Guy had held the crown only through his wife. Now that she was
dead, it was argued, he had no claim.16. However, Guy was not
about to be challenged by his main rival, Humphrey, who held an
avenue in right of his wife, Isabella. They were friends, companions in
arms, and equally weak men.

The ambitious Conrad attempted to circumvent this impasse. He

formed an alliance with the bitter enemy of the Courtenays and
Lusignans, Maria Comnena. Her deposition to the papal legate and
the bishop of Beauvais was that Isabella's marriage was invalid: the
child had been only eight when it was contracted, much against her
own wishes. Besides, Humphrey was known to be effeminate.

The young Isabella was reluctant, but at last she yielded to her
mother's persuasions. As always, she appears to have borne herself
with endurance and dignity. Ambroise's epitaph of her was thus a
fitting one:

"God to her soul be gracious:

For she was known as valorous."17

Humphrey seems to have contented himself with the bribe of the

reinstatement of his title to certain lands (incidentally still in the
hands of the Saracens).

There was some difficulty over Conrad's marital status: he had at

least one and possibly two wives in the Mediterranean region. 18
 As well, there were political complications: English representatives
amongst the court of the bishops presiding over the case were
opposed to the annulment, as their king took the side of the
Lusignans. The French bishop, however, was therefore automatically
in favour of the new marriage. The papal legate - the Archbishop of
Pisa - was won over, it was said, with the promise of trade
concessions to his countrymen.

The English Archbishop of Canterbury, Baldwin, hurled

excommunications, and died suddenly on November 19.

The marriage took place five days later: Guy, furious, challenged
Conrad - fruitlessly - to single combat. But it was all over for him: a
king without title, lands or artillery, he remained at Tyre, while his
troops conducted the fitful siege at Acre without his aid.19

The newlyweds settled down to their new life in the same city where
Guy sulked. Their union bore the fruit of a daughter the following
year. The child was named Maria, after the woman who had been the
main engineer of the ill fated marriage.
1. Malouf, The Crusades Through Arab Eyes, p.197.

2. R. C. Finucane, Soldiers of the Faith: Crusaders and Moslems at War Dent, London, 1983,
p.179: J. B. Holloway et.al., Equally in God's Image: Women in the Middle Ages Peter Lang,
New York, 1990, p. 186.

3. Pernoud, p.171.

4. Gabrieli, Arab Historians, p.144.

5. Walker, Saladin, pp.101-2.

6. Pernoud, p.173.

7. Finucane, Soldiers of the Faith, pp. 178-9.

8. Ibid.

9. Ibn al Athir, Arab Historians, p.144.

10. Roger de Hoveden, II, p.126.

11. Ibid., p.127. See Riley Smith, The Atlas of the Crusades, pp.102-3.

12. Walker, Saladin, p.113. Archeological confirmation of women as combatants comes from
a site in Georgia. In the township of Rustavi, archeologists discovered the headless skeleton
of a young girl, clutching a battle axe. Her faithful dog lay by her side: the girl’s head had
been cut off and deposited several meters from the body. Apparently, she had died fighting
to the last during the Mongol invasion of 1265. See The Knight of the Tiger Skin, p.14.

13. Chronicles of the Crusades, p.182-3. Ambroise, History of the Holy War M.J.Hubert
(trans.), Columbia University Press, New York, 1941, p.163.

14. Pernoud, p.185.

15. de Hoveden II, p.128.

16. Richard, Canon of the Holy Trinity ("Richard de Templo") Itinerarium in Chronicles and
Memorials of the Reign of Richard I ed. W. Stubbs, Rerum Brittanicarum, 38 Longmans,
London, 1864-5, p.97.

17. Ambroise, p.170.

18 Ibid., p.233.

19. de Hoveden II, pp. 172-3; Hamilton p.172; Runciman III, pp.30-2.
 Chapter 28:

"BY THE WRATH OF GOD, QUEEN OF THE

ENGLISH!"

Like a Falcon From a Cage

While battle swirled around the walls of Acre, Europe was again
shaking off its slumbers. Aid was on the way the eastern colony.

This Crusade was to be a concerted effort headed by the Emperor

Frederick, supported by mighty kings and princes.

But there were to be definitely no women. A Papal Bull gave a

comprehensive ban on feminine participation.

One who obeyed - at least according to the letter of the law - was
the pope's old friend, Eleanor, Queen of England.
 Yet even though she did not herself go to the Holy Land, the
turbulent Third Crusade saw Queen Eleanor make her finest
contribution to the winning of the East.

Remaining at home, she saved a kingdom brought nearly to ruin by

the circumstances of the Crusade. And at the same time she guided
the fortunes of the army far across the sea in Outremer.

Never was there a more delicate act of balancing personal and

dynastic interests than that undertaken by this woman, who had
reached an age when, even today, most people are seeking the
quieter pleasures of honourable retirement.

Nobody illustrates the life of the women who stayed home from the
Crusades on a grander scale than did Eleanor, self proclaimed Queen
of England, wife of Henry Plantagenet, mother of Richard the
Lionheart, of John Earl of Montaigne, Geoffrey Archbishop of York,
Joanna Queen of Sicily, and Marie Countess of Champagne.

Everything in her life was accentuated and writ in the largest and
boldest type. Other women ruled households and demesnes in the
absence of their men: she set an empire to rights.

Eleanor had spent sixteen years of imprisonment, suffered by order

of her husband, Henry II. At the moment of her husband's death,
Eleanor sprang from her tower gaol like a falcon from a cage. The
Queen’s saviour was her beloved son, Richard the Lionhearted, the
exemplar of the Crusading spirit.

Richard was the second of her four sons, and her closest confidant.
He had spent his adolescence under her tutelage attempting to wrest
the crown of the Angevin empire from his father's fist. When she was
imprisoned, Richard carried on: Eleanor plotted from behind her
stone walls to bring about the downfall of her hated husband,
Richard's father. Undoubtedly, her spider's web was drawn about
Henry and helped cause his death soon after the proclamation of the
Third Crusade in 1189. Henry was at that time busy reaching peace
with his eternal foe, Richard's ally and sometimes bosom companion,
Philip of France. Amongst other items of the treaty was an agreement
by Henry to surrender Philip's sister Alys to the care of Richard. Alys
had been betrothed to Richard since childhood: Henry had taken her
as his lover and refused to surrender her, until now. Further, the
French land promised to Richard as Alys's dowry was to be
surrendered after Richard's return from Jerusalem.1

The unfortunate Alys was therefore destined to remain a pawn in

the games of kings and queens: she was still the excuse for hostilities
between Philip and Richard after the end of the Crusade.
 At the conclusion of the negotiations of 1189, Henry asked for a list
of his followers who had joined with Richard in the late rebellion. He
found at the head of the document the name of his youngest and
most loved son, John.

"Surprised at this beyond measure, he came to Chinon, touched

with grief at heart, cursed the day on which he was born, and
pronounced upon his sons the curse of God and of himself...and after
confessing his sins, and being absolved by the bishop and clergy, he
departed this life in the thirty-fifth year of his reign..."2

The triumph of Eleanor. No doubt she celebrated with all the gusto
available to a woman born in 1122. While Richard wasted no time in
seizing his father's lands and taxing those who had been loyal to
Henry to the uttermost farthing, Eleanor "...moved her royal court
from city to city, and from castle to castle, just as she thought
proper."3.

Although the Papal Bull forbade women from going on the Third
Crusade, nothing daunted, Eleanor set out on the early stages of the
journey, despite the pope's ban, her advanced age, and the
debilitating effects of gaol.

Eleanor had been used to a life of freedom and luxury equivalent to

that of a modern jet setter. But she had also spent half a lifetime in
various prisons, while her husband flaunted his power and his
mistresses. Eleanor had much time to make up. Nevertheless, with
the tenderness and sense of justice that characterised her whole life,
she spared more than a moment's thought for others who had been
in like case.

"...sending messengers throughout all the counties of England,

ordered that all captives should be liberated from prison and
confinement, for the good of the soul of Henry, her lord; inasmuch as,
in her own person, she had learnt by experience that confinement is
distasteful to mankind, and that it is a most delightful refreshment to
the spirits to be liberated therefrom. She, moreover, gave directions,
in obedience to the orders of her son, the duke, that all who had
been taken in custody for forestal offences should be acquitted
therefor and released, and that all persons who had been outlawed
for forestal offences should return in peace..."4

Eventually, the freeing of prisoners expanded into a general

amnesty for prisoners on remand under the common law.

Meanwhile, in France, Richard, tears in his eyes, buried the father

against whom he had fought a lifetime of civil war. Henry's tomb was
made at Fontevrault. In one of the greatest ironies of a dynasty built
on ironies, Richard would lie near his father at the end of his own life
- next to his mother, Eleanor. Perhaps thirty years of strife had
blended the family into some intense bond of simultaneous love and
hate that reached beyond mortal understanding.

The obsequies complete, Richard in company with his court including

his unintentionally patricidal brother John, crossed into England on
the ides of August. Here, John was rewarded for his loyalty with vast
domains, including the earldoms of Mortaigne, Cornwall, Dorset,
Somerset, Nottingham, Derby, Lancaster and Gloucester.

An appurtenance that came with the latter domain was the late earl
of Gloucester's daughter, a marriage ordained by Richard but
forbidden by the archbishop of Canterbury, Baldwin, on the grounds
of a relationship of blood in the fourth degree. 5

Richard's bastard brother Geoffrey ( second of that name) was

compensated by the offer of the Archbishopric of York, second in the
kingdom.

In keeping with his times, Richard further rewarded his faithful

adherents with a string of rich marriages.

To Andrew de Chauvigny Richard gave the daughter of Raoul de Dol

(she having been formerly the wife of Baldwin, Earl of Rivers). The
marriage was performed at Salisbury, in the presence of the lady
Eleanor, the first time the surviving members of the family were able
to gather in many years. The ceremony thus marked a fortunate and
happy reunion of mother and children, so long separated by the guile
and tyranny of the late Henry. The old man had known what a
formidable combination his family made: he had not kept the
individual members of his clan on opposite sides of the Channel for
so long without reason.

That ancient and most famous of knights, William Marshal - loyal to

King Henry through thick and thin, now loyal to Richard because he
was king - was given the plum marriage of the heiress to the lands of
Striguil, Isabel Countess of Pembroke.

The story of William's marriage with the heiress is a typical

entanglement of medieval romanticism and brutality. The old king,
Henry, had originally promised his loyal knight William a minor
heiress, Helvis of Lancaster. He later changed his mind and gave
William the young Isabel of Striguil. This marked an elevation in the
ranking of William: his first promised bride had been worth one
knight's fee to him. The latter brought with her 65 and a half fiefs.
The difference was between a very comfortable existence and being
filthy rich.

Unfortunately for William, he had chosen Henry's side against

Richard, to the extent of killing Richard's horse under him and
consigning Richard to the Devil. At Henry's death, the Marshal might
have expected to have had Henry’s marriage gift rescinded. Richard,
however, in an unusually forgiving mood at the beginning of his reign
reconfirmed the offer.

Legend has it that when Richard appeared at his father's funeral

procession, which was being led by William, he drew the old knight
aside. Richard then forgave the humiliation that William had visited
upon the proudest prince in Christendom. In the next breath, Richard
was reminded of the heiress. He responded magnanimously, saying
that his father had merely promised her: he, Richard, gave her freely.

William did not stay to count his blessings. He crossed western

France in two days, and he and his band of men literally leapt
aboard a ship as it set sail for England. The deck collapsed beneath
the men, breaking the arms of the Marshal's companion, and
spraining William's leg.

