Crusading in the Age of Joinville 2005013064, 9780754653639

Table of contents :
Cover
Half Title
Dedication
Title Page
Copyright Page
Table of Contents
List of Tables
Acknowledgements
Abbreviations
Introduction
1 Sources
2 John of Joinville and the Vie de Saint Louis
3 The Presentation of Crusades to Potential Participants
4 The Practice of Crusading
5 Crusading and Knightly Careers
Conclusion
Bibliography
Index

Citation preview

CRUSADING IN THE AGE OF JOINVILLE

For Michael and Dorothy Smith, my parents

Crusading in the Age of Joinville

CAROLINE SMITH

First published 2006 by Ashgate Publishing Published 2016 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017, USA Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business Copyright © 2006 Caroline Smith Caroline Smith has asserted her moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data Smith, Caroline Crusading in the Age of Joinville 1. Joinville, Jean, sire de, 1224?–1317?. Vie de Saint Louis. 2. Crusades – Seventh, 1248–1250. 3. Crusades – Seventh, 1248–1250 Sources. 4. Crusades – Eighth, 1270. 5. Crusades – Eighth, 1270 – Sources. 6. Nobility – Religious life – Europe – History – To 1500. 7. Knights and knighthood – History – To 1500. I. Title. 940.1’84 US Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data Smith, Caroline, 1975– Crusading in the Age of Joinville p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. 1. Crusades – Later, 13th, 14th and 15th centuries. 2. Church history – Middle Ages, 600– 1500. 3. Crusades – Later 13th, 14th and 15th centuries – Sources. 4. Church history – Middle Ages, 600–1500 – Sources. 5. Joinville, Jean, sire de, 1224?–1317?. Histoire de saint Louis. I. Title. D172.S65 2005 944'.023–dc22 2005013064

ISBN 9780754653639 (hbk) Typeset by Saxon Graphics Ltd, Derby

Contents List of Tables Acknowledgements Abbreviations Introduction

vii ix xi 1

1 Sources

15

2 John of Joinville and the Vie de Saint Louis

47

3 The Presentation of Crusades to Potential Participants

75

4 The Practice of Crusading

109

5 Crusading and Knightly Careers

151

Conclusion

191

Bibliography Index

197 209

List of Tables 1.1. Crusade-related songs in Old French, organized by approximate date of production

17

1.2. Crusade-related songs in Old French, organized by type

21

Acknowledgements This study is based on a dissertation submitted for the degree of Ph.D. at the University of Cambridge in 2003. I am grateful to the Arts and Humanities Research Board of the British Academy for providing funding for this project, and to the Lightfoot Fund of the University of Cambridge for additional financial support which enabled me to undertake a period of research in France. Jonathan Riley-Smith’s erudition and enthusiasm inspired an interest in crusade history early in my student career, and his guidance and encouragement as a supervisor have been vital in bringing this interest to fruition. I owe many thanks to him for this, and also feel very fortunate to have benefited from the friendship and advice of the numerous research students who have worked with him in recent years. Several individuals have been of particular assistance during the production of this work. I am indebted to Jonathan Phillips, Daniel Wakelin and Iben Schmidt for reading and commenting on my work at various stages during this process, and to my Ph.D. examiners, Norman Housley and Malcolm Barber, for their feedback. For his many contributions to this endeavour and to my life in general I am truly grateful to Nicholas Paul. I have dedicated this work to my parents, Michael and Dorothy Smith, whose support has been invaluable to me in this project as in all things.

Abbreviations Layettes MGHSS RHC Occ. RHGF Vie

Layettes du trésor des chartes, ed. J. Teulet et al. (Paris, 1863–1909), 5 vols Monumenta Germaniae Historica Scriptores, ed. G. H. Pertz et al. (Hanover, 1826–1934), 32 vols Recueil des historiens des croisades. Historiens occidentaux (Paris, 1844–95), 5 vols Recueil des historiens des Gaules et de la France, ed. M. Bouquet et al. (Paris, 1737–1904), 24 vols John of Joinville, Vie de Saint Louis, ed. J. Monfrin (Paris, 1995)

