Women in the crusader states exercised significant political power. They did so first and foremost due to their legal status as feudal lords. This power was direct in the case of heiresses who held land and titles in their own right or delegated in the case of consorts acting on behalf of absent or incapacitated husbands or mothers acting on behalf of minor heirs. In addition, women also enjoyed a high degree of indirect power in their capacity as consorts or dowagers of living and politically active feudal lords. Yet not all influence was derived from feudal law. Women in Outremer also acted as intermediaries with the enemy, sometimes positively as envoys and sometimes negatively as spies. Finally, in the crusader era, women still enjoyed a notable degree of independence, respect and influence as churchwomen. These different types of power are examined below by providing prominent examples from the historical record.
Arguably no woman had more influence on the image and status of women in the crusader states than the first reigning queen of Jerusalem, Melisende. While her father opened the door for her by designating her as his heir, a different woman might have squandered this opportunity to exercise power or failed to set a precedent of female competence in a traditionally male role. Melisende neither neglected nor misused her rare opportunity.
As we have seen from the narrative description of Melisende’s reign, her authority was almost immediately challenged by her older and politically more experienced husband, Fulk d’Anjou. At her father’s death, Fulk stopped including her in his charters, ignored her advice and opinions and generally disregarded her status as co-monarch; i.e., he attempted to rule on his own. It is unclear if Melisende and the High Court would have tolerated this situation indefinitely if Fulk had not, in the third year of their joint reign, also sought to discredit his wife by accusing her of an affair with her cousin, Hugh of Jaffa, one of the most powerful of the local barons. The king’s motives are unknown, although historians speculate that Fulk favoured Angevin lords over the local barons and possibly sought to install a son from his first marriage as his heir, thereby disinheriting his son by Melisende, Baldwin III.
Whatever his intentions, the attack on Melisende’s honour, or the threat to her son, provoked a vigorous response. Rather than becoming a victim of her husband’s intrigue and disappearing from history, Melisende rallied baronial and clerical support. Even when her chief supporter, the Count of Jaffa, made the tactical blunder of forming an alliance with the Saracens, Melisende’s position was not weakened. The High Court found Jaffa guilty of treason yet sentenced him only to three years of exile, possibly in recognition of the extenuating circumstances that had driven him into that alliance – i.e., the king’s actions. Hugh’s assassination before he could leave the kingdom provoked even greater outrage from local elites who assumed the king was behind the murder.
Fulk had hopelessly overplayed his hand. The contemporary chroniclers, most notably William of Tyre, report that henceforth, Fulk recognised he must scrupulously respect Melisende’s rights as hereditary queen – or risk losing his crown. Yet we know nothing about how Melisende brought about this change of attitude or how she managed to rally nearly unanimous support among her powerful subjects in her confrontation with her spouse.
Equally intriguing, Melisende did not seek revenge or humiliation for her consort after her victory. Having re-established her position as co-monarch, Melisende showed herself as gracious. Not only were Fulk and Melisende reconciled enough to have a second son, but they became an extremely effective team who divided the responsibilities of ruling between them. Erin Jordan, writing in the Royal Studies Journal, notes that:
‘Gender norms that divided the various duties associated with ruling, reserving military action for men, were not detrimental to female participation in government. The frequent and extended absences of the king from the royal court in Jerusalem which resulted from his preoccupation with military activity could easily have strained the administration of domestic affairs … [Instead] the constant presence of the queen at court curbed any such disruption in the routine governing’.53
Presumably, Melisende’s competence in dealing with the kingdom’s internal affairs won her the enduring respect of her subjects, or at least the more sober and responsible of them. Indeed, her reputation spread all the way to France, where none other than the renowned abbot, St Bernard of Clairvaux – by far the most influential cleric of the age – received favourable reports about Melisende’s wisdom and judgement from the Knights Templar. It is worth pausing to reflect on that: The Knights Templar, a militant monastic order that forbade all contact between its members and females, reported favourably to the founder of the Cistercian Order about a woman’s rule. This prompted St Bernard to address himself to Melisende directly, saying he had learned that:
‘You are behaving peacefully and kindly; that you are ruling yourself and the kingdom wisely with the advice of wise men; that you love the Brothers of the Temple and are on friendly terms with them; and that, according to the wisdom given you by God, you are providently and wisely meeting the dangers which threaten the Holy Land with sound counsels and help’.54
St Bernard, although a reformer, is generally viewed as a conservative. Yet here he demonstratively indicated no discomfort with a woman exercising supreme executive secular power over the kingdom with responsibility for, as he stressed, the protection of the most sacred sites in all of Christendom.
