Tales of a Minstrel of Reims in the Thirteenth Century 0813234352, 9780813234359

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Tales of a Minstrel of Reims in the Thirteenth Century

A n a non y mo u s work

Tales of a Minstrel of Reims in the Thirteenth Century Translated from the Old French by Samuel N. Rosenberg Introduced by William Chester Jordan Annotated by Randall Todd Pippenger

The Catholic University of America Press Washington, D.C.

Translation copyright © 2022 by the estate of Samuel N. Rosenberg Introduction copyright © 2022 by William Chester Jordan Annotation copyright © 2022 by Randall Todd Pippenger All rights reserved The body of the text is a translation from a scholarly edition, Récits d’un Ménestrel de Reims au treizième siècle, edited by Natalis de Wailly (Société de l’Histoire de France; Paris: Librairie Renouard, 1876). This 1876 edition can be consulted online through www.google.com/books or through Gallica, Bibliothèque nationale de France, http://catalogue.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/cb31615446c. The cover image—depicting negotiation for the marriage of David and Michal, and the ensuing mayhem—comes from “The Crusader Bible” (Paris, France, ca. 1244–54) and is used by permission of The Morgan Library and Museum. MS M.638, fol. 29v. Purchased by J. P. Morgan (1867–1943) in 1916. Photograph by The Morgan Library and Museum, New York. The image on page ii is a detail from the same photograph. The paper used in this publication meets the requirements of American National Standards for Information Science—Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI Z39.48-1992. ∞ Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data available from the Library of Congress ISBN 978-0-8132-3435-9

To the memory of Samuel N. Rosenberg —W.C.J. and R.T.P.

Contents and Synopsis

Contents and Synopsis

Acknowledgments

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Introduction by William Chester Jordan Translator’s Note

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Tales of a Minstrel of Reims in the Thirteenth Century I. The First Crusade. Louis VII is crowned

king of France. (§§ 1–5) 1 II. Queen Eleanor is enamored of Saladin.

Eleanor marries Henry II of England. (§§ 6–12) 5 III. Louis VII marries Adele of Champagne.

Philip II is crowned king of France. (§§ 13–16) 9 IV. King Henry takes his intended daughter-

in-law to bed. She, King Philip’s sister, is later wed to the count of Ponthieu. Philip attempts to kill Henry and fails. King Henry commits suicide. (§§ 17–27) 11 V. The queen of Jerusalem succeeds in having

her husband, Guy of Lusignan, crowned king. (§§ 28–32) 15

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VI. The queen’s foes plot to dethrone her husband,

Guy of Lusignan. Led by the count of Tripoli, they solicit the willing aid of Saladin. In battle with Saladin’s troops, Guy is captured and imprisoned. Traitorous barons are rewarded by Saladin with gold and silver. Most of the kingdom of Jerusalem is now in Muslim hands. (§§ 33–45) 18 VII. Saladin liberates Guy and sends him to Tyre,

where he is denied entry. The queen escapes and joins her husband outside the city. They receive material assistance from Saladin. (§§ 46–49) 23 VIII. The pope initiates a new crusade. The

crusaders move against Tyre, which surrenders quickly. They go on to Acre, where lengthy combat results in Christian victory. The main victor is King Philip. (§§ 50–56) 25 IX. There is great enmity between Kings Richard

and Philip. Richard goes to Germany, then Austria. He is captured and imprisoned. (§§ 57–65) 29 X. The count of Blois drowns in a storm at sea.

Count Henry becomes king of Cyprus, has an accident, and dies. King Guy and his queen die after fourteen years in what is left of their realm. (§§ 66–69) 33 XI. Philip II returns to France. He marries

Isabella of Hainault. (§§ 70–76) 36



Contents and Synopsis

XII. King Richard, secretly held captive by Duke

Leopold of Austria, is discovered, thanks to the singing of Blondel of Nesle, and is ransomed. (§§ 77–85) 40 XIII. King Richard, back in England, nurses

grievances against King Philip. He returns to France ready for armed conflict. A great battle at Gisors is followed by a remarkable duel with no winner. Rebellion across the Channel calls Richard back from France. (§§ 86–103) 44 XIV. King Philip decides to take advantage of

Richard’s return to Britain. He captures Richard’s holdings at Gisors and Niort. Richard returns in secret to France. Conflict continues to rage between the two kings. At one point, Philip is saved from capture by the astucious Alan of Roucy. (§§ 104–17) 51 XV. Richard, learning of incursions by the king

of Spain, responds with force. Battle between Richard and King Ferran results in Spanish defeat. Richard returns to England, then again to France. Richard the Lionhearted is wounded in battle and dies. (§§ 118–33) 56 XVI. John of Brienne, landless, grows up to

become king of Jerusalem. (§§ 134–43) 63 XVII. Pope Innocent III plans a new crusade

against the Saracens. The Saracens make plans for defense. A major confrontation will take place at Damietta. (§§ 144–52) 67

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XVIII. Facing Saphadin, the Christians debate

strategy. The people of Damietta suffer as fighting goes on. The bishop-elect of Beauvais is captured. Serious reversals lead to the unmasking and death of a spy. (§§ 153–64) 71 XIX. Saphadin, to save Damietta, sends a peace

proposal to the crusaders. Dispute between King John and the papal legate; the legate prevails. The crusaders are ultimately defeated. (§§ 165–78) 76 XX. Milo, bishop-elect of Beauvais, goes to

Rome for his consecration. His vestments are described, then his villainous character. Queen Blanche and the bishop are in serious conflict. The bishop encounters his counterpart of Turin. Milo falls ill, suffers, and dies. (§§ 179–95) 81 XXI. King John meets the noble uncle of Saladin,

who recounts the life and fabulous exploits of his nephew. (§§ 196–213) 88 XXII. The Minstrel turns to the life of Frederick II,

emperor of Germany. Conflict involving the pope, the emperor, and the people of Milan. (§§ 214–31) 94 XXIII. The story of Emperor Frederick continues.

There is a growing breach between emperor and pope. The old pope dies; he is succeeded by Innocent IV. Pierre de la Vigne intervenes— to his detriment. Frederick is excommunicated. He becomes king of Jerusalem and dies, still excommunicated. (§§ 232–43) 101



Contents and Synopsis

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XXIV. King John of England shows early wickedness

by murdering young Arthur. Exchange of summonses with King Philip Augustus leads to armed conflict. Town by town, Philip conquers all of Normandy. (§§ 244–59) 106 XXV. Philip’s forces find a way to seize

Château-Gaillard, the last holdout in Normandy. (§§ 260–67) 112 XXVI. A quarrel between two of King Philip’s

barons leads to treachery and a new alignment of political forces. (§§ 268–77) 115 XXVII. Decisive battle is fought at Bouvines.

Philip Augustus faces alliance led by Otto IV, including John of England. Holy Roman Emperor Otto, King John, and others, conclusively defeated. French victory will lead to major changes in Germany, England, and elsewhere. (§§ 278–91) 119 XXVIII. English barons seek King Philip’s help

against King John. Philip’s son Louis takes charge of the French response. John bribes the pope to put an end to Louis’s advance through England. Louis rejects excommunication. (§§ 292–300) 124 XXIX. The English barons rescind their allegiance

to Louis. He returns to France and turns, unsuccessfully, to Toulouse. (§§ 301–5)

128

XXX. Philip Augustus dies. Louis VIII and

Blanche of Castile are crowned in Reims. The archbishop is forced to honor his word and pay for the event. (§§ 306–13) 131

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XXXI. Some Flemish barons conspire against the

countess of Flanders. She unmasks their plot and has an impostor pilloried. (§§ 314–29) 135 XXXII. King Louis takes action against the rebellious

town of Avignon. His dear friend Guy of Saint-Pol is killed at the siege. Avignon decides to submit to Louis. Louis falls ill on the way home and dies. His pubescent son is crowned Louis IX at Reims. (§§ 330–38) 140 XXXIII. Barons hostile to Queen Blanche conspire

to seize the throne. They begin by challenging Theobald IV of Champagne. Allied with the queen, Theobald triumphs. Thanks to the death of his mother, he becomes king of Navarre. (§§ 339–53) 144 XXXIV. Louis IX weds Margaret of Provence. Theobald

is persuaded to go to war against Louis. With great effort, they are eventually reconciled. After multiple complications, Louis IX is uncontested as king of France. (§§ 354–66) 149 XXXV. Louis IX initiates a new crusade. He has a

touching final exchange with his mother, Queen Blanche. Fighting at Damietta results in French capture of the city. (§§ 367–78) 155 XXXVI. The count of Artois initiates an attempt at

conquest beyond Damietta. What ensues is a disaster at Mansourah. King Louis is taken prisoner by the Saracens, then ransomed. Damietta returns to Saracen control and is destroyed. The king’s mother calls him back to France; he sends his brothers instead. (§§ 379–97) 160



Contents and Synopsis

XXXVII. There is a struggle for mastery in Flanders.

With intervention by the count of Anjou, it ends satisfactorily. (§§ 398–403) 166 XXXVIII. The Minstrel illustrates the story of

the countess of Flanders with an exemplum drawn from the Roman de Renart (Tale of Renard the Fox). (§§ 404–19) 169 XXXIX. Further developments in Flanders are

recounted. The count of Anjou takes possession of Hainault. Blanche of Castile dies. John of Avesnes seeks the aid of the king of Germany. The king of Germany is killed by Danish peasants. (§§ 420–29) 175 XL. Louis IX returns to France from overseas.

The count of Anjou is called to task by the king. John of Avesnes dies miserably. Baldwin of Avesnes is reconciled with his mother, Margaret of Flanders. The problem of Flanders is settled. (§§ 430–35) 179 XLI. Young Emperor Baldwin of Constantinople

seeks aid in France. Queen Blanche bequeaths Namur to the empress in her own right. The empress confronts crime and disobedience. (§§ 436–45) 182 XLII. Further developments in Namur are

recounted. Townsmen unsuccessfully seek the intervention of the king of France. They turn to Henry of Luxemburg. Henry takes possession of Namur. (§§ 446–55) 186

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XLIII. King Louis makes a peace agreement with

King Henry III of England. Louis and the queen lament the early death of their eldest son. The archbishop of Rouen consoles them with the Lay of the Titmouse. (§§ 456–65) 190 XLIV. The archbishop of Reims covets the treasure

of the abbey of Saint Remi. Jurisdictional dispute is brought before the king. The archbishop’s attempted swindle fails. (§§ 466–79) 194 References

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Index

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Acknowledgments

We wish to thank the director of the Catholic University of America Press, Trevor Lipscombe, the members of his staff, and particularly Aldene Fredenburg, Tanjam Jacobson, Brian Roach, and Theresa Walker, for their contributions to this project.

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Introduction

Introduction William Chester Jordan

Scholars have long used the word ménestrel (minstrel) to refer to the author of the Old French work translated in this volume. By doing so, they perpetuate, even if they do not expressly endorse, the preference of its learned nineteenth-century editor, Natalis de Wailly.1 The title he chose for the work, Récits, meaning stories or, perhaps better, tales, itself suggests the nature of one of the fundamental problems historians and literary specialists have faced in explicating and exploiting the text. Is it a chronicle (history in the medieval sense of the term), a designation favored by an earlier editor,2 or is it more akin to an epic chanson or romans historique and solely intended for a singer’s or storyteller’s performance before an aristocratic, clerical, or bourgeois audience? Possibly the author or authors discussed his, her, or their purpose in a prologue that would clear up the mystery, but although the text survives in a dozen manuscripts of various lengths,3 even the longer of these, including the base 1. Récits d’un ménestrel de Reims au treizième siècle, ed. Natalis de Wailly (Paris: Librairie Renouard, 1876). 2. La chronique de Rains, ed. Louis Paris (Paris: Techener, 1837). 3. Donald W. Tappan, “An Eleventh MS of the ‘Récits d’un ménestrel de Reims,’” Romance Notes 24 (1983): 71–75; Marie-Geneviève Grossel, in her introduction to her Modern French translation, Les récits d’un ménestrel de Reims: traduction et commentaires (Valenciennes: Presses Universitaires de Valenciennes, 2002), 7. For a full list of manuscripts, editions, and translations, see “La chronique d’un Ménestrel de Reims,” ARLIMA: archives de littérature du moyen âge, online at https://www.arlima .net/mp/menestrel_de_reims_chronique_dun.html.

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text Natalis de Wailly chose for his edition, may be defective. In the words of one commentator, it has “neither a proper beginning nor ending.”4 This deficiency makes it difficult to determine whether a different “original” composition preceded the version of the text that we have. If one did precede it, scholars may be engaging a set of récits worked and reworked, in the process now known as remaniement, by one or more hands. Author and Minstrel might therefore be plural figures.5 So, although I shall follow convention and use masculine pronouns when referring to the supposed author(s), I remain sensitive to the problem of unreflectively regarding anonymous texts, especially those classified as songs but others as well, as maleauthored.6 I drew on the Minstrel’s récits for my first book when discussing the relationship between Queen Dowager Blanche of Castile and her son, Louis IX (Saint Louis).7 For readers who would not have been able to comprehend the Old French, however, I turned to the only English translation readily available— at least, available in major university libraries—that published by Edward Noble Stone in 1939.8 When not archaic, its prose was stolid at best. Recognizing its weaknesses, Robert Levine prepared a new translation of what his publisher advertised as 4. Lindy Grant, “Récit d’un ménestrel de Reims,” in Encyclopedia of the Medieval Chronicle (Brill), online at http://referenceworks.brillonline.com/entries/encyclo pedia-of-the-medieval-chronicle/recit-dun-menestrel-de-reims-SIM_02160. 5. I capitalize “Minstrel” when I refer to the author and employ lowercase for the general category. 6. Anne Klinck, “Poetic Markers of Gender in Medieval ‘Woman’s Song’: Was Anonymous a Woman?,” Neophilologus 87 (2003): 339–57. See Francesca Gambino, “L’anonymat dans la tradition de la lyrique troubadouresque,” Cahiers de civilisation médiévale 43 (2000): 33–90. 7. William Chester Jordan, Louis IX and the Challenge of the Crusade: A Study in Rulership (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1979), 3 and 8. 8. “The Chronicle of Reims,” in his Three Old French Chronicles of the Crusades: The History of the Holy War, The History of Them That Took Constantinople, The Chronicle of Reims, Washington University Publications in Social Sciences 10 (Seattle: University of Washington, 1939).



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the Minstrel’s “pseudo-history” in 1990.9 It is my view that this version captures neither the lucidity nor sparkle of the Minstrel’s prose. The inadequacies of the Levine translation also help explain its failure to supplant Edward Noble Stone’s outdated version, reprinted as late as 2011.10 Overall, a new translation that preserves more of the verve and lilt of the Minstrel’s prose is a desideratum that the version published here seeks to fulfill. The present translation follows traditional practices. Of course, those practices allow for some flexibility. One option that certain translators of medieval narrative texts have chosen is to employ toponyms and personal names in the forms they have assumed in the modern standard version of the language of the text or of the region in which the narration is set. Such a practice with regard to the Minstrel’s book would mean using place names like Bourgogne and Normandie and personal names like Philippe and Jean. When a modern equivalent is unavailable, translators operating in this mode defer to the name as it appears in the original. Taburel and Ronel, the names of the two dogs in the fable of Renard the Fox that the Minstrel retells, are two examples of this sort. A second option is to craft one’s translation with the ease of accessibility for the intended readership in mind. In this case, which is the case adopted in the present translation, the reader will encounter Burgundy and Normandy as well as Philip and John rather than their modern French equivalents. However, names like Taburel and Ronel, 9. A Thirteenth-Century Minstrel’s Chronicle: Récits d’un ménstrel de Reims; A Translation and Introduction, trans. Robert Levine (Lewiston, N.Y.: Edwin Mellen, 1990). For the advertisement “Vernacular Prose, ‘Literature’ or ‘Pseudo-History’ Composed in the Early 1260s by a Man Known only as the Minstrel of Rheims, Which Is Devoted to Various Historical and Fictional Events and Characters,” see https:// mellenpress.com/book/Thirteenth-Century-Minstrels-Chronicle-rEcits-Dun -MEnestrel-De-Reims-a-Translation-and-Introduction/1545/. 10. Three Old French Chronicles of the Crusades: The History of the Holy War; The History of Them That Took Constantinople; The Chronicle of Reims, trans. Edward Noble Stone (Whitefish, Mont.: Literary Licensing, 2011).

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which have no modern English equivalent, remain as they are in the Minstrel’s original. As will become clear, the intention of this introduction is not to assess the accuracy of the Minstrel’s historical observations or to explain how deviations or distortions arose, although the very words ménestrel for the author and récits for his stories implicitly invite these questions. Rather, its aims are, first, to describe the period in which the author wrote and that, therefore, informs the récits he chose to narrate and, second, to provide a historical framework for the events—whether real, poorly reconstructed, or invented—that he claimed to be recounting. The text, in the form we have it, was composed around 1260 or 1261, but the events it narrates date back as far as the eleventh century and the early crusade expeditions. My focus on contextualizing the Minstrel’s work is not, it must be said, how his book has usually been introduced or discussed.11 Rather, scholars have typically opted to criticize it for its mixture of fables or even lies and its genuine historical facts. Disclaimers, like “the truth of the story [the Minstrel tells] is uncertain” or such-and-such remarks are “gossip . . . purveyed by the Ménestrel of Reims,” appear commonly in the work of scholars who have drawn on the book.12 Moreover, in attempting to separate the “usable” historical data the text supplies from the alleged fables—a process, Jacques Le Goff notes, that began with its best scholarly editor, Natalis de Wailly—historians and even literary specialists have been relentless in identifying the Minstrel’s chronological, topographical, and bio­ graphical lapses.13 Doing so was part of their effort to preempt 11. Jacques Le Goff’s essay on the Minstrel’s book, part of his biography of Saint Louis, is an excellent introduction to the text; Saint Louis (Paris: Gallimard, 1996), 377–87. 12. Adam Davis, The Holy Bureaucrat: Eudes Rigaud and Religious Reform in Thirteenth-Century Normandy (Ithaca, N.Y., and London: Cornell University Press, 2006), 161 and 103. 13. Le Goff, Saint Louis, 377.



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criticism that they might be deviating from modern scholarship’s critical spirit and naively appropriating the information the text provided. Scholars differed widely on the utility of the Minstrel’s work.14 Yet, if they felt compelled to draw on it, they did not wish to be accused of being taken in by the author’s exaggerations, to use a nicer word than lies, that he deployed in order to pander to the taste of his readers or hearers (“sans doute destinés à flatter les goûts du public”).15 Consequently, too, there has been a tendency to cite the Minstrel only when another and less superficially fabulous text (fabulous in the old belletristic sense) confirms what the author has written. While this methodological approach is understandable, it may also, as I argue later in this introduction, blind scholars to a fundamental intention underlying the Minstrel’s project. Jacques Le Goff has come closest to understanding this intention by treating the Minstrel’s representations (or distortions) of events as a process of creating and in turn “communicating” exempla.16 That is to say, the author guided his readers by means of morality stories cast either as models or as cautions, a standard device in, but not limited to, sermons in the Middle Ages.17 What do we know about the author? The Minstrel was apparently a professional teller of tales. One did not prepare such an elaborate collection of récits as a mere avocation and organize it so carefully, according to the chronology of events. That he did so explains why it has been fairly straightforward to divide the text in the present translation into a series of chapters, whose headings, not in the original, should help the reader navigate 14. Albert Lecoy de la Marche, La société au XIIIe siècle (Paris: Société Générale de Librairie Catholique, 1880), 126–27; Charles Bémont, “La campagne de Poitou, 1242–1243,” Annales du Midi 5 (1893): 290–91; Claude Franchet, Saint Louis des lys de France (Lyon: Pierre Téqui, 1962), 40. 15. Le Goff, Saint Louis, 378. 16. Le Goff, Saint Louis, 377–78. 17. Claude Bremond, Jacques Le Goff, and Jean-Claude Schmitt, L’exemplum (Turnhout: Brepols, 1982).

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the book. Presumably, the Minstrel went from castle to castle, to the mansions (hôtels) of rich burghers, and/or to the palaces of rumor-craving bishops in order to share, depending on how long he stayed, a few or many vignettes with his hosts.18 The latter might compensate him in kind with food, drink, temporary lodging, and singular tokens of their appreciation. Remuneration in money would supplement these gifts and provide him with the wherewithal to live well or at least survive in the intervals between his engagements. His observations—including the rumors he retold—are likely in many instances to have been those of an eyewitness. At least, the Minstrel speaks as though he were intimately familiar with the deeds of a number of people still alive at the time of his writing. For information on the period before he became an eyewitness to events, however, he must have depended on oral traditions or written texts that were available to him. What is clear is that the written texts consisted both of chronicles of the crusades and crusade romances. The Minstrel was not faithful to these sources. He freely adapted them. It is possible that he worked from notes and from memory rather than directly from complete manuscripts when he organized his récits. This would provide an explanation for why there are so many differences from the stories as narrated by him and as reconstructed by modern historians of the crusades. Although not dealing with the Minstrel’s crusade sources per se, Olin Moore long ago wrestled with the difficulty of pinpointing the precise texts to which the author was referring when he constructed a récit or, in his word, a “fiction.”19 All the editors and translators with whose work I am familiar 18. Le Goff, Saint Louis, 377, evokes the Minstrel’s role in the culture of entertainment in the thirteenth century. More generally on that culture, see Lire, danser et chanter au château: la culture châtelaine, XIIIe–XVIIe siècles, ed. Jean-Marie Cauchies, Marie Henrion, and Philippe Bragard (Turnhout: Brepols, 2016). 19. Olin Moore, “The Young King in the Récits d’un Ménestrel de Reims and Related Chronicles,” Romanic Review 6 (1915): 103–4.



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agree that the author (or one of the authors) was a native of the French coronation city of Reims. Natalis de Wailly made a meticulous study of the language of the text to establish its rémois provenance.20 That the Minstrel also had a career in the city seems reasonable to infer from a number of often quite vivid récits, whether substantively true or false, involving burghers and clergy of the city (I, 5; III, 13 and 15; XXX, 311–13; XXXII, 338; and XLIV, 466–79).21 Besides being an episcopal city of great prominence, Reims became in the High Middle Ages a major producer of woolen cloth and a bustling entrepôt in the cloth trade.22 As burghers gained economic clout, they sought to increase their political influence in the city. The late eleventh and early twelfth centuries constituted a period of fierce confrontations, including violence, between clergy and those loyal to clerical interests in the city and the burghers, with the latter gaining, if not absolute superiority, certainly a larger voice in governance and an expansion of merchants’ claims to selfgovernment, free of ecclesiastical interference. King Louis VII recognized this shift, but he would not tolerate the Rémois seizing power and establishing a commune in 1139.23 True, charters recognizing communes in northern France bestowed only limited self-government. They apportioned or confirmed the apportionment of jurisdictional authority among various “corporations,” like episcopal and collegiate churches, monasteries, and trade and craft guilds, without creating a monopoly for any single institution or group. And 20. Récits d’un ménestrel de Reims au treizième siècle, xxxiv–xxxix. 21. References to the Minstrel’s text are by section number (roman) and paragraph (arabic) in the translation here. 22. The best comprehensive history of the Rémois region and its people in the High Middle Ages is Pierre Desportes, Reims and le Rémois aux XIIIe et XIV e siècles (Paris: Picard, 1979). On the town of Reims per se, see the compilation, also by Desportes, Histoire de Reims (Toulouse: Privat, 1983). 23. Emmanuel Melin, “Reims, une ville peu commune: l’imaginaire communal des échevins au moyen âge,” Archirém: Archives, gouvernement et mémoire à Reims entre le Moyen Âge et l’époque moderne, online at https://archirem.hypotheses.org/70.

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even though these charters conceded the right to levy taxes of various sorts to the (secular) municipal government, they always did so under a caveat—if not explicit, at least proved by events—that royal intervention was legitimate in case of abuse of the powers conceded.24 In other words, in northern France the concession to a town of the communal form of government bestowed a set of privileges or franchises that empowered the bourgeoisie, but without allowing this class to create a citystate, as happened so often in the paradigmatic land of communes, northern Italy. Louis VII would not countenance the violent erection of even the northern sort of commune in a city so dear to the crown. Thus, the tension in Rémois politics persisted and became the stuff of many of the Minstrel’s récits.

The Minstrel’s France, circa 1260 Despite an impending abatement in economic growth, France in 1260 (that is, at the time the Minstrel was composing his text in its current form) was experiencing the most prosperous phase of its economy in the Middle Ages.25 Moreover, it was enjoying political stability. In the early 1240s, King Louis IX (1226–70) put down the last uprising—and a very weak one it turned out to be. The English inspired it in a final desperate attempt on their part to recover the lands lost to the French by King John (1199–1216) and additional lands lost during the early years of the reign of Henry III (1216–72).26 Louis IX cemented 24. J. Schneider, “Les villes du royaume de France au temps de saint Louis,” Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres: comptes rendus 115 (1971): 45–49; Albert Vermeesch, Essai sur les origines et la signification de la commune dans le nord de la France (Heule: UGA, 1966); Achille Luchaire, Les communes françaises à l’époque des capétiens directs (Paris: Hachette, 1911). 25. On the peak in the French economy, see Gérard Sivéry, L’économie du royaume de France au siècle de saint Louis (Lille: Presses Universitaires de Lille, 1984), 307–8. 26. Jean Richard, Saint Louis: roi d’une France féodale; soutien de la Terre sainte (Paris: Fayard, 1983), 108–20.



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the acquisition of these territories—which included Normandy, of course, and Anjou, Maine, Poitou, and many lesser lordships in west central France once held by Eleanor of Aquitaine, the Minstrel recalled (II, 6)—by negotiating a treaty with Henry III in which the latter conceded the English losses. The English king also had to acknowledge that he held Aqui­taine, though the French had never conquered it, as a fief from Louis IX. Moreover, Henry had to do homage as duke to retain it. The instrument, the Peace of Paris of December 4, 1259, had face-saving clauses by which Louis IX yielded some contested regions in the borderlands of Poitou and Aquitaine to Henry III and contributed more than a hundred thousand French pounds to the English king’s strapped treasury.27 The Minstrel celebrated “the conscience of the king” (XLIII, 459), even though (or because) the sum was large, approximately 35 percent of average annual crown revenue in France at the time.28 Yet, to secure title to all the lands—territories of immense wealth—that Louis IX and his predecessors had acquired, the amount was very small in comparison. Moreover, the French king was fabulously wealthy and had access to resources far beyond regular crown income. In this instance, although the method raised the hackles of a number of municipal governments, he chose to levy a fiscal aid on the towns of northern France to raise the money for the payment.29 Street performers in northern France celebrated their king as the rich man of Paris, and they punned on the word peace, paix, in doing so. Louis IX offered paix to Henry III; Henry III received a remittance that was, considering his loss, not worth a pes or fart.30 The two words were homonyms. 27. William Chester Jordan, A Tale of Two Monasteries: Westminster and Saint-Denis in the Thirteenth Century (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2009), 59–62. 28. Jordan, Louis IX and the Challenge of the Crusade, 78–79. 29. Jordan, Louis IX and the Challenge of the Crusade, 151. 30. Carol Symes, A Common Stage: Theater and Public Life in Medieval Arras (Ithaca, N.Y., and London: Cornell University Press, 2007), 255.

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The successful peacemaking, which was part of a general effort that included the Treaty of Corbeil with Aragon in 1258, helped to stabilize relations with France’s neighbors, and it brought Louis IX prestige.31 The peace also offered Louis IX the opportunity, in an atmosphere without fear of foreign threats, to execute a series of somewhat disruptive internal reforms in the kingdom, reforms that he had commenced in earnest in the late 1240s. He commissioned a body of investigators known as enquêteurs to receive and adjudicate complaints of administrative corruption. Partly intended to prevent the illegal siphoning off of crown revenues, the deeper intention of the policy lay in the king’s personal piety. He meant his reforms to serve as acts of atonement for failures on his part to restrain abusive administrators.32 The reforms went far beyond the repression of administrative corruption. The period around 1260 saw new initiatives in the regulation of royal and baronial coinages and their precious metal content.33 The king also addressed governance in the towns, a political turn generated in part by the burghers’ reluctance to contribute in a timely fashion to the subsidy required by the Treaty of Paris.34 From this period onward, municipal officials came under much more intense and regular scrutiny by the crown. At the same time, the king poured considerable 31. William Chester Jordan, “A Border Policy? Louis IX and the Spanish Connection,” in Authority and Spectacle in Medieval and Early Modern Europe: Essays in Honor of Teofilo F. Ruiz, ed. Yuen Gen Liang and Jarbel Rodriguez (New York and London: Routledge, 2017), 21–32. 32. Andrew Collings, “The King Cannot Be Everywhere: Royal Governance and Local Society in the Reign of Louis IX” (unpublished Ph.D. diss., Department of History, Princeton University, 2018); Marie Dejoux, Les enquêtes de saint Louis: gouverner et sauver son âme (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 2014); Jordan, Louis IX and the Challenge of the Crusade, 51–56. 33. Jordan, Louis IX and the Challenge of the Crusade, 207–13. 34. William Chester Jordan, “Communal Administration in France, 1257–1270: Problems Discovered and Solutions Imposed,” Revue belge de philologie et d’histoire 59 (1981): 292–313.



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resources into a variety of programs intended to support unmarried laywomen of zealous faith (béguines), suppress prostitution, curb blasphemy, and encourage the conversion of Jews to Christianity.35 Providing converts with lifetime annuities was only one aspect of this last effort. Certainly, another of the most important of the crown’s achievements was the increasing sophistication of the judicial system, especially at the very top, where the Parlement of Paris, the king’s high court, saw the professionalization of the chief clerks and judges and the improvement of legal procedures and record keeping.36 Throughout the Minstrel’s book, he narrated episodes that allowed him especially to celebrate the procedures, personnel, and judgments of the king’s court (XXXVII, 398; XLII, 446–48; XLIV, 469–79). Less than forty years after the Minstrel wrote, royal and ecclesiastical panegyrists looked back in awe at the abundance of reforms undertaken at Louis IX’s behest in the 1250s and 1260s 35. Juliette Sibon, Les juifs au temps de saint Louis (Paris: Albin Michel, 2017); William Chester Jordan, The French Monarchy and the Jews from Philip Augustus to the Last Capetians (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1989), 128–51; Jordan, Men at the Center: Redemptive Governance under Louis IX (Budapest: Central European University Press, 2012), 29–33 and 90–93; Keiko Nowacka, “Persecution, Marginalization, or Tolerance: Prostitutes in Thirteenth-Century Parisian Society,” in Difference and Identity in Francia and Medieval France, ed. Meredith Cohen and Justine Firnhaber-Baker (Farnham and Burlington, Vt.: Ashgate, 2010), 181–91; and Tanya Stabler Miller, The Beguines of Medieval Paris: Gender, Patronage, and Spiritual Authority (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2014). 36. Valérie Menes, “Les premiers acteurs de la vie parlementaire en France: les légistes du Parlement de Paris (1254–1278),” in Actes du 57e congrès de la CIHAE: assemblées et parlements dans le monde, du moyen-âge à nos jours / Proceedings of the 57th ICHRPI Conference: Representative and Parliamentary Institutions in the World, from the Middle Ages to Present Times, ed. Jean Garrigues and others (Paris: Assemblée nationale, 2010), 155–67; Quentin Griffiths, “The Capetian Kings and St. Martin of Tours,” Studies in Medieval and Renaissance History, New Series 9 (1987): 83–133; Griffiths, “New Men among the Lay Counselors of Saint Louis’ Parlement,” Mediaeval Studies 32 (1970), 234–72; Griffiths, “Les origines et la carrière de Pierre de Fontaines, jurisconsulte de saint Louis: une reconsidération avec documents inédits,” Revue historique de droit français et étranger, 4th series, no. 48 (1970): 544–67; and Griffiths, “St. Louis and the New Clerks of Parlement,” Studies in Medieval Culture 4 (1974): 269–89.

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and the moral commitment to righteous governance that they implied. For them these were the principal justifications, even more than the king’s devotion to crusading, for his canonization in 1297.37 Nearly everything the Minstrel wrote takes on greater significance in the context of a reformist and revivalist, indeed, a missionary realm, one seeking to reaffirm old values, expressed in the author’s case through the mobilization of the moral aphorisms of his predecessors. To put it another way, the praiseworthy achievements the Minstrel related allowed him to target, ridicule, and censure behaviors both historical and contemporary that lay bare disloyalty, pomposity, incompetence, and pettiness.

The Minstrel’s History, I: From the Early Crusades to the Reign of Louis VIII (1223–26) The Minstrel was interested in other realms, but it was the story of France with which he knitted together his wider narrative. The establishment of the Capetian dynasty preceded the crusades by more than a century, and he paid some attention to its origin and early development. He noted, for example, the specialness of its coronation rites and alluded here and there to the associative or co-kingship practiced by the rulers and their eldest sons (for example, III, 15). He does not appear to have been especially interested in older rites, like the acclamations that embodied the ancient principle of elective monarchy in Frankish kingship. However, the Minstrel was clearly fascinated with the sacral trappings of the coronation at Reims, including the Capetian king’s anointment with the oil that allegedly came down from heaven in a vial (the holy ampoule) in the mouth of 37. M. Cecilia Gaposchkin, The Making of Saint Louis: Kingship, Sanctity, and Crusade in the Later Middle Ages (Ithaca, N.Y., and London: Cornell University Press, 2008), 51–57.



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a dove for the baptism/coronation of Clovis (XXX, 309). The anointment of new kings with this oil, a practice attested since 1131, marked the king’s assumption of a sacred or semi-sacred character.38 Over time, other coronation rites, which probably helped inspire the Minstrel to stress the installations of new kings, marked the specialness of the French monarch, the most important of which was the royal touch.39 Immediately after the coronation, the newly anointed king went to Corbény, a suburb of Reims, where he touched victims of scrofula, people with facial and neck disfiguration caused by tuberculosis of the lymph nodes. Ecclesiastical writers claimed that the king’s touch miraculously healed the disease—hence another name for the condition, the King’s Evil. Modern pathologists discount the miracle, but they have documented that the disease passes through stages that “mimic healing.” If the mimicry occurred in the wake of the king’s touch, the sufferer might very well regard the healing as miraculous. It is also possible that other diseases, whose symptoms were akin to those of scrofula but were capable of (temporary) spontaneous remission, were misdiagnosed by medieval physicians, who regarded a victim’s apparent improvement as a genuine—and miraculous— cure.40 Not even a relapse could undermine this theory. Surely at some point after the apparent cure, the happy recipient of the royal touch sinned in thought, word, or deed. The relapse was God’s punishment. Documents attest the claim of thaumaturgic healing and 38. Yves Sassier, Louis VII (Paris: Fayard, 1991), 20–21. 39. Marc Bloch, The Royal Touch: Sacred Monarchy and Scrofula in England and France, trans. J. E. Anderson (London and Montreal: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1973); Frank Barlow, “Morbus Regius: The Royal Disease,” in Medieval Studies in Honour of Avrom Saltman, ed. Bat-Sheva Albert et al. (Ramat-Gan: Bar-Ilan University Press, 1995), 53–65. 40. Ignacio Duarte, “La pretendida curación de la escrófula por el toque del rey,” Revista chilena de infectología 31 (2014), online at https://scielo.conicyt.cl/scielo .php?script=sci_arttext&pid=S0716-10182014000400013&lng=en&nrm=iso& tlng=en.

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the practice of the royal touch in the reign of Robert the Pious (987/996–1031)—that is, before the rite became the indispensable coda to the coronation ceremony.41 The double dates in Robert’s regnal years reflect the co-kingship, mentioned earlier, which the Capetians, a usurping dynasty, employed in order to ensure a smooth succession.42 Co-kingship, in this sense, lasted almost two and a half centuries, until the reign of Louis VIII (1223–26). If the royal touch was a ritual signaling that the Capetians deserved to rule, co-kingship was a back-up strategy. In the Minstrel’s time Louis IX reportedly enhanced the rite of the royal touch by making the sign of the cross on the sufferer’s forehead and invoking Christ’s power with the words of the Laudes regiae chant, “Christus vincit, Christus regnat, Christus imperat” (Christ conquers! Christ rules! Christ commands!).43 Yet, even he seems to have considered reinstituting co-kingship as a kind of insurance.44 The divine mission of the thirteenth-century French king differed little from that traditionally understood for all premodern Christian kings—to rule well and justly, to protect the holy church and enforce its attempts to maintain purity of belief, and to succor widows and orphans as well as the poor and the sick, as contemporary biblical exegesis on power stressed.45 Another royal obligation laid on the king was to protect his subjects from the ravages of foreign enemies and from the curse of 41. Susan Wheeler, “Medicine in Art: Henry IV of France Touching for Scrofula, by Pierre Firens,” Journal of the History of Medicine and Allied Sciences 58 (2003): 79. 42. Andrew W. Lewis, Royal Succession in Capetian France: Studies on Familial Order and the State (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1981). 43. Bloch, Royal Touch, 282; Ernst Kantorowicz, Laudes regiae: A Study in Liturgical Acclamations and Medieval Ruler Worship (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1958). 44. William Chester Jordan, “Etiam reges: Even Kings,” Speculum 90 (2015): 628– 30; Jordan, Servant of the Crown and Steward of the Church: The Career of Philippe of Cahors (d. 1281) (Toronto: University of Toronto Press and Medieval Academy, 2020), 79. 45. Philippe Buc, L’ambiguïté du Livre: prince, pouvoir, et peuple dans les commentaires de la Bible au moyen âge (Paris: Beauchesne, 1994).



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domestic insurrection. The importance of this duty is captured in the enormous amount of time and energy councilors devoted to strengthening relations between the king and the nobility. These efforts enabled him—or were designed to enable him—to amass the necessary resources to wage war.46 Publicists’ appropriation of the phrase rex pacificus for the king was the other side of the coin, for the goal of these efforts was victory in war.47 That is to say, peacemaking, the consequence of success in war, contributed significantly, as Xavier Hélary has shown, to “the construction of the Capetian state.”48 These were the duties the Minstrel also emphasized: Philip II Augustus leaving a vast amount of treasure to the poor; Louis VIII as the “sweet lion,” protector of his people (XXX, 306; XXXII, 335). A lion, powerful in war, but a sweet lion, a restorer of peace. The Minstrel highlights this function of kingship by his dedication of so much space to organized and, putatively, restorative violence, although I think the author also simply enjoyed describing the martial prowess—and incompetence, too—of commanders, knights, and common soldiers. In the twelfth century, the military passion expanded to include, most especially for the French, leadership in the crusades.49 This was curious in that no king, French or otherwise, had gone on the First Crusade (1095–99), which culminated in the reconquest of Jerusalem. The successful victories during the expedition and the final capture of the Holy City were God’s own deeds, thus a miracle, carried out by the Franks (gesta dei per francos, as one of the earliest histories described it)50—but not by the Frankish 46. Xavier Hélary, L’armée du roi de France (Paris: Perrin, 2012). 47. Kantorowicz, Laudes regiae, 236; Jordan, Louis IX and the Challenge of the Crusade, 203. 48. Hélary, L’armée du roi, 231–55. 49. Christopher Tyerman, God’s War: A New History of the Crusades (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2006), 909. 50. Guibert of Nogent, The Deeds of God through the Franks, trans. Robert Levine (Woodbridge and Rochester, N.Y.: Boydell, 1997).

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king. How then could the kings of the Franks, to invoke their formal and slightly archaic title, come to claim leadership of the crusading movement and thus inspire the Minstrel to spend so much time on the topic?51 One theory holds that royal rulers, because their own predecessors had failed to play any role in the war, felt profound dismay and not a little embarrassment, even inferiority, before the aristocratic descendants of the First Crusade heroes.52 In 1147–49, when it became necessary to raise forces to better defend the Crusader States against Muslim counterattacks, kings, including Louis VII of France (1131/37–80) and Conrad III of Germany (1138–52), decided to lead the way. The failure of this expedition, the Second Crusade, had serious repercussions.53 There was little continuity of German leadership in crusades thereafter. Frederick I Barbarossa (1152–90) died in the early stages of the Third Crusade (1189–92), before reaching the Holy Land, and Frederick II—his various kingly titles stretching from 1212 to 1250—preferred to negotiate for Muslim concessions rather than fight a hot war in 1229. Many English kings talked about going on crusade, but only one did: Richard I the Lionhearted (1189–99). Edward of England (Edward I, 1272–1307) 51. Danielle Quéruel, “Croisades et royaumes d’outre-mer dans les Récits d’un ménestrel de Reims: entre histoire et fiction,” in Mémoire de Champagne, ed. François Gilet (Langres: Guéniot, 2000–2001), 1:173–93. 52. James Naus, Constructing Kingship: The Capetian Monarchs of France and the Early Crusades (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2016). 53. The literature on the Second Crusade is now extensive, and the interconnected histories of other exactly contemporary campaigns apart from the expedition to the Holy Land have enriched the scholarship. See David Nicolle, The Second Crusade 1148: Disaster outside Damascus (London: Osprey, 2009); Jonathan Phillips, The Second Crusade: Extending the Frontiers of Christendom (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2007); Jonathan Phillips and Martin Hoch, eds., The Second Crusade: Scope and Consequences (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2001); Lucas Villegas-Aristizabal, “Revisiting the Anglo-Norman Crusaders’ Failed Attempt to Conquer Lisbon c. 1142,” Portuguese Studies 29 (2013): 7–20; Villegas-Aristizabal, “Anglo-Norman Involvement in the Conquest and Settlement of Tortosa, 1148–1180,” Crusades 8 (2009): 63–129; Jason Roche, “The Second Crusade: Lisbon, Damascus and the Wendish Campaigns,” History Compass 13 (2015): 599–609.



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went as a prince and wanted to go again as a king, but was never able to do so. King Andrew II (1205–35) was the only Hungarian king who went on crusade to the Holy Land. Sigurd I Magnusson of Norway participated in 1107–10.54 Yet, the French kings unwaveringly maintained the tradition.55 Louis VII’s son, Philip II Augustus (1179/80–1223), co-led the Third Crusade uneasily with Richard I of England, a major theme in the Minstrel’s tale; Frederick I of Germany is scarcely mentioned, and then only in a different context (XVI, 142). Philip II’s son, Louis VIII, died at age thirty-nine, still relatively young, but he twice went on crusade against the so-called Albigensian heretics of southern France, dying on his second other­ wise remarkably successful campaign. His son, Louis IX, went on crusade in the eastern Mediterranean in 1248 and remained until 1254. The Minstrel, if he lived another ten years beyond the completion of his manuscript, could have witnessed the king’s departure on crusade a second time, in 1270, accompanied by his son and heir apparent, who became Philip III (1270–85) when his father died of disease on campaign in North Africa. Philip III later supported the papacy in a war, the crusade against Aragon of 1285. Like his father, he died of disease while on campaign. His son and heir, in this case Philip IV the Fair (1285–1314), was with him. After this expedition no French king went on crusade, although several of them talked seriously about how to recover the Holy Land under their leadership, even after the Muslims 54. Tyerman, God’s War. 55. For what follows in this paragraph, the literature is enormous. Among many works, see Naus, Constructing Kingship; Mark Pegg, A Most Holy War: The Albigensian Crusade and the Battle for Christendom (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008); Jordan, Louis IX and the Challenge of the Crusade; Richard, Saint Louis; three chapters by Joseph R. Strayer—“The Crusade against Aragon,” 107–22; “The Political Crusades of the Thirteenth Century,” 143–55; and “The Crusades of Louis IX,” 159–92, all in Medieval Statecraft and the Perspectives of History, ed. John F. Benton and Thomas N. Bisson (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1971); Xavier Hélary, La dernière croisade: Saint Louis à Tunis (1270) (Paris: Perrin, 2016); and Michael Lower, The Tunis Crusade of 1270: A Mediterranean History (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2018).

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had reconquered the last of the mainland outposts of crusader power, the port of Acre, in 1291. When he wrote about the crusades, the Minstrel, like many popular historians today, concentrated on the larger-than-life personalities that became the stuff of legend. The French kings were all good, well-meaning men, but at least in the twelfth century they met their match in the Plantagenet kings of England, men like Henry II (1154–89) and Richard I. CapetianPlantagenet rivalry is indeed a major theme, and nowhere more so than in the Minstrel’s treatment of the Second and Third Crusades (for example, II, 12, and IX, 53–54, 56, 60). As far as the Minstrel was concerned, Louis VII made a terrible mistake in separating from his wife, Eleanor of Aquitaine, who married Henry II, “the man later responsible for the killing of Saint Thomas of Canterbury” (II, 12), in the wake of the Second Crusade. He imagined that the rift developed between Louis VII and his consort during the crusade, on which she accompanied him. The king’s men, according to the Minstrel, caught her trying to desert her husband for a Muslim potentate (on which more later). Present-day professional historians are still uncertain as to the cause of the rift, though they do not endorse many of the details of the Minstrel’s love story. In any case, what appalled the Minstrel most about the king and queen’s separation was Louis VII’s loss of influence in all the lands that Eleanor held in southwestern France and that, by her remarriage to Henry II, she brought into the English orbit. In this, the Minstrel shares the condemnatory judgment of older and more recent French scholarship.56 Family dynamics in general interested the Minstrel, and he several times mentioned disputes between Philip Augustus and his son Louis (XXVIII, 293, and XXIX, 301). More people in 56. Yves Sassier, “L’héritage paternel: bilan négatif, mitigé, positif?,” in Autour de Philippe Auguste, ed. Martin Aurell and Yves Sassier (Paris: Classiques Garnier, 2017), 13–15.



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France and Christendom broadly were interested in and dismayed by Philip II’s repudiation of Ingeborg, his Danish queen, immediately after their wedding on August 15, 1193. Denmark, as the Minstrel represented it, was a strange land of peasant warriors defending their rights—and serving as instruments of God’s justice (XXXIX, 429)—but whether this observation of Danish craftiness would have inflected his view of Ingeborg, if he had discussed her, is moot. Philip II’s bigamy, as the popes saw it, was equally reprehensible, for he prevailed on the French bishops to accept specious reasons, including consanguinity, to excuse his behavior.57 The popes were unwilling to consider the new wife he took in 1196 as anything other than a concubine. In the end, Philip II did yield to Pope Innocent III (1198–1216) and underwent a formal if unaffectionate reconciliation with Ingeborg. This became easier to tolerate after his so-called concubine, Lady Agnes of Meran, died in 1201 and the pope legitimized the children whom the king had fathered by her. Yet, nothing concerning Philip II was bruited about even remotely like the rumor repeated by the Minstrel (IV, 17–19) that Henry II took sexual advantage of the French king’s sister, who was the intended bride of the English ruler’s eldest living son, also named Henry. Given the views of moralists on betrothal and kinship, they necessarily categorized and reviled such an act as incest. The behavior of Philip II and Richard I on the Third Crusade offered a striking contrast that modern popular historians, like the Minstrel before them, have once again exploited for narrative liveliness. Philip returned quickly from the war, with the result that writers have underestimated his contribution to the military successes that helped stabilize the Crusader territories. 57. Olivier Hanne, “La papauté face à Philippe Auguste: à travers les registres des lettres pontificales,” in Aurell and Sassier, Autour de Philippe Auguste, 71–75; Constance Rousseau, “Neither Bewitched nor Beguiled: Philip Augustus’s Alleged Impotence and Innocent III’s Response,” Speculum 89 (2014): 410–36.

