The Conquest of Cyprus -- Continued

There is no historical evidence that Richard Lionheart planned to conquer the Byzantine island of Cyprus when he set out on the Third Crusade. On the contrary, every indication suggests that he was intent upon reaching the Holy Land as expeditiously as possible and re-capturing Jerusalem for Christendom.

Cypriot Landscape

 Had there been no storm, he would have proceeded, as his fellow-crusader Philip II of France had done, without interruption all the way to Tyre/Acre. Only chance scattered his fleet, wrecked some of his ships on the shores of Cyprus and left his fiancé and sister stranded there.  Yet even that would not have resulted in a conquest had the ruler of Cyprus, the self-styled Emperor Isaac Comnenus, acted hospitably to Richard’s ship-wrecked men and ladies. Instead, Isaac plundered the ships, imprisoned the survivors, threatened the royal women, and insulted Richard himself (see The Conquest of Cyprus I: Chance and Passion). Richard’s response was to teach the Byzantine tyrant a lesson, which he did by storming ashore, capturing Limassol and then scattering Isaac’s army in a dawn attack. It all would have ended there if only Isaac had been willing to come on crusade with Richard. Instead he fled to the interior.

Richard responded not with rage but with hard-headed rationality. It was at this point that he appears to have conceived the plan of taking -- and holding -- Cyprus for the crusaders. He rapidly developed and executed a well-crafted strategic plan that made effective use of his large crusader force and fleet. First, he divided his army into three parts. He sent some troops overland to pursue and if possible capture Isaac. He sent part of his fleet to the west, and took the bulk of the fleet eastward. Both parts of the fleet secured ports and castles along the coast as they advanced.

The latter continued to be easy and bloodless due to the unpopularity Isaac. Even before he left Limassol, Richard had been receiving homage from many of the local elite, most notably the Italian merchants. But it wasn’t only the foreigners that evidently welcomed Richard. Many of the Byzantine nobility also appeared to prefer Richard to Isaac — perhaps because they believed he would not stay long and they would soon have the island to themselves.

Another Cypriot Landscape

Meanwhile, at Famagusta Richard disembarked his troops and advanced toward the inland city of Nicosia. Expecting an ambush, Richard personally commanded the rear-guard of his army. Isaac obliged, attacked and the Greek despot's army was handily defeated yet again by Richard’s superior troops and leadership. Isaac himself, however, escaped as he had on all the previous occasions, and this time he fled to the one of the nearly impregnable mountain fortresses, either Kantara or Buffavento.

These castles, perched on the top of a steep, rocky mountain ridge so narrow that it was not possible to build courtyards or wide halls, could be held with very small garrisons. Attackers had to climb near vertical slopes to reach them, continuously under fire from the defenders — or starve the defenders out with a siege. While a siege was by far the more rational military solution, sieges take time, and that was what Richard of England did not have. Isaac Comnenus clearly expected Richard to give up, continue with his crusade, and leave him to re-take his island at leisure. 

Mountain Fortress of St. Hilarion

He might even have gotten away with it, if Richard’s fleet (the part that had sailed west and reached the norther shore of the island) had not in combination with the forces sent overland captured the coastal city and castle of Kyrenia. As chance would have it, Isaac’s only child, a girl, was in Kyrenia.

The girl has remained nameless throughout history, referred to only as the “Maid of Cyprus” or as her father’s daughter. Fortunately for the crusader cause, her father, despite all his other faults, loved her. He loved her so much that despite his comparatively secure position in an all-but-unassailable castle, he abjectly surrendered on June 1. Isaac set only one condition: that he not be put in irons. According to legend, Richard of England agreed, only to have fetters made for him of silver.

If Isaac’s hope had been that surrender would enable him to be reunited with his daughter, it was a short-lived reunion. Isaac was handed over to the Hospitallers, who kept him in a dungeon in Marqub (Syria) until 1193 or 1194. The year after his release he was allegedly poisoned for trying to incite the Sultan of Konya to attack the Byzantine Empire. He was dead by 1196. As for his daughter, she was turned over to the care of Richard’s bride and sister and sailed with them first to Palestine and later to Europe. She was used (just like Richard's sister Joanna) as a diplomatic pawn by Richard, and eventually married to an illegitimate son of the Count of Flanders. (During the Fourth Crusade the couple tried to lay claim to Cyprus, but were rapidly sent packing without anyone taking them seriously.)