Another influential cleric, William Archbishop of Tyre, was equally laudatory of Melisende’s rule. Tyre was later chancellor of the kingdom and is the principal source for Melisende’s clashes with her husband Fulk and her eldest son Baldwin III. In both instances, Tyre sides with Melisende against her male co-monarchs. This is particularly important in the case of Baldwin III, whom Tyre otherwise depicts as an exemplary king. Indeed, Tyre casts Baldwin’s conflict with his mother almost as an immature youth briefly led astray by bad company. He writes:
‘Melisende, the king’s mother, was a woman of great wisdom who had much experience in all kinds of secular matters. … As long as her son was willing to be ruled by her wise counsel, the people enjoyed a highly desirable state of tranquillity, and the affairs of the realm prospered. But the more frivolous elements in the kingdom soon found the queen’s wise influence hindered their attempts to draw the king into their own pursuits’.55
Such an interpretation of events, despite the grave risks to the kingdom brought about by Baldwin briefly tearing the kingdom in two and laying siege to his mother in the Tower of David, is possible because, again, there was no permanent breach between the co-monarchs. Instead, Melisende managed a rapprochement even after her humiliating defeat. Far from disappearing into a convent or obscurity, Melisende remained active in the Kingdom of Jerusalem long after her son had violently asserted his right to a more dominant role. As had been the case with Fulk, the more engaged Baldwin III became in military affairs, the more Melisende exerted her leading role in internal policy. This included important negotiations with the Pisans concerning their rights in Tyre, issuing charters, settling disputes, dispensing patronage, conducting marriage negotiations (notably with the Byzantine Emperor), and, most strikingly, dispatching royal troops to attack a Muslim-controlled fortress on the Jordon River. All this was done by Melisende after her short but forceful clash with Baldwin III. Furthermore, these are not nominal acts; they represent the very essence of royal power.
In short, after her victory over Fulk and her defeat at the hands of her son, Melisende understood how to re-establish amicable relations with her co-monarch to such a degree that she remained in possession of real political power. Furthermore, she exercised that authority so effectively that she retained the loyalty of her subjects and the respect of contemporary, clerical commentators. At her death, William of Tyre reflected on her reign as follows:
‘Queen Melisende, a woman of unusual wisdom and discretion, fell ill of an incurable disease for which there was no help except death. … For thirty years and more, during the lifetime of her husband as well as afterwards in the reign of her son, Melisende had governed the kingdom with strength surpassing that of most women. Her rule had been wise and judicious’.56
No such praise can be found for the next ruling queen, Sibylla. Yet while Sibylla was anything but wise or judicious, she undoubtedly – if inconsistently – exercised the full powers of her office. After being widowed very young in 1177, she chose her next husband without the consent of the High Court and clung to him despite dramatic efforts by her brother, King Baldwin IV, and the High Court to pressure her into a divorce. More spectacularly still, she cajoled a minority of the bishops and barons into crowning her without the consent of the full High Court. In other words, she usurped the throne. Significantly, this minority faction was only prepared to back Sibylla’s usurpation if she set aside her unpopular husband, Guy de Lusignan. Sibylla agreed to comply, setting one condition of her own: that she choose her next husband. No sooner was she crowned, however, than she declared that her next husband was the same as her last husband, namely Guy de Lusignan. When the patriarch of Jerusalem, until this point, one of her staunch supporters, balked at crowning Guy, Sibylla, in a dramatic demonstration of regal power, crowned Guy herself.
There was no precedent in Jerusalem for monarchs crowning monarchs. In fact, it was not recognised anywhere in the world at this time as a legitimate procedure. In short, Guy’s coronation not only followed a usurpation, it was itself fraudulent. Yet, curiously, once it was done, it was widely accepted. To be sure, a majority of the High Court sought to counter Sibylla’s coup by crowning Sibylla’s younger sister Isabella as the legitimate monarch. However, as described earlier, the High Court lost heart and accepted Sibylla’s fait accompli when Isabella’s weak husband rushed to do homage to Sibylla and Guy. Only two barons (Tripoli and Ramla) refused homage because they did not recognise Sibylla’s legitimacy. In other words, Sibylla got away with snatching a crown for herself in violation of the laws and customs of the kingdom and with imposing her candidate for king upon her subjects as well – despite near universal opposition to him as an individual. Those are not the actions of a chattel or pawn; they demonstrate just how powerful Queen Sibylla of Jerusalem was.
The power of heiresses was not confined to the ruling queens. Baronial heiresses in the crusader kingdoms also demonstrated their independence and power, as the case of Isabella of Beirut demonstrates. Isabella d’Ibelin succeeded to the barony of Beirut in 1264 on the death of her father, John II d’Ibelin of Beirut. She was 12 years old.
Before focusing on her exercise of power, it is useful to remember the context in which she lived. When she came into her inheritance, the titular king of Jerusalem was the 12-year-old grandson of Frederick II, a youth who, like his father, had never set foot in the kingdom. The Mongols, on the other hand, had captured Baghdad, Aleppo and Damascus, before being defeated by the Mamluks at the battle of Ain Jalut in 1260. The following year, in 1261, the Latins lost control of Constantinople. Before Isabella had held her fief a full year, the Mamluks had taken Caesarea, Haifa and Arsuf, cutting the Kingdom of Jerusalem in half. Two years after she succeeded to her fief, the Mamluks had overrun Galilee and expelled the Templars from the fortress of Safed. In short, Isabella came of age in an environment in which the enemies of the crusader states were gathering at the gates.