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Richard has received credit, deservedly, for the military tactics that halted (even though they did not overturn) the major achievements of Saladin, the Muslim military genius who had wrested Jerusalem from Christian control in 1187, the act that had stimulated calls in the West for a new crusade in the first place. There was some excuse for Philip’s mediocre showing. He was ill in Palestine, and the Minstrel was well aware and fascinated by the fact that the French king lost all his hair, possibly as a direct or indirect consequence of his illness, not only on his head but also on his entire body, along with, according to the Minstrel, his fingernails and toenails (XI, 71). One suggestion, but one on which recent authors are equivocal, is that the disease was a variety of alopecia, so-called from being compared to the hair loss that a mangy fox (alopex) suffers.58 If so, it was probably alopecia areata universalis, an oxymoron, since Latin areata signifies “in patches” and universalis, “all over.”59 Whether the diagnosis is correct, the symptoms must have been embarrassing. Yet, Richard’s persistence in crusading, despite having suffered from the same or a similar disease,60 and thereafter his physical abduction in December 1192 and long captivity in the German lands until his ransom and release in February 1194, only fed the legendary romance of his life. The Minstrel tells the story of another minstrel, Blondel, reared in Richard’s household. Grown up, Blondel searched far and wide for the missing king, whose familiar voice he heard at last singing a song in his prison cell, a song familiar from their boyhood 58. Thomas Wagner and Piers Mitchell, “The Illness of King Richard and King Philippe on the Third Crusade: An Understanding of Arnaldia and Leonardie,” Crusades 10 (2011): 29–30 and 32, seem hesitant. On page 38, they seem to be less so. 59. For a medical description of alopecia and its varieties, see L. C. Strazzulla et al., “Alopecia Areata: Disease Characteristics, Clinical Evaluation, and New Perspectives on Pathogenesis,” Journal of the American Academy of Dermatology 78 (2018): 1–12, online at https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/29241771. 60. Wagner and Mitchell, “Illness of King Richard and King Philippe,” 30–31 and 39.



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(XII, 77–85). The story, first narrated by the Minstrel, became a staple in the elaborate modern retellings of the Lionheart’s life, like André Grétry’s 1784 opera Richard Coeur-de-lion.61 The real luminary of the Minstrel’s narrative of the events culminating in the Third Crusade, however, was the Christian kings’ adversary Saladin, the sultan of Egypt and Syria from 1174 until his death in 1193.62 Saladin appears in the Minstrel’s work—that is, nearly seventy years after the sultan’s death— much as he appears conventionally in romances of the time (“one of the few widely admired Muslim knights”).63 He is a jihadi warrior imbued with all the finest characteristics of Christian chivalry (“the finest Saracen ever to put foot into stirrup”; VII, 46), except, that is, for his profession of Islam.64 Romances in the West sometimes finessed the religious issue by making a secret Christian of the sultan or attributing to him a desire to convert.65 The Minstrel himself told a story, parallel to the Romance tradition represented by Le roman de Saladin, that had the great sultan baptize himself on his deathbed, with the formulas spoken in French (XXI, 212)! Was this romance his immediate source? Unfortunately, the Roman de Saladin does not have a secure date. The manuscript tradition is late, but the original story, some scholars argue, may well predate our 61. An enthusiastic but problematic study of the Blondel episode is David Boyle’s Blondel’s Song: The Capture, Imprisonment and Ransom of Richard the Lionheart (New York: Viking, 2005). 62. The most recent biography is Jonathan Phillips, The Life and Legend of the Sultan Saladin (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2019). 63. Lynn Ramey, Black Legacies: Race and the European Middle Ages (Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 2014), 73. 64. Aman Nadhiri, Saracens and Franks in 12th–15th Century European and Near Eastern Literature: Perceptions of Self and the Other (London: Routledge, 2017), 84 and 180. See also Geraldine Heng, The Invention of Race in the European Middle Ages (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018), 170–71nn58–61. 65. Samuel England, Medieval Empires and the Culture of Competition: Literary Duels at Islamic and Christian Courts (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2017), 145 and 158.

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author’s version.66 If so, it would be one of the few sources one could securely argue the Minstrel had consulted or at least some of whose stories he had heard retold. The Minstrel, however, devoted a great deal more time to relating Eleanor of Aquitaine’s infatuation with the sultan. Though the dates of her sojourn in the Holy Land make it impossible, the author imagines the queen offering herself to the sultan (“she fell deeply in love with him in her heart” [II, 7]), because her well-meaning husband, Louis VII, was weak—“worthless . . . even worse than a rotten apple” (II, 10)—while “Saladin’s goodness and prowess, wisdom and generosity” were a byword (II, 7). Was the Minstrel writing a mini roman à clef, recalling the rumors of Eleanor’s sexual infidelity on crusade? Did he wish to draw attention away from her suspected incestuous relationship with her uncle Raymond of Antioch, by imagining a rather more exotic one with the sultan? Was committing adultery with an upright Muslim hero (who had more Christian virtue than many a believer and was perhaps a Christian himself in all but name) more or less sinful than incest? There was no doubt in the Minstrel’s mind that the sultan was virtuous. Our author related the legend of Saladin testing the famed charity of the Christian hospital of Saint-John-ofAcre, “where no one sick was said to be refused entry but was actually given whatever he requested, if at all possible” (XXI, 199). Disguised as a pilgrim in great need, the sultan entered the hospital. His repeated and strange requests troubled the staff. Yet, they never failed to live up to the charitable impuls66. For a synoptic view of the scholarship on the question, see Stefan Vander Elst, The Knight, the Cross, and the Song: Crusade Propaganda and Chivalric Literature, 1100–1400 (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2017), 156–59. For more on Saladin in the Romance tradition, see John Tolan, Sons of Ishmael: Muslims through European Eyes in the Middle Ages (Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 2008), 79–101; Geraldine Heng, Empire of Magic: Medieval Romance and the Politics of Cultural Fantasy (New York: Columbia University Press, 2003), 75 and 339–40n19; and Heng, The Invention of Race in the European Middle Ages, 56, 138–40, and 189.



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es for which they were famous. Profoundly impressed, Saladin became a great benefactor of the hospital (XXI, 199–208). In the Minstrel’s own words, the sultan was “the best prince who ever was in pagandom” (XXI, 213). When Richard the Lionhearted returned to his lands, the Plantagenet-Capetian rivalry revived. In Richard’s forced absence, Philip Augustus had connived with Prince John, the English king’s younger brother, in hopes that promises of support for the prince’s succession to the throne might benefit the French. Richard’s return instead of death in prison put these hopes at risk. Continuously from 1194 until the English king’s death in 1199, Philip Augustus was on the defensive. On July 3, 1194, at the Battle of Fréteval, Philip even lost his baggage train to Richard’s forces.67 The loss was devastating in that the baggage train contained many records that Philip’s clerks should have been archiving at a permanent and well-protected location. The disaster went a long way toward confirming Paris as the capital of France, for in the future it was in that city that royal clerks maintained the crown’s permanent fiscal, judicial, and administrative records. Despite his brilliant strategic and tactical gifts, Richard was personally rash or, employing the less judgmental word of the Minstrel, “bold” (IV, 27).68 Needlessly and heedlessly exposing his person to unfriendly crossbow fire at the siege of an inconsequential rebel castle, Châlus-Chabrol, in the Limousin in 1199, he died on April 6 the same year of blood poisoning from an infected wound. The English crown, possibly with Richard’s dying consent, passed to John.69 Whether it should have done so is quite another question, for John had a nephew, Arthur of 67. John Baldwin, The Government of Philip Augustus (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1986), 405–10. 68. The best biography is John Gillingham’s Richard I (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1999). 69. Gillingham, Richard I, 335.

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Brittany, the son of a deceased older brother, Geoffrey. In other words, Arthur preceded John in the standard canons of inheritance in England. John did not give way before his nephew, and after a series of violent encounters between their supporters, the uncle’s men captured Arthur on July 31, 1202. The new king dithered for months over how to deal with the young man. He stopped dithering in the spring of the next year. There are no trustworthy records testifying to Arthur being alive after April 1203. He was only 16. Scholars have never had much doubt that John had his nephew murdered.70 The Minstrel, who hated John (regarding him as “a wicked knight, greedy and treacherous”), would agree. In his telling, John developed into “the worst king who had ever lived, worse even than King Herod, the beheader of children” (XXIV, 244). As for Arthur’s fate, according to the Minstrel, “King John, who was perfidious and cruel, had a ship equipped for sailing to one of his castles; he was joined by a group of familiars and by his nephew Arthur as well. Once they were far out to sea, he tossed him overboard among the mackerel” (XXIV, 245). It is certain that King John’s reputation suffered from contemporary imputations of his complicity in Arthur of Brittany’s murder.71 It contributed to but was not the singular event that led to the breakdown of his formerly amicable relations with Philip Augustus. More important was John’s refusal to appear in Philip’s high court in 1202, when the French king summoned him to answer charges that he had dishonored another of the ruler’s vassals, the count of La Marche, by seizing his betrothed 70. Martin Aurell, “Philippe Auguste et les Plantagenêt,” in Aurell and Sassier, Autour de Philippe Auguste, 44; Stephen Church, King John: England, Magna Carta and the Making of a Tyrant (London: Macmillan, 2015), 109–11; Ralph V. Turner, King John (Stroud, UK: History Press, 2009), 13 and 121; James Holt, “King John and Arthur of Brittany,” Nottingham Medieval Studies 44 (2000): 82–103; and Frederick (later Sir Maurice) Powicke, The Loss of Normandy (1189–1204): Studies in the History of the Angevin Empire (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1913), 247. 71. Aurell, “Philippe Auguste et les Plantagenêt,” 58 and 68–69.



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and marrying her.72 Both friends and enemies of John in England increasingly came to regard Isabelle of Angoulême, the young woman, perhaps only twelve years old at the time of her abduction, as the “seedbed of all the evils” that they endured in the next decade.73 John probably believed that commentators down the ages would describe his appearance in court as an act of submission of the king of England to the king of France. Technically, of course, he would have been appearing solely as duke of Normandy and lord of other territories in France he held from the French crown. Yet, John was undoubtedly correct that this legalism would not trump popular perceptions. In fact, and less persuasively, he even went so far as to question whether he was obliged to appear to defend his non-royal holdings in France.74 His refusal, however, provided the legal excuse for Philip to declare that the duchy and all the other territories of which John was lord had ipso facto returned to his own unmediated lordship. The Minstrel approved (XXIV, 250–51). Yet, the Normans, he wrote, could not fathom King John’s inaction after his stalwart refusal to come to Philip’s court (XXIV, 258–59, and XXV, 262). By the end of 1204, Philip II had effectively enforced the decision of the court by military conquest, at least in Normandy, symbolized in the Minstrel’s telling by the taking of the great castle of Château-Gaillard (XXV, 260–67), with further expansion in its borderlands down to 1206.75 This did not mean that nobles living in the conquered territories immediately shifted their loyalty, for although many were already lukewarm about 72. Aurell, “Philippe Auguste et les Plantagenêt,” 43 and 56. 73. On Isabelle, see Nicholas Vincent, “Isabella of Angoulême: John’s Jezebel,” in King John: New Interpretations, ed. S. D. Church, 165–219 (Rochester, N.Y., and Woodbridge: Boydell, 1999), 165–219, and William Chester Jordan, “Isabelle d’Angoulême, by the Grace of God, Queen,” Revue belge de philologie et d’histoire 69 (1991): 821–52. For the context of the quotation (from the chronicler Matthew Paris), see Jordan, “Isabelle,” 850. 74. Aurell, “Philippe Auguste et les Plantagenêt,” 56. 75. The standard study is still Powicke’s Loss of Normandy. See also Aurell, “Philippe Auguste et les Plantagenêt,” 63–64.

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John’s rulership, they were not necessarily enthusiastic about Philip’s dominion, either. Nor could they predict what would happen if John ultimately gathered forces in England and the parts of France where Philip had not yet militarily challenged his lordship. A resurgent John would be vindictive toward those of his vassals whom he suspected of faithlessness. Nonetheless, every day that John delayed in fielding armies to recover Normandy was one more day in which Norman and other regional lords still living in the conquered lands habituated themselves to French rule. “From then on,” the Minstrel crowed, “the king [Philip] held Normandy and the entire region, and kept them at peace; nor was there any further disturbance” (XXV, 267). The days stretched to weeks, months, and years. English lords who had properties in Normandy feared that they would never recover them and that their king was violent and vengeful but without the virtue of being able to concentrate himself on the central problem, King Philip’s seizure of his continental lordships. Moreover, the English king grew increasingly occupied and distressed over time by still another grave problem—the consequences of his role in the disputed election of an archbishop of Canterbury in 1205, a situation ultimately resolved by the pope.76 One candidate, favored by the clerical electors, claimed the see, but the cathedral chapter had not received the canonically required permission of the king to hold an election, probably because they feared he would insist they choose a candidate he preferred. John, incensed at the snub, forced the chapter to hold another election. In fear, the electors chose the bishop of Norwich, the man whom they had wanted to avoid. This, too, however, constituted an uncanon76. The most comprehensive study of the pope’s relations with England in this period and the one from which the information in the next several paragraphs largely comes is Christopher Cheney’s Pope Innocent III and England (Stuttgart: Hiersemann, 1976). This may now be supplemented by Peter Clarke, The Interdict in the Thirteenth Century: A Question of Collective Guilt (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007).



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ical election. A sitting bishop required the pope’s permission to resign his see and accept another, and the king’s coercive measures violated the principle of the freedom of ecclesiastical elections. Acting canonically, Pope Innocent III quashed both elections and appointed his own candidate, his friend Stephen Langton. King John defied the pope and refused to admit Langton to England. The French were happy to be witnesses to John’s new troubles. It meant that he was more distracted than ever. His stubbornness did not abate. Some bishops went into exile rather than endure the king’s wrath for their support of the pope. The pope, meanwhile, grew impatient and, in order to put pressure on the king to reconcile, placed England under interdict in 1208, suspending religious services throughout the realm. To the assertion that John was an erratic and malevolent king and a military failure in protecting the property rights of those of his subjects who had long had estates in Normandy was now added the charge that he was an unholy ruler. The response to such incompetence, negligence, and perfidy was formal defiance. Many of his barons conspired to take up arms against him. All of this was further relevant for France because Pope Innocent III endured increasing frustration with King John’s recalcitrance. Interdiction might have been working to some degree, but it did not bring the king to his knees. Deposition was another weapon in the pope’s arsenal. Deposition without an army to enforce it, however, was a hollow threat. The pope or the barons decided to turn to the French. Whether Philip was directly approached, as the Minstrel related, or not, our author was well aware that the king was wary of becoming directly involved; he already “had enough land” (XXVIII, 292–93). He preferred to spend his time methodically incorporating the territories that he had conquered into the French administrative system. Victory in a war to depose John was no certainty, and

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nothing could have been worse than to lead an army to England and meet defeat. As the Minstrel was also aware, Philip’s son, Prince Louis, was less prudent (XVIII, 293–94).77 Philip Augustus, unhappy with his son’s decision to take up the pope’s offer, appears at first to have refused to provide any of his own resources to help secure Prince Louis a fleet or to raise an army. In the meantime, King John received intelligence that Welsh lords were planning an uprising. The information came with hints, too, that English barons were simultaneously conspiring against him. The combination was the stimulus he needed in the period 1211–12 to act decisively.78 He hastily pulled together a force to crush the Welsh rebellion, a campaign that softened English baronial opposition to him. There was no love lost on the Welsh. In addition, John had emissaries negotiate with papal commissioners to end the interdict.79 He gave up much to achieve his aim, promising to compensate the church in England for any property losses it had incurred since the dispute started and permitting Stephen Langton, now a cardinal, to occupy the archiepiscopal see. He also pledged an annual subsidy to the pope, symbolic of his grant of England to Innocent III as a papal fief, the Minstrel noted (XXVIII, 299). Innocent III became King John’s overlord. How could an ecclesiastical overlord allow the invasion of the kingdom of his vassal once that vassal had reconciled himself to the church? Prince Louis thereby lost papal support for the conquest of England. The papacy’s reversal infuriated the prince. According to the Minstrel, Louis did not “give a fig for the pope’s order” (XXVIII, 300). What of Normandy during the lull following the original French conquests in 1202–6?80 The frenzy of activity culminat77. Sivéry, Louis VIII le Lion (Paris: Fayard, 1995), 112 and 133–34. 78. J. Beverley Smith, “Magna Carta and the Charters of the Welsh Princes,” English Historical Review 99 (1984): 344–62. 79. Frank Barlow, The Feudal Kingdom of England, 1042–1216, 4th ed. (London and New York: Longman, 1988), 412–14. 80. Baldwin, Government of Philip Augustus, 196–219.



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ing in the defeat of the Welsh continued as King John made it clear that he was now prepared to raise an army to invade France and recover his patrimony. He made a great noise of enlisting English baronial support through lavish subsidies of Flemish and German princes hostile to France. To pay these and raise troops in England, he taxed his subjects heavily. They yielded in expectation that a two-pronged invasion of France—one by allies in the northeast from Flanders and Germany, who had their own grievances with Philip, which the Minstrel related (XXVI, 268–74), and the other in the southwest led by John himself— would restore the old regime and with it their property in the lands recovered from Philip II. Philip fretted. John’s plan was public knowledge. It had to be—and there had to be a certain braggadocio about it. He was trying to persuade the English aristocracy of the magnitude and therefore likely success of his plans. It was a costly gambit. They were paying a great deal. They needed reassurance. John and his allies planned the attacks for the summer of 1214. Philip II took French troops northward to meet the Germans and Flemings in what became known as the Battle of Bouvines, vividly described by the Minstrel (XXVII, 280–90). Philip’s son, Prince Louis, went to the southwest, prepared to meet John’s forces there—a lesser military encounter, to which the Minstrel devotes two lines (XXVII, 278 and 290), but one with great political consequences. In both instances, the French overcame the invaders decisively.81 King John’s reception back in England was hostile (XXVIII, 292). Many barons no longer held back. They withdrew their fealty for cause (known as the diffidatio). Archbishop Stephen Langton also joined the opposition. The situation seemed desperate. The way out was for 81. Georges Duby, Le dimanche de Bouvines (Paris: Gallimard, 1973); Aurell, “Philippe Auguste et les Plantagenêt,” 65–67; Charles Petit-Dutaillis, Étude sur la vie et le règne de Louis VIII (1187–1226) (Paris: É. Bouillon, 1894), 224–56; Maurice Powicke, The Thirteenth Century, 1216–1307 (Oxford: Clarendon, 1953).

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the king to capitulate. The instrument of capitulation we know now as Magna Carta is the version of the year 1215. The Minstrel delighted in reporting the pitiful sight of the humiliated King John (XXIX, 303).82 When Pope Innocent III learned of the course of events, he was furious. John had not consulted him, his overlord. The barons had imposed restrictions on the king, again without the prior permission of the king’s overlord. In Innocent’s view, Stephen Langton seemed to have betrayed the trust he had put in him. The pope recalled him to Rome for an explanation. The main point, however, was that the infuriated pope absolved John of his oath to uphold Magna Carta, and the latter in turn thought he saw an opportunity to reverse all his misfortunes in England by renewing the civil war. This was too much for the barons. They invited Prince Louis to invade and receive the crown. His decision to accept the offer once again discomfited his father. Philip Augustus reiterated his reluctance to earmark any of his own resources for the invasion, an invasion that, nonetheless, took place on May 21, 1216, and led to Louis’s excommunication.83 Although the Minstrel told how the war started fairly well, he also devoted considerable space to how it bogged down in time and for many reasons (XXVIII–XXIX, 292–305). One was a lack of sufficient financial resources. This lessened in significance as the result of a dramatic exchange between the prince’s wife, Blanche of Castile, and her father-in-law. The Minstrel narrates the episode—attested as well in other sources —with great vigor (XXIX, 301–2). 82. The classic study of the political struggle culminating in Magna Carta is James Holt’s Magna Carta, 2nd ed. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015). See also David Carpenter, Magna Carta (New York: Penguin Classics, 2015). 83. For a political and biographical summary of Louis and his invasion, see Catherine Hanley, Louis: The French Prince Who Invaded England (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2016), who draws intelligently on Petit-Dutaillis, Étude sur la vie et le règne de Louis VIII.



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It then happened that Sir Louis had spent all his wealth and needed funds; he sent word to his father to please, for God’s sake, help him and send money. The king answered that, by the spear of Saint James, he would certainly not: he would not risk excommunication for him. When my lady Blanche learned of this, she came to the king and said, “Will you thus allow milord your son to die in a foreign land? Sire, by God! he is to reign after you! Send him what he needs—at least the income on his inheritance!” “No, indeed, Blanche,” said the king; “I will not do so!” “No, sire?” “Truly not,” answered the king. “In God’s name,” said my lady Blanche, “I know what I have to do!” “And what is that?” asked the king. “By the blessed mother of God, I have fine children by my lord; I’ll offer them for security! I’ll find someone to lend me money for them!” With that, she ran from the king like a madwoman. Seeing her leave like that, he thought she was serious, so he had her called back and he said, “Blanche, I shall give you from my treasure whatever funds you want; do with them as you like and whatever you think right—but know this: I will not send him any aid!” “Sire,” said my lady Blanche, “thank you very much!” And then a great treasure was delivered to my lady Blanche, and she sent it to sir her husband.

Money was not enough to rescue the cause. King John died on the night of October 18 or in the early hours of October 19, 1216. With their common enemy out of the way, the barons were susceptible to persuasion to a different strategy.84 John’s son, Henry, a nine-year-old boy, was no enemy. Pope Innocent III had died earlier in the year, on July 26. Cardinal Guala Bicchieri, 84. Powicke, Thirteenth Century, 1–17.

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the papal legate in England sent to assess the situation, judged rightly that the parties might reach a compromise. What was required? Certainly, the reissuance of Magna Carta, shorn of the now irrelevant anti-John chapters; second, the promise of the regents selected for the boy-king, one of whom was Guala, that the young Henry III would abide by it; and third, the expulsion of Isabelle of Angoulême, John’s queen, from the realm. Full of resentment, though she had tarred herself by offering support to Prince Louis when his star was in the ascendant, she departed.85 With English baronial support for the French prince crumbling, a crass betrayal in Louis’s and the Minstrel’s opinion (XXX, 304), the prince entered into a face-saving agreement, one that at least lifted his excommunication.86 The invaders went home in 1217.

The Minstrel’s History, II: France under Louis VIII (1223–26) and Louis IX (1226–70) Six years later Prince Louis became Louis VIII. For the first time since the establishment of the troisième race or Capetian dynasty in 987, a ruler ascended to the throne without already being associated with his father as king. He signaled his leadership by articulating a new policy toward the Jews of the realm.87 In this, he ironically followed in the pathway of his father, who had 85. Elizabeth Gemmill, The Nobility and Ecclesiastical Patronage in ThirteenthCentury England (Woodbridge: Boydell, 2013), 28–29. 86. Sivéry, Louis VIII le Lion, 190–91; David Carpenter, The Minority of Henry III (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1990), 44. Carpenter acknowledges that scholars differ on details with regard to interpreting these facesaving gestures: See Powicke, Thirteenth Century, 15; Kate Norgate, The Minority of Henry III (London: Macmillan, 1912), 60; Petit-Dutaillis, Étude sur la vie et le règne de Louis VIII, 172–73. See also, comprehensively, on the reign of Henry III to 1258, David Carpenter, Henry III, 1207–1258 (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 2020). 87. Jordan, French Monarchy and the Jews, 93–104.



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distanced himself from Louis VII’s relatively indulgent policy toward the Jews. It was common for new kings to do this, especially with regard to the Jews’ role as moneylenders.88 Yet neither at this point nor anywhere else in the Minstrel’s book does the author mention royal policy toward the Jews. This is at first puzzling, since Philip II was a hard but erratic taskmaster of his Jewish populations; Louis VIII was concerned about their financial intimacy with poor Christian debtors, and Louis IX was positively obsessed with converting the Jews to Christianity.89 Describing their policies could have provided the Minstrel a wonderful opportunity to moralize, as was his wont. However, his book testifies throughout that what fascinated him, at least with regard to royal policy, was battles and wars—the disciplining of aristocrats and rival rulers—rather than the disciplining of other social groups, like the Jews. When Louis VIII became king, he renewed the hot war with England and in a series of campaigns in 1224 expanded royal power in western France beyond the Loire, encapsulated, in the Minstrel’s view of things, by the conquest of La Rochelle (XXXI, 314).90 Louis, however, did not push further south. Consequently, the English king Henry III remained the duke of Aquitaine in the southwest. It was not even clear what the proper feudal relationship should be, if peace ever came, between his lordships in the southwest and the French crown. This relationship, as we have seen, remained uncertain for more than three decades after Louis VIII’s conquests—that is, until the Treaty of Paris of 1259 brought the war that began in 1202 to a formal close. With the situation in relative equilibrium in the west af88. William Chester Jordan, “Princely Identity and the Jews in Medieval France,” in From Witness to Witchcraft: Jews and Judaism in Medieval Christian Thought, ed. Jeremy Cohen (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1996), 257–73. 89. In general, on Philip II’s, Louis VIII’s, and Louis IX’s policies toward the Jews and some continuities thereafter, see Jordan, French Monarchy and the Jews, 26–176. 90. Petit-Dutaillis, Étude sur la vie et le règne de Louis VIII, 224–26.

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ter 1224, Louis VIII turned his attention to the deep south, Languedoc, where the Albigensian Crusade needed rescuing. Although allegations of heterodoxy were common in the West and among all the major monotheistic religions, Christian prelates in Languedoc and many powerful churchmen from other regions were alleging in the mid-twelfth century that actions and beliefs among particularly large parts of the Christian population there were deviating from prescribed norms in ways that seriously challenged Catholic orthodoxy.91 Historians dispute whether these perceptions were correct, but important ecclesiastics were convinced that the situation was dangerous and that local secular authorities, in particular the count of Toulouse (allegedly a heretic or supporter of heretics himself), were not doing enough to contain or repress the unbelief.92 The situation turned violent with the assassination of a papal legate in 1208. The legate had traveled to Languedoc to be the eyes and ears of the pope and in general to assess the situation. He was displeased and set off on his way to give a very negative report in Rome. Before he had traveled very far, however, ruffians waylaid him. The count of Toulouse denied complicity. The pope, Innocent III, refused to believe him and called upon Philip II Augustus to avenge the legate’s murder and the implicit attack upon the church in a holy crusade that would also lead to the establishment of a regime or regimes that would root out heresy. At the time, Philip gave verbal support to the pope’s plan but did not commit military forces. Nevertheless, he did not interfere as other northern French lords—one of whom, Simon de Montfort, quickly emerged as the expedition leader—responded 91. Christine Ames, Medieval Heresies: Christianity, Judaism, and Islam (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015); Malcolm Lambert, Medieval Heresy: Popular Movements from the Gregorian Reform to the Reformation, 3rd ed. (Oxford: Blackwell, 2002); Robert Moore, The Origins of European Dissent (Oxford: Blackwell, 1985). 92. For a particularly bracing challenge to the long-established views, see Mark Pegg, The Corruption of Angels: The Great Inquisition of 1245–1246 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2001).



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to the call. The Albigensian Crusade lasted from 1209 to 1229.93 The first phase saw many northern victories, and in 1215 at the Fourth Lateran Council, the pope seemed to be on the verge of seeing his dream fulfilled: a new and unquestionably orthodox regime established in Languedoc by the deposition of native lords who resisted the northern crusaders and their replacement by the victors. The tide turned after the death in 1218 of Simon de Montfort, who had been vested with the title count of Toulouse. His son, Amaury de Montfort, did not have his father’s gift for generalship. Louis VIII, while still Prince Louis, had joined the crusading forces on two occasions, but his contribution was minor. When Amaury de Montfort expressed his willingness in 1224 to resign his claims in favor of the king of France, Louis accepted. Amaury received his due reward several years later in the office of the constableship and considerable northern properties. Meanwhile, the king raised an army and invaded Languedoc. Typically—and using what was clearly one of his favorite literary devices (see also I, 1, and XXXI, 314)—the Minstrel narrated the king’s invasion through the fate of a single place, in this case the city of Avignon, which the king brought to heel (XXXII, 330–34). Louis VIII died in 1226 on the return trip. Our author movingly described the scene (XXXII, 335). The king had directed on his deathbed that Blanche of Castile should hold the reins of government for their twelve-year-old son, soon to be Louis IX. The commanders in the field maintained the deceased king’s suc93. On the events of and diplomacy concerning the war described in the next two paragraphs, see Joseph R. Strayer, The Albigensian Crusades (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1992). The scholarly literature is, however, vast. An overview of the Anglophone contributions available online is Laurence Marvin, “The Albigensian Crusade in Anglo-American Historiography, 1888–2013,” History Compass 11 (2013). Two studies of the war are of particular value. Marvin’s Occitan War: A Military and Political History of the Albigensian Crusade, 1209–1218 (Cambridge : Cambridge University Press, 2008) is a comprehensive treatment of the first decade of conflict, while Mark Pegg’s A Most Holy War is a provocative narrative that also explores the long-term impact of the wars.

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cesses in the south. With Count Raymond VI of Toulouse also dead, Count Raymond VII, his son, who did not recognize the Montforts’ or the subsequent royal claim to his title, decided that rather than risk further losses, he would negotiate. Royal commanders were wary of continuing the war. There was no certainty they would win. In the event, both sides were ready to work out an agreement, in part brokered by Cardinal Romanus Frangipani. The outcome, the Treaty of Meaux-Paris of 1229, secured a large bloc of lands to him as count of Toulouse, although he ceded a number of other claims. The protocols stipulated that his daughter, Jeanne, his heir, would marry Alphonse of Poitiers, the new king’s brother, thus symbolically binding the county of Toulouse to the Capetian line. (In fact, Alphonse and Jeanne died childless, and the county of Toulouse escheated to the crown in 1271 and became part of the royal domain.) The Treaty of Meaux-Paris also confirmed the deposition of numerous lesser lords and the absorption of their lands, most of the rest of Languedoc, into the royal domain. In the first few years of the reign of Louis IX and under the tutelage of his mother, the monarchy survived several threats, especially from barons who were resentful of the queen mother’s power and of her foreign origin.94 They found ready allies in some of the younger scholars at Paris, who detested Blanche’s willingness to stand against them and their privileges in many squabbles at the university.95 They accused her of sleeping with Cardinal Romanus Frangipani, apparently a baseless charge, and of many other indiscretions. Whatever Blanche of Castile may have suffered from these accusations, she remained resolute and did not falter in her resolve to maintain the author94. Richard, Saint Louis, 36–49. 95. Lindy Grant’s Blanche of Castile, Queen of France (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2016) is the outstanding biography and covers all aspects of the hostility toward her.



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ity of the crown. The Minstrel was strident in his praise of the queen’s virtues, particularly her steadfastness (XXXII, 336–52). Her royal son shared her deep piety, but he and his sister Isabelle were far more ascetic than their mother was. Her other three children who lived to fruitful adulthood, Robert of Artois, Alphonse of Poitiers, and Charles of Anjou, were also pious but in more moderate ways than their siblings. All the boys helped rule France through their personal holdings (appanages) and helped stamp out political opposition, sometimes fomented by the English (XXXIV, 356–66). The relations between Blanche and Isabelle (whom the Minstrel only passingly mentioned by name; XXXV, 370) were loving and tender, although the mother wanted her daughter to marry, to wear pretty clothes, and to eat lavish meals appropriate for a princess—none of which was to the girl’s liking.96 Similarly, although Blanche and her son shared a profoundly affectionate bond, she did not want him to go on crusade when, in December 1244, he made a vow to do so. He was grievously ill at the time (XXXV, 367), but retook the vow after he recovered. After much planning (XXXV, 369), he went on crusade in 1248 despite Blanche’s tearful pleading. Sad as she was, she exercised regency powers in his name with fierce commitment while he was in Outremer. The Minstrel knew of these family dynamics and relished informing his readers or listeners of them (XXXV, 370–71). In 1260, when he wrote, Blanche was dead; she had passed away in 1252, years after her daughter had vowed perpetual virginity and while her son was still in the Holy Land (a period the extremely well-informed Minstrel described at length [XXXV–XXXVI, 372–97]). After Blanche died but perhaps while 96. On Isabelle, see Sean Field, Courting Sanctity: Holy Women and the Capetians (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 2019), 23–53, and his Isabelle of France: Capetian Sanctity and Franciscan Identity in the Thirteenth Century (Notre Dame, Ind.: University of Notre Dame Press, 2006).

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the Minstrel was still living, a wide consensus emerged that not surprisingly credited the queen with nurturing two saints in her children, Louis and Isabelle. Most of the remainder of the Minstrel’s book lays out a distinctive political narrative of France. Especially familiar with the society of the northeastern part of the kingdom, the author wrote at great length about the war of the Flemish succession of the 1250s, a war that Louis IX had tried to forestall by compromise before he went on crusade, but that circumstances and personal hatreds ignited while he was abroad. Blanche lamented these developments, yet after her death, her son Charles, who had returned from crusade, exploited them. It would take Louis IX’s intervention in the wake of his return to France to reconstitute the status quo ante bellum (XXXVII–XL, 398–427 and 431–35). It was in this long section that the Minstrel was most playful, introducing a fable (XXXVII, 404–19) of the crafty Renard the Fox, the greedy Isengrim the Wolf, the Goat, and two dogs, Taburel and Ronel, who wished to protect both the Goat, whom they regarded as their mother (she had nursed them as pups), and her property from Isengrim. The fable, replete with a set of morals drawn from proverbs of the time, was a blistering critique of the contemporary selfish politics of northeastern France. Didactic rhetorical declarations were a favorite device, dear to the Minstrel, in narrating episodes of disorder, like the war of the Flemish succession. They were a guide to live by, which is to say, they constituted an instruction on how to avert future chaos. At times, the Minstrel acknowledged their source in scripture, although he paraphrased or adapted rather than quoted the bible verbatim (I, 2; XIX, 170; XXXV, 368; XL, 433). At other times, he referred instead to the common wisdom of the ages by identifying the morals either expressly as proverbs (XIV, 109; XIX, 178; and XLIV, 466) or simply as old, shared sayings (XXIX, 303;



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XXXI, 329; XXXVIII, 417; XL, 431; XLIII, 459; and XLIV, 466). It is clear that there was no difference in significance in his choice of identifiers. He twice invoked the same words, “So long does the goat scratch / That she ends up with an itch” (XV, 119, and XXXIV, 362), once as a proverb and once as a saying to revile persistent chicanery. On occasion, the Minstrel seems to have expected his readers or listeners to discern the adage without any explicit marker: “[W]hat servants know does not usually remain a secret” (IV, 26); “God does his work in no time at all; / You can laugh in the morning and weep the same night” (XXVII, 279); “[T]he two best advocates in the Curia . . . are Gold and Silver” (XLIV, 478), clearly an allusion to the satirical poem “The Gospel of the Mark of Silver.”97 However, the Minstrel’s main point was always to project his moral sentiments (his exempla, to return to Jacques Le Goff’s word for them) as the unassailable wisdom of the ages. The Minstrel of Reims, in this sense, dealt in Truth with a capital T.

To Reims Once More How long the Minstrel may have lived after he completed his book, as we now have it, is the final issue needing attention. It will lead us back to the author’s hometown of Reims. Whether he was born there is unknown, but the city and its politics fascinated him, a fact that may have contributed to his many remarks about the royal coronations that took place at the cathedral. He included, for example, a rich description of Louis VIII and Blanche’s crowning there in 1223 (XXX, 309–10), one that is worth quoting in full. 97. A convenient translation of the satire is available in Brian Tierney, comp., The Middle Ages, vol. 1, Sources of Medieval History, 3rd ed. (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1978), 208.

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Introduction My lord Louis made plans to have himself and his wife crowned at Reims. He called on his vassals to be present at the coronation in the middle of August, and there came to Reims the greatest assemblage of knights and of ordinary people that had ever attended a coronation. My lord Louis and my lady Blanche, his wife, were consecrated and anointed with the sacred oil that God had sent from heaven for the anointment of Clovis, the first Christian king of the kingdom of France; the anointment was performed by William of Joinville, who was archbishop of Reims at that time. Then they were conducted to the palace to the sound of eight trumpets; the dinner served was the most elaborate and beautiful ever prepared for a royal coronation, and the noblemen dining were dressed in the finest attire ever seen. The next day, the courtiers departed, and the king and queen went back to France, where they were received with great solemnity.

The phrase “back to France” alludes to the fact that Reims was not in the Île-de-France, the meaning of Francia in the narrow sense of the term.98 Yet, the royal couple’s departure for France was not the end of the Minstrel’s account. He immediately told disapproving stories about Archbishop William and the cathedral chapter’s attempt to shift the enormous cost of the coronation ceremony onto the municipal government of the city, alleging that the prelate suborned the testimony of a number of churchmen to justify their actions (XXX, 311). The Minstrel was emphatic that the liars wrote out and sealed their depositions, a gesture that actually formalized their perjury. The aldermen were infuriated at the churchmen’s allegations. The Minstrel obviously took great pleasure in giving their names—quite rough names, but all the better for honest burghers, such as Voisin-the-Cock, Jack-the98. Marc Bloch, The Ile-de-France: The Country around Paris, trans. J. E. Anderson (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1971).



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One-Eyed, Pig of Montlaurent, Walter-the-King, Crow Pitcher, Gerard-the-Chopper, and Witier-the-Fat, among others. These men refused to submit and sought redress from the new king, who sent a member of his council, Renaud of Beronne, bailli of Senlis from 1223 to 1234, to determine the merit of their complaint.99 In Reims the councilor met the parties to the dispute, and he also questioned old men of the city whose memories stretched back to the first coronation of Philip II in 1179 (XXX, 313). These elders were unanimous that the archbishop was responsible for paying for the coronation and that his predecessors had done so in the past, thereby establishing that the sealed depositions contained perjured testimony. In the most dramatic scene, the false depositions were exhibited to the aldermen, who ripped them up in front of everyone present. The Minstrel concluded his story with the words, “[F]rom then on, the archbishops of Reims have without question paid for coronations.” When he later narrated the events surrounding the coronation of Louis IX in 1226 by James of Bazoches, bishop of Soissons, “since the seat of the archbishop at the time was vacant” (XXXII, 338), the Minstrel made no mention of a financial dispute following the ceremony. Even if churchmen in the cathedral chapter had wished to contest the earlier judgment, they did not have in the person of the bishop of Soissons a man wedded to their interest, and in any case, it was too soon for anyone to have forgotten about their capitulation three years earlier. In fact, however, the resolution of the dispute in 1223 had only a temporary effect. When Louis IX died on crusade in 1270, his son Philip, who was with him, succeeded him. He was recognized as king before being crowned at Reims in 1271, which followed his return to France from North Africa. He was the first 99. On Renaud, see Léopold Delisle, “Chronologie des baillis et des sénéchaux royaux depuis les origines jusqu’à l’avènement de Philippe de Valois,” in Recueil des historiens des Gaules et de la France, nouv. éd. 24 (Paris: Imprimerie Nationale, 1904): *59–*60; online at https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/bpt6k501426/f20.item#.

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Capetian king recognized as fully king before coronation.100 The long-simmering antagonism of the cathedral chapter of Reims at having to bear the costs of the coronation reemerged vehemently in 1271, forty-five years since the last coronation, even though the see was vacant once again and it was the bishop of Soissons who consecrated the new king.101 Not only did the clergy of Reims raise objections in 1271, they did so on every occasion the ceremony took place until the end of the dynasty in the direct line.102 The Minstrel’s book makes no mention of these matters. This suggests, although it does not prove, that he was dead by August 15, 1271, the date of Philip III’s coronation. He had either no inclination or no capacity to amend his book and strike the words “from then on, the archbishops of Reims have without question paid for coronations” and substitute “and at the next coronation in 1226 the cathedral chapter of Reims fulfilled its obligation without protest only to raise the issue again in 1271.” This is regrettable, for the Minstrel would undoubtedly have said so much more in his lively and always entertaining récits. Perhaps he would have turned for the third time to the proverb “So long does the goat scratch / That she ends up with an itch” to decry the persistent efforts of the cathedral canons of Reims to evade their financial responsibilities. 100. Ernst Kantorowicz, The King’s Two Bodies: A Study in Mediaeval Political Theology (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1957), 328. 101. Gérard Sivéry, Philippe III le Hardi (Paris: Fayard, 2003), 85. 102. The most important texts are published in Actes du Parlement de Paris, ed. Edgar Boutaric, 2 vols. (Paris: Henri Plon, 1863–1867), nos. 1902, 1987, 2586, 2603B, 2702, 2753A, 4484, 4968, 4996–97, 5081, 6125, 6164, 6239, 6605, 6823, and 764*; Archives administratives de la ville Reims, ed. Pierre Varin (Paris: Crapelet, 1839–48), vol. 1, part 2, nos. ccccxli, ccccxliv, ccccxlvi, ccccxlviii, ccccli, cccclxiii, and cccclxxviii; Guillaume Marlot, Histoire de la ville de Reims (Reims: L. Jacquet, 1843–46), 3:651. For the broader context, see Desportes, Reims and le Rémois aux XIIIe et XIV e siècles, his Histoire de Reims; and Hilary Bernstein, Historical Communities (Leiden: Brill, 2021), 284–311. The cathedral and its history are the subject of Thierry Jordan, ed., Reims (La grâce d’une cathédrale) (Strasbourg: Nuée Bleue, 2010).

Translator’s Note

Translator’s Note

The text presented here is an English translation of the thirteenth-century work known as Récits d’un Ménestrel de Reims. The philologist Natalis de Wailly prepared the Old French text for his critical edition of the then-known medieval manuscript sources to be published by the Société de l’Histoire de France in 1876. The paragraph numbering in our text is that of N. de Wailly; the chapter headings, however, are our own. The basic challenge that the Tales present to the translator is to capture the spirited oral style of the minstrel’s narrative; it is to produce a likeness of the storyteller’s effect on his audience, achieved with an immediacy that had little room for elaborate description or complicated syntax; the story was meant to be understood as an engaging, faithful recounting of events largely within the lived experience of the narrator’s listeners. In support of this intention, the speaker had not-infrequent recourse to direct quotation of his personages’ presumed questions and statements, as if wanting to offer his audience little stage plays within the unfolding story. The translation attempts to suggest the minstrel’s performance. There are many references in the text to persons and places not readily recognized by today’s readers of English; these are identified in footnotes, as are various battles and other significant occasions or allusions. Generally, proper nouns are anglicized, but not where anglicization might extend beyond the bounds of normal usage, be confusing, or seem pretentious. Readers of French will find an excellent treatment of philolix

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logical issues in Marie-Geneviève Grossel, Les récits d’un ménestrel de Reims (Valenciennes: Presses Universitaires de Valenciennes, 2002). One person has been particularly helpful—indeed, indispensably active—in the preparation of this manuscript. I refer to Jeffrey S. Ankrom, to whom I am deeply indebted for his expertise, counsel, and unwavering faith. S.N.R., June 13, 2020

Tales of a Minstrel of Reims in the Thirteenth Century

Tales of a Minstrel of Reims

I

The First Crusade. Louis VII is crowned king of France.

[1] In the time since Godfrey of Bouillon and the barons of France had conquered Antioch and Jerusalem and had brought back the Christian faith,1 which for a long time had been outlawed, the Christians had no further victory over the Saracens of the land of Syria other than the victory at Acre, which was retaken when Saladin and King Philip reigned (we are going to speak about it shortly) and other than the victory at Constantinople, conquered by the duke of Venice, who was blind.2 1. Godfrey of Bouillon (r. 1099–1100) was named the first ruler of Jerusalem following the city’s conquest by the First Crusade on July 15, 1099. The literature on the First Crusade is enormous. Among others, see John France, Victory in the East: A Military History of the First Crusade (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994); Jonathan Phillips, The First Crusade: Origins and Impact (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1997); and Jonathan Riley-Smith, The First Crusade and the Idea of Crusading, 2nd ed. (London: Continuum, 2009). The most recent biographical treatment of Godfrey of Bouillon is Simon John, Godfrey of Bouillon: Duke of Lower Lotharingia, Ruler of Latin Jerusalem, c. 1060–1100 (New York: Routledge, 2018). On Godfrey’s place in the Old French chansons and the crusade cycle more generally, see Susan B. Edgington and Carol Sweetenham, The Chanson d’Antioche: An Old French Account of the First Crusade (New York: Routledge, 2011), esp. 3–48. 2. Saladin (r. 1171–93) was a Kurdish ruler who united Syria and Egypt, decisively defeated the army of the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem at the Battle of Hattin on July 4, 1187, and captured Jerusalem on October 2, 1187. For references to Saladin in both

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[2] After the deaths of King Godfrey and his brother Baldwin,3 who were successive kings of Jerusalem, a time came when there reigned in France a king named Raoul the Justicer.4 He was called “the Justicer” because he rendered justice very fairly; he did not hang malefactors by his belt, as is done today by bad princes who care to fight and do ill only to fill their purse. his historical and literary guises, see the introduction at notes 62 and 66. Philip II of France (r. 1179/1180–1223), also known as Philip Augustus, was the only son of Louis VII of France and Adele of Champagne. He was a leader of the Third Crusade (1189– 92), which reestablished crusader control along the coast of Palestine. For historical treatments of Philip, see John Baldwin, The Government of Philip Augustus (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1986); and Martin Aurell and Yves Sassier, eds., Autour de Philippe Auguste: rencontres (Paris: Classiques Garnier, 2017). The duke of Venice is a reference to Enrico Dandolo (r. 1192–1205), who led the Venetian contingent on the Fourth Crusade and participated in the sack of Constantinople on April 12, 1204. See Thomas F. Madden, Enrico Dandolo and the Rise of Venice (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2003). Here the Minstrel collapsed the first century and more of the crusading movement, summarizing the events of the First (Antioch and Jerusalem), Third (Acre), and Fourth Crusades (Constantinople) in a single sentence. Like the popular Old French crusade cycle, which began with La chanson d’Antioche, the Minstrel having foregrounded the conquest of Antioch, then chose to highlight two military actions in which local baronial families from Champagne, Reims, and the Vermandois played prominent roles. For the Minstrel’s treatment of the crusades, see Danielle Quéruel, “Croisades et royaumes d’outre-mer dans les Récits d’un ménestrel de Reims: entre histoire et fiction,” in Mémoire de Champagne, ed. François Gilet (Langres: Guéniot, 2000–2001), 1:173–93. On the crusades in medieval French literature more generally, see C. T. J. Dijkstra, La chanson de croisade (Amsterdam: Schiphower en Brinkman, 1995); David A. Trotter, Medieval French Literature and the Crusades (1100–1300) (Geneva: Librairie Droz, 1988); and Stefan Vander Elst, The Knight, the Cross, and the Song: Crusade Propaganda and Chivalric Literature, 1100–1400 (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2017). 3. Baldwin I of Jerusalem (r. 1100–18) was a veteran of the First Crusade and first count of Edessa (r. 1098–1100) before succeeding his brother as the second ruler of Jerusalem in 1100. See Edgington, Baldwin I of Jerusalem, 1100–1118 (New York: Routledge, 2019). 4. Raoul the Justicer is likely a reference to Louis VI of France (r. c. 1098/1108– 37), also known as Louis the Fat. Despite the common nickname, Louis was an energetic king who over his thirty-year reign successfully subjugated the nobility and consolidated power and justice within the royal domain. His later reputation was bolstered by the writings and propaganda of his trusted adviser, Abbot Suger of Saint-Denis (d. 1151), who produced a Latin vita of Louis, the Gesta Ludovici grossi. See Eric Bournazel, Louis VI le Gros (Paris: Fayard, 2007).



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3

They fail to remember the Scriptures in which the Prophet David states, “Render judgments and be just at all times.”5 [3] King Raoul and his wife had two sons, the elder named Robert and the younger Louis.6 Robert was of limited intelligence and understood nothing, whereas Louis was wise and bright. When it happened that the king their father died, having to pay the debt that we shall all have to pay, the peers and all the barons of France came together to crown the elder son. One lord among the peers, however, a very wise man who enjoyed the confidence of all, declared: [4] “My lords, if you agree with me, we shall crown Louis, who is wise and intelligent. You clearly see that Robert understands nothing; if you make him king, it is likely that the kingdom will suffer the effects and that great discord will arise among us: for us, as for the commoners, there is a great need for France to have a king capable of governing the realm. Now, you all know what we can expect of our lord Robert. God knows, I am speaking like this only for the sake of our welfare, for I have equal affection for the two sons. Do what God shows you is right.” [5] “Yes, indeed,” said the barons and peers, “what you say is no doubt right; your point is well reasoned.” Thus they all agreed on the younger son, and he was crowned king in Reims, anointed with the holy oil that God had sent down from heaven 5. See 2 Samuel 8:15: “David administered justice and equity to all his people” (Revised Standard Version). 6. Louis was the second son of Louis VI, and ultimately succeeded him as Louis VII of France in 1137 due to the premature death of his elder brother. According to the accepted genealogy, Louis VI’s eldest son was named Philip, who died after being thrown from his horse in a riding accident that was caused by a pig in 1131. Robert was the fourth son of Louis VI and was granted the county of Dreux as an appanage upon his father’s death in 1137. Robert became connected to the region of Reims, or the Remois, by his third marriage to Agnes of Baudemont, the countess of Braine, in 1152. For a biography of Louis VII, see Yves Sassier, Louis VII (Paris: Fayard, 1991). Also see Sassier’s reevaluation of Louis, “L’héritage paternel: bilan négatif, mitigé, positif?,” in Aurell and Sassier, Autour de Philippe Auguste, 13–26.

