Conquest of Cyprus - Part I

 The last and most enduring of the crusader states was established on the island of Cyprus at the end of the twelfth 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'll be looking at this important -- but often forgotten -- crusader state. 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.

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The Teutonic Knights Part I: A Child of the Third Crusade

The Teutonic Knights were founded much later than the Templars or Hospitallers and won their greatest fame and fortune fighting, conquering and ruling in northeastern Europe rather than the Holy Land. However, they had their roots in the siege of Acre, and throughout the 13^th century, they played a very important role in the history of the crusader states. What follows is a part I of a short history of their role in the Latin East.

The Teutonic Knights evolved out of a “fraternity” of German crusaders who took part in the siege of Acre during the Third Crusade.  These crusaders, predominantly from the free Hansa cities of Bremen and Luebeck, established a hospital to care for the sick in the siege camp. The Hospitallers were, of course, present at the siege, so the need for an additional hospital appears to have been driven by the fact that many German crusaders were not comfortable speaking Latin or French, the languages of the Hospital. They preferred entrusting themselves to the care of men who spoke German.

The German Hospital (as it was called at that time) soon acquired such a good reputation that the son of Emperor Frederick Barbarossa, the Duke of Swabia, leading the remnants of his father’s crusade, chose to be treated there when he became deathly ill during the siege of Acre.  He also wrote to his brother, the Holy Roman Emperor Henry VI, requesting that he petition the papacy to recognize the German Hospital as a religious order.  He then requested that the German Hospital assume responsibility for his burial. 

The problem with that was that the fraternity running the German Hospital was not yet composed of monks, so the Hospitallers challenged their right to conduct a burial. Feeling threatened by the Hospitallers, the Germans turned to the Knights Templar for protection. The Templars took the German brothers under their wing, granting them the right to wear the white habit of the Templars, but with a black half-cross (rather than the red Templar cross) inside a circle. What is more, a Templar, a certain Henry Walpot, was appointed the first “Master.”

Meanwhile, back in the West, the pope granted the emperor’s request to recognize the German Hospital as a religious order and told them to adopt the Rule of the Hospitallers. For the next eight years, the German Hospital, which had been granted land inside the re-captured city of Acre by King Guy de Lusignan, remained a hospital.  Its reputation with German pilgrims was high. Whether they died in the Holy Land or returned home, many German pilgrims bequeathed wealth and land to the German Hospital.

In 1198 a large contingent of German knights raised by Emperor Henry VI arrived in Acre as the spearhead of a new crusade. The death of the Emperor led to the premature dissolution of this crusade, but a few of knights chose to remain in the Holy Land.  They wished to continue fighting for the recovery of the holy sites and pleaded for the militarization of the German Hospital. This was granted, and the Templar Rule was adopted for the fighting elements.

The new character of the Order, now known as the Teutonic (German) Order (Deutscher Orden or sometimes Deutscher Ritter-Orden) did not lead to an explosion in manpower.  On the contrary, in 1210, at the time the next master was elected, the Order is described as being able to muster only ten knights. One is reminded of the Templars whose strength was initially just nine nights.

The new master, however, was a certain Herman von Salza, the son of a Thuringian family in the service of the Holy Roman Emperor, who is believed to have gone to the Holy Land in the entourage of the Count of Thuringia.  Herman proved to be a man of exceptional ability, particularly as a diplomat, and he was able to vastly increase the wealth, prestige and influence of the fledgling order.

One of his first acts appears to have been a break with the Templars themselves as it was in exactly 1210 that the Templars complained to the pope that the Teutons were wearing the while mantle of the Templars “illegally.” I.e. because they were no longer subordinate to the Templars, they no longer had the right to wear the white mantle. The pope agreed with the Templars. Salza ignored both the Templars and the Pope.

Presumably, they could get away with this because they already enjoyed the patronage of the Holy Roman Emperor, Fredrick II Hohenstaufen. By 1217, Frederick was allowing the Teutonic Knights to draw income from his own revenues to pay for their (illegal) white mantles. The Hohenstaufen support for the Teutonic Knights went back, of course to the Duke of Swabia, but Fredrick II had his own reason to favor them: he was employing Salza as his envoy to the German princes in efforts to drum up support for the latest crusade and ― more importantly ― as his spokesman for his excuses to the pope for his own absence from that crusade.

