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Showing posts with label barons. Show all posts
Showing posts with label barons. Show all posts

Friday, June 24, 2016

The Duties of Kings to their Subjects and Vassals




When we think of feudalism, we tend to think of a hierarchical state with a king at the top enjoying all the benefits. In my entry on The Ideal Feudal State, I pointed out that feudalism was in fact more decentralized and consensual than is commonly thought. Today I want to draw attention to some of the duties of kings.



At the most elementary level, of course, kings owed their subjects what all governments owe their citizens: security and justice.  The security component consisted (then as now) of protection against foreign enemies (invasions, Viking raids or terrorism etc.) and protection against lawlessness and crime. Then as now that first duty bled into the second as fighting crime entails administering justice, but justice is and was not confined to fighting crime alone. Justice also includes a just administration of property, labor, scarce resources such as water, and more. 





The parallel to modern society is imperfect, however, because feudal society was both more personal (men took oaths to individuals not to abstract ideas) and more stratified. Feudal society was not based on the principle that “all men are equal before the law” but rather on the notion that rights and duties depended on one’s social position or class.



Fundamentally, society was divided into three classes or estates: 1) those who worked, 2) those who prayed, and 3) those who ruled/administered (not those who fought, as I’ll explain below). While this stratification oversimplifies both the society itself and attitudes of the time, it is nevertheless a useful structure for understanding feudal society and with it the duties of kings.  




The workers were responsible for the production of (first and foremost) food, other necessities and luxuries. The more sophisticated the society, the more complex this class was, so that it came to include everything from serfs working the land to great merchants and craftsmen commanding fortunes and ruling over armies of tradesmen, apprentices, servants and laborers. Being a member of the “Third Estate” was not the same thing as being poor! But the Third Estate was viewed as subordinate to the other two: in spiritual matters to the Second Estate and in secular matters to the First Estate.


The men who prayed (the Second Estate) were the clergy, and again this segment of society included poor (e.g. parish priests who lived little better than the peasants they served) and “princes of the church” with vast estates and fortunes. Unlike the Third Estate, which was fragmented into different professions with their own hierarchical structures, before the Reformation all members of the Second Estate belonged to one, universal (“Catholic”) church. All members of the Second Estate thus operated in a single, well-defined hierarchy headed by the pope. Since the Catholic Church required celibacy of its members, churchmen could not bequeath their lands, fortunes or offices to their offspring (even if, as we know, they often had them!) On the other hand, because members of the Second Estate were drawn from the other two, and the Church as an institution often provided a means for the children of poor parents to rise to positions of power, wealth and influence.  






The First Estate is often described confusingly as a class of warriors or “those who fight.” While even contemporary sources refer to the First Estate in this way, the description is misleading. On the one hand, 50% of this class, the women, did not fight — but they were still members of the First Estate and often wielded great power, including power over men and fighting forces.  On the other hand, the bulk of fighting men in any host were not drawn from the First Estate, but rather from the Third; they were men engaged in the profession of arms as mercenaries or feudal levies called up for a set period of time. 




It is more useful to look at the First Estate as the secular ruling class, the people who exercised for and in the name of the king his fundamental duties of providing protection and administering justice. Because one man (or woman) could not alone perform either function, the king depended upon the First Estate to provide military capability, enforce the law of the land, and administer local justice. The First Estate was effectively the executive branch, and as such it had a special relationship with the king. Members of the First Estate were not mere subjects of the king, they were also his deputies. Understanding this helps explain why the king and his nobles had a special relationship, a relationship founded on an exchange of oaths. 





To be precise, the exchange of oaths was only with the upper strata of the First Estate, with the barons or tenants-in-chief. They were called tenants-in-chiefs because in feudal theory all land belonged to the king and he merely loaned it to his designated deputies, albeit on a hereditary basis. This meant the land passed from the original recipient to his heirs in perpetuity — until the line of the original recipient died out or he or his descendants failed to fulfill the feudal duties associated with the loan of land (the enfeoffment). In either case the land was forfeit to the crown.



The tenants-in-chief generally controlled far more land than they could possibly manage and owed many more fighting men to the crown than they could personally equip and provide (often in the hundreds), so they in turn lent out their lands (again on a hereditary basis) to other men, who owed them — the barons, not the king — fealty. The lowest tier in the First Estate were simple “knights” holding a “simple” knight’s fief, meaning a fief whose annual income was sufficient to support only a single knight (which was not one individual but a fighting unit, as I explained in an earlier post.) If a fief became too small or poor to support the expenses of a knight, the owner slipped out of the First Estate and down into the Third, becoming nothing but a tenant farmer. (This was to become a problem in the latter Middle Ages.) The landowners holding land from a baron or bishop were called “rear tenants” and belonged to the First Estate, but not to the baronage. 