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to Saint Remi.7 And Sir Robert they made count of Dreux, which he considered a satisfactory decision, since he did not understand what it meant. From Robert came the line of the Robertians, who still claim that the kingdom should have come to them, since Robert was, after all, the first-born. 7. Also known as Saint Remigius (d. 553), Remi was the bishop of Reims who baptized Clovis, the first Christian king of the Franks, in 496.

II

Queen Eleanor is enamored of Saladin. Eleanor marries Henry II of England.

[6] Now let’s return to our subject. The barons agreed that the king should be married, and they gave him Duchess Eleanor, who was a wicked woman.8 She held Maine, Anjou, Poitou, Limoges, and Touraine, three times more land than the king held. Now it happened that the king was inspired to go overseas, determined to free the Holy Land from the hands of Saracens. He took the cross and gathered a great number of men around him, and they prepared to depart. They set sail on Saint John’s Day and spent a month subject to the will of the winds before arriving in Tyre, which was then the only Christian possession in the land of Syria.9 There Louis remained through the entire following winter, with nothing to do in Tyre beyond simply spending his wealth. [7] When Saladin became aware of the king’s spinelessness 8. Eleanor of Aquitaine (r. 1137–1204) was the daughter and heiress of William X of Aquitaine (d. 1137). See Bonnie Wheeler and John Carmi Parsons, eds., Eleanor of Aquitaine: Lord and Lady (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2002); and Ralph V. Turner, Eleanor of Aquitaine: Queen of France, Queen of England (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2009). 9. They arrived on June 24, celebrated as the Feast of the Nativity of Saint John the Baptist.

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and naivety, he attempted a number of times to engage him in battle, but Louis would not rise to the challenge. When Eleanor saw the cowardly weakness of her husband and heard reports of Saladin’s goodness and prowess, wisdom and generosity, she fell deeply in love with him in her heart. She sent him greetings through her interpreter and let him know that, if he could find a way to capture her, she would renounce her faith and accept him as her lord. Hearing the interpreter’s message, Saladin was overjoyed, since he knew that the sender was the noblest lady in Christendom and the richest. He had a galley equipped at his base in Ascalon and sent it with the interpreter to Tyre, where they arrived a little while before midnight. [8] The interpreter went up through a secret door to the chamber where the queen was expecting him. She saw him and said, “What news?” “My lady,” said he, “the galley is here, ready and waiting for you. We need to hurry, to avoid being seen.” “Yes, indeed,” said the queen; “well done!” Then, with two of her ladies-in-waiting, she packed two coffers with gold and silver, and was making ready to have them carried onto the galley, when one of her maidens, realizing what was afoot, slipped out of the chamber as quietly as she could and came to the bed of the king, who was sleeping. She woke him, saying, “My lord, bad news! My lady is making ready to go to Ascalon, to Saladin, and the galley is in port, waiting for her. By God, my lord, don’t delay!” [9] At these words, the king jumped up, dressed in a rush, with all his equipment, and had his armed guards escort him down to the port, where he found the queen about to step into the galley. He seized her by the hand and led her back to her chamber, while his men held the galley and all the persons on board, who were so taken by surprise that they had no defense. [10] The king asked the queen to explain.



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7

“In God’s name,” said the queen, “you are worthless—that’s why—even worse than a rotten apple! And I have heard such good spoken of Saladin that I love him better than you, and you may be sure you will never again hold me in your arms.” Then the king left her, had her placed under guard, and decided to return to France. Money, in any case, was beginning to run short, and he had gained nothing but shame.10 [11] He went back across the sea with the queen and returned to France. He recounted to his barons how the queen had behaved and consulted them about what he should do. “Truly,” they said, “the best advice we can give you is to let her go. She is the very devil, and if you keep her any longer, we fear she may have you murdered. But, above all, you have never had a child of her.” The king accepted this advice, which was a mad thing to do. It would have been better to have her imprisoned, which would have let him remain in charge of her great holdings for the rest of his life, and he would not have faced the misfortunes that befell him, as you shall soon hear. [12] So the king sent Queen Eleanor back to her land. She sent word right away to King Henry of England, the man later responsible for the killing of Saint Thomas of Canterbury.11 10. Although Saladin was born in 1137 and still a boy during the Second Crusade, rumors of Eleanor’s infidelity during the expedition were widely reported in the twelfth century by well-placed authorities like William of Tyre and John of Salisbury. Those rumors, however, involve a possible liaison between Eleanor and her uncle, Prince Raymond of Antioch (d. 1149). See Natasha R. Hodgson, Women, Crusading and the Holy Land in Historical Narrative (Woodbridge, N.Y.: Boydell, 2007), 131–34. 11. Henry II of England (r. 1154–82) and Thomas Becket, the archbishop of Canterbury (1162–70), who was murdered in 1170, allegedly at the behest of Henry. From the large literature on Henry II and his reign, see W. L. Warren, Henry II (London: Eyre Methuen, 1973); John Gillingham, The Angevin Empire (New York: Holmes and Meier, 1984); R. R. Davies, The First English Empire: Power and Identities in the British Isles, 1093–1343 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002); and Christopher HarperBill and Nicholas Vincent, eds., Henry II: New Interpretations (Woodbridge, N.Y.: Boydell, 2007). On Thomas Becket, see Frank Barlow, Thomas Becket (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1986); and Anne Duggan, Thomas Becket (London: Arnold, 2004).

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He gladly responded to her invitation, came to marry her, and swore homage to the king of the land that he thus acquired,12 a land very extensive and rich. He took the queen back to England with him and lived with her long enough to produce three sons. The first-born, named Henry Curtmantle, was a good and valiant knight, but short-lived; the second-born, named Richard, was a superb and valorous knight, generous and brave; the third son, called John, was wicked, disloyal, and unbelieving in God.13 12. King Louis VII of France (r. 1131/1137–80). 13. Henry the Young King (d. 1183). The nickname “Curtmantle” is also sometimes applied to his father, Henry II of England. Henry II’s surviving sons, Richard the Lionhearted (r. 1189–99) and John Lackland (r. 1199–1216), had successive reigns as king of England. The Minstrel’s list omits Henry and Eleanor’s first son, William, who died as a three-year-old boy in 1156, as well as their fourth son, Geoffrey, Duke of Brittany (r. 1181–86). Geoffrey was born in 1158, between Richard and John. On Henry the Young King, see Matthew Strickland, Henry the Young King, 1155–1183 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2016). On biographical treatments of Richard and John, see the introduction at note 68 and the text at note 154.

III

Louis VII marries Adele of Champagne. Philip II is crowned king of France.

[13] Here we shall put aside for a while King Henry and his children and return to the story of King Louis, who was left without a wife. His barons told him that Count Henry of Champagne, a generous man,14 had a beautiful, noble daughter named Adele,15 who was a full sister of Archbishop William Blanchemain, a figure of importance in his time and the man responsible for reestablishing the magistrature of Reims.16 [14] “My lord,” said the barons, “we recommend that you take her for your wife, as we do not see a better choice.” The king trusted them and invited Count Henry to send 14. Henry I of Champagne (r. 1152–81) was popularly known as Henry the Liberal. On Henry, his life, and family, see Theodore Evergates, Henry the Liberal: Count of Champagne, 1127–1181 (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2016). 15. According to the accepted genealogy, Adele (d. 1206) was the daughter of Theobald II of Champagne (r. 1125–52) and the sister of Henry I. 16. William Blanchemain, or William “White Hands,” was the youngest brother of Henry I and Adele of Champagne and the uncle of Philip II of France. He was made the bishop of Chartres in 1165, transferred to the archbishopric of Sens in 1169, and finally served as the archbishop of Reims between 1175 and 1202. In 1182, William restored the “magistrature,” or the court of the échevins (aldermen), within Reims that had been suppressed by his predecessor, Archbishop Henry, in 1160. See Charles Petit-Dutaillis, The French Communes in the Middle Ages (New York: North-Holland, 1978), 33–34.

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him his daughter, whom he would take for his wife. The count readily accepted, and the king married her. They remained together long enough to produce a son and a daughter. The son, baptized Philip, became a very worthy man; and the young lady was named Agnes.17 The son grew and developed well to the age of sixteen. [15] King Louis, his father, saw that the boy was intelligent and valiant, and knew that he himself was simple-minded and old and neither respected in his kingdom nor feared by his enemies. He therefore decided, on the advice of his counselors, to have his son crowned at Reims; he made all the appropriate preparations, and the coronation took place on All Saints’ Day in the year of Our Lord 1181 by the hand of Archbishop William Blanchemain, the young man’s uncle.18 At the dinner he was served by King Henry of England, who carved for him and knelt. [16] Now, it happened a little while later that King Louis— God’s Paw, he was called— took to his bed and had to take leave of this world. He was buried with splendor at Saint-Denis in France, alongside his father, King Raoul the Justicer. King Philip then took charge of his land and strove day by day to develop it, for he held no more than sixty thousand livres’ worth of land. 17. Agnes of France (d. 1204) became the empress of Byzantium upon successive marriages to Alexios II (d. 1183) and Andronikos I Komnenos (d. 1185). See Cecily J. Hilsdale, “Constructing a Byzantine Augusta: A Greek Book for a French Bride,” Art Bulletin 87 (2005): 458–83. 18. November 1, 1181.

IV

King Henry takes his intended daughter-in-law to bed. She, King Philip’s sister, is later wed to the count of Ponthieu. Philip attempts to kill Henry and fails. King Henry commits suicide.

[17] Now I shall tell you about Henry Curtmantle, the first-born son of King Henry of England, who heard that King Philip had a beautiful and noble sister. He asked his father to invite King Philip to send him his sister, whom he would take for his wife, and she would become queen of England if he survived the king his father. King Henry answered that he would gladly do so and sent his letter of invitation, carried by ten wise and valiant knights, across the sea to meet King Philip. They found him at Melun, greeted him in the name of King Henry, and handed him the letter. [18] The king listened as it was read and understood what King Henry was asking. He told the messengers that he would gladly grant his wish and soon had the princess splendidly prepared as befitted the daughter of a king and sister of one; he sent her off with gold and silver and a great number of knights and ladies-in-waiting. They took leave of the king and crossed the sea. Once in London, they met King Henry, who welcomed 11

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the princess with pomp and ceremony, although his son Henry Curtmantle was not in England at the time; he was instead in Scotland, where he had important work to do. [19] In the event, perfidious King Henry gave so much attention to the young lady that he soon had her in his bed. When Henry Curtmantle returned and discovered what had happened, he became so angry that he fell ill and died. The princess was sent back across the sea and landed in Ponthieu, where she remained for a long time; her guilty behavior meant that she dared not show herself to King Philip her brother.19 [20] Now, it happened that the count of Ponthieu died,20 leaving his land to his son, a handsome and literate young man.21 The heir heard about the lady who lived in the county and made a point of meeting her. He came to know her well enough to say that he would gladly take her as his wife if she were willing and her brother the king agreed. Their discussion ended at that point, but the young count was eager to strike while the iron was hot. He came to King Philip and said, “Sire, with your permission, I would happily take your sister in marriage and make her countess of Ponthieu.” [21] At these words, the king considered for a moment and then said, “By the spear of Saint James, yes! I am quite willing to let you marry her!” At that, the count left, more than satisfied with the king’s response. He came to the lady and told her that the king was in agreement, which pleased her immensely. She married the 19. This is a version of the infamous story of Henry II and Alice of France (d. 1220), Philip II’s half-sister and the second daughter of Louis VII and Constance of Castile (d. 1160). She was betrothed to Henry the Young King’s brother Richard the Lionhearted in 1169, and became a ward in Henry II’s court for decades thereafter. Richard eventually broke off his engagement with Alice in the midst of the Third Crusade and married Berengaria of Navarre (d. 1230). Henry the Young King did marry Alice’s elder sister, Margaret of France (d. 1197), in 1170. 20. John I of Ponthieu (d. 1191). 21. William III of Ponthieu (d. 1221).



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count and proved to be a very good and wise countess. They loved each other and had a beautiful, charming daughter,22 who married Count Simon,23 full brother to Count Renard of Boulogne;24 and they in turn had three daughters, one of whom became queen of Spain, another, countess of Guelders, and the third, countess of Roucy.25 [22] Here we’ll put aside the count and countess of Ponthieu and go back to King Philip, then twenty years of age. He had not forgotten the great shame that King Henry had brought upon him by dishonoring his sister. One day, he was at Beauvais, while King Henry was at Gerberoy, a Benedictine abbey four leagues from Beauvais. [23] When King Philip learned of this, he was wonderfully pleased, for he thought he could then perhaps take vengeance for his shame. He had his knights and retainers sup at an early hour and feed the horses their oats. When evening came, he had his men arm, but without telling them what he planned to do. They rode to Gerberoy, where King Henry had just been bled. Before Henry could lie down to rest and was just sitting up in his bed, Philip entered the room. [24] At the sight of his foe, King Philip drew his sword and rushed forward to strike Henry’s head, but a knight jumped between the two men and deflected the blow. King Henry leaped up, frightened and dazed, and ran into a side chamber and locked the door. When King Philip saw his plan thus gone awry, he was sorely distressed and rode right back to Beauvais, since there was nothing to gain by tarrying. [25] When King Henry realized it was King Philip who want22. Marie of Ponthieu (d. 1250) was William and Alice’s only child and heir. 23. Simon of Dammartin (d. 1229). 24. Renard of Dammartin (d. 1227) became the count of Boulogne through his second wife, Ida. 25. Respectively, Joan, the heiress of Ponthieu (d. 1279), married Ferdinand III of Castile (r. 1217–52); Philippa’s (d. 1280) third husband was Otto II of Guelders (d. 1271), and Marie (d. 1279) married John II of Roucy (d. 1251).

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ed to kill him, he exclaimed, “Well! I’ve lived too long if that boy of France, that son of a spineless king, has come here to kill me.” Then King Henry jumped up, seized a bridle, and dashed madly into his washroom, and, urged on by the devil, he strangled himself with the reins.26 [26] When his men saw that the king was missing, they looked for him everywhere and found him at last horribly dead, strangled with bridle reins twisted around his neck. It was an extraordinary shock. They picked him up and carried him to his bed and spread the word to his people that he had died suddenly. It does not often happen, though, that such an event can occur to such a man without anyone knowing the truth, since what servants know does not usually remain a secret. [27] The body of the king was prepared for burial and borne to Rouen in Normandy, where it was interred in the mother church.27 Now I shall stop speaking of King Henry and move on for a moment to his son, King Richard, heir to the realm. He was valiant, bold, courtly, and generous, a handsome knight who engaged in tourneys in the marches of France and Poitou, and his conduct for a long while led everyone to speak well of him. 26. According to the accepted narrative, Henry II did not commit suicide, but died from a fever and acute illness. See Warren, Henry II, 623–26. 27. Henry II was buried at Fontevraud Abbey in Anjou.

V

The queen of Jerusalem succeeds in having her husband, Guy of Lusignan, crowned king.

[28] But let’s put aside King Richard and speak instead of King Amalric of Jerusalem, who died without leaving an heir of his flesh.28 The kingdom fell, then, to a sister of his who lived in Jerusalem and was married to Sir Guy of Lusignan, a worthy man but not of a rank suitable for a king.29 Guy nevertheless became king by way of his wife, to whom the realm fell, and he reigned for a time as the worthy man that he was, and the queen was a worthy woman. 28. Amalric of Jerusalem reigned between 1163 and 1174. He was married twice: to Agnes of Courtenay (d. 1184)—a marriage that was annulled in 1163—and to Maria Komnene (d. after 1208). Amalric and Agnes produced two children before the annulment, Baldwin IV of Jerusalem (r. 1174–85) and Sibylla of Jerusalem (r. 1186–90). Amalric and Maria had one daughter, Isabella I of Jerusalem (r. 1190–1205). Here, the Minstrel is likely referencing Amalric’s son, Baldwin IV, who contracted leprosy as a child, never married, and produced no heirs. On Baldwin IV, his family, and the kingdom of Jerusalem in the late twelfth century, see Jonathan Riley-Smith, The Feudal Nobility and the Kingdom of Jerusalem, 1174–1277 (Hamden, Conn.: Archon, 1973); and Bernard Hamilton, The Leper King and His Heirs: Baldwin IV and the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000). 29. According to the accepted chronology, the son of Baldwin IV’s sister Sibylla inherited the throne as Baldwin V in 1185. Following Baldwin V’s death as a child in 1186, Sibylla and her husband, Guy of Lusignan (r. 1186–92), became the rulers of Jerusalem.

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[29] It happened, however, that the barons of the land— that is, the marquis of Montferrat,30 the count of Tripoli,31 the lord of Beirut,32 and the lord of Sidon33—all of the same mind with regard to King Guy, persuaded the patriarch of Jerusalem to have King Guy give up his kingdom,34 because he was not, so they claimed, worthy of being king. They were not acting in good faith, but rather because they all—each one of them—wanted to take his place as king of Jerusalem. The patriarch agreed and came to the queen, saying, “My lady, it behooves you to leave your lord, since he is not wise enough a man to hold and to govern the kingdom of Jerusalem.” [30] The queen was shocked to hear the patriarch make such a statement. She said, “Sir, how can you expect me to leave my husband, to whom I am honorably married and who is a worthy man?” “My lady,” he answered, “you need to do it! If not, the kingdom could well be lost and fall into the hands of the Saracens. Think of Saladin, who is intelligent and powerful and wants nothing more than discord between you and your barons.” 30. Conrad of Montferrat (d. 1192)—an Italian nobleman, the brother of Sibylla’s first husband (William of Montferrat), and the uncle of Baldwin V—struggled with Guy of Lusignan for the crown of Jerusalem following Sibylla’s death and his own marriage to Sibylla’s sister, Isabella, in 1190. He was assassinated on April 28, 1192. See David Jacoby, “Conrad, Marquis of Montferrat, and the Kingdom of Jerusalem (1187–1192),” in Dai feudi monferrini e dal Piemonte ai nuovi mondi oltre gli Oceani, ed. Louis Balletto (Alessandria: Società di storia, arte e archeologia, Accademia degli Immobili, 1993), 187–238. 31. Raymond III of Tripoli (r. 1152–87), a close relative of the royal family, served as regent during the minorities of Baldwin IV and Baldwin V. See Kevin James Lewis, The Counts of Tripoli and Lebanon in the Twelfth Century (New York: Routledge, 2017), 182–284. 32. Likely Balian of Ibelin (r. 1169–93), who married Maria Komnene, the widow of Amalric I and the mother of Isabella of Jerusalem. Balian was never lord of Beirut, but his son John became the lord of Beirut in the early thirteenth century. See Peter W. Edbury, John of Ibelin and the Kingdom of Jerusalem (Woodbridge: Boydell, 1997), 3–23. 33. Reginald of Sidon (r. 1171–1202) first married Agnes of Courtenay, the mother of Baldwin IV and Sibylla. 34. Patriarch Heraclius (r. 1180–91).



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“My goodness,” said the queen, “you look after my soul and stand here for the pope beyond the sea—and yet you are advising me to act against God and against my husband!” “My lady,” said the patriarch, “you are right. We shall see how we can act for the best and what will be best for you.” [31] Then it was decided with the barons’ counsel that the queen would go on a certain date to the church of the Holy Cross, which is the seat of the bishop of Acre, and hold the royal crown in her hand; the barons would all stand around her, and the one on whose head she placed the crown would become king. And so it happened that on the set day, the queen was there, the crown in her hand; the king, her lord and husband, was there too, and all the barons of the realm stood around her. The queen stood in the middle of them all; she looked at them and said, “Lord patriarch and you, lord barons all, you have decided that the one on whose head I place the crown that I am holding in my hand will be king.” They all responded that that was the truth. [32] “Now I want you all to swear on the precious body of Our Lord that such is the case; and you, lord patriarch, swear that you will never oblige me to accept a different lord.” The patriarch and all the barons swore just as the queen had instructed. The queen made the sign of the cross with her right hand, commending herself to God, and rushed over to the spot where she saw her lord and husband, King Guy. She placed the crown on his head and said, “My lord, I see no man here more worthy and more loyal than you, no one more deserving of being king of Jerusalem than you; I grant you and give you the crown and the kingdom, as well as myself and my love.”

VI

The queen’s foes plot to dethrone her husband, Guy of Lusignan. Led by the count of Tripoli, they solicit the willing aid of Saladin. In battle with Saladin’s troops, Guy is captured and imprisoned. Traitorous barons are rewarded by Saladin with gold and silver. Most of the kingdom of Jerusalem is now in Muslim hands.

[33] When the patriarch and barons saw what the queen had just done, they were astonished, for each of them believed he would surely have the crown.35 They all then took their leave and went away. . . . Not, however, without all agreeing on a deadly betrayal. They invited King Saladin to meet them on a certain day in a certain place to discuss in secret something that would be of great value to him. Saladin, a wise and generous man, accepted and went. He said to them, “Dear lords, you have invited me here; tell me what you wish.” [34] “My lord,” answered the count of Tripoli, “we shall tell 35. In this chapter, the Minstrel provides a unique story about the Battle of Hattin that departs from the accepted narrative in significant ways. For the best historical treatments of the battle, see Benjamin Z. Kedar, ed., The Horns of Hattin (London: Variorum, 1992); and John France, Hattin (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015).

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you. You are well aware that King Amalric is dead; the kingdom has passed to his sister and her husband, who is not a man fit to maintain such a realm. The queen, though, refuses to accept our counsel or that of the patriarch. If you wish, we would, in exchange for a gift of yours, hand the territory over to you. The king is, after all, a cowardly simpleton, and whatever power he has comes from us.” [35] Saladin was overjoyed to hear these words. He said, “Dear lords, if I were sure of you, I would offer you more of my treasure than you would ever dare to accept.” “My lord,” said the count of Tripoli, “say what assurance you want from us, and we are ready to give it to you.” “By Muhammad my God!” said Saladin. “You speak well. You shall all swear by your faith and do still more: we shall drink one another’s blood to form an alliance, so that we may henceforth be one!” [36] What Saladin prescribed was done, and they were all bled together and drank one another’s blood. They named a great day when Saladin would appear at Acre with his army, but not revealing more than part of it, and would challenge King Guy to do battle. The traitors said that they would advise King Guy to accept the challenge, and “we will promise him loyally to come to his aid, and then, when we are all prepared for combat, we will lower our banners and not move; you will then easily act as you like against the king and his men.” [37] The discussion of that deadly betrayal then came to an end. Saladin went back to his country, and the traitors returned to their lands. Saladin gathered his army in secret and came close to Acre. When King Guy learned of this, he felt sick at heart. He had letters written and sent everywhere to his barons, his men, and all those able to bear arms. He assembled as many men as he could, but it was nothing in comparison with the army that Saladin had raised and divided in two.

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[38] When the barons of the land of Syria were assembled outside Acre, King Guy came to them and said, “Dear lords, I have come here to you to ask, for God’s sake and because you are obliged to do so, that you decide to give me loyal and good help to defend and maintain the kingdom of Jerusalem. As you see, Saladin is close by with a great many troops, and I am but one man alone; and I, whatever else I may be, am your lord and you are all my men, sworn to be faithful to me. So I have great trust in you, and want you to know that I have every intention of following your recommendations.” [39] Then spoke the count of Tripoli, who had instigated the whole betrayal, “My lord, you speak wisely, and we are all prepared to defend the kingdom, ourselves, yourself, and our fiefs, and we shall act in such a way that neither God nor the world will have more to desire.” When the king heard the count of Tripoli speak that way, he was wonderfully pleased. He went back to his camp and had his men prepare as best they could. Meanwhile, the barons came repeatedly to speak to him and make a great show of their love for him, saying, “My lord, have no fear, for even if those on the other side were twice as numerous as they are, they would not overpower us.” [40] King Guy was thoroughly reassured by their words, and thus waited as Saladin came within three leagues of Acre and invited him to do battle. The king said that he would take it under advisement and sent word to the count of Tripoli, the marquis of Montferrat, the lord of Beirut, the lord of Sidon, the governor of Ascalon, and other barons whom I do not now recall. He said to them, “Dear lords, I have called you here to inform you that Saladin is challenging me to combat on the day of Saint John the Beheaded,36 and I want to know what you recommend that we 36. Although the Decollation of Saint John the Baptist was commemorated on August 29, the Minstrel was perhaps again referring to the Feast of the Nativity of Saint John the Baptist on June 24. The Battle of Hattin was fought on July 4, 1187.



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do, since I have no wish to do anything without your support, since this concerns you as much as it does me, and I have great trust in you.” [41] Then answered the count of Tripoli, who was the most powerful of all the lords and the most eloquent, “My lord,” he said, “I recommend that you accept the challenge, and I have not the slightest fear that victory will not be ours, for we are right and they are wrong, and we have God helping us and they do not.” Once the count of Tripoli had so spoken, the other traitors all responded and said, “My lord, the count of Tripoli has given you good counsel, and all of us are in agreement.” “Indeed,” said the king, “since you are all in agreement, I shall certainly not disagree.” [42] Then they summoned the messengers that Saladin had sent and confirmed that the battle would take place on the day chosen. At that, the messengers left and returned to Saladin to report in the name of King Guy and the barons of Syria that he would indeed have his battle. The time fixed for the battle came, and the armies joined for the fight. The archers began shooting on both sides and many were soon wounded and hurt, and Saladin’s archers recoiled. [43] When Saladin saw this, he harangued his troops and brought out his horns and his trumpets. The Turks rallied; they barked and howled and threw themselves against the Christians. The king and his troops took them on boldly and bravely, and many of the Saracens were unhorsed and wounded or killed. Seeing his first battalion fall apart, Saladin was deeply distressed; he called out his second line, the men he had hidden; they all rushed out at once against Guy’s fighters and surrounded them on every side, so that none could move away from that spot. [44] When King Guy saw himself surrounded, it’s no sur-

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prise if he was frightened. But he took heart, found strength within, and shouted, “Holy Sepulcher!” He threw himself against the Saracens and killed and knocked down so many that all those who saw him were loud in their praise. At that point, Saladin shouted, “Count of Tripoli, count of Tripoli, keep your oath!” When the count of Tripoli heard Saladin’s cry, he lowered his banner, as did all the other traitors; not one, after that, made a move. When King Guy realized how his barons had betrayed him, he felt deep anguish in his heart and said, “Ah, dear lord God! I am your servant, and I am here to serve you and defend Christendom. Lord, help us, as you see our need. I now know that my barons have all betrayed me.” [45] At that, he threw himself into the fight and performed marvelous deeds of arms, he and his men. But it was all to no avail, for there were too many Saracens, and his barons had failed him. The king was seized along with his party and was taken to prison in Babylon, while the traitors went back to their lands, and Saladin sent them a great lot of silver and gold.37 Saladin entered Acre, where there was no one to stop him, for all its defenders were either imprisoned or dead. The queen was in Tyre; the governor guarded the city, and the queen had no power there.38 The truth is that Saladin conquered the entire land held by Christians, save only Tyre; he could never take Tyre. 37. Western authors in the thirteenth century, like the Minstrel and John of Joinville, often refer to Egypt, and Cairo specifically, as “Babylon.” 38. The governor of Tyre referenced here is likely Conrad of Montferrat, a political opponent of Sibylla and Guy who successfully held the city against Saladin in the aftermath of the Battle of Hattin. See note 30.

VII

Saladin liberates Guy and sends him to Tyre, where he is denied entry. The queen escapes and joins her husband outside the city. They receive material assistance from Saladin.

[46] Here we’ll turn for a moment from King Guy, who was in prison in Babylon and in great distress, and go on to speak of Saladin, who was the finest Saracen ever to put foot into stirrup. He was in Babylon one day and summoned King Guy to come before him, He said, “I hold you now and I shall have your head cut off.” “Indeed,” said the king, “and it is only right and I have well deserved it, for it is thanks to me that the land overseas was lost and Christendom dishonored.” [47] “By Muhammad!” exclaimed Saladin. “Not true! It is thanks to your barons, who betrayed you and accepted my gold and silver. I well know that you are a worthy man and a fine knight, and I shall do you a great kindness: I will free you with twenty of your knights, with horses, arms, and food. Proceed as well as you can.” With that, Saladin had all the prisoners come stand before him, and he said to the king, “Now take whichever twenty you want.” 23

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The king selected the best and most loyal knights, and Saladin had arms, horses, and provisions delivered to them, and they were conducted as far as the gates of Tyre. [48] The king sent word to the governor of Tyre that he should open the gates and let him come in, but the governor of Tyre sent word back that Guy would never set foot in the city; nor did he recognize him as his lord. When the king learned that he could not enter, he had his tent set up and stayed where he was for some time, since there was nothing he could do. When the queen learned that her husband was camped in the fields and could not enter the city, she came to the governor of Tyre and said, “How, sir, how can you not allow the king our lord to come in here as you must?” “Quiet, lady!” said the governor; “I would do nothing of the sort for you, and if you say anything more, I will make things hard for you.” The queen thereupon stopped speaking and went to her room, wondering what she might do, as she realized that she had no power. [49] And she thought in her heart that she would have her ladies-in-waiting help her down with a rope from the crenels at night, and she managed to find a good, strong rope long enough to reach the ground. She had herself lowered, along with one of the ladies, and came in the dark to the king’s tent while he was sleeping, and she woke him. When the king saw her, he was wonderfully happy; they very much enjoyed each other’s company, as is fitting for a man and wife of great worth. The next day, when it became known what the queen had done, she was broadly praised. The king and queen, along with their small entourage, remained outside Tyre. They suffered greatly, since there was nothing for them there; however, Saladin sent them bread and wine and provisions, as he had undertaken to do.

VIII

The pope initiates a new crusade. The crusaders move against Tyre, which surrenders quickly. They go on to Acre, where lengthy combat results in Christian victory. The main victor is King Philip.

[50] Here we’ll put aside King Guy and the queen (may God protect them!), who experienced great suffering, and go on to tell you about Pope Lucius, who was pope at that time.39 He had re39. According to the accepted chronology, Lucius III served as pope between 1181 and 1185. This is likely a reference to Pope Gregory VIII (r. October 21–December 27, 1187), who issued the papal bull Audita tremendi on October 29, 1187, calling for a new crusade in the aftermath of the Battle of Hattin, or his successor, Pope Clement III (r. 1187–91), who organized the preaching and recruitment program of the Third Crusade. As with the Battle of Hattin, the Minstrel’s story of the siege of Acre (1189–91) and the Third Crusade departs from the accepted narrative in important ways. For instance, Acre did not fall in the absence of Richard the Lionhearted, and although Philip Augustus’s contribution to the Third Crusade has been reconsidered in recent years by James Naus, Constructing Kingship: The Capetian Monarchs of France and the Early Crusades (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2016), 112–40, he is not viewed as the “main victor” of the siege of Acre or the Third Crusade in contemporary sources or modern scholarship. Also see the introduction at notes 58–61. In general, the Minstrel emphasizes the contributions of the French and Philip Augustus in the crusade at the expense of Richard and his English and Anglo-French troops. For the fullest historical treatment of the siege of Acre, see John Hosler, The Siege of Acre, 1189–1191: Saladin, Richard the Lionheart, and the Battle That Decided the Third Crusade (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2018). No comprehensive account of the Third

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ceived a letter from the patriarch, reporting that the land overseas was entirely lost, save for Tyre. He was deeply disturbed by this and immediately sent a legate to France, one to England, and one to Germany, and to all lands under the law of Rome, to preach a crusade. The legates were worthy men and fine clerics; they explained well what God required, and the people, in their devotion, took the cross with enthusiasm. [51] King Philip took the cross, as did King Richard, Count Philip of Flanders,40 Count Henry of Champagne,41 the count of Blois,42 and many other barons who are not named in my tale. They were splendidly equipped and set out to sea in fifty-four ships and sailed with no problem, arriving at Tyre on a Wednesday morning. They disembarked and set up their tents and pavilions and laid siege to the city by land and by sea. [52] When the governor saw what was happening and that such great lords had come to lay siege, he sent them word that he would surrender Tyre if his life were spared. King Philip and the other princes told him they would do nothing of the sort, and, if he resisted for more than three days, his only way out would be by way of the noose. When the governor heard these words, he was greatly frightened and answered that he would yield the city and submit to the will of the king. This answer received, Tyre surrendered. And the governor was imprisoned for life. [53] Then the barons all gathered together to plan and decided that they would lay siege to Acre, and they confirmed by Crusade has been published to date. For the best treatment, see John Gillingham, Richard I (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1999), 123–221. 40. Philip I of Flanders (r. 1168–91). On medieval Flanders, see Patrick Weber, La grande histoire de la Belgique (Paris: Perrin, 2013), and David Nicholas, Medieval Flanders (New York: Routledge, 1992). 41. Henry II of Champagne (r. 1181–97), the eldest son of Henry I and Marie of France and the nephew of both Richard the Lionhearted and Philip II of France. 42. Theobald V of Blois (r. 1152–91), the second son of Theobald II of Champagne, the brother-in-law of Philip II of France, and the paternal uncle of Henry II of Champagne.



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oath that they would not leave before the city was captured. They immediately had their tents and pavilions and equipment prepared for their direct move to Acre. They set up the tents and pavilions; King Richard wanted to have the most attractive spot, and he had his wish, since he was the richest of the lords and spent the most; indeed, he had more English silver to spend than the king of France had French pounds. They made many assaults on the walls of the city, hurling stones with catapults and mangonels, but it was all to no avail, for the Saracens burned their catapults and mangonels with Greek fire. And true it is that King Philip conducted no assault. [54] Thus the whole winter went by to no effect. King Richard spent his time enjoying the islands in the sea and visiting ladies. King Philip spent his time otherwise: he had a number of war machines constructed on the other side of the sea and then brought by ship to Acre, where they were set up in a hurry. They were all covered in lead for protection from Greek fire. They began to throw large, noisy stones into the city and crushed everything that they hit. [55] Then the Saracens were frightened. The governor of Acre, who was subject to Saladin, sent up to the crenels an elderly Saracen of great intelligence.43 Beside him there stood an interpreter-spy who pointed out the tents and pavilions and the names of the major barons, and he said, “Sir, that is King Richard’s tent, and over there is the tent of Count Philip of Flanders, and there is the tent of Count Henry of Champagne, along with all the tents of the other barons.” Then the Saracen looked and saw all King Philip’s war machines and said, “Whose machines are those?” Then the interpreter answered, “Those are the machines of King Philip of France.” 43. “The governor of Acre” is likely a reference to one of the two garrison commanders, Husayn al-Din Abu l-Hayja or Sayf al-Din Abu l-Hasan ῾Ali bin Ahmad al-Mashtub.

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The Saracen then said, “By Muhammad! He is the one to whom we’ll lose Acre!” [56] The next day in the morning, King Philip launched a violent assault on Acre, throwing stones with Bad Neighbor, a very good catapult of his; and with each hit the machine brought down a large piece of the city wall; then all the other barons followed King Philip’s lead, except King Richard, who was on the isle of Cyprus. And they continued the assault and throwing stones so long that the people within could no longer endure it; Christians rushed in from all sides, and the city was taken! There were many Saracens dead and mangled, and many others had died of illness and lay stinking in the streets. Then King Philip ordered that the city be cleared of the bodies of the Saracens, and his order was followed; whoever then wanted to enter Acre could do so. And King Guy, with the queen, was restored as king and lord of his land.

IX

There is great enmity between Kings Richard and Philip. Richard goes to Germany, then Austria. He is captured and imprisoned.

[57] Now I shall tell you about King Richard, who was in Cyprus and received letters announcing that Acre had been captured. He was infuriated, almost maddened, by the news. He came to Acre as quickly as he could; he felt great envy in his heart and great treachery, now that he knew Acre had been taken by King Philip. Now, it happened one day that Sir William of Barres was riding through Acre, and so was King Richard, and the two met. King Richard was holding the shaft of a heavy spear, and he struck Barres with it, thinking to unhorse him.44 [58] Barres held steady, for he was an expert horseman, and just as the English king thought to ride past him, Barres seized him by the collar; he spurred his horse forward, pulled him out of his saddle, and let go of his arms. King Richard fell so roughly to the pavement that his heart almost stopped, and he lay there for a long while unconscious, apparently without pulse or 44. William of Barres (d. 1234) was a close companion of Philip II and one of the most famous knights and military commanders of the late twelfth and early thirteenth centuries.

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breath. At that, Barres rode away and went to King Philip’s quarters and told him what had happened. When the king heard this, he was worried and had his men arm themselves, for he greatly feared King Richard. [59] Now it happened that King Richard came out of his faint and had his Englishmen arm themselves, and they went to attack King Philip’s quarters. But they did not find him surprised or unprepared; rather, the king’s men defended themselves bravely and vigorously; there was much fighting. Then Count Henry appeared, along with several other barons, and they agreed to a three-day truce, and for that time the matter was put to rest. [60] King Richard was sorely disturbed that King Philip had the honor of claiming Acre, and he began to hate him; he hated him, too, because of his father. He was so generous with his gifts that King Philip was poisoned—but, thank God! it was not deadly poison.45 When King Richard saw that he had failed, he went to the count of Flanders and the count of Champagne and the count of Blois, and he gave them so much money that they swore to kill King Philip. They were discussing how to go about it when God, who never forgets his own, sent an illness to Count Philip, which caused his death. When he felt himself dying, he addressed King Philip, who was his godson, saying: [61] “Dear godson, have someone put a rope around my neck and have me dragged through the streets of Acre, for I have well deserved it.” When the king heard him speak such words, he thought he had lost his senses, and he said, “Dear godfather, what are you saying?” “By God, I well know what I am saying. The truth, dear godson, is that I swore an oath to kill you—I, your nephew Count 45. Contemporaries also reported that Philip suffered from an illness during the course of the Third Crusade, but did not impute it to poison. See the introduction at notes 58–59.



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Henry, and the count of Blois. Know this too: if you don’t leave here right away, you’re betrayed and dead!” “Ah,” said the king, “why, dear godfather, did you agree?” “By God, dear godson, they would have killed me.” [62] At that, the king, deeply troubled in his heart, took leave of the count. All night long, he wondered what he was going to do, and he decided that he would issue a call to all knights to come to his court in three days for dinner. He had a great spread prepared, as befits a king’s court; at the same time, he did not forget what Count Philip had told him. So he secretly prepared his ship and stocked it with whatever was needed; and the next day, before light, he set out to sea with those closest to him. [63] When Count Henry heard that the king was sailing away, he got into a boat and rowed out in pursuit. He reached him, since the king had not yet gone very far. And he said, “Dear lord, dear cousin, are you going to leave me here in this foreign place?” The king answered him, saying, “Yes, by the lance of Saint James, wicked traitor! Nor shall you ever again enter Champagne—neither you nor your heirs!” At that, Count Henry turned back to Acre and came to King Richard and said, “My lord, we are disgraced and confounded, for the king is on his way to France and he knows from Count Philip what we plotted. You may be sure that he will destroy us all!” Then the count of Blois was summoned, and they decided that they would go speak to King Philip. [64] And as they were speaking, word was brought to them that Count Philip had died. It was shocking news. The body was prepared for burial and brought to the church and was treated with the rites due a great lord; the interment took place at the Saint Nicolas cemetery.46 The king, Count Henry, and the count 46. Philip of Flanders was first buried at the Church of Saint Nicholas outside

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of Blois came back and went into a chamber to discuss what to do. “By my head,” said the English king, “I shall go back to England and, as soon as I get there, declare war on the king!” “By God,” said the count of Blois, “I will go to France and beg mercy of the king.” “By my faith,” said Count Henry, “I shall stay here in this land, because I know for certain that I have been disinherited.” [65] Then King Richard prepared his ships and set out to sea. He headed as well as he could to Germany and landed. From there he went by land with a company of trusted men. He traveled all the way to Austria, where he was spied on and recognized. When he realized that, he put on the clothes of a servant boy and went into the kitchen to prepare chickens on the spit. A spy went to report this to the duke and, when he heard the news, he sent in so many knights and men that their strength was overpowering.47 King Richard was taken to a well-fortified castle and his whole retinue to another. And the king was then moved from one castle to another, so that no one knew anything about him, save his guards and the duke. the walls of Acre. His body was later returned to France at the behest of his wife, Theresa of Portugal (d. 1218), and reburied at the Cistercian abbey of Clairvaux. See Kurt Villads Jensen, Crusading at the Edges of Europe: Denmark and Portugal, c. 1000–c. 1250 (New York: Routledge, 2017), 284. 47. Leopold V of Austria (r. 1177–94) had been present at the siege of Acre during the Third Crusade. He and Richard quarreled after the successful capture of the city, and Leopold abandoned the crusader army.

X

The count of Blois drowns in a storm at sea. Count Henry becomes king of Cyprus, has an accident, and dies. King Guy and his queen die after fourteen years in what is left of their realm.

[66] Here we’ll put aside King Richard, who was imprisoned, and tell you about the count of Blois, who was at sea. He was heading toward Marseille under sails marked with the cross. But he was caught in a great storm, so great that it seemed at one moment that the ship rose to the clouds and then came tumbling down so far that it seemed to fall into an abyss, but was close to the ground. When the count of Blois saw these remarkable events, he had a rowboat lowered for himself and some of his men. But they had barely started rowing when the storm dashed them against a rock, and the whole boat was smashed to pieces. The count was drowned, along with all those who were with him; then the storm abated, and the ship reached harbor in safety.48 [67] Now I shall tell you about Count Henry, who had remained in Acre. News came to him that the king of Cyprus had 48. Theobald V of Blois did die during the Third Crusade, but according to contemporaries he died earlier, at the siege of Acre. See Hosler, Siege of Acre, 107.

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died,49 and the only family left was one daughter.50 He sought her for his wife, and he was readily granted her because he was noble. Thus he became king of Cyprus, and he had two daughters with the queen. The elder later became queen of Cyprus,51 and the other daughter was married to Sir Erard of Ramerupt,52 who thought that he would thereby inherit the county of Champagne—but much of what a fool hopes doesn’t come to pass.53 [68] Now it happened that the king of Cyprus came to Acre and wanted to borrow money from a local lender. And he drew him aside to a window for a confidential discussion. The window was also a door, which opened to the street and was closed but not latched. When the king leaned against it, it opened, and he fell and broke his neck. His knights and men ran downstairs and picked him up, only to find that his neck was broken. The body of the king was carried to Cyprus, and there it was buried.54 49. Cyprus had been granted to Guy of Lusignan by Richard the Lionhearted in 1192. Guy died in 1194. The best study of the crusader kingdom of Cyprus is Peter W. Edbury, The Kingdom of Cyprus and the Crusades, 1191–1374 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991). 50. According to the accepted genealogy, Guy of Lusignan’s daughters all predeceased him. Henry II of Champagne married Isabella of Jerusalem, the only sister of Guy’s wife, Sibylla, and the heiress of Jerusalem, in 1192. Through his marriage to Isabella, Henry became the titular lord of Jerusalem, although he never reigned as king of Cyprus. 51. Alice (d. 1246) became queen of Cyprus by marrying Hugh I of Cyprus (r. 1205–18), the nephew of Guy of Lusignan. 52. In 1213, Philippa (d. 1250) married Erard of Ramerupt (d. 1246), a cadet member of the Brienne family. On the Brienne family, see Guy Perry, The Briennes: The Rise and Fall of a Champenois Dynasty in the Age of the Crusades, c. 950–1356 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018). 53. Erard and Philippa fought an unsuccessful civil war for the county of Champagne between 1216 and 1218. Alice’s claims would not be resolved until 1234. For the most recent treatments of the Champenois succession dispute, see Sara MacDougall, Royal Bastards: The Birth of Illegitimacy, 800–1230 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016), 236–53; Bernard Hamilton, “Queen Alice of Cyprus,” in The Crusader World, ed. Adrian Boas (New York: Routledge, 2015), 224–40; and Theodore Evergates, The Aristocracy in the County of Champagne (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2007), 39–42. 54. As reported by the Minstrel, Henry II did die by falling out of a window at Acre in 1197. His financial impecuniousness is also well attested by contemporary



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[69] Here we’ll put aside King Henry of Cyprus and return to King Guy and his wife, the good queen, who were still in the land of Syria. Of the whole realm of Jerusalem, they held only Tyre, Acre, and Beirut, and later they neither lost nor acquired anything. They lived fourteen years in this situation; then King Guy died and so did the queen a short while later, with no heirs. Then the barons of the kingdom gathered together and elected a king, and he held the kingdom just as King Guy had done until the day he died;55 this king left a daughter who then married King John, as you shall hear as my tale continues.56 writers and the financial records of his brother Theobald III of Champagne (d. 1201), who discharged several of Henry’s debts following his untimely death. For a discussion of this and the relevant sources, see Theodore Evergates, Marie of France: Countess of Champagne, 1145–1198 (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2019), 76–82, esp. 80. 55. This is likely a reference to Guy’s brother Aimery, who ruled Cyprus from 1194 until his death in 1205. He ruled Jerusalem in a personal union after he married Isabella in 1197. 56. Maria of Jerusalem (r. 1205–12) was the daughter of Isabella of Jerusalem and her second husband, Conrad of Montferrat. She was the stepdaughter of Aimery of Cyprus. She married John of Brienne, a paternal cousin of Erard of Ramerupt, in 1210. John reigned as king of Jerusalem until 1225. He later served as the Latin emperor of Constantinople between 1229 and his death in 1237. On John of Brienne, see Guy Perry, John of Brienne: King of Jerusalem, Emperor of Constantinople, c. 1175–1237 (Cambridge: Cambridge Unviersity Press, 2013).

XI

Philip II returns to France. He marries Isabella of Hainault.

[70] At this point, we’ll come back to King Philip, who survived the perils of the sea, where he had been in great danger and thought from one moment to the next, from hour to hour, that the waves of the sea were apparently raising the ship up to the clouds, then pushing it down into an abyss, and all the while it was the dark of night. The king, firm in his faith and trusting in God, asked the sailors what time it was, and they answered that it was around midnight. Then the king said, “Be calm: there is no need to be afraid, for my friends in the order of Cistercians are now awake, chanting matins and praying for us.”57 [71] Then the storm abated, and the sea became quiet and peaceful. But the king paid no heed to the drink that the traitors had prepared for him. Thank God, though, the poison was not deadly. Still, his fingernails and toenails dropped off, and he lost all his hair and was ill for a whole year. Then he recovered his health and was again strong and hearty and cheerful. 57. Philip Augustus continued the close relationship with the Cistercian Order that had arisen under his father, Louis VII. In fact, more than half of the royal charters of protection issued during Philip’s reign were in favor of Cistercian monasteries and foundations. See Baldwin, Government of Philip Augustus, 72.

