First Among Equals: The King of Jerusalem and the High Court

Arguably the most remarkable thing about the Kings of Jerusalem in the first 125 years of the history of the kingdom is that they were elected rather than born. The law of primogeniture did not automatically apply, but rather the High Court of Jerusalem, composed of all the nobility of the realm, formally elected the monarch. This was not just a formality, at least not in the first century of the Kingdom. The High Court could impose conditions on candidates, and also force its candidates for a consort upon female heirs. Without its consent, a king or queen, even if crowned and anointed, was just a usurper.

The tradition started, of course, with the conquest of Jerusalem in 1099. The First Crusade had never had a single leader and there was considerable (often destructive) rivalry between the leading lords that took the cross. By the time the crusaders reached Jerusalem, Stephan of Blois had abandoned the crusade altogether, Baldwin of Bouillon had struck off on his own and captured Edessa, and Bohemond of Taranto had remained in Antioch to re-establish a Christian state there.  The remaining lords, however, chose Godfrey of Bouillon to rule over Jerusalem.  Godfrey reputedly refused to wear “a crown of gold where Christ had worn a crown of thorns” and took the title of “Defender” or “Protector” or possibly just “Ruler” of Jerusalem.

Just one year later, however, he was dead without an heir. The nascent kingdom was in a more precarious state than ever, since the majority of the surviving crusaders felt they had fulfilled their vow and returned home. Those noblemen remaining in the Holy Land again (not without controversy) selected a successor from among themselves, in this case, Godfrey’s brother Baldwin.  Very significantly, he was not the heir entitled by the rules of primogeniture, as he had an elder brother in the West, Eustace. Baldwin did not share his brother’s qualms about calling himself king, and took the title of King Baldwin I. But in 1118 Baldwin I also died without an heir of his body, and the barons of the crusader kingdoms chose for a third time a leader from among their ranks, this time, Baldwin of Bourcq, who thereby became Baldwin II of Jerusalem.

Three such “elections” (with admittedly limited franchise!) set a legal precedent and the Kings of Jerusalem were henceforth always “elected” by the High Court of Jerusalem. The later was initially composed of the leading lords of the realm (which made the election process the equivalent of the English House of Lords electing the Kings of England.) By the mid-12^th century, however, the High Court had been expanded to include the “rear-vassals,” that is men who held a fief from another lord. Thus, in addition to the tenants-in-chief of the king (the barons), the tenants of barons, and their tenants (as long as they were knights) also had a seat on the High Court. Here each man had (at least in theory) an equal voice. As Professor Riley-Smith puts it in his seminal work The Feudal Nobility and the Kingdom of Jerusalem, (Macmillan, 1973), “the voice of the lowliest knight could be raised in the highest court in the land.”

The High Court of Jerusalem had many functions, judicial, legislative and executive. John La Monte writes in Feudal Monarchy in the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem (Medieval Academy of America, 1932): “Its word was law…and the king who endeavored to act without the advice of, or contrary to the decision of, his High Court found himself confronted with a legalized rebellion on the part of his subjects.” In Jerusalem, the elected king remained “first among equals” vis-à-vis his barons and bishops rather than a sovereign.

Which does not mean that the election of kings was an open, democratic affair. As the products of European feudalism with strong ties to the ruling houses of England and France, the members of the High Court favored the blood relatives of the last monarch. Disputes arose primarily over which of several close relatives had the better claim to the throne. These were legal issues (mixed, of course, with practical considerations, personalities and politics.) Nevertheless, the fact remained that the approval of the High Court was a pre-requisite for legitimate rule, and thus every time a king died there was effectively an interregnum (if not outright crisis), while factions positioned themselves and consensus was established.

