Philip II of France in the Holy Land

Seal of Philip II Capet

Philip II Capet of France has gone down in French history as Philip Augustus, another way of saying Philip the Great or Philip the Magnificent. He earned this epithet primarily for wresting territory away from King John of England and restoring the control of the French monarchy over the vast lands in Continental Europe that had been controlled for half a century by John’s father (Henry II) and brother (Richard I). Philip II was able to reduce the English-controlled territories to a small enclave near Bordeaux. Having successfully subdued the most powerful of his insubordinate vassals, he proceeded to systematically re-establish the primacy of the monarchy over all the barons of France. By the end of his reign, he had greatly increased the wealth, prestige and power of the central government in Paris, built the Louvre, and established the University of Paris. He ruled a total of 43 years, from 1180 to 1223, and was the first king to style himself “King of France” instead of “King of the Franks.”

But most of this occurred well after Philip’s brief sojourn in the Holy Land, and the focus of this post is on Philip Capet at the time of and during the Third Crusade.

Philip had been born in August 1165, or eight years after Richard of England. He had been crowned king in late 1179 while his father yet lived, and became sole king of France at the age of 15 the following year. Almost at once he started fighting with the Count of Flanders over territory, and while this was resolved by treaty in 1185, Philip had meanwhile started making demands on Henry II for the return of his sister’s dowry. (His sister Marguerite was the widow of Henry the Young King, Henry II’s eldest son, who had died in 1183)  This war with the Plantagenets was to last the next thirty years, with periodic truces.

The war between the Capets and Plantagenets was an intimate affair. Eleanor of Aquitaine, Henry II’s queen and mother of Henry the Young King, Richard, Geoffrey and John, had been married to Philip’s father. Philip had two half-sisters, who were Eleanor’s daughters by his father ― and they, of course, were half-sisters of the young Plantagenets also, by their mother. Philip’s sister Marguerite was married to Henry the Young King, making them brothers-in-law. Philip’s other sister Alys was betrothed to Richard. Henry the Young King and his brothers represented their father at Philip’s coronation in 1179, they attended the French court at other times as well. Philip knew the Plantagenets well, and they him.

This medieval illumination is meant to depict Philip II's Coronation. The Figure on the Right Represents Henry II, who was not present. Henry II is also shown wearing three lions/leopards, a device that was not adopted by the English royal house until Richard returned from the Holy Land.

In 1186, Philip succeeded in pulling the third Plantagenet son, Geoffrey, into his net. Geoffrey was preparing to rebel against his father (again), when he was killed in a tournament. Philip allegedly tried to throw himself into the grave from grief. Two years later, Philip lured the eldest of Henry’s surviving sons, Richard, into his camp by claiming (almost certainly untruthfully) that Henry did not intend to name Richard his heir. Richard publicly paid homage to Philip as his liege after confronting his father about his inheritance, and then fought at Philip’s side until his father was defeated, humiliated and dead. During this period of alliance, Philip and Richard were said to be so close that they shared a bed, a fact that has given rise to many accusations of homosexuality against Richard but, curiously, not against Philip. 

In any case, everything changed the minute Richard was King of England.  Richard and Philip might have been allies against Henry II, but they were enemies the moment Richard took up his father’s mantle. Richard Plantagenet had no more intention of playing humble vassal to Philip then his father had; he intended to retain control over all his territories. Philip and Richard were thus on a collision course from July 6, 1189 onward.

But on the surface, they had a common cause. They had both taken the cross and vowed to recover Jerusalem for Christendom. Richard had been the first prominent nobleman in the West to do so, and his subsequent actions attest to his sincere commitment to restoring Christian rule to the Holy City. Philip, on the other hand, is widely believed to have been pressured into crusading by his nobles and clergy; his subsequent actions seem to bear this out. Nevertheless, from 1189 to 1190 Philip was engaged in preparing for what would become known as the Third Crusade. 

On July 1, 1190, Philip met up with Richard at Vezelay in Burgundy and traveled together at the head of their respective hosts as far as Lyon, before proceeding by different routes to the next rendezvous: Messina on Sicily. Philip was by now mourning the loss of his wife Isabelle, who had died giving him twin sons, who died shortly afterward. He, therefore, arrived in Sicily a widower. Evidently to the disappointment of the spectators ― but very indicative of Philip’s nature ― he made no great show of his arrival. He arrived in a single ship (i.e. ahead of his fleet) and immediately disappeared inside the castle on the harbor.

