In Distant Lands

by Lars Brownworth

  The same pattern repeated itself when Barbarossa entered Asia Minor. All of his treaties ensuring safe passage through Turkish territory proved worthless. The local emirs did everything they could to inhibit his progress, and the Turkish sultan, Qutb al-Din,106 raised an immense army.

  This was neither surprising nor particularly disturbing for Frederick Barbarossa. He had been an emperor for a long time and was used to setbacks. These would be handled the way he handled everything – methodically, ruthlessly, and irresistibly. Within two weeks he had crushed the Turkish army, captured the sultan's capital city, and extracted another promise of safe passage. Local resistance collapsed, and the crusade had no trouble entering Christian Armenia, a friendly state just to the north of Antioch.

  The German emperor had accomplished what no one since the First Crusade had managed – he had kept his immense army intact through the all-important Anatolian crossing. A cruel twist of fate, however, made all of this meaningless. On June 10, 1190, after an exhausting journey over the Taurus mountains of southern Anatolia, the elderly emperor led his soldiers to a flat coastal plain. As the troops plodded towards a nearby city, Barbarossa rode on ahead with a small detachment and spotted the small Göksu river flowing down to the Mediterranean. The heat of the high Anatolian summer was stifling, and in an attempt to escape it he spurred his horse toward the river, outpacing his retinue and reaching the water alone. There are conflicting reports of what happened next. Some say his horse lost its footing and threw him into the river, others that he slipped while dismounting to drink. Either way, the end result was the same. By the time his bodyguard arrived to haul him out of the water he had drowned.107

  Quite abruptly, the crusade was over. A new emperor would have to be elected, and that could only happen in Germany. Most of the upper nobility sailed immediately home, taking with them the bulk of the army. Barbarossa's son, Frederick VI of Swabia – with his father's body stuffed awkwardly into a barrel of preserving vinegar – gamely continued on, determined to fulfill the late emperor's vow to reach the Holy Land.108

  Despite its complete collapse, Barbarossa's crusade did have two positive effects. Saladin was unnerved enough to release the prisoners he had captured during the battle of Hattin, including King Guy of Jerusalem and most of the high profile leaders of Outremer. After swearing an oath not to take up arms against him – easily absolved since it was given under duress – they were given safe passage back to Tyre, one of the only remaining Levantine109 cities in Christian hands.

  The second benefit proved longer lasting. When the remnants of the German army arrived in the Levant, they found the newly released king Guy attempting to besiege the city of Acre. Although there was little they could do to assist, several of the Germans took a vow to care for the wounded pilgrims outside the city. In doing so, they founded the Teutonic Knights, the last of the three great military orders of the crusades.

  Neither Guy, nor a few German knights, however, could save the crusader states. The failure of Barbarossa's venture had dealt a staggering blow to the Christians of the Levant. Just months before, news of his coming had terrified their Muslim enemies and made it possible to believe that the kingdom of Jerusalem would be restored. And then, without even a battle, their invincible Christian protector was gone, along with his great army of deliverance. Saladin remained as powerful as ever, and only the news that two other European kings had also taken the cross restrained him from resuming the jihad.

  Everything now depended on France and England.

  Chapter 15: Cœur de Lion

  “To arms and follow me! …trust confidently in the Lord that He will this day give us the victory…”

  – Richard the Lionheart110

  Pope Gregory VII had set Easter of 1189 as the official departure date of the crusade, but it came and went and neither Henry II of England, nor Philip II of France had stirred from their capitals. The two men loathed each other, and not even the pleading of the pope could get them to put aside their differences long enough to plan a joint campaign.

  The reasons for the discord were both personal and political. Eleanor of Aquitaine, that remarkable French queen who had caused such a scandal during the Second Crusade for preferring the company of her uncle Raymond of Antioch to that of her husband Louis VII of France, had followed through on her threats and dissolved her marriage when they returned home. Eight weeks after the annulment, she married Henry II of England.