It also meant that the High Court had the ability to impose conditions on candidates even where there was consensus on who that candidate was. An important example of this is the accession of Amalric after the death of Baldwin III. Amalric was Baldwin’s younger brother. He was a mature man with an overall positive reputation and a track record of fighting effectively (a critical criteria in the ever-beleaguered Kingdom of Jerusalem). However, for whatever reason (and these are highly controversial) the High Court did not like his wife, Agnes de Courtney. The High Court forced Amalric to set her aside, by making this a condition of their consent to his coronation.

Amalric’s daughter Sibylla was also married to someone the High Court detested, Guy de Lusignan. However, unlike her father, she was not willing to set-aside her husband. With the support of only a couple of powerful barons (her uncle of Edessa and the Lord of Oultrejourdan) and the Templar Grand Master (who did not sit in the High Court, but controlled some pretty effective troops), she carried out a coup d’etat in which she was crowned without the consent of the High Court. To add insult to injury, she then crowned her husband king with her own hand because the Patriarch would not do it.

Far from side-lining the High Court, this led to a constitutional crisis that was to last six years. First, the majority of the barons and bishops prepared to crown a (legitimate) rival king and queen: Amalric’s younger daughter, Isabella, and her husband Humphrey de Toron. The plan was foiled by Toron, who apparently in public agreed to it but then in  the dark of night fled the baronial camp to do homage to Sibylla. Without an alternative to Guy, the baronial opposition temporarily collapsed, but that did not make Sibylla and Guy’s coronation any more legal. Notably, the Baron of Ramla and Mirabel was so outraged that he preferred to renounce his entire estate and leave the realm. The Count of Tripoli went even farther and made a separate peace with Saladin.

With the loss of the kingdom in the aftermath of Hattin, the High Court temporarily vanished as well, but its spirit lived on in the actions of the leading barons and bishops. At the death of Sibylla in 1190, Isabella was unquestionably the rightful queen, but after Toron's betrayal four years earlier these men were no longer willing to even consider Toron as king. They effectively forced Isabella to separate from Toron and marry a man they believed better suited to rule. When Richard of England asked for a judgment on who should be king, his own candidate Guy de Lusignan, or Isabella’s (new) husband Conrad de Montferrat, the fighting men of Jerusalem (i.e. the same men who would have made up the High Court had the Kingdom still been intact) voted (allegedly unanimously) for Conrad the Montferrat ― and Richard the Lionheart backed-down, conceded defeat, and recognized Montferrat.

When Montferrat was assassinated a few days later, it was again the barons and bishops of Jerusalem, the de-facto High Court, that selected her next husband, Henri de Champagne. By the time Champagne died five years later, the High Court had been re-constituted, and officially selected Isabella’s last husband, Aimery de Lusignan.

Thereafter, the High Court selected the husband for the next two queens, which is the same thing as saying they selected the next two kings. Unfortunately, in the second instance they chose Friedrich II Hohenstaufen, the Holy Roman Emperor, and he had neither understanding nor respect for an institution like the High Court. He tried to impose his brand of absolutism on Jerusalem, thereby provoking a full-scale rebellion by the barons that led to a humiliating defeat of the imperial faction and a validation of Jerusalem's unique laws -- but that is material for a separate entry.
 
The High Court plays a key role particularly in the last two books of the Jerusalem Trilogy:

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The "Conquest" of Edessa: Crusader Adaptation and Assimilation

The establishment of the crusader “county” of Edessa is often ― at least implicitly ― treated as a “conquest.” The impression conveyed is that the crusaders (or Franks) invaded, seized control of territory by force, and established a state (in this case styled a “County”) that was controlled by Latin elites. But Baldwin of Boulogne was accompanied by just sixty knights when he followed an invitation from a local warlord, Thoros, to go to Edessa. As Christopher MacEvitt makes clear in his meticulous study The Crusades and the Christian World of the East: Rough Tolerance, the crusader County of Edessa was more a complex network of local alliances than an invasion ― much less a colony.