Isabella was betrothed to King Hugh II of Cyprus shortly after coming into her estate. Although he was a prince roughly her own age, he was dead two years later. Rather than becoming queen consort of Cyprus, Isabella remained the ‘lady’ – that is, the feudal lord of Beirut.
On 9 May 1269, at 16 years, Isabella made the dramatic decision to conclude a separate truce with the Mamluk Sultan Baybars. She may have been reviving or continuing the policy of her father, John of Beirut II, who had also dabbled with separate truces in 1263. However, in Isabella’s case, the truce was for an entire decade. Meanwhile, the last of the Hohenstaufen kings had been executed by Charles d’Anjou, and there were two rival claimants to the crown of Jerusalem. Neither seemed interested in Beirut, so Isabella continued to rule unimpeded and, surprisingly, unmarried.
It was not until 1272, when Isabella was already 20, that she married a second time. Her husband was not imposed on her by her feudal overlord, the king. Instead, she married an English Marcher Lord known only in the records of Outremer as Haymo Letrange (i.e., the stranger). Within a year, he was dead, leaving Isabella a widow again with neither an heir nor a husband to fulfil the military obligations of her fief.
Yet it was not until 1277, when Isabella was 25, that Hugh III of Cyprus appears to have remembered her. He tardily decided to enforce his rights as her feudal overlord by demanding her marriage in accordance with the customs of the kingdom. He forced her to accompany him to Cyprus, but Isabella was not cowed. She demanded a judgement of the High Court, and, significantly, this was granted her. She defended herself with the extraordinary argument that the terms of her truce with Sultan Baybars made him, rather than Hugh, her feudal overlord. In a dramatic decision about which we know far too little, the High Court sided with Isabella. The High Court of Cyprus officially recognised a Mamluk sultan rather than a Christian king as the overlord of Beirut, thereby denying Hugh the right to insist upon Isabella’s marriage.
Thereafter, Isabella enjoyed an escort of Mamluks to protect her from further interference from Hugh III. She returned to Beirut and promptly married the titular lord of Caesarea. Unfortunately for her, he was a hothead engaged in a feud with the Ibelins. After assassinating one of the many John d’Ibelins living at this time, he was murdered in revenge by the brother of the man he had killed. The latter happened to be the Constable of Cyprus, which (rightly or not) put him at an advantage before the law. His vengeance-killing was neither condemned nor punished.
Meanwhile, Isabella was once again a widow. She married one last time to William Barlais and died childless of unknown causes in 1282. She was succeeded as Lady of Beirut by her sister Eschiva d’Ibelin.
Although the historical record focuses unsurprisingly on Isabella’s dramatic and successful plea before the High Court that resulted in recognition of a Muslim sultan rather than a Christian king as her overlord, the untold story behind that dramatic event is that of a woman who ruled her barony independently for the greater part of the eighteen years she held the fief. In those years, she did more than fend off unwanted marriages and conclude a separate truce with the archenemy. She also conducted all the barony’s routine domestic business, from granting charters and extending patronage to sitting in judgement in the baronial court, commanding the garrison and overseeing the baronial exchequer.
Turning to the second kind of female power, that derived from a woman’s spouse or children, the most spectacular example in the history of the crusader states was arguably that of Alice of Antioch, the second daughter of Baldwin II and his Armenian wife, Morphia. Alice was born c.1110. In 1126, at age 16, she married the Prince of Antioch, Bohemond II. She was given the coastal lordships of Latakia and Jabala as her dowery and dower. Only four years later, when Alice was roughly 20 years old, Bohemond II was killed, leaving her a widow with a 2-year-old infant daughter, Constance. As Constance was the heiress to the principality, Alice was free from the duty to remarry. Since Constance was still so small, however, the ever-vulnerable principality needed a regent capable of leading the feudal armies until Constant came of age or married.
Despite Alice’s youth, as a princess of Jerusalem and mother of the heiress, there was nothing inherently absurd about Alice assuming the regency of Antioch for Constance until her marriage. Instead, Alice was shunted aside, first by her father, Baldwin II, and then by her brother-in-law, Fulk d’Anjou. The conventional explanation is that Alice, unlike her elder sister Queen Melisende, had a bad and untrustworthy character.
Historian Thomas Asbridge has convincingly challenged this popular narrative.57 Asbridge suggests that, at the time of Bohemond’s death, the High Court of Antioch was not as united in its opposition to Alice as is usually assumed. He notes that several key figures, such as the patriarch and the constable of the kingdom, appear to have sided with Alice. The majority, however, were less interested in legal technicalities and more concerned with effective government and defence. The 20-year-old Alice might have been the logical and legal regent, but she could not lead armies.
