Angevin Dynasties of Europe 900-1500

by Jeffrey Anderson

  Thus ended the reign of Henry II. When he died he was in a civil war with his son and had been driven out of his birthplace of Le Mans, but he was one of the greatest English kings, and ruler of so much else besides. We still live with many of the legal, judicial and administrative reforms begun in his reign, but more importantly he emerges from the 12th century as a fully rounded, knowable character, and I have great affection for him.

  CHAPTER 5 – THE ANGEVIN EMPIRE II: THE ARBITER OF EUROPE

  THOUGH MANY (PROBABLY MOST) modern historians think Henry II was the better king, it is his son Richard I the Lionheart who has remained alive in the popular imagination. Partially this is due to his connection with the completely fictional story of Robin Hood, which didn’t develop as a folk tale until the 13th century and was only associated with Richard’s reign by the Scottish historian John Major in 1521.1 But Richard’s fame is grounded in reality and he was most famous in his own day for his Crusade. Though the Crusade was seen as a failure by contemporaries because it failed to recapture Jerusalem, from a military point of view it accomplished a great deal because Richard captured Cyprus and consolidated the Christian hold on the coastal cities of the Holy Land, which ensured the survival of the Crusader States for another century.

  Richard is indisputably the great romantic hero of all the Angevins. Once again we look at an Angevin name, but it presents no difficulties. Richard was first called ‘Lionheart’ by his contemporary Ambroise, who wrote a history of Richard’s Crusade and applied the epithet to him at the moment he reached the siege of Acre. Later legends grew up around his name, as with every aspect of Richard’s life, and a 13th-century romance related the story of Richard reaching down a lion’s throat to rip out its heart and then eat it, but these were openly acknowledged to be fantasy. Richard also codified the heraldic representation of England, as it was the device on Richard’s second great seal, the three lions passant, that became fixed as the arms of England to this day.2

  Although Richard is often portrayed as the perfect knight, his reputation has not always been unblemished. Some of these problems began in the 12th century when Philip Augustus established a propaganda factory to blacken Richard’s name,3 largely to compensate for his own undistinguished behaviour on the Third Crusade, and Richard was also deeply unpopular with Victorian historians who could not forgive his neglect of England in favour of his ‘French’ lands. Some modern historians too have chosen to see Richard as the embodiment of the reckless warrior with no administrative ability and no concern aside from war, but these claims have mostly been refuted, and in any event we must evaluate Richard in the context of Angevin kingship.

  We have already seen a great deal of Richard since he became Duke of Aquitaine at a young age and played an active part in the Angevin Empire throughout the 1170s and 80s. Yet he remained somewhat in his father’s shadow – as so many did – until the tumultuous final years of Henry’s reign, when he then emerged quite forcefully in his own right. His two overriding concerns were the Third Crusade and the battle against Philip Augustus to defend Normandy, Anjou and Aquitaine, and these two causes involved him constantly in the stuff of legend: travel around the Mediterranean, sieges, battles, diplomacy, capture and being locked away in a remote castle.

  Although Richard inherited the Angevin Empire in dramatic circumstances, it is worth noting that no previous king had ever inherited both England and Normandy, much less the rest of the Angevin possessions, without opposition. One of the most critical aspects of kingship, which Henry II and Richard notably possessed and John notably lacked, is the ability to choose reliable ministers and delegate authority. Richard knew who his strongest supporter was, and his first order was for the release of Eleanor of Aquitaine from her imprisonment, upon which she immediately began to govern England with Richard’s full authority. Richard gave the traditional order for all prisoners to be released from their jails, and it allows us, unusually, to hear Eleanor’s voice, for when she implemented the order in England, she said that she carried it out with pleasure because she knew the delight of being freed after long captivity.4