The story of the crusader presence in Edessa, as indicated above, started with an “invitation” from a local warlord, and was legalized by an official adoption. Edessa was an ancient and wealthy city that at this time rivaled Antioch and Aleppo in importance. When in 1098 the First Crusade reached northern Syria, Edessa was in the hands of a Greek Christian warlord, the most recent “strongman” in a long line of short-lived warlords, who came to power by murder or popular acclaim ― only to lose favor rapidly and themselves be murdered or flee. Thoros fearing the fate of his predecessors if he could not fight off the ever present Turkish threat, sought help from the most recent military force to arrive on the scene: the crusaders. MacEvitt suggests convincingly that Thoros was making the same mistake that the Byzantine Emperor Alexios I Comnenus had made, namely, of conflating crusaders with Frankish/Norman mercenaries. Thoros wanted the evidently effective commander Baldwin of Boulogne to come fight his battles for him; he never really thought he was inviting in a successor.

Baldwin, however, was not a mercenary. He rejected mere material gifts such as gold, silver and horses, in a bid for something more important still: power and control. When Thoros refused, Baldwin threatened to leave, and “the people” (by which one presumes the chroniclers mean the elites) insisted that Thoros give way. Thoros formally adopted Baldwin in a ceremony (telling) using Armenian relics and customs. Unfortunately for Thoros, this proved insufficient to placate an evidently unruly population. Within a month of Baldwin’s adoption, the mob had turned on Thoros, murdering him, his wife and his children mercilessly. Once Thoros was dead, the citizens jubilantly proclaimed his "son" (Baldwin) “doux” ― a Greek title that usually implied subordination to the Emperor in Constantinople. Although he benefited from Thoros' murder, there is no evidence that Baldwin was behind it, and the fact that he was neither well connected with local elites nor yet conversant with Armenian politics speaks against his complicity.

Furthermore, despite the title awarded him, Baldwin of Boulogne was no vassal of Constantinople. But he was not a conqueror in control of invaded territory either. He still had only 60 knights of his own and he owed his elevation to the local, predominantly Armenian population. MacEvitt makes the point that from the point of view of the Edessans they had not helped establish a “Frankish” or “Latin”  or “crusader” state at all; they had (as so often in the past) simply replaced one “strong man with vague Byzantine ties” with another. 

Furthermore, Baldwin’s career would certainly have been as short-lived and as forgettable as that of the previous half-dozen “rulers” of Edessa, had he not proved astonishingly adept at building alliances with surrounding warlords, nobles and elites. That process started with the simple expedient of leaving the Armenian administration of the city undisturbed. Baldwin also adopted Armenian symbols and rituals, and he rapidly married into the Armenian aristocracy as well.

SStill he faced not so much opposition as indifference on the part of all the other petty Armenian warlords in the surrounding countryside because the “County” of Edessa was not a unified territory at all, but rather a patchwork quilt of minor princlings and lords, who each ruled their individual towns and castles by force. This was a land of “robber barons,” each jealously guarding their own territory and always on the alert to weaken or take advantage of the weakness of a neighbor. The Armenian warlords also rapidly set to work pitting one crusader lord against another, in what (in retrospect) seems like an almost playful experiment of seeing just how far they could go. The crusaders, significantly, after some initial squabbling eventually countered these attempts by closing ranks against the Armenians and eliminating the worst trouble-makers.

More dangerous to Baldwin in Edessa, however, was that as soon as he started to exert his authority there, the very citizens who had “elected” him, decided to depose him ― just as they had all his predecessors. Baldwin was lucky. One of the “councilors” turned traitor, told him what was afoot, and Baldwin struck first. He arrested the councilors, threw them in a dungeon, extracted ransom payments from them and then released them ― without noses, hands and feet or blinded in the case of the ringleaders. All were expelled from the city. Notably, this punishment, particularly the blinding of opponents and rivals, has a long tradition in the Eastern Roman Empire, but none at all in northern France. In short, even in his rage, Baldwin of Boulogne had adapted the customs of his adopted father.