Thus, in less than a month and with the loss of only two men (according to the contemporary sources), Richard the Lionheart had taken complete control of the rich and strategically important island of Cyprus. The port of Famagusta is only 118 miles from Tripoli, the closest of the crusader cities, and just 165 miles from Acre.  On a clear day, it is possible to see the coast of Lebanon from Cyprus. Furthermore, Cyprus was a fertile island capable of producing grain, sugar, olives, wine and citrus fruits in abundance.  Its location made it an ideal staging place for future crusades and a strong base for ships to interdict any Saracen fleets intent on preying on the coast of the Levant. Cyprus was thus both a bread-basket and a military base for the existing crusader states.

Ruins of a 13th Century Sugar Mill at Kolosi, Cyprus

Richard of England profited immensely from his conquest. In addition to the plunder he took on the battlefield (that included rich tents, gold plate and armor according to tradition) he had also captured Isaac Comnenus’ treasury. Furthermore, he extracted a tax from the lords and burghers of Cyprus to support his crusade. All this replenished his coffers and enabled him to pursue the war for Jerusalem with sufficient resources to pay the men and purchase the materiel he needed. 

Richard was not, however, interested in retaining control of the island indefinitely. It was too far from home (Aquitaine). Richard’s goal in capturing Cyprus was purely strategic, not dynastic. Rather than holding it for himself, he instead sold the island (thereby further strengthening his financial position) to the Knights Templar for 100,000 pieces of gold. What happened next will have to be the subject of a later entry.

The capture of Cyprus is a minor episode in the third book of the Jerusalem Trilogy:

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The Conquest of Cyprus: Part 1

"Aphrodite's Birthplace" on the Coast of Cyprus, Photo by HPSchrader

The last and most enduring of the crusader states was established on the island of Cyprus at the end of the 12^th century. It lasted for over 300 years, thriving long after the Kingdom of Jerusalem had disappeared from the political map, if not memory. How that crusader state came into being is a dramatic story that began with a chance conquest by one of the most charismatic of all crusaders: Richard the Lionheart.

Richard's Tomb at the Abbey of Fontevrault

After a tempestuous winter on Sicily, the men of the Third Crusade led by the Kings of England and France were ready to sail for the Holy Land. The kings, however, had quarreled with one another and so departed separately. Philip II departed with his contingent of crusaders on March 30. He arrived off Tyre without incident three weeks later on April 20.

Richard was not so lucky. His fleet of a hundred ships did not set sail until April 10 — and almost immediately encountered a vicious storm. The fleet was scattered as the vessels, some large, some small, some oared and some pure sailing ships, each struggled to survive as best they could.  Richard’s galley with a rump of the fleet eventually made safe harbor on the island of Rhodes on April 22, but the ship carrying his betrothed, Princess Berengaria of Navarre, and his sister Joanna, the widowed Queen of Sicily, was missing.  

For the next ten days, Richard remained at Rhodes while ships were dispatched to try to round-up the stragglers, and the surviving ships were made seaworthy again.   On May 1, with the ships he had collected, Richard set out in search of his lost vessels and his bride. He made for Cyprus, the largest of the islands in the eastern Mediterranean. His hope was that many of his missing ships, including the one with his bride and sister, might have found refuge there.

And indeed they had! But their reception had been far from welcoming. Rather than receiving the charity expected from a Christian monarch (Cyprus was ruled at this time by a self-styled Byzantine “Emperor”), the crews of three ships wrecked on the coast of the island were –- in Richard’s own words –- “robbed and despoiled.”  The ship carrying the royal ladies had avoided shipwreck, but in a state of distress had taken refuge in the harbor of Limassol.  The knights aboard this vessel somehow received word of what had happened to their comrades, and Joanna of Plantagenet (a woman who deserves a book of her own!) was clearly not buying the assurances offered by “Emperor” Isaac Comnenus about her safety if she came ashore.  She smelt a rat and stayed aboard her damaged vessel.

Thus when Richard sailed into Limassol harbor on the evening of May 5, he found his bride-to-be and sister in a precarious situation aboard an unseaworthy vessel running out of water, but afraid of being held for ransom or worse if they went ashore.  Richard at once sent an envoy to Isaac Comnenus requesting that his men be set free, compensation paid for the property seized (from the wrecks), and permission to come ashore for water and provisions. According to all contemporary accounts, the envoy returned with a very rude reply.