  Richard then dealt with other supporters and possible enemies. Despite accusing William Marshal of trying to kill him when he was pursuing Henry II on his desperate flight from Le Mans, Richard immediately forgave the Marshal and rewarded him with the hand of the Irish heiress Isabelle de Clare plus the earldom of Pembroke. William Marshal, the penniless knight errant, was now rich beyond his dreams and an earl as well, though he would later rise higher still. Henry II’s bastard son Geoffrey – of whom Henry was reported to have said, ‘this is my true son; the others are bastards’, a statement certainly borne out by the circumstances of Henry’s death – had made no secret of the fact that he harboured political ambitions, but Richard neatly countered this by forcing Geoffrey into holy orders and making him Archbishop of York.5

  Richard wanted to begin his Crusade without delay, but there were many things for the new king to attend to, not least his coronation, and he had to go to England. The first account of the English coronation ceremony is Roger of Howden’s description of Richard’s coronation on 13 September 1189. Roger recognized that the key moment was the anointing, for as we have seen with King Stephen, being God’s anointed representative was one of the most mystical qualities of kingship. Richard stripped to his breeches and shirt to expose his chest, and Baldwin Archbishop of Canterbury anointed his head, chest and hands. Richard was then dressed in ceremonial robes, crowned by the Archbishop – though characteristically he picked up the crown himself, the crown Matilda had brought back from Germany, and handed it to Baldwin – and sat enthroned during the mass. We even have the coronation anthem performed at the ceremony, which announced, ‘The age of gold returns / The world’s reform draws nigh / The rich man now cast down / The pauper raised on high.’6 Incidentally, we also have the anthem performed at Philip Augustus’s coronation as co-ruler with his father in 1179; it is by Walter of Chatillon and called Ver Pacis apperit, ‘The springtime of peace / opens the bosom of the earth’. Interestingly the tune to this anthem was also used in a song by the troubadour Blondel, of whom we shall hear more.7

  Our delight in the survival of so much information about Richard’s coronation must be tempered by the later events. A banquet at Whitehall Palace followed the ceremony, but this was tragically marred when a party of Jews arrived to bring gifts to the new king and they were attacked, and some killed, by a mob outside the palace. This riot spread to the City of London where more Jews were killed and their houses burned down. Though Richard had the rioters arrested and some of them hanged, and he sent letters to the shires to prevent further outbreaks of violence against the Jews – because he viewed them as a valuable source of revenue – the Crusading fervour of Richard’s early reign led to more unrest. This culminated in the attack on the Jews of York in March 1190 when around 150 men, women and children either committed suicide to escape the fanatical mob or were massacred.8 This recalls the events of the First Crusade when Jews were routinely attacked; the religious belief that motivated the Crusades included a fanaticism that led to the wanton slaughter not only of Muslims, but also Jews and other Christians.

  For the Crusade dominated everything. Richard needed men, ships and, above all else, money to pay for the expedition, and he pursued this single-mindedly. Arranging transport to the Holy Land would always create difficulties – most notably on the Fourth Crusade – but Richard was the first king able to requisition his own fleet. We speak glibly of Angevin activities in England, Normandy, Anjou and Aquitaine as though they were one entity, but this disguises the fact that the Angevin Empire was actually a maritime Empire that could only exist through constant cross-Channel traffic. As master of ports including Portsmouth, Dover, Cherbourg, La Rochelle and Bordeaux, the Angevin king controlled more ships than any other power in northern Europe.

  It is this fact that is responsible for a fleeting appearance by one of the only regions of Europe usually untouched by
Angevin activity: Scandinavia. When Richard was in captivity in the Empire, Philip Augustus toyed with the idea of attacking England, but to do this he needed ships. In August 1193, Philip married Ingeborg, sister of the Danish king, Cnut VI, to form an alliance with a maritime power, and one that even had a distant claim to the English throne. Although modern historians have usually scoffed at the idea that Philip actually meant this as a threat, contemporary chroniclers such as Roger of Howden and William of Newburgh explicitly stated that this was Philip’s aim.9

