Chapter 15: Cœur de Lion

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

 – Richard the Lionheart¹¹⁰

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Sicilian Campaign

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Philip's claim that he was returning due to ill health was somewhat believable, but Richard was suspicious enough of his motives to extract an oath that the French king wouldn't move against any of his territories while he was on crusade. The speed and ease with which it was given didn't exactly breed confidence, but Richard would be better off without the sulking monarch. In any case, his mind was now fully occupied with the coming campaign. 

Jaffa

Marching straight for Jerusalem was out of the question. Thanks to the capture of Acre, the Christian forces had a beachhead, but they were completely surrounded by territory ruled by Saladin. The routes toward the Holy City were largely waterless, easily ambushed, and infested with enemy troops. Somewhere – presumably in the area – lurked Saladin's army, waiting for the crusaders to do something stupid like marching inland where they could be cut off. 

Richard was too shrewd to fall into that trap, so instead he marched along the coast to Jaffa, the nearest port to Jerusalem. It was a tactically brilliant move. Saladin, as Richard was well aware, was under pressure from his emirs to attack the Christians. The sultan had won immense prestige with the victory at Hattin and had carefully cultivated the jihadist image of himself as the purifying victor of the faith. Every day that passed without confronting the crusader army weakened that image. 

Saladin had hoped to draw Richard into unfavorable territory, but the march to Jaffa forced his hand. The crusaders were threatening Jerusalem; he had to act or suffer a humiliating blow to his reputation. 

His first tactic was to harass the crusader line. As the army marched, Muslim archers galloped by, pouring arrows into the ranks in the hopes of luring the more hot-headed knights into a doomed cavalry charge. Richard, however, gave strict orders to ignore them. Thanks to his iron leadership there were no breaks in the line, a fact that even his enemies grudgingly applauded. 'I saw some of the Frankish foot-soldiers' wrote Saladin's biographer, Bahā' al-Dín, 'with ten arrows sticking in them, and still advancing at their usual pace without leaving the ranks... One cannot help admiring the wonderful patience displayed by these people...'¹¹⁷ 

The heat was severe, and the heavily armored crusaders suffered acutely. Each day sunstroke or arrow wounds claimed more, and Richard himself was lightly wounded by a spear-thrust to the side. But the army continued in good order, and Saladin realized that his only choice was an all-out assault. 

The sultan had the luxury of choosing his ground, and he picked an exquisite spot. The path the crusaders were taking led through a heavily wooded area and Saladin carefully set up an ambush. Richard, however, was on his guard and when confronted with Saladin's massive force, immediately gave battle. 

The encounter proved to be conclusive. Richard, acting with his customary flare, seemed to be everywhere at once. Even the disobedience of the Hospitallers – who broke ranks and charged before they were ordered – was turned to his advantage. The English king immediately ordered a general charge, and Saladin was completely routed with heavy casualties. 

The victory didn't destroy Saladin's army, but it dealt a serious blow to his prestige. The great Islamic champion had been decisively beaten by the Christian king. Perhaps God was not with him after all? Saladin never again risked a battle with Richard. 

The English king was at a crossroads himself. Despite the victory, his enemy remained in the field, and nothing had changed about the difficulty of marching toward Jerusalem. The roads were still full of ambushes, the water supply tenuous, and the city itself was strategically isolated from the protection of the coast. The sensible move would be to consolidate the gains he had already made and not risk taking a city that he couldn't possibly hold. Yet Jerusalem remained the golden objective of every crusader, the motivation for their very presence in the Holy Land. The famous Lionheart could hardly announce that he would not be rescuing Jerusalem after all. 

Caught between his head and his heart, Richard tried to resolve it by making Saladin a stunning offer. The sultan's brother could marry Richard's sister and jointly rule all the land west of the Jordan River. The two great antagonists would be tied by blood, and a peaceful kingdom could be established. 

The plan was dubious to begin with, and, fortunately for Richard's sister, who hadn't been consulted, it fell apart over the matter of the prospective husband's conversion to Christianity. While the negotiations dragged out, Richard busied himself by building castles to protect Jaffa and the other coastal territory he had conquered. Under pressure from the army, he made a half-hearted approach to Jerusalem in the late summer of 1192, but torrential rains and incessant hailstorms made progress impossible. 

By now, serious divisions were beginning to split the army. The Templars and Hospitallers for once agreed with each other, arguing that an attack on Jerusalem was premature because it would be impossible to hold the city once Richard left. A better use of resources would be to attack Ascalon, which would neatly split Saladin's territories of Syria and Egypt in half. The bulk of the army, on the other hand, considered this plan to be borderline heresy, and couldn't understand why every effort wasn't being put toward the capture of Jerusalem. 

Richard himself was in an untenable position. He knew the military orders were correct, but also felt the pull of his oaths to liberate the Holy City. Even worse, he had received word that Philip II was actively plotting to seize his French lands. The longer he stayed in Palestine, the more damage would be done to his kingdom. If, on the other hand, he left for England now, all that he had accomplished here would be undone and civil war would undoubtedly break out. 

Under immense pressure, Richard announced that he would stay until the Easter of the following year, and attack Jerusalem if it seemed feasible. This ambiguity was intended to give him cover for not attacking Jerusalem, but when it became immediately apparent that the army overwhelmingly supported the idea of liberating the Holy City now, he bowed to public pressure and began the march to Jerusalem. 

The expedition confirmed his worst suspicions. Saladin had taken the precaution of poisoning all the wells around Jerusalem, and the crusader army was in real danger of repeating the experience of Hattin. Richard was in no mood to go any farther, so he announced to the army that the sensible thing would be to forget about Jerusalem and attack Egypt. If they were successful, Saladin's power base would be defeated and Jerusalem would fall – and be easily held. If, however, the army wanted to continue to Jerusalem, he would join but not lead it. The Holy City was a worthy goal, one that he would happily lay down his life for, but he wouldn't be responsible for the death of so many good Christians and the destruction of the crusader kingdom in an adventure he knew was doomed. 

The truth was that Richard was exhausted. He had fallen seriously ill and, in any case, had done all that he could. His duty as king now was to look after his own lands. 

On September 2, 1192 he concluded a formal truce with Saladin to restore the coast to Christian control. As a measure of the respect Richard was held in, Saladin additionally agreed to allow Christian pilgrims unfettered access to Jerusalem. 

Most of the crusaders had taken an oath not to rest until they had visited the Church of the Holy Sepulcher and so took advantage of the truce to fulfill their vows. Richard himself, however, didn't join them. He had sworn to make Jerusalem Christian again and wouldn't enter until he had accomplished that. For him, this was not the end of the crusade, but a temporary pause. His last communication with Saladin was to that effect. He was only suspending the war to get his affairs at home in order. When that was accomplished he would return to take Jerusalem. Saladin supposedly replied that if Jerusalem had to fall, he would be glad to see it go to such a worthy adversary. 

It was a fitting tribute to the greatest of the crusader kings. Single-handedly, Richard had erased the sting of Hattin, shattered Saladin's aura of invincibility, and returned the coast of Palestine to Christian control. His greatest enemy, it had turned out, was the pettiness of his Christian allies. If Outremer had been a little more unified or Philip a little less antagonistic, there is no telling what he could have accomplished. 

As it was, he never returned. He boarded a ship in October of 1192, and was captured by a political enemy while crossing through Austria on his way home. Had he stayed until Easter of 1193 – as he had originally planned – the entire history of the Levant may have been different. Four months after Richard sailed, Saladin died, taking the fragile unity of the Muslim world with him.