In Sicily, King William II, a staunch supporter of the crusader cause and brother-in-law to Richard of England, had died unexpectedly in November 1189, shortly before the Kings of France and England arrived. Lacking any direct heirs, the Sicilian throne had been seized by his illegitimate first cousin Tancred, who made the tactical error of placing the Dowager Queen of Sicily (Richard the Lionheart’s sister Joanna Plantagenet) under arrest.

Richard of England, in contrast to Philip, arrived in Sicily with his entire fleet and a with a showy fanfare of trumpets, fluttering banners, banging shields and the like. On landing and learning that his sister had been impressed, he demanded not only her release but the restoration of her dower portion (or compensation) and the full payment of everything William II had pledged to the crusade itself. Tancred capitulated rapidly, and Joanna Plantagenet made an immediate conquest: in Philip of France.

This illustration allegedly shows Richard, Joanna and Philip in Sicily

Accounts suggest that Joanna, who like Philip was just 25 years old, was beautiful (she was Eleanor of Aquitaine’s daughter, after all), and, of course, she was a dowager queen by marriage and a princess by birth. As Richard was already betrothed to his sister Alys, Philip may have seriously considered strengthening the bonds by taking Joanna to wife. Richard absolutely refused to think about this because he had no intention of marrying Philip’s sister Alys Capet.

Meanwhile, however, relations between Richard and Philip, already brittle with unspoken rivalry and latent hostility, had broken into the open when fights broke out between the local inhabitants and Richard’s troops. The English claimed they were being cheated, the locals claimed the English were disorderly and disrespectful. There were too many fighting men in a strange town, harassing the girls and probably being pick-pocketed, etc. The situation is perennial and resurfaces whenever there are large armies in foreign territory. Something ignited an all-out fight, and while Richard first tried to calm tempers, he soon lost his own and came to the aid of his men. Philip of France, probably out of spite for Richard rather than sympathy for the Sicilians, took the side of the locals against his fellow crusader.  The break was so public and bitter that it took the efforts of many noblemen on both sides to get the two kings to reconcile.

The atmosphere between them deteriorated further when suddenly Eleanor of Aquitaine arrived in the company of Berengaria of Navarre.  Richard now announced that he had chosen her as his wife instead of Alys. To an astonished and furious Philip, Richard explained that he could not possibly marry Alys because his father had known her carnally. The brilliance of this argument against a marriage that had been agreed years earlier was that this allegation stemmed from none other than Philip himself. Philip had used the accusation in his web of lies to induce Richard to turn against his father. As a result, Philip could do little more than swallow his own pride (and bile no doubt). But a marriage with Joanna was now obviously off the table. The kinship ties so elaborately devised by Philip and Richard’s fathers had all broken, and what remained was open and growing hatred.

But first there was a crusade to carry out, and the Kings of England and France publicly vowed to share all spoils in the upcoming campaign in the Holy Land. Then at the first opportunity, Philip embarked his army and set sail for the Holy Land on March 30, 1191.   

Philip’s entire fleet crossed the Mediterranean without notable incident. On May 20, the King of France arrived off the city of Tyre, the last Frankish stronghold in the Kingdom of Jerusalem. Tyre was controlled by a distant relative of Philip’s, Conrad de Montferrat, one of the two contenders for the throne of Jerusalem. Philip immediately threw his support behind Montferrat, bolstering his claim to the crown against those of his rival, Guy de Lusignan. He and Conrad together proceeded to the Christian siege of Acre. Here Philip brought not only new troops but new vigor to the siege, and at once erected a number of powerful siege engines.

However, he soon became ill with what the contemporary chronicles call “Arnoldia,” a debilitating illness that caused the loss of hair and nails and could be fatal. Furthermore, with the arrival of King Richard, there were two commanders in the same camp and frictions between them sparked almost at once. Allegedly, Richard refused to let his troops support at least one attack ordered by Philip.  But then Richard too fell ill with “Arnoldia.”

Various assaults and above all the action of the siege engines continued as both kings gradually regained their strength. Most significantly, the arrival of the French and English fleet had enabled the sea blockade of Acre to become completely effective and no supplies, munitions or reinforcements were slipping into the city. By early July the Saracen garrison of Acre had reached the breaking point. The commanders of the Saracen garrison, therefore, sought a truce in which to seek instructions from Saladin. They told the French and English kings that they would surrender if Saladin did not come to their aid within a set period of time, asking to be allowed to take their arms and their moveable valuables with them and enjoy a safe-conduct to wherever they wished to go. King Philip, supported by his nobles, agreed. King Richard insisted they should not be allowed their arms and valuables. Negotiations broke down.