  The outcome of Philip’s Scandinavian policy was farcical: after one night of marriage Philip repudiated Ingeborg and sent her to a convent, then attempted to have the marriage annulled on the grounds of consanguinity. Although Philip failed to procure the annulment, in 1196 he married Agnes of Meran anyway, leading to a ten-year rupture with the papacy just as his relations with the Angevins entered their most critical phase. Modern historians generally assume that Philip was somehow physically repulsed by Ingeborg or that there was a catastrophic sexual problem between the two, whereas French chroniclers like Rigord and William the Breton say that sorcery was involved. The modern view that something profoundly odd happened on the wedding night has left many historians searching for ever more fantastic explanations, although one historian has pointed out Roger of Howden’s much more prosaic explanation: with Richard’s release from captivity imminent and the Danes failing to honour their promises about providing a fleet, Philip simply put Ingeborg aside in hopes of making a more useful marriage alliance with someone else. Philip’s plan had backfired spectacularly, as his failed marriage to Ingeborg caused problems for the next twenty years and contributed in large part to his dismal reputation – both to contemporaries and modern historians – as a terrible husband.10

  Richard’s own marital problems and their solution would be played out on the Crusade itself, and for that Richard needed his ships and money to pay for them. He began a sale of offices and benefits on an unprecedented scale: Roger of Howden reports that Richard put everything up for sale, most notably requiring sheriffs to buy back their offices, but also selling back the Scottish king’s homage and licensing tournaments in England for the first time. Gerald of Wales said the king was ‘like a robber always looking for something to steal’.11 Once again, Richard’s subjects had no idea how much more stringent these exactions would soon become.

  The Third Crusade

  We know a great deal about Richard’s Crusade because Roger of Howden, a royal clerk, travelled with the army and not only left a vivid account of events until his departure from the Holy Land in August 1191, but also included many original documents. The Norman minstrel Ambroise also left a verse account of the Crusade, which nicely complements Roger’s account since Ambroise had no access to royal councils but could give a good idea of what life was like for the ordinary soldiers. The Third Crusade is for many reasons the most notable of the Crusades besides the First. It falls at the midpoint of the Crusading movement and was also the last Crusade to achieve any success. More importantly, it was led by the three most prominent rulers of the time: Richard, Philip Augustus and the Emperor Frederick Barbarossa. The ‘Crusade of the Three Kings’ was the greatest military expedition ever undertaken from Europe, and with the added incentive of recapturing Jerusalem it assumed an unprecedented importance.

  Richard had taken the cross in 1187 and Philip Augustus in January 1188, and the Third Crusade finally got under way in 1190. After the catastrophe of the Second Crusade and even the quite unpromising early events of the First Crusade, it is a refreshing change to read about a Crusade that was well organized. Richard’s journey was a model of logistics, and in addition to progressing smoothly to the Holy Land, Richard also made important political and military settlements along the way that shaped Mediterranean history for centuries. Philip Augustus also reached the Holy Land with ease, but one significant calamity was the death of Frederick Barbarossa when he drowned crossing a river in Asia Minor. Frederick was a towering figure in the 12th century, but sadly he has little place in this history and died just at the moment when he might have played a bigger role. However, his death would have enormous consequences for Richard and all subsequent Angevins, as we shall see.12

  The Crusade officially began when Richard and Philip Augustus joined forces at Vézelay and set off on 4 July 1190, the third anniversary of Hattin. The two armies divided at Lyon, not because of any conflict, but simply because it was too difficult to find supplies for such a large force. Richard had also sent a fleet of over 100 ships from England to meet him at Marseilles and transport his army to the Holy Land, whereas Philip Augustus hired ships from Genoa for transport. Amusingly, in the 14th-century story cycle the Decameron, the rather cold-blooded Philip is supposed to have chosen Genoa as his port of embarkation because he was overcome with lust for the wife of the Marquis of Montferrat after hearing of her beauty, although as is typical in the Decameron, she dissuaded him through an adroit stratagem and a devastating snub.13 Unfortunately Richard’s ships had not yet arrived when he reached Marseilles: they had paused to massacre the Jewish and Muslim population of Lisbon and then sack the city (to widespread disgust), so Richard sent part of his army to the Holy Land in hired ships while he sailed to Sicily with the remainder. Richard arrived in Messina with matchless style in a brightly painted galley bedecked with shields and standards, and Richard himself stood on a platform to be welcomed by cheering crowds.14 However, Sicily was not the most unproblematic place to pause on the way to the Holy Land.