The Teutonic Knights, few in number though they were, took part in the Fifth Crusade, and this proved to be decisive in their fortunes. The Fifth Crusade was a debacle. After the crusaders captured the Egyptian city of Damietta, the Sultan of Egypt al-Kamil offered to restore Jerusalem and the entire Muslim-occupied lands of the Kingdom of Jerusalem in exchange for the return of Damietta to Egypt. The leadership of the crusade, notably Cardinal Pelagius, refused. The subsequent attempt to seize Cairo got mired down, the Egyptian navy successfully cut off the crusaders’ supplies and forced them to sue for terms. The survivors were allowed to leave on the condition of returning Damietta, and so the crusade ended with nothing but shame and casualties ― except for the Teutonic Knights and Herman von Salza.  Salza had urged the acceptance of al-Kamil’s terms, thereby setting himself apart from the bulk of the leadership, while his knights had distinguished themselves in the fighting.

Recruits, grants, and privileges flooded in. The Order officially started to accept “confratres” ― secular men and women who, without taking monastic vows, affiliated themselves with the order for a limited period of time rather than for life. This significantly inflated their manpower reserves.  Meanwhile, the pope granted the Order a variety of privileges ― including all the privileges previously reserved for the Templars and Hospitallers. Frederick II likewise showered the Teutonic Knights with gifts of land and taxation rights, while the Patriarch of Jerusalem sang their praises.

Yet the Holy Land remained imperiled and Jerusalem and other holy sites were still in Muslim hands. The Teutonic Knights, like the Templars and Hospitallers, set about preaching and recruiting for yet another crusade. After the disastrous results of the two preceding expeditions (the hijacking by Venice of a crusade intended to restore Christian rule in the Holy Land for an attack on Constantinople and the fiasco on the Nile), the response was understandably anemic.

Frederick II, who had twice sworn to lead a crusade, kept putting off the date of departure, and he again employed Herman von Salza as his envoy to the pope to receive the necessary dispensation.  It was possibly Salza that came up with the idea of Frederick’s marriage to the heiress of Jerusalem, Yolanda (Isabella II).  The idea, whether it originated with Salza or the pope, was that Fredrick’s marriage to Yolanda would increase the emperor’s personal (material) interest in the Kingdom of Jerusalem and make him more ready to actually undertake the crusade he had committed himself to. 

In any case, Salza undertook the role of marriage broker, negotiating between his comrade-in-arms from the Fifth Crusade, John de Brienne, King of Jerusalem by right of his deceased wife Marie de Montferrat, and Frederick II Hohenstaufen.  In the course of this activity, Salza evidently promised John de Brienne that he would remain King of Jerusalem as long as he lived, to be succeeded by any issue from Yolanda’s marriage to Frederick. In the event, however, the marriage was not yet consummated before Fredrick dismissed John de Brienne as superfluous and demanded homage from the barons of Jerusalem.

Frederick’s actions made a life-long, bitter enemy of his father-in-law, John de Brienne (who would soon lead papal armies against Frederick’s kingdom of Sicily). They also put Herman von Salza in an awkward position.  Nicholas Morton points out in The Teutonic Knights in the Holy Land 1190-1291 that neither John de Brienne nor the pope seemed to blame Salza for the Emperor’s actions, suggesting that he had not been complicit in a plot to mislead Brienne, yet his honor and reputation as a negotiator were at stake. Apparently, the Emperor, while contemptuously dismissing his father-in-law, felt sufficient qualms about sullying the reputation of his friend and supporter Salza to compensate him for the loss of reputation with yet more marks of favor.

Significantly, it was at precisely this time, 1226, that the Teutonic Knights sought and received from Frederick II the right to colonize Prussia. It was to be in Prussia that the Teutonic Knights build a completely independent state, and where they survived as a major political power until the 15^th century. But that was in the future and beyond the scope of this short essay.

Principle source: Morton, Nicholas. The Teutonic Knights in the Holy Land, 1190-1291. Boydell Press, 2009.

Join me next week to learn more about the Teutonic Knights in the Holy Land. Meanwhile, discover the crusader states at the end of the 12th century in  my award-winning novels set in Outremer:

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Aimery de Lusignan: King and Founder of Dynasty

Today I continue my short biography of the "other" Lusignan: Aimery.

In 1188, with almost all of what had once been the Kingdom of Jerusalem under his control, Saladin released the Lusignan brothers. Guy promised never to take up arms against Saladin again, and he may also have promised to deliver the remaining strongholds of his former (nominal?) kingdom to the enemy. Whatever the terms were, Guy did not respect them, and we can assume that Aimery followed his lead.