Introduction John of Joinville’s Vie de Saint Louis recounts how in July 1248 he and his companions set sail from Marseilles to join the forces their king, Louis IX of France, had gathered for his first crusade campaign.1 In doing so Joinville replicated the actions of countless other knights, including several members of his own family, who had taken the cross in the decades following pope Urban II’s preaching of the First Crusade in 1095. Through the actions of these successive generations crusading had come to be an established feature of Christian and knightly life and, in the thirteenth century, a recurrent one: this was a period of intense crusading activity. This study concerns the way in which thirteenth-century laymen like Joinville may have perceived crusading, and how they involved themselves with the crusading cause. For anyone interested in participants’ ideas and motivations, crusading in this period is a topic that is made both more appealing and more complex by the developments that had taken place in the century and a half that had elapsed between 1095 and Louis IX’s first crusade. During this period the Church and secular rulers who were responsible for instigating and executing crusade campaigns had come to use the crusade as a weapon against a variety of enemies in a range of locations and had found new ways to call on the support and assistance of their congregations and subjects. At the same time laymen, clerics and religious wrote, talked and sang to each other about the real and imagined experiences of crusaders. In the decades preceding the mid thirteenth century there was thus a profusion of media through which ideas about crusading were presented to potential participants, and an accompanying growth in the number of opportunities for them to put these ideas into practice should they choose to take the cross. It is not my intention to provide an exhaustive examination of issues relating to the laity’s perception of and involvement with crusading in relation to all the manifestations of this activity in the thirteenth century. This current study will concentrate largely, though not exclusively, on the participants in Louis IX’s crusades to Egypt in 1248 and to Tunisia in 1270. This focus is determined by the contents of Joinville’s Vie de Saint Louis, a life of the king written in Old French that has at its core a first-person account of 1

Vie de Saint Louis, par. 125. Monfrin’s edition of the Vie (Paris, 1995) retains the division of Joinville’s text into numbered sections or paragraphs first established by N. de Wailly. For ease of reference to Monfrin’s edition and accompanying translation into modern French these paragraph numbers will be cited rather than page numbers. Translations into English are my own.

1

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the Egyptian crusade and its aftermath. It is the purpose of this study to consider the means by which the issue of the laity’s response to calls to crusade in the thirteenth century might be examined in the light of the source material available, to explore themes that have been associated with crusading in this and other periods and to assert the unique value of Joinville’s work in this context. The pages that follow will outline the methodology and historiographical background of this study, which concentrates on specific themes as they feature in sources related to the promotion and practice of crusading, and on the careers of individual crusaders. Because the organization of this study is thematic rather than chronological, an initial summary of the historical context of Louis’s crusades may prove helpful.2 The thirteenth century was a period of intense and varied crusading activity, on which both the papacy, as the crusades’ official instigators and religious sponsors, and the secular powers of Europe, on whom the papacy depended in order to bring its crusading plans to fruition, made their own distinctive marks. Although a mutual dependence existed between the Church and secular authorities in the context of the crusades this was not enough to achieve a harmonization of aims and methods. The century opened with the departure of the Fourth Crusade, the forces of which were diverted as a result of material necessity from an intended campaign against Muslims in the East to the conquest of the Christian city of Zara and then of the schismatic Christian city and empire of Constantinople. In the wake of these events the papacy under Innocent III and his successors made efforts to facilitate the efficient gathering and direction of manpower and financial resources in order that they might be used where they were perceived to be most needed at any given time, whether that be in campaigns in Europe against heretics or the Hohenstaufen enemies of the Church, along the peripheries of Christendom against Muslims in the Iberian peninsula and pagans to the far north, or in the East in order to achieve or extend Christian control of the holy places and surrounding territory. The large force mustered for the Christian assault on Damietta in 1218 is evidence of how systematic use of preaching campaigns, vow redemptions and commutations and taxation could produce a large and potentially threatening crusade army, but the failure to carry forward its achievements after the capture of that city in the following year demonstrates that sound organization and resourcing in the early phases of a campaign were worth nothing without effective leadership and a firm set of objectives. 2 More detailed surveys of thirteenth-century crusading may be found in J. Riley-Smith, The crusades. A short history (London, 1987), pp. 109–78 and H. E. Mayer, The crusades, trans. J. Gillingham (second edition, Oxford, 1988), pp. 196–288. On crusades to the East in particular, see N. Housley, ‘The thirteenth-century crusades in the Mediterranean’, in The new Cambridge medieval history. Volume V, c.1198–c.1300, ed. D. Abulafia (Cambridge, 1999), pp. 569–89.