Undaunted, William made his way to Winchester, visiting Eleanor. He

at last reached London, and overruled the guardian of the young
woman, who was attempting to protect the bride to be. She was
barely of marriageable age - perhaps 17. William himself was fifty.

Not waiting to bear her off to her ancestral lands, he begged the
attendants at the wedding for a bed. One was provided at nearby
Stoke, where he carried the bride and completed the marriage
contract. The Pipe Rolls record her trousseau as worthy of her estate,
at 9 pounds 12 shillings and 1 penny.

According to the poetical biography of William, L'Histoire de

Guillaume le Marechal:

"When the wedding had been well made,

And everything was richly appointed,

The lady was taken

To the home of Sir Engerrand D'Abernon

At Stoke, a most peaceful,

Comfortable and delightful place..."

Thus ensued the first recorded honeymoon in England.6

The marriage was to prove stronger than one might anticipate under
the circumstances: the couple lived as husband and wife until the
Marshal's death 30 years later. In the interval, he exploited his wife's
lands, as was his prerogative, and sired ten children upon her, some
of whom were to become famous in their own rights.7
These and many other matters busied the king on his whirlwind tour
of his new province, culminating in his coronation by the Archbishop
at Westminster on September 6.

It was a glittering occasion, and Eleanor as the Queen Mother would

have revelled in the ceremony and the subsequent banquet, the
culmination and justification of her years of torment. This was what
she had plotted throughout most of her tormented marriage to Henry
- to see her son, Richard, on Henry's throne.

Unfortunately, the banquet that followed afterwards was marred by

an attack on some Jews by London citizens, which forced Richard to
begin his reign by executing some of his most (misguidedly) fervent
subjects.

Other disputes followed quickly, as the churchmen in especial

wrangled over who got to keep what from the sharing out of prizes
resulting from the new reign.

But at last, with ponderous and irresistible force, Richard and his
army turned eastwards. On December 11 he crossed into the
continent with his prelates and his army.

He left the kingdom, as might be expected, in the charge of the

Church and trusted nobles: Hugh, bishop of Durham, William, bishop
of Ely - the chief justiciars - together with Hugh Bardolph, William
Marshal, Geoffrey Fitz-Peter and William Bruyere. The king's seal was
delivered to his chancellor, William Bishop of Ely. No mention is made
of the role to be taken by Eleanor, nor of the rebellious young brother
John. Apparently, the queen was to be satisfied with her role as
Dowager, and the brother with his new lands.8

The wake of Richard's ships had barely disappeared from the sea,
when the bishops of Durham and Ely began to quarrel as to who had
pride of place: so, comments Roger de Hoveden, the first walls were
steeped in a brother's blood.9

William Longchamp, bishop of Ely, chancellor and justiciar, is a

character from the pages of romantic fiction. Dwarfed, hunchbacked,
as ugly as an ape, his sexuality beyond the bounds of contemporary
morality, he combined immense political clumsiness with a peasant
lineage. Any or all of these failings made him fair game for members
of the Plantagenet family, who used him and raged at him, and then
finally swallowed his life in their quest for individual power.

Other trouble was brewing.

King William of Sicily had died a month before, without issue.

William's widow was Joanna, Richard's sister. She was captured in the
ensuing war of succession by the usurper Tancred. A German army,
sent by the emperor Henry, invaded Sicily to establish the German
emperor's claim to the throne. The result was a stalemate, with the
Lionheart's sister, Eleanor's daughter, still a prisoner of war.10

On December 25, 1190, Richard and Philip of France, by choice

friends and by fate enemies, met at Saint Remy in Normandy to
settle the details of their joint journey to the East, promising mutual
aid and support. The message between the lines of the agreement,
understood by everyone, was that they would betray each other at
the first available opportunity to continue the interminable war
between the Angevins and France.

JUGGLING WITH RAZORS

Soon afterward, Eleanor was summoned to her son's side, together

with Prince John and the hierarchy of the English church. Here, after
holding council, Richard appointed William of Ely chief justiciar of the
whole of England. He also compelled his bastard brother Geoffrey -
appointed by him archbishop of Canterbury - and John, now styled
Earl of Mortaigne, "to make oath, touching the Holy Evangelists, that
they would not enter England for the next three years, expect with
his permission".

However, he immediately released his brother John from the oath he

had made, and gave him permission to return to England, John
afterwards swearing that he would faithfully serve the king.11

Richard was playing a game of politics that required him to juggle

with razors while balanced on a knife's edge. He was leaving his
realm too soon to be sure that it was completely loyal to him. He
knew that Phillip would betray him at the first opportunity because
the French and the Plantagenets were enemies and always had been.

He must also have been aware that he could not trust his brothers.
This was, after all, a family which had founded its career on a lust for
ultimate power, a greed that knew only the bounds of death. As long
as they lived, his brothers would seek what he had - John perhaps
moreso than Geoffrey, as Geoffrey was now in the church and so out
of the race for the crown. Richard attempted to negate his siblings
with gifts, with oaths, and with a show of mercy. But he knew that
any loyalty they possessed would be momentary.

Where could he trust?

 His mother's support was the rock on which his realm was built. But
as a woman, and an old woman at that, she seemed to offer only
comfort rather than military muscle and authority.

He trusted, instead, mainly in the church, and in so doing made a

poor choice. He elevated William of Ely, and obtained a legateship for
the bishop from the pope, conferring an absolute authority on his
vice regency. Alas, his trust was misplaced:

"Accordingly, on the strength of his legateship, the said bishop of

Ely, legate of the Apostolic See, chancellor of our lord the king, and
justiciary of all England, oppressed the clergy and the people,
confounding right and wrong, nor was there a person in the kingdom
who dared to offer resistance to his authority, even in word."12

Richard was balancing on the knife edge - and he was showing

every sign of falling.

England was in turmoil as the bishops of Ely and Durham fought for
supremacy, while John lurked on the sidelines and Geoffrey
squabbled with his new charges.

After reaching Sicily, Richard blundered again - he nearly upset his

doubtful alliance with Phillip over the marriage with Alys, and he
further angered the French king when they became embroiled in a
civil war with Tancred over the rights of Richard's sister. Richard
ceremonially spurned the long withheld marriage with Alys on the
grounds, he claimed, that she was both his father's mistress and the
mother of his step brother! Meanwhile, around the fortresses of
Sicily, alarms and incursions continued while Richard demanded the
restoration of his sister's rights from the stubborn and cunning
Tancred. Richard and his men clashed almost daily with Sicilian
forces, and the French were in danger of being drawn into the brawls.
Richard's actions also upset Tancred's ally, the German emperor. The
matter was not helped when Richard agreed as a settlement of the
Sicilian dispute to have Tancred's daughter marry his heir
presumptive, his nephew Arthur, the son of his full brother
Geoffrey.13

Eleanor was meanwhile briefly rediscovering the heart of the

Angevin empire that she had not seen in nearly two decades.

But in 1191, she tore herself from the new found pleasures of
freedom to come to her son's aid. She was now nearly 69 years old.
Undaunted by a burden of years, she crossed the Pyrenees into
Navarre, where she secured Berengaria, the daughter of King
Sancho, as a suitable wife for her son.

One of the earliest references to Berengaria in Spanish explained

the reason why Eleanor chose this marriage. This was due, says the
chronicle, to Richard having promised to marry Alys. He swore he
would do so after his return from Crusade. This upset Eleanor,
because of her hatred of the French. She therefore tried to work out
a way of rescinding the contract, and enquired about a suitable wife
for her son. She was told that the King of Navarre had two daughters,
and she could probably get one of these for her son. She therefore
proposed to Sancho that his daughter should marry Richard, which
the king was very happy to do. Her choice of Berengaria was of a
woman described by the chronicler Ambroise, who met her, as a
prudent maid, a gentle lady, virtuous and fair, neither false nor
double tongued.

The Spanish princess’s background was impeccable - on her father's

side she claimed descent from the great Cid himself. Her mother
was Queen Sancha, daughter of Alfonso of Castile. Berengaria's
parents were warmly attached to each other. When Sancha died in
1179, Sancho was broken hearted, and never remarried.

Berengaria was a cultivated lady, familiar with the rites of the courts
of love, and of the cultivated atmosphere of those southern lands
bordering the Mediterranean. She and Richard had met on several
occasions before, first in 1172 when Eleanor and Henry had hosted
her father at Limoges. Berengaria was only seven at the time, so she
may not have remarked the tall, golden haired son of the King and
Queen of England.

But the chroniclers have it that she lost her heart to Richard at their
second meeting. In 1177 he came to Navarre to compete in a
tournament with his great friend, her brother Sancho. Some
chroniclers claimed that Richard returned her love, and wooed her
according to the rules of courtly love during the tournament at
Pamplona.15.

Eleanor travelled through the harsh winter of December 1190 to

Navarre to collect her daughter in law. The Queen, accompanied by a
band of Poitevin men who had returned from the Second Crusade
forty years before, was greeted with banquets and courtly dances.
The tables groaned with meat dishes such as venison, boar's head
and kid stuffed with chestnut, and the 25 year old Berengaria danced
the farandole and the basse danse - then a new dance - to entertain
her new mother.16

Early the next morning, Berengaria rode away from her father and
her country, forever.

The Queen journeyed in a wagon, the court ladies in litters, and

Berengaria on a palfrey. All the bride's worldly goods were carried on
pack mules. The escort consisted of a few knights and squires.
They inched across a snowbound landscape through Toulouse,
pausing at Montpellier, crossed the Rhone at Avignon, and then up
snow covered passes near Mont Genevre.

In the Alps, their horses were exchanged for mules to cross the
highest points, before descending into the warmer Lombardy
plains.17

Averaging 30 kilometres a day, they passed quickly down the length

of Italy, travelling in relative anonimity, compared to the
melodramatic journey Eleanor had made in the opposite direction in
1150.

The Old Queen and her party passed through Italy to the port of
Brindisi, and then sailed around the heel of Italy to Sicily.

It is remarkable how completely the Franks had forgotten the

seafaring skills of their ancestors. When Eleanor made her short
journey, she took her life in her hands in the unseaworthy hulks that
passed for European transports of the time. Yet she was the
contemporary of people who had built ships that had traversed the
world as far as the Arctic Circle and as far west as the Americas. The
consummate skills of the Norsemen had been lost in the European
heartland, however, and now the ships of the Franks crawled slowly
around the coastlines, beaching their vessels each night lest they
sink. A journey that would once have taken days now took months, in
less comfort and with considerably less safety than in the ships built
shortly before the First Crusade.

Exposed to the elements and placing her life in the less than
competent hands of the sailors, she reached Sicily in time to play a
trump card: a real marriage for Richard.

And through the marriage, an heir of her choosing, in the extremely

possible likelihood that Richard would never return from Jerusalem.

Eleanor arrived in April, to receive her daughter Joanna from

Richard, and to give Richard his new bride.

This was on the very day that Philip set sail, accompanied for a short
distance on his journey by Richard. Philip left out of a mixture of
impatience at the long delay, and because it would have been
humiliating for him to be confronted at that moment with the woman
who was to replace his sister Alys in Richard's bed.

(Berengaria's family was widely admired, although never as

flamboyant as the Plantagenets. Like their relatives by marriage,
however, their stature was sufficient to attract legendary accounts of
their deeds: Roger de Hoveden recounts a curious fable relating to
Berengaria's brother, Sancho king of Navarre.18
 He says the daughter of "the emperor of Africa" Boyac El Emir
Amimoli, having heard common report of Sancho's prowess, fell in
love with him to such a degree that she greatly longed to have him
as her husband. She told her father she would hang herself if she
could not marry Sancho. The father pointed out the impossibility of
such a marriage on account of the different religions involved. The
daughter replied she was willing to turn Christian if only she might
have the king to husband. The father, feeling himself helpless in the
face of his daughter's threats and blandishments, agreed reluctantly.
Accordingly, he sent messengers to Sancho offering his daughter and
promising great wealth and vast territories.