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The barons of France came to him and said, “My lord, this is the right time for you to marry.” “Of course,” said the king, “I want to; it is my desire; and I want to proceed with your advice.” [72] “Indeed,” said Archbishop William, who was the king’s uncle, “Count Philip of Flanders has died, and his land has fallen to his brother, Count Baldwin, and I don’t know in France any man more noble and richer than he.58 He has a sister who is beautiful, charming, and wise, and I would recommend that you take her in marriage.”59 “My lord,” said the other barons, “your uncle gives you good counsel.” “Indeed,” said the king, “and I accept it.” Thereupon, two of them were chosen to go see Count Baldwin, and they found him at Lille in Flanders, where he was holding a great meeting with his barons. [73] At that point, the king’s emissaries arrived; they entered the hall and greeted the count and handed him the king’s letter. He accepted it and passed it to the bishop of Arras, who was standing beside him.60 The bishop read the letter and, in 58. This is possibly a reference to Baldwin VIII of Flanders (r. 1191–95) and Hainault (r. 1171–95). According to the accepted genealogy, Baldwin married Philip’s sister Margaret I of Flanders, who co-ruled the county until her death in 1194. It could also be a reference to their son Count Baldwin IX of Flanders (r. 1195–1205), who became the first Latin emperor of Constantinople in 1204. On Baldwin IX of Flanders, see Robert Lee Wolff, “Baldwin of Flanders and Hainault, First Latin Emperor of Constantinople: His Life, Death, and Resurrection, 1172–1225,” Speculum 27 (1952): 281–322. 59. Isabella of Hainault (d. 1190) was the first spouse of Philip II Augustus of France and the mother of Louis VIII. She was the daughter of Baldwin VIII and Margaret I of Flanders and the sister of Count Baldwin IX. Philip and Isabella married in April 1180 rather than in the mid-1190s. In 1193, shortly after Philip returned from the Third Crusade, he did remarry Ingeborg of Denmark (d. 1237), which proved to be a particularly disastrous match. See the collection of essays about Isabella, Ingeborg, and other queens of France in Kathleen Nolan, ed., Capetian Women (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2003). 60. Peter I (r. 1184–1203), a Cistercian who had also served as the abbot of Pontigny (r. 1177–80) and abbot of Cîteaux (r. 1180–84).

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private, conveyed the message to the count. The count summoned his men to another room and addressed them, saying, “Dear lords, the king of France asks me for my sister in marriage; I want to proceed as you advise.” “My lord,” said his men, “the king is doing you a great honor. We all recommend that you grant her to him, together with as much land as he asks for.” The count answered that he would do so. [74] At that, he left the room and said to the king’s emissaries, “Dear lords, I have decided to do what my lord the king asks of me.” “My lord,” said the emissaries, “that is a wise decision. Now we shall tell you what the king asks of you. The king’s word is that he wants to have, with your sister, the county of Artois, that is to say, Arras and Peronne, Bapaume, Saint-Omer, Aire, Hesdin, and the whole county that she holds.” The count answered them, saying that he would give all that to the king, and even more if he wished. [75] At that, the emissaries took their leave of the count and departed. They traveled all the way to Paris, where the king was with his counselors. The emissaries offered the king the greetings of Count Baldwin of Flanders and said, “My lord, the count welcomed us gladly and showed us great honor for your sake. We delivered your letter and, once he had consulted his men, who were present, he spoke to us, saying, ‘Dear lords, I greatly thank the king for the honor he has offered me. I willingly grant that my lord the king have my sister and the county of Artois, and even more if he wishes; and all my barons are in agreement.’” Then Archbishop William replied, saying to the king, “My lord, now we have only to move the plan forward.” [76] At that, the king had a letter written, telling the count that he would wed his sister twenty-one days later in Amiens, and that he should bring her there on that day. This was done as



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the king commanded, and the young lady was brought there in splendor and in great company, and Count Baldwin displayed magnificent hospitality. The king came to Amiens and married the damsel, whose name was Isabella, and there was great festivity throughout Amiens.61 The king stayed in the city for three days and then went back to France and had the queen taken to Paris, and she was received there with great solemnity. The king and queen loved each other marvelously well, and they had a son, who was named Louis at his baptism.62 Louis was valiant and hardy and a fighter, with the heart of a lion; but throughout his life, he was never free of pain and suffering. 61. Isabella of Hainault married Philip Augustus at Bapaume in 1180, and was then crowned at Saint-Denis. Philip married Ingeborg of Denmark at Amiens in 1193. 62. Louis VIII of France (r. 1223–26), eldest son of Philip II of France and Isabella of Hainault. See Gérard Sivéry, Louis VIII le Lion (Paris: Fayard, 1995); and still Charles Petit-Dutaillis, Étude sur la vie et le règne de Louis VIII (1187–1226) (Paris: É. Bouillon, 1894).

XII

King Richard, secretly held captive by Duke Leopold of Austria, is discovered, thanks to the singing of Blondel of Nesle, and is ransomed.

[77] At this point we’ll look ahead to King Richard, whom the duke of Austria was holding prisoner; and no one had any news of him aside from the duke and his counselors alone. Now, it happened that the king had raised from childhood a minstrel named Blondel.63 The minstrel took it into his mind that he would go seeking the king through whatever lands until he could hear news of him; and he set out on his way and had spent a year and a half wandering through foreign places but not hearing any true news of the king. [78] But he went on traveling until, led by chance, he entered Austria and came to the very castle where the king was imprisoned. He found lodgings with a widow and asked her who owned that castle that was so handsome and strong and well po63. Blondel was a well-known trouvère to whom various lyric manuscripts attrib­ute the composition of at least twenty-four songs. It is not clear whether he was John I of Nesle (c. 1155–1202) or his son John II (d. 1241). On his mythical connection to Richard and his captivity, see John Gillingham, “Some Legends of Richard the Lion­heart: Their Development and Their Influence,” in Richard Coeur de Lion in History and Myth, ed. Janet L. Nelson (London: King’s College London, Centre for Late Antique and Medieval Studies, 1992), 55–60.

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sitioned. His hostess answered, saying that it belonged to the duke of Austria. “Dear hostess,” said Blondel, “is there now any prisoner in the castle?” “Yes, indeed,” said the good woman, “there is one, who has been there a good four years. But we can’t know who he is, though I can tell you for certain that he is well guarded, very carefully, and we do believe he is an important man, a noble lord.” [79] When Blondel heard these words, he was wonderfully happy, and he felt in his heart that he had found what he had been seeking: but he gave no sign of it to his hostess. That night he was greatly relieved, and he slept until daybreak. When he heard the watch announce the day, he rose and went to the church to pray that God help him. Then he came to the castle, introduced himself to the constable, and said that he was a minstrel and would gladly stay there if he were willing. The constable was a young, jovial knight and said that he would be glad to retain him. [80] Blondel was delighted and went to fetch his vielle and instruments; and he served the constable so well that he was greatly pleased, as was everyone else in the castle. Thus did Blondel stay there through the entire winter, but he could never find out who the prisoner was—until one day, during the Easter holiday, he was all alone in a garden alongside the tower; he looked around and wondered whether, just perhaps, he might see the prisoner. Just as he was thinking about this, the king looked out through a loophole and saw Blondel. He wondered how he might make himself known to the minstrel, and he remembered a song that the two of them had composed together and that was known to no one but themselves. [81] He began to sing the first words, loud and clear, for he sang very well; and when Blondel heard him, he knew for cer-

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tain that the singer was his lord. He felt in his heart the greatest joy he had ever felt. With that, he left the garden, went into his room, and picked up his vielle; he began to play and, as he played, he rejoiced to have found his lord. Blondel remained in the castle until Pentecost, and so well did he hide his knowledge that no one there perceived what he had in mind. [82] Then Blondel came to the constable and said, “My lord, if you please, I would gladly return to my country, as it has been a long time since I was last there.” “Blondel, dear brother, you will not do so if you listen to me; stay here, and I will be very good to you.” “No, my lord,” said Blondel, “nothing could keep me here.” When the constable saw that he could not retain him, he granted him leave and gave him a horse and a new set of clothes. [83] With that, Blondel left the constable and traveled a long time to reach England. He told the king’s friends and his barons that he had found the king and told them where he was. When they heard the news, they were very happy, for the king was the most generous man who had ever worn spurs. Then they resolved together that they would send messengers with an offer of ransom to the duke of Austria, and they chose two knights as emissaries, two of the most valiant and wise. [84] They traveled a long time to reach Austria, where they found the duke in a castle of his and greeted him in the name of the barons of England; they said: “My lord, we have come here sent by the barons of England, and we have learned that you hold King Richard in prison. My lord, they ask and pray that you accept ransom for him, and they will give you as much as you like.” The duke responded that he would take it under advisement, and when he had done so, he said to them, “Dear lords, if you wish to have him, you will need to pay a ransom of two hundred thousand sterling marks. And do not attempt to bargain: it would be a wasted effort.”



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[85] At that, the emissaries took their leave, saying that they would report the answer to the barons and would thus have a decision. They returned to England and told the barons what the duke had said to them, and the barons declared that that would not stop them from freeing the king. Then they gathered the ransom and had it delivered to the duke. And the duke freed the king and sent his assurance to the barons that he would never cause further harm to the king.64 64. By the time of his ransom in February 1194, Leopold of Austria had transferred Richard to the custody of the Holy Roman Emperor, Henry VI (r. 1191–97), who held Richard at Trifels Castle near the town of Annweiler in southwestern Germany.

XIII

King Richard, back in England, nurses grievances against King Philip. He returns to France ready for armed conflict. A great battle at Gisors is followed by a remarkable duel with no winner. Rebellion across the Channel calls Richard back from France.

[86] So it happened that King Richard was set free and was received in England with great honor; but his land was badly hurt thereby, as were the churches of the realm, for they had to contribute even their chalices to the ransom, and for a long time they sang Mass using chalices of tin or of wood. Now, it happened that King Richard lay in bed one night, unable to sleep, and a thought came to him that was dire and cruel; he remembered his father, King Henry, who had strangled himself with the bridle reins of his horse out of anger with King Philip, who had run at him, sword drawn, at Gerberoy. [87] And he remembered his captivity and the ransom—indeed, what the duke of Austria had done to him at the behest and insistence of King Philip; and he felt in his heart such anger and resentment that he said and swore to himself that his heart would never be at ease or at peace until he could be avenged. 44



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Then morning came and, once he had risen, he went to hear Mass and then summoned his barons and council and told them what he was thinking. [88] The barons and council responded that it was a great shame and humiliation and he would do well to seek revenge; and he should know that they were all prepared to help him with their persons and their wealth; and he had the power, the friends, and the land to confront King Philip. And indeed, he had. When King Richard heard that the barons were with him, there was joy in his heart. Right away, he had a letter written, with his seal, defying King Philip and letting him know that he considered him neither his lord nor a friend; and he should know that in a short while Richard would come right into his kingdom and Philip would not be brave enough to await or confront him. [89] At that, he chose a knight, a sensible man, and charged him with the letter. The knight took it from the king’s hand and went by sea and by land to Orleans, where King Philip was. The knight handed the letter to him with no greeting and said, “My lord, King Richard of England sends you this letter. Please let me know your answer, since I do not wish to remain here for long.” [90] The king had the seal of the letter broken by the bishop of Orleans, who was standing beside him.65 He read the letter and, once he had read, he said to the king, “My lord, King Richard sends you a message of defiance, saying that he will soon come right into your kingdom to see you, and that you will be unable to meet him.” When the king heard King Richard’s message, he thought for a moment and then said, “God Our Lord, who is all-powerful, can surely help us; know that if the king, your lord, comes into 65. Bishop Henry of Dreux (r. 1186–98), the son of Count Robert I of Dreux and the grandson of Louis VI of France.

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this land to cause trouble, we shall go meet him with as many men as we can assemble.” [91] Then the knight departed without taking leave and went back across the sea; and he found King Richard in London with a great troop of cavalry, and he said, “I have been to France and found King Philip in Orleans and delivered your letter. He had it read and told me that, if you enter his land to cause trouble, he will meet you with as large a force as he can muster.” That is all that was said. [92] King Richard had boats and tents and pavilions readied in great numbers, as he had the power to do so, and he equipped his army promptly, for he was soon expecting the new season. King Philip, for his part, did not neglect the need to prepare quickly, so reinforced his castles and his borders, and gathered wines and foodstuffs and men enough to defend him and his land, for he greatly feared the prowess and daring of King Richard. [93] Then came the new season with the arrival of May, and King Richard set sail with a great troop of cavalry. They had good wind and smooth sailing, and landed in Dieppe, a port in Normandy that belonged to him. They left their ships and came to Rouen, his city that was fourteen leagues from the port, and there they remained for a month, resting and preparing. Then King Richard ordered the army to move and go directly to Gisors, a castle of his that was strong and marvelously well located, some seven leagues from Beauvais. [94] And when they had come there, they stayed for two days, and on the third day the king commanded the vanguard to advance, and the harbingers started running. Then you would have seen the rabble, the young fellows on foot and on horseback, scattering through the Beauvais countryside, rounding up oxen and cows and pigs and sheep and ducks and capons and hens and draft horses—and peasants—and taking them back to



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the army, camped outside Gisors, where the king was lodged; they did all the harm they could through the whole area. Thus, for a long time, they did whatever they liked outside the fortresses without anyone getting in their way. But it happened that news, which flies everywhere, reached King Philip, and he was told that King Richard was at Gisors with a large army, burning and ransacking the land all around Beauvais. [95] And when the king heard such news, he was sorely angered, and he sent for the count of Chartres,66 the count of Vendôme,67 the count of Nevers,68 the count of Sancerre, who was a worthy man,69 the vidame of Châteaudun,70 Sir William of Barres, and Sir Alan of Roucy,71 and many other men of worth who are not named here; and he described the trouble brought about by King Richard, who was supposed to be his vassal, and he asked for their advice on how to proceed. “My lord,” said the count of Sancerre, “if you please, we who are here will go out to Beauvais to see what can be done; and, God willing, the Englishman will not deprive us of our inheritance.” [96] Then the king ordered that they make ready as soon as they could, and he gave them cartfuls of money. And when they were ready with arms and horses, they went straight off to Beauvais, and there they waited. They set up their vanguard and their 66. Louis I of Blois and Chartres (r. 1191–1204), the son of Theobald V. 67. Bouchard IV of Vendôme (d. 1202). 68. Peter II of Courtenay (r. as count of Nevers, 1184–99, d. 1219) was the son of Peter I of Courtenay and the grandson of Louis VI of France. He obtained the county of Nevers by marriage to its heiress, Agnes I. He later served as Latin emperor of Constantinople, from 1216 to 1217. For a general history of the Latin Empire and the Frankish states in Greece, see Peter Lock, The Franks in the Aegean, 1204–1500 (New York: Longman, 1995). 69. William I of Sancerre (r. 1191–1217), the son of Stephen of Sancerre and the grandson of Theobald II of Champagne. 70. Geoffrey V of Châteaudun (d. 1218). 71. Alan of Roucy (d. 1221), alongside William of Barres, was a leading knight and military commander attached to the court of Philip II.

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rear guard and rode toward Gisors; and the men of Gisors came out against them. They engaged in many skirmishes back and forth, and there were many losses and gains, but they separated after a while and then resumed fighting on the following days. [97] Now it happened that King Richard sent word to the count of Sancerre and to Barres that they were eating their king’s bread to no effect, but, if they were brave enough to dare come to the elm outside Gisors, he would consider them valiant and courageous. King Philip’s men sent back word that they would appear the next day before terce and would cut down the tree to spite him. When the English king heard that they would cut down the elm, he had the trunk of the tree fitted all around with iron bands that were five yards wide.72 [98] The next morning, Philip’s men armed themselves and divided their people into five battalions, the first led by the count of Sancerre, the second by the count of Chartres, the third by the count of Vendôme, the fourth by the count of Nevers, and the fifth by Sir William of Barres jointly with Sir Alan of Roucy. They rode up to the elm at Gisors, the crossbowmen and carpenters in front with good sharp axes and good pointed hammers to rip away the bands around the tree. They halted before the elm and forced the bands apart and, whoever might object, cut down the tree. [99] But King Richard, meanwhile, was not sleeping. Rather, he too had formed five battalions, and he capably threw himself into battle like the bold knight that he was. And he was received by Philip’s men bravely and well, and there was much breaking of spears, and there were many knocked down and wounded. They drew swords and attacked one another in a great melee, and on both sides there were many wounded. King 72. For a catalog of the sources and a historical treatment of the cutting of the elm at Gisors, see J. E. M. Benham, “Anglo-French Peace Conferences in the Twelfth Century,” in Anglo-Norman Studies XXVII: Proceedings of the Battle Conference 2004, ed. John Gillingham (Woodbridge: Boydell, 2005), 52–67.



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Richard himself performed with marvelous horsemanship and brought down riders and horses, and tore helmets from heads and shields from necks, and was so brilliant at arms that Philip’s men were in shock. [100] William of Barres, for his part, conducted himself so well that he did not encounter a single knight whom he failed to take down; and he was so feared that no one dared stand up to him, but, rather, all let him pass freely. King Richard took note of Barres’s success and felt great envy; indeed, he had hated him for a long time because of his skill at arms. So he took a heavy lance and cried out, “Barres, Barres, you have done enough fighting!” When Barres heard this, he realized who was shouting; he took from his squire a heavy, strong, stiff lance and spurred his horse forward toward the king, and the king came toward him. [101] And they met in so great a clash of chests and horses that the ground was sent spraying up, and they struck each other’s shields with such force that breastplates and straps were all torn apart, and the two men fell to the ground over the croups of their horses, their thighs still hugging their saddles. They bounded up, drawing their swords from their scabbards, and ran at each other, striking great blows on helmets and shields. Nothing could have stopped one of them from losing his life had the battle gone on a bit longer, but men on both sides dashed in and separated them. Each then went back to his camp, as night was falling. [102] Things remained like that until the next day, when King Richard went to hear Mass. Then, all of sudden, a messenger came spurring quickly along, jumped down at the stairs to the main hall, ran up, and asked for the king; he was told where to find him, followed directions, and greeted the king, saying, “My lord, the count of Gloucester,73 whom you appointed to take 73. The count (properly, earl) of Gloucester cannot be identified with any certainty, but this is likely a reference to one of the justiciars or chancellors who died in

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charge of England during your absence, is dead, the people of your country are sorely bewildered, for the king of Scotland and the king of Ireland and the king of Wales have entered your land and are causing great damage there.74 In God’s name, my lord, decide what to do, as you must, you, lord and king that you are!” [103] When the king heard this news, he almost burst with rage. He summoned his counselors and the most valiant and wise of his barons and asked for their thoughts. They answered that there was only one thing to do: he had to hasten back to England and take with him whichever of his men he wanted and would be most useful to him; and the others would remain here and would guard the castle and attack the royal forces: “And we’ll make them spend their king’s money!” “Yes, indeed,” said the king; “you are right!” At that, the king left the counselors and prepared to sail the next day; he chose the best of his barons and with them went back to England. He found his country sorely tried and his people at a loss, as people would be without a lord. post during the 1190s. Richard’s brother John was the earl of Gloucester through his first wife, Isabella of Gloucester (d. 1217). 74. William of Scotland (r. 1165–1214), popularly known as the Lion. The king of Wales is likely a reference to Rhys ap Gruffyd, the ruler of Deheubarth in southern Wales from 1155 to 1197. The king of Ireland cannot be identified with any certainty. From the large literature on the political history of the British Isles, including cooperation and conflict between England, Wales, Scotland, and Ireland in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, see Davies, The First English Empire; and David Carpenter, The Struggle for Mastery: Britain, 1066–1284 (New York: Penguin, 2003).

XIV

King Philip decides to take advantage of Richard’s return to Britain. He captures Richard’s holdings at Gisors and Niort. Richard returns in secret to France. Conflict continues to rage between the two kings. At one point, Philip is saved from capture by the astucious Alan of Roucy.

[104] Here we’ll put aside King Richard and speak of King Philip, who had received a letter from the count of Sancerre, captain of the army, saying that King Richard had gone to England along with the best of his barons. King Philip thought then that the moment was right, so he wrote to all his vassals with instructions to gather at Beauvais one month later, armed as they were duty-bound to be. And one month later, they were all there, no one delayed, and they met the king, who had already come. He organized the vanguard and the rear guard with valiant knights and crossbowmen to lead the army, and they came one morning to Gisors and set up their tents and pavilions all around the castle at a crossbow’s range away. [105] The men inside the castle came out and tried their best to hold them off, but to no avail, for there were too few to resist the royal troops, and the man who was their comfort and 51

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support was far away. Thus the French took over, and the next morning, the king ordered that war machines be set up and that there be unsparing use of trebuchets, perriers, cats, and mangonels.75 This was done, and the people of the town were so attacked, by night as by day, and so sorely pressed that they did not know what to do or what would become of them, and so many were killed that barely a third remained alive or safe and sound. [106] When the captain of Gisors saw that all were headed toward death, he sent a message to King Philip that, with the approval of council, he would surrender the castle in a month if he received no aid from King Richard. The king granted him the delay, but on condition that he keep the constable’s son as hostage. With that, the king called a halt to the machines’ pounding, and the constable sent word to King Richard in England that he should come to his rescue, for he was so hard-pressed by the foe that he had few men left and would necessarily have to surrender the castle in a month. [107] When King Richard heard the constable’s plea, he felt great anger in his heart, and he quickly sent a letter saying that he could not be back at the appointed time but that the constable, by God, should hold out as well as possible, for he would come rescue him as soon as he could. Meanwhile, in the time left, King Philip sent a detachment of soldiers to Niort, a well-located stronghold that belonged to the English king. They came there so quietly that the people in the castle were unaware of them, and they were so taken by surprise that the royal troops could enter the castle in a single rush and capture it; they caught the defenders and put them into prison. When the news came to King Philip, he was more overjoyed than anyone could recount. [108] In the meantime, the constable’s messenger came 75. On the development, implementation, and use of trebuchets and related siege engines in medieval Europe, see especially D. R. Hill, “Trebuchets,” in Medieval Warfare, 1000–1300, ed. John France (New York: Routledge, 2006), 271–88.



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back from England, and the constable heard his lord’s rejection of the plea that he had sent him. He understood that he would not be rescued by his lord, so he surrendered the castle of Gisors, so impressive and strong, to King Philip, and the king garrisoned it with fine defenders, equipped with whatever they needed. At that, King Philip departed and went into Normandy and did anything he liked there outside of fortresses; and that went on until King Richard had concluded his war with his enemies and was at peace with them. [109] Then he reached Normandy as soon as he could, with a vehement effort, arriving one evening in Dieppe; and the next day before dawn, he armed his men and led them to where King Philip was camped. Philip was out riding with his closest aides, not thinking to be on guard, because he believed that King Richard was still in England; but, as the Vilain says in a proverb, “In a barrel of belief, there is no full cup of knowledge.”76 Even if King Philip were the wisest prince in the world, it often happens that a wise man does something terribly foolish. Barres was not with the king at the time, but Alan of Roucy was; he and Barres hated each other. [110] Sir Alan looked up and saw under ten leagues ahead a great mass of riders spread down through the fields to the right and to the left; he approached the king and said, “My lord, I see a great number of banners out there. We are in hostile territory, so we would do well to arm ourselves, I’d say; King Richard is a very valiant man and well versed in warfare.” “By the spear of Saint James, Alan,” said the king, “I’ve never before heard you sound like a coward!” “By my head,” answered Sir Alan, “I’ll stop talking right now!” [111] Then the king looked up and saw the banners ap76. See “En un mui de cuidier n’a pas plaing poing de savoir,” no. 702 in Joseph Morawski, Proverbes français antérieurs au XV e siècle (Paris: Champion, 1925).

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proaching and the countryside covered with men. He turned to Sir Alan and said, “Alan, if you agree, it is time for our men to be armed.” And Sir Alan answered the king, “It is good to shear at the right time. My lord, it is true: that is surely King Richard, and I can tell you for certain that we will all soon be captured. But there is not a moment to lose: jump onto the fastest destrier you have and ride to Gisors, which is nearby, and take shelter, while I stay here and put on your armor—and we’ll do the best we can.” [112] Then the king mounted on a strong, rapid destrier and rode off to Gisors at high speed. He was noticed, though, by the English vanguard and was chased by more than two hundred men; but they were heavily armed, and he was free of arms and had a faster horse than any of them. He raced his steed up to Gisors and was hurriedly received within. Sir Alan of Roucy stayed behind, under the king’s arms; he set up two battalions with as many men as he had and made them ready. [113] Suddenly, there was King Richard with his men, throwing themselves against the French; the royal troops took them on fiercely, few as they were, and defended themselves marvelously well; but their brave fight was for naught, since they were outnumbered by the English, and King Richard was a knight of matchless ability. In the end, the royal forces were defeated, and Richard captured as many as he liked—including Sir Alan, still wearing the arms of his king. [114] When King Richard saw him, he exclaimed, “By God, king, now I’ve got you!” “No, indeed,” said Sir Alan, “not so! You are holding Alan of Roucy, a poor vavasor.” “What the devil!” said the king. “Are you Alan? By Saint Thomas, I thought I’d captured the king himself! Well, God,” he went on, “since we failed to get the king, do we have Barres?” “No, indeed,” said Alan, “not at all! He is not here. But you



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may be sure that, if he were here, you would all have been captured or killed!” These words were reported to Barres, who thoroughly hated Alan, but thanks to these words, the two men were reconciled. [115] At that, King Richard departed along with his prisoners and went to Vernon, a castle of his that was beautiful and good and well situated on the Seine. He distributed the prisoners among various fortresses, but kept Alan of Roucy with him, taking him along to Rouen, where he stayed for a short while.77 [116] Now I shall tell you about King Philip, who was at Gisors. He summoned his men and reassembled them; then he returned to France, where he stayed for a short while. King Richard, for his part, was deeply distressed to have lost Gisors and Niort, so he took some of his troops and sent them into the marches to ransack and pillage the area; the others he conducted to a border castle that belonged to King Philip and laid siege. [117] It took a long while for him to capture the castle. He had the roads guarded so closely that no messenger could escape, and he stayed before the castle so long that it finally fell. For each of the crossbowmen, he ordered one hand cut off, and every servant had an eye plucked out; he had the knights ransomed before letting them go. When King Philip heard the news, he was sorely disturbed, but he was unable to retaliate at the time, because he fell gravely ill with a sickness that lasted a year and a half and rendered any action impossible. 77. This is a narration of the Battle of Gisors, or Battle of Courcelles, fought on September 27, 1198.

XV

Richard, learning of incursions by the king of Spain, responds with force. Battle between Richard and King Ferran results in Spanish defeat. Richard returns to England, then again to France. Richard the Lionhearted is wounded in battle and dies.

[118] Now let’s return to King Richard, who was playing any tune he liked, with no one rising to contradict him, and he did whatever he wanted outside of fortresses. He took booty and seized peasants and caused such havoc in the country that there was no more sowing or tilling or working the earth right down to the border and even beyond. But the fortresses of the French king were so filled with good men, so well stocked with wine and foodstuffs and whatever the troops might need, that the occupants of those strongholds were not troubled by King Richard. Still, he had them so pressed that no one was able to move from the place where he was. [119] Now it happened that Richard received news that the king of Spain had laid siege to La Réole and Bergerac, two of his good cities.78 At this news, the king shook his head and said 78. This is unlikely to be a reference to Ferdinand II of León and Galicia (r. 1157–

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that, by the soul of his father, he was pleased, and the matter would not end there, for the king of Spain had awakened the sleeping cat, and, as the old proverb says: So long does the goat scratch That she ends up with an itch.79 King Richard then summoned his vassals, assembled a great army, and set out to sea; they sailed as far as Bayonne, a city of his in Gascony on the sea. [120] They stayed there for eight days; on the ninth, the English king ordered the army to march and, as soon as possible, to enter the territory of the Spanish king. They put the whole country to the torch, seizing booty, destroying crops, vineyards, and gardens, and devastating everything in their way. The rampage went on for fourteen days before the king of Spain learned of it. At that point, a spy left King Richard’s army and went straight to La Réole, where the king of Spain was holding his army, and said to him, “My lord, the news is bad; King Richard has arrived in Bayonne with a great number of troops. Be advised that he has already done you great harm, for he burns and destroys everything he touches outside the fortresses, and there is no one to stop him.” [121] The king was not pleased to hear these words, and his 88), who was never active in Aquitaine. Alphonso VIII of Castile (r. 1158–1214) married Richard’s sister Eleanor of England (d. 1214). Their eldest son was also named Ferdinand, but he died in 1211, before he could inherit the throne. During the reign of John, Alfonso claimed that Gascony was a part of Eleanor’s original dowry and invaded the duchy in 1205 to press her rights. Another Spanish king, Richard the Lionhearted’s brother-in-law Sancho VII of Navarre (r. 1195–1234), also fought several engagements on Richard’s behalf in Aquitaine during the 1190s against Philip II. See Anthony Goodman, “England and Iberia in the Middle Ages,” in England and Her Neighbours, 1066–1453: Essays in Honour of Pierre Chaplais, ed. Michael Jones and Malcolm Vale (London: Hambledon, 1989), 73–96, and María Bullón-Fernández, ed., England and Iberia in the Middle Ages, 12th-15th Century: Cultural, Literary, and Political Exchanges (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2007). 79. See “Tant grate chievre que mau gist,” no. 2297 in Morawski, Proverbes français antérieurs au XV e siècle.

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heart told him that he faced trouble; for he knew that King Richard was bold and courageous and would leave nothing of his in peace. Still, he believed that King Philip had so seized his attention that he was unable to move ahead. But, as they say, belief and hope are both fools. At that point, King Ferran of Spain withdrew and summoned his counselors and said, “Dear lords, counsel me! I greatly need your advice. King Richard has come into my kingdom, and I well know that he is extremely aggressive; and if he succeeded in laying hand on me, I know for certain I would lose my life or, at least, be thrown into prison.” [122] “Indeed,” said all his barons and counselors, “you will not find a single one of us to agree to that! You need to summon all vassals to military service, which means many men, and demand their support; and on pain of losing fortune or fief, let no one stand back; and if anyone does refuse the summons, he shall hang! Be assured you will have twice as many men as you have now; you are in your own country, and your forces will grow every day.” All agreed on this course, and the king had his orders written and quickly dispatched through the kingdom. The men came on the day that was set; King Richard approached at four leagues’ distance and challenged King Ferran to battle on the third day following. King Ferran answered that he would readily accept the challenge, and in fact he looked forward to the fight. [123] What a sight it was on both sides—hauberks being polished, swords sharpened, pourpoints and breastplates and shields made ready, saddles and harnesses equipped, horses shoed, and everyone taking care to overlook nothing! When the third day came, they all rose; each of the kings formed his men into ten battalions and arranged and placed them as he thought would be most advantageous; and each battalion was overseen by a noble and valorous constable.



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[124] Then the two armies ran up to each other and clashed, the two first battalions meeting head on; many men were knocked down and were wounded, especially the English. But the second battalion rushed in to help and forcefully charged their adversaries. When the second Spanish battalion saw they were losing ground, they hurled themselves against the foe and killed or wounded many a man; then in rushed the third battalions and the fourth and the fifth, then all the others, and all were caught up in the melee. So many knights were unhorsed and so many horses roamed riderless that no one could tell you how many. [125] Then, suddenly, there was King Richard, lance in rest, crying, “King Ferran of Spain, where have you ventured?! I, here, am Richard, come to defend La Réole and Bergerac and the whole land of Gascony, where you have no right to be! You are a wicked man, and disloyal. You must think that the French king has given me so much to do that I couldn’t come here!” And then there came from his mouth a statement of remarkable arrogance: “Indeed,” he said, “I will do battle with both you and him as long as I live!” Ah, God! he expected to live much longer than he did. [126] When the king of Spain heard himself called a traitor, he was not pleased. He spurred his horse forward toward the spot where Richard stood. He fitted his shield at his neck—his shield bearing the emblem of the king of Castile, three gold castles on a field of red. He lowered his lance and started toward King Richard, and King Richard, whose arms were of crimson, lowered his lance and started toward him in response. They met in so violent a clash that their steeds’ harnesses and breastplates could not keep either of them from falling onto the ground, saddle between his feet. [127] They both jumped back up as quickly as they could, drawing their bare swords from their scabbards and slashing

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hard at each other. And it could not be that one or the other would fail to be badly injured, for they were both fine knights, but men on each side came to the rescue of their king, and they were both forced back into their saddles. The battle lasted into the evening, with the Spanish overwhelmed in the end, since they were poorly armed and less skilled in warfare than the English. True, too, the English were heartened by the example their lord, King Richard, who was so adroit at arms that those who witnessed him were astonished by his prowess, even the king of Spain, who never again dared meet him in combat, so thoroughly had he been bested. [128] When King Ferran and his troops saw that they could endure nothing more, they turned and ran. The English pursued them until night was so dark they could barely see one another; then they retired to King Ferran’s camp and went to sleep there, where they found whatever they needed and even acquired great treasure. The next morning, they returned to Bayonne, went out to sea boldly, with delight and satisfaction; they sailed for twelve days, then arrived at Dover, at a castle of Richard’s, and the English joyously celebrated the victory of their lord. [129] When the king had supped, he went to bed, but he was unable to sleep, so mindful was he of his loss of Gisors and Niort. He thought of laying siege to Gisors and taking it by force, for King Philip was ill, while he, Richard, had most of his men with him and ready to sail. The next day, he had his men prepared to board ship; they did so willingly, for he had palms like sieves, so generous was he. [130] They sailed as far as Dieppe, which was a town of his, then on to Rouen, which he loved dearly, and there they took what they needed. The king then led his army to a castle belonging to King Philip, the castle called Loches, which was strong and well situated, and well stocked—and very disturbing to Richard. That is where he went, then, to lay siege, swearing that



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he would not depart without capturing it. He undertook to assault Loches night and day, but those inside defended it vigorously, for they had many well-equipped men. [131] It happened one day that King Richard was out admiring the castle, protected by a shield, and he was noticed by a crossbowman who was standing in a corner tower that protruded farther out than the other towers. He put a bolt into place and shot straight at the king, striking him at an uncovered spot on the right shoulder and wounding him gravely. When the king felt himself hit, he jumped back and ran into his tent. The doctors were called, who pulled the whole bolt out of the shoulder and probed the wound and said that there would be no problem if he took care. But the king, a man of great courage, paid no heed to the wound or the advice of the doctors; he drank and ate whatever he liked and went to bed with his wife. The wound began to fester; it became inflamed, and in a short while his right side and his arm were completely affected. [132] When the king realized he was burning with fever and was doomed, he began to lament to himself and regret his fate, saying, “Ah, King Richard, is this your end? Ah, death, how bold you are to dare attack King Richard, the most gifted of knights, the most courtly and the most generous in the world! Ah, chivalry, you are nearing your end! Ah, poor ladies, poor knights, what will become of you? Ah, God, who now will embody the knightly, the generous, and the courtly?” [133] Thus did the king lament; and when he saw that he was nearing his end, he ordered that his heart be buried in Rouen, for the love that he had for that city, and that his body be borne to London and be buried in the cathedral.80 At that, he expired and gave up his spirit. His people then threw themselves into the deepest mourning ever known; the army departed and went 80. Richard’s heart was sent to Rouen; his body was interred at Fontevraud Abbey in Anjou next to his father, Henry II.

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off to Rouen; and there the heart of King Richard was buried. His body was borne to London, where there was mourning greater than had ever been seen. The body was interred in the cathedral with all honors; the tomb was beautiful and rich, as befitted a king.

XVI

John of Brienne, landless, grows up to become king of Jerusalem.

[134] At that, we’ll put aside King Richard, who died with no heirs, and turn to the king of Jerusalem, who took his throne by election and reigned for eight years. He died, as did his wife, leaving a young daughter; the kingdom then passed into the hands of the barons, who assumed the guardianship of the damsel and protected her until she reached an age to be married.81 [135] Let’s go on to tell about John of Brienne, a son of Count Walter of Brienne the Elder,82 who had several children older than John. Count Walter wanted his son John to become a cleric, but he, not wishing to, went off to Clairvaux, where a maternal uncle provided him with everything he needed; and he willingly accepted what was done for him, since he was only fourteen years old.83 81. See notes 51 and 52. 82. Historians now accept that Erard II of Brienne (d. 1191) was John’s father. Walter II (d. 1161) was John’s grandfather. See Perry, John of Brienne, 16. 83. Likely a reference to John’s paternal uncle and namesake John, the Cistercian abbot of Beaulieu. Perry, John of Brienne, 26–28, believes that the Minstrel’s story about Clairvaux, though unsubstantiated in contemporary sources, may contain a kernel of truth—that John of Brienne was initially intended for a clerical career by his father.

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[136] It happened one day that some knights of his lineage, on their way to a tournament, were passing in front of the gate to Clairvaux and saw young John standing there. They saw a fine young man, well-built, and evidently of noble stock. They stopped at the gate and asked who the boy was; and they were told that he was the son of Walter of Brienne and that he had fled to his uncle in Clairvaux because he did not want to be a cleric. [137] The knights agreed that he had done well and that it had clearly come from a brave and noble heart, so they had a squire put him on a packhorse and took him along to a tourney, where they gave him a saddle horse. They led him then from one region to another, and the boy grew and developed so well that he was able to serve and help a friend in the midst of the greatest crush in a tournament. He so served till he reached the age of twenty-eight years; then, when the lord of Châteauvillain saw him and recognized his abilities and his intelligence, he wanted him to become a knight.84 The lord was a valorous knight himself, and he welcomed the young man into his retinue. [138] Then his friends consulted together and decided to ask Count Walter, the young man’s father, to grant some land to his son, for it seemed to them that it would be in good hands. The count, though, swore that neither dead nor alive would he ever let his son John have a patch of his land—and that is how the young man came to be known as John Lackland.85 But this hardly stopped him from participating in tournaments and war games in all regions where knights went to gain renown, for his friends gave him whatever he needed to accomplish his exploits. [139] Thus, he moved about for a long while, gaining fame and admiration for his knightly prowess, and so widely did word 84. Hugh III of Broyes and Châteauvillain (d. 1205). 85. “Lackland” is the traditional epithet of John of England, not John of Brienne. It is possible that the Minstrel conflated the nicknames of the two contemporary rulers, yet for John of Brienne—himself a younger son who inherited no patrimony in eastern France—it is not an inappropriate epithet.



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of him travel through many places that it reached the land of Syria. The barons there met and agreed to seek him as a husband for their princess, and they would make him their king. What was decided was done, and he was sent the barons’ invitation. When John received this news, he thanked Our Lord and spread the word to the lord of Châteauvillain and the lord of Joinville and his other friends, who were all very happy.86 They gave him whatever he needed—money and clothes, horses and arms, and knights of his lineage to accompany him and do him honor. [140] Thereupon, John Lackland took leave of all, departing from his friends and his homeland. He and his retinue rode rapidly and came to Marseille in fourteen days. There they found a ship ready, stocked it with everything needed, and set out to sea on a Tuesday morning. God granted them such good wind that they were able to cross in twenty-one days, and they arrived in Acre one Monday at midday. There John was welcomed with great joy; he stayed in Acre fifteen days, because the crossing had left him very tired. [141] Then the barons came to him and said, “My lord, we invited you here for your good and your honor; we know that you are a noble man of knightly valor, and loyal, and we do not see how the kingdom of Jerusalem could be placed into hands better than yours. We give you our queen and our land; God grant that we have made the right choice!” “Indeed, may God so grant!” said John Lackland. And he received the young woman and married her in the church of the Holy Cross, which is the seat of the bishopric. The wedding celebration was grand and beautiful and lasted eight full days. At week’s end, the couple was conducted to Beirut and there both were crowned, for these days that is where the kings of Jerusalem are crowned, because Jerusalem is in the hands of the Saracens. 86. Simon of Joinville (d. 1233).

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[142] As I have recounted to you, John Lackland became king of Jerusalem; he lost the name “John Lackland” and came to be called henceforth “good king” John. He held the kingdom securely and fairly, and was a fine justicer, reigning a long time as a good king. He had, with the queen, one daughter,87 who later became the wife of Emperor Frederick;88 she had a son who married the daughter of the duke of Bavaria,89 and from this son has come a boy who is to be king of Jerusalem.90 [143] Now it happened that the queen of Jerusalem died. She was a worthy, holy woman, and she was buried in the church of the Holy Cross. It happened a little while later that the king took as his new wife the daughter of the king of Armenia,91 and they had a son who at his baptism was named John, like his father; but the boy lived only seven years and then died.92 87. Isabella II of Jerusalem (r. 1212–28). 88. Frederick II’s principal titles were Holy Roman Emperor (r. 1220–50) and King of Sicily (r. 1198–1250). 89. The son of Frederick II and Isabella II was Conrad (d. 1254), who did not become Holy Roman Emperor, but did accede to his father’s other titles. Conrad married Elisabeth of Bavaria (d. 1273) in 1246, the daughter of Otto II of Bavaria (r. 1231–53). 90. Conrad, usually known as Conradin, the king of Jerusalem (r. 1254–68) and Sicily (r. 1254–58/68), was the last legitimate male Hohenstaufen. 91. Stephanie of Armenia (d. 1220), the daughter of Leo I of Armenia (r. 1187– 1219) and Isabella of Antioch (d. 1207). On Cilician Armenia, see Thomas S. R. Boarse, ed., The Cilician Kingdom of Armenia (New York: St. Martin’s, 1978). 92. John of Armenia (d. 1220).

XVII

Pope Innocent III plans a new crusade against the Saracens. The Saracens make plans for defense. A major confrontation will take place at Damietta.

[144] Now the tale ceases to tell of King John, but we shall come back to him at the right time and place. We shall now speak of Pope Innocent, who had heard that the land across the sea was in the hands of the Saracens and they were treating it indecently and not celebrating the service of Our Lord.93 Profoundly disturbed by the news, he assembled a council general of all the orders that owed allegiance to Rome.94 93. Pope Innocent III (r. 1198–1216). There are an enormous number of studies on the life, times, and policies of Pope Innocent III. Among others, see James M. Powell, Innocent III: Vicar of Christ or Lord of the World? 2nd ed. (Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of America Press, 1994); Janet E. Sayers, Innocent III: Leader of Europe, 1198–1216 (New York: Longman, 1994); Brenda Bolton, Innocent III: Studies on Papal Authority and Pastoral Care (Aldershot: Variorum, 1995); and John C. Moore, Pope Innocent III (1160/61–1216): To Root Up and to Plant (Leiden: Brill, 2003). 94. In two papal bulls of April 1213, Quia Maior and Vineam Domini Sabaoth, respectively, Innocent III called for the Fifth Crusade (1217–21) and the Fourth Lateran Council (November 1215). The best historical treatment of the Fifth Crusade is James Powell, Anatomy of a Crusade, 1213–1221 (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1986). Also see E. J. Mylod, Guy Perry, Thomas W. Smith, and Jan Vandeburie, eds., The Fifth Crusade in Context: The Crusading Movement in the Early Thirteenth

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[145] They appeared on the set day in Rome, and there they adopted a large number of rules that were needed for the holy church. There it was decreed that a little bell would be carried with the Corpus Christi, for at that time it was not done; and it was decided that priests who had capes with sleeves would have round ones. And there were many other rules that are not kept or observed. [146] And then came a discussion of the land across the sea, which was in the hands of the Saracens: holy Christendom had a duty to be angered thereby! And then it was agreed by all the prelates that it was time to preach a crusade. The legate of France bore the name Robert of Courson; he was an Englishman, valorous, and given to drinking (like many valorous men); and he recruited many people to the crusade.95 [147] They went out in two waves; the first arrived at Acre on Saint Michael’s Day; there was a great crowd of people there.96 They deliberated with King John and decided to go lay siege to Damietta as, meanwhile, their numbers would grow. This plan was accepted by all men of nobility, and they prepared their ships and set out to sea. They arrived at Damietta and disembarked; they set up their tents and pavilions and settled in as well as they could. [148] When the Saracens became aware of such preparations, they were alarmed; they shut their gates and manned their turrets and prepared extremely well to defend themselves. They sent word to Saphadin, the sultan of Babylon, who was lord of Damietta, that he should come to their rescue, for King John Century (New York: Routledge, 2017); and Megan Cassidy-Welch, War and Memory at the Time of the Fifth Crusade (University Park: Pennsylvania State University, 2019). For the most recent work on the Fourth Lateran Council, see Andrea Massironi, ed., The Fourth Lateran Council and the Development of Canon Law and the Ius Commune (Turnhout: Brepols, 2019). 95. Robert of Courson was made a cardinal in 1212. He died at the siege of Damietta in 1219. 96. Saint Michael’s Day, or Michaelmas, was observed on September 29.



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and French Christendom had besieged them.97 When Saphadin received this news, he was not pleased; he sent messages throughout pagandom, asking for help, “because King John and all of Christendom of France, Lombardy, Tuscany, and Germany have laid siege to Damietta, which they well know is the key to pagandom.” [149] Then all the noble lords assembled at Baudas to decide what to do. There came the sultan of Damascus, named Coradin, who was the full brother of Saphadin, the sultan of Babylon; there, too, came the sultan of Iconium,98 the one of La Chamelle,99 and the one of Aleppo, where the fine knights of pagandom are; there came many other sultans and emirs as well. They all agreed that they would go to Damietta and sent word to the sultan of Babylon that they would join him on the day he would set; then they all separated and went home. [150] They gathered as many troops as they could and came to Babylon on an appointed day and deliberated on their next move. Thus passed a long time, during which neither side did anything worth recounting. All along, the Christians built fortifications and dug good ditches and put up strong palings across the plain; and they created a bridge of boats across the river, which is very wide and deep, to deprive the people of Damietta of their port, for that was the way all their supplies reached them. The Christians placed some troops on one side of the bridge and a second detachment on the opposite side—and that is what ultimately hurt them the most. [151] Here we’ll put King John and his army aside for a while and speak instead of the second wave of Christians, who had re97. Al-῾Adil I (r. 1200–1218), popularly known in Latin and Old French sources as Saphadin, was the younger brother of Saladin. On the Ayyubid dynasty, see Carole Hillenbrand, The Crusades: Islamic Perspectives (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1999), 195–224, and R. Stephen Humphreys, From Saladin to the Mongols: The Ayyubids of Damascus, 1193–1260 (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1977). 98. Modern Konya. 99. Modern Homs.

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mained behind, such as Milo, the bishop-elect of Beauvais,100 who was the brother of Sir Gaucher of Nanteuil,101 and Sir Andrew, his brother;102 Sir John of Arcis,103 the count of Pingin, the lord of Loupeigne,104 who was a man of valor, and Sir John Fuisnon,105 along with many other worthy men whose names I shall not give you here, since it would be tiresome to recite so many names. [152] The bishop-elect brought the tithe of the clerics in the name of the pope; and they made ready to move ahead on Saint John’s Day.106 They loaded their ships and set out to sea. They sailed smoothly all the way to Acre and asked where the king was; they were told that he was stationed before Damietta, which he had besieged a year earlier and was still under siege. At this news, the bishop-elect had his ships prepared, and his forces set forth the next day; it took them six days to reach Damietta and, when they disembarked, they went to camp with the others, who were very glad to welcome them. However, nothing but ill ever came of this, as you are soon going to hear. 100. Milo of Nanteuil was bishop of Beauvais from 1218 to 1234. 101. Gaucher II of Nanteuil, sometimes known as Gaucher of Châtillon (d. 1224). 102. Andrew of Nanteuil (d. after 1219). 103. John II of Arcis-sur-Aube (d. 1222). 104. Loupeigne was a village held by the lords of Bazoches. This is possibly a reference to Walter of Bazoches or one of his heirs. 105. John Fuisnon or Foisnon also took part in the Fourth Crusade, and the name appears in records of the county of Champagne from the 1170s to the 1230s. It is unclear if these references are to the same man. See Jean Longnon, Les compagnons de Villehardouin: recherches sur les croisés de la quatrième croisade (Geneva: Librairie Droz, 1978), 63–64. 106. June 24.

XVIII

Facing Saphadin, the Christians debate strategy. The people of Damietta suffer as fighting goes on. The bishop-elect of Beauvais is captured. Serious reversals lead to the unmasking and death of a spy.

[153] Now we shall tell you about Saphadin, the sultan of Babylon, who was camped only two leagues away from the army; and whenever the Christians attacked Damietta, the Saracens, to aid the inhabitants, carried out an attack on the Christians; but they could not enter the city, because the way was blocked by the Christian army. Harassment continued a long time, until the day when the legate,107 King John, and the bishop-elect of Beauvais and all the barons met to deliberate and they agreed that it would be good to mount a major assault on the Saracens and, God willing, the Christians would be victorious; some said, though, that it would be wise to begin with a formal challenge. [154] “Indeed,” said King John, “it is of no interest to go seeking them out far from here, when at any time we can have them right here at the palings if we wish.” 107. Pelagio (or Pelagius) Galvani (d. 1230) was made cardinal by Pope Innocent III in 1206.