Guy and Aimery (in the company of the Templar Grand Master Gerard de Ridefort) went to Antioch, the only Crusader kingdom that was still more or less in-tact and there raised some 700 knights and 9,000 other ranks to continue the fight against Saladin and re-capture his lost Kingdom.  Meanwhile, Guy and Aimery’s older brother, Geoffrey, had arrived from the West and was in Tyre. Guy, naturally, headed for the last free city of his kingdom with his new force of knights and men. However, the man commanding the defense of Tyre, Conrad de Montferrat, refused to admit him. Guy de Lusignan was persona non grata in his own kingdom!

Geoffrey de Lusignan, however, knew that a major Western force under the command of the Kings of England and France was collecting in the West and would eventually arrive. He advised Guy to “take action.” It was obvious to Guy’s elder brothers, both Geoffrey and Aimery, that Guy would lose the last shreds of respect and support if he did nothing. So Guy went with his knights and men to lay siege to Acre — the most important port of his former kingdom, which had been surrendered without a fight by Joceslyn de Courtney after the Battle of Hattin.

It was an apparently futile gesture, but one that attracted the support of almost any fighting man who was not prepared to accept defeat and every armed Christian who was not prepared to abandon the Holy Land. Holding on to Tyre was critical for survival, but the task was too defensive for many men’s tastes — and there was only so much anyone could do there. So although Guy started his siege of Acre with roughly 10,000 men, the Christian camp around Acre grew steadily, swollen by “armed pilgrims” that set out from the West to recover the Holy Land without waiting for the organized crusade. Guy’s forces soon reached an estimated 30,000 men of which 2,000 were mounted (knights, squires and turcopoles). Key to Guy’s success was support from the Pisan fleet and, later, Danish and Frisian ships as well, which enabled the besiegers to retain lines-of-communication and supply with the West and Antioch.

On Oct. 4, 1189, the Christians made an assault an Acre when Saladin himself was in the city assessing the situation. In a day long battle close to 5,000 Christians were killed including (finally) the Templar Grand Master Gerard de Rideford, who shared much of the blame for the disaster at Hattin. Yet while they failed in their objective, they also convinced Saladin that his forces were too weak to drive them away either, and an 18 month stalemate ensued — punctuated by sporadic attacks. Whenever the Christians attempted to take Acre, the Saracens surrounding them would attack from the rear, forcing them to return to their camp and trenches.

Meanwhile, conditions in the Christian camp deteriorated and morale plummeted. In 1190, disease took the lives of Queen Sibylla and her two daughters by Guy — their only off-spring. With them died Guy’s sole claim to the throne of Jerusalem.

Meanwhile, the Third Crusade was approaching, led by Richard I of England and Philip II of France. Despite past frictions between the Plantagenets and Lusignans, Richard the Lionheart threw his weight behind Guy de Lusignan’s — now weaker than ever — claim to the throne, and (predictably) Philip II of France backed Guy’s rival, Conrad de Montferrat, who had married Sibylla’s younger sister, Isabella, and claimed the crown of Jerusalem through her.

With the forces of the two kings and Richard the Lionheart’s leadership, the siege of Acre was brought to a successful conclusion: the Saracen garrison surrendered and the Christians re-occupied the city. Philip of France then promptly sailed back to France (to make trouble for Richard), but the barons and burghers of Outremer remained vehemently opposed to Guy. By 1192 Richard the Lionheart was forced to admit that Guy was untenable as King of Jerusalem any longer. He recognized Isabella as the rightful Queen of Jerusalem and her husband (first Conrad de Montferrat and then Henry of Champagne) as King.

But this is where things get interesting for the Lusignans. On his way to the Holy Land, Richard I had conquered Cyprus. This immensely wealthy island which had long been part of the Byzantine Empire had been seized by a self-proclaimed “Emperor,” whose tyrannical policies had so alienated his subjects that they welcomed and cooperated with Richard of England. Intent on rescuing the Holy Land, however, Richard had not wanted to retain the island for himself and had instead sold it to the Knights Templar. They, however, had proved such oppressive and unpopular overlords that by April 1192 the entire island was in rebellion against their rule.  The Templars, recognizing that they did not have the resources to subdue the island and fight for the Holy Land, returned the island to the King of England.

By now Richard knew that his younger brother John and the King of France were scheming to rob him of his inheritance in England and France. He had no more time for or interest in Cyprus than the Templars did. So he sold it to Guy de Lusignan!