  Even by the standards of the day, the wedding was shocking. Henry was one of a swarm of suitors who met Eleanor when she returned to Aquitaine, and at first glance seemed an unlikely match. Short, bull-necked, and only nineteen, Henry was the physical opposite of the refined, thirty-year-old French queen. Already his ruthlessness had led to whispers that his family had been descended from a demon, and as Eleanor’s third cousin he was even more closely related than Louis VII had been. But he was also passionate, energetic, and – as the heir to the English throne – clearly had a bright future.

  After a whirlwind courtship they were married, and two years later Henry became King of England. The marriage was not ultimately a happy one, and Eleanor herself would later ruefully say that she became Queen of England ‘by the wrath of God’, but her revenge on Louis VII was complete. She gave her husband a tract of land stretching from the English Channel to the Pyrenees. Henry II now owned ten times as much of France as the French king possessed.

  The entire affair was thoroughly embarrassing for Louis VII, and his son Philip II – although he was born long after – wasn't disposed to overlook the insult to French honor. Fortunately for him, therefore, Eleanor's new marriage proved to be an endless source of opportunities to undermine the English crown.

  The chief duty of a medieval queen was to produce an heir, and Eleanor played her part magnificently, presenting her new husband with no less than eight children. She was now expected to retire gracefully into the background, to provide a burnish of matronly glory to Henry's reign.

  Eleanor, however, refused to play along. The thought of spending the rest of her life as an ornament singularly failed to appeal to a woman whose adult life had been spent as one of the most powerful figures in western Europe. Even now, the wealth and extent of her lands rivaled that of the kings of England and France.

  Henry, however, was equally insistent to keep her as far away from power as possible, determined that a king of England wouldn't be ruled by his wife. By 1173, relations between them had deteriorated so much that Eleanor openly encouraged one of her sons to revolt. After crushing the rebellion, Henry had his wife arrested and threw her in prison for the last sixteen years of his reign.

  The rough treatment of Eleanor gave the French king all the ammunition he could possibly use. Henry's oldest surviving son Richard, known to history as Cœur de Lion – Lionheart – was particularly close to his mother, and was already chaffing for more responsibilities and power. It was all too easy for Philip II to play on Richard's fears, hinting darkly that Henry intended to disinherit the young prince in favor of his younger brother John.

  The calling of the Third Crusade had temporarily suspended all these machinations. Philip II and Henry II had gone through the motions of Christian brotherhood, pledging jointly to march to the defense of the Holy Land. In the last months of 1188, however, when both monarchs were supposed to be in the final stages of preparation for their journey, Philip's previous scheming bore unexpected fruit.

  Richard had been particularly vocal in his desire to immediately go on crusade, and he interpreted his father's methodical preparations as a sleight against him. He publicly asked Henry to confirm that he was the heir and when the ailing king instead kept silent, the humiliated Richard immediately left the court and appealed to Philip for aid. The French king was technically at peace with England, but this was an opportunity too delicious to resist. He threw his support behind Richard at once. When Easter of 1189 arrived, it found the two pledged crusader kings attacking each other.

  Fortu
nately, the civil war resolved itself quickly. Henry II died of a bleeding ulcer a few months into the struggle, and Richard was unanimously accepted as his successor. Philip II was dutifully thanked for his assistance and – much to his annoyance – dismissed by the new English king.

  All of his scheming had been for nothing after all. Instead of destabilizing England, he had unwittingly united it under a new and already vigorous king. What’s more, thanks to the careful stewardship of Henry II – who had imposed a general tax called the 'Saladin Tithe' – Richard had a full war chest, which, unlike his cautious father, he was ready to use.

  Richard the Lionheart was in many ways the culmination of medieval chivalric culture. He was well educated, articulate, had impeccable manners, and was already an accomplished poet. Above all, he was a man of action. Just thirty-two at his coronation, Richard was tall and powerfully built, with the blond hair of his Viking ancestors. He had been commanding armies in the field since he had turned sixteen. It was here that he had demonstrated the flashing courage that won him his nickname. Despite treating his own safety with a carelessness that verged on recklessness, he was obsessed with the welfare of his soldiers. He inspired intense loyalty, had a brilliantly strategic mind, and was gifted with a flair for political theater. When first informed about the disaster at Hattin he had publicly taken the cross and sold off most of his private holdings to support the cause, while his father had plodded along. Most of Europe looked to him as the pinnacle of Christian knighthood and were eager to see him in action against Saladin, the archenemy of the faith.