A medieval depiction of the Surrender of Acre -- notably to Philip. Richard is beside him.

Ten days later, with still no relief from Saladin, the garrison again sought terms and this time agreed to much harsher conditions: the return of the Christian relic known as the “True Cross” that had been captured at the battle of Hattin, the release of an unspecified number of Christian prisoners taken at or after Hattin, and the payment of 200,000 Saracen gold pieces, all to be delivered one month after the signing of the agreement. Members of the garrison (the numbers vary according to source) were to be held as hostages to ensure the release of the Christians, the remaining members of the garrison were free to go ― but without their arms or valuables. The kings of France and England accepted these terms.

On July 12, the hostages were surrendered, the remaining garrison marched out ― proudly by all accounts ― and the crusaders took possession of Acre after four years of Saracen occupation. They found the churches desecrated, but otherwise most of the city intact. It was divided equally between the French and English, with Richard’s men notably (and foolishly as it turned out) throwing down the banner of the Duke of Austria because that represented a claim to the spoils and Richard wasn’t sharing with anyone but Philip of France.

But now that Acre was in the hands of the crusaders, the issue of who was the rightful King of Jerusalem came again to the fore. As noted above, Philip backed the claims of Conrad de Montferrat (a kinsman), who was married to the sole remaining legitimate heir, Isabella of Jerusalem, and was supported by the High Court of Jerusalem. Richard, however, stubbornly backed the architect of the disaster at Hattin, King Guy, who was a vassal of the Plantagenet. After much bitter fighting, a compromise was found. Guy was recognized as king for his lifetime, but Conrad was recognized as Count of Tyre (to include Sidon and Beirut, if/when these cities were ever recovered) and heir to the throne at Guy’s death. Curiously, however, Guy’s elder brother Geoffrey, who had come out from the West with the crusaders, was also awarded the title of Count of Jaffa and Ascalon, the county that traditionally belonged to the heir of the throne. To be sure Jaffa and Ascalon were at this point in still in Saracen hands, but it was an ominous hint that the Lusignans did not really accept ― and did not intend to respect ― the agreement to make Montferrat king at Guy’s death.

With that dispute at least temporarily out of the way, Philip dropped a bombshell: he announced that he was turning over his share of all the booty to Conrad de Montferrat and intended to return to France. No one, not even his own nobles, had expected or approved of this abandonment of the crusade. His official excuse was “ill-health.” (He had either never fully recovered from the Arnoldia or he had contracted dysentery subsequently.) No one accepted this as a legitimate reason to break-off a crusade. Crusaders were supposed to achieve their objective, or die in the attempt. No one, however, was able to reason with or shame Philip into changing his mind. Despite alleged curses and bitter recriminations, Philip prepared to depart. Richard, suspicious that Philip’s intentions were to attack his lands in his absence, demanded that Philip swear on holy relics that he would leave the Plantagenet territories in peace until Richard’s return.

On August 1, 1191, Philip boarded a galley loaned to him by Richard of England and sailed for Tyre. He took Conrad de Montferrat and the most valuable of the Saracen hostages from the surrender of Acre with him. The exact date of his departure from Tyre is not recorded, but he was no longer in Outremer when the deadline for the delivery of the True Cross, captives and cash payment expired in mid-August. The decision to massacre the hostages fell to Richard of England alone.

Philip was back in Paris by late 1191. He immediately began undermining Richard’s authority and drawing the last and youngest of the Plantagenet brothers, John, into his net. His vow not to attack Richard during his absence was as meaningless as the crusader vow he’d taken before leaving for the Holy Land ― and as meaningless as the marriage vows he exchanged with Ingeborg of Denmark. Philip Capet, great as his legacy was for France, lacked any sense of personal honor, integrity, and a fear of God. While his qualities served his kingdom well, he remains for me a distasteful character.

Philip II of France plays a minor role in Envoy of Jerusalem. 

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Reflections on Richard the Lionheart

The Statue of Richard the Lionheart in front of the Houses of Parliament, London

Over the years, I have provided short biographies of the historical characters who figure prominently in my Jerusalem trilogy. One character, however, I have avoided up to now: Richard the Lionheart.

