The Third Crusade - Part I

  The fall of Jerusalem sent shock waves through Europe. Pope Urban III allegedly died of grief on hearing the news. His successor Gregory VIII issued a call to crusade just nine days later in a papal bull that blamed the catastrophe on the sins of all Christians and summoned everyone to acts of penance and contrition. One of the first nobleman to ‘take the cross’ was Richard Plantagenet, Count of Poitou, followed within months by his father King Henry II of England, King Philip II of France, and the Holy Roman Emperor Frederick ‘Barbarossa.’

Below is the first in two entries describing what happened in what later became known as "The Third Crusade"

 

Due primarily to hostilities between the Plantagenets and Capets, the German crusade got underway first, in May 1189. It was composed of an estimated 12,000 foot and 3,000 knights, most of whom travelled with the Emperor overland, although smaller contingents traveled independently by sea. Barbarossa’s army was highly disciplined and prepared to pay for provisions but encountered difficulties as soon as it crossed into Byzantine territory. However, the new Emperor, Isaac II Angelus, had signed an agreement with Saladin including a promise to obstruct the passage of crusaders headed for the Holy Land. As a result, Barbarossa’s force found no markets for provisioning and met with repeated harassment from ‘bandits’ and ‘brigands,’ probably in the pay of Constantinople. Barbarossa brushed aside the ineffective attempts to stop him, forced Isaac to provide transportation across the Dardanelles, and crossed into Muslim controlled territory on 22 April 1190.

On 18 May Barbarossa decisively defeated a Turkish army at the Battle of Iconium. The German crusaders then occupied Konya, the capital of the Seljuk Sultanate of Rum, where they replenished supplies and replaced significant equine casualties. The truce negotiated with the Turks allowed free passage through the rest of the sultanate. On 30 May, the army crossed back into Christian territory, entering Cilician Armenia, where it met with hospitality and support for the first time. One of the most important modern historians of the crusades, Christopher Tyreman, claims that Barbarossa’s performance upto this point was ‘one of the most remarkable feats of western arms in crusading history.’[i]

Yet it was all undone by a single accident. On 10 June 1190, Frederick Barbarossa drowned while crossing the River Saleph. It is unclear if he had a heart attack while riding through the icy water, or if he was, as one account claimed, caught in a whirlpool. Whatever happened, his death triggered the almost complete disintegration of his host. Most of the crusaders turned back. Only a small contingent under his son Frederick of Swabia reached Antioch and eventually the siege at Acre, where many of the remainder died.

Meanwhile, the death of Henry II of England on 6 July 1189, paved the way for an uneasy peace between France and England. Philip II was at best a reluctant crusader and did not yet have a well-organized and centralized bureaucracy comparable to that of the Plantagenets. Although he attempted to raise extra funding through a special tax, resistance was considerable. Philip proved unwilling or unable to enforce collection, and ultimately raised only a modest host. However, a number of his powerful barons (e.g. the Duke of Burgundy, the Counts of Flanders and Champagne and others recruited and paid for substantial contingents. In consequence, the French host probably equaled that of Barbarossa, e.g. 15,000 men.

Richard of Poitou, now King of England, on the other hand was totally dedicated to the crusade. Contemporaries claim that crusading fever swept England fueled by what is described as love of God, hope for remission of sins — and respect for the king. The latter should not be underestimated. Richard also proved remarkably inventive in raising funds to finance his great expedition. In addition to the ‘Saladin Tax’ — which he vigorously collected, he engaged in practices which are nowadays considered unsavory, such as selling offices. In the twelfth century, however, royal offices were always instruments of patronage, and payment for them in one form or another was expected not exceptional. More scandalous in the eyes of his contemporaries was the sale of properties from the royal domain because it diminished royal revenue in the long term. Yet Richard successfully increased exchequer receipts for the year 1190 by two to three times the norm.

Richard’s focus on being well-financed and his organizational talent for raising funds served his soldiers well. For a start, it enabled Richard to build a fleet to transport his army by sea, avoiding the grueling two-thousand-mile march that had depleted crusading armies in the past. Furthermore, this fleet was key to maintaining lines of supply throughout the entire crusade and enabled two decisive amphibious operations.

After wintering in Sicily, the French (also travelling by sea but in chartered vessels) sailed on 30 March 1191 for Acre, arriving without incident April 20. Richard’s fleet of 209 ships sailed ten days later and immediately ran into violent storms that scattered it. Richard diverted to Cyprus, which he captured from a self-proclaimed and unpopular despot, before proceeding to Acre, which he reached 8 June.