  Richard's immense shadow cast everyone else in the shade. This was particularly true for Philip II. The French king could hardly have been more unsuited to a comparison. Slightly younger than his English counterpart, Philip was short, thin, and seemingly in permanent ill health. Where Richard was gallant and witty, Philip was nervous and cynical, with a biting sense of humor that often unnerved his court. He had only a fraction of Richard's material resources, far less control over his nobles, and no ability whatsoever on the battlefield.

  It was hardly a pairing that suggested crusading success. At the best of times, Philip and Richard cordially disliked each other. They had made common cause against Henry II, but even then their relationship was tenuous. Since Richard had inherited his mother's land in France, Philip was technically his feudal lord, a fact which Philip took pains to frequently point out to his rival.

  Nevertheless, the two had sworn to go on crusade, and with Richard's kingship settled, there was no longer any excuse to delay. Philip, who was under no illusion about his qualities as a soldier, managed to convince the impatient Richard to split everything won on the crusade equally so as not to be embarrassed by what were sure to be more daring exploits by the English king. With this last detail worked out, they could finally be on their way. On July 4, 1190 both kings left France for the rendezvous point of Sicily on their long-awaited crusade.

  The Sicilian Campaign

  By the time Richard reached the Norman kingdom of Sicily he was in a foul mood. He had a tendency to get seasick, and the crossing from southern France had been unseasonably rough. Even worse, when he finally landed on the island, he discovered that Philip had beaten him there and in typical fashion had helped himself to the palace of Messina, leaving insultingly modest accommodations for Richard.

  The general mood wasn't improved by the fact that, politically, Sicily was a mess. The last legitimate king had died, and a Norman by the name of Tancred had seized the throne. The new king was energetic, but unusually ugly, and his unfortunate resemblance to an ape had won him the unflattering nickname of the 'Monkey King'. Tancred's troubles were compounded by his treatment of the previous king's widow. She had been unwise enough to vocally support his rival, so Tancred had thrown her into prison. Unfortunately for Tancred, she happened to be Richard's sister.

  This blow to the royal dignity was also an opportunity, and Richard was quick to seize it. In addition to whatever sibling loyalty he felt, there was the more pressing need for more funds for the crusade.111 Messengers were dispatched to Tancred to demand both Richard's sister and her dowry in full.

  Tancred had enough problems without further angering the English king, so he immediately paid both the dowry and an additional sum as a token of his esteem. This should have resolved the matter, but Richard was just getting started. He – like legions of tourists since – was enjoying the pleasant Sicilian climate and had decided to make it his base. He selected the largest building he could find – a Greek monastery – evicted the monks, and used it to garrison his soldiers.

  To the Sicilians, who had been horrified by their king's craven submission to these foreign interlopers, the sight of holy men being manhandled was the last straw. The citizens took to the streets with whatever crude weapons they could find, and rushed Richard's villa.

  The counter-attack was merciless. Richard ordered his men to burn any Sicilian ships in the harbor so the mob had nowhere to flee, then told them to destroy the city. The only thing in Messina that was spared was the great palace at the center where a panicked Philip II had barricaded himself. When it was over, Richard rounded up the survivors and forced them to construct a massive wooden fortress. Just to make sure no one missed the point he named it 'Matagrifon' – 'the Greek-killer'.

  Incredibly, this boorish behavior didn't result in even a hint of protest from Tancred. The hapless Sicilian king knew that his real enemy was the Holy Roman Empire, and was determined to keep Richard as an ally, no matter how irritating or outrageously he behaved.112 Instead of sending the Sicilian army, Tancred sent Richard a vast sum of gold along with an invitation to spend the rest of the winter in Sicily.