  Sicily had been in a state of turmoil since the death of King William II in 1189. William’s heir was his aunt Constance, who was married to Frederick Barbarossa’s son and heir Henry of Hohenstaufen. Barbarossa had attempted to restore imperial domination of the towns of northern Italy, much to the dismay of the papacy, which had been establishing its political authority over central Italy. The spectre of Henry of Hohenstaufen as Emperor and also King of Sicily in right of his wife was terrifying to the pope, whose political power in Italy might be destroyed by such a concentration of German might. The pope thus conspired with the Sicilian barons, who also disliked the thought of having the Emperor as their king, and the crown instead passed to William’s illegitimate cousin, Tancred of Lecce.

  What made the situation of direct concern to Richard was that his sister Joan was William II’s widow. Joan’s dowry should have been returned to her on William II’s death, but instead Tancred had seized it and imprisoned Joan. If that weren’t enough, William II had also bequeathed money and galleys to Henry II to use in the Crusade. Henry had died before William, though the news hadn’t reached Sicily in time for William to alter his will, but Richard felt that as Henry’s heir he was still entitled to the legacy.

  Richard’s relationship with Tancred was already extremely precarious when matters were complicated by trouble between the Greek population of Messina and the Crusaders. After a Greek assault on the Crusaders’ lodgings, Richard launched an attack on the city and captured it. Philip Augustus opposed this attack by Crusaders on a Christian city, but once the city had been taken he demanded that his banners be placed on the city walls so he could take a share of the spoils, as had been the agreement for all the towns taken by the Crusade. Planting banners on the walls was a very important symbol, as Richard would later learn to his cost.15

  Faced with a Crusade on his doorstep that showed no hesitation about attacking him, Tancred immediately agreed to return Joan’s dowry. The political situation took another turn, for it was now that the shocking news arrived that Frederick Barbarossa had drowned in Asia Minor. Henry of Hohenstaufen was now destined to be Emperor, and like everyone else Richard had no wish to see him add Sicily to his other possessions. Richard accepted Tancred’s overtures and agreed to support him against the Hohenstaufen, and proved his friendship by – rather casually – giving Tancred King Arthur’s sword Excalibur, which he had brought from England.16

  Richard now produced a revelation of his own that
probably ended the Crusade’s chances for success and set in motion the events that would dominate the rest of his life. Eleanor of Aquitaine arrived in Sicily, and accompanying her was Berengaria of Navarre, whom Richard had agreed to marry. This was a shocking humiliation for Philip Augustus, whose sister Alice was still – after decades of waiting – officially Richard’s fiancée. Even in their final negotiations with Henry II, Richard and Philip had been demanding that Alice be married to Richard, but now Richard refused to marry her, and even worse claimed that she had been seduced by Henry II and borne him a child.

  Philip must have had a fair idea that Richard wouldn’t marry Alice after all the delays, but to have her replacement arrive in Sicily so she could be publicly discarded and accused of bearing Henry II’s illegitimate child was beyond insulting. Philip’s biographer Rigord of St Denis claims that Philip’s hatred of Richard stemmed from Richard’s treatment of Alice, and though the Angevins and Capetians were always going to be rivals, this incident particularly poisoned Philip’s relations with Richard. Philip was forced to recognize that Alice’s engagement was broken, and a treaty was agreed to set out the relationship between the two kings and how to restore Alice’s dowry, but this injected a sour note into the Crusade – which was already reeling from the loss of Frederick Barbarossa – and essentially guaranteed that the two kings would not work together to recapture Jerusalem.17

  Next to a figure like Eleanor of Aquitaine anyone might have struggled to make an impression, but we know very little about Berengaria. Perhaps her most vivid moment comes in fictional form, though mercifully it is largely forgotten today. In Cecil B Demille’s The Crusades of 1935, Berengaria was portrayed by Loretta Young, and she summed up the importance of the Crusade by exhorting her husband, ‘You gotta save Christianity, Richard, you gotta!’