His gestures and building complete, after the customary tour of the Holy Places, Richard departed, sailing from Acre on 3 May 1241. One unimpressed observer remarked: ‘Thus all these men did almost nothing in the Holy Land that was of any use.’83 Despite restoring the kingdom to its greatest extent since Hattin and consolidating a fortified frontier, the crusades of 1239–41 appeared wholly insignificant compared with the great events that were soon to engulf the region, the displacement of the Khwarazmians and the advent of the Mongols. The crusades failed to resolve, hardly address even, the debilitating internal tensions of Outremer. During a period of intense Ayyubid instability, the crusaders appeared by turns bystanders and puppets, manipulated according to the changing ambitions of competing Muslim princes. Yet in organization and awareness of the modest, incremental possibilities of all campaigns except the most massive of western invasion, the crusades of Theobald and Richard confirmed a pattern in western aid. Gregory IX’s scheme for a permanent garrison sponsored by western money became a reality a decade later, forming a vital element in the final defence of the Holy Land. More ambiguously, the experience of the 1239–41 crusades revealed a new professionalism in how the business of the cross could be organized at the same time as showing how its success could so easily be compromised by this very professionalism. The increased distinction between crusade enthusiasm that could be expressed by donations not service and crusade campaigning that depended on complex systems of military recruitment and funding reduced the uniqueness of such enterprises, if not in ambition then in organization. As crusading became ever more firmly a matter for state governments, this at once offered greater prospects of achievement and greater vulnerability to those governments’ distractions, one of the central paradoxes of Holy Land crusading in the later thirteenth century and beyond. Only where a ruler made the Holy Land his main policy could this tension hope to be resolved. In all the thirteenth century, this applied to one monarch alone.
24
Louis IX and the Fall of Mainland Outremer 1244–91
In the eyes of western Christendom, Louis IX’s crusade of 1248–50 was one of the great events of the thirteenth century. This unsuccessful attempt by a major western European power to conquer Egypt hastened the collapse of Ayyubid rule, triggering the elevation of a military elite of professional Turkish slave warriors, the mamluks, to political power in their place. The defeat of the most professionally organized and carefully funded of all the eastern crusades reduced Christian strategy in the Near East to piecemeal treaties amid increasingly desperate attempts to shore up the rump of the Frankish kingdom in Palestine. Fresh political configurations in the region were recognized by attempts to establish contacts with the advancing Mongols that opened further the west’s window on previously fabulous lands beyond the Caspian Sea. The knowing self-importance of Louis and his crusaders contrasted cruelly with their insignificance in the scheme of Asian affairs. Louis’s attack on Egypt promised a wholesale reversal of generations of Christian failure. Its fate exposed the remains of mainland Outremer to new forces over which the Franks held no influence. Ironically, precisely from the total defeat of such high ambitions flowed the luminous reputation that Louis and his crusade earned in a sorrowful but admiring west.
PREPARATIONS
In 1244, the uneasy and confused Palestinian settlement left by the 1239–41 crusades was rudely swept away. Previously, prospects for the Franks had appeared brighter than at any time since the 1170s.1 In 1243, a new treaty with Damascus promised to entrench Frankish security in Syria. Yet a year later, the Franks were unexpectedly faced by the irruption into Palestine of the Khwarazmians, allies of Sultan al-Salih Ayyub of Egypt. Turkish freebooters originally from the steppes of central Asia, they had been driven west by the Mongol advance in the 1220s. Surviving as a mercenary band in northern Iraq, they had formed an alliance with al-Salih Ayyub when he was ruling the Jazira in the 1230s. In his efforts to control Syria, the sultan called on their assistance with offers of pay and land. In 1244, a large Khwarazmian force launched a destructive raid from Iraq through Syria to Palestine before joining al-Salih Ayyub’s Egyptian army coming up from the Nile. On the way they attacked Jerusalem on 23 August, easily overcoming the feeble defences, killing any Franks they found and desecrating the Christian Holy Places. Christian rule in the Holy City was ended, not to be revived until the ending of Ottoman rule in December 1917 by a British army. The Franks in Acre summoned their full military forces and elicited the help of their allies the rulers of Damascus and Homs. Together they marched south to confront the combined Egyptian-Khwarazmian force near Gaza. On 17 October, the Egyptians and Khwarazmians annihilated the substantial Franco-Syrian Ayyubid army at La Forbie (Harbiya) near Gaza. Although a military disaster for the Franks from which Outremer never entirely recovered, the battle of La Forbie was as much a contest, as one observer put, of ‘Saracen against Saracen’,2 exposing just how peripheral the Franks could appear in the wider regional conflicts. The last thing at stake was religion. The Khwarazmians proved unruly allies and violent employees. After helping al-Salih Ayyub conquer Syria, Damascus falling in 1245, they were dispensable. For some years, the sultan had been building up his personal askar or regiment of trained mamluks, known as the Bahriyya (from their base on the Nile, Bahr al-Nil) or Salihiyya. They provided more efficient military support for the regime. In 1246, the Khwarazmians were destroyed by the Ayyubid emirs of Homs and Aleppo without any Frankish involvement. Meanwhile, most of the Frankish gains of 1240–41 in southern Palestine were lost, Ascalon falling in 1247.3
