Just wars and godly knights were not invented in 1095 or first consecrated in 1099. Not all subsequent accounts of war echoed the heroics in Syria. Orderic Vitalis’s description (c.1140) of the motives of Henry I’s troops in refraining from slaughtering their defeated French opponents at Brémule (1119) rested on accepted rhetoric of Christian wars:
they spared each other… out of fear of God and fellowship in arms… As Christian soldiers they did not thirst for the blood of their brothers, but rejoiced in a just victory given by God for the good of the Holy Church, and the peace of the faithful.
In fact Henry’s men thirsted for juicy ransoms. By contrast, in Orderic’s description of the fighting around Fraga in 1134 between Alfonso I of Aragon and the Almoravid Muslim fundamentalists from Morocco, the Aragonese wore ‘the cross of Christ’ (whether Orderic meant literally or metaphorically is unclear), their battle cries ‘in the name of Jesus’.20 In the account of the battle of the Standard (1138) by the contemporary English writer Henry of Huntingdon, the English soldiers facing the invading Scots received absolution before the conflict, which was declared ‘very just’ by a bishop present, who promised full remission of sins to any who died in the fight in defence of their homeland (‘patria’). The symbols of the church and the appeal to patriotism as well as martyrdom in this description may have been sharpened by the new holy war but in essence derived from older traditions. Similarly, although in Geoffrey of Monmouth’s fanciful but widely circulated Historia Regum Brittaniae (History of the Kings of Britain) of 1136, King Arthur’s troops at the battle of Bath have been ‘marked with the sign of the Christian faith’, i.e. the cross, they were only promised absolution from all sins if they perished in the fight. There is no explicit suggestion that fighting the pagans, however praiseworthy, was itself penitential.21 As with Charlemagne’s doomed paladins in the epic poem The Song of Roland, c.1100, paradise, where souls rested ‘amid the rose-blossoms’, beckoned only those slain in the good fight. Such conservatism embraced even the papacy: in December 1118 Gelasius II granted Alfonso I of Aragon plenary indulgences only to those killed fighting the Moors.22
While memories of the First Crusade undoubtedly influenced the sharper confidence in describing and prescribing holy war, especially against infidels and pagans, the haphazard adoption of specifically new forms of penitential warfare by writers and popes alike points to a contingent appreciation of the significance of 1095–9. Even the rhetoric lavished on the new military order of the Templars by Bernard of Clairvaux in his De laude novae militiae (In Praise of the New Knighthood) c.1130, for all its radical reworking of St Paul’s spiritual metaphors of fighting for Christ into literal calls to arms, dwells on martyrdom and the prospect of salvation, at once traditional and immediate anxieties of the fighting classes. The images, language and ideology specifically related to penitential holy war as coined by the preachers, leaders and led of 1095–9, distinctive by association as much as by any liturgical, juridical, ceremonial or semantic coherence, formed only one part of a wider articulation of holy war and militant Christianity. In no sense did the early twelfth century knowingly witness the dawning of a pervasive ‘age of the crusade’.