For the majority of Antioch’s feudal elite, rule by a young woman while trusting in a truce with a notoriously treacherous enemy appeared a risky option compared to rule by a strong military leader such as Baldwin II. The latter was familiar and tested, which made him trusted as well. The majority faction, favouring a strong military leader, sent to Baldwin II requesting that he resume the regency he had ably held during the minority and absence of the late Bohemond II.
Baldwin II responded promptly to the appeal of the Antiochene nobility, riding north personally to see to affairs in the principality. Although Alice initially ordered the city gates closed against him, she did not resort to force. When supporters of the king inside the city opened the gates to him, she was persuaded to submit to him peaceably. According to Tyre, Baldwin II was initially ‘indignant’ with his daughter, yet he does not appear to have found her conduct outrageous. He advised her to retire to her generous and prosperous dower lands, the coastal lordships of Latakia and Jabala, which does not suggest he viewed his second daughter as fundamentally evil, irresponsible or dangerous.
Two years later, however, Baldwin II died and was succeeded by Fulk d’Anjou. Asbridge suggests this opened a welcome opportunity for the Counts of Tripoli and Edessa to assert greater autonomy from Jerusalem. The two counts, however, needed support from Antioch, which geographically separated them and formed the largest of the three crusader states outside the Kingdom of Jerusalem. United the three northern crusader states stood a fair chance of ending their de facto – albeit not de jure – subservience to the kings of Jerusalem.
Alice joined forces with Tripoli and Edessa, and Tyre acknowledged that she had the support of many Antiochene nobles in doing so. Other historians suggest that growing dissatisfaction with Fulk’s rule enabled Alice to become a focal point for subjects opposed to the increasingly unpopular Angevin. Thus, Alice’s court at Latakia attracted, in addition to Tripoli and Edessa, the rebels Hugh of Jaffa and Ralph of Fantanelle from Jerusalem. There is no evidence, however, that she was the ringleader of the rebels or that she induced them to rebel against their better judgement. On the contrary, the disaffected lords and autonomous counts may have exploited her youth and inexperience for their purposes. Certainly, her actions at this point were in no way indicative of plans to disinherit her daughter. The most that can be said with certainty was that she was a 22-year-old princess eager to control her destiny.
Unfortunately for Alice, Tripoli was defeated in the field by Fulk, weakening her coalition significantly. At the same time, Fulk, with the help of the feudal army of Antioch, defeated a Muslim threat lead by the sultan of Aleppo. This later event swayed public opinion in Antioch back in Fulk’s favour. Yet, Alice continued to build her power base on the coast. There, she established a princely administration complete with chanceries, constables and other household officials – and steadfastly styled herself as the Princess of Antioch.
In the autumn of 1135, five years after the death of her husband, she rode back into Antioch and assumed the role of regent without protest on the part of the High Court, the Church or the population. Significantly, this occurred after Fulk’s attempt to sideline Melisende had failed. It is hard to imagine that Alice’s move in 1135 was not coordinated and approved by her sister Queen Melisende in advance. It appears that Melisende, now firmly back in the saddle, told her husband not to interfere in her sister’s affairs, and Fulk obeyed.
Yet envoys had already been sent to Poitiers to seek a consort for Constance. In 1136, Raymond of Poitiers arrived in Antioch. As before, nobles and commons preferred a prince who could actively fight for them over a woman who could not. The fact that Antioch had suffered several military setbacks at their neighbours’ hands in the six years since Bohemond II’s death would have weighed heavily against Alice. Losses included Tausus, Adana and Mamistra to the Armenian king between February 1132 and January 1133 and four other cities to Zengi in 1135. Thus, although Constance was only 8 years old and below the age of consent, she was married to Raymond of Poitiers, and he assumed the title of Prince of Antioch (by right of his wife).
Stripped of Tyre’s pejorative assessment, Alice’s actions hardly seem particularly ill-advised or selfish, much less evil. That she failed to assert her position had less to do with her sex per se than the fact that, for whatever reasons, she scorned a second marriage. Had she married a man capable of leading Antioch’s feudal host, she could almost certainly have replicated her sister’s successful model of corporate rule. Alice’s husband could have fulfilled the military duties of the regency while Alice herself held power internally until her daughter Constance came of age and married. Alice’s regency was always bound to be temporary, but she might have enjoyed more power longer had she been willing to share it with a fighting man who satisfied the demands of the Antiochene feudal elite for a militarily capable leader.
In 1144, Sultan Zengi captured the city of Edessa when the count and his family were absent. Zengi carried out a notoriously brutal slaughter of the population, including torturing prisoners, in violation of Sharia Law. He also sent a letter to Count Joscelyn bragging about his brutality, particularly the desecration of churches, the humiliation of women of all ages and classes and the mercilessness of his troops. This provoked a response that led to Joscelyn II being taken captive and Zengi conquering the lion’s share of the county.