The arrival of the French and English forces decisively tipped the balance of forces in favor of the besiegers. While French and English fleets blockaded Acre by sea, the kings deployed large siege engines against the city. The crusaders were at last numerous enough to hold off Saladin’s forces while engaging in assaults on the city. The Saracen garrison rapidly recognized that surrender might be unavoidable and opened negotiations. The initial crusader demands for the return of all prisoners and all coastal cities were unrealistic and rejected. However, eventually, the Franks were talked down to the terms agreed upon on 12 July 1191, namely 1) the restoration of the True Cross, 2) the release of 2,700 prisoners and 3) payment of 200,000 dinars. The garrison also provided 2,700 hostages (fighting men, not women and children) to stand surety for the fulfillment of the terms.[ii]  Significantly, the deal was made with the garrison at Acre, not Saladin. When the Sultan learned of them, he was allegedly ‘distressed’ but felt honor-bound to uphold them.

At this point, Philip II concluded he had fulfilled his crusading vows and promptly sailed back to France — to the shock and scorn of the entire crusading host, including his own subjects. French command passed to the Duke of Burgundy — the same man who had been betrothed to Sibylla of Jerusalem in 1179/1180 but reneged on his promise. Meanwhile, Saladin failed to deliver, twice. Richard made the strategic decision to execute all the hostages in plain view of Saladin’s army. Although by the standards of the day, Richard had the right to do what he did, his action still shocked contemporaries and has blackened his name ever since. Historians have pointed out that Richard could ill afford to leave sufficient troops in Acre to guard nearly 3,000 prisoners. Others note that he needed to signal strength and determination to Saladin. Often overlooked, the Lyon Continuation of Tyre reports that the principle reason the Franks had agreed to the surrender terms in the first place had been because ‘they were keen for the Christians to be released from Saracen captivity.’[iii] As a result, when Saladin failed to deliver either the cross or the prisoners, the common troops were outraged and rebellious. Namely, ‘when King Richard saw the people weeping and lamenting because Saladin had deceived them, he had great pity and wanted to calm those who were in such great distress.’[iv] Read: he feared his own authority could be undermined and he might lose control of his army. Tragically, it was prisoners on both sides that paid the price. Saladin retaliated by slaughtering those prisoners who fell into his hands in the days following this massacre.

Next week, the story of the Third Crusade continues. 

 

Meanwhile, the Third Crusade is described from the perspective of the Franks in Outremer (rather than the crusaders) Envoy of Jerusalem

 

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 Altogether, Dr. Helena P. Schrader is the author of six books set in the Holy Land in the Era of the Crusades.

                         

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Note: The bulk of this entry is an excerpt from Dr. Schrader's comprehensive non-fiction study of the crusader states.

 [i]Tyreman, Christopher. The World of the Crusades: An Illustrated History. [New Haven: Yale University Press, 2019] 210.

[ii] The exact number of hostages and prisoners to be released is not certain as different accounts given different numbers. This number is the figure deemed most reasonable based on conditions in Acre and the size of the respective forces.

[iii] Anonymous, The Old French Continuation of William of Tyre translated by Peter Edbury as ‘The Conquest of Jerusalem and the Third Crusade’ (Crusades Texts in Translation) [Aldershot: Ashgate, 1998] chapter 105, 107.

[iv] Old French Continuation of Tyre, chpt. 105, 108.

An Accidental Conquest: The Capture of Cyprus

The last and most enduring of the crusader states was established on the island of Cyprus at the end of the 12^th century. It lasted for over 300 years, thriving long after the Kingdom of Jerusalem had disappeared from the political map -- if not from memory. In a seven-part series, I will be looking more closely at the establishment of the Kingdom of Cyprus and its unique features. It all began by accident --

Richard's Tomb at the Abbey of Fontevrault

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Portrait of Isaac's Great Uncle Manuel I

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cyprus is the venue for my latest release: The Emperor Strikes Back

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Dr. Helena P. Schrader holds a PhD in History.

She is the Chief Editor of the Real Crusades History Blog.

She is an award-winning novelist and author of numerous books both fiction and non-fiction. Her three-part biography of Balian d'Ibelin won a total of 14 literary accolades. Her current series describes the civil war in Outremer between Emperor Frederick and the barons led by John d'Ibelin the Lord of Beirut. Dr. Schrader is also working on a non-fiction book describing the crusader kingdoms. You can find out more at: http://crusaderkingdoms.com

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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