  Tancred's cause was helped by the worsening relations between Richard and Philip. Throughout their time in Sicily, Philip was a constant irritant. Each time Tancred's ambassadors appeared before Richard bearing gifts, Philip's men would inevitably follow, demanding half of everything. The breaking point came when Philip – who had spent his time cowering in his bedroom – saw fit to demand half of the loot that Richard had accumulated sacking Messina. In the interests of peace, Richard gave him a third of it, but from then on they were barely on speaking terms.

  The toxic environment was the opening that Tancred needed. After a further round of gifts, Richard officially recognized Tancred as king and sealed their new alliance by a marriage contract between Richard's four-year-old son and Tancred's teenaged daughter. As a sign of their new friendship, Richard presented his brother-king with a sword that he rather dubiously claimed was Excalibur.113

  All this was a well-aimed slap at Philip who had studiously refused to recognize Tancred as king. As a final twist of the knife, Richard broke off his own engagement. Since the age of twelve, he had been betrothed to Philip's older sister in a hopeless attempt to keep peace between the two kingdoms. Now, however, word had arrived from his newly freed mother that a more suitable candidate had been found. Even better, Eleanor had already picked her up and was on the way to Sicily.

  Philip was outraged, but there was little he could do. The two kings met to clear the air, but the only result was the official dissolving of Richard's betrothal. As soon as the spring weather made a sea crossing to the Levant palatable, Philip left with noticeably bad grace. Richard waited for his new fiancée to arrive and departed two weeks later.

  As usual, Philip's passage was smooth while Richard ran into a constant barrage of storms. As he was passing the island of Cyprus a violent gale scattered his fleet, wrecking a large number of his ships on the rocky coast. The island was under the control of a rebel Byzantine governor named Isaac Comnenus, who took the opportunity to loot the wrecks and imprison the shipwrecked sailors.114

  Richard wasn’t amused. He regrouped his fleet and stormed the main Cypriot port, scattering the few natives who were brave enough to resist. In a whirlwind campaign he captured the entire island. The terrified Isaac Comnenus surrendered on the condition that he wouldn't be clapp
ed in irons, so Richard had his blacksmith construct silver handcuffs, and threw the man into prison.

  Richard instantly recognized the value of his unexpected conquest. Cyprus was wealthy, easily fortified, and conveniently near the coast of Palestine. It was, in short, the perfect launching pad for an invasion of the Levant.

  Philip II was not nearly so lucky with his smooth crossing of the eastern Mediterranean. He had arrived to find what was left of the army of the Kingdom of Jerusalem attempting to besiege the city of Acre. Everywhere he turned, however, he was reminded of his own inadequacies as a soldier. His arrival made no impact whatsoever in the siege, and the constant breathless anticipation of the Lionheart's arrival was hopelessly annoying.

  This irritation was made worse by Richard's usual grand entrance. As the English king sailed into Acre's port in early June, he discovered a huge Muslim fleet transporting reinforcements to the garrison. They were taken completely by surprise, allowing Richard to sink all the ships, which dealt a crippling blow to Acre's morale. A month later the city surrendered unconditionally. In exchange for the lives of the garrison, Saladin was induced to return the True Cross, pay a huge ransom, and release all of his Christian prisoners. Much had been expected from Richard's arrival, but the Lionheart had somehow managed to surpass even the loftiest expectations.115

  It was all too much for Philip to bear. The dashing stories of Richard's heroics in Cyprus – which had lost nothing in the telling – were bad enough, but now Philip’s impotence at besieging Acre had added to Richard's legend.116 He had no interest in being a minor character in someone else's triumph, or having Richard's martial star shine brighter by comparison to his own dim one. The Holy Land had never agreed with him, a fact underscored by an illness he had contracted the moment he arrived. He wanted nothing more than to return to France and rejoin a game he actually excelled at: political scheming. Richard had many lands in France that could be picked off and a brother as regent who wanted to be king. Let the Lionheart play his war games. Philip would make sure the English king would have little enough to come home to.