Left behind was Joscelyn’s countess and soon-to-be widow, Beatrice, and three small children, two daughters and a son. The latter, the heir to Edessa, was just 7 years old at the time of his father’s capture. Beatrice immediately – and without opposition – assumed the regency of what remained of the County of Edessa.
The situation was catastrophic, given that many of Edessa’s fighting men had been killed in the original occupation and sack of Edessa or in her husband’s futile attempt to regain possession of the city. Beatrice could not salvage the situation merely by remarrying; she needed an entirely new army. Yet she neither despaired nor was she dismissed by a frightened population.
Tyre writes that: ‘With the assistance of the principal men still left in the kingdom, [Beatrice] tried to govern the people to the best of her ability; and, far beyond the strength of a woman, she busied herself in strengthening the fortresses of the land and supplying them with arms, men, and food’.58 Yet her situation remained precarious, and King Baldwin III rushed north with a part of his feudal host to try to shore it up. Notably, unlike when Baldwin II and Fulk hurried to Antioch, there was no suggestion that Baldwin came to Edessa to assume the regency.
Shortly after Baldwin’s arrival, an envoy from the Byzantine Emperor Manuel I arrived with an offer to supply the Countess of Edessa with a suitable annuity in exchange for her surrender of the remaining cities and castles in the County of Edessa to Constantinople. The High Court of Edessa was summoned to discuss the proposal. Both Baldwin III and Beatrice attended the session. Although unstated, given the recent slaughter of the feudal fighting forces, many of those present were probably female, just as during the Ladies’ Parliament in Frankish Greece a hundred years later.
In any case, the Byzantine offer was hotly debated, with many Edessan nobles reluctant to surrender their independence and accept Byzantine suzerainty. On the other hand, Baldwin III realised he could not provide the military assistance the county needed in the long run. He could not absent himself from Jerusalem perpetually, and his kingdom needed its feudal host for its own defence. He, therefore, advocated acceptance of the Byzantine offer. The decision, however, was made by Beatrice. After hearing the advice of her barons and the king of Jerusalem, she made the decision in her capacity as acting regent of Edessa; she agreed to the Byzantine proposal.
Once Beatrice had accepted the principle of handing over the remaining territories to the Byzantine Emperor, Baldwin III handled the details of the meeting with the Greek officials, negotiating the transfer of cities and castles. Finally,
‘[King Baldwin] took under his protection the countess and her children and all others of both sexes, whether Latin or Armenians, who wished to leave … together with their pack animals and a great amount of baggage, for each man proposed to take with him his entire household and domestic staff as well as all his furniture. So, with this great crowd of unwarlike people and an enormous amount of baggage, the king hastened to depart, that he might lead them to a place of safety.’59
Thus ended Beatrice’s brief ‘reign.’ Yet despite the refugee convoy being attacked repeatedly by Zengi’s forces, Baldwin’s troops beat off the assaults enabling the refugees from Edessa to make it safely to Jerusalem. Here they soon formed a large Armenian enclave. Beatrice’s decision to abdicate to the Byzantine Emperor had undoubtedly saved most of their lives.
Two dowagers stand out in the history of Jerusalem for having exerted a historically relevant influence upon reigning monarchs. Strikingly, one’s impact was predominantly detrimental to the kingdom, while the other saved it.
As noted above, when Baldwin III died in February 1163 without heirs of his body, Baldwin’s younger brother Amalric became the heir apparent. Yet, the High Court of Jerusalem refused to recognise him as king unless he first set aside his wife, Agnes de Courtenay. Amalric wasted no time complying and was crowned within a week, while Agnes was sent back to her former betrothed, Hugh d’Ibelin. At Amalric’s death, however, his son by Agnes ascended the throne as Baldwin IV. As the mother of the young, unmarried king, Agnes became the first lady of the land.
Agnes’ influence on Baldwin IV was unquestionably significant. To her credit, she appears to have obtained that position of trust by giving her afflicted son motherly affection and care. Yet her motives for meddling in the affairs of her son’s kingdom appear to have been largely venal or malign, while the impact of her advice was ultimately disastrous.
Her first act was to convince Baldwin IV to use royal revenues to ransom her brother Jocelyn III of Edessa from Saracen captivity. Once Edessa returned to the kingdom, Agnes successfully pressed her son into appointing him to the lucrative and influential post of seneschal. As his subsequent underwhelming and venal behaviour proved, the appointment was sheer nepotism untinged by any trace of wisdom.