Richard I Plantagenet, King of England, is -- even after more than 800  years -- somewhat intimidating. He is one of those historical figures, who is more legendary than historical. He has been rendered in art in a variety of forms and he generally comes out “larger than life.” Legends of his courage circulated even in his lifetime and after his death became more exaggerated. Richard was seen as the (at least spiritual) descendant of Alexander the Great, Charlemagne, and King Arthur.  He was remembered in medieval romances as the incarnation of chivalry, the perfect royal-knight, as Jean Flori documents extensively in his biography of Richard. (Richard the Lionheart, Jean Flori, Praeger Publishers, 2006.) Richard the Lionheart’s popularity even in popular culture goes back at least to the time of the first Robin Hood legends – whenever that was!

Hollywood's Version: Here Sean Connery as King Richard, Kevin Costner as Robin Hood

He was, however, as a historical figure, highly controversial even in his own lifetime. He was seen by the Church as excessively proud, greedy and sexual (more on this later). Contemporary clerical chroniclers saw his death as “divine justice” for his sins, and they compared his reign unfavorably with that of his father. Richard was disliked by the German Emperor and hated by the French King. He was called “the devil” by his own brother John (not the best person to be calling names, but be that as it may….) On the other hand, there can be little doubt he was adored not only by his  hard-headed, practical and highly political mother, but also by his troops. Despite the best efforts of his brother John and the King of France, he retained the loyalty of most of his vassals and subjects as well.

Early historians tended to place Richard in the “great” category, but during the Enlightenment, when the crusades were detested as “irrational,” Richard’s reputation among historians started to fade. The famous historian David Hume described Richard as violent, irrational, and excessively passionate. William Stubbs, an important 19^th century historian, considered him a “bad ruler.” Sir Stephen Runciman, the most influential historian of the crusades in the early 20^th century, called Richard “a bad son, a bad husband and a bad king”.

To this day historians and informed laymen tend to fall into “pro” or “con” camps. It seems as if people can’t be neutral about Richard.  The main sources of contemporary contention are: 1) whether Richard was a “good” or a “bad” king of England; 2) whether Richard was homosexual or not; and 3) whether Richard was a stupid, bloodthirsty brute or an intelligent and judicious nobleman and commander. 

Richard the Lionheart's Tomb at Fontevrault Abbey

In researching Richard Plantagenet for his role in Envoy of Jerusalem, I came to the following personal understanding of this complex and controversial king:

First and foremost, Richard was a product of his age, birth and upbringing. Born a prince to two of the most ambitious, politically savvy, proud and passionate people of the 12^th century, Richard had little chance of being humble, meek, dispassionate, indecisive, or easy-going. None of his brothers exhibited particular restraint, humility or benevolence toward their enemies either.  Known even in their own time as “the devil’s brood,” the Plantagenets fought their father and they fought each other as well as their liege lord Philip II and any and every rebellious vassal for what they perceived as their “rights” – their titles, their territory, their castles, their lands. 

The Tomb of Richard's Parents, Eleanor of Aquitaine and Henry II

Richard was, furthermore, only 13 when he was first invested with authority as Duke of Aquitaine. While children in the Middle Ages undoubtedly grew up faster than children do today, that is still a very young age to be raised to such high status. It is hard to imagine that the dignity, power and importance of this title did not go to his head.

Certainly, Richard identified with Aquitaine far more powerfully and emotionally than he ever did with England or Normandy. He spent almost no time in England as a child, and not until the death of his elder brother Henry the Young in 1183 did he expect to become King of England.  Even then, his father kept him guessing about whether he would be recognized as heir or not. It was literally not until his father died in 1189 that Richard had a bond with England. By then he was 32 years old and had already taken the cross. In short, his mind was focused elsewhere. So, no, he neither spent much time in nor cared particularly about England. But that does not necessarily make him a “bad” king. Indeed, it was not until the 18^th century that the English “disowned” him. Throughout the Middle Ages, Richard was revered as one of England’s greatest kings, as a king who made England proud because his glorious reputation reflected well upon his kingdom and subjects.