The king set off to meet the emperor, but while on his journey, the
pagan died, leaving his infant son as his unfit successor. The
kingdom was therefore in turmoil when Sancho arrived. The child
offered the hand of his sister on condition that Sancho helped him
win his kingdom, or prison. Reluctantly, Sancho agreed. The settling
of the new emir on his throne took three years. In the meantime,
Alphonso of Castile abetted by the king of Aragon invaded Sancho's
territories and seized 42 towns from him).

Eleanor stayed at Messina only four days, long enough to see

Richard and Berengaria safely together. But pressing matters called
her back to England, so she did not have time to ensure that the
marriage was made formal, nor that her son did what was required of
him to ensure the continuance of the dynasty.

Rather, Richard was able to make excuses about delaying the

marriage. Unfortunately, he explained, due to it being Lent, he was
unable to be married in time before Eleanor's departure. The king’s
excuse may be seen as a legitimate aspect of the hardships of
Crusading life. Richard was undergoing a ritual cleansing at the time,
having only a short time before stripped himself naked before
prelates of the church to confess his sins and offer to do penance. In
such a state, it was possibly considered inappropriate for him to
marry.

It may have also have had to do with Richard's sexual predilections.

One assumes that Eleanor and Henry, if in a similar position, would

have simply ignored ritual requirements, and continue to follow their
desires, as they always did. It seems possible that Richard engaged
in homosexual practices: he said openly that he had shared Phillip's
bed for two years when a young man. Given the Church's official
abhorrence of sodomy, Richard's violent mood swings from
tenderness and civility to bestial rage may be seen as his
compensation for his leaning towards an activity that he found
natural, but for which there was almost universal public
condemnation of the severest kind. On the other hand, he did sire at
least two children by different mothers. Perhaps it was simply the
case that he was bisexual. Or it may be that in identifying Richard’s
character as driven by stifled homosexuality we are imposing
twentieth century standards on another era. Most young men of his
rank spent much of their lives in the company of other young men,
rarely meeting women, or at least not often being in a gathering
where anything more intimate than playing at the game of courtly
love might be permitted. In such cases, it may have been that many
nobles turned to male companionship of a kind, while still valuing
their occasional chances at intimacy with women.

Richard's subsequent behaviour leaves open the possibility of all

kinds of interpretations.19

TWO DOVES IN A CAGE

In any case, Berengaria and Joanna struck up an immediate

friendship "like two doves in a cage". The princess was committed to
the chaperonage of Joanna, and an exemption was made - at
Eleanor's insistence - for the two women to accompany the men on
Crusade until a suitable time and place could be arranged for the
marriage.

Not wasting time, Eleanor set sail once more on April 2, intending to
pass through Rome in order to confirm Geoffrey as archbishop of
Canterbury. Geoffrey and John had been causing further trouble in
England, of which Richard was well aware. A dispute between John
and the chancellor at this time led Richard to dispatch William
Marshal and a number of his other senior nobles back to England,
where they were to try to resolve the jostling for power.20

Eleanor arrived in Rome at the moment when a new pope was being
consecrated as Celestine III. She knew everybody in Europe who
counted, and Celestine was one of those who did count for much.
Celestine had previously been well treated by her husband Henry,
something of which she no doubt reminded him. She also carried
with her the double persuasion of her assistant the archbishop of
Rouen, sent by Richard to accompany her, and letters authorising her
to act on his behalf.

The pope did as she wished: he confirmed Geoffrey as archbishop,

thus permanently removing him from the contest for the crown, and
he also gave a secret legateship to the archbishop of Rouen, which
placed him above Ely.21
 Eleanor was herself in danger during her stay in Rome, for Richard's
new great enemy, the Emperor Henry, arrived at the moment she
was leaving. But she managed to evade him, or perhaps, given the
lack of communications in that era, their entourages never
encountered each other.

Her business well in hand, the queen returned with the coming
Spring across the Alps to Rouen, a vantage point from which she
could watch developments in the realm where she was now empress
in all but title.

Meanwhile, the king's fleet, the greatest ever seen in Sicily, sailed
towards destiny.

Over 180 ships of all sizes, festooned with flags and streamers, left
Messina on April 10, 1191, laden with the treasures of Joanna seized
back from the usurper by Richard. Richard had received nearly
40,000 pieces of gold in return for Joanna giving up her claim to
Sicily. Alas, Joanna never saw much of the money: her brother spent
most of it adding to his fleet and fighting his wars. Berengaria, on the
other hand, was greatly enriched as a result of her betrothal. A new
custom had arisen whereby women were entitled to one third of their
husband's property as a dower: she had settled on her while at
Messina vast areas of land in the heartland of the Angevin kingdom,
that is all the land beyond the Garonne in Gascony. As well, she was
to inherit domains in England, Normandy, Touraine, the Maine and
Poitou on the death of her mother - in - law.22

Thus, Richard paid great tribute to Berengaria. As well, in honour of

his fiancee, Richard had created a new order of knighthood, of which
24 members were instituted: the Knights of the Blue Thong, so
named for a strip of blue leather tied to their left legs. Such an order
would have been one of the very earliest special orders of knights, of
which there were to be many more, and better known, in subsequent
centuries. And in a martial acknowledgment of Berengaria's
presence, the decks of all the ships were crowded with men at arms,
in bright surcoats and shining armour, their spears glinting above
their heads, one of those instants of pure chivalry for which the
Middle Ages had a special genius.

Here was the army of the glorious king who took his name from the
lord of beasts, come to rescue Christendom.

Richard's passion for his bride did not, however, extend to sailing in
the same ship as her. Berengaria and Joanna went towards the East
together in another ship, the Buza de Liuna, a type of vessel known
as a dromond. Oddly, Richard of Devizes uses the peculiar formular
to describe Berengaria during this voyage: "...the young damsel of
Navarre, probably still a virgin..."23
 As if in keeping with the majesty of the fleet's awesome progress,
one of the greatest tempests ever seen in the Mediterranean struck
the fleet, scattering it like children's toys around the sea. The Liuna
was driven to take refuge off the coast of Cyprus, a fluke that was to
change the whole course of the Crusades.

Cyprus, a rich and verdant island, was at that time occupied by the
usurper Isaac Comnenus, claimant to the throne of Constantinople.
None of his actions ever show him as being other than blessed with
the cunning of the pig, rather than the fox.

When some survivors of the storm struggled ashore on his domain,

he had them mistreated and imprisoned. And when Joanna, in the
last extremities of the seasickness to which she was naturally prone,
an illness accentuated by the storm, begged for water, he dismissed
her request. Instead, the emperor invited her to come ashore to
“share some wine”.

That was Isaac's greatest and fatal error.

The women's ship remained anchored off the island, with the express
purpose of alerting Richard when he came by "...to report the
misfortune to the King, lest haply, being ignorant of the loss and
disgrace, he should pass the place unrevenged."24

Isaac was to learn that the Plantagenet women were no more

forgiving of an insult than were their menfolk.

When Richard came up with the dromond on May 6, he flew into the
fury that had given him his reputation, immediately rowing ashore
armed with a battle axe to begin the wasting of Cyprus.

His revenge was blindingly fast, but thorough and all encompassing.
It was all over by May 31, including a dawn attack on the emperor's
army, when Richard caught the Greek soldiers sleeping in their beds,
and the emperor had to flee naked into the mountains, leaving
behind his treasure and his army.

The emperor, his subjects melting from his cause like snow in
summer, was forced to capitulate: as a final measure of contempt, he
was bound in chains made from his own silver.

The upshot was that Richard had won a kingdom, an island fortress
that was to prove an essential supply base for the kingdom of
Jerusalem during the coming decades of struggle, and without which
the fall of the kingdom would have come a century earlier.

During the campaign, there was time for Richard and Berengaria to
at last marry, the joyous and long awaited event coming on May 12,
during a lull in the fighting.
Richard rode on his captured Spanish charger to the chapel of St
George in Limassol, dressed in finery provided for him by his mother:
on his head a bright red cap, his tunic rose coloured and decorated
with silver half moons, and over all a cloak of striped silk. His sword
hung at his side in a scabbard woven with silver: on his feet were
golden shoes, bound with golden spurs.

Berengaria, in contrast, was dressed as simply as it was possible for

her to be, and out of all keeping with the traditions of her country,
where brides were normally decked in the most elaborate of
costumes.

She was not be the star of the moment: it belonged to her husband.
The anonymous chronicler rather half heartedly describes
Berengaria at her marriage as a damsel of the greatest prudence and
most accomplished manners, and says that there she was crowned
queen.

Richard, on the other hand, he describes as in his glory on this happy

occasion, cheerful to all, showing himself very jocose and affable.25

This was in no way a traditional wedding: the chapel was small,

there were few women present. Rather, the church was full of the
susurration of metal links of chain mail, the drone of men's voices,
and the sight of the scarred faces of grizzled survivors of the Second
Crusade, and the lean, suntanned faces of Richard's knights,
warriors who had come momentarily from trading blows with the
Greeks.

In other ways, also, it was not traditional: Richard was unmarried at

33, unusual for a man with his responsibilities. After all, his father
had married at 19, to a woman a decade his senior. Berengaria was
26. She was practically middle aged by the standards of the time,
although no doubt capable of playing the expected role of the wife
for some years yet.

Richard was in genial mood, as well he should be. The war was
going well, he was surrounded by admirers, he was in one of the
loveliest places in the Mediterranean, which was now his own, and he
had taken a new bride.

As well, there are some suggestions that Richard had a new love,
who was not his consort.

One of the prizes of war was a girl whom Lionheart took prisoner at
just about the time of the Limassol marriage. She was the unnamed
daughter of Isaac, sent to Richard as a hostage, or possibly captured
by Guy of Lusignan in Kyrenia, one of the emperor's forts.
Richard de Templo says Guy found the girl and her mother, an
Armenian princess, along with a great deal of loot. Richard had the
girl placed in a strong castle to protect her against recapture, as the
emperor was nearly mad with grief at her loss. It was at this time
that Richard was ill, confined to his bed according to the chronicler,
and unable to take part in the siege of another of the emperor's forts.
Richard rose from his sick bed to complete the taking of this last fort,
at which point the emperor surrendered. It was because his daughter
had been captured, says the chronicler, that the emperor decided to
surrender. When he came to beg mercy from Richard, the Coeur de
Lion had pity on his fellow monarch, and had him sat on the bench
beside him. Then the little girl was brought in and the overjoyed
emperor covered her with kisses, as the tears poured from his eyes.

The emperor was given into the care of King Guy, while the girl was
delivered to Berengaria to be brought up and educated.

The chronicler Ernoul says that the girl was brought back to Europe
in the company of Richard. After his death, she tried to return to
Cyprus. She was seized at Marseilles and forced to marry Raymond of
Toulouse. After he repudiated her for a more desirable marriage to
Joanna, she married a second time to a Flemish knight who tried to
claim the throne of Cyprus through her. They sailed together to
Cyprus, but their claim was unsuccessful, and soon afterwards they
disappeared, nameless and unmourned, from the pages of history.26

This girl became Richard's constant companion, going on to the Holy

Land in Richard's suite, even though she is described as a very young
child - juvenula parvula - causing some outraged mutterings amongst
the chroniclers, and possibly explaining why Richard may not have
consummated his marriage with Berengaria at that time.27

In fact, there is no proof that Richard's marriage was ever taken to

its completion: Berengaria's tomb enigmatically shows her dressed
as a virgin bride. Was this because she had never slept with Richard,
or was it because she wished to face her Maker in a state of purity?
Are we to believe Richard of Devizes' ambiguous statement that she
was "probably still a virgin" when she sailed from Messina aboard the
dromond?