Next, in 1179, Agnes persuaded Baldwin IV to appoint Aimery de Lusignan, a Frenchmen with limited experience in the Near East, to the most senior military post in the kingdom, that of constable. The position had become vacant after the venerable Humphrey of Toron II died defending Baldwin IV after he had been unhorsed in a skirmish with Saladin’s forces. While nothing in Aimery’s background suggested he was fit for this position and contemporaries explained the appointment with innuendos suggesting that Agnes was sleeping with Aimery, he proved himself an excellent constable. As described earlier, Aimery later established Latin rule in Cyprus and become one of Jerusalem’s most competent kings. Yet given Agnes’ other personnel choices, his success appears to have been a fluke.
In 1180, Agnes successfully imposed her candidate, Heraclius, Archbishop of Caesarea, on the patriarchal throne of Jerusalem. William, Archbishop of Tyre, who had expected this appointment himself, naturally disparaged his rival in his influential history, A History of Deeds Done Beyond the Seas. This work is one of the most important primary sources from this period and is widely considered fundamentally trustworthy. Yet, in this instance, because of the obvious and understandable personal enmity of the author towards Heraclius, it must be discounted. That said, there are objective reasons to view Heraclius as the lesser choice. First, he was a Frenchman, while Tyre was a native of the kingdom. Although they enjoyed the same formal education, Tyre was a scholar who wrote the aforementioned history of the crusader states and a history of Islam. The latter work, based on Arab sources, testifies to Tyre’s profound understanding of the Arab language and the Muslim world in which the crusader states operated. Heraclius had no comparable accomplishments, and there is no evidence he spoke, much less read, Arabic or understood anything about Islam. Finally, Tyre was widely regarded as pious and not marked by scandal. Heraclius, in contrast, offended contemporaries by flaunting a mistress and fathering a child with her. Heraclius’ appointment was, therefore, not logical, and contemporaries attributed it to the fact that he, too, slept with the queen mother. He remains a controversial figure.
Without doubt, Agnes’ most disastrous interventions in the affairs of state were the husbands she chose for Baldwin IV’s two sisters. Agnes persuaded her son to betroth his half-sister Isabella to Humphrey de Toron IV. Marrying a princess of the realm to a local nobleman was against the tradition of the kingdom and undoubtedly demeaning. Doing so when Isabella was still 8 years old was unusual, albeit not exceptional in this period. Removing Isabella entirely from her mother’s home went a step further and appears to have been a vindictive act intended to hurt the woman who – quite involuntarily and as a puppet of her great-uncle – had taken Agnes’ place as Amalric’s consort.
To add injury to insult, Agnes negotiated marriage terms with Toron’s guardian, Reynald de Châtillon, the former Prince of Antioch, which entailed Humphrey renouncing his hereditary lordships of Toron and Chastel-Neuf. This impoverished both Humphrey (a minor at the time of the negotiations) and Isabella, further demeaning the princess. No sooner had these rich lordships reverted to the crown than the king bestowed them on his mother, making her the immediate beneficiary of the humiliating marriage she had arranged for the daughter of her hated successor.
Malevolent as this was, the consequences were more wide-ranging than the humiliation of the Dowager Queen Maria and Princess Isabella. The marriage had disastrous outcomes for the security and survival of the realm because Humphrey de Toron was fatally weak. Contemporary chronicles describe him as ‘cowardly and effeminate’60 or ‘more like a woman than a man: he had a gentle manner and a stammer’.61 Even as a youth, it was obvious he was patently unfit to lead the feudal army of Jerusalem, the most fundamental duty of the king in this besieged kingdom. It is hard to escape the conclusion that in addition to enriching herself and having the spiteful satisfaction of humiliating her rival and rival’s daughter, Agnes knew that the marriage to Toron would effectively prevent Isabella from being considered a viable candidate for the crown. It appears that the entire point of this marriage was to ensure that Agnes’ daughter Sibylla rather than Maria’s daughter Isabella would succeed Baldwin IV at his anticipated early death.
However, Agnes’ most significant legacy to the Kingdom of Jerusalem was its destruction. Agnes is credited with convincing her son to allow his sister Sibylla to take as her second husband Guy de Lusignan, the younger brother of the constable. Sibylla, as heir apparent, had been married at the behest of the High Court to William de Montferrat in 1176. However, Montferrat had died in 1177, probably of malaria, leaving Sibylla widowed with an infant son. At the time of her second marriage in 1180, Guy was the landless fourth son of a French noble family, who had, thus far, distinguished himself by trying to take the queen of England hostage and assisting in the murder of the Earl of Salisbury. The marriage between Guy and Sibylla was so obviously unsuitable that it took place in great haste and complete secrecy.
There are two possible reasons to explain this. Either Guy had already seduced Sibylla, as some accounts suggest, and there was a need to hastily ‘put things right’. Or, far more likely, Agnes wanted to prevent the High Court from exercising its constitutional right to determine the husband of the heiress to the kingdom. By presenting the High Court with a fait accompli, she ensured not only that her choice for Sibylla’s husband prevailed but also that Lusignan was indebted to her. Yet in no way was Guy de Lusignan a suitable husband for the heir apparent of the kingdom. As described earlier, he proved to be one of the most disastrous kings in the history of the realm.