Another thing I learned was that Richard’s relationship with his father was far more complex than that of an impatient and rebellious son. From 1173 to 1183, Richard and his father fought almost continuously together – against the French King, against the rebellious lords of Aquitaine, against Richard’s brothers. They were allied again 1184 – 1187. I hypothesize that the bitterness of the final break (that led indeed to Richard hounding his father to his grave) was a function of the intensity of Richard’s earlier love for his father. Richard felt betrayed by a man he had come to love, and it was this sense of betrayal that turned love into hatred.

That Richard loved his mother deeply is unquestionable. He had been with her at her court in Poitiers from the ages of nine to thirteen. As Duke of Aquitaine he identified with her and her heritage. He surrendered the Aquitaine to her and her alone, trusting her not to give it to one of his brothers. His very first act as king was to order her release from detention. He sought her advice when he was with her and entrusted her with royal authority during his absence. Arguably there was no other human being that he trusted as much as he trusted his mother, and rightly so. She, more than anyone, held his kingdom together in the face of rebellions and secured his release from German captivity.

But Richard was anything but a “mama’s boy.” He was strong, athletic, and comradely. He won the affection of his troops because he could swear, fight and whore as hard as they did. Indeed, the Church was highly critical of his sexual excesses. It has become popular to impute homosexuality to Richard, but there is no evidence that he was suspected of this in his own time. Certainly, he had mistresses and at least one illegitimate son, so if he was also a practicing homosexual he was bi-sexual. We will probably never know what his sexual preferences were and, frankly, I don’t much care.

What did strike me as exceptional, however, was his willingness to do manual labor. This was anything but self-evident in a medieval nobleman, much less a king. Yet the Itinerarium Peregrinorum et Gesta Regis Ricardi claims that Richard helped rebuild the defenses of Ascalon “with his own hands,” and describes his example inspiring everyone to work together to hand the stones up to the wall (Book 5, Chapter 6). The willingness to do menial labor reveals just how sure Richard felt in his own skin. He was so sure of his own innate nobility that he had no need of royal symbols or ceremony. It was perhaps this trait that enabled him to endure captivity at the hands of the Holy Roman Emperor. 

I was also impressed with Richard’s financial savvy. His ability and willingness to invent new means of raising revenues when preparing for the crusade would not have disgraced an investment banker in the 1980s! His astute sale of the Island of Cyprus to the (rich and financially liquid) Knights Templar, thereby refilling his own coffers while securing the military objective of ensuring Latin control of this strategically vital island was a stroke of genius. His re-sale of the island to Guy de Lusignan was almost equally shrewd, again giving him resources while also easing a delicate political issue: what to do with a deposed king, who has been your client?


Almost equally impressive was his diplomatic skills and his intelligence. Richard was put in front of a kangaroo court stacked against him by Emperor Henry VI -- and talked his way into a complete acquittal! That is a remarkable achievement. He also diplomatically out-maneuvered Philip II of France, drawing one important supporter after another out of his rivals camp.  


Finally, I was won over by Richard’s leadership style. Richard was a brilliant strategist – who also led from the front. He risked his own life, but was very cautious with the lives of his soldiers. He understood logistics as well as strategy, and he won his battles with a combination of careful planning and sheer audacity. As one of my readers put it, in the end, I just had to love Richard.


Richard the Lionheart is a central figure in Envoy of Jerusalem, and I have attempted to do justice to him in my portrayal of him there. Buy now in paperback or kindle!

The Reluctant Crusader? Henry II and the Holy Land

Henry II's Effigy on his Tomb at Frontevralt.

Henry II of England is not remembered as a crusader. Afterall, although he took crusader vows, he never actually went to the Holy Land. Indeed, most historians credit Henry II with disdaining crusading in preference to building an empire at home. Yet a focus on Henry’s legacy in the West obscures the fact that his ties to -- and arguably his concerns for -- the Holy Land were much closer than is commonly remembered. 

First of all, his grandfather, Fulk d’Anjou, was King of Jerusalem.  He had turned over French his inheritance to his son Geoffrey in order to go to the Holy Land and marry the heiress to the Kingdom of Jerusalem, Melisende. Thus Henry's father, Geoffrey d’Anjou, was half-brother to Kings Baldwin III (reigned 1143 – 1162) and Amalaric I (1162-1174) of Jerusalem. Henry II himself was first cousin to the ill-fated Baldwin IV of Jerusalem (King 1174-1185) and both his sisters, Sibylla (Queen of Jerusalem 1186-1190) and Isabella (Queen of Jerusalem 1190 -1204.)