Richard responded as could only be expected of the proud Plantagenet: he attacked.

The exact sequence of events varies according to which chronicle one follows.  One version has Richard ordering his galleys to break through a blockade of ships at the mouth of Limassol harbor and then storming ashore on foot.  Another version claims he landed on a beach beyond Limassol harbor against opposition, and then took Limassol from landward. Either action (and the later appears the most likely) was extremely risky.

Indeed, an amphibious operation from small ships and boats against a defended shore is one of the most dangerous in warfare. Period. Think of the beaches of Normandy — and Gallipoli. Unlike the Allies on D-Day in WWII, Richard did not have protective fire from big battle ships hammering the shore with shells. Instead, Richard had to rely upon covering fire from cross-bow men kneeling or sitting on boats bobbing up and down in the waves — not a good platform for accurate fire with any kind of small arm, let alone a bow and arrow! The enemy archers, in contrast, would have been firing their bows from solid earth. Furthermore, as Richard and his men approached the shore, he had to jump overboard into the sucking surf not in combat boots but chainmail leggings. He then had to fight his way up the rolling stones of the beach in the face of both enemy fire and attacks. To put it simply: the fact that Richard pulled this off is remarkable and unquestionably heroic.

He was helped, however, by the fact that his opponent was highly unpopular with his own subjects and relying primarily upon mercenaries. 

Cyprus, an integral part of the early Byzantine Empire, had become a target for expanding Islam in the mid-7^th century. Although it was not conquered and incorporated into the Muslim world, it was partially occupied, frequently raided, and forced to pay tribute to various Muslim overlords until 965, when Constantinople re-established control of the island. The three hundred years of turmoil had made it poor, and it remained a Byzantine back-water until the establishment of the crusader states following the First Crusade. Thereafter, Cyprus benefitted from the flood of Western pilgrims heading to the Holy Land, and prospered from trade with the booming cities of the Levant. In 1126, the Venetians obtained trading concessions on the island, and contributed to its commercial revival. After the death of Manuel I Comnenus, however, Constantinople drifted into chaos as first his son was murdered and then his son’s murderer was torn to pieces by a mob. Constantinople was too pre-occupied with this succession crisis to pay any attention to Cyprus, and into the vacuum stepped Isaac Comnenus. 

A Portrait of Isaac's Great Uncle Manuel I

Isaac, a member of the Imperial family (a great-nephew of Emperor Manuel I), who had previously been governor of Byzantine Cilicia, arrived on Cyprus in 1182 or 1183, claiming to have been appointed governor.  Some sources claim his letters of appointment were forged, but it is also possible he was indeed legitimately appointed by Manuel I’s son Alexus II or the latter’s mother and regent, Maria of Antioch. In any case, when Alexis II and Maria of Antioch were murdered and Andronicus Comnenus became Emperor in Constantinople, Isaac rebelled against Andronicus. He thereafter claimed Cyprus as his personal domain. Andronicus didn’t take this sitting down. He prepared a fleet to reclaim the island for Cyprus. Isaac responded by forging an alliance with Sicily, which sent a fleet. In a naval engagement, the Sicilians fighting for Isaac defeated the Byzantine fleet. By the time Richard of England arrived in 1191, Isaac had been in effective control of Cyprus for roughly 8 years. In that short space of time, however, he had so ruthlessly exploited, taxed and terrorized his subjects that they did not want to fight — much less die — for him. Lack of morale on the part of Isaac’s forces enabled Richard to successfully land his forces.

Nevertheless, although Richard had taken the beach and then the city of Limasol, Isaac Comnenus still had his army largely intact. He had simply withdrawn with the bulk of his troops farther inland. This situation was obviously precarious, and Richard knew he had to eliminate this latent threat. So he off-loaded some of his warhorses, exercised them through the night so they could get back their land-legs, and then attacked Isaac Comnenus’ army at dawn the next day. The location is sometimes identified as Kolossi, the later site of a lovely Hospitaller commandery.

The Hospitaller Commandery at Kolossi as it looks today. (Photo by the author)

Richard’s early morning attack allegedly caused panic among the self-styled Emperor’s forces. Isaac Comnenus took flight again, and Richard’s men overran the enemy camp, capturing huge quantities of booty without casualties.  As at the earlier engagement, the self-styled “Emperor” had little support among the population or his mercenaries.  