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“Truly, my lord king,” said the bishop-elect of Beauvais, “would you now like us to remain endlessly in this land?” “Certainly not,” answered the king; “but I believe that moving ahead is better than standing still. Nevertheless, I am willing to do whatever everyone here wishes. And let happen what may!” [155] They all agreed then to send the sultan of Babylon a challenge to battle, and the sultan granted them the day of Saint John the Beheaded.108 Know, in truth, that Christians had never fought Saracens on that day without being beaten. The Christians prepared as well as they could, and the Saracens did likewise; they organized their battalions and set them out in alignment. But the Christians, who were overconfident, paid no attention to the way their undertaking might develop. They pursued the Saracens for two leagues across burning hot sand, and the horses, one after another, sank knee-deep into the sand; the foot soldiers did as well. [156] When they came close to the Saracens, the foot soldiers had no more strength or courage or breath; their ranks fell apart, and they fled toward the palings. At this sight, the Saracens ran and fell upon them, killing as many as they liked. They would all have died if not for the knights of the rear guard taking on the burden of the Saracens, who were pressing them so hard. The Christians suffered too much to endure any longer, for the day was hot, and they were heavily armed and had come from afar, while the Saracens were fresh and lightly armed and, like their horses, could tolerate the heat. They easily had their way with the Christians. [157] Captured there were the bishop-elect of Beauvais, Sir Andrew of Nanteuil and his brother, Sir John of Arcis, the lord of Loupeigne, Sir John Fuisnon, and many other worthy men; 108. August 29.



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they were taken to Cairo, to a castle located outside Babylon belonging to the sultan. And there they were put into a harsh, sordid prison. When the news reached King John, the legate, and the other barons, they were sorely disturbed and dreaded the Saracens even more than before, and they strengthened their protective force. Nor did they fail to maintain their army in place as before; and they were so repressive to the inhabitants of Damietta that none could either leave or enter the city. [158] A long time passed with no movement by Saphadin and the other sultans. The people of Damietta suffered horribly, contracting a great disease of the mouth that prevented them from eating and drinking, and they were dying a frightful death. There was such a terrible stench from the dead bodies in Damietta that no one could long last there; almost all people died, as much from the stench as from the sickness; they were in so wretched a state that they could bear it no longer. [159] They took a homing pigeon that had been bred in Babylon and wrote a letter describing their distress and high mortality and asking, in the name of Muhammad, to be rescued, for they were greatly in need. It should be known that there was no longer anyone in charge, for the governor had died of the common disease. They asked that they be sent a noble and valorous and intelligent man capable of governing the city. They attached the letter to the underside of the pigeon’s right wing and then let the bird take flight. [160] At that, when they had let the bird take flight, it took to the air, looked at its path, and headed straight toward Babylon; it flew until it came to the dovecote where it had been bred. When the dovecote keeper saw the bird, he went to inform the sultan, saying, “My lord, a messenger has just come.” And the sultan said that it should be brought to him, which was done. He took the pigeon and removed the letter from the right wing; he had it read and thus learned of the situation of the

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people of Damietta. The news was extremely painful to him, and with good reason, for that city was the key to his land. [161] He met his advisers to determine how to proceed; and it was recommended that he take a man of noble birth, wise and vigorous, and send him to Damietta to take charge as governor. He did so. He had a little boat constructed out of four layers of cowhide, shaped like an egg, and put the noble lord into it, along with a letter from the sultan. The boat was well sewn and covered with pitch, and it was seated on cork, so that it could not be overturned or sink. It was submerged except for about one foot rising above the surface of the water, and there was a hole at the top allowing the occupant to breathe. The boat was launched at night and floated all the way to the bridge that the Christians had built in the middle of the river. [162] The Christians had stretched a net all along the bridge as a defense against any unforeseen danger. When midnight came, the little boat was stopped at the bridge by the retaining net, and it remained there until daylight, when someone noticed the top part, which appeared above the water. Christians rowed down to see what was there, and with hooks pulled the little boat out and carried it to the king’s tent. The boat was torn apart, and the Saracen was discovered along with the letter. [163] The letter was read, and it was learned that the bearer was the nephew of the sultan, on his way to Damietta to become governor; it was learned, too, what conditions were like in the city. The king had him put into irons and carefully watched—until it happened one night that the guards were all drunk and so fast asleep that the prisoner escaped and fled behind the tents. [164] Thereupon the guards in charge awoke and raised a hue and cry and started to search for him through the army camp; but the prisoner had already run so far that he was at the last tents. And he would have escaped, if not for the bakers, who had risen to knead the day’s dough; they heard the sound of his



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chains and the shouts of his guards: “Catch the prisoner! Catch the prisoner!” One of them was brandishing a rolling pin, and he struck him so hard on the head with it that he killed him—which was very distressing to the king when the news reached him, since he could have exchanged such a man for a great ransom.

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Saphadin, to save Damietta, sends a peace proposal to the crusaders. Dispute between King John and the papal legate; the legate prevails. The crusaders are ultimately defeated.

[165] Let’s go on now to tell about Saphadin, king of Babylon, who was heartbroken for Damietta, which he expected to lose. He assembled all the noble princes of his army and said to them, “Lords, if we lose Damietta, we have lost everything, because that is the key to our land, and that is where we receive all our goods, wheat and all else. We must make every effort possible to succeed, for, by Muhammad, if it is lost, I fear it will be lost forever, with no hope of recovery.”109 [166] “So I have thought of a plan, if you counsel it, too: we send a message to the king and to the legate, offering to return all the prisoners we hold, both old and new, and all the land that King Amalric once held, except the Krak and Montreal, which are in the hands of people over whom we have no power; and we will send them an annual payment for the value of the two cas109. Al-῾Adil died in August 1218 while the siege of Damietta was ongoing. He was succeeded by his son al-Kamil (r. 1218–38).

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tles. In that way, they can have a truce for twenty years, but only on condition that they lift the siege of Damietta.” [167] All agreed to this plan; they had all the prisoners appear before them and told them of this decision, which they were happy to hear. The prisoners chose two of their number to carry the message; one was Sir Andrew of Nanteuil, and the other was Sir John of Arcis; the others vouched for them on pain of being beheaded. They reached the army at the king’s tent, and the legate and all the barons were summoned, and Sir Andrew addressed them: [168] “My lords, we are sent here by the pagan authorities, who offer you the finest peace ever offered to Christians. They will return all the prisoners they hold, both old and new, and all the land that King Amalric ruled, save the Krak and Montreal, which two castles they cannot return, because they are in hands over which they have no power, but every year they will send you a payment for their value. Thus you will have a truce for up to twenty years, provided you lift the siege of Damietta and go back to your country.” [169] The king, the legate, and the barons replied that they would consider the matter, and they spent a long time in discussion, with many words spoken in favor and many against. Some of them were in favor for the sake of their friends who were imprisoned. Others said that it was not the right thing to do, for they had been in place for almost two years, had suffered through cold and heat and other great trials, had outspent their funds—and were now on the verge of capturing the city! No, they could not accept the offer! [170] The truth is that they were trapped by their pride and by the pride of the bishop-elect of Beauvais, who had even more pride in his heart than the overproud Nebuchadnezzar.110 Most 110. The decision to reject al-Kamil’s peace offers was perhaps approved by the bishop-elect of Beauvais, but it was made on the authority of Cardinal Pelagius, the

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accepted this judgment, and the messengers went back in tears to the prisoners and announced to them what they had heard from the king, the legate, and the barons; the prisoners were overcome with grief. Then they reported to the sultan, who was sorely disappointed, for he had more at stake in the matter than anyone else. [171] Here we’ll put the prisoners aside, miserable and greatly distressed in their prison in Cairo, bemoaning their lot with no hope of ever being released. And we shall turn to the king, who was maintaining his siege of Damietta. It happened one night that the army guards approached the walls of the city and listened, but heard nothing anywhere: ramparts, gates, turrets—there was silence all over. The guards came to the king and said, “My lord, it seems to us that there is no one left in Damietta; either they are all dead or they have fled.” “Well,” said the king, “we have only to attack! To the ladders, then! And the first man to enter will get a thousand bezants!” [172] Then ladders were put up and attached to the walls, and they rushed up in a great crowd and entered the city; there was no one there to stop them, for the inhabitants were all either dead or sick. They cut through doors and girders and joists, and troops came pouring in. They found so many Saracens dead that it was hardly bearable to stay for the stench; but the king commanded that the bodies be carried out to the fields and burned. The order was carried out and the city cleaned. Then the king, the legate, and the others entered and found that the city was well provided with grain, wine, arms and armor, gold and silver—indeed, with everything proper for a good city. [173] So things remained in Damietta, until one day when the barons and important men met and wondered, “What is papal legate. See Powell, Anatomy of a Crusade, 160–61. On diplomatic relations, contacts, and negotiations between Franks and Muslims during the crusades more generally, see Michael A. Köhler, Allianzen und Verträge zwischen fränkischen und islamischen Herrschern im Vorderen Orient (New York: De Gruyter, 1991).



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happening? Are we henceforth to be stationed in this city with nothing further to do? Come, let us go conquer the land of the pagans! See, the Saracens are scattered and will never join together. Not far from here there is a castle called Tenis, only four leagues away. We can take it at the first try! And if we succeed, we will easily capture Babylon.” [174] They all agreed to this plan and went to the king and the legate and told them their idea. The legate said that it was a good plan; the king, though, answered that the legate could say what he liked, but he did not know what risks were entailed: “The Saracens are very sensible, and this is their homeland. They can see what is best for them when time and place are right; and now they are very upset to have lost Damietta. I would recommend, for my part, that we stay right here until the river’s yearly flood has passed.” [175] “No,” said the legate, “it seems to me that it would be better to move ahead than to remain standing here.” “No,” answered the king, “I believe it will be worse; nevertheless, I will not be the cause of inaction: I do not want to be blamed for what happens.” “Indeed,” said the legate, “all we need do is move ahead to Tenis and, as soon as we are there, we will assault and capture it.” [176] But it turned out very differently. The army moved ahead and came to Tenis, splendidly situated at a bend in the river where the stream divides into two branches, one flowing to the right and the other to the left. There is a plain in between that can be tilled and cultivated; that is where the Christians set up the tents they brought in by boat; they crossed the river and attacked the castle. [177] Not that they stayed there for long! When Saphadin heard the news—he who was a very shrewd Saracen—he had flood gates placed in the river, which made the water rise from its channel and cover the ground where the legate, King John,

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and the rest of the Christians were camped. Before midnight, they found themselves floating in water, and all would have drowned, had the sultan wished it so. But he was wise and intelligent, and he knew that, thanks to the men threatened here, he could recover Damietta; if he let them all drown, he would have gained nothing at all, since the city was still held by the rest of their army. He therefore kept them trapped and let them know that only if they surrendered Damietta would they escape drowning. [178] When the king and the legate and the other barons saw the situation, they realized what fools they were, and admitted that they would have done much better to follow the advice of the king; but now it was too late. They accepted, then, what peace they could have, and it was all that the sultan wanted. He freed whatever prisoners he had, both old and new, and asked no more of them than Damietta itself, equipped as it was. This was all granted by the king and the Christians. The sultan, however, refused any surety pledged by the Templars or the Hospitallers or any man alive, other than the king alone. King John was thus constrained to remain as a hostage until Damietta would be returned to the sultan’s command. As the old proverb says, “Thus does he who can do no better.”111 111. See “Si fait ki pot,” no. 2258 in Morawski, Proverbes français antérieurs au XV e siècle.

XX

Milo, bishop-elect of Beauvais, goes to Rome for his consecration. His vestments are described, then his villainous character. Queen Blanche and the bishop are in serious conflict. The bishop encounters his counterpart of Turin. Milo falls ill, suffers, and dies.

[179] That is how Damietta was given back and King John and the barons liberated. They sailed back to Acre and stayed there awhile. Then it happened that Milo, the bishop-elect of Beauvais, who was in charge of them all, decided to return to France, along with all those who had come with him. They set sail and arrived at Saint-Nicholas-of-Bari, and from there they traveled by land to Rome. They came to the pope and asked that the bishop-elect be consecrated as a bishop. [180] The pope replied that he would gladly consecrate him, and he did so, giving him the episcopal unction. He provided him with the slippers that clerics call “sandals,” meaning that no step is to be taken without purpose. Then he was clothed in a roch­et, whose white color signifies chastity; next came the amice on his head, signifying humility; finally, the purely white alb, a sign of virginity. 81

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[181] Thereafter, he received the fanon on his right arm, a mark of abstinence, for the left arm, if tied, must hold back, whereas the right, untied, is enjoined to give. Then the stole was placed around his neck, as a sign of obedience; then he was dressed in the green tunic, in which the Epistle is read and which signifies suffering; then came the dalmatic, for the reading of the Gospel, which is necessarily white, meaning righteousness. And over all the other vestments, he was given the chasuble, whose purple color represents charity. [182] Then the crosier was placed in his left hand; rounded on top and pointed below, it stands for both mercy and vengeance. The prelate must draw sinners by his preaching and good example and must have mercy and lighten part of the individual sinner’s penance, since otherwise he might be so frightened as to fall into despair, and that is one of the sins that God hates most. That is why the crosier is rounded on top. [183] And do you know why the crosier is pointed at the bottom? Because the prelate must give the sinner a penance as sharp as the point of the crosier, and because the sinner must not be entirely absolved of his sin, for if he were granted full absolution, he would too easily fall back into sin. Then, after the vestments, the new bishop had a ring placed on his finger, signifying his marriage to the holy church; then came the miter placed on his head: white, with two peaks, one standing for confession and the other for satisfaction. [184] Now I have told you how the bishop-elect of Beauvais was consecrated. The pope gave him the Vaux d’Alise to govern, and he governed for a long time, doing nothing but harm. In the end, he had to come back by way of Chanteloup, for otherwise he might have stayed there too long.112 He came back to France, 112. “Vaux d’Alise” may refer to Vaux d’Asise, the valleys of the upper Tiber, the Chiassio, and the Topino near Assisi. Chanteloup is likely modern-day Cantalupo in Sabina.



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where Cardinal Romain was preaching the crusade.113 The bishop, though, was preaching something else; he was making every effort he could to prevent any archbishop or bishop in the realm from being accountable to the king. These men were holding frequent assemblies at Saint-Quentin, including, at the time, Archbishop of Reims Henry of Braine, who agreed with the bishop, as did many other prelates.114 But the queen heard about the matter from one bishop who was not in agreement.115 [185] The bishop of Beauvais did something terrible: he accused the queen of being pregnant by Cardinal Romain, which was a lie. The queen pretended ignorance, but was truly aware and planned to take action at the right time and place. Queen Blanche thus bided her time until one day, when the people of Beauvais came to her to complain that their bishop was excommunicating them one after another for no reason. They said, “My lady, our bishop is excommunicating us for no reason. In God’s name, my lady, have him absolve us! We are ready to do whatever is just!” [186] The queen was delighted to hear this. Now she knew that he would pay for what he had said about her. She ordered that he absolve the townspeople and treat them justly. The bishop wrote back that he would pay her no heed in matters of faith. When the queen heard his answer, she set a day for him to appear before her; he failed to come or send word. Then the queen summoned all her good vassals and prelates, and the bishop of Beauvais as well; and they all came to the council. [187] The good queen, with her good sense, thought of a striking plan. She had not forgotten the odious tale that the 113. Romano (Romanus) Frangipani (d. 1243) was sent as a cardinal-legate to France in 1225 to manage the ongoing Albigensian Crusade. 114. Also known as Henry of Dreux (r. 1227–40), the son of Robert II of Dreux. 115. Blanche of Castile (d. 1252), the wife of Louis VIII of France. She twice served as regent for her son Louis IX: during his minority between 1226 and 1234 and during his absence on crusade between 1248 and 1252. See Lindy Grant, Blanche of Castile, Queen of France (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2016).

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bishop of Beauvais had spread about her. She stripped away all her clothes except her chemise, covered herself with a cloak, and stepped out of her chamber. She walked into the room where the prince and the prelates were waiting, had the ushers call for silence, and, when the din had abated, she mounted on a two-legged table, and said, as the bishop of Beauvais stood there listening, “My lords, look at me, all of you! Someone here says that I am pregnant with child.” She let her cloak drop onto the table and turned one way, then another, ’til all had seen her. It was evident that she had no child in her womb. [188] When the barons saw their lady naked, they leaped up, covered her with her cloak, and led her into her chamber. She was dressed and then returned to the council, where there was much discussion of one thing and another. At the end, the townsmen of Beauvais were called for, and they voiced their complaint about excommunication by the bishop. The queen turned to him and asked why he was excommunicating the king’s townspeople. The bishop replied that he was not bound to answer her. “How!” said the queen, “Are you not a vassal of the king? And will you not do justice before us who have the charge of governing France?” [189] “By Saint Peter,” said the bishop, “I want everyone present here to know that I have no lord in the world outside the pope, under whose protection I am, and I shall account to no lord but him.” When the queen heard the bishop speak thus, she was very pleased, for she well knew that he was in error. Then she said to all those listening, “Lords, you hear what the bishop says; I want you to remember it for the right time and place. And I shall give due consideration to what has been said.” At that, the meeting concluded, and the participants returned to their separate homes.



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[190] The queen then gathered her advisers and asked what was to be done about the bishop of Beauvais, who had so blatantly acted against the French crown. The advisers responded that since he denied the homage due to the king, she had the right to seize the fief that he held from the king. The queen immediately had a letter written and dispatched to the bailiff of the Beauvaisis. When the bishop received it, he was astonished—but adamant in his refusal to humble himself and seek the queen’s mercy, for his very great pride did not allow it, but rather shut the eyes of his heart and blinded him. Pride is indeed the world’s greatest vice, destroying more than others a man’s reason and sense of the just. [191] When the bishop realized that the situation was serious, he prepared to travel, equipping good troops—he had money and horses—and leaving Beauvais with a great entourage and in such terms that he never returned there. He traveled as far as Turin, a city in Lombardy, and there he found lodgings, where he stopped with his splendid household. The next morning, he arose to hear Mass and then went on his way. He had not gone very far when he encountered a man working in a vineyard, who had a great crown on his head and a gold ring on his finger.116 He stopped and greeted him, saying, [192] “Good sir, who are you, digging in this vineyard?” “Indeed, sir,” said the good man, “I am the bishop of Turin, earning my bread here.” “What!” exclaimed the bishop of Beauvais; “it is not fitting for a bishop to be working in a vineyard!” “In God’s name,” replied the bishop of Turin, “my bishopric is too poor to meet my expenses, so I have to do as best I can.” [193] Then said the bishop of Beauvais, “Sir, in God’s name, pray for me, for I need it!” 116. Likely a reference to either Bishop James (r. 1227–31) or Bishop Hugh of Canelo (r. 1231–43).

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And the other bishop answered that he would do so gladly—and, would he please pray for him in turn, and please tell him his name. So he told him that his name was Milo and he was bishop of Beauvais. Then he turned to continue on his way, followed by his retinue and eighteen pack animals. The bishop who was toiling in the vineyard asked someone to whom all this belonged, and the answer was that everything belonged to the bishop of Beauvais. [194] When the good man heard this reply, he threw down his spade and ran after the bishop of Beauvais, crying: “Sir, hear me! Hear me!” The bishop stopped and asked what he wanted; and the good man said: “You promised that you would pray for me. Dear good sir, I release you from that promise.” “Good God,” said the bishop of Beauvais, “what do you mean by that?” “In God’s name, sir,” said the bishop of Turin, “I’ll tell you: it seems to me that you are too heavily burdened and have such cares to bear that you could hardly bear mine as well.” [195] At that, they parted, and the bishop of Beauvais spent long days on the road to Assisi, where Saint Francis was born and where his body lies.117 There he contracted a terrible malady, for an abscess appeared in the middle of his spine and entered his body; it swelled to the point of splitting his spine from tailbone to shoulders: it opened like a side of bacon. The bishop lived for four days in great pain, then died and was interred, like a bishop, in the mother church, and his people took whatever they liked of his belongings. That is what happens with clerics who pay no attention to their affairs. The bishop’s people returned to their country.118 117. Saint Francis of Assisi (d. 1226). Among others, see Augustine Thompson, Francis of Assisi: A New Biography (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 2012), and André Vauchez, Francis of Assisi: The Life and Afterlife of a Medieval Saint, trans. Michael F. Cusato (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2012). 118. The Beauvais affair was a complicated struggle between the commune, the



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bishop, and the king. Although the Minstrel places the blame for the conflict squarely upon Bishop Milo, in 1232 the townsmen of Beauvais rioted against a royally appointed mayor from Senlis because he was a “foreigner.” Louis IX punished the malefactors despite Bishop Milo’s protesting that he possessed the right of justice within the town. The ensuing jurisdictional conflict between Louis and Milo resulted in Louis’s seizing the temporalities of Milo’s bishopric, while Milo, in conjunction with the archbishop of Reims, placed the province under interdict. As the Minstrel reports, Milo died in 1234 en route to Rome to plead his case before the pope. See Grant, Blanche of Castile, 103–4.

XXI

King John meets the noble uncle of Saladin, who recounts the life and fabulous exploits of his nephew.

[196] Here we shall put aside Bishop Milo of Beauvais, who died as you have heard (and his death was not unwelcome to his neighbors) and shall speak of King John of Acre, who remained in the land of Syria, ever conducting himself as a valorous man. There was at the time a twenty-year truce between Christians and Saracens. It happened one day, when the king was in Acre, that he was told there was a Saracen nobleman in his prison. The king ordered that the man be brought to him right away, and he was brought. When the king saw him, he was deeply impressed and asked him who he was. He replied through an interpreter that he was the uncle of Saladin, a man of true worth. [197] The king looked at him closely, admired his bearing, and saw that he was tall and erect, well-proportioned and handsome in every respect. He was quite old, of ruddy complexion, with a heavy white beard that fell to his chest; he had long, full hair that came down to his hips; he showed every sign of being a gentleman of importance. After a long look, the king commanded him to sit and had the interpreter ask him for news of

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Saladin. He answered that he would recount much and his reply would be truthful. [198] Then he said, “I saw my nephew Saladin, who was king of Babylon and had thirty other kings under his command, when he had a noble, well-trained young man mount on his steed and ride through all his good cities, carrying three ells of cloth attached to a lance and crying out at every crossroads: ‘Of all his kingdom and all his great treasure, Saladin will bear no more away than these three ells of cloth for his shroud.’ [199] “Later, he did a wondrous thing. He heard tell of the great charity of the hospital of Saint John of Acre, where no one sick was said to be refused entry but was actually given whatever he requested, if at all possible. Saladin decided that he would go see whether this was true or not. So he took a pilgrim’s staff, a satchel, a pilgrim’s hooded wrap, and disguised himself as well as he could. He betook himself to Acre, pretending to be infirm and ill, and came to the Hospital of Saint John, where he asked to be taken in, as he was in great need. [200] “When the overseer, the man charged with admitting the sick, saw him, he welcomed him in, since his need seemed to be great. He gave him a bed right away and did what he could for his comfort. The would-be patient was asked what he wished to eat, to which he replied that he had no desire to eat: ‘For God’s sake, just let me rest; I am very much in need of rest. For a long time now, I have wanted to die among the poor in this place.’ [201] “At that, they left him in peace, and he fell asleep and slept all day and all night long. The next day, the man in charge of patients asked him whether he wanted to eat, and he answered that he didn’t care to: ‘By my faith,’ said the man, ‘if you don’t eat, you can’t live much longer.’ “Nevertheless, Saladin fasted three days and three nights, without drinking or eating. The overseer repeated, ‘Good friend, you have to take something to sustain you, for we would be severely reprimanded if you died here for want of food.’

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[202] “‘Please know, sir,’ said Saladin, ‘that I will never again eat in my life, unless I have something I deeply desire— but I well know that I won’t have it, and that it is madness to think of it or want it.’ “‘Ah, good friend, do not hesitate to ask for anything! The hospital here is of such great charity that no patient who has ever been here has failed to have his wish satisfied, whatever the cost in gold or silver. So go ahead and ask, and you will not be denied.’ [203] “When Saladin heard the overseer speak so affirmatively, he said that he would tell what he wanted: ‘I request the right forefoot of Morel, the good horse of the master of this hospital; and I want to see it cut off in front of me, as I watch; otherwise, I will never eat. Now you have heard,’ said Saladin, ‘my mad desire, but, for God’s sake, I beg you, do nothing about it! Better I die, poor man that I am, than such a horse, which is so valuable! And it is said for certain that the grand master wouldn’t give him up for a thousand bezants.’119 [204] “At that, the overseer left Saladin and went to see the grand master, to whom he repeated the sick man’s request. When the grand master heard it, he thought for a moment, wondering, with surprise, where such a desire had come from. He said to the overseer: ‘Go take the horse and fulfill the patient’s desire! It is better that my horse die than a man. Besides, if not, we would be blamed forevermore.’ [205] “At that, the horse was led before Saladin’s bed and 119. The Grand Master of the Order of the Knights of Saint John of Jerusalem, or the Knights Hospitaller, between 1177 and 1187 was Roger of Moulins, who died at the Battle of Cresson on May 1, 1187. He was followed by Garnier of Nablus (d. 1192), who was the first Grand Master after the headquarters of the Order had been permanently relocated to Acre. For studies of the Knights Hospitaller, see Helen Nicholson, The Knights Hospitaller (Woodbridge: Boydell, 2001); Jonathan Riley-Smith, Hospitallers: The History of the Order of St. John (London: Hambledon, 1999); and Riley-Smith, The Knights Hospitaller in the Levant, c. 1070–1309, 2nd ed. (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012).



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was tied and thrown onto the floor. A servant equipped with a large axe in one hand and a hook in the other, asked, ‘Which foot does the sick man require?’ “And he was told, ‘The right forefoot.’ “He took the hook and placed it under the foot, then grasped the axe with both hands and was about to strike as great a blow as he could, when Saladin cried out: ‘Stop! You have fulfilled my wish, and my desire is now for a different food: I want to eat mutton.’ “Then the horse was untied and led back to the stable. [206] “When the grand master was told, he was delighted, as were all the brothers in the hospital. The patient was given what he had asked for, and he ate and drank well, since he had fasted for three days. He then stayed four more days in the hospital, and he was granted whatever he wished. Then he asked for his clothes, his staff, and his satchel, took his leave of master and overseer, and said how grateful he was for the care and the honor he had been shown. He returned to his land and never forgot how well he had been treated at the hospital. He drew up a deed, which he sealed with his seal and which said: [207] “‘Know all who now live and will live that I, Saladin, king of Babylon, bequeath in perpetuity to Saint John of the Hospital of Acre one thousand gold bezants for sheets and blankets to cover the sick therein; and I stipulate that the funds be taken every year on the day of Saint John the Baptist from my income in Babylon, and with such regularity that they will be paid even in the event of war between us and the Christians.’ [208] “‘And may it be known to the masters of the hospital that I do this because of the very great charity that pervades their institution and because I was housed therein. Yet they knew nothing of me, as shown when I asked for the right forefoot of the grand master’s horse and it would have been cut off as I watched, had I not called a halt.’

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“This deed was sent to the hospital of Saint John and delivered to the grand master and the brothers, who were overjoyed to receive it; for they knew enough about Saladin to be sure that he would never lie. And from then on, the thousand bezants were paid every year on Saint John’s Day, as they still are. [209] “He did even more,” said the Saracen; “for the marquis of Caesarea, who at the time held the city in the name of the king of Jerusalem, had manned it with knights, ordinary soldiers, and crossbowmen; but his immense greed led him, every fortnight, to reduce the garrison somewhat and put the gains into his own coffers.120 He thought that Saladin would take no notice, but Saladin did. The marquis was told that his behavior was harmful, for the garrison was being depleted and the city would be lost. The Christians were far away and, if their help were needed, they could not come in time; Saladin, besides, was a wise and valorous knight and knew quite well where his interests lay. “‘Quiet now!’ answered the marquis. ‘Whenever I like, I can have a thousand knights jump out of my coffers!’ [210] “This information was reported to Saladin by a spy, who revealed the whole situation of the marquis and those inside the city, and it was pointed out that the garrison was so reduced as to hold few men or even fewer than none. Saladin was happy to have such news and secretly summoned his men at three leagues’ distance from Caesarea. They all assembled on a Saturday evening and covered the three leagues during the night, reaching Caesarea at dawn, which they assaulted from every side, setting up their ladders against the walls. The people within heard the din made by the Saracens and ran to the ramparts to defend their city, but it was to no avail, as there were too few men and they were ill equipped; they were taken by surprise, with no protection. [211] “The Saracens rushed into the city and captured the 120. Likely a reference to Walter II of Caesarea (d. 1191).



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marquis and his wife. He was led, hands tied behind his back, before Saladin, who was eager to see him. When he saw him, he said: ‘Marquis, marquis, where are the thousand knights that were supposed to come jumping out of your coffers? By Muhammad, your greed has betrayed you. You never had enough silver and gold, but wanted more; well, I shall give you more now.’ “Then Saladin called for gold and silver and had it melted in an iron pot, and he had it poured, boiling, down the throat of the marquis. Death was immediate. Saladin, courteous as ever, sent the lady, accompanied by a tenth of the Christians and ten damsels, back to Acre, where she remained in safety. [212] “I could recount,” said the Saracen, “many events in Saladin’s life, but one thing he did as he was dying troubled us greatly. When he was so ill that he realized he was about to die, he asked for a basin full of water. A servant lad immediately ran to bring him a silver basin, which he put down beside Saladin’s left hand. Saladin raised himself to a sitting position and, with his right hand, drew a cross over the water and, touching it in four places, said, ‘As much from here to there as from there to here.’ “He said this so that no one would take notice. Then he poured the water over his head and his body and muttered three words in French that we could not understand, but it certainly seemed, as far as I could see, that he was baptizing himself. [213] “Thus passed away Saladin, the best prince who ever was in pagandom. He was interred at the top of the cemetery of Saint Nicholas of Acre, beside his mother, who was buried in a splendid tomb.121 And over the two there is a high, beautiful tower where there burns night and day an olive-oil lamp lighted and maintained by the brethren of Saint John’s hospital in Acre, who receive a great income bequeathed to them by Saladin and his mother.” 121. Saladin was buried in a mausoleum located next to the Umayyad Mosque in Damascus.

XXII

The Minstrel turns to the life of Frederick II, emperor of Germany. Conflict involving the pope, the emperor, and the people of Milan.

[214] Let’s go on now to tell you about the child of Apulia who was baptized Frederick and was heir to three kingdoms, to wit, the kingdoms of Apulia, Sicily, and Calabria.122 Now, it happened that the barons of Germany chose him to be king of Germany, by the grace of the pope, who had deposed Emperor Otto for his misdeeds.123 He was crowned king in Aachen by the archbishop of Trier and then presented by the German barons to the pope to be anointed as emperor.124 Relations between him and the pope 122. Apulia and Calabria were constituent territories of the kingdom of Sicily. There are many more recent biographies of Emperor Frederick II, but still see David Abulafia, Frederick II: A Medieval Emperor (London: Allen Lane, 1988). For the latest treatment of the conflict between the emperor and the papacy, see Brett Whalen, The Two Powers, the Papacy, the Empire, and the Struggle for Sovereignty in the Thirteenth Century (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2019). Also see Norman Housley, The Italian Crusades: The Papal-Angevin Alliance and the Crusades against Christian Lay Powers, 1254–1343 (Oxford: Clarendon, 1982), and Joseph R. Strayer, “The Political Crusades of the Thirteenth Century,” in Medieval Statecraft and the Perspectives of History, ed. John F. Benton and Thomas N. Bisson (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1971), 123–59. 123. Otto IV of Brunswick reigned as Holy Roman Emperor between 1209 and his effective defeat by Frederick II and his Hohenstaufen supporters in 1215. 124. Archbishop Theoderich von Wied (r. 1212–42). Frederick was first crowned

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were satisfactory for a long time; he was obedient to the church of Rome and was a fine agent of justice; and he acted so correctly that he was feared and respected throughout his lands. A man could carry a bag full of money on his staff at his shoulder without any need for a guard! [215] The emperor conducted himself in this way for a long time, with everyone speaking very well of him, until one day when the people of Milan had a dispute with their bishop and he excommunicated them.125 The townspeople demanded absolution, asking that he treat them as justice required. The bishop responded that they would be absolved only if they submitted to his will in every respect. [216] When the citizens saw that the bishop was unyielding, they drove him out of the city and denied him access to whatever he owned. The bishop went straight to the pope and loudly complained of the people of Milan, who had thrown him out of the city and deprived him of all his property.126 The pope was moved by his plight and sent a cardinal to investigate the matter. He came to Milan and summoned the city’s chief magistrate and counselors. He asked them for what reason they had expelled their bishop and seized all his belongings, which was a serious offense to God and the pope and the bishop. [217] The townspeople replied that, if they had indeed committed an offense, they were prepared to make amends, but for God’s sake, they should have absolution, and they were prepared to accept the cardinal’s counsel. “By Saint Peter,” said the cardinal, “you will not be absolved until you have admitted your error and submitted in every respect to the will of the bishop.” in 1212 at Mainz; however, he undertook a second coronation at Aachen on July 23, 1215, after capturing the city. 125. Archbishop Enrico I of Settala (r. 1213–30). 126. Pope Gregory IX (r. 1227–41).

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“Faith, my lord,” answered the townspeople, “that is not how we thought to proceed; but if you want to treat us justly, we would accept what is just and would do what is right with no further delay. But for God’s sake, my lord, make a decision: let the situation not grow worse!” [218] “No,” said the cardinal. “I am not sure how this matter will develop, but you will not have the satisfaction you claim; everything will proceed as we say!” “Faith,” said the townspeople, “that is not the word of a worthy man, a man such as you are supposed to be!” With that, the townspeople left the cardinal, who promised them great trouble ahead, making his sentence as dire as he could. He cleared the city of all its clergy and went away with threats to the residents. [219] Now it happened that the magistrate and count were meeting, greatly disturbed by the cardinal’s words; they decided that they would send a message to the pope to request that he settle the matter. In a short while, however, the situation took another turn, when ordinary people, along with some vagabonds, had a conference of their own and thought it would be good to run after the cardinal and bring him back by force: they would hold him until they were absolved by him and the bishop and given written assurance that they would never again be excommunicated. [220] They selected one hundred men of theirs to go; they ran after the cardinal and reached him one league from the city. They stopped him and said, “By God, lord cardinal, you have to come back to the city and grant us absolution, like it or not!” When the cardinal heard them speak that way, he replied, “No, indeed, you vile and stinking mob, I will not turn back! I shall drive you into exile and so thoroughly destroy Milan that not one stone will remain standing on another.” [221] At that moment, a vagabond seized the rein of his



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horse and tried to turn it around; the cardinal cried to his escort, “Get those scoundrels!” At which one of his young men drew his sword, struck the man who was holding the rein, and knocked him down dead at the cardinal’s feet. When the Milanese saw their companion dead, they were all enraged and shouted, “Kill him! Kill him!” [222] The cardinal would gladly have fled, but could not, because he was immediately surrounded on all sides. They would have captured him and taken him to Milan, when a butcher jumped out in front and struck him with an axe, killing him. Then they seized the fellow who had killed their companion, tied him to the tail of his horse, and took him to Milan, where they dragged him through all the streets of the city. When the magistrate and the count learned the news, they were extremely worried, for they well knew how much this would cost. They conferred and decided to send a message to the pope, begging for mercy; but there was no messenger daring enough to go, for fear of his life. [223] That is where the matter stood until the pope learned of it and became so angry that no one could pacify him. The brothers decided to send for the emperor, and the emperor was called. He came right away, and the pope recounted how the Milanese had behaved. “Indeed,” said the emperor, “this is disturbing.” “In the name of God,” answered the pope, “I want the city to be destroyed and all its people put to the sword.” “My word,” said the emperor, “that cannot be done without great pain and expense: I well know that the Milanese are numerous, rich, and powerful; they have many fine horsemen, and they are well versed in warfare.” [224] “In God’s name,” said the pope, “I can help you! I can grant you everything they possess!” “You need to know, said the emperor, “that I will not go

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ahead unless you give me written assurance, for I know you well: if the Milanese made peace with you, I would lose everything I would have invested in the undertaking.” “By Saint Peter,” answered the pope, “you will of course have your letter of assurance! And I swear by the saints, by Saints Peter and Paul, that no peace will ever be concluded without your agreement.” [225] At that, the matter was confirmed and sealed by the accord of all the brothers. The emperor went back to his land and assembled a great number of men, led them before Milan, and laid siege. There were frequent fights between the two sides, but the assailants gained little, for the defenders were well supplied and equipped and cared little about the army outside. Emperor Frederick’s siege went on for a year and a half with no significant advantage, except that no one could enter or exit the city, and the inhabitants grew sorely distressed. [226] It happened one day that the magistrate and the count of Milan were deliberating with others, one of whom said, “Good lords, we are in a difficult situation: excommunicated and at war with the pope and the emperor, the two most powerful men in the world. I advise you in good faith to make peace with them; if not, we shall all be destroyed. We are losing our income and our goods, and food is growing more dear by the day. If the war lasts much longer, we shall be in a truly sorry state; and if it went on like this for twenty years, we should still in the end have to make peace, and it would have been very costly. Better to seek peace than to go on fighting!” [227] “Yes, indeed,” said his companions, “you are right. Now let us consider how best to move forward: the situation demands it.” “In God’s name,” said a wise man, “it would be good to discuss peace with the emperor.” So they chose two astute men from their group to send to



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him. They dispatched a message to the emperor, asking for safe conduct there and back in order to come speak to him. This he readily granted, and the two men rode to the emperor’s quarters. They spoke with him for a long while, but could not reach a peace agreement that would not entail their destruction and dishonor. So they returned to the city and told their companions how the emperor had responded. [228] “All right,” said the wise man, “since we cannot make peace with the emperor without destroying ourselves, I recommend, for my part, that we send word to the pope, offering him enough treasure to blind him. So well do I know the ways of the Lombards and how naturally eager they are to acquire wealth that we are sure to have the peace that we want.” They all accepted this recommendation and sent to the pope a man from Piacenza to seek assurance of safe conduct for a discussion of peace. The pope granted the request, giving him a letter of safe conduct, which the messenger brought back to Milan. [229] Now they chose two of the wisest men among them and entrusted them with the city’s clear and well-phrased letter, saying that the people of Milan supported whatever the two emissaries might do. The next day at break of dawn, the Milanese struck out at their besiegers, who were paying little attention; they hit hard and caused them much harm and humiliation, capturing ten men and bringing them into the city. And during the uproar and commotion, the two emissaries, intent on their purpose, rode far enough away from the army to travel ahead undisturbed. [230] At this point the tale tells us that the two messengers succeeded in making their way to Rome. The men of the papal court saw them and made it clear they were not at all welcome; they spent a whole week at court before being granted a hearing. When they were finally called, they were asked what they were seeking.

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“By my faith,” they replied to the pope, “we have come to seek your grace. In God’s name, have mercy on us.” “Ah, wicked men, disloyal heretics!” said the pope. “You deserve to lose body and wealth!” “Ah, my lord,” said the Milanese, “have mercy, for God’s sake! You have not heard a true account of the matter; you have actually heard the opposite of the truth. For God’s sake, my lord, learn where the truth lies, and make an effort to know it. And the people of Milan will offer you thirty thousand silver marks.” [231] When the pope and the brothers heard that great figure, they made an effort to contain themselves, became very accommodating to the Milanese emissaries, and asked how the payment would be ensured. The clever appellants had a ready reply: “We shall remain here with you, but write to Milan that we should be sent the children of the twenty richest men of the city; you will hold them as hostages here until you have been satisfied.” The pope and the brothers agreed, and the children were brought before the pope; he had them well guarded.

XXIII

The story of Emperor Frederick continues. There is a growing breach between emperor and pope. The old pope dies; he is succeeded by Innocent IV. Pierre de la Vigne intervenes—to his detriment. Frederick is excommunicated. He becomes king of Jerusalem and dies, still excommunicated.

[232] That is how the Milanese were reconciled with the pope. He declared them absolved and held them to be good Christians. He sent word to the emperor that he should withdraw, for he had learned that the bishop had been in the wrong and that the cardinal had been killed for his arrogance. When the emperor received this news, he was astonished, for he had spent an immense sum on the siege of Milan. He wrote back to the pope that he would not lift the siege until his expenditures were at least reimbursed—and it was wrong to renege on an agreement. The pope sent back word that, if he failed to lift the siege, he would be excommunicated, both he and those aiding him. When the emperor realized the position he was in, he ended the siege and went to Apulia, where he remained for some time.

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[233] One day, his vassals came to him and said, “It is in your interest to marry; it is right for you to do so. King John of Acre has a daughter by his wife, who is heir to the kingdom of Jerusalem. We advise that you seek her hand and marry her, for we see no preferable match.” The emperor agreed and sent ten knights and a written request to King John, who readily sent her to him, and the emperor married her; and he had a son with her named Conrad, who married the daughter of the duke of Bavaria; they had a son who is still living and should inherit the kingdom of Jerusalem. [234] Emperor Frederick decided to go to the pope and claim the ransom that he had received from the Milanese, for he had promised him, in writing, everything owned by the people of that city. Moreover, he had sworn to him by Saints Peter and Paul that he would make no separate peace by himself; yet he went on to collect thirty thousand silver marks in ransom for the Milanese children he had held hostage to ensure payment. All thirty thousand had gone to the pope! The emperor, then, went to Rome and met the pope and the brothers; he stated the claim that you have just heard. The pope replied that he had no right to intervene in matters of religious faith. The emperor responded that the redemption of the Milanese children was not a matter of Christian faith. “I would not have lifted the siege,” said the emperor, “until I had taken the whole city by force.” [235] The result of the discussion between the emperor and the pope was that the emperor was unable to recover all or any part of his expenditures. So he went away angry and defiant and invaded the pope’s territory, seizing whatever of his property he could find. Thus, the breach, as you have heard, between emperor and pope deepened; and when the pope learned that the emperor was at war with him and seizing property of his, he declared him excommunicated throughout Christendom. The war



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lasted a long time, with no cleric able to travel to Rome without being captured and robbed. [236] Now it happened that the pope, a very old man, died, and a new pope was selected from among the cardinals; this was Sinibaldo, whose name was changed to Innocent IV.127 He reaffirmed the sentence against the emperor that his predecessor had pronounced. The war went on until one day when a time was set for a council in Rome. Many prelates were invited from France, including the archbishop of Rouen, who bore the name Peter of Colemède.128 Not daring to travel overland, the archbishop had four good, strong galleys built to go to Rome by sea, and he set sail as secretly as he could. [237] But it was to no avail, as the emperor kept watch on all routes, on sea as on land; Peter of Colemède was seized with the three other bishops, along with great treasure. The emperor held them in prison until he obtained a heavy ransom, while the galleys remained in the port of Naples and were never used anymore. When the pope was informed of the situation, he became terribly angry, realizing that his council would not meet, since no one could cross the mountains. [238] So he and the brothers agreed that they would travel to Lyon on the Rhône, and they reached it, well protected, on the Day of the Incarnation, 1243. They were there for a long while before the pope convoked a grand council to condemn the emperor. Many prelates were present, and the emperor sent master Pierre de la Vigne, who was a very great cleric.129 He asked the pope to treat the emperor with justice; indeed, he was ready to put the case before the king of France, who was a man of fair127. Pope Innocent IV (r. 1243–54). 128. Also known as Peter of Colmieu, archbishop of Rouen (r. 1236–44). He was created a cardinal by Innocent IV in 1244, and died in 1253. 129. Also known as Piero della Vigna (d. 1249), Pierre served as Frederick II’s secretary and chancellor. He was eventually arrested for embezzlement and blinded before committing suicide. See Abulafia, Frederick II, 402–3.

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ness and wisdom, and the emperor would abide by whatever the king would decide.130 [239] The pope replied that he would do nothing of the sort, condemning the emperor, rather, to losing his land; henceforth, besides, he would no longer be called emperor, but only Frederick. Thus, he was condemned, and master Pierre de la Vigne left Lyon and reported to the emperor how, through a definitive judgment, he was deprived of his land, and nothing he might propose would be of any avail, and there could be no satisfactory outcome. The emperor was deeply disturbed, more than ever before, and more fearful of treachery; he became extremely suspicious, to the point of trusting no one at all. He had many of his familiars put out of the way, rightly or wrongly—I don’t know.131 [240] It happened, too, that someone suggested that Sir Pierre de la Vigne had betrayed him to the pope: it was known through letters found in his baggage. The emperor had his eyes plucked out and then had him led after him on an ass through all the fair towns that he visited; he was displayed at the crossroads, with a servant proclaiming, “Behold! This is Sir Pierre de la Vigne, the emperor’s chief counsel and second only to him in power! He wanted to betray his lord to the pope for favors. Look now at what that has gained him! He may well say: ‘So high, and now so low!’” [241] That is how the emperor conducted himself. He had built a city of Saracens named Nocera and trusted Saracens more than he did Christians. He did great harm to all clerics and monks and detained them month after month for ransom. He kept sixty women or more as concubines, and he had animals 130. Louis IX of France (r. 1226–70), later canonized as Saint Louis Confessor, the son of Louis VIII of France and Blanche of Castile. See Jean Richard, Saint Louis: roi d’une France féodale, soutien de la Terre sainte (Paris: Fayard, 1983); and Jacques Le Goff, Saint Louis (Paris: Gallimard, 1996). 131. Here the Minstrel’s narrative plausibly combines the events of two separate councils: Pope Gregory IX’s council in Rome of 1240, and the First Council of Lyons, called by Pope Innocent IV in 1245.



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stabled in churches and monasteries; he did not conduct himself as a good Christian! Then too, he impoverished his land, by expending its yields with abandon. [242] Now we shall return to the pope, who stayed in Lyon a long while. He grew tired of life there, however, and he and the brothers decided to go back to Rome; they traveled under the protection of the count of Savoy, who accompanied them.132 The pope was not long back in Rome when he died. After him, Innocent IV was elected pope and immediately reaffirmed the sentence against Frederick.133 [243] Now it happened that Emperor Frederick sent word to King John of Acre, his lord, that he wanted the benefit of ruling the kingdom of Jerusalem; King John graciously granted his wish, and the emperor held that position and its benefits until, not long thereafter, he died, still excommunicated; a bastard son of his seized the kingdom and held it.134 King John went to Constantinople to be with his daughter, whose land needed his help. He served as regent of the empire of Constantinople as long as he lived, because of the youth of his son-in-law, not only young but also childish, and preoccupied by trouble with the Greeks.135 132. Amadeus IV of Savoy (r. 1233–53). 133. This is likely a reference to Pope Alexander IV (r. 1254–1261). Frederick II died in 1250, yet the papal conflict with his descendants continued until the death of Conradin in 1268. 134. This is likely a reference to Manfred, the illegitimate son of Frederick II, who ruled Sicily, rather than Jerusalem, between 1258 and his death in 1266. 135. Marie of Brienne (d. 1275) married Latin Emperor Baldwin II of Constantinople (r. 1228–61) in 1234. Her father, John of Brienne, became co-emperor upon her betrothal in 1229. The events of this paragraph are presented outside of strict chronological order. Frederick was crowned king of Jerusalem in 1229; he died in 1250, and the crown of Sicily was usurped by Manfred in 1258. John of Brienne also had been elected Latin emperor of Constantinople in 1229, though he did not arrive in the city until 1231.

XXIV

King John of England shows early wickedness by murdering young Arthur. Exchange of summonses with King Philip Augustus leads to armed conflict. Town by town, Philip conquers all of Normandy.

[244] Now we shall leave good King John of Acre and tell you about the King John who was the brother of King Richard of England and who inherited the kingdom after the death of King Richard. He was crowned and became the worst king who had ever lived, worse even than King Herod, the beheader of children. The King John in question was a wicked knight, greedy and treacherous, as I shall tell you. [245] He had a nephew,136 the son of his uncle, the count of Brittany;137 the boy was named Arthur and was supposed to succeed him as count; there were no other heirs. King John, who was perfidious and cruel, had a ship equipped for sailing to one of his castles; he was joined by a group of familiars and by his nephew Arthur as well. Once they were far out to sea, he tossed 136. Arthur of Brittany (r. 1196–1203). On John’s suspected murder of Arthur, see the introduction at note 70. 137. Geoffrey II of Brittany (r. 1181–86).