The Arms of the Kingdom of Jerusalem

As early as 1166, Henry levied a crusading tax. Although we know little about this tax it significantly pre-dates the murder of Thomas of Becket or the crises in the Holy Land brought on by the rise of Saladin and the leprosy of Baldwin IV. Rather, it coincides with a period of crusader strength and aggression as Amalric I led multiple invasions of Egypt. As such, this tax tells us significantly that Henry was not responding to clerical pressure to "rescue" Jerusalem. It is far more likely he was responding to a request from his cousin for financial assistance to expand Angevin interests on the other side of the Mediterranean. Henry II in 1166 was at the peak of his power. Neither his wife nor his sons had yet rebelled against him. Louis VII was still King of France. Henry II had nothing to fear at home. He may have been bored and looking for new fields of endeavor. A crusade may have appealed to his sense of adventure and family pride. We will never know. 

After Thomas of Becket was murdered in Canterbury Cathedral, however, Henry II publicly took the cross in 1172, and promised to go on pilgrimage to Jerusalem. This obviously was intended as penance and very different in character from helping his cousin on an aggressive campaign. Yet Henry's willingness to take the cross may have reflected an underlying interest in going to the Holy Land anyway. Before he could depart, however, his wife and eldest three sons rose up in revolt against his authority and he was formally excused by the Pope from fulfilling his crusader vow. 

In 1177, however, Henry II again pledged to go on crusade. The context this time was a treaty with France that was intended in part to distract the Kings of England and France from preying upon each other and turn their aggressive instincts and mercenary armies on the foes of Christendom rather than each other. But the hostility between  Plantagenet and Capet could not be patched over with a pledge to go fight in the Holy Land -- certainly not at a time when all seemed well in Jerusalem. After all, it was in November 1177 that Baldwin IV decisively defeated Saladin at the Battle of Montgisard. So nothing came of this crusading vow.

Yet, Henry's failure to actually go on crusade is not proof of indifference to the Holy Land. On the contrary, Henry's concern for his cousin's kingdom was documented by annual contributions to a crusade fund. The money was entrusted in equal amounts to the Templars and Hospitallers. This means that the money could be deposited in London, and paid out in Jerusalem through the networks of the Templars and Hospitallers. This was hard cash that went to the vaults of the Templars and Hospitaller in Jerusalem year after year to ensure that King Henry would have the funds he needed to recruit, equip, pay and feed an appropriate force of troops when he did reach Jerusalem on crusade. 

In 1182, Henry Plantagenet fell ill. He thought he was on his deathbed and made a will. The largest money bequests were to the Holy Land. He bequeathed 5,000 marks (a mark was a measure of currency equal to 2/3 of a pound sterling) to each the Templars and the Hospitallers for the defense of the Holy Land. He left an additional 5,000 marks to the militant orders to use jointly in the defense of the Holy Land. In short, he left 15,000 marks, or 10,000 pounds sterling -- an enormous sum in the late 12th century -- to the military orders for the defense of the Holy Land.

Since he did not die in 1182, this money never reached the crusader kingdom, but the very next year, after initial resistance, Henry II was persuaded to finance a crusade by his eldest son, Henry the Young King. It is debatable whether the Young King ever intended to go on crusade or not, so perhaps it was an easy promise for his father to make.  

By 1184, the situation in the Holy Land had deteriorated dramatically. Baldwin IV of Jerusalem was dying, and his co-king Baldwin V, the young child of his sister, was also sickly. The next obvious candidate to succeed Baldwin IV was his sister Sibylla, but she was married to a completely unsuitable man, Guy de Lusignan. The King of Jerusalem therefore took the desperate measure of sending the Masters of the Hospital and Temple along with the Patriarch of Jerusalem to the West with an unusual plea. He did not ask for a new crusade, as so often in the past. Instead his emissaries took with them the keys to the Tower of David and the Holy Sepulcher -- the symbols of secular and sacred power in Jerusalem. Their mission was to convince the Western rulers to send not an army but a prince -- someone to step into the dying king's footsteps.  

Henry's reaction is again used as evidence of his reluctance to crusade, and the Patriarch of Jerusalem bitterly accused Henry of duplicity and procrastination. Certainly, he failed to answer the call and forbade his youngest son John from going on crusade as well. Yet Henry himself had put the question to his barons of whether he was to be King of England or Jerusalem because he could not be both. There is nothing inherently deceitful about putting England (Normandy, Anjou and Maine) ahead of distant Jerusalem. Henry was no longer at the peak of power. He was fighting for his survival and that of his "empire." 