Again, the curtains of time are drawn. Three days of feasting

followed the wedding ceremony, during which Richard showed all the
liberality becoming his station and the occasion: "there was joy and
love enough."

Berengaria's biographer, Mairin Mitchell, comments that after eight

hundred years we will probably never know, but adds that it was also
a fact that Richard found time to begin a castle he named
Berengaria, and that a short distance north of Limassol is a village
traditionally known as Berengaria Village, described as an ideal place
for a honeymoon.28

Richard also took the opportunity of the marriage to officially confirm

the dower of lands that he had promised Berengaria in Messina.

Non consummation of the marriage may also have had to do with

the fact that Richard was showing the first signs of the debilitating
illnesses that were to plague him throughout his journey to the East.
Soon after his arrival at Acre, his hair and nails were to fall out, and
his skin was to peel in strips.

The wedding completed, last stage of the great journey east was
about to begin: the royal army sailed from Famagusta to Acre.

On the way, Berengaria was able to watch her new husband's ships
pound a massive Saracen vessel into matchsticks and slaughter its
crew as they tried to swim to safety, Richard all the time urging his
men to succeed, or he would have them crucified.

Hers was a most unusual honeymoon.

1. Roger de Hoveden, II, p.109.

2. Ibid., pp. 110-1.

3. Ibid., p.112.

4. Ibid.

5. Ibid., p.115.

6. G. Uden, A Dictionary of Chivalry Longmans, London, 1968, p.68.

7. G. Duby, William Marshal: The Flower of Chivalry Pantheon, New York, 1985, p.121-8.

8. de Hoveden II, p.134.

9. Ibid.

10. Ibid., pp.134-5.

11. Ibid., 137.

12. Ibid., p.138.

13. Details of the agreement are given in de Hoveden II, pp.164-9.

.14. Kelly, Eleanor of Aquitaine, p.333.

15. M. Mitchell, Berengaria: Enigmatic Queen of England A.Wright, Sussex, 1986, p.14.

16. Ibid. See also p.30.

17. Ibid., p.42.

18. de Hoveden, II p.189.

19. Ibid., 190.

20. Ibid., p.193.

21. Kelly, p.336.

22. Mitchell, p.50.

23. S, M. Toyne, (ed.) The Angevins and the Charter (1154-1216) Bell and Sons, London,
1922, p.79.

24. Ibid., p.80.

25. Richard de Templo, p 51.

26. Ibid., p.55

27. Mitchell asserts that contemporaries blamed Richard's failures in the east on his
obsession with the girl.

28. Mitchell, p.61.

Chapter 29

Berengaria, Joanna and

Richard
After visiting Tyre, the English fleet made its way southwards
towards the tiny city of Acre where the conflict dragged towards a
decision.

Berengaria, Joanna and Richard arrived at a crucial moment at the

scene of one of the most remarkable sieges in history. Saladin was
poised to strike a decisive blow, against which even the forces of the
French, under Philip, and the Germans, under the Duke of Austria,
would have proved inadequate. The munitions, the men, but above
all the personality of Richard was what was required to tip the scales
back in favour of the Franks. The welcome accorded the English was
suitable for people who were to be the saviours of the Christian
hope.

The Plantagenet fleet appeared off Acre early in the morning: the
first land to appear to them was the tallest tower of the besieged
city, and then, little by little, the other fortifications. Around the town
lay the countless multitudes of besiegers, drawn from every nation
of Christendom, toughened by years of toil, hardship and famine.

Beyond them could be seen the Turkish army, covering the

mountains and valleys, their tents catching the brightness of the
morning son. Clear amongst them was Saladin's pavilion, as well as
those of his brother Saphadin and Taki ed Din, Saladin's nephew.

Richard, experienced general that he was, counted the Saracen army

as he approached.

The English party landed from their ships - Berengaria and Joanna
aboard the Trent de Mer - on the beach to the North of the town. The
English were greeted with thunderous cheers from everyone who
could be spared from the battle lines, including the princes and
nobles, and even Philip himself. Richard de Templo says that the
earth was shaken by the acclamations, the people testifying their joy
by shouts and the blare of trumpets. The landing was not an easy
one: the June wind blew hard, and Berengaria's cloak was entangled
in the rigging, and she lost her shoes, an inauspicious beginning to a
trying time in her life. 1

Philip himself carried the English queen ashore in his arms.

Meanwhile, Richard was led to a tent prepared for him, where he

immediately began to enter into an examination of the progress of
the siege.

Everywhere, there were sounds of gladness, as the relieved

Christians celebrated: trumpets clanged, horns sounded, pipes
shrilled, accompanied by the deeper notes of the tambourine and
harp, soothing symphonies, like many voices blended in one.
There was ballad singing, reciting the deeds of ancients, wine
bibbing, a joyous mixing of high and low, and the night passed in
constant dances. The night was made day by torches, so that the
Turks hoped the whole valley was on fire.

The conditions endured by the Crusading women were extreme,

even by the usual bestial standards of medieval sieges, which were
never the glorious pageants imagined in the illuminations on
manuscripts.

The Itinerarium, an eyewitness account, describes how periods of

famine over three years had sapped the will of the Crusaders.

When the middle ranking troops as well as the lowest infantry were
tormented with hunger, the situation seemed hopeless. Morale
crumbled as Conrad of Monferrat - he who had designs on the throne
- sneaked in food supplies to his allies and those he wished to
influence. As the winter of 1190 had drawn on, a season of plenty
had turned to dearth. Stomachs once belching with overindulgence
were now rumbling with emptiness, which the owners tried to make
up for by eating everything they could find. Knights resorted to the
most extreme measures, even eating their battle steeds raw -
specialised beasts worth a lifetime's income for a rich person.

The people of Outremer had become used over nearly a century of

occupancy of their land to a life of luxury in the periods between
fighting: now, the dearth was permanent, and so they suffered the
more. Horses' guts sold for the astronomical sum of ten shillings,
and delicately bred nobles were seen grazing on any plants that grew
in the wasteland, like beasts of the field.

On the rare occasions that a batch of bread was in an oven, a large

mob would gather, clamouring and shouting, and vainly holding out
money while the strongest pushed in ahead.

Some people were seen running about like mad dogs, gnawing bones
that even those animals had rejected.

This picture is confirmed by the chaplain of Baldwin, the Archbishop

of Canterbury, who arrived in October 1190.

The chaplain complained that the army was out of control, giving
itself over to disgraceful pursuits and indulging in idleness and lust.
The nobles were preening themselves amidst the chaos, while the
lower ranks were in want and found none to relieve them: purity,
sobriety, faith, love and charity were notable by their absence.2

With the arrival of Richard's 25 crammed English ships, this hellish

chaos was transformed, and hope sprang anew.
Almost immediately on his arrival, however, Richard was laid low by
the fiercest onset of the illness that was to plague him and other
Franks, including Philip: arnaldia. Painful, smelly and unsightly, this
soldier’s disease must have been a purgatory in the primitive
conditions of the siege camp.

But even this did not stop Richard proceeding with plans to seize the
city.

Of Berengaria, Joanna and the Princess, however, there is no word, a

silence that may speak more loudly than words. Maira Mitchell
imagines the queens happy in each other's company, embroidering
in a fortress within the camp called the Tower of the Chevaliers, in
the care of two guardian knights, Stephen Longchamps and Bertram
de Verdun.

There is, however, simply no evidence about what they did, except
that they were together, and that they were present throughout the
whole siege. It is impossible to ascertain whether they were in
Richard's company. There is, for example, no mention of the women
nursing him during his illness, as might have been a conventional
expectation.

It seems possible that the new Queen would not have found her
groom physically attractive during an illness that deprived him of his
hair, and in which his skin peeled off in strips. Indeed, perhaps she
too suffered the same illness, and was confined to her own sickbed.

All that can be reasonably clear is that after leaving Cyprus, Richard
and his Queen lived separate lives, and that this separation
continued to deepen throughout their remaining years. An absence of
communication either official or unofficial, and a total lack of mutual
support, is eloquent. On the other hand, some chroniclers claimed
that Richard found comfort in the company of the Cypriot princess
during his stay in the East.

Life in the camp would have been dramatic enough. There were
mighty clashes between besieged and besiegers, interspersed with a
lull while Richard convalesced, reaching a crescendo of fervour as he
recovered a litle, and then personally stormed the battlements,
planting his standards on the walls of Acre.

Unfortunately, there were other banners already in place before he

found leisure to display his own symbols before the eyes of the
besiegers and their captives.

Berengaria and Joanna were too far from the walls to see that critical
moment on July 12 when Richard had the flags of the representative
of the emperor, Duke Leopold of Austria, torn from the battlements
and replaced by the leopards of England.
But they would have known what was common knowledge to
everyone: the leaders were fighting amongst themselves, and Philip
was about to return home.

After the capture of the city, the kings and their retinues entered in
triumphal procession, with dances and joy and loud acclamations, all
in the name of God. The city was equally divided: Richard took as his
prize the royal palace, and to it he sent the queens, together with
their damsels and handmaids.3

They would therefore have known of that awful moment when

Richard's teeth were bared, like the beast after which he was
named.

It is easy to be shocked from our remote position, hedged by

international courts and all the paraphernalia that safeguard
individual freedoms and rights, and to try to judge the behaviour of
our forebears according to our own standards.

This was a different age, with its own rules. And they were savage.
Richard rarely returned from battle without a dozen heads slung from
his saddlebow as proof of his prowess.

An agreement was reached to free the brave men, women and

children of Acre on payment of a ransom by Saladin. The goods were
not forthcoming, so on August 20, Richard had his captives brought
out of the city, in full sight of Saladin, and he butchered them.

The desperate Saracens hurled their forces against the Christian

positions in a frenzied effort to rescue their fellows. To no avail. The
sands of Acre were stained with the blood of nearly three thousand
people. It was unquestionably the most bestial mass slaughter since
the capture of Jerusalem by the First Crusaders.

If nothing else, this was a reminder to Saladin and his troops that
they were faced with a new kind of foe - one who did not play at war,
but who would use every advantage at his disposal to win.

Rumour has it that Berengaria miscarried at the news.

If this indeed happened, it seems not to have diverted her three

months husband from his aim, the capture of the City. Not even the
sudden departure of Philip for home, torn as he was by jealousy of his
English brother in arms, could divert Richard. Immediately on slaying
his prisoners, Richard had it proclaimed that the great march to the
south would begin. That day he had his tents pitched in the plain
outside the city.

It was to prove a difficult task to go further. But Richard was

determined to drag the men from their comfortable billets.
Some he lured with soft words, some by begging, many by money.
Some he forced out violently. All came reluctantly - peevishly, in the
words of an eyewitness.

It was noticeable that the army outside the walls did not increase,
and the city stayed crowded with an immense multitude.

These people, says Richard de Templo, were too much given up to

sloth and luxury, for the city was filled with pleasures, notably
choicest wine and fairest damsels, and the men had become
dissolute in indulging the, Richard proclaimed that no woman should
quit the city or go with the army except the serving women and the
washerwomen, who alone would not be a burden or an occasion for
sin, and who were "worth their weight in monkeys when it comes to
delousing."4

The genius of Richard was that he formed an invincible army from

the reluctant rabble of the many nations of crusaders: his glory was
that he maintained his army's momentum in the face of the
irresistible force of the Saracens. He and his men inched their way
south, fighting the Saracens almost every step of the way, in a series
of remarkable encounters.