That was all very well for the King of England, but the fact was that with the entire population now up in arms against the rule of the crusaders, Guy first had to reconquer the kingdom he had bought. He set off with what few supporters he still had. Curiously, at this stage his brother Aimery did not accompany him. Aimery remained behind in the Kingdom of Jerusalem, where he was still technically Constable. It was a bad move. The new king, Henry of Champagne, was clearly suspicious of his loyalty and when he sided with the Pisans, who Henry suspected of plotting against him, he was promptly imprisoned.

According to Peter Edbury in his history The Kingdom of Cyprus and the Crusades, 1191 – 1374,  Aimery’s arrest “evoked protests from some prominent figures in the kingdom….” This supports my earlier thesis that — in contrast to Guy who seems to have been singularly adept at making enemies — Aimery was still popular among his adopted countrymen. The fact that King Henry gave in to the protests and released Aimery on the condition that he surrender the office of Constable suggests that Aimery’s supporters were very influential indeed. I can’t help but suspect that they included Balian d’Ibelin, who was King Henry’s de jure father-in-law (he was married to Queen Isabella’s mother). Balian was the leading baron in Henry of Champagne’s kingdom at this time — and Aimery’s wife was Balian’s niece. Aimery duly surrendered his office of Constable of Jerusalem and promptly went to Cyprus to assist his brother Guy in taking control of his new lordship.

Less than two years later, Guy de Lusignan was dead. Notably, he designated his elder brother Geoffrey — not Aimery who had been with him so long and through so much — as his heir. The record is far too sketchy to know why, but there may have been tension between the brothers all along. Aimery’s support of his brother, as I noted before, was not necessarily indicative of genuine approval of his policies or actions but rather the imperative of family loyalty and self-interest. Fortunately for Aimery, Geoffrey de Lusignan had no interest in Cyprus. So Guy’s vassals chose Aimery as his successor.

Within three years of becoming the Latin/crusader overlord of Cyprus, Aimery had established peace on the island, set up a Latin ecclesiastical hierarchy alongside the Orthodox one (evidently following the model in the earlier crusader states that allowed the inhabitants to follow their own faith), and raised Cyprus to the status of a kingdom. Thus while Guy de Lusignan was “Lord of Cyprus,” Aimery was “King of Cyprus.” He obtained the dignity of kingship by offering to do homage for Cyprus to the Holy Roman Emperor. This was to cause trouble for his successors and lead to a bloody civil war a generation later, but Cyprus remained a Kingdom for nearly 300 years — ruled by the direct descendants of Aimery de Lusignan. (For more detail on the establishment of Lusignan rule on Cyprus see: http://schradershistoricalfiction.blogspot.com/2017/07/an-empty-island-waiting-to-welcome.html)

Nor was that the end of his astonishing life. In 1197, his first wife, Eschiva d’Ibelin died having given him six children, three of whom had lived to adulthood. The eldest surviving son of this marriage, Hugh, would in due time inherit the Kingdom of Cyprus. When Henry of Champagne died in the same year, however, Aimery was selected as the fourth husband of Queen Isabella of Jerusalem, allegedly with the “almost unanimous” support of the barons and bishops of the rump-state of Jerusalem.

Aimery promptly concluded a five year truce with the Saracens that gave the kingdom much needed breathing space to retrench and consolidate itself. He also named Balian d’Ibelin’s son John to his old position of Constable of Jerusalem — an exceptional mark of favor for a young man not yet 20 and one presumes more a gesture of gratitude to his father than a mark of confidence in one so young.  (John was later to swap the constableship for the lordship of Beirut.)

In 1204, with the Fourth Crusade diverted to Constantinople, Aimery concluded a new truce with a six year duration. This gave his kingdom the peace it needed for economic recovery, but he did not live long enough to enjoy it.  In February 1205, his son by Queen Isabella — the only son she ever had — died, and Aimery followed him to the grave within two months, Isabella shortly afterwards.  The crown of Cyprus passed to his son Hugh, and the crown of Jerusalem to Isabella’s oldest surviving child, her daughter Maria of Montferrat.

Aimery de Lusignan was King of Cyprus for eleven years and King of Jerusalem for eight — twice as long as his brother Guy had been. To both kingdoms he had brought stability and peace. His reign was looked back upon by subsequent generations as one of justice and prosperity — in both kingdoms. 

Aimery de Lusignan's role in the establishment of the crusader kingdom of Cyprus is the principle plot of:

 

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