Richard returned to Limassol and on May 12. Lent now being over, he married Berengaria and had her crowded Queen of England. The exact location is unknown, and several churches in Limassol claim the honor.

These churches for the Hospital (left) and Temple (right) were build much later but incorporate many features typical of church architecture on the island. (Photo by the author)

At this point, Richard was still in a hurry to get to the Kingdom of Jerusalem. The crusader kingdom was in desperate straits, having been reduced to the city of Tyre after the defeat at Hattin.  Richard had taken the cross three and a half years earlier, and all sources attest to his burning and sincere desire to recapture Jerusalem from the Saracens. That it had taken him so long to get this far was more a function of prudent preparation and bitter politics than to lack of ardor. The urgency to continue now, however, was increased by the fact that his hated rival, Philip II of France, had already joined the Christian siege of Muslim-held Acre with his large contingent of troops.  Richard had every reason to expect these massive reinforcements of the Christian army would tip the scales and lead to the capture of Acre; Richard had no desire to see Philip take all the glory for a victory of this magnitude.

As a result, Richard accepted Isaac Comnenus’ surrender on comparatively mild terms. He made no claim to Cyprus at this point. He simply demanded reparations from Isaac’s treasury (a welcome infusion of cash to Richard’s war chest so he could finance his crusade for Jerusalem) and, significantly, 100 knights, 500 light cavalry, and 500 foot soldiers for the crusade as well. Isaac was to accompany Richard on the crusade, surrender his only child as a hostage of his good will, and place his castles under the control of Richard’s lieutenants.

The Castle of Kantara, Cyprus (Photo by the author)

The terms were undoubtedly humiliating for a self-styled “emperor,” but they were a far cry from “unconditional surrender.” Nor did they constitute the conquest or confiscation of the island.  Instead, they were clearly intended to bolster Richard’s ability to re-capture Jerusalem. Richard had not lost sight of his primary goal, and had Isaac complied with the terms of the agreement the last crusader kingdom might never have come into being.

But Isaac Comnenus reneged.  That same night he fled inland. On the sharp and narrow ridge that ran roughly east-west like a backbone through the island stood three impregnable castles. These offered refuge and defiance. Isaac was clearly not about to become a crusader. He was banking instead upon Richard being in too much of a hurry to get to Acre to come after him.  

The Ruins of St. Hilarion Castle, Cyprus (Photo by the author)

Richard had to choose between letting him get away with this treachery and hurrying to join the siege of Acre, or trying to take control of the entire island by force. Up to now, Richard had responded to unexpected developments, taking advantage of a situation that presented itself to him. What followed was far more calculating. Read more next week.

Richard is a character in the third book of the Jerusalem Trilogy:

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Ardent Crusader and Relucant King: Henri de Champagne

Henri of Champagne was one of the most ardent French crusaders to join the Third Crusade. His eagerness to take part in the crusade brought him to the Holy Land well ahead of either of his uncles, the Kings of France and England respectively. Despite his youth, his royal connections assured him a prominent role. Just how prominent, he never dreamed.
  

Henri was born in the County of Champagne on July 29, 1166. He was the eldest son of the Count of Champagne and his wife, Princess Marie of France. Marie was the daughter of King Louis VII of France by his first wife, Eleanor, Duchess of Aquitaine. His father's sister Adela followed Eleanor as wife of Louis VII and became Queen of France, while his younger brother Theobald married Eleanor of Aquitaine and Louis VII’s other daughter Alix. In short, young Henri was very "well connected" to the French royal house, and through his grandmother to the Plantagenets as well.

In 1181, his father died and Henri became titular Count of Champagne, but his mother retained control of the County until he turned 21 in 1187.  Hardly had he assumed his inheritance than word reached France that Jerusalem had fallen to the Saracens after the disastrous battle at Hattin. Almost immediately, Henri’s maternal uncle, Richard Count of Poitou (later King of England) took the cross, vowing to restore Jerusalem to Christian rule. He was followed by a wave of other knights and nobles, including (reluctantly) Henri’s paternal uncle, Philip II of France.  Henri was not left cold by this crusading fever. Indeed, he appears to have been one of the most fervent crusaders of the entire campaign, incurring huge debts to finance a large contingent of knights and men-at-arms, paying for their transport, and setting out for the Holy Land more than a year before either of his uncles.