The Queens were brought in the king’s triumphant wake. First, they
came to Arsuf, on September 1, 1191, and then to Jaffa. Richard took
a break from fighting at Christmas and visited his queens in a more
pleasant setting than the siege camps of Acre. In Arsuf, the climate
was less oppressive than at Acre, and the women were freer to
indulge in aristocratic pleasures, such as falconry.5

QUEENS IN PAWN

Why did Richard bring the women with him, given that he might only
visit them once a year?

The answer seems to be that they were pawns in his strategy, just as
he himself was a pawn in his mother's greater game. Ever since her
release from gaol, and for some time before, she had been playing
for domination of the whole of Europe, through carefully arranged
marriages and alliances. Richard was narrower in his vision, fighting
tooth and nail for immediate objectives, whether they be to kill an
individual, to take a castle, to overrun a country. Together, they were
to bestride the little world of their time. In October 1191, Richard had
played the pawn who was his sister Joanna, with breathtaking
coldness of spirit. He offered her as the prize that would secure his
holdings in Outremer.

The plan was that Joanna should marry Saladin's brother, Melik al-
Adhel, and that they should rule Jerusalem.

Richard had, however, reckoned without his sister's Plantagenet

temperament. She was truly his sibling, as she demonstrated by
flying into an ungovernable rage at the news that she would be
forced to marry a Moslem. Richard admitted his bafflement by his
sister's will in a letter he sent to Saladin.6

Al Adhel proved equally obdurate, despite tempting offers to convert

from his religion for the sake of the title of king of Jerusalem, and
nothing came of the proposal.

The remainder of the English stay was to see the Franks inching ever
closer to Jerusalem. Jaffa, the southernmost stronghold of the
Crusaders, was to mark the high tide of Angevin ambition.

The story of its siege also shows how women and children were in
the front lines of action throughout the war.

On July 26, 1192, Saladin attacked Jaffa by surprise. The town had
been garrisoned by about 100 of Richard's men, plus a number of
their wives and children. A vast Saracen army assailed the walls, to
be met with unflinching courage by those within. Beha ed Din
described how the Turkish sappers dug beneath the ramparts,
propping them up with wood until the signal was given to set the
wood burning. The wall collapsed. But as it did, a terrible sight
revealed itself to the waiting Turkish troops. The Christians had set
another equally large fire inside the wall to protect the breach.
Vainly, Saladin attempted to drive his men on.

The Franks fought them toe to toe.

"Oh my God, what men! What courage! What bravery! What strength
of soul!"

came the admiring, despairing cry of their adversaries.

Here were the people of Europe at their barbaric, courageous best,

resisting when outnumbered, even to death.

The Franks disdained to close the gates of the lower town, standing
in front of the walls, disputing each foot of ground. The held out until
night ended the conflict. Next day, the fighting began again, once
more the walls were attacked, and the thundering drums and
trumpets maddened man and beast alike. Then, the walls collapsed,
with a roar that sounded as if the end of the world was come.
Shouting victory cries, the Moslems rushed to attack. What happened
next has the feel of romance about it, if it was not vouched for by
eyewitnesses. The single minded courage of the Christian settles of
Jaffa in defence of their new home still has the power to send a shiver
down the spine.

As the dust and smoke cleared, the Christian warriors were

revealed, standing like a forest whose branches were impenetrable
spears and pikes.

The Saracens reeled back, appalled, momentarily baffled by the

coolness under fire of their enemy.

But it was obvious that the Christians, outnumbered perhaps a

thousand to one, could not go on. In the midst of hand to hand
fighting, Saladin offered them an honourable surrender, but advised
them to retreat to the citadel. His troops were out of his control, bent
on looting the now open town.

The Christians and their families made for safety in the last
stronghold, while Saladin's men plundered in the town below them.

Meanwhile, Richard had already set sail with a fleet from Acre.

The next day, his sails were visible, as the final details of the
surrender were being worked out. Saladin was anxious to avoid insult
or injury to the surrendering Franks. He had his emirs whip the
looting troops out of the lower town, so the Franks could be
evacuated safely. This was entirely in keeping with the solicitude that
Saladin always displayed for enemies, especially when women and
children were present. He was the one person in the history of
Outremer who apparently took his vows of chivalry seriously - he was
probably knighted while a captive in his youth - and if there is truly a
hero of the whole sorry affair known as the Crusades, it is he.

The sun had well risen by the time the Christians began to issue
forth. They came out as beaten men, bringing with them their wives
and children: forty nine people in all.

But a handful of men had remained behind, and these spotted

Richard's red galley leading 50 ships.

The Christians suddenly took up arms again, and began to attack the
Moslems still inside the town. Meanwhile, the fleet had anchored off
the port: Moslem flags now floated over the town, and Richard
thought he was too late. But one of the besieged risked his neck,
leaping from the roof of the castle onto a heap of sand, and then
swimming out to the vessels at anchor.
Soon, the Christians were pouring ashore, Richard at their lead, the
first to step on the beach: the entire army of the Saracens - led by
Saladin - fled in terror.

Five days later Richard was still holding the town, with ten knights
and one hundred foot soldiers, when Saladin reappeared again at the
head of his regrouped army.

There was to be no battle.

Saladin's troops still smarted from the whip blows that had driven
them from their loot, and Richard's reputation as a fierce and terrible
king had become magnified into the status of a legend.

Saladin and his son rode up and down the lines of their troops in
vain, trying to urge them to join in combat with the troops of Richard.

At last, it was left to Richard to gallop his battle steed the entire
length of the Moslem army, his lance in the rest position, ready to
strike, and not a single Saracen warrior dared to test his strength.7

Here was the ultimate moment of the Angevin dynasty, symbolic of

the greatness, and the failure, of that remarkable family.

For one brief period in 1192, Richard and his mother - she was
currently styling herself Queen of England - ruled virtually from the
border with Scotland to the gates of Jerusalem, through Normandy,
Maine, Poitou, the Aquitaine, via allies in Spain brought with the
marriage to Berengaria and through Tancred in Sicily, across the
Mediterranean, on the island of Cyprus, and down the coast of
Outremer.

It was a tottering empire, however, as false as the emotions in the

lovesong of a troubadour, as empty of sustenance as the mirages
that the Crusaders had come to know in the Palestinian deserts.

Richard was unable to take Jerusalem, perhaps because he lacked

the vital support of the remaining French troops. According to
numerous sources, the Duke of Burgundy refused support for an
advance on the city because the French king had already returned
home, and would therefore be unable to share in the honour of the
capture.

It seems that Richard had good intelligence that the city was about
to fall, thanks to the spying agency of a Syrian nun within the walls.
She was sending him regular information about the lack of spirit of
the Saracen defenders, and advised him to attack the only strongly
defended tower, that of St Stephen, for which she had the key.8
At home, Eleanor was trying to balance the warring factions that had
formed around the camps of the chancellor and her son John. In
Palestine,

Richard was trapped, unable to finish off Saladin and take Jerusalem,
but forced to be everywhere at once, holding the kingdom together
with his personal will and his physical strength.

It became obvious as the months dragged by that a stalemate had

been achieved in the Holy Land.

Saladin, defeated on the battlefield, nevertheless held the trump

card throughout - Time. Of which he had more than Richard, as he
made abundantly clear in repeated messages suggesting that the
English go home.

And at last, Richard did so.

1. Mitchell, Berengaria, p.64.

2. Chronicles of the Crusades, pp.180-1.

3. Richard de Templo, p.71.

4. Ibid., p.78. cf Grousset, The Epic of the Crusades, p.187. Ambroise, p.233.

5. Ibid., p.278.

6. The Crusades Through Arab Eyes, p.212-3.

7. Pernoud, pp.195-7.

8. Roger of Wendover, The Flowers of History J.A. Giles (trans.) two vols. (Bohn, London,
1849, Vol. II, p. 116.
 Chapter 30:

"A Bag of Skin and Bones"

 By 1192, the Plantagenet empire was stretched to its uttermost
limit. Richard was exhausting his incredible energy fighting mirages.
At home, Eleanor was presiding over chaos, as the English prelates
and barons fought amongst themselves for the available loot, left by
a king whom they might well never see again to say them nay.

John was Eleanor’s youngest son, known to his contemporaries as

Lackland, because he came last in line, and received only those
scraps he was strong enough to steal from the family table. Alas,
whatever he did take, he consistently proved incapable of holding.
Yet he was a Plantagenet, and he had the ferocity of spirit that
enabled him to cause bloodshed and strife, even if he lacked the
strength of spirit and body to keep his prey.1

From the moment Richard’s back was turned, Lackland began to

cause trouble. One of his earliest important achievements came in
1191 when he and his gang of barons drove the foolish, venal and
universally hated chancellor William of Ely out of the kingdom.

This was in no small part due to a particular woman who had played
a major part in allowing John to gain a foothold in the kingdom.
Richard of Devizes says that during the latter part of 1191 letters
were secretly sent around the kingdom amongst the clergy and the
barons requesting their support for John against the chancellor. At
last, the chancellor learned that Gerard of Camville had done
homage to John for Lincoln Castle. The castle had come to Gerard
through the inheritance of his wife, Nicholaa. The allegiance of the
guardian of castle was in theory directly to the king - it was illegal to
give custody of it to an intervening party such as John.

The chancellor therefore collected an army and set out to reclaim

the castle for the crown. His forces, however, attacked a number of
other castles held by the rebel barons, before finally concentrating
on Lincoln. In so doing, the chancellor succeeded in driving out of the
kingdom Roger Mortimer, in whose train was Gerard, husband of
Nicholaa. This redoubtable lady “whose heart was not that of a
woman” (Richard of Devizes), was thus left to herself, and defended
the castle “manfully”. The chancellor’s attention was thus wholly
occupied around Lincoln while John slipped north to occupy
Nottingham and Tickhill castles. From these strongholds, he issued
threats and edicts to the chancellor, ordering him amongst other
things to lift the siege of Lincoln.

In th event, this was the start of John's short term asacendancy, in no

small part due to the lady Nicholaa.2 Eventually, John was able to
make William flee to the Continent.

According to several sources, including Roger de Hoveden, William

disguised himself as a woman to make his escape to France.
 This scurrilous tale holds that the disguise was discovered at Dover
when a sailor took liberties with the "maiden". Roger of Wendover
says that the discovery was actually made by a group of women who
overheard the sailor’s amazement at a woman wearing breeches.
They went up to the “woman” and asked her about the cloth she was
apparently selling (as part of the chancellor’s disguise). The
chancellor, not knowing English, did not reply: the market women
then attacked him, tearing off his veil and revealing the truth. the
women then proceeded to stone the unfortunate prelate, until he was
rescued by his followers.

It was while Richard was directing the siege of Deir el Belar in May
1192 that John de Alencon arrived to inform him of the disturbed
state of England, caused it was said by Prince John, who would not
listen to the persuasions of Eleanor, but was driven on by his own
will, and the frequent harmful advice of Phillip, now in France. It was
this news that confirmed Richard that he too must return home as
soon as possible.

Early in 1192, there was still a major detail left to settle before
Richard could leave: who should govern the remnant kingdom? There
was a plethora of candidates, including the failed Guy - favoured by
Richard - as well as Count Henry of Burgundy, supported by the
empire and France. But in the end a compromise was made with the
choice falling on Conrad of Monferrat. Guy's compensation was the
gift of Cyprus.