However, often lost beneath the customs, ceremony, romance and idealism of chivalry is the fact that the relationship between a king and his barons (and between lords and their rear-tenants) was fundamentally one of fee (fief) for service. The Kingdom of Jerusalem shines light on this relationship because many of the fiefs in the Kingdom of Jerusalem were “money fiefs,” highlighting the monetary component of feudal service.  Whereas elsewhere it was more common for a king (or lord) to bestow land that was expected to produce enough income to support a set number of knights, in Jerusalem the king frequently paid a set amount of money outright in exchange for the service of a set number of fighting men. Significantly, La Monte points out in Feudal Monarchy in the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem 1100 to 1291, many money fiefs were granted with the provision that “if the revenues specifically granted [were] not forthcoming, the amount promised [would] be made up from...the general revenues of the kingdom.” The distinction between a fief and wages in these circumstances is approaching minimal, albeit a fief could be bequeathed, while wages could not. The more common practice of granting land deemed to be worth a certain income, of course, obscured and weakened this monetary component of the king’s duties to his vassals because the value of land could vary over time based on many factors from acts of God (draught, flood, fire etc.) and through good or poor management.




Regardless of the nature of the fief, the relationship between the king and his barons/tenants-in-chief was a direct and personal one. It requiring the renewal of the oath each time a monarch died and was succeeded. The oath of a vassal was furthermore, neither unconditional nor unlimited. For example, in Jerusalem the king could not command feudal service outside the borders of the kingdom, either for offensive operations (e.g. against Cairo or Damascus) or even in the defense of the neighboring states of Tripoli, Antioch and Edessa. Another important limit on service was that no man was required to personally render knight's service after he reached the age of 60. Critically — and often overlooked nowadays — is that the oath of fealty was a two-way bond. Not only did the vassal swear loyalty to the king, but vice versa. Thus, Richard I of England, as the liege lord of the Lords of Lusignan, was obligated by feudal custom to support Guy de Lusignan’s claims to the throne of Jerusalem.



While the case of a vassal being anointed king elsewhere and then needing support is a rare one, a far more frequent occurrence were attacks on a vassal's lands — by brigands, raiders, enemy troops.  Attacks might come from a common enemy like the Saracens or Vikings, or simply from a neighbor, who owed allegiance to a different king (think of the situation in France during the long wars between the Plantagenets and Capets, or the Hundred Years War).  Simply put, if a vassal did not have the military strength to defend his own territory, he could call upon the king to come to his aid. In the Kingdom of Jerusalem, where the threat of Saracen invasion was ever-present, the constitution explicitly stated that failure on the part of the king to protect the lands of a vassal automatically absolved the vassal of his oath. 



In general terms, then, the duties of a king to his barons was payment and protection, but in the Kingdom of Jerusalem there was (at least) one more duty — one that particularly appeals to me, that of “restor.”  Restor was the duty of the king to replace or reimburse any knight or noble whose horse was mutilated or killed in battle while serving the king. Indeed, it was one of the most important duties of the Marshal of Jerusalem to assess the value of all knights’ and noble’s horses before any campaign/engagement, to assess the value of horses captured during an engagement, then then either replace horses injured or killed with captured horses of equivalent value or reimburse the knight/noble the monetary value of the lost stallion.  This custom highlights the importance horses had to the military establishment and social status in the feudal age; see my entry on crusader horses.



Balian d’Ibelin’s stallions are important characters in all three parts of my biographical novel about Balian, and the duties of kings and vassals is natural a fundamental component of the historical developments.



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Friday, May 27, 2016

The Ideal Feudal State: Jerusalem




Feudalism was a system of government based on interdependency between a monarch and his subjects. In contrast to absolute monarchy based on the “divine right of kings,” feudalism rejected centralism and authoritarian rule. Instead, evolving in an age when the speed of communication was restricted by the speed of a horse or sailing ship, and literacy was restricted to the elite, it was a highly decentralized system. Feudalism depended on local elites administering justice and raising taxes, protecting borders and fostering economic growth. It was a system that consciously devolved power downwards rather than concentrating it in distant, difficult to reach capitals.  It also recognized the value of collective decision-making and checks on royal power. Obviously, this is not the same thing as “democracy” (in any of its forms), but it was far less arbitrary and more legalistic than many people today realize.

Historians have argued that the Kingdom of Jerusalem, created not organically over the centuries but consciously by men from already developed feudal states, was the “perfect” or ideal feudal state. (See, for example, John La Monte’s Feudal Monarchy in the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem 1100 to 1291, Cambridge, 1932.) The Kingdom of Jerusalem also presents us with an exceptional case study in feudalism because a number of legal treatises cataloguing and analyzing the laws of Jerusalem were produced by first rate legal scholars in the 13th century and have survived to this day — the so called Assises of Jerusalem.