Before departing, however, the young, unmarried count made careful provisions for his inheritance. He designated his mother as his regent and his still underage younger brother Theobald as his heir. His vassals duly swore to recognize Theobald as Count of Champagne, if Henri failed to return from the crusade. This was a wise precaution as an estimated one third of all noble crusaders were either killed outright or fell victim to disease and illness while on crusade. What no one envisaged at this time was that Henri might “fail to return” without actually being dead….

Henri arrived in the Holy Land in the summer of 1190 and at once joined the Frankish siege of the Saracen-held city of Acre. His close ties to the French royal house immediately made him a leading commander, despite his youth (he was just 24) and inexperience. Henri was also related to Conrad de Montferrat, and ― anticipating his uncle Philip II ― gave his support to Montferrat in his rivalry with the discredited Guy de Lusignan (the architect of Frankish defeat at Hattin). According to some accounts, he played a role in securing Isabella of Jerusalem’s divorce from Humphrey of Toron thereby  paving the way for her marriage to Conrad de Montferrat. Arab sources record that he was wounded in November 1190 during one of the many skirmishes during the siege of Acre.

After the arrival of his uncles, the kings of France and England, Henri initially managed to retain the favor of both, but he appears to have been genuinely outraged (as were most of the French nobles) by Philip II of France’s abrupt departure after the fall of Acre in July 1191. Henri remained in the Holy Land, true to his crusading vow, and when he ran low on funds to pay his troops, he turned to his uncle, the King of England. Richard readily advanced him sufficient funds to retain his contingent in the field, and thereby secured the gratitude and loyalty of the Count of Champagne. 

In April 1192, Richard I of England received news that his brother John had allied himself with the Philip II of France and that they were attempting to take his inheritance from him. Recognizing he could not remain much longer in the Holy Land, Richard asked the barons of Jerusalem to select between the rivals, Guy de Lusignan and Conrad de Montferrat, their king. The High Court of Jerusalem chose Conrad de Montferrat, and the King of England bowed to their will. Richard chose his nephew Henri to go to Tyre to assure Conrad that he, Richard Plantagenet, had at last abandoned his protégé Lusignan and was willing to recognize Conrad as King of Jerusalem.

The message delivered, Henri began the journey back to rejoin the crusading army at Ascalon. He had only got as far as Acre, however,  when the news overtook him that Conrad had been stabbed to death by two assassins. Henri at once returned to Tyre, probably to verify a story that seemed incredible under the circumstances. In Tyre, Henri discovered that the news was correct: Conrad de Montferrat had been stabbed to death, the newly elected King of Jerusalem was dead.

One version of what happened next has captured the popular imagination and been repeated uncritically in almost every history and novel ever since. This account claims that on the arrival of Henri in Tyre “the people” welcomed him with jubilation and proclaimed him king. This is utter nonsense. Kings were not elected by “popular acclaim” in the Kingdom of Jerusalem. The High Court, composed of the most important barons and bishops of the realm, did. The Lyon Continuation of William of Tyre, which is based in large part on a lost chronicle written in Outremer (rather than the West), explicitly states that “on the advice of the barons of the Kingdom of Jerusalem,” Richard nominated his nephew Henri de Champagne as the next king. 

We can only speculate on the exact course of events by trying to reconcile the two divergent but parallel accounts. First, it is obvious that the barons of Jerusalem were in an extremely difficult situation. They refused to follow Guy de Lusignan, Richard of England was preparing to depart, and their chosen king was dead. The queen through whom the crown was derived, however, was still alive, albeit a pregnant widow. Thus it was imperative to marry her to nobleman capable of defending the kingdom in its perilous state. Looking around for a suitable candidate, the eyes of those barons who had traveled to Tyre with the news of Conrad’s election would have fallen on Henri de Champagne. There is no way of knowing if they would have chosen someone else if he had not been so conveniently on the scene, but as the nephew to the kings of England and France he was certainly a diplomatic choice. He had also been campaigning in Holy Land for more than 18 months at this point; apparently he had won sufficient respect, despite his youth, to appear a viable candidate from a military point of view as well.