The story of Conrad's brief accession demonstrates the way women

in particular were used as instruments in dynastic plotting.

Isabella, heiress to the kingdom, was forcibly separated from her

gentle, beloved husband, Humphrey. She was then remarried -
reluctantly on both sides - to Conrad. The couple took up residence in
Tyre, Conrad's city, which he had been responsible for holding from
the Saracens. On the balmy evening of April 28, 1192, Isabella
lingered overlong in her bath. Conrad grew hungry and tired of
waiting, so he flung off to visit his old friend, the Archbishop of Tyre.
According to some, Conrad was disappointed to find that the prelate
had already eaten: other say that the titular monarch lingered over
dinner with the ecclesiast. In either case, it was dark by the time he
began the return journey aboard his horse, accompanied by a small
suite of guards. Suddenly, out of the gloom appeared two servants of
his - Moslems who had recently converted to Christianity. One of
them reached up to hand him a petition: as Conrad bent down to get
it, the two murderers struck. Conrad fell to the ground, mortally
stabbed. Some say he was finished off inside the nearby cathedral by
a second attack, some say he died on the spot, others give an
account of him being brought home to die in his bed, charging his
wife with the duty of protecting their kingdom and their unborn child.
The two killers were seized and tortured into confessing that they
were members of the Assassin sect, which specialised in terrorist
acts throughout Outremer, either for pay, or to further the interests
of their leader, the Old Man of the Mountains.

Who killed Conrad? Here is one of the most intriguing puzzles of the
Crusades.

Three prime suspects have been identified: the Old Man, because
Conrad had recently manhandled some Assassins and had refused to
apologise; Saladin, because he wished to destabilise the Christians at
any cost; and Richard, because he wanted his own candidate.3

A fourth suspect is never mentioned: Isabella.

Perhaps she has been overlooked because of her youth and sex, but
it should be considered that she had means, motive and opportunity
to secure the services of hired killers, who may or may not have
been members of the Assassins. Was it mere coincidence that she
lingered that night in the bath?

If it was indeed her hope to be reunited with Humphrey, however,

she was to be disappointed.

Isabella was pregnant by Conrad, but this did not prevent her being
married for a third time, to Count Henry, who as nephew to both
Richard and Philip was the next best dynastic choice.

The Islamic chroniclers were suitably outraged by this event. Two of

them recount with somewhat inaccurate delight how Henry was
made governor of Tyre and married to Isabella that very night,
"...maintaining that he had first right to the dead man's wife. She was
pregnant, but this did not prevent his uniting himself with her,
something even more disgusting than the coupling of the flesh. I
asked one of their courtiers to whom paternity would be awarded and
he said: "It will be the Queen's child." You see the licentiousness of
these foul Unbelievers!"4

The Frankish sources suggest that Henry was a little more reluctant.
He had just disembarked in the East, without any intention of staying
there: the choice fell almost accidentally on him. Richard informed
him that the prospective bride was pregnant, and that if the child
was a boy, he would get the throne.

The count's reply was rather ungallantly: "Then I shall be stuck with
the lady!"

Ambroise reports, however, that Henry changed his mind when

introduced to Isabella "... and I would have done the same, for she
was marvellously fair and charming. And so at last, he was very
happy to wed her." And as it turned out, Isabella bore a daughter, not
a son, so Henry's claim to the throne would have been safe.

The wedding was not conducted on the night of the murder, but
shortly afterwards, on May 5.

The marriage was supportive on both sides, but Isabella was

doomed to live her life in tragedy.

On September 7, 1197, Henry was greeting a delegation on the

balcony of his palace at Acre. He absent mindedly stepped
backwards, and fell to the street, his faithful dwarf Scarlet clutching
hopelessly at his robe to save him. Both men were killed instantly.

Isabella was beside herself. She met the bearers of the corpse at the
castle gate, ran to her husband's body like a madwoman, tearing her
face and snatching her hair and, falling on the body, she covered it
with kisses and tears.5

Henry was, by all accounts, a fine man, and his loss was a grievous
one to his queen and his kingdom: he left her with his step daughter,
and two other young daughters.

Isabella survived his death to marry a final time, this time to the
brother of Guy, Amalric. Once divorced and twice widowed at the age
of 26, she was lucky once more in the quality of the husband whom
fate had foisted upon her. Amalric shared the leadership abilities of
Conrad and Henry. Through their marriage, Isabella and he united
the crowns of Jerusalem and Cyprus into a formidable pair of
kingdoms.

But that was in the future.

In the immediate term, Richard's fortunes, along with his health, had
begun their inevitable decline. Never has a family scaled the heights
of success nor plumbed the depths of failure as completely as the
Plantagenets.

On 29 September 1192, Richard and his queens sailed from Acre, he

travelling on a separate ship from his female companions.
Berengaria, Joanna and the Cypriot sailed under the escort of
Stephen de Turnham.

As far as the records show, Richard and Berengaria parted,

seemingly forever.

He appears to have pointedly ignored her for the rest of his life -
denying her even the comforts of her inheritance in his will - while
she played her part as the faithful queen.
Richard's story is well known. He blundered his way into Austria,
where he was captured by Duke Leopold's police. The Archduke had
three main reasons for imprisoning Richard: the disgrace of Austria's
flags at Acre; the kidnapping of the Cypriot princess, his niece; and
then her seduction.6

Eventually, Richard was traded to his enemy the emperor, and thus
in all but body delivered into the clutches of his family's greatest foe,
Philip Augustus.

This was the greatest disaster yet to befall the Plantagenets, and
was to bring England's economy to its knees.

The story of Berengaria and Joanna is less well known, but sheds
light on the character and role of Crusading women.

These two, together with the Cypriot princess, went to Rome where
they appear to have negotiated with the aging Pope Celestine III. In
Rome, they were treated with lavish hospitality, sightseeing around
the eternal city, and frequently visiting the pope.

It was while in Rome that the shattering news of the capture of

Richard reached them. Richard, despite his many faults and his
neglectful attitude, was the magnetic force around which the
kingdom was built: he was already an individual of legendary stature
in his own lifetime. The queens must have been desolated by the
news. But they were not to be comforted by any communication from
Richard himself. Richard wrote poetry in his confinement, in keeping
with his persona as a troubadour par excellence. But the verses were
addressed to his half sister, Marie of Champagne. For Berengaria,
nothing.

The women lived in great danger of being captured themselves,

although they were under the protection of the pope. Emperor Henry
wrote to some English nobles in a letter warning that he had the
power to seize the two women if he wished. The implication was that
their freedom would have to be paid for to be guaranteed.7

Despite much danger, the women decided to leave Rome, travelling

through the summer of 1193 under the protection of Cardinal Melior.
They rode to Genoa, from where they sailed to Marseille, and then
travelled on to Toulouse, in the heart of southern France.

In two brief years, the lives of Richard, Berengaria and Joanna had
been transformed, through their participation in the Crusades, and by
the influence of the aged queen mother, Eleanor.

The Crusade was now over, but its effects were to be felt for years.
 For Joanna, there was to be a tragic end to life. She spent some time
living with Berengaria and the Cypriot princess in central France. The
Cypriot was briefly married to Raymond VI of Toulouse, who shortly
afterwards threw her over in favour of marriage to Joanna. This
marriage to Raymond was a curious choice: he is described as a man
devoid of graces and utterly debased. He can hardly have compared
favourably even with al Adhil, a gracious and noble man, knighted by
Richard with his own hand.

It is probable that Joanna married at Eleanor's behest, in order to

secure a route to the sea via Toulouse, and also because Eleanor's
grandfather had made a claim to the land through his forcible
marriage of the heiress of Toulouse to his son William.

Joanna's marriage was not truly of the spirit, however. She retained
her fiercest loyalty to her brother, one might venture the metaphor
that she was almost like a lioness in a pride. It was to be five months
after Richard died in 1199 that Joanna met her own end. Her husband
Raymond was absent when the barons of St Felix revolted against
him. Joanna, heavily pregnant, and caring for a young son, raised as
many men at arms as she could and laid siege to the castle of
Cassee. She was betrayed by her own followers, who burned her
camp, with her in it. It was to Richard that the dying Princess fled for
help, only to be met on the journey with the news of his passing.
Eleanor cared for her in her last days, taking her to Fontevrault, the
gathering place of the family, where Joanna took the veil. The shock
of the circumstances resulted in a premature birth and Joanna's own
death. Joanna's dying wish to her mother and Berengaria was that
she be buried with Richard.

Meanwhile, after the return from the Holy Land, Berengaria had
retired to her dower lands, where she set about her part in raising
the immense ransom required for the delivery of Richard, amounting
to more than 100,000 marks, four times the annual income of
England , as well as 200 hostages from the noble sons of the
Plantagenet empire.

In England, it was an equally difficult task for Eleanor. Never were

her formidable qualities of statecraft and economic management
more clearly displayed.

William Longchamps reacted ferociously to his expulsion from

England by putting his diocese under interdict, that is, putting its
residents outside the protection of the church.

The result was disastrous for the people of the area, who could not
carry on normal life. It was to Eleanor they turned, as described by
Richard of Devizes, who was present in England throughout this dark
period. In his words, the worthy matron Eleanor was visiting some
cottages that were part of her dower, in the diocese of Ely. There,
she was devastated by the sight of men, women and children of all
ranks coming to her bare footed, in unwashed clothes and with hair
hanging in knots, weeping and pitiful, in all the villages and hamlets
through which she passed. Through choked tears they told their story
- not that they needed to. Eleanor was able to see for herself the
devastation caused in their lives by the chancellor's ban: bodies lay
unburied here and there and in the fields, because the bishop had
forbidden their burial. No doubt she was also able to reflect that their
parlous condition was compounded by the crushing burden of
taxation visited on the English to raise the money for her son's
Crusade.

When she learned of this suffering, the queen took pity on the living
and on the dead "for she was very merciful." Immediately forgetting
her own affairs, she went to London and there ordered that the
confiscated revenue be repaid to Longchamps, and that Longchamps
be freed from the ban that had been placed on him by the English
church.

Who could resist the request of a queen so universally open to the

appeal of her subjects?

Eleanor sent word to Longchamps that his offices had been restored
to him, and she forced him to revoke his sentence. Thus, through
Eleanor's firm mediation, the open enmity of the warring parties was
laid to rest, although the subterranean hatreds ran as deeply as
ever.8

She also had to hold John in check while simultaneously running the
kingdom and freeing Richard.

Eleanor tried to temper John's every move, beginning by trying to

restrain him from going to France to join up with Philip. Richard of
Devizes pictures her at this moment fearing what this "lightminded
youth" might do. Her motherly heart, he says, was pained when she
reflected on the early deaths of her older sons - a sentiment echoed
in the letters she had sent at this time to Celestine. She strove with
all her being to bring some accord between her younger sons, so that
she might die more happily than had their father. She thus took
action to shore up support for her regency in 1192, by calling a
council at Windsor, Oxford and London, at which she required all the
nobles to renew their pledge of fealty to Richard, a pledge that most
of them were to uphold.9

At first she was successful in keeping John on a tight leash, but at

last he went to France when the news of Richard's capture broke,
and there did homage to Philip and promised to marry the long
suffering Alys. He immediately tried to return to England to claim the
English throne.
Eleanor placed herself at the head of the kingdom, and called out the
fyrd, the English militia. Throughout Easter, they guarded the coast
on the lookout for John's mercenary army.

When it arrived, most of John's army was arrested.10

But John himself slipped past the watch and hired Welsh
mercenaries. These limited forces took refuge at Windsor and
Wallingford, where the queen's armies besieged them.