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him overboard among the mackerel in order to have his land and the county of Brittany, which the boy was supposed to inherit. That done, King John returned to London. [246] Here we’ll put King John aside for a while and return to King Philip, when he learned that King Richard was dead. The news brought him great joy, for he had been deeply intimidated by Richard’s boldness and his largess. Indeed, with his generosity he had turned enemies into friends and turned opponents into secret supporters. King Philip, who was very shrewd, thought to himself that this was the time to go conquer Normandy. He decided to have King John summoned to appear before his peers because he had not formally taken over the overseas territory that he legally held from Philip and for which he owed him an act of homage. [247] Right away now, the king sent the bishop of Beauvais and the bishop of Laon,138 two of the twelve peers, to King John; carrying their royal credentials, they set sail in Calais; they arrived in Dover and asked to meet King John. They were told he was in Lincoln, a city of his twelve leagues from Canterbury, where Saint Thomas the Martyr is buried.139 They reached there one morning, found the king, and said, “We are sent here in the name of King Philip; here is his letter; do have it read.” [248] The king took the letter, broke the seal, and read it; and he found in King Philip’s letter assurance that what the two bishops would tell him was firm and certain. “Now state,” said King John, “what it is that you wish.” “Upon my word, sire,” said the bishop of Beauvais, “my lord the king summons you to a meeting in Paris, his city, forty days 138. The bishop of Beauvais was Philip of Dreux (r. 1175–1217), the son of Robert I of Dreux and grandson of Louis VI of France. Roger of Rosoy (r. 1175–1207) was the bishop of Laon. 139. Lincoln is some 150 miles (or about 50 leagues) from Canterbury. For literature on Thomas Becket, see note 11. On the shrine and cult of Thomas Becket, see Paul Webster and Marie-Pierre Gelin, eds., The Cult of St. Thomas Becket in the Plantagenet World, c. 1170–c. 1220 (Woodbridge: Boydell, 2016).

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hence, to fulfill your obligations and make it clear before your peers that he can count on your support in all matters as his liege. And we, who are peers of France, present his summons and the date.” [249] When King John heard those words, he showed a change of expression and said: “Sir bishop, I have heard and understood your words. I shall behave toward your lord as I am obliged to do.” With that, the two bishops departed and set sail across the sea. When they reached Pontoise, they found the king and told him what they had learned, saying that they had carried out his order just as he had commanded. King Philip waited the forty days, as did the peers and their counselors. [250] Then, lo! there appeared a knight sent to the king by King John. He stood before Philip and said: “Sire, King John sends me here on the day you have set for him to come. Here is my royal credential.” The royal letter was read. “Now tell me,” said the king, “what you wish.” “Sire,” answered the knight, “my lord requests a postponement.” “Of course,” said the king, “that is quite all right. Let him appear forty days from today.” At that, the knight departed and reported the reply to his lord. When the fortieth day came, John asked for a second postponement for forty days—and on that day, he again failed to appear. [251] When the king of France saw that King John had failed to appear, he asked the peers of France for a legal judgment. The peers deliberated and then advised that John be summoned once more and explain his failure to appear. The king then again sent two of the peers, and John was given forty more days; he did not come, however, and he sent no messenger. Then the king asked the peers for a decision. The peers, in their wisdom,



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rightly judged that King Philip could and should seize the fief that King John rightly held as his vassal. [252] At that, the peers departed, and King Philip had letters written and sent out to all his vassals, calling upon them to appear under arms at Gisors within forty days. Then you would have seen barons and knights harnessing horses and preparing their armor, equipping their tents and pavilions with whatever was needed; and they were all gathered at Gisors on the day that the king had named. [253] And when the king saw all those good men gathered at his bidding, he was very pleased. The vanguard he entrusted to Sir Alan of Roucy, who had recently been freed from prison in exchange for another knight; and he assigned the rear guard to William of Barres. They entered Normandy and pillaged the country; armed bands set fires everywhere and seized peasants and prey; nor was there anything to stop them except the fortresses, which were filled with peasants who had fled there with oxen and cows and sheep and everything they possessed. [254] Then the king decided to go to Mantes; he laid siege and his machines began a rain of projectiles. When the people inside saw what power the king had, they decided to surrender the castle; this was done, and the king immediately installed his men and equipment. Then he sent word to Passy, which was nearby, enjoining them to surrender their castle: if they failed to surrender within three days, he would have them all hanged. When the inhabitants of Passy heard that message, they learned that Mantes had already yielded and they said that they would willingly surrender as well; they turned over the keys to the castle, and king sent in his troops. [255] When the people of Vernon and Pont de l’Arche and Val de Rueil, of Gournay and Louviers and Gaillon and Rouen and the whole country saw that King Philip was thus conquering Normandy, they met and decided to send word to King John,

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their lord in England, about the situation and to ask him, by God, to decide on some action; otherwise, he would lose Normandy. [256] This was done, and the message was sent to King John; and when he received it, he was stunned and sorely grieved. He told the emissaries that he would come to their rescue by Saint John’s Day (though this was September!); and he had a letter written, which he handed to them. The emissaries returned to Rouen, where they were awaited, and the letter was read. When the governors of the castles heard it, they were astonished, but they decided to stand firm until the day that King John had named. The captains went their separate ways, each to his own place, and they prepared as best they could. [257] King Philip led his army straight to Vernon, a fine, strong, beautifully sited castle; he had his tents and pavilions set up in the meadow beside the Seine, and all his barons did likewise. The king had his machines launch many projectiles, but they achieved very little, as the people inside were very well protected and the castle was extremely strong. When the king saw how ineffective the assault was, he ordered it stopped but swore to maintain the siege for seven years while the people of Vernon watched and worried, for they had no doubt that the king would not leave without taking the town by force. And the king did stay in place all through the winter and up to Saint John’s Day, when King John was due to come to their rescue. But King John did not come; nor did he send any word. [258] When the governor of Vernon saw that their lord would be sending no help and realized how base a figure he was, compared with the powerful, rich, and intelligent King Philip, he requested a safe-conduct to go speak to him, and the safe-conduct was granted. The governor, along with nine knights, came to the king’s tent, greeted him, and said, “Sire, I come here to speak to you. You have besieged Vernon, whose governor and protector I am in the name of King John.



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[259] “I would like you to know, sire, that we have repeatedly sought his help but have received from him neither rescue nor support. Here now are the keys to the castle; I bring them to you to do as you wish: the fortress is yours.” The king received the keys with pleasure; he entered the castle and supplied it with whatever was needed. Then he left Vernon and moved on to other castles; and as soon as he appeared, keys were surrendered to him. He advanced to Rouen, intending to lay siege to the town, but the townspeople came out to greet him and handed him the keys.

XXV

Philip’s forces find a way to seize Château-Gaillard, the last holdout in Normandy.

[260] And so King Philip became master of all of Normandy, except for Château-Gaillard, which was too well fortified and is located in a gorge where three mountains meet; it can be besieged on no more than one side; it is completely surrounded by the Seine, and the projectiles of catapults and mangonels cannot reach it. When the king observed the castle and its site, so strong and easily defended, he said, “By the spear of Saint James, I have never seen a castle so well fortified and so well situated as this one! It would clearly take all my available means to capture it by force. I shall proceed not by force, but otherwise. Every part of this region has now been conquered, except this castle; I shall place my troops all around it and keep it guarded so closely that no one will be able to come near and enter, and the castle will fall through starvation alone.” [261] What the king said, he did; he placed large, fine garrisons around the castle and maintained the closure of entries and exits for a year and three months. And the people inside were down to so little food as to have a ration of only a dozen beans a day. When the castle-dwellers saw that they could no

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longer endure and that hunger would soon kill them, they came to the constable of the castle140 and said: [262] “Sir, we no longer have anything to eat, and no food can reach us; we will have no help from our wretched King John, and King Philip’s troops will not loosen their grip; indeed, every day they grow in numbers and strength; they change and grow stronger. It seems to us at this point that there would be no shame in surrendering Château-Gaillard.” “No,” said the constable, “it is useless to speak like that! As long as I live, I refuse to surrender this place, and I will leave only if dragged out by my feet.” [263] At that, they left the constable and, in a separate room, held a private meeting; one of them said: “The constable is mad; if we listen to him, we’ll all soon die a terrible death. Let’s waste no time, but send a message to the troops that we will surrender Château-Gaillard in return for our lives.” “In God’s name,” said the others, “you are right!” Then they chose two of their number to carry the message. [264] That night, once everyone was asleep, the pair went out of the castle and walked to the garrison’s camp. They spoke to the captain and told him about their situation—how they wanted the constable to surrender the castle, but he swore that as long as he lived, that would not happen unless he were thrown out feet first. “When we heard those words, we came together, we of the home guard, and decided that we would surrender Château-Gaillard to you. Now have your men arm, and the place will be yours right away!” [265] When the captain heard them, he replied, “Take care that you’re speaking the truth, for, by the allegiance I owe to King Philip, if I find you lying, you shall have a high price to pay.” “Sir,” they answered, “have no doubt!” With that, the captain had his men arm themselves, and they 140. The constable of the castle was Roger of Lacy (d. 1211).

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moved quietly, noiselessly toward Château-Gaillard. The two messengers went back into the castle and reported to those who had sent them that the royal troops were at the gates. They went quickly to the gates, broke the locks unbeknownst to the constable, opened the doors, and the troops came in. [266] When the castle watchman became aware of it, he started to shout, “Betrayed! Betrayed!” When the constable heard the shout, a shudder went through his whole body as he realized treachery was afoot. He seized his arms right away, as did his close guards, and ran straight to the spot where the cry had come from. When he saw the king’s men, he drew his sword and struck into their midst, hitting right and left and making a remarkable show of swordsmanship. The royal troops immediately fell upon him, battering him badly and covering his body with thirty wounds. He, though, kept fighting them off as well as he could, but his prowess proved to be of no avail, for the royal troops were twenty to his one, and his own men had quickly abandoned him. [267] At that point, the constable was on the ground, and his horse was dead; he was captured and bound, and that is how the castle was taken. The castle defenders went away with all their baggage, but the constable refused to leave no matter how insistently he was urged, and it was necessary to drag him away by his feet. Thus did Château-Gaillard fall, just as you have heard, and when King Philip received the news, he was overjoyed. He was told how the constable had behaved, and he put him back in charge of the castle, doubling his wages in recognition of the man’s loyalty. From then on, the king held Normandy and the entire region, and kept them at peace; nor was there any further disturbance.

XXVI

A quarrel between two of King Philip’s barons leads to treachery and a new alignment of political forces.

[268] It happened after a while that King Philip held a meeting in Laon, attended by many of his barons; and among them were Count Walter of Saint-Pol and Count Renard of Boulogne, who hated each other as fighters.141 They began to quarrel in front of the king, and the count of Saint-Pol went so far as to punch Count Renard in the face and bloody his nose. Count Renard struck back with all his might, but the noblemen who were present stepped in to stop him, and Renard, unable to avenge himself, left the court without a word of leave-taking. [269] The king was troubled by Count Renard’s departure and he declared that the count of Saint-Pol had been wrong and was thoroughly blameworthy. He sent Brother Garin, the bishop of Senlis, to see Renard, who was staying at his castle in Dammartin-en-Goële.142 When he reached there, he said, “Sir, the king has sent me to see you about your quarrel with the 141. Walter III of Saint-Pol (d. 1219), also known as Walter III of Châtillon, was count of Saint-Pol through his wife, Elisabeth. 142. Originally a member of the Knights Hospitaller, Garin was bishop of Senlis between 1213 and 1227 and was named chancellor by Louis VIII in 1223.

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count of Saint-Pol, which troubles him greatly; and he wants you to know that he will resolve the issue to your honor.” [270] “Brother Garin, I have heard you state the king’s message to me, and I consider you a wholly credible messenger, but I would like you to know—and please tell this to the king—that unless the blood that dripped from my face onto the floor returns on its own to its source and the blow is wiped away as if it had never occurred, there will never be any reconciliation or peace.” [271] “No,” replied Brother Garin, “that is a reckless demand—a thing that can’t be! For God’s sake, accept the resolution that the king offers you!” “Sir bishop,” said the count, “quiet now! If you went on speaking, you would lose my friendship forever.” “All right,” answered Brother Garin, “I shall be quiet now. But do you know what you are going to face? You will lose the king’s friendship and your honor in the world.” [272] At that, Brother Garin left Count Renard and returned to King Philip and reported how the count had responded. Hearing this, the king swore by the spear of Saint James that the dispute would lead to great trouble. The matter remained there untouched for some time. Count Renard, though, was eager to harm and humiliate the count of Saint-Pol, but he could not find the right opportunity. [273] When Renard saw that the king was actually supporting the count of Saint-Pol, he contrived a treacherous plan. He approached Count Ferrand of Flanders,143 who was the son of the king of Portugal,144 and held Flanders through his wife, 143. Ferrand of Flanders or Portugal (r. 1212–33) was captured at the Battle of Bouvines in 1214 and imprisoned until 1226. 144. Sancho I of Portugal (r. 1185–11). On Sancho and the twelfth- and thirteenthcentury kings of Portugal more generally, see Stephen Lay, The Reconquest Kings of Portugal: Political and Cultural Reorientation on the Medieval Frontier (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2009).



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countess Joan,145 the daughter of Count Baldwin; and he led him to believe that King Philip intended to strip him of Arras, Peronne, Saint-Omer, Aire, Hesdin, and Bapaume; he led him to think that Count Baldwin, who had given these holdings to the king for the marriage of his sister, should not have done so, for it was unjust of him thus to disinherit the rightful heir. [274] When Count Ferrand heard these words, fool that he was, he believed them. He coveted those holdings, believing himself, in any case, grander than he was. The two men discussed forming an alliance with King John of England and with Emperor Otto, who, for his part, alleged that King Philip had promised him Orleans, Étampes, and Chartres the day he would become emperor. Joining the alliance was Hugh of Boves,146 and they all assembled an army so large that it seemed the whole earth would quake under its weight. Count Ferrand sent word to King Philip that he should yield him the fair towns just named, or else he would challenge his rule—and the king should know that he would soon enter his kingdom! [275] When the king heard those threats, he summoned his men and asked for their counsel. The barons replied that the count’s message was outrageous, for he too was a vassal of the king: “You never failed to treat him with justice! But we realize that this scheme comes from Count Renard’s quarrel with the count of Saint-Pol. We recommend that you move toward Flanders and go to into Tournai, your city, with as many men as you can gather.” [276] Then the king summoned all his fief holders and commoners and brought them together one Saturday outside of Tournai in tents and pavilions. When Ferrand and his party learned that the king was at Tournai, he was delighted, for he 145. Joan of Flanders (r. 1205–44) was the daughter of Baldwin IX of Flanders and Marie of Champagne. 146. Hugh of Boves (d. 1215), the son of Robert I of Boves and Beatrice of SaintPol, was a minor lord and military commander from Picardy.

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was sure, then, to have him in his net. He proposed to do battle the next day. The proposal, though, troubled the king, because the next day was Sunday, so he sent Brother Garin to ask that the count wait until Monday. The count refused, however, since he was eager to be away. At that, Brother Garin returned, accompanied part of the way by Count Renard. [277] When Count Renard was back, Sir Hugh of Boves exclaimed in front of Emperor Otto and the count of Flanders, “Ha! Count of Boulogne, what betrayal have you two plotted, you and Brother Garin?” “No, indeed,” replied the count; “that is a lie, and you, a wretched traitor! But, of course, you speak that way, since you come from a family of Ganelons!147 Well, you can be sure that, if there is a battle, I shall either die or be captured, while you, you will run away like the faint-hearted coward you are!” 147. A reference to the traitorous stepfather of Roland in the eponymous chanson. For an English translation, see The Song of Roland, trans. Glyn Burgess (New York: Penguin, 1990).

XXVII

Decisive battle is fought at Bouvines. Philip Augustus faces alliance led by Otto IV, including John of England. Holy Roman Emperor Otto, King John, and others, conclusively defeated. French victory will lead to major changes in Germany, England, and elsewhere.

[278] The argument ended at that point, and Brother Garin came back to the king and said, “Sire, God help you now! You will surely have a battle tomorrow. Have your troops organized and ready: you are going to need them!” The king ordered the troops be prepared and gave their command to the ten most valiant men that he had. As for Emperor Otto, Count Ferrand, Count Renard, and Count William Longespée (who was a brother of the king of England, sent by the king in his stead because he himself could not be present, being in Poitou at La Roche-aux-Moines to face Sir Louis, his fierce opponent)—these noble lords whom I have just named to you were busily dividing France among themselves, each taking a piece, roasted or boiled.148 148. William Longespée (d. 1226), the illegitimate son of Henry II, was the earl of Salisbury through his wife, Ela of Salisbury.

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[279] Count Ferrand wanted Paris; Count Renard wanted Normandy; the emperor wanted Orleans, Chartres, and Étampes; Hugh of Boves wanted Amiens—each was thus carving out his piece. But God does his work in no time at all; You can laugh in the morning and weep the same night.149 Saturday thus passed into Sunday. The king rose in the morning and called out his men of Tournai, all armored and armed, with banners streaming and trumpets blaring and all battalions in perfect order. [280] They marched ’til they reached a small bridge called the Bridge at Bouvines; there was a chapel there, where the king went to hear Mass, since it was still morning. He had Mass sung by the bishop of Tournai, which the king heard fully armed.150 When it was over, the king had bread and wine brought in and had sops cut; he took one and ate and then said to all who stood around him, “I ask all my loyal friends who are here to eat with me, in remembrance of the twelve apostles who ate and drank with Our Lord Jesus Christ; and if there is anyone here with cowardly or traitorous intentions, let him not come to this table.” [281] At that, Sir Enguerrand of Coucy came forward and took the first sop.151 Then Count Walter of Saint-Pol took the second and said to the king, “Sire, on this day we shall see who is a traitor to you!” He said that because he was well aware that some evil tongues had led the king to be suspicious of him. The count of Sancerre took the third sop, and all the other barons followed; and there was such a great crowd that it was hard to approach the goblet. 149. See “En pou d’eure—Deus labeure,” no. 679 in Morawski, Proverbes français antérieurs au XV e siècle. 150. Bishop Gossuin (r. 1204–18), a member of the Avesnes family. 151. Enguerrand III of Coucy (d. 1242).



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[282] The king was very happy to see this, and he said to them, “Lords, you are my vassals, and I am your lord, such as I am; I have loved you and shown you great honor and treated you with ready largess; never have I done you any wrong or failed to lead you with justice and reason. By God, I ask today that you all protect my person, my honor, and your own. And if you see that one of you would more ably wear the crown than I do, I willingly cede it to him, and mean that sincerely and with good will.” [283] When the barons heard him speak so, pity moved them to weep, and they said, “Sire, please, dear God! we want no king but you! Ride boldly against your foes, and we are prepared to die with you!” At that, the king mounted on a strong, well-trained destrier, and all the barons did likewise, each in his right place and with banner unfurled. [284] And then there were the Flemings, coming along in disarray and disorder, jostling with one another, and carrying ropes to tie up the French! The king had moved toward the side of the hill, because the sun was striking him in the face; when the Flemmings saw him turn in that direction, they said to one another that he was running away, so they fell upon the French in a great rush, but the French took them on energetically and in little time the Flemish troops were defeated. [285] In fact, the count of Saint-Pol rode past the army and surprised them from behind; he attacked them like a famished lion and performed by himself so many deeds of arms that the sight was a marvel to watch! All the other barons, too, proved so effective that not one could be faulted. The seneschal of Champagne, Oudart of Reson, who carried the banner of Champagne and was responsible for the first attack, had already gone so far ahead as to be doing battle with Count Renard—and what a marvelous encounter that was!152 152. Likely a reference to Oudard of Aulnay, who, according to the accepted narrative, served as the marshal of Champagne from around 1205 to 1227. Simon of Joinville

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[286] At that moment the count of Saint-Pol appeared and recognized the standard of Count Renard. These were the two men who hated each other more than anyone else on earth, the men with whom the whole fight had started. When Count Renard spotted his foe, he was more overjoyed than he would have been to touch the feet of God. The two men rushed at each other and fell into violent combat. Both would have been grievously injured if the fight had gone for long. [287] But the king’s forces kept strengthening, while the Flemings kept weakening; they were, after all, in the wrong, and they were also in disagreement among themselves. Then the armies clashed on all sides and the commotion was general. But the count of Saint-Pol remained aware of his goal and made every effort to seize Count Renard by brute force; and once Renard was captured, the Flemmings lost all courage. Then the French, even bolder than before, ran toward Count Ferrand’s formation and took the count prisoner, along with the count of Ponthieu, Sir William Longespée, and many other noble lords that my tale does not name. [288] When Emperor Otto realized what a rout it was, he turned his horse around and, together with Hugh of Boves, took flight. The emperor went to Germany, where he died after a while, a miserable pauper, in a religious hospice. Hugh of Boves sailed off toward England to rejoin King John, but God, who rewards good and punishes evil, kept him from his goal: a great storm arose at sea, and Hugh was drowned. The rest of the army was captured and utterly defeated. [289] King Philip learned that Ferrand was taken prisoner, as well as Count Renard, the count of Ponthieu, William Long­ espée, and many other important men. The king exclaimed, “How is it that we don’t have the emperor?” was the seneschal of the county at the time of Bouvines. See Arnaud Baudin, Les sceaux des comtes de Champagne et de leur entourage, fin XIe–début XIV e siècle: emblématique et pouvoir en Champagne (Langres: Guéniot, 2012), 534–35.



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The king had never before called Otto “the emperor,” but he did so now in order to claim a greater victory, since there is more honor in defeating an emperor than a vavasor. [290] With that, the battle was over, and the king returned joyfully to Tournai with his captives. The Flemings, for their part, mourned their loss. This defeat occurred in the year of Our Lord 1214, in the month of July, on the second Sunday; and on that same day, Sir Louis defeated King John at La Roche-auxMoines in Poitou. [291] The next day, the king sent troops to Lille to set fire to the city, and he installed garrisons in all the cities of Flanders. The king came back to France with his prisoners, and he put Ferrand into the Louvre in Paris, because Ferrand wanted to take Paris; he imprisoned Count Renard at Goulet, because Renard wanted to take Normandy; and he put the other prisoners wherever he pleased. From that time on, King Philip remained at peace, feared and respected in all lands.153 153. The decisive Battle of Bouvines was fought on July 27, 1214. It had major ramifications for the kingdoms of France and England, as well as the Holy Roman Empire. The battle dramatically enhanced the prestige and power of Philip Augustus and the French monarchy and ensured its continued possession of Normandy and Anjou. King John of England consented to Magna Carta in 1215, and in Germany, Aachen fell to Frederick II and his supporters the same year. Otto IV’s power continued to dwindle in the aftermath of the battle until his eventual death in 1218. For literature on the Battle of Bouvines and Magna Carta, see the introduction at notes 81 and 82. Also see William Chester Jordan, “The French Victory at Bouvines (1214) and the Persistent Seduction of War,” in 1212–1214: El trienio que hizo a Europa (Pamplona: Semana de estudios medievales, 2011), 113–28; and Abulafia’s comments about Bouvines in Frederick II, 119–20.

XXVIII

English barons seek King Philip’s help against King John. Philip’s son Louis takes charge of the French response. John bribes the pope to put an end to Louis’s advance through England. Louis rejects excommunication.

[292] Now I shall tell you about that wretched King John of England, who brought shame upon his barons and seduced and raped their wives and daughters, and stole their lands and went so far that God and the whole world came to hate him.154 And so it happened that the barons of England decided in common that they would send word to King Philip, offering him their allegiance if he assumed the English throne; they would give him their children as assurance and would aid him in conquering the kingdom. They chose two of their number—the wisest and 154. Chapters XXVIII and XXIX treat political events in England from the Battle of Bouvines to the withdrawal of military forces in 1217 by Prince Louis (later Louis VIII). Among the numerous biographies of John, see Stephen Church, King John: England, Magna Carta and the Making of a Tyrant (London: Macmillan, 2015); and Ralph V. Turner, King John (Stroud: History Press, 2009). Also see the introduction at notes 70–76. On Prince Louis’s invasion of England, see Catherine Hanley, Louis: The French Prince Who Invaded England (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2016). Also see the introduction at notes 77–86.

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most valiant—and sent them to King Philip; and they brought him the barons’ request. [293] The king told them that he would speak with his advisers, which he then did. His response was then that he had enough land and would not involve himself in the barons’ affair. When Sir Louis heard that his father would not be involved, he said to him, “Sire, with your permission, I would undertake this task.” “By the spear of Saint James,” answered the king, “do as you please—but I believe that you will not succeed, because the English are faithless traitors and will never respect their agreement.” “Sire,” replied Sir Louis, “let it be as God wills!” [294] Then he said to the two emissaries, “Good sirs, if you agree, I shall undertake this task and, with God’s help and yours, bring it to a successful conclusion.” “In good faith,” answered the emissaries, “we ask for nothing better!” At that, they exchanged pledges of agreement; and the emissaries delivered to Sir Louis the seal-bearing letters from all the barons of England that they had brought with them. They faithfully promised the surrender of their children as hostages within a month of their return to England. [295] At that, the emissaries left and crossed the sea; then they came to London, assembled the barons, and told them what they had done; the barons were pleased. Their children were dispatched as had been agreed, and Sir Louis kept them guarded well and honorably. He equipped large ships and prepared whatever was needed for a fighting army, assembling a great number of men, some eager to fight out of friendship, some for pay, and some because of kinship. With him were the count of Le Perche,155 the count of Montfort,156 the count of 155. Thomas of Perche (d. 1217), the son of Geoffrey III of Perche and Matilda of Saxony. 156. Likely a reference to either Simon IV of Montfort (d. 1218), the leader of the

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Chartres,157 the count of Montbéliard,158 Sir Enguerrand of Coucy, and many other noble lords whom I am not naming. [296] They embarked one Monday morning and arrived at Dover that evening, so quickly that they were not noticed; and they set up their tents and pavilions on the beach.159 When the people in the castle spotted them, they were astonished, wondering who those men might be. They ran for their arms and went to the crenels in the walls, which were heavily fortified, and they stood there prepared to defend themselves and the castle. The next day, Sir Louis began his assault on the fortress with his siege machines, but it was to little avail; they stayed there for ten days but achieved nothing. [297] When Sir Louis and his advisers saw how matters stood, he decided to lift the siege of Dover and go lay siege to London. He undid his camp, packed all the gear, and led his army to London, where he laid siege to the city from three sides. But the people within mounted a vigorous defense, carefully guarded the gates and the ramparts, and in all haste sent word to their king to ask for his help. He, though, replied that he was powerless to help, for his barons had all abandoned him in favor of Sir Louis. [298] When the people of London received this news, they immediately surrendered the city; the French troops came in and readily found quarters there, but Sir Louis issued an order that no one cause any harm, on pain of hanging. They stayed Albigensian Crusade, or his eldest son, Amaury VI (d. 1244). See G. E. M. Lippiatt, Simon V of Montfort and Baronial Government, 1195–1218 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017). 157. Theobald VI of Blois and Chartres (r. 1205–18), the son of Louis I of Blois and Catherine of Clermont. 158. Richard III of Montfaucon (d. 1227/1237), the son of Amadeus II of Montfaucon and Beatrice of Joinville. 159. According to the accepted narrative, Prince Louis disembarked on the Isle of Thanet in the north of Kent on May 21, 1216, and entered London unopposed. The unsuccessful siege of Dover commenced later, on July 19.



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there for a week, and on the ninth day, the army moved to Lincoln. The count of Le Perche commanded the vanguard and ran past the gates of the town, which brought out the local garrisons, who rushed at the invaders. There was much shooting of arrows and throwing of stones, with horses killed and knights toppled and foot soldiers dead and wounded. The count of Le Perche was killed by a scoundrel who lifted the front of his hauberk and plunged in a knife; and the vanguard fell apart with the death of the count. When Sir Louis heard the news, he was more gravely affected than ever before, since he was an intimate friend and kin. [299] At that, Lincoln was besieged, and it was captured on the thirteenth day. Louis garrisoned it with good men and continued through England for two and a half years, conquering seven cities and a great many towns and villages.160 In this space of time, King John sent word to Rome and sent a great deal of treasure; he let the pope know that he was ready to grant him in perpetuity an income of four silver pennies per hearth—but please, for God’s sake, take an interest in his plight! [300] When the pope and the brethren saw what great treasure the king had sent, and the promise of permanent income amounting to one thousand sterling marks per year, they were jubilant. The pope sent a message to Sir Louis saying that he absolutely wanted him to return to France—and if he did not, he would be excommunicated, along with all his supporters. Sir Louis did not give a fig for the pope’s order, but went on conquering territories, so the pope had him excommunicated throughout Christendom, along with all those supporting him in whatever manner.161 160. The Battle of Lincoln occurred on May 20, 1217, and although the Minstrel leaves it vague, it was a decisive defeat for Prince Louis and the French, who lost the town as a result. 161. Louis had been excommunicated by Pope Innocent III in 1216, before the Battle of Lincoln.

XXIX

The English barons rescind their allegiance to Louis. He returns to France and turns, unsuccessfully, to Toulouse.

[301] It then happened that Sir Louis had spent all his wealth and needed funds; he sent word to his father to please, for God’s sake, help him and send money. The king answered that, by the spear of Saint James, he would certainly not: he would not risk excommunication for him. When my lady Blanche learned of this, she came to the king, her father-in-law, and said, “Will you thus allow sir your son to die in a foreign land? Sire, by God! he is to reign after you! Send him what he needs—at least the income on his inheritance!” “No, indeed, Blanche,” said the king; “I will not do so!” “No, sire?” “Truly not,” answered the king. “In God’s name,” said my lady Blanche, “I know what I have to do!” “And what is that?” asked the king. “By the blessed mother of God, I have fine children by my lord; I’ll offer them for security! I’ll find someone to lend me money for them!”

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[302] With that, she ran from the king like a madwoman. Seeing her leave like that, he thought she was serious, so he had her called back and he said, “Blanche, I shall give you from my treasure whatever funds you want; do with them as you like and whatever you think right—but know this: I will not send him any aid!” “Sire,” said my lady Blanche, “thank you very much!” And then a great treasure was delivered to my lady Blanche, and she sent it to sir her husband. [303] When King John saw that he was losing his whole kingdom, he gathered his barons to beg their mercy, saying that he would make whatever amends they wanted and would place the kingdom, with all its fortresses, into their hands, if they only took pity on him. When the barons saw him so humiliated, they did take pity on him: it has long been said that a sincere heart cannot lie. . . . Besides, it is better to keep one’s legitimate lord than to move on to a foreigner! So they accepted his oath that he would mend his ways in accord with their will and would put his whole kingdom into their hands; and they took possession of the fortresses.162 [304] Then they came to Sir Louis and said, “Sir, know for a truth that we can no longer allow our sovereign to be harmed, for he agrees to mend his ways in regard to us. You must understand that we shall no longer be of aid to you, but will resist you instead.” Sir Louis heard these words and was furious; he responded, “What, good sirs! So you’ve betrayed me!” And they answered, “It is better for us to withdraw from our understanding with you than to let our lord be exiled and destroyed. For God’s sake, do the wise thing and go on your way! Staying in this country is not the right course for you!” 162. This is likely a reference to Magna Carta, which John agreed to at the field of Runnymede on June 15, 1215. See the introduction at note 82.

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[305] When Sir Louis saw that there was no other way, he prepared his ships and turned back to France. He concluded his stay by returning whatever hostages he held. Sometime thereafter, he went to Toulouse, at the head of a great group of barons, including Count Theobald of Cham­ pagne,163 the count of Saint-Pol, the count of Sancerre, the count of Nevers,164 and many other great lords. They remained for a long while outside Toulouse, never finding the gates other than closed for them all; nothing was accomplished by the expedition, and they came away poorer and with some shame. 163. Theobald IV of Champagne (r. 1201–53), the son of Theobald III of Champagne and Blanche of Navarre. He inherited the kingdom of Navarre through his mother in 1234. Theobald was an unusually prolific trouvère, to whom the various lyric manuscript sources attribute over sixty compositions in several genres. He is regarded as the finest, most prestigious trouvère of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. For a short introduction, see William Chester Jordan, “The Representation of the Crusades in the Songs attributed to Thibaud, Count Palatine of Champagne,” Journal of Medieval History 25 (1999): 27–34. 164. Possibly a reference to Peter II of Courtenay or his son-in-law, Hervé IV of Donzy, who ruled Nevers through his wife (and Peter’s daughter) Matilda (d. 1257) from 1199 to his death in 1222.

XXX

Philip Augustus dies. Louis VIII and Blanche of Castile are crowned in Reims. The archbishop is forced to honor his word and pay for the event.

[306] During this period, the king of France held a meeting at Mantes, around the time of the Feast of the Madeleine; many great lords were present, as well as forty-eight bishops and archbishops.165 Death, which spares no one, neither the great nor the small, came to display its lure to the king, who took to his death bed, confessed, and repented for his misdeeds. He drew up his will, leaving one-third of his very large treasure to the land overseas, one-third to the poor, and one-third to the French crown for the governance and defense of the country. He gave up his soul to Our Lord; and he is held in high regard, as Our Lord was revealed to him as to any worthy man to whom the Holy Spirit has made it manifest. [307] The body of the king was prepared and buried as was fitting for so mighty a king; it was borne by noblemen and knights to Saint-Denis in France, and at each stopping place a cross was erected that displayed an image of him. Mass was 165. The Feast of Mary Magdalene is July 22. Philip died on July 14, 1223.

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sung by Archbishop William of Joinville, and he was entombed by his hand.166 Later, a monument of pure gold and silver was constructed that bore a sculpted image of the king; engravings of forty-eight bishops were placed on four sides of the tomb, garbed as if to sing Mass, miters on their heads and crosiers in their hands. [308] Here we shall stop speaking about King Philip—God rest his soul!—who passed from this life three days after the Feast of the Madeleine in the year 1223, after a reign of fortyseven years, having been crowned at sixteen years of age. From this point on, we shall tell you about Sir Louis and my lady Blanche, his wife, who was the daughter of the king of Spain and who had four children,167 the eldest named Philip,168 followed by Louis, then Robert,169 then Alphonse;170 the eldest, however, died at the age of fifteen. His widow was pregnant with a daughter, who was given the name Isabella; she never wanted to marry, but always retained her virginity; and she did much good.171 166. William of Joinville was bishop of Langres from 1208 to 1219 and archbishop of Reims from 1219 to 1226. He was the son of Geoffrey IV of Joinville and Helvide of Dampierre. 167. Blanche was the daughter of Alfonso VIII of Castile (r. 1158–1214). See Miguel Gómez, Kyle C. Lincoln, and Damian J. Smith, eds., King Alfonso VIII of Castile: Government, Family, and War (New York: Fordham University Press, 2018). 168. Philip predeceased his father in 1218. 169. Robert was granted the appanage of Artois in his father’s will, and died during the battle of Mansourah in 1250. 170. Alphonse (d. 1271) was granted the appanage of Poitiers in his father’s will and was the count of Toulouse through his wife, Joan. He died on his return home from Louis’s second crusade. See Gaël Chenard, L’administration d’Alphonse de Poitiers (1241–1271) (Paris: Classiques Garnier, 2017). 171. Isabella, or Isabelle, Louis’s sister, died in 1270. See Sean L. Field, Isabelle of France: Capetian Sanctity and Franciscan Identity in the Thirteenth Century (Notre Dame, Ind.: University of Notre Dame Press, 2006). As the Minstrel mentions in chapter XXXI, between their children Alphonse and Isabelle, Louis VIII and Blanche also had Charles (d. 1285). Charles was granted the appanage of Anjou in his father’s will. He was count of Provence through his wife, Beatrice (d. 1267), and later became the king of Sicily in 1266. See Jean Dunbabin, Charles I of Anjou: Power, Kingship and State-Making in Thirteenth-Century Europe (New York: Longman, 1998); David



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[309] Now let us return to our subject. My lord Louis made plans to have himself and his wife crowned at Reims. He called on his vassals to be present at the coronation in the middle of August, and there came to Reims the greatest assemblage of knights and of ordinary people that had ever attended a coronation. My lord Louis and my lady Blanche, his wife, were consecrated and anointed with the sacred oil that God had sent from heaven for the anointment of Clovis, the first Christian king of the kingdom of France; the anointment was performed by William of Joinville, who was archbishop of Reims at that time. [310] Then they were conducted to the palace to the sound of eight trumpets; the dinner served was the most elaborate and beautiful ever prepared for a royal coronation, and the noblemen dining were dressed in the finest attire ever seen. The next day, the courtiers departed, and the king and queen went back to France, where they were received with great solemnity. [311] Archbishop William of Joinville, who was expected to pay the bill for the coronation, passed it on to the aldermen of Reims, claiming that it was rather theirs to pay; he even brought forward false witnesses—John-the-Cleric of Bourc, Archdeacon Hugh of Sarcu, Dean Peter of Lageri, and the cantor of Reims— and they testified with their seals. The aldermen of Reims, however—Voisin-the-Cock, Jack-the-One-Eyed, Pig of Montlaurent, Walter-the-King, Crow Pitcher, Gerard-the-Chopper, Witier-the-Fat, Odo of Verselai, Cauchon Voisin, and their companions—would not allow it, so they went to the king and told him how the archbishop was trying to fool them. [312] The king said that he did not want the townspeople of Reims to pay for the coronation if they were not supposed to do so; and he sent Sir Renard of Beronne, a member of his council, to inquire who had paid for King Philip’s coronation: the archAbulafia, “Charles of Anjou Reassessed,” Journal of Medieval History 26 (2000): 93– 114; and Michel Grenon, Charles d’Anjou: frère conquérant de Saint Louis (Paris: Harmattan, 2012).

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bishop or the townsmen.172 He came to Reims and entered the Temple, where the archbishop and the aldermen sat in attendance. [313] Sir Renard of Beronne asked among the elderly men of Reims and learned through honest and loyal inquiry that the archbishop had paid. Then the aldermen were shown the letters of false testimony that the archdeacon, the dean, and the cantor had delivered to the archbishop upon the advice of the chapter. The aldermen tore them to pieces as everyone watched; and from then on, the archbishops of Reims have without question paid for coronations. 172. Renard of Beronne served as the bailiff of Senlis from 1223 to 1234.

XXXI

Some Flemish barons conspire against the countess of Flanders. She unmasks their plot and has an impostor pilloried.

[314] But now let’s turn back to King Louis, a brave and upstanding man who suffered much in his life. Early in his reign, he fathered a son, Charles, who is now count of Anjou. In that same year, he went to La Rochelle in Poitou and captured the town; the king of France still holds it. [315] An extraordinary event occurred at that time in Flanders, where some great lords plotted, out of envy, a treacherous move against Joan, countess of Flanders. They found an old man and shut him away in seclusion in the forest of Mormal; he remained there for a long time, while they tricked him into believing that they would make him count of Flanders. [316] He asked them how that could happen, and they answered that they would spread the word among the people that he was Count Baldwin, who had long before gone to Constantinople and was the father of the countess. “You escaped from the prison of Vatatzes and came into this forest to do your penance.”173 173. John III Doukas Vatatzes, emperor of Nicaea from 1222 to 1254.

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They taught him how to respond to anyone asking about his situation. But you may be sure of this: no ruse can go undetected forever. The old man trusted them, fool that he was, and the case led to nothing but trouble, as you shall now hear. [317] The traitors I am telling you about spread the news through the region, leading people to believe that the man was Count Baldwin; it was not long before all Flanders had heard, and it was a wonder how many people came to see him at the hermitage. They took him away to Valenciennes, dressed him in a robe of scarlet and squirrel fur, and mounted him on a large destrier. They led him through the fair towns of Flanders, paying all his expenses; and all Flanders took him to be their lord and were jubilant. [318] He had been for a while in that role as a lord, when he heard that the countess was at Haimon Cainoi [Le Quesnoy]. She was seated at dinner; the false count was informed and prepared his men to go seize her. An ally of hers, however, warned her, and she had just enough time to flee, mounted on a beast of burden; she escaped by the road to Mons-en-Hainaut, where she found safety. [319] When the countess saw the situation, she sent a message to the king, her first cousin, asking, for God’s sake, that he do something decisive about the matter, lest she lose her land. When the king heard this, he decided to invite the man claiming to be Count Baldwin of Flanders to come speak with him at Peronne, with a two-way safe-conduct; and he added that if he was his uncle, he would be delighted and would let him enjoy the fruit of his land. He sent the invitation with a messenger; the interview was accepted, and the man said he would come. [320] And come he did, along with a great entourage. He was astride a black horse advancing at ceremonial pace; he was dressed in a scarlet cape lined in green silk; on his head was a hat of ornate material; and in his hand he held a white rod. He seemed a remarkably important man. And so he entered the



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court and, with him, a large crowd. He dismounted at the foot of the main staircase and walked up the steps with ushers before him, like a great lord; and his arrival was announced to the king. [321] When the king heard the announcement, he came out of his room and greeted the man with these words: “Sir, you are most welcome if you are my uncle, Count Baldwin, who should be, too, emperor of Constantinople and king of Salonica as well as count of Flanders and Hainault.” “Dear nephew,” he answered, “may you be blessed by God and his sweet mother. I am, and should rightly be, whom you have just said, but my daughter wants to disinherit me and not recognize me as her father. I ask you, then, dear nephew, to please help me to safeguard my rights.” [322] “Indeed,” said the king, “for no other reason have I come here; but, as is only reasonable, I need to know the truth about you. It is my understanding that my uncle, Count Baldwin, went to Constantinople some fifty years ago and was made a prisoner there; few people of that time are still alive today.”174 “Indeed,” he replied, “I agree.” “By God,” said the king, “that’s the right answer!” [323] “We ask you,” said Brother Garin, the bishop of Senlis, “in which town you married your wife.” At that question, the man looked puzzled, since he had not been instructed and knew not how to answer. He said that he wanted to sleep. He intended to put the question to his instructors; but that did not happen, for he was put to bed in a room by himself, with doors guarded so that no one might enter. [324] When he awoke, he was asked whether he would respond to the question, but he made a show of being angry and said that he wanted to leave; and the king graciously granted the request. Then the fool left the king and went back to Valenci174. The two events were closer to twenty, rather than fifty, years apart, but this could be taken as something on the order of “a generation ago.”

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ennes, where he had set out, and to Saint John’s abbey; and that night he fled, with two companions, to Rais, in Burgundy, where he had been born. The king returned to France, convinced that he was an impostor. [325] A year and a half went by with no news of him. Then it happened that a squire of the lord of Chacenay saw him one market day in the town;175 he pointed him out to his lord, saying, “Sir, I see over there the man who was pretending to be Count Baldwin of Flanders.” “Quiet, what the devil! You’re lying; it can’t be!” “Sir,” said the squire, “hang me by the neck if it isn’t true!” “All right!” said Sir Erard. “Seize him! He’ll pay dearly!” The squires seized the man and put him in prison; and he admitted he was indeed the pretender. [326] Sir Erard had a letter written to the countess of Flanders, informing her that he had the impostor in prison. The countess was overjoyed to receive the news and replied with a seal-bearing letter that promised Sir Erard of Chacenay a thousand silver marks in return if he sent her the man. Sir Erard did so forthwith and retained the letter, still bearing its seal—which was very useful to him later on, for the countess failed to honor the agreement, and he was then able to seize as much of her wealth as was necessary to cover her debt. [327] When the countess held her “father,” who was unable to name the town where he had married her mother, she asked him where he was from and what had led him to act as he had. He answered that his name was Bertrand of Rais and he had been led on by knights and ladies and clerics; they had pulled him out of his hermitage, where he wanted to save his soul. “Oh, yes,” said the countess, “you behaved like a fool! You wanted to be a count, but with no reason.” 175. Erard II of Chacenay (d. 1236), the only son of Erard I of Chacenay and Matilda of Donzy.



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[328] Then she had him undressed and covered in an unstriped cloak of coarse cloth. She had him stripped of his belt and shoes, and people could see that he had no toes. She had him strapped onto a workhorse and led past all the booths of the Lille festival, which was going on at that time, and in front of each booth, he said, “Listen to this wretch! I am Bertrand of Rais in Burgundy, a poor man not meant to be king or count or emperor; and what I did I did at the behest of knights and ladies and townspeople of this region!” At that point, he was told to stop talking. [329] Then he was put into a brand-new pillory erected for him in the marketplace of Lille, with two large mastiffs beside him, one to his right and the other to his left. Then he was hanged by an iron chain, brand-new to ensure the chain would not break; he hung there for a year or more. Here we shall end the story of the stupid old fool; it has long been said that he is truly stupid who pretends to be.

XXXII

King Louis takes action against the rebellious town of Avignon. His dear friend Guy of Saint-Pol is killed at the siege. Avignon decides to submit to Louis. Louis falls ill on the way home and dies. His pubescent son is crowned Louis IX at Reims.

[330] Now I shall tell you about King Louis, who rarely if ever had any rest. News came to him that the people of Avignon had rebelled against him and captured and killed troops garrisoned on their border. The king sent word instructing them to come make amends, but they sent back word that they would do nothing of the sort, not being under his command.176 176. Louis’s campaign of 1226 was part of the ongoing Albigensian Crusade and had been promoted vigorously by the papal legate to France, Romano Frangipani. According to the accepted narrative, Avignon was attacked by Louis’s army only because of a dispute over a bridge. Avignon, although an independent city within the Holy Roman Empire, had agreed to allow Louis’s royal army to cross the stone bridge over the Rhône and march through the middle of the city. The townsmen became concerned about the implications of this agreement for the city’s continued independence from the French crown and built an alternative wooden bridge across the Rhône outside of the city’s walls. Louis refused to cross the wooden structure, new terms could not be reached, and the siege began. The most lucid narrative of this action is Joseph R. Strayer, The Albigensian Crusades (New York: Dial, 1971; reprint Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1992), 131–33. Also see the introduction at note 93.

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[331] When the king heard the arrogant message sent by the people of Avignon, he blew up with anger; he called upon vassals and allies, men owing him homage and those linked to him by friendship, and he assembled a wonderfully large army. Present there were Archbishop William of Joinville, with a large contingent, and Count Guy of Saint-Pol, who was a fine knight, valiant and loyal;177 and they were accompanied by many other great lords. They went to Avignon and laid siege. The people within were well prepared and barely fearful. The siege went on for six months or longer and did little damage—until the king decided one day to attack; war machines were set up and started to launch heavy stones into the city.178 [332] That night, Count Guy of Saint-Pol was in charge of the watch, when the people inside the city began throwing their projectiles against the besiegers. It happened unfortunately that Count Guy had gone to observe the men operating his machines, and a stone thrown by the men in the city fell onto his head and crushed his skull; he was carried into the king’s tent. Seeing him dead, the king flew into a rage that seemed to rob him of all reason, and no man alive there could calm him, so dearly did he love the count. And indeed, the count merited such love, for he was a model of the finest qualities. [333] The body of the count of Saint-Pol was stripped of its armor, then gutted and embalmed. It was placed in a long coffin and borne to Longeau, a priory for nuns that the count had founded; and there he was buried with honor. The assault was halted, and the two sides agreed to a truce of fifteen days; but the king swore in the presence of all that, if the city failed to yield during the period of the truce, he would forcibly seize the inhabitants and put them all to the sword. 177. Also known as Guy IV of Châtillon (d. 1226), the oldest son of Walter III of Châtillon and Elisabeth of Saint-Pol. 178. According to the accepted narrative, the siege of Avignon lasted about three months in 1226. See note 176 and the references in the introduction at note 93.