Either the barons took their suggestion first to Richard of England, or (as the Itinerarium Peregrinorum et Gesta Regis Ricardi suggests) they approached Henri directly and he deferred to his uncle. Either way, medieval chronicles agree that Henri de Champagne was initially reluctant to accept the crown. It had clearly come to him completely unexpectedly, and acceptance meant he would not be able to return to his home. The Kingdom itself existed more in people’s hearts and minds than in reality. It was threatened on all sides by the armies of Saladin. The crusading force that had managed to regain the coastline was already disintegrating (the French refused to take orders from the King of England and the King of England had already announced his intention to return home.) Worst of all, however, the throne of Jerusalem came with a serious catch: Henri could only become King of Jerusalem if he married Queen Isabella, Conrad’s widow. What was more: she was already pregnant by Conrad; if she bore a son, Henri would eventually have to surrender his crown to Conrad’s posthumous son rather than see his own offspring on the throne. It did not sound like a very good proposition to the young Count of Champagne.
 

According to the chronicles, one of two things changed Henri’s mind. According to the Lyon Continuation of William of Tyre, Richard Plantagenet promised to return with a new crusading army and restore the Kingdom of Jerusalem to its former glory as well as conquer Constantinople (hindsight after the Fourth Crusade???) and give Cyprus to Henri too (some Richard had already given to Guy de Lusignan). According to the Itinerarium, on the other hand, Isabella of Jerusalem paid a visit to Henri and persuaded him to marry her by her grace and beauty. Perhaps there is a grain of truth in both accounts (Richard promised to return and Isabella convinced Henri that being married to her would not be all bad). In any case, Henri married Isabella eight days after she had been so unexpectedly widowed, on May 5, 1192.

With and by his marriage, Henry of Champagne became titular King of Jerusalem.  Henry's reign is the subject of a separate entry which will be posted on December 30.

Henry de Champagne is a significant character in “Envoy of Jerusalem,” where his relationship to Isabella is developed and examined.

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Clash of Culture and Character: Richard the Lionheart vs. Balian d'Ibelin

Richard Plantagenet, King of England 1189 – 1199, known as Richard the Lionheart(ed), was a charismatic king in life and literature. He was also a contemporary and, at times, an opponent of Balian d’Ibelin, the hero of my Jerusalem Trilogy. The reasons for their initial conflict were both political and personal, yet in the end they found common ground, developed mutual respect, and Ibelin became Richard’s envoy to Saladin. The shift from confrontation to cooperation reveals a great deal about and reflects well on Richard, as he was the one who moved most, but the clash also tells us a great deal about Ibelin and the crusader states themselves.

The differences between the Ibelin and Richard Plantagenet started at birth. Richard was born to power, wealth, influence and title. The second son of two of the most powerful rulers in Christendom, he was already invested with one of the richest duchies in the West by the age of 13. He rebelled against his father at 15 and for the next 17 years he was almost continuously at war ― against his father, his brother, his vassals, and/or his would-be brother-in-law. He was viewed by the Church as excessively proud, greedy and sexual.

Ibelin in contrast was a younger son of a comparatively insignificant “rear vassal” (i.e. not a crown vassal, but a vassal to the Count of Jaffa). In other words, he was born into a position of subordination to his father/elder brother, who in turn were subordinate to both the Count of Jaffa and the crown. Although he is known to have fought at the Battle of Montgisard, he did so as a bachelor knight, not as a commander, and probably did not command troops before the age of 30. There is no reason to think that he was particularly ambitious much less proud or greedy. On the contrary, Ibelin had a reputation for piety and compassion, as evidenced by his willingness to stand surety for the ransoms of the poor during the negotiations for the surrender of Jerusalem. Despite the slander of chroniclers writing decades after his death, the historical record is rather of a man who was self-effacing and comparatively humble.

Richard the Lionheart by Henry Justice Ford

We also know that Richard was flamboyant and showy. He liked being the center of attention ― especially on the battlefield. Richard was at the front in any attack and excelled in action. Ibelin on the other hand appears to have been a competent military leader, but not a dramatic one. His greatest military achievements were holding together the rear-guard at Hattin and, more important, the organization of women, priests and other non-combatants into a force capable of holding off assaults by the victorious army of Saladin at Jerusalem. These were defensive battles, and Ibelin organized them, but did not engage in the kind of glamorous heroics for which Richard was famous.