Maria’s role in persuading her daughter Isabella I to choose her kingdom over her husband has been described in detail earlier and need not be retold. Noteworthy is only that Maria used her influence with her daughter to support the High Court’s endeavour to secure a militarily competent king consort amidst the kingdom’s existential crisis in 1190. Her influence was not only benign; it was critical to the survival of the kingdom and the dynasty. It is an example of a mature woman using her influence on a teenage ruler for the benefit of the realm rather than for personal gain – in sharp contrast to Agnes’ actions.
A significant number of mediaeval women chose to renounce the secular world, following a vocation in the Church. Here, as the brides of Christ, they escaped the dominance of mortal husbands and enjoyed both independence and empowerment in a uniquely feminine environment. The royal family of Jerusalem provides a prominent example of just such a woman who exercised authority not in the secular sphere but through the office of abbess.
Baldwin II had no sons, but four daughters. The eldest became his heir and the reigning queen of Jerusalem, Melisende. The second daughter, Alice, married the prince of Antioch, and the third, Hodierna, became Countess of Tripoli. When it came time to find a husband for his youngest daughter Iveta,* however, he had run out of candidates of suitable rank from among the nobility in the Latin East. It would have been logical and comparatively easy to marry her to a prominent European lord, bringing new resources to the kingdom. Alternatively, she could have been used to cement a relationship with the Armenian or Greek royal houses.
Instead, Iveta entered the Benedictine Convent of St Anne in 1134 at 14 years of age. Four years later, she transferred to the convent of St Lazarus of Bethany, which had been founded and generously endowed by her sister Queen Melisende. The Abbey of St Lazarus was located just east of Jerusalem at Bethany, where, according to Christian tradition, the home of Mary, Martha and Lazarus had been located. It was a major pilgrimage site as it was viewed as the venue for Christ’s miracle of raising Lazarus from the dead. As early as the fourth century AD, a church had been built beside the alleged site of Lazarus’ tomb, but it was replaced in the sixth century by a larger Byzantine church. It was this sacred monument that Queen Melisende renovated at considerable expense. In parallel, however, she ordered the construction of a larger church to the south of the tomb of St Lazarus. While the Byzantine church was to be used by pilgrims, the modern church was consecrated to Saints Mary and Martha and served as the convent church of a nunnery founded on the site. In addition, other buildings necessary for monastic life and a defensible keep as a place of refuge if danger threatened were built at the queen’s expense. Iveta transferred to this newly constructed abbey in 1138 and was elected abbess in 1144.
Subsequent chronicles invented the story that Iveta had been ‘violated’ by Muslims during her roughly eighteen months as a hostage for her father in 1124–1125 making her effectively unmarriable and insinuating that she was hidden away in the abbey of St. Lazarus in disgrace. This is nonsense. First, no contemporary source supports the allegations of abuse that would have been shocking (and commented upon) on three counts: her position as a hostage, her social status (princess) and her age (4–5). Second, the abbess of a wealthy monastic institution located between a popular pilgrimage site and the sacred city of Jerusalem is neither hidden away nor powerless.
On the contrary, abbesses enjoyed a degree of independence unknown by women in secular life except for wealthy widows. With her election to abbess, Iveta became a major landholder with the same power over the estates held by the abbey as a secular lord held over his fief, but notably without the obligation to render military service. The convent at Bethany was exceptionally wealthy and prominent. It was located on a pilgrimage site venerated by Christians, Jews and Muslims, a fact that ensured a steady stream of devotional gifts. Just a mile and a half from the Holy Sepulchre, it was also the departure point for the Palm Sunday processionals. Furthermore, it had been richly endowed by Melisende with the tax revenues from the city of Jericho and its dependencies, as well as an additional house and church inside Jerusalem. Indeed, Melisende lavished gifts such as chalices and crosses of gold and silver, rich ecclesiastical vestments, books and jewelled ornaments upon the institution. Tyre explicitly states, that ‘[Melisende] endowed the church with rich estates, so that in temporal possessions it should not be inferior to any monastery, either of men or women; or rather, as it is said, that it may be richer than any church’.62 It was further enriched by gifts of properties scattered across the kingdom from various other lords in exchange for prayers.
At the age of 24, Iveta became the master of this establishment. She appears in various charters regarding property arrangements using her own seal, a rare phenomenon for a woman in the twelfth century; neither of her sisters Alice of Antioch nor Hodierna of Tripoli had seals, for example. Tyre also suggests that Iveta, in coordination with her elder sisters, was influential in assuring the elevation of the prior of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre to the patriarchy. Iveta is known to have sent sacred relics to other religious establishments, most notably the famous abbey of Fontevrault in France, the burial place of Kings Henry II and Richard I of England. The significance of this is hard to fathom nowadays, but relics were sincerely revered in this era, and access to them was a source of spiritual power. Finally, in 1163, Iveta was entrusted with rearing King Amalric’s daughter Sibylla, who remained under her care until her first marriage to William de Montferrat in 1176.