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[334] When the people of Avignon heard the king’s oath and considered the depth of his anger at the loss of the count, they decided to save lives and surrender the city to the king, for they realized that they were unable to hold it for long. So they surrendered, and the king had the ramparts torn down and a garrison put into place at the city’s expense. He then departed as quickly as he could, because the place was infected and many people were dying. The count of Namur died there, which was a great blow, and many other important men besides.179 [335] As King Louis and the archbishop of Reims were traveling home, they were struck by a fearsome sickness; they were placed in a litter and carried as far as Montpensier, a fortified castle of the king’s; they were unable to go any farther. There the king died—God save his soul!—and in that way was fulfilled the prophecy attributed to Merlin, who had predicted that the “sweet lion” of France would die at Montpensier. And the sweet lion he truly was, uncommonly brave, his prowess well beyond that expected of a king. The king’s body was embalmed and carried to Saint-Denis, where he was buried in splendor beside his father. The archbishop lived only three days longer than the king; his body was taken to Clairvaux and buried in the common cemetery. [336] Here we’ll put aside the dead and speak of the living— and tell about Queen Blanche, who was sorely afflicted. Nor was it surprising, as she had seen so much loss; her children, moreover, were small, and she was a woman alone in a foreign country. And she had to contend with great lords: Count Philip Hurepel of Boulogne,180 Count Robert of Dreux181 and his brother, 179. Philip II of Namur (r. 1212–26), the son of Peter II of Courtenay and Yolande of Flanders. 180. Philip Hurepel (d. 1235), the legitimized son of Philip II of France and Agnes of Meran, was the count of Boulogne through his wife, Matilda. 181. Robert III of Dreux (r. 1218–34), the son of Robert II of Dreux and Yolande of Coucy.



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the count of Mâcon,182 the lord of Courtenay,183 Sir Enguerrand of Coucy—in short, many of the great nobles of the time. And she was afraid of them. [337] She sent word, then, to the princes of the realm whom she trusted the most and to the most honorable, saying, “Dear lords, my husband is dead, which is a misfortune for you as for me; I ask for your counsel about what I should do; I truly need your advice.” “In faith, lady,” said the barons, “you must have your son Louis crowned at Reims; we shall all go there armed, and he shall be crowned even if some people are opposed.” Then the date of the coronation was set for the fourteenyear-old boy; it would be Saint Andrew’s Day in the year of Our Lord 1226.184 [338] They gathered very simply that day in Reims, and the boy was crowned by Bishop James of Soissons, since the seat of the archbishop at the time was vacant.185 Homage was rendered both to the king and, since she would serve as regent, to the queen mother. This caused much jealousy among the barons. In the same period, Henry of Braine was elected archbishop of Reims, who proved so harmful to the burgers of Reims; indeed, they enjoyed no peace as long as he lived. He remained archbishop for fourteen years and died around Saint John’s Day 1240. 182. John of Dreux (r. 1224–40), a younger son of Robert II of Dreux and Yolande of Coucy, was the count of Mâcon and Vienne through his wife, Alice. 183. Likely a reference to Henry II of Namur (r. 1226–29), a younger son of Peter II of Courtenay and Yolande of Flanders, and the heir of Philip II of Namur. 184. Saint Andrew’s Day was celebrated on November 30. Louis IX was crowned on November 29. 185. James of Bazoches (r. 1219–42).

XXXIII

Barons hostile to Queen Blanche conspire to seize the throne. They begin by challenging Theobald IV of Champagne. Allied with the queen, Theobald triumphs. Thanks to the death of his mother, he becomes king of Navarre.

[339] Now let’s turn to the barons, whose only thought was to do harm to the queen of France. They held frequent meetings together and maintained that there was no one in France who could oppose them; they saw that the king was young, as were his brothers, and they had little regard for their mother. They formed an alliance and, as is reported, gave the count of Boulogne to understand that they would make him king. He was not very bright, and so he believed them. [340] They decided among themselves that they would first go after Count Theobald of Champagne and blame him for the death of King Louis, because, they said, he had abandoned him at Avignon, furtively departing like a traitor; and if they killed Theobald or took him prisoner, they would have no one left to stop them from seizing the kingdom. This is how they proceeded: the count of Boulogne sent two knights to Count Theobald, demanding immediate satisfaction for the death of his brother. 144



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[341] Count Theobald was shocked; he called his vassals together and asked them how they thought he should respond. They gave him misleading advice, for they had all been suborned by the barons. When the count saw their dishonest faces and heard their hypocritical answers, he lost all heart; still, he put on a face that did not reveal what he was thinking. [342] He gave an order to demolish an arch of the Binson bridge and replace it with barbicans and other defenses, and he ordered the crossing be guarded by Count Hugh of Rethel, who, however, was barely fit for the task.186 He put troops into Fismes and put them under the charge of Simon of Tréloup; he reinforced Mont-Aimé, which is where the garrison was placed that would offer him the best defense.187 Then he went to Provins and had the town barred in all haste; and there he remained, for he did not know whom he could trust. [343] Here we’ll put Count Theobald aside for a while and go on to the barons, who assembled an army so large it was a wonder to see. They came straight to Fismes and laid siege, and they stayed in place quite some time. In the end, the town yielded, and they had it mined and set on fire; the tower, however, was so well built that it did not collapse, and it is still standing today. Then they headed straight toward the Binson bridge but were unable to cross, so well had it been fortified. [344] When Count Hugh of Saint-Pol saw that the bridge could not be used, he had his troops move upstream a short distance along the Marne as far as Rueil, and there he crossed first, with his men following.188 But soon there was a skirmish with ten knights belonging to the household of the count of Rethel, 186. A reference to Hugh III, the count of Rethel (d. 1242), who was the son of Henry II of Rethel and Matilda of Kyrburg, 187. Simon of Tréloup was a Champenois knight who held a fief in the castellany of Fismes. 188. Hugh of Saint-Pol or Châtillon (d. 1248) was the second son of Walter III of Châtillon and Elisabeth of Saint-Pol and the brother of Guy IV of Châtillon and Saint-Pol.

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who tried their best to bar their way—but to no avail, since the count of Saint-Pol had already crossed. When the count of Rethel realized what had happened, he turned tail and fled, while the Monk of Mongon was injured and taken prisoner. [345] At that, they all crossed, as the Marne was very shallow just then. From there, they went to Épernay and broke its defenses, gathering great treasure in the process; much of it came to Reims, where some people found a way to put it into their own pockets. Next, they went to Damery, which was easily overcome. From there, they went to Sézanne, which they found abandoned, as Count Theobald had set fire to it. Note that the men of Mont-Aimé were constantly harassing them. [346] Then they moved toward Provins, but their provisions were running low, and the people of Mont-Aimé made off with whatever was sent from Reims—and that was the area that offered them the greatest support, for archbishop Henry was doing his best to help them. Thus it was that the troops set fire to the region of Champagne with no one attempting to stop them. [347] When Queen Blanche realized that they—the barons— were doing all this with the intention of taking over the kingdom of France (and she even heard that Sir Enguerrand of Coucy had already had the crown made that he meant to wear for his coronation—although they had given the count of Boulogne to understand that they would make him king!—but it has long been said that “no one whom God wishes to help can be harmed by a wicked man”), the queen decided that she would lend her support to the defense of the land of Champagne and Brie, for the count of Champagne was her kinsman and a vassal of the king. [348] She assembled a great army four leagues from Troyes, where she was with the young king; and she sent word to the count of Boulogne and the barons that they should not be so daring as to damage the king’s fief; she added that she was prepared to treat Count Theobald as justice demanded, if they had any claim against him. The barons sent a message replying that



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they would never engage in pleading their case. They added that it was normal—was it not?—for a widow to favor her husband’s murderer over any other man. [349] Then the count of Boulogne, who had already grasped their treacherous intention, declared to them, “By my faith, it is wrong to speak like that! It is not clear what you expect of the count. Besides, we would be guilty of perjury to the king, if at this point we pursued any action that he had forbidden. But above all, the king is my nephew, the son of my brother, and my legitimate lord; I am his liege man. And so I declare that I am no longer a member of your alliance or a defender of your agreement; I shall henceforth support the king, and with all my loyal power.” [350] Hearing the count speak those words, the barons looked at one another in utter astonishment. They said to the count, who was their leader, “Sir, you have betrayed us! You will have peace with the queen, while we lose our land!” “In the name of God,” said the count, “it is better to end a mad undertaking than to pursue it.” With that, he sent a letter to the queen, telling her that he had no wish to violate her command or the king’s, but, rather, was prepared to do as they commanded. [351] When the queen heard this news, she was more than delighted. The count of Boulogne took leave of the barons, and the barons split apart, each going back to his land uneasy at heart, because they had not accomplished what they had set out to do but had attracted the displeasure of the queen, who knew how to hate people just as she knew how to love; it was a matter of what she deemed their deserts. [352] In this way, the heat of contention was lowered, and the count of Champagne remained untroubled. Not long thereafter, his mother, Countess Blanche of Navarre, died;189 and one 189. According to the accepted narrative, Blanche of Navarre died in 1229, shortly

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year later, his uncle, King Sancho of Navarre, died as well. The barons of Navarre then sent for Count Theobald and had him crowned king in Pamplona, according to the custom of their country. [353] Theobald’s first marriage, before he became king, was to the countess of Dagsburg, whom he repudiated.190 Afterward, he married the daughter of Sir Humbert of Beaujeu, who was a niece of the king.191 She died, but not without giving him a daughter,192 who married the son of count Peter Mauclerc, now the count of Brittany.193 Lastly, he married the daughter of Archambaut of Bourbon,194 with whom he had six children; the eldest was named Theobald,195 the second Peter,196 the third Henry,197 and the fourth William;198 there were also two daughters, the elder Adele and the younger Cecilia.199 after the beginning of the war. She was the daughter of Sancho VI of Navarre (r. 1150– 94) and Sancha of Castile. She was the sister of Sancho VII. See Theodore Evergates, ed., The Cartulary of Countess Blanche of Champagne (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2010), 3–10; and Katrin E. Sjursen, Weathering Thirteenth-Century Warfare: The Case of Blanche of Navarre,” Haskins Society Journal 25 (2014): 205–22. 190. Gertrude of Dagsburg (d. 1225) was the heiress of Albert II of Metz and Dagsburg. She and Theobald were married in 1220, and their marriage was annulled in 1222. 191. According to the accepted genealogy, Theobald’s second wife, Agnes of Beaujeu (d. 1231), was the daughter of Guichard IV of Beaujeu and Sybil of Hainault. Sybil was the sister of Louis VIII’s mother, Isabella of Hainault. Humbert of Beaujeu, the famous son of Guichard and Sybil, was the constable of France who took part in both Louis VIII’s expedition in southern France in 1226 and the Seventh Crusade of Louis IX, on which he died in 1250. 192. Blanche of Navarre or Champagne (d. 1283). 193. John I of Brittany (r. 1221–86) was the son of Peter Mauclerc (d. 1250) and Alice of Brittany (d. 1221). His father served as regent of Brittany until John reached the age of majority in 1237. 194. Margaret of Bourbon (d. 1256) was the daughter of Archambaut VIII of Bourbon (d. 1242) and Alice of Forez. 195. Theobald V of Champagne and II of Navarre (r. 1253–70). 196. Peter died young in the early 1260s. 197. Henry III of Champagne and I of Navarre (r. 1270–74). 198. William took religious orders before he died in 1267. 199. According to the accepted genealogy, Theobald and Margaret of Bourbon had two daughters who lived to adulthood, named Beatrice (d. 1295) and Margaret (d. 1307). Beatrice married Hugh IV of Burgundy, while Margaret married Frederick III of Lorraine.

XXXIV

Louis IX weds Margaret of Provence. Theobald is persuaded to go to war against Louis. With great effort, they are eventually reconciled. After multiple complications, Louis IX is uncontested as king of France.

[354] Here we’ll put aside the king of Navarre and speak instead about the king of France, who had reached twenty years of age. The queen decided that it was time for him to marry. He took as wife the eldest of the four daughters of the count of Provence.200 King Henry of England immediately took the second;201 his brother, Count Richard, now king of Germany, married the third;202 and the count of Anjou, the brother of the French king, 200. Margaret of Provence (d. 1295) was the daughter of Ramon Berenguer IV of Provence (r. 1217–45) and Beatrice of Savoy. See Gérard Sivéry, Marguerite de Provence: une reine au temps des cathédrales (Paris: Fayard, 1987). 201. Henry III of England was the son of John and Isabella of Angoulême. He married Eleanor of Provence (d. 1291) in 1236. See these works of David Carpenter: The Minority of Henry III (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990); The Reign of Henry III (London: Hambledon, 1996); and Henry III, 1207–1258 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2020). 202. Richard of Cornwall (d. 1272), a younger son of John of England and Isabella of Angoulême, married Sancha of Provence in 1243. He was crowned king of the Romans in 1257, but the title was largely nominal. See Björn Weiler, “Image and Reality in Richard of Cornwall’s German Career,” English Historical Review 113 (1998): 1111–42.

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took the fourth and became count of Provence, since it is the custom of the country that the youngest child inherits everything if there is no male heir.203 [355] Know that the young lady whom the king of France took to wife was named Margaret; she was a good and intelligent lady. She had, with the king, eight children, five sons and three daughters; the eldest son was named Louis,204 the second Philip,205 the third Peter,206 the fourth John,207 and the fifth Robert.208 The eldest of the damsels was named Isabella and is married to the king of Navarre;209 the second, named Margaret, is promised to the son of the duke of Brabant;210 and the third is named Blanche.211 [356] Now we’ll step aside from the children—God keep them!—and return to the king of Navarre, who had married his daughter to the son of Count Peter Mauclerc of Brittany. Theobald and the count had a very good relationship, and the king of Navarre had confidence in the count’s counsel. Now, the count brought word to Theobald that the king of France was wrong203. See note 171. 204. Louis died before his sixteenth birthday in 1260. 205. Philip III of France (r. 1270–85). See Gérard Sivéry, Philippe III le Hardi (Paris: Fayard, 2003). 206. Peter I of Alençon (d. 1284), count of Alençon and Perche. 207. John Tristan (d. 1270), the count of Valois and the count of Nevers, Auxerre, and Tonnerre through his wife Yolande II of Nevers. He succumbed to illness on Louis IX’s second crusade. For more on that crusade, see Xavier Hélary, La dernière croisade: Saint Louis à Tunis (1270) (Paris: Perrin, 2016); and Michael Lower, The Tunis Crusade of 1270: A Mediterranean History (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2018). 208. Robert of Clermont (d. 1317). 209. Isabella (d. 1271) married Theobald V of Champagne and II of Navarre in 1255. 210. Margaret (d. 1271) married John I of Brabant in 1270. She was originally promised to John’s brother Henry IV of Brabant, the eldest son of Henry III of Brabant and Alice of Burgundy. 211. Blanche (d. 1323) married Ferdinand (d. 1275), the eldest son of Alfonso X of Castile and Violant of Aragon. Louis and Margaret had one additional daughter, named Agnes (d. 1327), who married Robert II of Burgundy (d. 1306). Agnes was born in 1260, and it is possible that the Minstrel composed this portion of his text prior to her birth.



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fully taking his four fiefs around Blois; he allied himself with Theobald and claimed that Theobald could have the fiefs back in his possession if he trusted him, maintaining that, between the two of them and their friends, they had power over the king of France. The king of Navarre believed him, which was a foolish thing to do, and it would have turned out badly, had Queen Blanche not been there to pacify her son. [357] Now you’re going to hear how the king of Navarre executed his foolish decision. He closed Meaux and garrisoned its castles, then demanded of the king that he return his fiefs at Blois, which, he claimed, the king had wrongfully taken. The king answered that he had done nothing wrong and that, if he wanted to lodge a complaint, he would place the question before his peers. The king of Navarre rejected the idea and simply said that he would take up the matter when he could—and he seized the fiefs. When the king heard the news, he summoned his vassals and had catapults and mangonels brought out, along with the great Aubemarle trebuchet that the count of Boulogne had had constructed at Montereau-fault-Yonne, and he sent his army straight there. [358] When the queen saw the dire situation—saw that the king wanted to carry out his plan—she sent word to the king of Navarre that he should come speak with her and she would reconcile him with the king. He came with no delay; but as he was entering the great hall of the palace in Paris, someone waiting there for the purpose threw a wet cheese right at his face. This was planned by the count of Artois, who had always disliked Theobald. The king of Navarre then appeared, dripping and soiled, before the queen and noted how her safe-conduct had thus been misused. [359] Seeing this, the queen was deeply disturbed, and she ordered that the man responsible for the act be seized and put into the Châtelet, where his fate would be decided. As soon as

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the count of Artois heard the news, he had the man released. In any case, the queen did make peace between King Louis and the king of Navarre, with the agreement that Theobald would make good all the expenses that the matter had incurred for the king and that he would peacefully give up the fiefs in question. And the king held Montereau and three other castles of Theobald’s until all sums due had been paid. [360] It happened the following year that Count Peter Mauclerc rebelled against the court; he was rude to the queen and left the court in a huff. The king, when he found out, was sorely troubled; he called upon the count to appear in forty days before his council to explain his behavior. The count answered that he would not appear and would not be represented; he expressed his defiance through a priest and in writing. [361] When the forty days had passed, the king assembled his troops and marched into the county. He besieged Bellême and captured it, never to return it. When the count saw the harm that he faced, he sought the king’s grace once the royal expenses had been paid and his castle lost, and he fell to the feet of the queen, begging her mercy. [362] Then it happened a while later that the count of La Marche—who had been accepting the king’s money, a yearly sum of three thousand Tournois pounds to guard the Bordeaux marches, because the king wanted to ensure his friendship—decided to renounce that royal income.212 As has long been said: So long does the goat scratch That she ends up with an itch.213 212. Hugh X of Lusignan (r. 1219–49), the son of Hugh IX of Lusignan and Matilda of Angoulême. He married his first cousin, once removed, Isabella of Angoulême, in 1220. Isabella had previously been betrothed to Hugh’s father, Hugh IX, before her marriage to John of England. For the (complicated) family tree, see Nicholas Vincent, “Isabella of Angoulême: John’s Jezebel,” in King John: New Interpretations, ed. S. D. Church (Woodbridge: Boydell, 1999), 171. 213. See “Tant grate. . . ,” no. 119 in Morawski, Proverbes français antérieurs au XV e siècle.



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The count requested aid from the king of England, who then came to Bordeaux, and the two of them decided to invade Poitou, confident that the king of France was unable to block them; so they occupied Poitou, thus harming the king. [363] However, when the king learned this, he was not surprised, but went to strike back. He assembled his troops in Poitiers and went out of the city all under arms, more splendidly equipped than any king of France had ever been, going forth with his army from a fair city. The count of La Marche thought that the king would surely turn toward Lusignan, a castle of his that was very well fortified, but the king decided that he would instead take the weakest castles and garrison them and afterward would pillage the whole countryside and watch it so closely that no provisions could enter Lusignan—and in this way he could capture it, for he knew very well that the garrison there was heavy and the castle was very strong. [364] When the count of La Marche saw how the king was proceeding, he was frightened, for he realized how clever the king was. He withdrew toward Saintes, where he stationed knights and sergeants, and then went to Pons, where the English king was staying. There they conferred about the king, who was headed toward them with great forces, and they understood they lacked the power to overcome him. [365] At that point, the royal troops, having taken Crozant, a castle belonging to the count, came straight to Saintes, with the count of Artois out in front with his banner unfurled. The castle-dwellers came out against them with a crowd of knights. There was a great fight, with some losses and some gains on each side and knights captured in both camps. But the men of the castle lost in the end, because the count of Artois broke into the city with a mass of cavalry, and the place was seized. When the king of England heard the news, he departed for Bordeaux and had his ships carefully guarded, for he was greatly afraid that the French

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king would soon reach him. As fast as he could, he sailed back to England and considered himself a cowardly fool when he arrived there. [366] When the count of La Marche saw that he had lost Saintes and four castles and that the English king had abandoned him and Sir Renard of Pons, as well,214 along with the lord of Taillebourg,215 and the lord of Mirabel, too, he realized that he had made a gross mistake and, as quickly as he could, went to make peace with the king. He came to beg his pardon, once he had reimbursed the king’s expenditures and paid for his conquests—for it is the custom of the kings of France that, if troops are sent against a baron, the property that the king seizes remains crown property permanently, and the baron is bound to meet all royal costs before peace can be granted. That is how King Louis treated all those who rebelled against him. He placed significant garrisons at Saintes and the four castles and returned to France, and there was no baron left in France or elsewhere in the kingdom who would dare move against him. 214. Renard II of Pons (d. 1252). 215. Geoffrey IV of Rancon (d. 1263).

XXXV

Louis IX initiates a new crusade. He has a touching final exchange with his mother, Queen Blanche. Fighting at Damietta results in French capture of the city.

[367] It happened a while later that the king fell seriously ill with a malady that brought him close to dying, and it was then that he took the cross to go overseas.216 When he recovered, he prepared for the voyage and had the crusade preached. Many important men took the cross as well: the count of Artois, the count of Poitiers, the count of Anjou, the count of Flanders,217 the count of Brittany, the count of Dreux,218 the count of Saint216. Since the 1970s, the literature on Louis IX’s reign and its intersections with the crusading movement has become vast. See especially Joseph R. Strayer, “The Crusades of Louis IX,” in Benton and Bisson, Medieval Statecraft and the Perspectives of History, 159–92; William Chester Jordan, Louis IX and the Challenge of the Crusade: A Study in Rulership (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1979); Jordan, “Etiam reges, Even Kings,” Speculum 90 (2015): 613–34; Hélary, La dernière croisade; and Lower, The Tunis Crusade of 1270. There are many contemporary accounts of Louis’s crusades, but perhaps the most influential and widely known is that of John of Joinville, Vie de Saint Louis, ed. Jacques Monfrin (Paris: Classiques Garnier, 1995); English trans. Caroline Smith, Chronicles of the Crusades (New York: Penguin, 2008). 217. William III of Dampierre and II of Flanders (r. 1247–51), the son of William II of Dampierre and Margaret II of Flanders. 218. John I of Dreux (d. 1249), the eldest son of Robert III of Dreux and Eleanor of Saint-Valéry, died at Cyprus.

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Pol, the count of Montfort,219 the count of Vendôme,220 the count of La Marche, Sir Gaucher of Châtillon,221 Oliver of Ternes,222 Sir Raoul of Coucy,223 Sir Roger of Rozoy,224 Sir Raoul of Soissons,225 and so many other great lords that France was thereby drained of its nobility—which is still evident. [368] One thing, though, that the king did and that produced nothing good: he agreed to the three-year reprieve of debts owed to townsmen that the knights had sought of the legate without any requirement that they be bound by an oath. At that, they left to sail overseas. Godfrey of Bouillon had proceeded otherwise, selling his duchy in perpetuity and going overseas at his own expense, taking nothing from anyone else. That is what he did, and, as scripture says, God does not want to be served by theft or plundering.226 [369] Once the king had planned his voyage, he took up his pilgrim’s pouch and staff at Notre Dame in Paris, and the bishop sang mass for him.227 He walked out of Notre Dame together with the queen and his brothers and their wives, unshod and in 219. Simon V of Montfort (d. 1265), the son of Simon IV of Montfort and Alice of Montmorency. Although he took the cross, Simon did not actually accompany Louis on crusade. 220. Peter I of Vendôme (d. 1249), the son of John IV of Vendôme, died at Cyprus. 221. Gaucher IV of Châtillon (d. 1261), the son of Hugh V of Saint-Pol and Marie of Avesnes. 222. Also known as Oliver of Termes (d. 1274), he was a knight from southern France. His father, Raymond of Termes, had been a target of the Albigensian Crusade. 223. Raoul II of Coucy (d. 1250), the son of Enguerrand III of Coucy and Marie of Oisy, died at the battle of Mansourah in 1250. 224. Roger of Rozoy died at the battle of Mansourah in 1250. 225. Raoul of Soissons (d. 1270) was the second son of Raoul, the count of Soissons. He fought in three crusades and died on Louis IX’s second crusade. Raoul is remembered as a trouvère, to whom lyric manuscripts attribute seven songs. 226. See Isaiah 61:8: “For I the Lord love justice, I hate robbery and wrong” (Revised Standard Version). 227. Likely a reference to William of Auvergne, the bishop of Paris between 1228 and 1249. Louis received the pilgrim’s pouch and staff at Saint-Denis from Odo of Châteauroux (d. 1273), a former chancellor of the University of Paris, a cardinal, and papal legate.



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bare feet; and all congregations and the people of Paris accompanied them as far as Saint-Denis, in tears and weeping. There the king took leave of them and sent them back to Paris. Many tears were shed at this departure. [370] The queen mother, however, remained with him and, although the king did not wish it, accompanied him on his way for three days. Then he said to her, “Dear sweet mother, by the faith that you owe me, turn back now. I leave my three children in your guard—Louis, Philip, and Isabella—and I leave you the kingdom of France to govern; I know well that they will be carefully guarded and the kingdom well governed.” Then the queen answered as she wept: [371] “Dear sweet son, how can my heart bear our separation? It will be harder than stone if it does not split in two, for you have been to me the best son a mother has ever had.” With these words, she fell into a faint; the king raised her, kissed her, and bade her goodbye as he wept. The king’s brothers and their wives, all in tears, took their leave of the queen.228 The queen fainted again and remained unconscious a long while. When she awoke, she said, “Dear tender son, my heart tells me that I shall never see you again.” And what she said was true, for she died before his return. [372] Now I shall tell you about the king, who traveled by short stages to Aigues Mortes, a royal port near Marseille. His ship was readied, and he went on board with no more than his closest familiars; his brothers and their wives boarded their own ships separately, as did his barons. They sailed from the port one Tuesday morning, thirty-eight ships filled with brave men and noble lords, not to mention the ships of ordinary people or those transporting horses and food supplies.229 They set 228. Margaret of Provence accompanied Louis to the East, but the wives of Robert, Alphonse, and Charles remained behind in France. 229. August 25, 1248, although because of bad winds, the royal fleet was unable to depart from Aigues Mortes until August 28.

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sail and, with the grace of God, arrived in Cyprus at the port of Limassol, a city on the island, and there they stayed for almost a year. [373] And then the king decided that it was time to set sail again, and his order was followed. He sent every ship’s captain a sealed letter and ordered that it not be read before leaving the port. Once they had moved, every captain broke the royal seal, and they saw that the king was commanding that they all go to Damietta; each immediately ordered his sailors to head in that direction. [374] The sailors readily agreed to go, and they sailed straight to Damietta and reached the port in ten days. The rest of the ships all arrived in a day and a half, and they all anchored. The port was hard to capture, however, for the ships had to remain a good lance-throw or more away from the shore. When the men of Damietta saw them, they sounded their horn, ran for their arms and, from the riverbank, began to shoot arrows with their Turkish bows so rapidly and frequently that it was like a rainstorm from on high. The Christians held back for a moment. [375] When the king saw that the Christians were not advancing, he became as enraged and furious as he had ever been. All armed and armored, he did a broad jump into the water, shield at his neck and sword in hand; the water reached as high as his waist, but, as God willed, he arrived safely on shore. He threw himself into a crowd of Saracens and accomplished deeds of arms that were truly marvelous. Onlookers gaped in astonishment. When Christians saw the king fighting like that, they rushed in a mass into the water to reach land, crying “Montjoie!” and they plunged into the free-for-all and killed many more foes than they could ever count; and more Christians kept pouring out of the ships. [376] When the Saracens saw that they could not withstand



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such an onslaught, they turned tail and fled, running back into Damietta and locking the gates. The Christians camped down and readied themselves to lay siege to the city; they stayed there for some time. The king ordered the siege machines set up and made ready for action; and what the king commanded was done. Three days and three nights without cease the city was bombarded, and the people within showed no sign of resisting. [377] The men of the royal army, aware of the silence, said to the king, “Sire, it seems to us that there is no one inside the city, for neither during the day nor at night does anyone appear at the crenels or at the gates. If you wish, we will put up our ladders and go inside; in that way we can find out what is happening.” The king answered that that was the right thing to do, and had it announced that everyone should be ready for the assault the next morning. So the ladders were put up and men climbed over the walls and entered the city with no opposition, for the inhabitants, except for the old and the sick, had all escaped in the dark of night. [378] Once they had entered, they searched through the city and found it well stocked with wine and food; they went to the gates and opened them, and the men of the army came in. Ladies were led to the upper stories, while the king and the princes remained outside. It happened that the queen was wracked by labor pains, and she was delivered of a son; he was given the baptismal name of Peter, but he is also called Peter Tristan, because in a very short time Damietta was surrendered as a result of something that happened to the count of Artois, as you shall hear.230 230. In other sources this story is attached to Peter’s older brother, John Tristan, who was born shortly after Louis IX’s capture in 1250.

XXXVI

The count of Artois initiates an attempt at conquest beyond Damietta. What ensues is a disaster at Mansourah. King Louis is taken prisoner by the Saracens, then ransomed. Damietta returns to Saracen control and is destroyed. The king’s mother calls him back to France; he sends his brothers instead.

[379] Damietta, then, was captured, and the Christians felt exuberant and bold. The count of Artois came to the king and said, “Sire, why are we staying here? If you listen to me, we can ride out with the Templars and the Hospitallers. You see, the land is ours, and no one is ever going to deny our claim.” “No, indeed, dear brother,” answered the king, “if you listen to me, we should be more patient and learn more about the land and the country, a region very hard to conquer, as the Turks are astute and effective warriors.” [380] “Sire,” said the count of Artois, “we have to cross the Jordan River, and, once across, we could decide how to proceed.”231 “Good lord, dear brother, I so fear your rashness and know 231. Properly, the Nile River.

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so well how brave you are that I think once you’d have crossed the river, you wouldn’t wait for me or anyone else to catch up.” “Ah, sire,” replied the count, “I swear to you that I will wait until you have crossed!” The king accepted the oath and granted him permission to cross the river. If he had known, though, what the outcome would be, he would not have done so for all the gold in the world. [381] That very night, then, the count of Artois armed his troops, as did the Templars and the Hospitallers, and they all crossed the river. They were guided across by a renegade Christian who well knew the way, as he knew the whole region. He said to the count of Artois, “Sir, if you listen to me, I could show you tonight how to win the greatest treasure in the world. It is in a city called Mansourah, to which all the inhabitants of this country have fled.” [382] “Let’s go there!” exclaimed the count. “Ah, sir,” said the Grand Master of the Knights Templar, “what are you saying? Mercy of God, you don’t know what this means! Just when you think the Saracens have been defeated, you will be surrounded by them in no time at all! But, for God’s sake, sir, let us wait for the king, as expected. Moreover, sir, did you not swear not to move before he had crossed the river?”232 [383] “Well, well!” replied the count; “it’s true, what they say: that a Templar is just a sheep in wolf’s clothing.” “All right!” retorted the Grand Master, who was a brave and valiant knight. “Ride wherever you say, and we shall follow you! Never, please God, will you be able to reproach a Templar for being a coward—though my heart tells me that Christendom has never received such a blow as it will receive on this day!” [384] With that, they spurred forward on their way to Mansourah. They entered the city and had the impression that there was no one there. Oh, what a mistake! All the upper levels were 232. The Grand Master of the Temple was William of Sonnac (r. 1247–50).

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full of Saracens well equipped with heavy stones and sharp pikes, and the gates to the city were fitted with sliding bars. As soon as the French were inside, the bars were slid into place and locked; and the men on the terraces above began to throw down their large stones and sharp pikes and to pour boiling water down onto the intruders. The weather was hot, and the Christians were pressed together; they were in such great distress that no thought of rescue or aid was possible. [385] When the Saracens saw how hard-pressed they were, they attacked more and more harshly, to the point of killing almost all of them. Meanwhile, the king, ignorant of what was happening, was crossing the river; once across, he expected to meet his brother—but he could not find him. The king exclaimed, “Ah, brother! Your pride will hurt us and cause us great trouble!” [386] Just then, there came running up to the king an escapee from Mansourah, crying, “Ah, sire! things have gone very badly! Your brother, the count of Artois, is dead, along with all the knights who were with him, and so are the Master of the Templars and the Master of the Hospitallers!233 Trust me, sire; I am telling you the truth: with my own eyes, I saw him killed!” When the king heard those words, he paused for moment, sighed deeply, and said, “If he is dead, God forgive him his sins, and so, too, all the others!” Then the king ordered the tents and pavilions be set up—after which they would rest, for the army had been sorely tried by crossing that deep and swift river. [387] As soon as the Saracens learned that the king had crossed the river, they ran to close the locks and thus hold the stream back; and indeed, it was not long before no one could pass without drowning. The legate said to the king, “Sire, come back to Damietta in this boat, which will save you!”234 233. John of Ronay (d. 1250) served as the interim master of the Hospitallers while William of Châteauneuf was imprisoned. 234. Odo of Châteauroux.



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“Ah, God,” answered the king, “how could I allow myself to leave all these people here while I escape to a safe place? No, sir legate, I shall do nothing of the sort! Better to wait for God’s mercy—I want to face the same end that they face.” [388] When the legate saw that the king would not move, he left him, boarded the boat, and went to Damietta, while the king remained behind. The Saracens kept close watch on the shore, so that no vessel could get by without being caught in a blaze of Greek fire. They surrounded the French so well on all sides that the French could not move and soon had very little to eat. They were in such distress from All Saints’ Day until Lent, when they had no food left at all. This happened because of Sir John of Beaumont,235 who had stopped protecting the passage they needed to avoid such harsh conditions. [389] When the sultan of Babylon saw that the king was so hard pressed,236 he sent word urging that he surrender, to which the king responded, “Never, please God, will I surrender to a pagan or a Saracen!” “No, sire,” said the count of Poitiers and the count of Anjou, “you have to! You see that we have nothing to eat and are dying here of hunger and disease. We may well be saved by paying a ransom.” [390] The men there all pressed him so hard that the king surrendered his sword to the sultan, as did the count of Poitiers, the count of Anjou, and all the other barons. The king was then for ten days the prisoner of the sultan of Babylon, during which he never moved from his tent, but he was closely guarded by Saracens. Then the sultan decided what the ransom would be: eight hundred thousand bezants, with surety offered by the Temple and the Hospital. 235. John of Beaumont (d. 1255) served as the chamberlain of France from 1240 to his death. 236. Likely a reference to al-Mu῾azzam Turanshah (d. 1250), the last Ayyubid sultan of Egypt.

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[391] When the sultans of La Chamelle, Damascus, and Aleppo learned that the sultan of Babylon had ransomed the king without asking their advice or agreement, they all went armed to his tent to demand a portion of the king’s ransom. The sultan haughtily replied that there would be no such sharing. [392] When the three sultans saw how arrogant the man was, they killed him forthwith and ran out to the king’s tent, blazing with anger and rage, their eyes as red as burning coals. They told the king, through an interpreter, that they had just killed the sultan of Babylon because he refused to grant them a share of the king’s ransom: “We have decided to take his place and we want you to transfer your agreement to the three of us.” The king, seeing the fury in their eyes and behavior, answered immediately that he agreed.237 [393] The agreement with the three sultans was concluded, with the stipulation that all the prisoners would be freed without ransom, and the king agreed to return within a fortnight to Damietta: he would evacuate the Christians and deliver the city to the Saracens. The prisoners were freed before the king was willing to move himself. Only Walter of Châtillon remained unaccounted for. [394] At that, the king left the sultans and, with his brothers, boarded a boat, while the others boarded a number of other vessels. They arrived at Damietta and were welcomed with both joy and sadness—joy for the king and the brothers whom they now had returned, and sadness for the count of Artois, now dead, and for the disaster that the Christians had suffered. [395] Then the king ordered everyone to abandon the city and move to Acre; the queen, who had just given birth, was also put onto a ship bound for Acre. So Damietta was emptied and handed back to the Saracens; and only a short time later, the 237. According to the accepted narrative, Turanshah was murdered by a conspiracy of Mamluk officers. On Mamluk Egypt, see Robert Irwin, The Middle East in the Middle Ages: The Early Mamluk Sultanate 1250–1382 (London: Croom Helm, 1986).



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sultans had the city razed and destroyed, because a spell had predicted that Christians would otherwise capture it again. [396] The king left for Acre; and, as the Christians had just been released from captivity and had nothing to wear, the king had them all newly dressed according to their station. Now, this is how the king proceeded in the land of Syria: he fortified Caesarea and Sidon, as well as Montmusart, a section of Acre, which was all very useful to many people. The king remained six years in the land overseas.238 [397] It then happened that the queen mother sent word urging him, please God, to come back, since she was very ill: if anything happened to her, the kingdom would be imperiled, for the royal princes were at odds with one another, and she would die before long. When the king heard his mother’s message, he was deeply moved, and he sent back the count of Poitiers and the count of Anjou, who were not at all well. 238. According to the accepted narrative, Louis spent four years in the Holy Land following his ransom, between 1250 and 1254. He restored fortifications in Acre, Caesarea, Jaffa, and Sidon.

XXXVII

There is a struggle for mastery in Flanders. With intervention by the count of Anjou, it ends satisfactorily.

[398] Now there occurred in France a surprising judgment in the king’s court concerning the children of the countess of Flanders,239 two of whom she had had with Bouchard of Avesnes240 —her sons John and Baldwin241—and three of whom with Sir William of Dampierre242—William, Guy, and John.243 239. Margaret II of Flanders (r. 1244–78), a younger daughter of Baldwin IX of Flanders and Marie of Champagne. The seminal study of the thirteenth-century Hainault-Flanders conflict and succession crisis is Charles Duvivier, Les influences française et germanique en Belgique au XIIIe siècle: La querelle des d’Avesne et des Dampierre jusqu’à la mort de Jean d’Avesne (1257), 2 vols. (Brussels: T. Falk; Paris: A. Picard et fils, 1894). See also Nicolas Dessaux, ed., Jeanne de Constantinople, comtesse de Flandre et de Hainaut (Paris: Somogy, 2009); Weber, La grande histoire de la Belgique; and Isabelle Guyot-Bachy, La Flandre et les Flamands au miroir des historiens du royaume (Xe–XV e siècle) (Villeneuve d’Ascq: Presses Universitaires du Septentrion, 2017). 240. Bouchard IV of Avesnes (d. 1244), the son of James of Avesnes and Adele of Guise. 241. John of Avesnes (d. 1257), count of Hainault from 1246 to 1257, and Baldwin of Avesnes (d. 1295). 242. William II of Dampierre (d. 1231), the son of Guy II of Dampierre and Matilda of Bourbon. 243. Guy of Dampierre, the count of Flanders (r. 1251–1305), and John of Dam­ pierre (d. 1258), who received the Dampierre’s patrimonial lands in Champagne.

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[399] According to the judgment, William would receive the county of Flanders after the death of his mother, and John and Baldwin were unsuited because their father had wooed and married their mother illegitimately, since he was a subdeacon. On the other hand, the lady, who was his liege lady, had been entrusted to his keeping and protection by the peers of Hai­ nault, but he was pardoned, which was a mistake. [400] Now I shall tell you what followed. John and Baldwin departed from the court as soon as they could and rode to a castle of their mother’s located on the border between Flanders and Hainault. They entered and drove out their mother’s garrison and substituted their own troops. When the countess was told, she was sorely upset; she assembled her own army and went to the castle to lay siege. But there was no man in the army who would help her with solid support, for they all greatly preferred John and Baldwin to her. [401] When the countess realized what the situation was, she left the army under the command of her son Sir Guy of Dampierre, since the eldest son, Sir William, had died. She went to the court of the queen, dropped to her feet, and said, “Madam, for God’s sake, help me! My sons John and Baldwin have taken over my castle Rupelmonde and are bent on disinheriting me. My lady, by God, tell me how to respond! I am your liege lady and first cousin to the king; and I am ready and prepared to follow your advice and place all my holdings in your hands.” “Lady,” said the queen, “you have to speak to the count of Poitiers and the count of Anjou, and I, meanwhile, shall ask them to make a decision.” [402] The countess then took leave of the queen and met the counts at Saint-Germain-en-Laye, where the count of Poitiers lay ill. She spoke to them and told them what she needed, but they responded with little interest. When the countess became aware of their indifference, she drew the count of Anjou aside

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and said to him, “Dear nephew, give me whole-hearted help, and I will reward you well for your effort; I will give you the county of Hainault, which brings in twenty thousand pounds a year. I want you to take possession with no delay and will give you my charter with seal.” [403] When the count heard her speak those words, he felt a surge of true interest, and he said to the countess, “Madam, if you do for me what you have just promised, you shall have your castle back, and I shall keep your land at peace forevermore.” The countess granted him forthwith the county of Hainault, in the presence of the count of Poitiers, and gave him a valid deed with her seal. At that point, the countess said goodbye and went straight to Rupelmonde, where she found things as she had left them, with little lost and little gained.

XXXVIII

The Minstrel illustrates the story of the countess of Flanders with an exemplum drawn from the “Roman de Renart” (Tale of Renard the Fox).

[404] Now I want to offer you a cautionary tale about the aid that the countess sought from the count of Poitiers and the count of Anjou.244 [405] There was once a wolf who possessed two acres of plowable land. A goat came by with her two kids, and he said to her, “Goat, I have two acres of good plowable land that has been cleared of its vines. If you do the work, I’ll pay you half of the yield. Note that the land is so rich that it will readily produce wheat without any need for manure. I would gladly do the work myself rather than share the yield with you, but I have an important suit in the court of Sir Noble the lion against Belin the sheep, concerning two of his lambs, which he claims I have eaten; I need to be in court every week and make every effort to win my case.” 244. The first branch of the Roman de Renart is attributed to Peter of Saint Cloud, a French trouvère of the late twelfth century. It forms part of an allegorical literary cycle that was very popular throughout Western and Central Europe during the later Middle Ages.

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[406] “No,” said the goat, “I wouldn’t dare.” “Why?” asked the wolf. “My goodness,” answered the goat, “because you are a great, strong lord and of high birth, while I am just a poor creature of no importance. I would never win a suit against you.” “Ah,” said the wolf, “goat, my dear friend, you have no reason to fear me. I swear, by the faith that I owe Hersant, my wife, and our twelve living children, that I will be a fair partner to you and never in my life do you any harm.” “Very good,” said the goat, “I’ll do it; but I’ll always be afraid you will do me some wrong.” [407] At that, the wolf said goodbye to the goat. The goat tilled the land and planted grain; it grew and was ripe for harvesting. She came to the wolf and said, “Wolf, our wheat is ready to be harvested; come do it or send in a helper!” “So sorry,” answered the wolf, “I can’t do it myself, and I have no one to send. You do it; separate the grain from the chaff, and when I return from court, we’ll share it all fairly.” The goat could not get anything more from the wolf and went back to the harvesting; then she flailed the wheat and separated the grain from the chaff. [408] At that point, the wolf appeared, knowing what he would find. He approached the goat and haughtily said, “Now, lady, shall we share our harvest?” “Yes, indeed,” said the goat, “as you wish, good sir. Here is the grain on one side and the chaff on the other, just as you had ordered. You take half of one and half of the other.” “Go to the devil, you stupid animal! You don’t know what you’re saying! That’s not the way it will be!” “How then?” replied the goat. [409] “Good God,” said the wolf, “I’ll tell you how! I am an important man and I have a great household, and I need much more than you need. You are just a worthless creature, who will



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do well enough with no more than the chaff, while I’ll take the grain!” “Oh my lord!” exclaimed the goat. “What you’re saying is not right! For God’s sake, take your share, and leave mine to me!” “By God’s tongue,” answered the wolf, “I’ll do nothing of the sort! Now hear this word: I’ll be back here tomorrow; let me know then whether or not you agree!” [410] With that, the wolf went on his way, and the goat stood there stunned. She thought of two hunting dogs that she had fed with the milk of her own breast, who lived in a Cistercian abbey near her own dwelling; one of the dogs was named Taburel and the other Ronel. She ran straight to them and found them at the entry. When Taburel and Ronel spotted their mother, they ran to meet her and showed her how welcome she was. They asked what need brought her, and she told them how the wolf wanted to treat her. [411] “No, indeed,” said one of the dogs; “by our slips, that’s not how it will be! Now go back, and we promise that we’ll be there early in the morning for the sharing between you and Isengrim; and, God willing, he won’t harm you or do you any wrong as long as we’re there.” Then the goat left and went back to her dwelling, where she found her two kids in tears, and she consoled them. She lay down to sleep but could hardly rest; she rose early in the morning and prayed to God for his help. [412] At that point, the two brothers Taburel and Ronel appeared; they greeted her and asked whether Isengrim had come. The goat answered, “Not yet.” “Now we’ll tell you, dear mother,” said the dogs, “what we shall do. We are going to hide in this haystack and stay very quiet, and we’ll see and hear what Isengrim tries to do. If he knew we were here, he would perhaps not come, but would wait for a time when we were not present.”

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“My goodness, children,” said the goat, “you’re right!” The dogs then went off and hid in the haystack. [413] At that point, Isengrim the wolf appeared, and with him, his comrade and counselor Renard the fox, who had played him many a fine trick. He said to the goat, “Well, lady, have you made up your mind?” Answered the goat, “What decision do you expect? Take your share and leave mine to me.” “Really,” said the wolf, “what’s that you’re grunting? It has to be my way!” Meanwhile, as the wolf and the goat were quarreling, Renard glanced over at the haystack and noticed the tails of the hounds. He said to Isengrim: [414] “Dear comrade, pay close attention to what you are doing! I see something pertinent that you don’t see.” “By God’s heart, sir fox” said the wolf, “it will be as I say! I’ll have the grain, and she’ll have the chaff!” “In God’s name, dear comrade,” cried Renard, “I mean well by what I say—but do as you wish! Be careful. I am going now.” Then Renard left Isengrim and climbed up a nearby hill to see how the matter would come to an end. Isengrim and his carter took some sacks and started filling them with wheat. “By the mother of God,” cried the goat, “this is terribly wrong!” And she shouted to Ronel and Taburel, “Children, you see what’s happening!” And the dogs leaped out of the haystack, not needing to ask any questions. [415] They threw themselves at the wolf’s body and chest and brought him to ground on his back, stomach up, and attacked his throat; they left a hundred wounds on his body and sent tufts of his hair flying about; they beat him so thoroughly that neither his pulse nor his breath could be detected, and they thought they had killed him. They gathered the wheat and



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carried it to the goat’s granary. As they were carrying away the grain, the carter picked up Isengrim, put him as fast as he could, with great effort, onto the cart, and took him back to his lair. [416] Now came along Renard, who had seen everything and was delighted by it all, as that was his nature: to be delighted by others’ misfortune. He approached his comrade, who was very badly beaten, and, feigning sympathy, said, “Dear comrade, I am so sorry about your sad plight. If you had listened to my warning, things would have gone differently. Didn’t I tell you to pay close attention to what you were doing, since I noticed something pertinent that you didn’t see?” “Renard, Renard,” replied Isengrim, “if you’re a fellow’s only friend, it’s as if he had none. I have been shamed; I will take my revenge when I can.” At that, the two parted, and Renard cocked a snook at his friend. [417] Isengrim went back to his lair, where his wife, Lady Hersant, was expecting him, as were their children. When they saw him come, lying in the cart on a bit of straw, they began to make fun of him, saying, “We’ve never seen anything like this! Is this the grain you were to bring home to make cookies for Lent?” That is how Isengrim’s family spoke—for, as the saying goes, “Everyone kicks a man who is down.”245 Isengrim, badly hurt, got out of the cart and, head down, went straight to his bed, and it took him more than five months that year to be healed of his wounds. [418] Now we’ll get back to Ronel, Taburel, and the goat, who had carried the wheat to the granary. The hounds said, “Dear mother, we are going to return to our home, which is very close by; if you have any need for us, we are ready to help right away. 245. See “Cui il meschiet on li mesoffre,” no. 442 in Morawski, Proverbes français antérieurs au XV e siècle.

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Here is a horn you can blow if you need to, and as soon as we hear it, we’ll come running to you.” “Many thanks, my dear children,” said the goat. “Blessed be the time I came to feed you!” At that, the dogs took their leave and went back to their abbey. [419] Now I shall tell you why I recounted this fable. The wolf stood for John of Avesnes and the goat for his mother; the count of Anjou and the count of Poitiers were figured here by Ronel and Taburel. John of Avesnes wanted to have the grain and to leave the chaff to his mother—that is, to take her land, to which he had no right, and to steal her inheritance. His mother, however, whom I represented as the goat, could not allow it, but appealed to the count of Anjou and the count of Poitiers, whom I called Ronel and Taburel; and she convinced them to help her maintain her right against her son, compared here to the wolf. He was so laid out on his back, fruit exposed and ready for picking, that he had neither strength nor will to resist, as you shall soon hear, if I have the place and the time to go on with my tale.