Nor did his “brutality” provoke outrage or rebellion. On the contrary, the chronicles record with what amounts to approval that Baldwin was now “feared.” The Armenian church and population appears to have welcomed the restoration of a really strong strongman, capable (they hoped) of ending the fragmentation and lawlessness in the region that had followed the defeat of the Byzantine army at Manzikert.

Baldwin of Boulogne had no chance to prove himself further. He was called away to Jerusalem to take up his elder brother’s mantle. He was crowned King of Jerusalem in the Church of the Nativity on Christmas Day 1100. He did not just abandon Edessa, however. Instead, he invited his cousin Baldwin de Bourcq to succeed him as ruler of Edessa. Baldwin II (as he was to be known in both Edessa and Jerusalem) was quick to take the opportunity, and his eighteen-year rule in Edessa truly established Frankish control over Edessa.

It was Baldwin II who extended Frankish power beyond the city of Edessa into the surrounding region. This was no easy task as various warlords held castles at strategic points ― some Christian, some Muslim. Like Baldwin I, Baldwin II had too few Frankish troops to impose his rule. He was dependent on the goodwill of the bulk of the ruling class and the loyalty of Armenian soldiers to remain in power, much less extend it. Significantly, he never faced any rebellion in Edessa itself.

Baldwin II adopted much the same tactics as his cousin Baldwin I. He promptly married an Armenian wife, daughter of one of the strongest warlords. Other Franks in his entourage, significantly his cousin Jocelyn de Courtenay who would succeed him when he too went to Jerusalem to become king there, also married aristocratic Armenian women. Equally important, he continued to depend largely on local Armenian elites to administer his territory. However, an early incident in which he lost a key city to Turkish forces and had to borrow troops from the crusader Principality of Antioch, induced him to place more of his own relatives in key strategic castles.

Yet as MacEvitt documents, this was not the same thing as “oppressing” much less “exterminating” the local elites. Rather, Baldwin sent a clear signal: cooperate or lose you lands. The majority of Armenian warlords preferred to “submit” (nominally) to the Franks than risk seeing one of their Armenian rivals win greater power and authority. So, yes, some of the larger warlords lost out, fled to Constantinople and bewailed their fate to sympathetic ears. Their lament found a voice particularly in the chronicler Matthew of Edessa, but they were a minority. The bulk of the Armenian ruling class, MacEvitt argues, “preferred to trust the Franks rather than others of their own kind.” (The Crusades and the Christian World of the East: Rough Tolerance, University of Pennsylvania Press, 2008, p. 83.) The Franks, in turn, rewarded loyalty, and the Armenians willing to recognize Frankish suzerainty were richly rewarded with new lands, titles and revenues.

Meanwhile, the Frankish leaders and their Armenian wives became increasingly integrated in the local society, honoring local saints, adopting local symbols, titles and customs. MacEvitt sites evidence that local (non-Latin) priests served as confessors for some Frankish lords. This is a far cry from 18^th and 19^th Century European colonists “picking up the white man’s burden,” yet meticulously maintaining their “superior” customs while treating the “natives” with condescension bordering on contempt. In 19^th century Europe “going native” -- as the crusaders did -- was scorned, and those that did "go native" were viewed with contempt.

Furthermore, this pattern of integration and alliance with local (non-Latin) Christian elites was both continued under Baldwin’s successors, the Courteneys, and also transferred to Jerusalem when Baldwin II of Edessa became Baldwin II of Jerusalem. Significantly, his half-Armenian daughter Melusinde succeeded him to the throne, reinforcing the influence of native Christians at the heart of the crusader states.

MacEvitt argues, I think convincingly, that the tiny Frankish elite in all the crusader kingdoms was both more dependent and more integrated in Eastern Christian society than previous historians have been willing to admit. His work The Crusades and the Christian World of the East: Rough Tolerance is well worth reading.

 

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