Iveta died sometime between 1176 and 1178. The cause of her death and her burial place are unknown, but she would have been in her late 50s. For a woman who had not been subject to the hazards of childbirth, that seems surprisingly young, but she probably would not have wanted to live to see the siege and conquest of Jerusalem that destroyed the convent that had been her home for forty years.
Because of her royal birth, Iveta has left a record in the chronicles, but she was by no means alone. She was preceded and succeeded by other less exalted women, who would have enjoyed the same wealth and power, if not influence, that Iveta did. Furthermore, the Kingdom of Jerusalem was dotted with monasteries for men and women because all the religious orders wanted a presence near the places where Jesus had lived and died. The Benedictines, Premonstratensians, Cistercians, Augustines, Dominicans and Franciscans all built and maintained houses in the crusader states. Indeed, the Holy Land gave birth to several new religious orders, of which the most important were the Templars, Hospitallers, Teutonic Knights and Knights of St Lazarus.
With the notable exception of the Templars, all these monastic orders had women associated with them and maintained houses for women. The number of Cistercian convents was particularly high. Every convent had a woman in charge in the role of abbess or prioress. Convents also had other household officials, all women, who enjoyed status and power no less than their male counterparts in their respective houses. While none of these women attained the fame or influence of Heloise of Paraclete, Mathilda of Fontevrault, Hildegard of Bingen or other famous religious women in the West, they should not be dismissed as insignificant, much less powerless.
The role of women as mediators between parties in both war and peace is well documented throughout the history of the crusader states. Queen Morphia oversaw the ransom negotiations for her husband, Baldwin II. Eschiva of Tiberias negotiated with Saladin to surrender the Citadel of Tiberias. Stephanie de Milly negotiated with Saladin regarding the fortresses of Transjordan. Maria Comnena negotiated rapprochement and marriage alliances between the antagonistic Henri de Champagne and Aimery de Lusignan. Marie of Brienne, the wife of the Latin Emperor of Constantinople, approached Louis IX during his sojourn in Cyprus on behalf of her husband. Isabella of Beirut concluded separate truces with the Muslim sultan.
Yet these famous examples are only the tip of the iceberg. Gordon Reynalds argues:
Throughout the twelfth- and thirteenth-century crusades to the East, numerous women from a variety of social standings had leadership thrust upon them or used the opportunity that power-vacuums provided to lead negotiations, act as mediators between forces or as emissaries on diplomatic missions. … Their continuous presence in inter-crusader mediation … highlights the willingness of the Frankish people, both new arrivals in the East and established settlers, to rely on women for this role.63
Arab sources reference two cases of highly placed women acting as spies for the Muslims. Ibn al-Athir claims that a certain ‘Lady of Bourzey’ exchanged gifts with Saladin and informed him of many significant developments. It is unclear, however, if this woman is separate from or simply another name for Sybil of Antioch, the bigamous second wife of Bohemond III of Antioch. We know substantially more about this second case.
Bohemond’s legal wife was Theodora Comnena, the sister of Maria Comnena, King Amalric’s queen consort. Bohemond left Theodora as soon as her powerful great uncle, Emperor Manuel I, died in 1180. In her place, he took a woman, Sibyl, of unknown ancestry (possibly the above-named Lady of Bourzey) to ‘wife’. This marriage was immediately condemned as bigamous and vehemently opposed by the Church. When Bohemond refused to separate from Sibyl, he was duly excommunicated. The conflict continued to escalate, with Bohemond openly attacking churchmen and their property and, at one point, laying siege to the patriarch and other leading clerics, when they sought refuge in a fortress. This incident and Bohemond’s intransigence caused some of Antioch’s feudal lords to withdraw their homage from Bohemond. Meanwhile, the patriarch of Antioch placed those loyal to Bohemond under interdict. At this juncture, fearing that the Saracens would take advantage of the situation, the patriarch of Jerusalem tried to mediate, but without success. Bohemond refused to dismiss his concubine, and his support among his vassals crumbled further.
While Tyre attributed Sibyl’s power over Bohemond to witchcraft, the truly remarkable and deplorable fact was that, according to Arab sources, Sibyl was on Saladin’s payroll. In short, this single, well-placed and successful female spy single-handedly reduced the fighting capacity of Antioch in the critical years immediately before the battle of Hattin. If nothing else, through her correspondence, she kept Saladin informed of the disarray in the principality and its vulnerability. Few women in any era can be said to have enjoyed so much power.
* Iveta’s name is also given as Ivetta, Joveta, Jovita, Jowita, Yvette and even Juditta.