Meanwhile, on April 19 1193, Richard had written begging his

"dearest mother Eleanor" and his justiciars and all the faithful men in
England to raise a ransom, and informing her that he had exchanged
the kiss of peace with the emperor. She began to try to raise the
money in April 1193. But it was not easy: the country's purses had
been emptied several times over to pay for the Crusade.

Calling a council, she appointed new officers to raise the ransom and
issued new taxes. The Cistercian monks, the Gilbertine canons and
other sheep ranchers had to give a year's wool clip: every man of
whatever rank had to pay a quarter of his yearly income, and each
knight twenty shillings. All the gold and silver plate from every
church was seized.11

The wealth of England and the other parts of the empire was shipped
and dragged to St Paul's, where it was placed in chests under the
seal of the queen mother and the chief justiciar.

But the people had had enough, many of them evading the taxes, so
that two more collections had to be made. As well, John exploited the
confusion by putting taxes in his own coffers.

At the same time, Eleanor had been active internationally, having

her secretary Peter of Blois draft thundering letters that she sent to
the pope. In these, she denounced the conspirators who had seized
her son against the "Truce of God" that protected the lives and
properties of Crusaders, criticising the pope for not acting, and
bemoaning the death of her two older sons, Henry and Geoffrey, who
slept forever while "their unhappy mother lives on, tortured by their
memory."

She threatened to bring down Christendom itself if her son was not
freed, and signed herself "Eleanor, by the wrath of God, queen of the
English."

She had indeed been styling herself pre-eminent queen for some
time, despite the existence of Berengaria, and there was no doubt
whose hand was keeping the empire from total collapse.
Oddly, the complex ransom negotiations were directly handled by
the disgraced William Longchamps, with whom the English nobles all
but refused to deal, having once driven him from their shores. He
had to swear that he came as a simple bishop, not as a state official,
and still the nobles refused to hand over the 200 required hostages
to him saying they could not trust their sons to such a man.

But at last the loot - 35 tons in all - and the hostages were
assembled at ports in Suffolk.

From there, Eleanor herself sailed with the fleet in December 1193.
On the continent, she voyaged by road across country and up the
Rhine by boat, to be reunited with her favourite son at Speier.

There was to be one last frustrating delay.

The release was set for January 6, but John and Phillip offered more
money if Richard could be kept in prison.

Emperor Henry, however, realised that international opinion was

turning against him, but he wanted something from Richard. At
Eleanor's advice, the final payment was given: Richard publicly
doffed his leather hat and placed it in the hands of the emperor as a
sign of vassalage. Hence, Richard was the man of the emperor, who
was no doubt flattered by this meaningless gesture. Henry was now
the feudal overlord of the greatest man of his time.

And so, at last, on February 14, Eleanor embraced her son once
more, in an assembly of nobles, many of whom wept at the
spectacle. As she described herself, Eleanor was worn to a mere bag
of skin and bone, the blood gone from her veins, and she was unable
to cry from eyes that had wept too long.12

She brought her son home to England, where the pair shone in
triumph, disposing of the last of John's forces and setting things to
rights, including dealing with the sheriff of Nottingham and picnicking
in Sherwood forest.

Despite their ransacking of the empire's treasury, the ultimate

disappointment of the Crusade, the foolishness of their politicking,
their enmity with the empire, and the failing health of themselves,
they were, together, god like. They had created a legendary aura
about themselves that shone through that dark age like the most
refined gold, and which has shown no sign of dimming with the
centuries.

Eleanor announced in England that Richard would officially don the

crown of England for the second time, a kind of coronation anew, and
this happened in her presence at St Swithin's Winchester on April 27
amidst scenes of unparalleled splendour. Eleanor sat with her maids
of honour on the northern side of the church, opposite the king on his
throne.

For Berengaria, however, there was to be no reunion.

There was never a message to her from Richard, she was not
thanked for the money she raised, nor was she ever - according to
the records - to be summoned to his side again, except for perhaps
one occasion.1

According to the chronicler Roger de Hoveden, in the year 1195

Richard was once again berated by a sage hermit. (If Roger is to be
credited, it appears that soothsayers were thick on the ground in the
twelfth century: his pages are replete with their fire and brimstone
sermons).

During his time at court, the hermit preached words of eternal

salvation to Richard, and continued:

"Be thou mindful of the destruction of Sodom, and abstain from

what is unlawful..."

The reference to the infamy of Sodom seems to barely require

translation, referring to a charge of homosexuality.

(If this was the case, it is the only direct proof that some people at
that time questioned the king's sexual orientation. It is on this basis
that the familiar edifice of Richard's character now rests).

It may be, however, that it can be read as simply a general

imprecation against unlawful sexual activity.

This was not to be the first, nor the last, time that Richard was
blamed for gross sensuality, a sin of major note in the eyes of the
medieval church. Several years later, Richard was accused of having
three daughters.

"Three daughters?" he replied. "Everyone knows I have no

daughters."

The response was that indeed he did have three daughters: pride,
greed and sensuality.

In that case, responded the king, I consign my daughters thus: pride

to the Templars, greed to the Cistercians and sensuality to the
prelates.14

At this earlier encounter, Richard spurned the advice of the hermit,

and continued on his way, until in the Easter week he fell ill, possibly
with a recurrence of the illness he had contracted in the East.
Richard despaired of his life, and confessed his sins:

"...and, after receiving absolution, took back his wife, whom for a
long time he had not known: and putting away all illicit intercourse,
he remained constant to his wife, and they two became one flesh,
and the Lord gave him health both of body and of soul."15

If this was true, it was perhaps a small enough compensation for a

much wronged woman to shine briefly in the favour of her all
consuming husband a last time, before they finally parted forever.

1. Amongst other things, his lust for noble women caused major rebellions by important
nobles. The first, probably legendary, perhaps based on a kernel of fact, occurred after John
had taken the throne from his late brother. According to semi legendary, semi historical
records, John desired Maud, wife of the border baron, Fulk Fitz Warrene. In 1200, for this and
other disputes between them, it is recorded that Fulk fled into the forest, accompanied by
his wife, and began a life of outlawry. Fulk and his band of 38 followers were eventually
pardoned in 1202. In 1215, he was one of the barons present at Runnymede, to witness the
ultimate triumph of the people of England over the will of their tyrant king. See M. Keen, The
Outlaws of Medieval Legend Routledge and Kegan Paul, London, 1977, p.40. At the same
period in history, John divorced his first wife, the childless Isabella of Gloucester, to pursue
twelve year old Isabella of Angouleme. John stole her from her fiancee, Hugh of Lusignan,
and this together with land disputes resulted in war between Hugh and John in 1201. John
had other motives apart from his besottedness with his new wife for this brinksmanship.
Through the marriage he was able to secure the alliance of Isabella’s father, the Duke of
Angouleme in his bid to hold Plantagenet possessions in France. It is perhaps significant of
Isabella’s thoughts on the matter that she married Hugh the son of her former fiancee
following John’s death in 1216.

2. Richard of Devizes “Of the Time of King Richard I” in English Historical Documents,
Volume III.

3. Ibn al Athir claims that it was Saladin who paid for the murder, Gabrielli, Arab Historians,
p.241. Roger de Hoveden says the French blamed Richard.

4. Im ad Din, ibid., p.240.

5. Grousset, Epic of the Crusades, p.200.

6. Mitchell, Berengaria, p.73.

7. Ibid., p.75.

8. Richard of Devizes in EHD vol.III.

9. Roger de Hoveden, p.271. cf Richard of Devizes.

10. de Hoveden, p.287.

11. Ibid., 292.

12. Seward, Eleanor of Aquitaine, p.180.

13. de Hoveden, p.312.

14. Ibid., p.448.

15. Ibid., pp.356-7.

 Chapter 31:

Woman's View of the

Crusades

Just as it is difficult to identify a single type of experience that was

common to women involved in the Crusades, so it is probably not
possible to talk of a single concept of Crusading specific to women,
The Woman's View.

This is not because women were without attitudes to the meaning of

the Crusades, but because we largely lack broad primary
documentation to reach a theoretical position, and also because a
view of the Crusades seems to have been related both to culture and
to individuality. As well, attitudes to the circumstances of the First
Crusade were remarkably different for most people than, say, the
Fourth or later Crusades, by which time the pure zeal of the initial
movement were becoming severely tainted with baser motives.

Rather, it is perhaps possible to talk about the range of views about

the Crusades held by various groups and individuals.

This variety of views held about the Crusades can probably be

multiplied by the numbers of individuals and institutions involved, as
shown by a sampling of women who voiced ideas of the Crusade.

There were those women who were entirely in favour of the great
journey, either for spiritual or personal reasons, such as Adela of
Normandy, who sent her husband off on Crusade twice - finally to his
death - and who backed up her instructions with financial support.
Her badgering of Stephen was reported with some degree of glee by
the chroniclers, including Ordericus Vitais, who in his tenth book puts
these words in her mouth:

"Far be it from me, my lord, to submit any longer to the jibes you
receive from all quarters. Pluck up the courage for which you were
renowned in your youth and take arms in a noble cause for the
salvation of thousands, so that Christians may have good reason to
exult in all parts of the world to the terror of the pagans and the
public humiliation of their detestable religion."

If there is any degree of accuracy in this reportage, Adela seems to

have been motivated by considerations of her husband's reputation
as much as by a desire for the salvation of fellow Christians coupled
with eagerness to smite the pagan religion. Her views, therefore,
cover quite a range of attitudes.

Eleanor of Aquitaine, of course, as a young woman seems to have

combined a spiritual urge (which should not be discounted in any
medieval person) with a thirst for adventure, the exotic and romance.
In later life, she seems to have seen her son's Crusade purely in
political terms: for her, it meant a change in lifestyle after nearly two
decades in prison; it was a chance to settle the domestic
arrangements of her most beloved son and of a daughter-in-law to
whom she seems to have had a great attachment; and it meant an
international opportunity to effect political and economic changes.
There is no strong indication of any particular religious motivation in
her involvement in the later Crusades, although perhaps this is
something which is implicit in her involvement.

Similarly, the Countess Eschiva, lady of Raymond of Toulouse,

probably had a mixture of religious and dynastic motivations behind
her involvement in the first journey. She and her husband set off for
the East with the firm intention of founding a dynasty there, which
they did. She worked as her husband's partner in an enterprise which
is rarely touched obviously by a sense of mystical wonder at the
import of it all. Again, however, the religious dimension of her views
of the journey should not be denied. It is simply that they are not in
evidence.

Women of various stations were therefore prepared to risk their

worldly wealth and their persons in the interests of the Crusade, and
this continued over a space of several hundred years.

As late as the fourteenth century, women in Italy had proposed to

finance an expedition in which they themselves would participate.

On the other hand, Hildegard of Bingen, who never went on Crusade,

seems to have conceived of its import largely, if not exclusively,
within a religious dimension. Her concern throughout her life was
with expressing her received visions of existence, and these revolved
essentially around eschatological interpretations of time and history.
These were, she said again and again, the latter days. In vivid not to
say physically repulsive terms she described the birth and coming of
the antichrist, and of the clash that this would bring about with the
virtuous. The Church, she warned, and the State had to cleanse
themselves and prepare for a moment that she considered
imminent. The Crusades would be part of this scarifying of the World
and the restoration of order. Her concept of the goal of the Crusades
was thus of a mystical, otherworldly place, sometimes confused with
an erotic concept of love of Mother Church.

One woman does speak to us very forcibly about the effect of the
pilgrimage to Jerusalem. However, her voice is transmitted to us in a
fragmented and equivocal way, so it is difficult to reach a clear
understanding of her experience.