Yet despite these clear differences in temperament and personality, what most set Richard and Ibelin apart was that Richard was a crusader, while Ibelin was a native of Outremer. This determined their initial attitudes and positions at the start of the Third Crusade. Richard arrived in the Holy Land determined to regain Jerusalem ― and consciously or unconsciously convinced that the men of Outremer had lost it either through their sins or their incompetence. Richard, like other crusaders from the West, were quick to see the natives of Outremer as decadent and compromised. Ibelin, naturally, placed the blame for the catastrophe on its architect, Guy de Lusignan, not the entire nobility and population of Outremer. Furthermore, Ibelin was more familiar with the enemy, their tactics, ideology, strengths and weaknesses.

Ibelin had negotiated the surrender of Jerusalem to Saladin: Here the Hollywood version

To Richard’s credit, he appears to have learned about his opponents very rapidly, yet Richard's support for Guy de Lusignan was utterly unacceptable to Ibelin (and the other barons of Outremer). It was Richard’s insistence that Guy de Lusignan was a legitimate king with the right to again control the fate of the Kingdom of Jerusalem that made it impossible for Ibelin and Richard to see eye-to-eye. Ibelin recognized Conrad de Montferrat at the rightful king of Jerusalem by right of his wife, Ibelin’s step-daughter Isabella of Jerusalem. Because of this, he was willing to act as Montferrat’s envoy to Saladin in the fall of 1191, which put him in direct conflict with Richard. Montferrat was willing to cut a deal with Saladin not only behind Richard’s back but effectively against Richard.  Saladin called Montferrat’s bluff, and broke off the negotiations with him, but the fact that Ibelin had represented Montferrat in some of these negotiations naturally made him seem a traitor to Richard, at least in the eyes of some of his followers and later chroniclers.

Yet less than a year after his arrival in the Holy Land, Richard was forced to withdraw his support for Lusignan and accept Montferrat as king. It is highly significant that in the tug-of-war over who should be king of Jerusalem it was the highly successful and charismatic Plantagenet that ultimately gave way to the largely humiliated and discredited barons of Jerusalem -- led by Ibelin. Ibelin himself, of course, had not been discredited or humiliated in the same way or to the same extent as his colleagues; he had not been taken captive at Hattin. Yet, he certainly had not delivered the kind of victories that Richard the Lionheart had from the conquest of Cyprus to the capture of Acre and the Battle of Arsuf. 

This says a great deal about the self-confidence and independence of the barons of Outremer -- or at least about Ibelin himself. Apparently, Ibelin was prepared to face the powerful Plantagenet down, risk  his displeasure, and even his withdrawal from the fight for Jerusalem. Ibelin's stance here foreshadows the attitude of his eldest son, who would face down the might of the Holy Roman Empire and lead a baronial revolt against the autocracy of Friedrich II.

 

Yet it is also to Richard’s credit that he did not insist on his royal prerogatives. Indeed, his willingness to abandon his protege Lusignan belies attempts to portray him as stupid or excessively proud. The fact that he both recognized his mistake and was willing to reverse his policy are evidence that Richard was more concerned about solutions than personal pride. He was capable not only of compromise but of backing down publicly and completely. 

How well he would have worked together with the equally flamboyant and prickly Montferrat is another question.  Fortunately, Montferrat soon fell victim to an assassination. The selection of Richard’s nephew Henri de Champagne to replace Montferrat made it even easier for Richard to jettison Lusignan and work closely with the now reconciled High Court of Jerusalem ― headed by Ibelin.

After Champagne’s election as King of Jerusalem, Ibelin supported Richard’s crusade. He is specifically named as commanding (again) the rear-guard of the army sent to the relief of Jaffa, after Richard went by ship to stiffen the resistance of the garrison. He is also the first and foremost of the emissaries Richard sent to Saladin to negotiate a truce that would enable Richard to return home to his threatened inheritance. Obviously, this had in part to do with the fact that Ibelin had distinguished himself in negotiations with Saladin before, notably at Jerusalem. Nevertheless, no man selects an envoy he does not trust and respect. It is therefore safe to say that in the almost exactly 16 months Richard the Lionheart spent in the Holy Land, he had come to appreciate, respect, and possibly even like the so very different Baron of Ibelin. I think it is fair to assume that Ibelin’s attitude toward the Plantagenet also underwent a sea change in this same period.

The change in relationship between Richard of England and Balian d’Ibelin is a central dynamic in the last book in my Jerusalem Trilogy, “Envoy of Jerusalem.”

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