Instead, the dynamic force of the idealized and physical Jerusalem provided the prime focus, for travellers, in arms or not, as for theorists. Pilgrimage not holy war proved the most immediate legacy of the Christian occupation of the Holy City. King Eric I of Denmark in 1102–3 and King Sigurd of Norway in 1107–10 went east as pilgrims as well as warriors, their martial intent an extension of traditional Scandinavian service for Byzantium, which acted as host to both monarchs; fatally for the Norwegians, many dying from excess of undiluted retsina. Eric died in Cyprus before reaching the Holy Land; his wife on the Mount of Olives. In 1110, King Sigurd only allowed himself to be recruited ‘to the service of Christ’ by Baldwin I for the siege of Sidon once his vows had been fulfilled at Jerusalem, where he may have received the cross.23
Links with Jerusalem established the domestic respectability of lords, especially kings. In the winter of 1102–3, the German emperor, Henry IV, for a quarter of a century the papacy’s most hated and implacable enemy, voiced his intention to travel to the Holy City, probably as a pilgrim. The public announcement at a diet at Mainz in January 1103, accompanied by solemn masses and an exhortatory sermon by the bishop of Würzburg, attracted wide interest, cynics suspecting a trick. Privately, in a letter to his aged godfather, the enormously grand Abbot Hugh of Cluny, Henry made his desire to see where Christ had lived, conversed with mortals and died conditional on a peace settlement with the papacy over the Investiture dispute. No deal, no pilgrimage.24 In seeking to use the Jerusalem pilgrimage in helping resolve intractable secular conflicts, Henry was not alone. From England to Sicily, political outlaws, such as the would-be assassins of William I of Sicily (1160) and the actual murderers of Thomas Becket (1170), worked their passage back to respectability or found a nobler form of exile through the trip – or the promise of a trip – to Jerusalem.25 In 1102/3, Henry IV hoped a commitment to visit Jerusalem would expedite a deal with the papacy and pacify his kingdom just as St Bernard’s preaching and King Conrad III’s taking of the cross did in 1146–7. It may have been the failure of such a strategy to resolve family feuding in the Danish royal house that led to the murder of Duke Canute, Eric I’s son, by his cousin Magnus in 1131. Apparently, Magnus had vowed to go to Jerusalem, probably as a pilgrim, leaving his wife and children in the care of Canute, whom he then murdered as an alternative to clinching the deal.26 In 1128, on the death of William Clito count of Flanders, many of his followers not pardoned by his hostile uncle, Henry I of England, ‘took the Lord’s Cross and, becoming exiles for Christ’s sake, set out for His sepulchre in Jerusalem’.27 As a technique of resolving feuds, the Jerusalem journey became embedded into the public culture of western Europe: successive treaties between Henry II and his French overlords Louis VII and Philip II featured mutual commitments to go east. However, using Jerusalem (and other) pilgrimages for political ends, to re-establish respectability and authority or as a form of temporary exile, predated the twelfth century: notable eleventh-century pilgrims included the bloodthirsty Count Fulk Nerra of Anjou, Duke Robert I the Devil of Normandy and the Anglo-Danish murderer Sweyn Godwinson, older brother of the last Anglo-Saxon king of England.
The twelfth-century explosion of peaceful pilgrimages to Jerusalem stood in marked contrast to the occasional and, after the debacle of the Second Crusade, limited enthusiasm for holy wars to the east. Yet there developed a ready association between noble pilgrims and deeds of arms, highlighted by the creation in Jerusalem of the Order of the Knights of the Temple of Solomon, the Templars, in 1119 to whom visiting grandees, such as Count Fulk of Anjou in 1120, could temporarily attach themselves. The habit began earlier. In the first decade of the twelfth century, pilgrims were repeatedly pressed into military action by inducements from the Christian rulers of Outremer. Shortly after being knighted, some time before 1111, Charles of Denmark, a nephew of Robert II of Flanders and later count of Flanders himself, underwent a pilgrimage on which he fought against the pagan ‘enemies of the Christian faith’. In 1124, Conrad of Hohenstaufen, the future King Conrad III and leader of the Second Crusade, possibly after some sort of conversion experience, vowed to go to Jerusalem as a soldier for Christ, the only European monarch to campaign in the Holy Land twice.28 Charles and Conrad were not unique. In the generation after 1100, a steady trickle of affluent French nobles visited Outremer, a few of them First Crusade veterans revisiting as pilgrims the scenes of their youthful martial glory; one or two, like Stephen of Neublans from Burgundy in 1120 or Hugh of Chaumont in 1128/9, even signed up to fight again. Interest in the east ran in families, such as those of comital Burgundy – roughly modern Franche Comté – (which included Pope Calixtus II, who proclaimed a new holy war in the east in 1119), or of the French lordships of Montlhéry and Le Puiset, a concern that embraced fighting and settlement as well as pilgrima
ge. Such contacts spread unevenly across western Europe, with German speakers lacking established links in Outremer ‘as they… had no mind to stay there’, to the regret of John of Würzburg in 1170.29 Settlers’ relatives provided a conduit for interest, information and material help for the Holy Land. By the 1130s, these associations could find outlet in new, permanent institutions of holy war.