This woman was Margery Kempe, the English mystic and pilgrim,
who made the journey to Jerusalem and who left us a record of her
experience.

Unfortunately, Margery was illiterate, although she was a

businesswoman and very active in Church life. Her account comes to
us through the pen of her Boswell, a male cleric. As well, she
underwent some kind of mental breakdown during her journeys,
sometimes called hysteria, but seen by her as a sign of God's
visitation. Her companions reacted very unfavourably to this
behaviour, which consisted of constant declamations interspersed
with loud weeping. It is apparent that they regarded her as either
possessed or - more likely - fraudulent, as she was eventually
imprisoned.
My own theory is that she exhibits all the hallmarks of someone who
was sexually abused as a child, most probably by her father, who is
the dominant figure in her life and a source of terror to her in her
memoires.

As well, Margery was not a militant Crusader, but rather a true

pilgrim, who made the journey under the truce agreement which held
during her time, the fourteenth century.

But her voice is loud, in every sense.

She came to Jerusalem riding an ass. When she caught sight of the
city, immediately she broke into prayer, thanking God for his mercy
that as he had brought her to see His earthly city of Jerusalem, He
would grant her grace to see the Heavenly city of Jerusalem. Her
prayer was answered.

Then, out of joy and the pleasure she felt "in dalliance with our Lord"
she almost fell from her steed. She eventually could not bear the
sweetness and grace that God had wrought in her soul.

Two Dutch pilgrims went to her aid. One, a priest, put spices in her
mouth, thinking her sick. And so they helped her into the city, where
she begged their indulgence for her weeping.

Then they all went to the Temple at evensong, and stayed there till
the next day at the same time.

Then the friars lifted up a cross and led the pilgrims about from one
place to another, everyone bearing a wax candle. As they went
about, the friars described the sufferings of Christ in that place.

Margery wept and sobbed copiously as thought she had actually

seen Christ in the flesh. She felt as if she was actually seeing Him.

When the party reached Calvary, she fell down, unable to stand or
kneel, and rolled about, wrestling with her body, spreading her arms
wide and crying in a loud voice as though her heart would burst. For
in "the city of her soul" she saw Christ crucified. She also "saw" the
mourning Virgin, John and Mary Magdalene, as well as many others.

Her crying and roaring continued so that it seemed she would die of
it. According to her account, this was the first time she had ever cried
in such a fashion, but this fit lasted for many years afterwards,
despite any treatment. As a result, she suffered a great deal of
hostility.

One might indeed imagine that even the most devout pilgrim could
have found her constant bellowing and weeping to be rather trying
during the course of such a long journey. Margery comments that all
who heard her were astounded, some attributing it to a wicked spirit,
some to the effects of alcohol: some avoided her, and some wished
her on the sea in a bottomless boat!

Nonetheless, her fits continued long after her return home, as many
as fourteen in a day, always accompanied by a feeling of great
sweetness and grace.1

Margery's experiences and attitudes to her pilgrimage are unique.

The background of her account - the other pilgrims - suggests equal
measures of devoutness and the wish for a peaceful life on their part,
combined with a healthy scepticism about ostentatious mysticism.
Margery's voice, however, is transparently honest. She was
convinced by her own experience, even if it was due to psychological
causes at which we can only guess. For people such as her, the
pilgrimage was an overwhelmingly passionate and disturbing
immersion in religious wonder.

If there were women who were so devoted to the Holy Sites, on the
other hand, there were those women who considered the Crusades a
shocking waste of spiritual and physical wealth and life.

The latter seems to have been the view expressed forcibly by

Blanche of Castile, mother of St Louis.

Blanche did not want her son to fulfill his Crusading vow, and put
every obstacle in his path. Her motivation may have been the sheer
wastefulness of the whole exercise, or else that it was part of her
continuing attempts to dominate her son's reign. She remonstrated
forcibly with him and we can sense her mind behind the words
attributed to the Bishop of Paris, who told the king:

"...remember that when you took the cross, making an important

vow hurriedly and without advice, you were ill and your mind was
wandering. Blood rushed to your brain so you were not of sound mind
and your words lacked authority."

The bishop reminded St Louis of dangers from the emperor and

other enemies, and of the innate difficulty of the pilgrimage.

The queen then spoke in her own voice, addressing her "dearest
son" and telling him not to rely on his own wisdom, but to listen to
the advice of virtuous friends. He should bear in mind what virtue
was, and how it was in accordance with God's wishes to obey a
mother. She then advanced a series of arguments, including his
unsoundness of body and mind and that he would suffer military
setbacks at home, trying in the most forceful way to stop Louis from
going.
As a footnote to this glimpse into Blanche's opposition to Crusading,
at least in the case of her son, it might be mentioned that Louis
threw a tantrum, tore the Cross from his shoulder, and then
reassumed it, claiming that now no one could doubt the soundness of
his mind.2

For other women, the Crusades were perhaps mainly an opportunity

to escape the drudgery of feudal life in Europe. For the Goose
Woman of the eleventh century, it appears to have been a festivity.

But for most of the peasant women involved, the journey appears
to have begun as a solemn religious commitment, whatever else it
may have turned into.

All the commentators agree on this, although the voices of the

women themselves are now silent.

1. Ross, Portable Medieval Reader, pp.679-82.

2. Matthew Paris, The Illustrated Chronicles , p.51.

Conclusion:
Marching Towards Bethelehem

There is a statue in the chapel of the Greyfriars at Nancy, reputedly

representing Anne of Lorraine and her husband Hugh I, Count of
Vaudemont.

The stone sculpture is a late example of the romanesque style:

typically elongated, spare in its decoration, and emitting an aura of
defiant strength that promises to outlast the mere fads of epochs and
eras.

This is a statue designed to face eternity, unblinkingly.

Anne stands proudly beside her husband, for whom she waited
beyond all hope of waiting.

Hugh had set off with King Louis on the ill fated Second Crusade in
1147.

He was lost during that disaster, and there was no hope for him.

But, as in the Russian song, Anne waited for him when all had given
up waiting, waited when his friends no longer waited, waited when
his mother and father no longer waited, waited when their children
no longer waited, waited and refused to drink to his memory when
the cup of rememberance was passed around.

And then she waited no longer: 16 years later, Hugh came home. His
self portrait shows him weather beaten and lined, heavily bearded,
his long hair plaited over his shoulders, his face burned with foreign
suns, his clothes tattered, he himself no longer young, but supporting
himself on his short pilgrim's staff, the only sign of his former wealth
a golden cross on his breast. His left arm is around his wife's
shoulder, for support.

She is a woman of determined middle age, who has lived a

generation in a dangerous land without her husband, ignoring family
pressure to remarry. Her hair, plaited too, hangs from beneath her
coif to her waist, and we can be sure it is now streaked with grey.
Anne's long jawed face is set and determined, and her left hand
reaches to embrace and protect her husband.1

Together, they are looking down the road travelled, a road that has
cost them hardship and loneliness, and their lives together. But it is a
road that they have each survived, in their own way.

And so we leave them, the crusading women and their men.

Queens in palanquins; noble ladies and their children on horseback;

stout merchants with an eye to the main chance; peasant women
carrying babies and sacks of provisions on their own backs;
prostitutes and thieves in tattered finery; nuns telling their beads;
even women in chain mail on battle steeds.

We watch them all, in rain, dust, snow, in scorching heat and bent
against the biting wind.

Our grandmothers, marching towards Bethlehem.

1.Pernoud, In the Steps of the Crusaders, plate 69.
 Appendix

THE QUEENS OF
JERUSALEM

(1097-1205)

Arda(?)

Only child of Thoros?, an Armenian prince.

Married Baldwin c.1097. Died 1118.

Repudiated by King Baldwin I of Jerusalem between 1101-1105.

Regent of Jerusalem 1101 while Baldwin was missing in action. She

was placed in a nunnery after being repudiated, eventually escaping
from there and living the rest of her life in Constantinople.
Adelaide

Born c. 1074 Died April 16 1118.

Married 1. Roger I of Sicily 1089 (d.1101). 2. Baldwin I 1112.

Annulled 1117.

Children Roger II by Roger I.

Regent of Sicily 1101 -1112.

Morphia

Daughter of Gabriel of Melitene. Died October 1, sometime before

1129. Buried Our Lady of Josaphat, Jerusalem.

Married Baldwin II (d. August 21, 1131) c.1100.

Children Melisende, Alice, Hodierna, Yveta.

Crowned Queen in Jerusalem Christmas Day 1119.

Carried out negotiations for rescue of husband 1123-4.

Melisende

Daughter of Baldwin II and Morphia. Died September 11, 1161.

Buried Our Lady of Josaphat.

Married Fulk V of Anjou (d. 1143) Whitsun 1129.

Children Baldwin III 1130 Amalric 1136.

Crowned 1. With Fulk in Church of Holy Sepulchre September 14

1131. Reigned as queen 1143 ff.

2. With her son Baldwin III Christmas Day 1143.

Kingdom divided between herself and Baldwin 1150. Baldwin

subsequently deposed her. Reconciled with Baldwin 1153.

"She ruled the kingdom with such ability that she was rightly
considered to have equalled her predecessors..." William of Tyre.

Theodora

Niece of Emperor Manuel, daughter of Isaac. Born 1146. Died before

1182.

Married Baldwin III (died February 10 1163) 1158.

Abducted to Damascus by her lover Andronicus Comnenus

(Byzantine emperor 1182).

Children by Andronicus Alexis and Irene.

Crowned 1158 before marriage in Jerusalem.

Agnes

Daughter of Jocelyn II of Edessa. Her brother (also) Jocelyn was

guardian of the Leper King.

Born c.1136. Died before August 1186.

Married 1. Reynald of Marash (killed 1149) 1148. 2. Amalric
(d.1174), brother of Baldwin III 1157. 3. Hugh Ibelin of Ramleh 1163.
4. Reynald of Sidon 1169.

Children Sybilla, Baldwin IV 1161 by Amalric.

Amalric became king in 1163, and immediately annulled the

marriage.

"She was a woman who was hateful to God and a shameless money
grabber." William of Tyre.

Maria Comnena

Grand niece of Emperor Manuel, daughter of John.

Died summer 1217?

Married 1. Amalric (d.1174) at Tyre August 29 1167. 2. Balian of

Ibelin (d.1194) 1177.

Children Isabella 1172 and another girl (died in infancy), by Amalric.

John, Phillip, Margaret and Helvis by Balian.

Sybilla

Daughter of King Amalric and Agnes of Courtenay.

Born before 1161. Died at Acre July 25 1190.

Married 1. William of Monferrat October 1176. 2. Guy of Lusignan
Easter 1180.

Children Baldwin V (d.1186) by William. Alice and Maria by Guy.

Crowned with Guy in the Holy Sepulchre 1186.

After Hattin, she was imprisoned, and was released in 1188.

Isabella

Daughter of King Amalric and Maria Comnena.

Born 1172. Died Shortly after April 1205.

Married 1. Humphrey of Toron 1180. 2. Conrad of Monferrat

(murdered 1192) 1192. 3. Henry of Champagne (d.1197) 1190. 4.
Amalric II (d.1205) 1198.

Children By Conrad: Maria. By Henry: Alice and Philippa. By Amalric:

Sybilla, Melisende, and an infant son (d. 1205).

Her marriage to Humphrey was annulled in 1192, and she was

immediately married to Conrad and crowned. On his death on April
28, she married Henry within a few days. She passed to him the
crown of the by now virtually non existent kingdom of Jerusalem,
which eventually passed to her daughter, Maria. The rest is silence.

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