As English history demonstrates — from the baronial revolt against King John (that gave us Magna Charta) to Simon de Montfort’s Oxford Provisions and the English Civil War itself, curbing the power of kings was a difficult, dangerous and often divisive task. The High Court of Jerusalem is, therefore, particularly remarkable as an example of an effective feudal check on royal power because it ensured the integrity of the kingdom with only one instance of civil war. Notably, the Rule of Law (as represented by the High Court) won against the despotism (in the form of the Holy Roman Emperor Friedrich II). 


The High Court of Jerusalem combined in itself judicial, legislative and executive functions. As La Monte words it: “Its word was law, or rather its interpretation of the existing body of custom made law, and the king who endeavored to act without the advice of, or contrary to the decision of, his High Court found himself confronted with a legalized rebellion on the part of his subjects.” In Jerusalem, the elected king (see The Elected Kingship) remained “first among equals” vis-à-vis his barons and bishops rather than a sovereign.

The High Court was composed of all the vassals or tenants-in-chief of the king. The ecclesiastical lords held seats by virtue of their land holdings rather than their spiritual positions. It met in no set place (such as Parliament did in London), but rather could be convened in any place within the kingdom. As long as Jerusalem was Frankish, it met most frequently there, according to some in the Tower of David. After the loss of Jerusalem, it most commonly convened in Acre. 

Tower of David in the Citadel of Jerusalem
Strikingly, the King’s presence was not essential for a meeting of the High Court. The king could designate a representative, but the Court could also meet in the absence of the King—as it did after the death of each king in order to elect the next. Also notable is the fact that outsiders, including King Richard I of England and King Louis IX of France, might be invited to attend and speak at sessions of the High Court. They might, by virtue of their prestige, even “preside” over the session. Yet they did not have a vote — albeit, one presumes, such respected and charismatic men must have wielded considerable influence over those who did vote!

The duties of the High Court were first and foremost the election of the ruler, and during minorities or when the monarch was otherwise incapacitated by illness or capture, the appointment of regents (baillies) of Jerusalem. The preference was always for a close blood relation of the previous monarch, but from the beginning this did not entail applying the rules of primogeniture strictly and at almost all elections there were multiple claimants from the royal family contending for the honor. In cases where a woman was the closest relative of the reigning king, the High Court chose her husband for her to thereby elect the king indirectly.


The High Court made domestic policy technically not by passing laws but by “interpreting” the “customs” of the kingdom as recorded by the “wise men” who had advised Godfrey de Bouillon. Effectively, however, the High Court established the law in all matters, including — interestingly — ecclesiastical issues, but most importantly with revenue collection (taxation, customs duties, etc.), military obligations, and inheritance law. In fact, no fief could change hands (except to the hereditary heir based on primogeniture) without the approval of the court (i.e. gifts and sales of land needed High Court approval). The High Court also made foreign policy by concluding or rejecting treaties.

In practice, law evolved out of the adjudication of disputes in which the High Court ruled based on its interpretation of “customs,” and then recorded the decision and the reasoning behind as a reference for future cases. This is “case law” in its purest form.
The decisions of the High Court were binding on everyone, including the king/queen, and could only be rescinded by the High Court itself.

As a judicial body, the fundamental principle was that all members of the court were equals (peers), and trial by one’s peers was the sacrosanct foundation of law in Outremer — with important consequences for Muslim, Jewish and Orthodox Christians, who were thereby also accorded trial by their peers rather than the alien Frankish elite. Even the Italian communes had their own courts. But for the Frankish, land-holding elite, the High Court was the only court authorized to adjudicate disputes involving everything from charges of murder, rape, and assault to wardship, debt, sale of land or horses (!), default of service, inheritance, and — of course — High Treason.  


In at least three recorded incidents, the High Court of Jerusalem effectively opposed an attempt by the ruling king to dispossess one of their members. In 1193, Henri de Champagne, consort of Isabella I of Jerusalem, accused Aimery de Lusignan of abetting his brother Guy (the deposed King of Jerusalem) in a plot to over throw him. He arrested Aimery, but was forced to release him by the High Court of Jerusalem. Aimery was persuaded (one presumes by the High Court) to resign his post as Constable of Jerusalem and join his brother on Cyprus. Notably, just five years later, the High Court would elect Aimery their king by selecting him as Queen Isabella’s last husband after the tragic death of Henri de Champagne.

As king, however, Aimery made the same mistake as his predecessor: he disposed Ralph of Tiberius on charges of treason, only to run into the refusal of the High Court to accept his judgement. In fact, the Lord of Beirut (John d’Ibelin, eldest son of Balian d’Ibelin) refused feudal service and was joined by other barons in an act of passive rebellion until Ralph was restored to his fief.

The most dramatic instance in which the High Court effectively opposed the despotism of a monarch was, however, in the baronial revolt against the Holy Roman Emperor Friedrich II led by John d'Ibelin — but that is material for another entry.

The High Court plays a role in my biographical novel about Balian d’Ibelin, particularly in books II and III:


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