XXXIX

Further developments in Flanders are recounted. The count of Anjou takes possession of Hainault. Blanche of Castile dies. John of Avesnes seeks the aid of the king of Germany. The king of Germany is killed by Danish peasants.

[420] Now we’ll go back to the count of Anjou, who gathered a great army and set out for Rupelmonde. But before he had reached it, John of Avesnes had gone to Germany to seek the aid of the king, his brother-in-law.246 The king’s response, however, was that he would not help him against his mother. The castle had to be returned to the count of Anjou, and the count posted a garrison there; then, with the countess, he went to Valenciennes. [421] They found the gates shut. The countess summoned the town’s officers and asked them why they had shut the gates of the town. They answered, “For safety’s sake, since we are aware of all the disturbance in the region and of the discord between you and your children.” 246. William II of Holland (d. 1256). He was elected king of the Romans in 1247 in opposition to the excommunicated Emperor Frederick II. For a short and succinct summary of his life and career in Germany, see Michael Toch, “Welfs, Hohenstaufen and Habsburgs,” in The New Cambridge Medieval History, ed. David Abulafia (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 5:391–92.

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“You did well,” said the countess, “but now open the gates. I swear by the saints that neither the count of Anjou nor I will do any harm or damage to the people of this town.” [422] The gates were immediately thrown open, and the count of Anjou and the countess, with their forces, entered the town. They summoned the provost and mayor and other municipal officials, along with as many as one hundred notable citizens, and the countess ordered them to pledge their loyalty to the count of Anjou. When they heard that, they were taken aback, but they were well aware that they had no power, so, like it or not, they pledged loyalty to the count, who then took over Valenciennes and its fortress. [423] The count sent an order, from himself and the countess, to the inhabitants of Mons-en-Hainaut, requiring that they, too, pledge their allegiance to him, but the inhabitants of Mons sent back word that they would do nothing of the sort. The next day, the count dispatched his army to lay siege to Mons, but the people within were well fortified and paid little heed to the threat. The count had his catapults and mangonels put into operation day and night, and he caused the townspeople such distress that force won him the town. Then he succeeded in coming into possession of the county of Hainault, except for Binche, where the wife of John of Avesnes had just given birth (which is why the count spared the town)—except, too, for Enghien, a castle belonging to Sir Sohier, who was a cousin of Sir John of Avesnes and who refused to obey the count of Anjou and pledge him his loyalty.247 [424] Once the count of Anjou had come into possession of Hainault and named a governor to take charge, he returned to France and found his mother sick and close to death. She established her will, leaving great treasure to God, and died in the 247. Sohier I of Enghien (d. 1256).



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faith of the holy church, just as the wise and valorous lady that she was. She was borne to her abbey of Maubuisson and was interred there with honor. [425] At this point, I shall turn back to John of Avesnes, who was at the court of the king of Germany, his brother-in-law. He repeated these words many times: “Sire, will you, by God, allow your sister and the sons she has given you to be deprived of their rightful inheritance after the death of my mother? You see that she has now handed the land of Hainault to the count of Anjou; he has taken possession of it and he has exacted oaths of perpetual fidelity as if the land were his. For God’s sake, sire, how can you allow this? Besides, the fief in question is yours, and he entered it without your knowledge—an illegal move against you.” [426] So often did John repeat such words that the king summoned all his German vassals and led an army into Hainault just six leagues from Valenciennes. When the count of Anjou learned that the Germans were so close, he called out his own vassals and met them at Douai. He asked them for their advice on the action to take. Their advice was to remain in place until it was clear what the king would do; they explained their reasoning by saying, [427] “Sir, you have taken possession of the land, but the king of Germany has not yet taken any action against you. Besides, he is a friend and ally of the king of France, your brother; it would not be advisable for you to undertake hostilities and destroy their alliance.” They all agreed to accept this counsel and simply stayed in Douai for some time. After a while, the king of Germany disassembled his camp and went away as he had come, but poorer and humiliated. And the count of Anjou returned to France. [428] Now I shall tell you about the king of Germany, who had gone back to his country. He heard tell that the Danes were without a king. He felt inclined to go there, and gathered his

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army. He went off to Denmark, a country of marshland, intending to take it by force, not knowing, however, the nature of the place. So it happened one day that he was out riding in full armor on a large destrier, fresh and young and well fed. Looking around, he saw, on the other side of a trench, a crowd of peasants armed as they are in that region. [429] He spurred his horse forward to cross to the other side, but he could not, because the trench was wide, and he was heavily armed. He leaped four feet ahead right into the trench and was quickly so bogged down that anyone watching thought he was irretrievably lost; his men were unable to help him. When the peasants saw him caught in their trap, they ran up and pulled him out with hooks and killed him. Such is the reward for a man who seeks to do harm.248 248. According to the accepted narrative, William of Holland died in Frisia rather than Denmark. See reference in note 246.

XL

Louis IX returns to France from overseas. The count of Anjou is called to task by the king. John of Avesnes dies miserably. Baldwin of Avesnes is reconciled with his mother, Margaret of Flanders. The problem of Flanders is settled.

[430] Here we shall put aside the king of Germany, and I’ll tell you about the king of France, who was overseas. News reached him that his mother, Blanche of Castile, had died, and he quickly saw that he needed to return to France. He readied his ships and embarked, along with the three children born in the land of Syria; with the grace of God, he arrived, unhindered, at Aigues Mortes and traveled from there all the way to France, where he was received with great honor as king.249 [431] Here we shall leave the king for a moment to tell you about the count of Anjou, his brother, who ordered the lord of Enghien to come pay him homage—and received word back that never in his life would he do him homage. The count assembled whatever forces he could through either feudal duty or payment, 249. According to the accepted narrative, Louis departed from Aigues Mortes and returned to France through Hyères.

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and he was accompanied by Archbishop Thomas of Reims,250 who served him as best he could, expecting to gain some favor thereby—wherein he was disappointed. As the old saying goes, “An appearance of kindness brings cheer to the fool.”251 [432] The count of Anjou went to Enghien and laid siege. He had the strength to capture it, and the expectation of doing so; the lord of Enghien however, made a great, successful effort through a friend of his to put Enghien into the hands of King Louis. The king immediately ordered the count of Anjou to turn back with no delay. He had to obey, since it was the king’s command; so he returned home, woeful and disappointed. [433] Now I shall tell you a bit about John of Avesnes, whose setbacks almost killed him. He had failed at every turn: the king of Germany, his brother-in-law, was dead, as you have heard; he had lost the love of his mother; he had lost the county of Hai­ nault both for himself and, it appeared, for his heirs, now living in permanent exile—which is what distressed him the most. He was landless, poor, and defeated, with no hope of any change for the better. Illness overtook him, and he fell into a state of inaction in which he languished for a long time; in the end, he died at Binche, in Hainault, in great poverty. And that was only right, for he who fails to honor his father and mother loses all that is his, as God says in the Gospel. He says, Honor your father and your mother, and you shall be honored thereby, and thereby may you enter the kingdom of heaven.252 [434] When Baldwin of Avesnes learned that his brother had died and had lost all he possessed, he decided to turn back to his mother; he came to her, fell to her feet, and begged her for250. Archbishop Thomas of Beaumes (r. 1251–63). 251. See “Biaus semblans faict musart lié”—cited from the Chronique de Rheins (the present tales) in Le Roux de Lincy, Le livre des proverbes français II (1859). 252. See Exodus 20:12 and similar injunctions in other books of the Bible.



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giveness. The countess replied, “Baldwin, Baldwin, it has been a long time! God knows how much you have cost us, and how late it is to acknowledge your folly!” “Ah, mother dear, for God’s sake, have pity! It was not my doing; it was my brother, now dead, and his overweening pride! Dear, sweet mother, I want from now on to obey your every command.” When his mother heard him so ready to obey, she was moved to pity, for she was a mother, after all. All the knights and ladies who were present knelt at the feet of the countess and begged her to pardon her son. The countess forgave him, and he became master of her court. [435] Now let us turn back to the count of Anjou, who held the county of Hainault; it seemed to the king, his brother, that his possession of the land was not legitimate, for he had come into it without the approval of the sovereign whose fief it was and without paying due homage. The king was insistent that the land return to the hands of the countess; he would tax the expenditures already incurred. The countess was sent for, and the expenditures were taxed at a hundred thousand Tournois pounds, that amount to be paid within five years from the land’s yield. Thus the countess was again in possession of her land.

XLI

Young Emperor Baldwin of Constantinople seeks aid in France. Queen Blanche bequeaths Namur to the empress in her own right. The empress confronts crime and disobedience.

[436] Now we shall move on from the countess of Flanders, who had more than enough trials and suffering in her life, to Baldwin, emperor of Constantinople,253 the son of Peter of Auxerre, who was sent to Constantinople, there to be consecrated and anointed emperor.254 He was married to the daughter of King John of Acre, who had had her with the sister of the king of Spain; she was the niece of Queen Blanche of Castile.255 King John had taken her to Constantinople, where, because of the emperor’s youth, King John served as regent as long as he lived, which was not long, since he was already of great age; he died as a man of valor and a good Christian, and he was buried in front of the main altar of Santa Sophia. [437] Emperor Baldwin was young and infantile; he spent lavishly and paid no attention to his accounts, which made him poor 253. See note 134. 254. Also known as Peter II of Courtenay. 255. Berengaria of León (d. 1237) was the daughter of Alfonso IX of León and Berengaria of Castile and was the sister of Ferdinand III of Castile.

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and indebted, with nothing left for his knights and his servants. A great number of them, therefore, departed and went back to their homes. When the emperor realized where matters stood, he decided to go to France to see the pope, who was in Lyon, and Queen Blanche, who was his wife’s aunt, to seek their aid. [438] He embarked as discreetly as he could because of John III Doukas Vatatzes, who was at war with him and watching him closely, eager for an opening to seize Constantinople and the empire. Baldwin arrived in Marseille and disembarked at La Roche; he went as quickly as possible to Lyon, where he met the pope and informed him of his needs. The pope was deeply moved and gave him the clerics’ tithe for three years. Then he came to the queen, who welcomed him gladly, and told her what he needed. The queen answered that she would gladly give it due consideration. She kept him with her for a long while and realized, by the way he expressed himself, that he was a mere child; that was very disturbing to her, for the ruler of an empire needed to be a very wise and vigorous adult. [439] “My lady,” said the emperor, “I need money, since I cannot rule the empire without incurring great costs. I shall have to sell the county of Namur, which came to me at birth as part of my inheritance.” “In the name of God,” answered the queen, “No, I do not want you to sell it!” “Lady, what then shall I do?” “All right,” said the queen, “I shall lend you twenty thousand pounds to be paid back from the product of the land; thus the county will be preserved for you and your heirs. You must swear to me by the saints, however, that you will be back in Constantinople within the month—and you shall send me my niece the empress, because I am very eager to see her.” [440] “Yes, indeed!” replied Baldwin, who had no self-awareness. “Of course!”

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He swore the oath, and the queen lent him twenty thousand pounds; he took his leave and, as quickly as he could, returned to Constantinople, truly not having any reason to delay. Once he was back, he said to the empress, “Lady, the queen has lent me twenty thousand pounds to secure the county of Namur, on condition that I swear to send you to her within a month of my return here.” “Sir,” said the lady, who was eager to go, “you will keep your promise and honor your pledge, please God.” [441] Then the emperor equipped four armored ships and stocked them with everything needed; he put the empress on board, along with knights and crossbowmen, and commended her to God; he was never to see her again. They traveled along the coast and then sailed all the way to a safe harbor. Then they were provided with fine, beautiful carriages and gradually made their way to Pontoise. When the queen saw her niece, the two were overwhelmed with joy, and they stayed together as long as the queen remained alive. [442] And at her death, she gave the empress the county of Namur as a possession in her own right. The empress received the homage of the free men and the oaths of fealty of the citizens; and she held the county until the day when an ugly rumor was spread concerning the sons of the leading citizens of Namur. When she received a complaint from some commoners in the city, she sent for the fathers of the accused. She ordered them to punish their sons in a way that would put a lasting end to their misbehavior—and, if they failed to do so, she would have to take decisive action. The fathers replied, saying, “Madam, you are right. We shall tell our sons to behave properly; if they fail to do so, do what you believe to be right and what your counsel supports.” [443] The fathers then left and ordered their offspring to give up their undisciplined ways and behave properly, but they



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paid no attention, and instead conducted themselves even worse than before. Now I shall tell you what they were doing. They would go a tavern, ten or twelve of them, would spend twenty or thirty sous, more or less, then demand of some honest fellow of petty standing, but comfortable, that he pay their bill. Some men were fearful and paid; others refused, so the youths would beat them, treat them odiously, and rob them by force. [444] When the empress heard further complaints, she became very angry and ordered her bailiff, who was a knight, to arrest the malefactors and put them away where they would be unable to do any harm. The bailiff went looking for them and found out where they were, but he went out to arrest them with no thought to protecting himself. The young men defended themselves fiercely, killing the bailiff, then fleeing to find refuge somewhere. When the empress heard the news, she almost went mad with rage. She cried, “Am I truly friendless in this alien land?” [445] The next day she convened the community of Namur, and, when they all stood before her, she asked them about the death of her bailiff and the young men who had murdered him. The townsmen answered that the death of the bailiff was painful to them, but they were not the guilty parties—indeed, wanted the guilty to be punished. “In God’s name,” cried the empress, “that will not do! You shall hand them over to me! Every one of you is to serve my will with body and treasure!” “Ah, madam, how can it be that those must pay for the deed who had no part in it? No, madam, it is not right or legitimate; nor, please God, can we ever allow it!”

XLII

Further developments in Namur are recounted. Townsmen unsuccessfully seek the intervention of the king of France. They turn to Henry of Luxemburg. Henry takes possession of Namur.

[446] At that, the townsmen left the court of the empress, except that what they purposed was justice and legitimacy, whereas the empress insisted that justice would be nothing but what her will demanded. That is where things stood for a time, while the empress was seizing property of theirs and doing them harm. When the citizens saw how the situation was evolving, they decided that they would request of King Louis that he intervene. They chose four of the wisest men among them and sent them to the king, and they recounted to him the unreasonable conduct of their lady: “In the name of God, sire, decide what we should do!” [447] Peter of Fontaines,256 speaking for the king, said, “Hear me: I am going to tell you what you should do. Go back home and have every citizen of Namur hang a noose around his neck; then go, all of you, to the empress and say, ‘Madam, we here are your murderers; do with us as you like.’” 256. Peter of Fontaines (d. 1289) was a jurist and counselor of Louis IX from Picardy.

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The townsmen were shocked to hear such words. The king looked at them, saw them change color, and said, “Sir Peter, that is not a sensible solution. These gentlemen should go home and reach an agreement with their lady; that is the wise thing to do.” “Sire, you are right,” said the citizens, whose only wish was to leave. [448] They left the royal court with no desire ever to return. They came back to Namur and reported to everyone how they had fared: “No, indeed,” they said, “there is no help there. We need to find our own advocate.” “In God’s name,” said one man, “I have heard from older people in this town that the county of Namur really belongs to Sir Henry of Luxemburg and that he was wrongly stripped of it; my advice, in good faith, is that you seek his help and that we pledge him our loyalty and ask that he do likewise.257 You may be sure that he will gladly do so, because this is what matters most to him in the world.” [449] They all agreed to accept this plan; he was invited, and he came without delay. They pledged reciprocal fidelity; Henry went back to his country, borrowed funds, and gathered a large army. The empress found out that the townsmen had sworn loyalty to Sir Henry; she placed a garrison in the castle and put in charge a man who was honorable and wise. Sir Henry came to Namur with his army, and the citizens welcomed him warmly and gave him command of their persons, their property, and their city. He took up quarters there and fortified the town very well, keeping such close watch on the castle that no one could freely enter or exit. This state of siege lasted a long time. [450] The empress appealed so insistently to the countess of Flanders, from whom she held the county of Namur, and to her friends that she assembled a great army, which included many 257. Henry V of Luxembourg (r. 1247–81), the son of Waleran III of Limburg and Ermesinda of Luxembourg. As count of Namur, he is known as Henry III.

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knights and great lords. There were the count of Eu,258 the count of Montfort,259 and the count of Joigny,260 Sir Erard of Valery with his men of Champagne,261 and the countess of Flanders with her party; the countess put her son Baldwin of Avesnes in charge—which produced nothing good. They approached within four leagues of Namur and reached it the next day. [451] The countess ordered them to lay siege to the town; the men of Flanders and Hainault made a half-hearted assault, because Sir Baldwin of Avesnes gave Sir Henry every advantage he could, and Baldwin’s troops lost more than they gained thereby. Baldwin then sought a forty-day truce with the understanding that nothing would be removed from the castle or carried in during that time. [452] When the men of Champagne saw the traitorous influence of Baldwin of Avesnes, they agreed to the truce. They had started to turn back, when the Germans cried, “Help, help!” and threw themselves against the rear guard of the Champenois, right into the baggage of the count of Joigny; they did great damage to horses and armor and equipment, but nothing more. Thus, the troops from Champagne departed in great disarray, thanks to the base behavior of the Flemings. [453] Sir Henry maintained his siege, for nothing could move him. The truce came to an end, but no one returned to the fight. He was severely oppressive to the people in the castle, remaining at siege for a year or more. When the governor of the castle saw that no rescue was coming, that food was in short 258. Alphonse of Brienne (d. 1260), the son of John of Brienne and Berengaria of León, was the count of Eu through his wife, Marie. 259. John II of Brienne (d. 1296), the youngest son of John of Brienne and Berengaria of León, was known as the count of Montfort through his wife and stepdaughter, Joan of Châteaudun (d. 1252) and Beatrice of Montfort (d. 1312). 260. William III of Joigny (d. 1261), the son of William II of Joigny and Isabella of Noyers. 261. Erard of Valery (d. 1277) was the constable of Champagne. See Baudin, Les sceaux des comtes de Champagne et de leur entourage, 535.



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supply, that his defenders were dying of illness, he was woefully sick at heart, for he knew how fiercely Sir Henry hated him. [454] Suddenly, a knight came galloping up to the gate. A man at the battlements asked what he wanted, and he answered that Sir Henry desired to speak to the governor. The message was delivered, and the governor replied that he would gladly speak with him. He appeared at a crenel, and Sir Henry, seeing him, said, “Governor, you are causing me trouble and costing me money, and you know quite well that you will never be rescued. Let me be clear: I shall never, as long as I live, move from here without taking the castle. Let me be clear: if I take it by force, I shall not be grateful to you—but if you surrender it to me, I shall forget my displeasure. And let me be clear: surrender will bring you no shame.” [455] “Sir,” said the governor, “I shall take the matter under consideration and give you my answer within two weeks.” Sir Henry granted the delay, and the castle governor sent a message to the empress, describing the situation. She replied that there was nothing she could do. Two weeks later, the governor surrendered the castle, on condition his life be spared, and it fell to Sir Henry, who still holds it, whoever may like it or not.

XLIII

King Louis makes a peace agreement with King Henry III of England. Louis and the queen lament the early death of their eldest son. The archbishop of Rouen consoles them with the Lay of the Titmouse.

[456] Here we shall take leave of Namur and its dire situation and turn instead to King Louis, the valorous king who now reigns. He felt conscience-stricken because of the land of Normandy, which King Philip had conquered from the wicked King John of England, father of the present-day King Henry—though it is true that King Philip had acquired the territory with the approval of the peers of France, while King John had had to answer to his barons. [457] It is true, however, that some people say, “Even if he failed to be at the court of the lord his king, King John did not deserve for that reason to be deprived of his land, for he had not committed any criminal act against the king.” They say that the king of France could legitimately take possession of the land because of King John’s defection and could take his revenues; but if King John or his heirs wanted to come to the king of France to reclaim their land through a just process 190



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and, to the satisfaction of the peers, correct the errors in question, they should have it back. [458] Because of this uncertainty as well as others, he made peace with the king of England in a solid agreement, in accordance with which the king of England came to France with his wife and sons and stayed in Paris around Saint Martin’s Day in the year of the Lord 1259.262 The peace accord stipulated that the king of England would have and hold in perpetuity, both he and his heirs, the county of Cahors, the county of Périgord, and the duchy of Agen, which includes six towns. In return, the English king paid him homage in Paris, at his palace, in full view of his people. He also duly renounced all claims that he had or might have elsewhere in the conquest, and to this effect he gave him his royal charter. [459] The king of France gave him two hundred and fifty thousand pounds to take and spend overseas, for he had taken the cross. It was also agreed that the king of England would render feudal service for forty days twice a year, at his own expense, upon request by the king of France; and that the count of Poitiers would be acquitted of the homage that he owed for the land he held in his three counties. Thus peace was established between the two kings, and they became good friends; and the conscience of the king of France was put to rest. It is a truth that he who has no conscience lives like an animal, as the old saying goes: He whom conscience can’t rein in Tends less toward good and more toward sin.263 262. Saint Martin’s Day is celebrated on November 11. Henry III arrived on the continent on November 14 and was greeted by Louis IX at Saint-Denis on November 25. The peace treaty was concluded on May 28, 1258, although it was not formally ratified by all interested parties, and Henry III did not perform homage to Louis until December 4, 1259. See William Chester Jordan, A Tale of Two Monasteries: Westminster and Saint Denis in the Thirteenth Century (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2009), 49–66. 263. See “Cui conscience ne reprent plustot au mal qu’au bien entend”—cited from the Chronique de Rheins in Le Roux de Lincy, Le livre des proverbes français I (1842).

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[460] Then the king of England, with the queen and his sons,264 left the king of France, his brother-in-law, who had greatly honored and celebrated them through the land, and they went back to England, their country. But they left the king and queen grieving for Louis, their eldest son, dead at the age of sixteen, a wonderfully bright and gracious young man. Their grief was such that no one could console them; yet the queen was pregnant with a child soon to be born. [461] Thus did the king grieve for his son, whom he loved deeply; and he was so sad that no one could make him speak. At that point, Archbishop Rigaud of Rouen arrived to see him and bring him comfort.265 He recited at length wise passages of the scriptures and cited the patience of Job. He related the exemplary story of a titmouse caught in a trap in a peasant’s garden.266 When the peasant picked her up, he said that he would eat her. [462] The titmouse replied to the peasant, “If you eat me,” she said, “you will hardly be satisfied, since I am just a tiny little thing—but if you agreed to let me go, I would teach you three clever things that you would find very useful if you cared to put them into practice.” “Well, of course,” said the peasant, “I’ll let you go.” He relaxed his hand, and the titmouse flew off to a branch, wonderfully happy to have escaped. “Now I shall teach you,” said the titmouse, “my three useful rules.” 264. According to the accepted narrative, Henry III was accompanied to Paris by his wife and his second son, Edmund I of Lancaster and Leicester (d. 1296). His eldest son, the future Edward I of England (r. 1272–1307), did not journey to Paris. 265. Also known as Odo Rigaud, he was the Franciscan archbishop of Rouen from 1248 to 1275. See Adam J. Davis, The Holy Bureaucrat: Eudes Rigaud and Religious Reform in Thirteenth-Century Normandy (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 2006). 266. The Lay of the Titmouse, or Fable de l’Oiselet, is an Old French poem preserved in five manuscripts from the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. A titmouse, Old French masenge, is a small songbird.



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“Yes, indeed!” said he. [463] “Listen now,” said the titmouse. “I advise you—and remember this well!— that you not throw away what you hold in your hands, that you not believe everything that you hear, and that you not regret too deeply what you cannot have or recover.” “What’s this!” said the peasant. “Is that all you have to say? By God, if I had you in my hand, you would certainly not escape me again!” “My goodness,” said the titmouse, “you would be right, for I have in my head a precious stone as big as a hen’s egg, well worth one hundred pounds.” At these words, the peasant clenched his fists, tore out his hair, and groaned with the greatest grief in the world. [464] The titmouse started to laugh and said to him, “You stupid bumpkin! You haven’t understood or paid any attention to the three rules that I told you! It is clear that you’re mistaken about all three of them. You held me in your hand, yet you threw me away and let me fly off. You believed me when I claimed that I had in my head a precious stone as big as a hen’s egg, when my whole body is smaller than that. And you can’t stop grieving over the loss of me, when you know I won’t ever be back, since I’ll now be more careful that I was at first.” With that, she flapped her wings and flew away, leaving the peasant foiled and angry. [465] “Sire,” said the archbishop, “you clearly see that you cannot recover your son and must trust that he is in heaven; that must bring you comfort.” The king realized that the archbishop was right; he felt consoled and put aside his mourning.

XLIV

The archbishop of Reims covets the treasure of the abbey of Saint Remi. Jurisdictional dispute is brought before the king. The archbishop’s attempted swindle fails.

[466] Now I shall tell you about Archbishop Thomas of Beaumetz,267 who was remarkably covetous. There is a proverb that says, “He who covets everything loses everything.”268 He had long been in charge of the abbey of Saint Remi in Reims, as had his ancestors. He would wickedly steal and plunder. It is said, too, that he took four thousand pounds from the Abbot Gilbert and wanted to pillage whatever Saint Remi had of value.269 But as was said long ago, “Overload the ass, and he collapses.”270 [467] The day came when the abbot and the monastery could no longer endure; they examined their privileges to see whether there was something there that might help them. They found 267. Archbishop Thomas of Beaumes (r. 1251–63). 268. See “Qui tot covoite, tot pert,” no. 2165 in Morawski, Proverbes français antérieurs au XV e siècle. 269. Abbot Gilbert of Saint Remi (r. 1253–54). 270. See “La sorsome abat l’arne,” no. 1037 in Morawski, Proverbes français antérieurs au XV e siècle.

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the charters of six kings of France, declaring that the church of Saint Remi and the castle were charitable foundations of the kings, each successive king renewing the charter up to King Philip. When he left to go overseas, King Philip entrusted the abbey to his uncle, Archbishop William Blanchemain; since then, because of the ineffectiveness of the abbots and religious, the archbishops of Reims have been in charge, the one now in that office being Archbishop Thomas. [468] When the abbot and the monks saw how things stood, they went to the king and asked him, in God’s name, to do something decisive about the church of Saint Remi, whose king and lord he was since it had been founded by his ancestors, as was evidenced by the six royal privileges. The charters were shown to the king and read before his council; and the king stated that he would readily do what was called for. The archbishop was summoned to appear before him on a certain date to testify in the case at issue. He requested a postponement once, twice, and a third time, and the postponements were all granted. He was then silent for an entire year. [469] In the end, the king had him summoned to appear on a particular day with absolutely no delay allowed. When the archbishop saw that he could no longer stall, he finally did as ordered. The abbot and the monastery’s bursar were present as the king said to the abbot and monks, “Under whose protection do you live, under mine or the archbishop’s?” The abbot replied, “Sire, we live under your protection, as we should; we have been so privileged since the time of your ancestors.” The privileges were displayed, and the king then said, “Sir abbot, you are now dismissed. You are not the plaintiff in this case; I am. And if the archbishop wishes to say something in his defense, let him do so, and we shall readily give him that right in our court.”

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[470] When the archbishop saw there was no way out, he asked for a day to state his case, but when the day came, he postponed and then had another delay. That day came at last; he would gladly have taken another day if at all possible, but it was not granted. When he understood that he had to respond, he asked to be shown the evidence for the king’s claim; and a day was set for the demonstration. The provost of Laon came to Reims and acted as the king’s surrogate, showing the archbishop’s men the evidence for the church of Saint Remi and the castle, as well as twenty-four dependent villages. He said that he would show them more if they wished, but they answered that they had seen enough. [471] At that, they were given a date to appear before the king, when each party could state his case against the other; the archbishop was present, along with whatever advisers he could gather. Then master Julien of Peronne rose and said, “Sir archbishop, do you wish to hear who has the right to control Saint Remi: you or the king?”271 The archbishop replied, saying, “Yes.” [472] Then master Julian proceeded through the whole trial from beginning to end and concluded that, by right and by the judgment of the legal experts, Saint Remi, with all that belonged to it, was under the protection of the king, as was made clear by the privilege of his ancestors—“and by your own acknowledgment, sir archbishop, which you once gave in a seal-bearing letter to my lady the queen. Here it is, and it states as follows: [473] “Thomas, by the grace of God archbishop of Reims, to all those who will see this letter, greeting! Let all know that I, archbishop of Reims, acknowledge that I hold under my protection, by command of the king of France, my lord, Saint Remi of Reims and that I agree so to hold it only as long as he shall desire.” 271. Julian of Péronne (d. after 1272) was an accomplished royal administrator and counselor under Louis IX and Philip III of France.



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[474] When the archbishop heard the reading of the letter, his face fell; he was the most stunned man in the world, along with his supporters. Then he rose and went to deliberate with his council, saying, “Good lords, what can I do? I am exiled, even if remaining here; I have lost my city, for all my townsmen will move to Saint Remi.” “In God’s name,” said one of his men, “you shall say that you do not want this judgment to be carried out, because it was not rendered by your peers. You are a peer, and you should be judged by them!” The other members of the council all agreed. [475] The archbishop came before the king, and Peter Halo, speaking on his behalf, said these words: “Indeed, sire, the archbishop is a peer of France; he must therefore be judged by his peers. This judgment was not handed down by the peers; he wishes therefore not to be aggrieved by it.” Peter of Fontaines responded, “We shall tell you, archbishop, if you wish, whether the judgment is legitimate or not.” The archbishop so wished, and he withdrew. [476] The legal masters deliberated. They concluded that the judgment was valid and reasonable, for the contention that had led to the judgment was of no concern to the peerage, wherefore it was necessary that it be upheld. At that, the archbishop left the court in tears and without taking leave. He retired to his chamber and stayed there for two days without leaving. Then he came to Reims and asked the bishops of the province to help him against the king. The bishops answered that they were vassals of the king and would not move against him; nor did they agree that the archbishop had been wronged. [477] Now let us return to the abbot, still at court, who requested of the king that he send soldiers to the church of Saint Remi to guard the property of the abbey. The king replied that he would discuss it at his council’s meeting in September. Then

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the abbot came back to Reims. Once the archbishop knew he was back, he made every attempt he could to induce the abbot to withdraw his request, but the archbishop could not prevail. Indeed, the abbot went to the meeting and repeated his request for a guard, which the king then granted. He returned to Saint Remi emboldened and joyful and happy. He turned to a good and loyal adviser, who told him, [478] “Sir, as far as lay justice is concerned, you are out of the hands of the archbishop; in religious matters, however, you have no protection against him. You need to take action, then, regarding the pope and his brethren, in order to be safe in your land. For God’s sake, do what it takes, and it will be a charitable move. You already have one great advantage, as the king’s support will be of fine value to you. You can also serve the Curia—which will gladly accept. . . . Be generous in your donations, for you will never give more than you can receive in return. Remember that the two best advocates in the Curia able to help you achieve the outcome you seek are Gold and Silver.272 Make sure to have them on your side, and I assure you that your case will be won.” [479] The abbot accepted his counselor’s advice. He gathered whatever he needed and, in great secrecy, went to see the king and take leave in due form. It is said that the king gave him a letter of introduction and guaranty for the pope, should he need one. When the archbishop learned of this, he was sick at heart. He asked all those whom he had helped and whom he could deem his friends to go, each of them, to Rome to testify against the abbot who wanted to deprive him of his legacy. Not one, however, sent a single word in response, except one alone, the archdeacon William of Brai,273 who said, “I understand the 272. “The Curia” here is a reference to the Papal Curia in Rome. 273. Later (in 1262), Pope Urban IV would make William of Brai (d. 1282) a cardinal.



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situation; I am prepared to carry out your wish in whatever way I can.” The archbishop thanked him and provided him with everything he needed. He departed for Rome and stayed there for a long time. He returned with less wealth and a heavier burden of sins.

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Index

Index

Adele of Guise, 166n240 Agnes of Beaujeu, 148n191 Agnes of Courtenay, 15n28 Agnes of France, 10, 10n17 Alan of Roucy, 47, 47n71, 48, 53–55 Albert II of Metz and Dagsburg, 148n190 Albigensian Crusade, l–li, 140n176, 156n222 Alexander IV, Pope, 105n133 Alexios II, 10n17 Alfonso IX of León, 182n255 Alfonso VIII of Castile, 132n167 Alfonso X of Castile, 150n211 Alice of Burgundy, 150n210 Alice of France, 12n19 Alice of Montmorency, 156n219 Alphonse of Brienne, 188, 188n258 Alphonse of Poitiers, liii, 132, 132n170 Alphonso VIII of Castile, 57, 57n78 Amalric of Jerusalem, 15, 15n28, 16n32, 19, 76–77 Amaury de Montfort, li Amaury VI, 126n156 Andrew II, xxxiii Andrew of Nanteuil, 70, 72, 77 Andronikos I Komnenos, 10n17 Ankrom, Jeffrey S., lx anointment, xxviii–xxix Antioch, 2n2 Archambaut VIII of Bourbon, 148, 148n194

Arthur of Brittany, xxxix–xli, 106, 106n136 Baldwin I of Jerusalem, 2, 2n3 Baldwin IV of Jerusalem, 15n28 Baldwin IX of Flanders, 37n58, 38, 117n145, 166n239 Baldwin of Avesnes, 166, 166n241, 167, 180–84, 188 Baldwin VIII of Flanders, 37, 37n58 Baldwin V of Jerusalem, 15n29, 16n30 Balian of Ibelin, 16, 16n30 Battle of Bouvines, 123n153 Battle of Fréteval, xxxix Battle of Gisors, 55 Battle of Hattin, 1n2, 18n35, 25n39 Beatrice of Montfort, 188n259 Beatrice of Saint-Pol, 117n146 Becket, Thomas, 107n139 Berengaria of Castile, 182n255 Berengaria of León, 182, 182n255, 188n258 Bicchieri, Guala, xlvii–xlviii Blanchemain, William, 9, 9n16, 10, 195 Blanche of Castile, xviii, xlvi, li, liii–liv, lv–lvi, 83–84, 83n115, 84–85, 129, 132, 132n167, 142, 146–47, 179 Blanche of Navarre, 147 Blondel, xxxvi–xxxvii, 40–42, 40n63

217

218

Index

Bouchard IV of Avesnes, 166, 166n240 Bouchard IV of Vendôme, 47, 47n67 Capetian dynasty, xxviii, xxxiv, xxxix Charles of Anjou, liii, 135, 149, 155, 163, 165, 167, 169, 174–77 chronicle, xvii Conrad III of Germany, xxxii Conradin of Jerusalem, 66n90 Conrad of Montferrat, 16, 16n30, 22n38, 35n56 contextualization, xx–xxi Coradin, 69 Corbény, xxix coronation, xxviii–xxix crusades, xx, xxii, xxviii, xxxi– xxxviii, l, 1n1, 25n39, 30n45 Edmund I of Lancaster and Leicester, 192n264 Edward of England, xxxii, 192n264 Eleanor of Aquitaine, xxv, xxxiv, xxxviii, 5–6, 5n8 Eleanor of England, 57n78 Eleanor of Provence, 149n201 Eleanor of Saint-Valéry, 155n218 Elisabeth of Bavaria, 66n89 Elisabeth of Saint-Pol, 141n177, 145n188 Enguerrand III of Coucy, 120, 126, 156n223 Enrico I of Settala, 95, 95n125 Erard II of Chacenay, 138 Erard of Ramerupt, 34, 34n52– 34n53 Erard of Valery, 188, 188n261 Ermesinda of Luxembourg, 187n257 Ferdinand III of Castile, 13n25, 182n255

Ferdinand II of León and Galicia, 56n78 Ferrand of Flanders, 116–17, 116n143, 117–20 Ferran of Spain, 58–60 First Crusade, xxxi, xxxii, 1n1, 2n3 Fourth Crusade, 2n2, 70n105 France, xxiv–xxviii Francis of Assisi, 86 Frangipani, Romanus, lii Franks, xxxi–xxxii Frederick I Barbarossa, xxxii, xxxiii Frederick II Holy Roman Emperor, 66, 66n89, 94–99, 101–5, 105n133, 123n153 Frederick III of Lorraine, 148n199 Fuisnon, John, 70, 70n105, 72–73 Galvani, Pelagio, 71, 71n107 Garin of Senlis, 115–16, 137 Garnier of Nablus, 90n119 Gaucher IV of Châtillon, 156, 156n221 Gaucher of Nanteuil, 70 Geoffrey II of Brittany, 8n13 Geoffrey IV of Joinville, 132n166 Geoffrey IV of Rancon, 154 Geoffrey V of Châteaudun, 47, 47n70 Gertrude of Dagsburg, 148, 148n190 Godfrey of Bouillon, 1–2, 1n1 Gregory IX, Pope, 95–100, 95n126, 104n131 Gregory VIII, Pope, 25n39 Grétry, André, xxxvii Grossel, Marie-Geneviève, lx Guichard IV of Beaujeu, 148n191 Guy II of Dampierre, 166n242 Guy IV of Châtillon and Saint-Pol, 145n188 Guy of Dampierre, 166, 166n243, 167



Index

Guy of Lusignan, 15–16, 19–23, 25–26, 34n49–34n50, 35 Guy of Saint-Pol, 141, 141n177 healing, xxix–xxx Hélary, Xavier, xxxi Helvide of Dampierre, 132n166 Henry II, xxxiv, xxxv, 7, 7n11, 11–14, 12n19, 14n26 Henry III, xxiv, xxv, xlviii, xlix, 149, 149n201, 191–92, 191n262, 192n264 Henry III of Brabant, 150n210 Henry III of Champagne, 148, 148n197 Henry II of Champagne, 26–27, 31–34, 34n50, 34n54 Henry II of Namur, 143, 143n185 Henry II of Rethel, 145n186 Henry of Braine, 83 Henry the Young King, 8, 8n13 Henry VI, Holy Roman Emperor, 43n64 Henry V of Luxembourg, 187, 187n257, 188–89 Hervé IV of Donzy, 130n164 Hugh III of Rethel, 145, 145n186 Hugh IV of Burgundy, 148n199 Hugh IX of Lusignan, 152n212 Hugh of Boves, 117, 117n146, 118, 120 Hugh of Canelo, 85n116 Hugh of Saint-Pol, 145, 145n188 Hugh of Sarcu, 133 Hugh V if Saint-Pol, 156n221 Hugh X of Lusignan, 152n212 Humbert of Beaujeu, 148 Ingeborg of Denmark, xxxv, 37n59, 39n61 Innocent III, Pope, xxxv, xlii–xlvi, xlvii–xlviii, l, 67–68, 71n107, 81–83

219

Innocent IV, Pope, 103, 104n131, 105 Isabella I of Jerusalem, 15n28, 34n50 Isabella of Angoulême, 149n201, 152n212 Isabella of Hainault, 37n59, 39, 39n61, 148n191 Isabella of Noyers, 188n260 Isabelle of Angoulême, xli, xlviii James of Avesnes, 166n240 James of Bazoches, lvii, 143, 143n185 Jerusalem, xxxi, 1n2 Joan of Châteaudun, 188n259 Joan of Flanders, 117, 117n145 John, King of England, xxiv, xxxix–xlvi, 123n153, 124, 129n162, 152n212, 190–91 John III Doukas Vatatzes, 135, 135n173, 183 John II of Arcis, 70, 72, 77 John II of Nesle, 40, 40n63 John II of Roucy, 13n25 John I of Brabant, 150n210 John I of Brittany, 148, 148n193 John I of Dreux, 155, 155n218 John I of Nesle, 40, 40n63 John IV of Vendôme, 156n220 John Lackland, 8n13, 64–66 John of Acre, 79–80, 88–89, 102, 105, 105n135, 106, 108–10 John of Angoulême, 149n201 John of Avesnes, 166, 166n241, 167, 177, 180 John of Brienne, 35, 35n56, 63, 68– 69, 71, 163, 163n235, 188n258. See also John Lackland; John of Acre John of Dampierre, 166n243 John of Dreux, 143, 143n182 John of Ronay, 162, 162n233 John-the-Cleric of Bourc, 133

220

Index

John Tristan, 150, 150n207 judicial system, xxvii Julien of Péronne, 196, 196n271 King’s Evil, xxix Komnene, Maria, 16n32 Langton, Stephen, xlv Lay of the Titmouse, The, 192, 192n266 Le Goff, Jacques, xxi Leo I of Armenia, 66n91 Leopold V of Austria, 32, 32n47 Levine, Robert, xviii–xix Longespée, William, 119, 119n148, 122 Louis I of Blois and Chartres, 47, 47n66 Louis IX, xviii, xxiv–xxv, lii–liv, lvii–lviii, 83n115, 87n118, 104, 104n130, 149–59, 156n227, 160–65, 179, 179n249, 190–92, 191n262, 196n271 Louis VI, 2n4, 107n138 Louis VII, xxiii–xxiv, xxxii, xxxiii, xxxviii, xlviii–xlix, 3, 36n57, 130 Louis VIII, xxx, xxxi, xxxiii, xlv–lii, lv–lvi, 39, 39n62, 123, 124n154, 125–29, 132, 132n171, 133, 135, 140, 140n176, 142, 144, 148n191 Lucius III, Pope, 25, 25n39 Magna Carta, xlvi, 123n153, 129, 129n162 Margaret II of Flanders, 166, 166n239 Margaret I of Flanders, 37n58– 37n59 Margaret of Bourbon, 148, 148n194, 148n199 Margaret of Provence, 149, 149n200, 157, 157n228

Maria of Jerusalem, 35n56 Marie of Avesnes, 156n221 Marie of Brienne, 105n135 Marie of Champagne, 117n145, 166n239 Marie of Oisy, 156n223 Matilda of Angoulême, 152n212 Matilda of Bourbon, 166n242 Matilda of Kyrburg, 145n186 Mauclerc, Peter, 150 Milo of Nanteuil, 70, 70n100, 81, 86, 87n118 Moore, Olin, xxii Muslims, xxxiii–xxxiv names, xix–xx Nebuchadnezzar, 77 Normans, xli Odo of Châteauroux, 156n227, 162, 162n234 Oliver of Ternes, 156, 156n222 Otto II of Bavaria, 66n89 Otto II of Guelders, 13n25 Otto IV Holy Roman Emperor, 94n123, 122–23 Oudard of Aulnay, 121, 121n152 Peace of Paris, xxv, xxv–xxvi Peter I, 37, 37n60 Peter II of Courtenay, 47, 47n68, 130, 130n164, 142n179 Peter I of Alençon, 150, 150n206, 156, 156n220 Peter of Auxerre, 182, 182n254 Peter of Colemède, 103 Peter of Fontaines, 186, 186n256, 187, 197 Peter of Lageri, 133 Peter of Saint Cloud, 169n244 Philip Hurepel, 142n180 Philip II Augustus, xxxi, xxxiii,



Index

xxxiv–xxxv, xxxv, xxxv–xxxvi, xxxix, xl–xlvi, xlix, 1, 1n2, 12–14, 25n39, 29n44, 36, 36n57, 37n59, 44–45, 51, 53, 58, 60–61, 122–23, 123n153, 124, 131–33, 190 Philip III, xxxiii, lviii, 150, 150n204 Philip III of France, 196n271 Philip II of Namur, 142, 142n179 Philip I of Flanders, 26, 26n40 Philip IV the Fair, xxxiii Philip of Dreux, 107, 107n138, 109–14 Philip of Flanders, 27, 31–32, 31n46 Pierre de la Vigne, 103–4, 103n129, 104 Plantagenet kings, xxxiv, xxxix Ramon Berenguer IV of Provence, 149n200 Raoul II of Coucy, 156, 156n223 Raoul of Soissons, 156, 156n225 Raoul the Justicer, 2, 2n4, 3, 10 Raymond III of Tripoli, 16, 16n30, 18–19 Raymond of Antioch, xxxviii Raymond of Termes, 156n222 Raymond VII of Toulouse, lii Raymond VI of Toulouse, lii reforms, under Louis IX, xxvi–xxviii Reims, xxiii, xxviii remaniement, xviii Remi, Saint, 3–4 Renard II of Pons, 154 Renard of Beronne, 133–34 Renard of Boulogne, 13, 115–19, 121–22 Rhys ap Gruffyd, 50n74 Richard Coeur-de-lion (Grétry), xxxvii Richard III of Montfaucon, 126, 126n157 Richard I the Lionhearted, xxxii,

221

xxxiii, xxxv–xxxvi, xxxix–xl, 8n13, 29–30, 40–41, 43n64, 44–46, 48–52, 54–63, 106 Richard of Cornwall, 149, 149n202 Rigaud of Rouen, 192 Robert III of Dreux, 142–43, 142n181, 155n218 Robert II of Burgundy, 150n211 Robert II of Dreux, 142n181 Robert I of Boves, 117n146 Robert of Artois, liii Robert of Clermont, 150, 150n208 Robert of Courson, 68, 68n95 Robert the Pious, xxx Roger of Lacy, 113, 113n140 Roger of Moulins, 90n119 Roger of Rozoy, 156, 156n224 Roman de Renart, 169–78, 169n244 Roman de’Saladin, xxxvii–xxxviii royal touch, xxix–xxx rumors, xxii Saladin, xxxvi, xxxvii–xxxix, 1, 1n2, 5–7, 18–24, 27, 88–93, 93n121 Sancha of Provence, 149n202 Sancho I of Portugal, 116–17, 116n143 Sancho VII of Navarre, 57n78 Sancho VI of Navarre, 148 Saphadin, 68–69, 69n97, 71, 73, 76, 79 Saracens, 68, 71–74, 78–79, 92–93, 104, 158–59, 161–65 scrofula, xxix Second Crusade, xxxii–n53, xxxiv Sibylla of Jerusalem, 15n28–15n29, 16n30 Sigurd I Magnusson, xxxiii Simon de Montfort, l–li Simon IV of Montfort, 156n219 Simon of Joinville, 65 Simon of Tréloup, 145

222

Index

Simon V of Montfort, 156, 156n219 Sohier I of Enghien, 176, 176n247 Stephanie of Armenia, 66n91 Stone, Edward Noble, xviii, xix Suger of Saint-Denis, 2n4 Sybil of Hainault, 148n191 Theobald III of Champagne, 130n163 Theobald II of Champagne, 9n15, 26n42 Theobald IV of Champagne, 130, 130n163, 144–48, 150–51 Theobald VI of Blois and Chartres, 126, 126n157 Theobald V of Blois, 26, 26n42, 33, 33n48 Theobald V of Champagne, 148, 148n195 Theresa of Portugal, 32n46 Third Crusade, xxxii, xxxiv, xxxv– xxxviii, 2n2, 25n39, 30n45, 32n47, 33n48 Thomas of Beaumes, 180, 180n250, 194–99, 194n267 Thomas of Canterbury, 7 Thomas of Perche, 125–26, 125n155 touch, royal, xxix–xxx translations, xviii–xx, lix–lx Treaty of Corbeil, xxvi Treaty of Meaux-Paris, lii Treaty of Paris, xlix Urban IV, Pope, 198n273

Violant of Aragon, 150n211 von Wied, Theoderich, 94n123 Wailly, Natalis de, xvii, xxiii, lix Waleran III of Limburg, 187n257 Wales, xliv–xlv Walter III of Châtillon, 141n177, 145n188, 164 Walter III of Saint-Pol, 115, 115n141 Walter of Brienne the Elder, 63–64 William III of Dampierre, 155, 155n217 William III of Joigny, 188, 188n260 William II of Dampierre, 155, 155n217, 166, 166n242, 167 William II of Joigny, 188n260 William I of Sancerre, 47, 47n69 William of Auvergne, 156, 156n227 William of Barres, 29–30, 29n44, 48–49 William of Brai, 198–99, 198n273 William of Châteauneuf, 162n233 William of Holland, 177, 178n248, 180 William of Joinville, 132, 132n166, 133, 141 William of Scotland, 50, 50n74 William of Sonnac, 161, 161n232 Yolande II of Nevers, 150, 150n207 Yolande of Coucy, 142n181 Yolande of Flanders, 142n179

Inde

Tales of a Minstrel of Reims in the Thirteenth Century was designed in Filosofia and composed by Kachergis Book Design of Pittsboro, North Carolina.