The disaster in the east threw the survival of the Frankish kingdom into doubt. Pleas for help were despatched to the west. Yet the concerted memory in western Europe attributed the inspiration for a new general relief expedition to a domestic event. In December 1244, Louis IX of France took the cross after surviving a near-fatal illness. It is unclear whether he received the cross for its mystical healing properties, a belief widely held by contemporaries, or as a token of gratitude after hovering between life and death. He may have known of the loss of Jerusalem in August. Pope Innocent IV, in exile at Lyons, had certainly heard of it by the end of December.4 However, the driving motive behind the French king’s commitment lay in Louis’s own personality, piety and ambition. Despite apparently strong initial opposition from his domineering mother, Blanche of Castile, and possibly other members of his entourage, Louis stuck to his decision, repeating his vow when in sounder body if not mind and persuading his brothers and court to follow suit.5
The public support of the royal family revealed how carefully Louis laid his plans. By the mid-1240s, the conquests of 1203–26 within France by Philip II and Louis VIII had not only extended the royal demesne massively but had left much of provincial France in the hands of cadet members of the dynasty, Louis’s brothers Robert in Artois, Charles in Anjou and Alphonse in Poitou and heir to Toulouse. The kingdom became a family firm. The adherence of his brothers to the crusade scheme was a political prerequisite for the policy to work, not just a sign of cosy family harmony. Louis had taken the cross, possibly from the bishop of Paris, the scholarly academic William of Auvergne, without any apparent prior papal authorization. Beside his ecclesiastical role, Bishop William was an unusually dispassionate expert on branches of Arabic philosophy and had become something of an expert on eastern affairs. If the well-informed gossip Matthew Paris can be credited, this may have lent weight to the doubts Paris claimed William expressed about the wisdom of Louis’s decision.6 Yet in the teeth of maternal, episcopal and probably political opposition, Louis pressed ahead in such a determined fashion that it is hard not to subscribe to the idea that his crusade marked a personal and political as well as spiritual rite of passage, an occasion and process of individual emancipation.
The legend of Louis may distort the picture. The near-death experience, the almost miraculous return to health and the assumption of the ‘life-giving’ cross, as the phrase went, may appear too dramatically neat to be
credited. Within weeks, Innocent IV was sending out summonses to a new church council, to be held at Lyons, at which the plight of the Holy Land was to be discussed, although the council’s agenda was dominated by the struggle with Frederick II, the eastern crisis being cited alongside possible campaigns to defend Latin Constantinople and resist the Mongols.7 Louis’s decision to hazard life, treasure and reputation on an eastern adventure may not have been as spontaneous as admiring or wondering observers suggested. Buoyed by a strong domestic political position won by victories in 1242–4 over disaffected magnates, including the count of Toulouse, as well as over the king of England (in 1242), such a grand gesture might have seemed timely even without the stimulus of grave illness. The crusade provided an excuse and opportunity to tighten and reform royal administration, extend the king’s judicial and fiscal grasp and increase revenues. As a decade earlier, it could serve as a mechanism to consolidate or impose reconciliation of dissident regional and baronial factions. Command of a new eastern expedition placed a convenient distance between Louis and the embattled emperor without his having to take sides against the Hohenstaufen as the pope’s poodle. The whole scheme enhanced Louis’s moral authority, his particular brand of political puritanism signalled by the use of friars as agents in the reform of government and the collection of clerical taxes. With control of the holy business, Louis could fashion more directly and strongly than in any other way a new cult of holy monarchy with the elevation of France itself as a cradle of holy warriors, conscious of its special, divinely inspired mission, itself a holy land. The single-mindedness with which Louis pursued all these ends might indicate that the decision made in his sick room at Pontoise in December 1244 came at the end of a lengthy process of deliberation. As with most crusaders, while in no way diminishing its sincerity, it is too crudely simple to explain Louis IX’s devotion to the cause in terms of piety alone.
Within two months of Louis taking the cross, the pope had issued a crusade bull and preaching had been authorized, led in France by the legate Odo of Chaâ teauroux, cardinal bishop of Tusculum (1244–73), who additionally legitimized regional preachers and collectors of funds.8 As before, preaching combined the practical with the persuasive to create an atmosphere or mood to encourage the faithful to take the cross, purchase vow redemptions or provide the more disengaged assistance of donations and prayers. All of these featured in Cardinal Odo’s sermons. While never far from the church’s rhetorical lexicon, the plight of the Holy Land needed to be placed in a suitably moving emotional and cultural frame to attract the sort of active involvement the king sought. So beside the reminders of the spiritual rewards, the religious duty and the Christian obligation of the cross, in one sermon Odo reminded his audience of those ‘nobles of former times who left the kingdom of France, captured Antioch and the land of Jerusalem’.9 The enticement of nostalgia may have been easier to effect in lay aristocratic circles because of the popularity and circulation of vernacular adventure poems known today as Crusade Cycles, which had transmuted the events of the First and Third Crusades into epics of chivalry. Nostalgia only works if the images being refurbished retain contemporary resonance. However, stimulating a warm glow of religious, cultural and, in the case of Odo’s preaching, French national pride was insufficient. Odo and other preachers had also to spell out how the faithful could contribute, in person, with money or through prayer.