Introduction

3

Emperor Frederick II, who became the king of Jerusalem by virtue of his marriage in 1225, might have been the person to provide such leadership and sense of purpose. He lacked the stability in his German and Italian territories that might have made this possible, not least because of continuing suspicion and hostility between himself and the Curia. When he did reach the East to claim his throne in 1228 he was an excommunicate. Although his negotiated delivery of holy places in Jerusalem and other land into Christian hands under the terms of the Treaty of Jaffa in 1229 enabled him to go through an imperial crown-wearing in the Holy Sepulchre, the Christian presence in the East after Frederick’s departure was insufficient to make these gains anything more than nominal and the emperor’s only substantive contribution to the crusading cause was the settlement of a tenyear truce with the Ayyubid sultans. The forces of the Barons’ Crusade which arrived in the East in 1239 as this truce expired warrant this name by dint of the fact that they lacked the involvement of any of the major European rulers and were instead led by the French magnates Thibaut IV of Champagne and Hugh IV of Burgundy, who had asserted their will to campaign in the Levant over the desires of Pope Gregory IX that they transfer their efforts to the support of the beleaguered Latin empire of Constantinople. Thibaut and Hugh’s campaign did not cover them in glory – the rout of a group of crusaders led by the counts of Bar and Montfort at Gaza in 1239 proved the most memorable event of this crusade. But the settlement negotiated by Thibaut with the sultan of Damascus before his departure for France in 1240, and the efforts of Richard of Cornwall in treating with Egypt and in refortifying Ascalon during 1240 and 1241 won significant territorial gains for the Christians in the East, including an enhanced possession of the Holy City, and might have provided a sound basis from which to rebuild a Christian kingdom around Jerusalem. This was prevented by the Egyptian sultan asSalih, who used forces of Khwarizmian Turks to capture Jerusalem in August 1244 and to help him defeat the Christian forces and their allies from Damascus at the battle of La Forbie in October of the same year. It was in the wake of these events that Louis IX of France took the cross for the first time. This was a personal decision, made on the point of the king’s recovery from a serious illness in December 1244 and before consultation with the the pope. Innocent IV lent support to Louis’s effort by providing as legate Odo of Châteauroux, who was cardinal bishop of Tusculum and an experienced preacher and promoter of crusades, and by putting measures in place for a tax to be raised on the French Church to aid the crusade’s finances. But it was Louis’s personal commitment to the cause of the crusade as a pious project and attention to the preparation of his campaign that meant this crusade had the resources and leadership which gave it a greater chance of success than those of the preceding decades. Louis

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gathered funds, laid in supplies on Cyprus and forwarded the construction of Aigues-Mortes, which was to be a major port of embarkation for the crusade. Through the efforts of enquêteurs sent to enquire into the conduct of royal officials and address any grievances, Louis worked to secure stability in his realm, including those areas such as Normandy and Languedoc which had come under Capetian rule as a result of the efforts of Philip Augustus and Louis VIII. When Louis left France in August 1248, accompanied by a force of around 2 500 knights including two of his brothers – Robert of Artois and Charles of Anjou – and to be joined later by the third, Alphonse of Poitiers, it seemed that the Church and the Christian settlements in the East might have found their champion. The king viewed his involvement in the East as a long-term commitment, as is evidenced by the fact that in the aftermath of his startling victory in the capture of Damietta on 5 June 1249, without any need for a siege of the sort undertaken by the Fifth Crusade, he had a bishopric established in the city and had resources in place to begin Christian settlement in the region. But this was not to be. The crusaders’ advance from Damietta up the Nile towards Cairo began in November 1249 but was prevented from crossing the river before Mansurah by the Ayyubid forces, who at that point were without a leader following the death of sultan as-Salih and in the absence of his successor, Turan Shah. It was not until early February 1250 that the crusaders were informed of the existence of a ford that would enable them to cross the river. The king’s brother, Robert of Artois, whose contingent formed the vanguard of the Christian army, squandered this opportunity by failing to wait for assistance and leading his men immediately into the town of Mansurah where they were wiped out. Despite this military blow and personal loss Louis was able to win that day’s battle, although it proved impossible to capitalize on this victory. Under the leadership of the newly-arrived Turan Shah the Ayyubids continually harrassed the Christian camp outside Mansurah, the forces of which were also depleted by the effects of disease and dearth resulting from a blockade of the Nile which prevented supplies reaching them from Damietta. In early April 1250 the decision was made to retreat to that city, but during the course of this attempt Louis and his fellow crusaders were forced to surrender and face captivity. It was during the following month, while the king and his army were still prisoners of Turan Shah, that there was a revolt against the sultan. Egypt passed into the control of the Mamluk regime, and it was from them that Louis bought his freedom with the surrender of Damietta, while that of his army was to be paid for with 400 000 livres. Half this sum was paid immediately, but not all of the captive Christians were released. It was in order to bring this about and to work for the defence of Christian possessions in the Levant that Louis sailed to Acre after his release in May 1250. After the departure of Alphonse of