Finally, when the news reached him in 1187 of the fall of Jerusalem and the desperate straits of the Kingdom, Henry II again took a crusader vow. While many historians (and even more novelists) disparage this as a ploy, it is just as possible that he was sincere – so long as those who coveted his kingdom and threatened his crown, Philip II of France and his son Richard – went on crusade with him. We will never know how sincere his intentions were because he died before the Third Crusade got underway.

Meanwhile, however, his treasure had already played a crucial role in the history of Jerusalem. There are no figures for just how large King Henry’s treasure was, but money had deposited annually since 1172 and the figure of 30,000 silver marks is often named. Significantly, the money had been entrusted to the militant orders for safe keeping, and distributed equally between them, rather than favoring one over the other. This, unintentionally, resulted in his treasure having two very different uses.

In 1187, as Saladin prepared to launch an all-out offensive against the Christian kingdom of Jerusalem, King Guy had little choice but to call-up a levee en masse to put the largest force possible in the way of the invaders. Against a force of 45,000 including some 12,000 cavalry, King Guy could muster only about 1,000 knights, 4,000 light horse and some 15,000 infantry. In light of this, the Grand Master of the Templars, Gerard de Ridefort, handed over King Henry’s treasure to finance more fighting men. It is unclear from the sources whether these were mercenaries, light troops, or, as some say, the outfitting of 200 additional knights. In any case, Henry II’s money helped contribute to the army that marched out to meet Saladin – and was destroyed on the Horns of Hattin on July 4, 1187.


Hans Eberhard Mayer makes the point that the Grand Master of the Temple made the decision to break into King Henry's treasure without the permission of the English King.  He further suggests that it was fear of the great Angevin's wrath that forced Guy de Lusignan's hand at Hattin. Having effectively stolen King Henry's treasure, Guy de Lusignan (or at any rate the Templar Master, who had violated the Templar's code of trustworthiness) needed a victory to justify such an unprecedented act. Mayer writes:

"The opening of Henry's treasure gave the Templar master a disproportionate influence on the king. But what counted more was the predictable wrath of Henry II when he learnt about the opening. It could be justified, and Henry's wrath cooled, only by a spectacular success ....[A]lready at the time when the army was assembled, precautions had been taken to pacify Henry when the King of Jerusalem ordered that the soldiers hired with English money should fight under the English flag. The hoped for success was to be presented to Henry as being due largely to his money, but first there had to be success at practically all costs."  (Hans Eberhard Mayer, "Henry II of England," Kings and Lords in the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem, Variorum, 1194, p. 737.)

The Grand Master of the Hospitallers, however, did not release King Henry’s treasure in advance of the Battle of Hattin. The money Henry II had deposited with the Hospitallers for the Holy Land was still in Jerusalem when the city surrendered to Saladin in October 1187. The terms of the surrender allowed the residents 40 days to raise a ransom of 10 dinars per man, 5 dinars per woman and 2 dinars per child. Those who failed to pay the ransom, became slaves by right of conquest at the end of the 40 days. 

At the time these terms were negotiated, the Christian defender of Jerusalem, Balian d’Ibelin, knew that there were 40,000 (some sources say 100,000) refugees in the city.  He knew that many of these were destitute, having lost all they owned to Saladin already. They were in no position to pay their ransom. Ibelin therefore negotiated the release of 18,000 poor for a lump sum of 30,000 dinars. 

Sources differ, however, on where this money was to come from. Some suggest that it came from King Henry’s treasure, but others suggest the initial sum was paid from the treasury of the Kingdom of Jerusalem, but that it soon became evident that there were many more poor in the city than Ibelin had estimated – or had the resources to ransom. (He’d lost all his lands to Saladin already too.) It was at this juncture, they say, that the Hospitallers handed over King Henry’s treasure to ransom as many of the poor as they could. In the end, even Henry’s treasure was not enough and some 15,000 Christians were sold into slavery. Nevertheless, King Henry of England played an important role in ransoming thousands of Christians trapped in Jerusalem, minimizing the number sold into slavery. His son, of course, played an even greater role in rescuing the Kingdom from complete obliteration, but that is another story….

The Battle of Hattin and the fall of Jerusalem in 1187 are described in the second book of my Balian d'Ibelin series, Defender of Jerusalem.

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