The preaching campaign of 1245–8 did not run entirely smoothly, hampered less by public indifference or hostility than by official contradictions and institutional bickering. Outside France, preaching was organized in the British Isles, Scandinavia, Germany and the Low Countries. Henry III of England, licking his wounds after his defeat by Louis IX in 1242 in Poitou, was suspicious of getting involved in what from the outset appeared to be a French project, prompting him to bar entry to the bishop of Beirut, who had hoped to visit England to drum up support.10 In Languedoc, the French government deliberately associated the Holy Land crusade with the suppression of the rebellion of 1242–4 and the eradication of heresy. Rebels, such as Raymond VII of Toulouse or Oliver of Termes, were induced to take the cross as a symbol and shackle of loyalty to the Capetians, while reformed heretics received sentences that insisted on taking the cross for Palestine, although many chose exile instead.11 Elsewhere, the claims of other papal holy wars were simultaneously being pressed on the faithful. After the Council of Lyons (June–July 1245) deposed Frederick II, a crusade against him began to be preached in large parts of Germany. This led directly to conflicts of interest and effort. In July 1246, Cardinal Odo was instructed by Innocent IV to tell Holy Land preachers in Germany to preach the war against Frederick II. Innocent recognized the sensitivity of this order by commanding Odo to keep the instructions secret.12 This hardly assisted administrative clarity. In Frisia, as in other places, the two preaching campaigns tripped each other up. One preacher began by preaching against Frederick II before being transferred to the Holy Land war. Holy Land recruits in the dioceses of Cambrai, Louvain, Metz, Toul and Verdun were forbidden to swap their vows to fight Frederick, even though the anti-Hohenstaufen crusade was being preached there. Unsurprisingly, this competition for recruits carried over to the raising of vow redemptions, offering unscrupulous operators the chance of illicit profits as control and audit broke down.13 In places, the crusade to defend the Latin Empire of Constantinople was promoted. In Provence, while the Holy Land crusade was being preached with mixed success in neighbouring Languedoc, the Dominicans of Provence were bombarded with papal bulls concerning the crusade against the Greeks.14 Whereas the Holy Land crusade could be preached successfully throughout Christendom, recruitment for other crusading enterprises, in Frankish Greece (or Romania), Germany, Italy or the Baltic, suited geographically more limited, targeted constituencies.
Recruitment away from the French court was regionally vigorous, but in places slow to develop. Louis’s youngest brother Alphonse of Poitiers’ army was only ready in the spring of 1249. Even in northern France, men were still joining up into 1250.15 Holy Land recruitment was concentrated in the kingdom of France, Burgundy, Lorraine and the Low Countries between the Meuse and the Rhine. Small contingents were raised or promised elsewhere, such as England and Norway. However, the evangelizing demonstrated this was a French expedition, as did the way King Louis used it to consolidate and extend his domestic authority. Apart from the king and his brothers, there were loyalists such as the crusade veteran Duke Hugh IV of Burgundy and Count William of Flanders, whose close adherence to the king was secured by Louis’s favouring him in the disputed Flemish succession. Old reprobates such as Peter Maulcerc, the now retired count of Brittany, another veteran of the 1239–40 crusade, were enlisted alongside a range of former or recent rebels including Raymond of Toulouse and Hugh of Lusignan. Recruits came from across the kingdom, from Flanders and Brittany to Poitou, the Bourbonnais and Languedoc. From Brittany it appears that practically all the major landowners participated, a pattern that may have been repeated elsewhere. Although Theobald of Champagne rather pointedly declined to join, the Champenois provided a substantial contingent of perhaps as many as 175 knights in a total of about 1,000 men.16 A significant number of clergy, including bishops, took the cross. There is evidence of members of rural and urban elites, artisans, even some prosperous peasants signing up. Not being necessarily associated with a lord, they seemed to have been mobilized rather more slowly. Others identified local ways to implement commitment. By the spring of 1247, crusaders at Châteaudun, with the approval of the legate, Odo of Châteauroux, had formed a confraternity (confratria) to ease the purchase of war materials, hiring of ships and funding for those who went to ‘fight for the Lord’, as well as a focus for further donations by non-crucesignati. The establishment of such a confraternity served as a reminder of the material costs of the enterprise and the increasingly diverse responses to both the vow and its implementation. To ensure acceptance for this exercise in business sense reminiscent of earlier crusading communal a
ction, members obtained papal approval.17 The motives of other recruits caused some alarm. The crusader’s temporal privileges granting certain legal immunities had always run the risk of attracting those wishing to avoid answering law suits and the downright criminal. In 1246, at Rouen, it was pronounced that crucesignati were not permitted to avoid law suits involving fiefs and pledges. The same year, Louis IX complained to Innocent IV that many crusaders, instead of abstaining from excess as befitted their privileged status, were enthusiastically indulging in theft, murder and rape. The pope ordered bishops not to protect such miscreants, crusade privileges notwithstanding.18
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