MILITARY ORDERS
Hugh I count of Troyes went east three times, 1104–8, 1114 and 1125; the final visit saw him enrolling in the new religious order of the Knights Templar; he was not alone. By 1131, when the childless King Alfonso I of Aragon (d. 1134) drew up a will in which he bequeathed his possessions jointly to the canons of the Holy Sepulchre, the Order of the Hospital of St John (the Hospitallers) and the Templars, the two Levantine military orders, especially the latter, had established themselves as unique institutions within the Catholic church, combining charity with violence, religious vocation with fighting. Through attracting recruits and grants of property in the west, these orders established on a permanent footing the basic idealism of penitential warfare, a mechanism for its expression and a physical presence throughout Christendom reminding the faithful of the plight of the Holy Land.30
The Order of the Hospital of St John, the Hospitallers, originated in an Amalfitan hospital established in Jerusalem by 1080 to provide care for poor and sick pilgrims. Originally dedicated to St John the Almsgiver, a seventh-century patriarch, after the conquest of 1099 its enhanced role and importance in coping with the new rush of western visitors, many ill, exhausted and impoverished, led to an elevation in status and patron saint, the local historical cleric giving way to the much grander, universally recognized John the Baptist. Receiving grants of property from King Baldwin, in 1113 the order acquired papal recognition as a charitable confraternity bound together into an order through the adoption of religious vows of poverty, chastity and obedience, in outline little different from other new orders such as the Augustinian canons. While the structure of the Hospitaller order may have provided the model for the Templars, the martial function of the latter influenced the Order of St John. While never losing its essential charitable hospital function, by 1126 Hospitaller brothers were serving in the army of the kingdom of Jerusalem on campaign against Damascus, and by 1136 the order was being entrusted with garrisoning frontier fortresses.
The original function of the Templars was military yet, like the Hospital, its purpose derived from the needs of Jerusalem pilgrims. In 1119, a group of knights in Jerusalem led by Hugh de Payns from Champagne and a Picard, Godfrey of St Omer, established a confraternity to protect the pilgrim routes from the coast to Jerusalem and from there to Jericho. Licensed by the patriarch of Jerusalem and bound by the monastic vows of poverty, chastity and obedience, the knights received official ecclesiastical recognition at the Council of Nablus in January 1120. From its earliest days, although dependent on alms even for clothing, the order was lodged in and around the royal palace at the al-Aqsa mosque and elsewhere on the Temple platform, inspiring the name of the Order of Temple of Solomon (which the Franks identified with the al-Aqsa) and demonstrating the strong and consistent support of the king. The same year, their contacts were sufficiently illustrious to recruit the visiting Count Fulk of Anjou into their ranks, if only temporarily; on his return to the west Fulk endowed the order with an annual income of thirty livres anjou, setting an example followed by many.31 Between 1127 and 1129, Hugh de Payns toured western Europe to attract donations and members, as well as assisting in negotiations to persuade his former confrater Fulk of Anjou to return east and recruiting forces for a new campaign against Damascus. Travelling widely in France and visiting England and Scotland, Hugh’s success is reflected in the extensive grants made to the order in 1127–8 of land, rents, customs, war materials and, from the counts of Flanders, the proceeds from entry fines to fiefs, known as reliefs. Hugh’s contacts included some of the greatest lords in France. Apart from Fulk of Anjou, Hugh of Troyes was already a member of the order, and other patrons included William Clito and Thierry of Alsace, successively counts of Flanders, and Theobald count of Blois, while his welcome in England and Scotland testified to his status.32 His triumphal progress was crowned at the Council of Troyes in January 1129, presided over by a papal legate and attended by many from the elite ecclesiastical establishment, including the most influential of all, Bernard abbot of Clairvaux, who a few years later was to compose the famous paean of praise for the new knighthood and holy war on behalf of the new order, De Laude novae militiae. At Troyes, after hearing Hugh’s description of the principles and practices of the new order, the council confirmed its foundation and provided a systematic Rule.
Although the Templars had received property in the west before 1128–9, Hugh’s trip consolidated the order’s standing as a recipient of charitable donations. By 1150, it had become an extensive and wealthy landowner from England to Italy and Portugal, and especially in northern France, Languedoc and north Spain, the extensive network of estates soon organized into regional commanderies. In some areas, the connection between crusading families and patronage of the order is obvious. In England, the Temple’s chief patrons proved to be King Stephen, son of the coward of Antioch, Stephen of Blois, and his wife Queen Matilda, daughter of Eustace of Boulogne and niece of Godfrey of Bouillon and Baldwin I. King Stephen’s brother Theobald and William Clito of Flanders, son of the crusader Robert of Normandy, also proved generous donors. In such concrete ways, the propaganda of St Bernard and the enthusiasm of individual recruits were lent physical expression and support, the great centres of the Temples in Paris or London, or the estates such as Temple Cowley or Knightsbridge in England acting as familiar reminders of the cause of Christianity in the east.
The clear association of the Templars with the tradition of the First Crusade found reinforcement in their enjoyment of full remission of sins for fighting and the adoption of the red cross on their white robes, showing them unmistakably as knights of Christ. However, the concept of members of a religious order, fortified by the offices of the church, riding out to shed blood could still jar, especially as other religious, such as monks, were actively discouraged from participation in holy wars. To some observers, not otherwise hostile to holy war, the vocational combination of a knight and a monk appeared monstrous. Guigo, abbot of the austere Grande Chartreuse (1109–36), expressed anxiety at the dangers inherent in this fusion of the spiritual and profane: ‘It is useless attacking external enemies if we do not first conquer those within ourselves… first purge our souls of vices, then the lands from the barbarians’.33 Such unease provoked lengthy apologia in support of the Templars by their adherents and supporters, most famously and polemically in St Bernard’s De Laude. Yet, despite such honed rhetoric, the active encouragement of the great and a series of papal bulls granting recognition and extensive ecclesiastical and spiritual privileges (1139–45), doubts persisted, never entirely stilled until the order’s suppression and abolition in the early fourteenth century. While in the early days of the order, the conceptual novelty disturbed some, even in the thirteenth century canonists such as Thomas Aquinas needed to spell out the meritorious connection between fighting God’s war and a penitential vocation.34
Nonetheless the Templars and the Hospitallers, whose continued charitable function deflected criticisms, provided a model quickly copied elsewhere. Proliferation of religious confraternities was a prominent feature of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, some designed for military purposes, such as Alfonso I of Aragon’s militia at Monreal del Campo (1128–30) and the confraternity of Belchite (1122), which some have argued imitated Muslim ribats in combining military service and a life of prayer, or the Danish confraternity established in 1151–2 by Vetheman, a wealthy merchant from Roskilde, to police the seas against pirates, often pagan; while not specifically connected with penitential warfare, members took Communion and confessed their sins before each tour of duty.35 Not all these brotherhoods imposed service or comm
itment for life: even the Templars admitted temporary members visiting Jerusalem, such as Count Fulk in 1120 or the Burgundian Humbert III the Old, lord of Beaujeu, in 1142, and provided an elite hotel service for other grandees such as Conrad III in 1148.36
The success of the formula pioneered in the east by the Temple and Hospital in attracting donations and organizing men, money, defence and political control of whole regions encouraged emulation in the Iberian peninsular, where local military orders were established in the struggle against the Moors: in Castile the Orders of Calatrava (1164) and Alcantara (1176); in León the Order of Santiago (1170); and in Portugal the Order of Avis (c.1176). In Outremer, the Order of Lazarus, founded in the 1130s mainly but not exclusively for leprous knights, possessed close ties with the Templars. Leprosy, or similar-appearing skin diseases, were indigenous to the Near East, carrying with them a social stigma and religious charge far beyond their infectious potential (which was and is small). The association with St Lazarus became widespread in Latin Christendom, leper hospitals being known as ‘lazar houses’. The Templar rule became the model for the Order of Teutonic Knights (1198, based on a hospitaller confraternity formed at the siege of Acre in 1190) which in turn gave its statutes to the English Order of St Thomas of Acre (founded for canons 1190/1; militarized 1228). Such institutions closely shadowed mission and warfare on Christendom’s frontiers, as with the Swordbrothers of Livonia (c.1202) and the Prussian Knights of Dobrin (Dobryzn, c.1220). The larger orders, especially the Temple and Hospital, grew into international organizations, with extensive property and political influence, comprising structures, membership and dependants far beyond the original knights, priests or hospitallers, or the sergeants and other necessary military personnel: there were even convents of nuns attached to the Hospitallers in the thirteenth century.
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