Introduction

5

Poitiers, Charles of Anjou and many other French knights Louis remained in the East with a reduced force until the spring of 1254, spending the intervening four years refortifying the cities of Acre, Jaffa, Ascalon and Sidon and undertaking negotiations for the return of prisoners and for truces with the Mamluk sultanate of Egypt to the south and the Ayyubid sultans of Damascus and Aleppo to the north. Louis’s departure from Acre in 1254 did not signal a break in his concern for the well-being of the Christians in the East: he left at his own expense a force of French knights at Acre under the leadership of Geoffrey of Sergines. The Acre garrison was to guarantee a French presence in the East and to grant Louis and his heirs a stake in the affairs of the Levant until the fall of the last of the Christian territories on the mainland. The process of the destruction of these territories began after the Mongol defeat of the Ayyubid sultanates of Damascus and Aleppo and the subsequent defeat of the Mongols by the Mamluks at Ain Jalut in 1260, which meant that Mamluk control of the lands around Acre and the Christian holdings was complete. Under sultan Baybars the Mamluks captured Mount Tabor in 1263, Caesarea and Arsuf in 1265, Safad, Toron and Chastel Neuf in 1266, Beaufort, Jaffa and Antioch in 1268 and Montfort, Gibelacar and Crac des Chevaliers in 1271. It was in the midst of this series of losses for the Christians that, in 1267, Louis anounced his intention of going on crusade again. Once more his preparations were meticulous and he had the vital support of his brothers Alphonse of Poitiers and Charles of Anjou (now king of Sicily after the prosecution of crusade campaigns against the remnants of the Hohenstaufen dynasty in southern Italy) as well as contingents led by Edward of England and James I of Aragon, though only small portions of the Aragonese group ever joined the crusade army. The failure of this crusade was due to the decision that, after its departure from France in July 1270, it should go to Tunisia. This plan may have been favoured by Charles of Anjou as an element of his empire-building, but it was certainly hoped by Louis that he would be able to bring to fruition the Tunisian king’s apparent interest in conversion to Christianity. This was never achieved and nor was much else; many members of the crusade army, including Louis himself, succumbed to illness soon after their arrival. The king died on 25 August 1270, truces were agreed with the Tunisians and both Charles of Anjou and Louis’s heir, Philip III, decided not to continue with the crusade, leaving only Edward to sail to Acre, with a contingent too small to be of any great assistance against the might of the Mamluks. Although there was concern in Europe for the plight of the Christian East, vocalized most clearly by Gregory X who came to the pontificate in 1271, the manpower and other resources needed to back up his plans were not effectively mobilized. The Mamluk advance into Christian territory in the 1280s went unchecked, Tripoli was lost in 1289 and in the

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wake of the siege and fall of Acre in May 1291 all the Christian holdings on the mainland were surrendered. The final loss of the Christian settlements in the East has inevitably had a significant bearing on historians’ assessments of crusading in the thirteenth century. Although campaigns to recover these lands were mooted and even planned for in Europe in the decades after 1291, none actually materialized and proactive crusading in the East was therefore at an end.3 In this context Louis IX’s crusades have been seen as a turning point for crusading, marking ‘both the culmination and the beginning of the end of the crusade movement’.4 This assessment by Joseph Strayer signals the great achievement of Louis’s campaigns in terms of their organization and resourcing, which may only have served to increase potential disillusionment with crusading when these efforts resulted in failure. Steven Runciman’s famous history of the crusades portrayed the thirteenth century as a period of inexorable decline not only for the condition of Christian holdings in the Levant but also for enthusiasm for crusading in the West, during which Louis’s commitment stands in stark contrast to the indifference of most of his peers.5 Recent research has tended to consider crusading in this period less in terms of its overall successes or failures, but instead has focused on how institutions and individuals responded to the challenges and opportunities that faced the crusading cause.6 It has thus been demonstrated that the appetite for and interest in crusading was not stagnating or declining, and that in many ways crusading in the thirteenth century was characterized by vitality and innovation. This is evident in the readiness of the Church and Christendom’s temporal rulers to employ the crusade widely as a weapon, and to experiment with new ways of bringing their crusade plans to fruition. So, for example, Norman Housley has shown how the Church was able to recruit crusaders and generate funds necessary for its campaigns in southern Italy.7 Christoph Maier has examined the way in which the newly-founded mendicant orders were enlisted by the Church to play a key role in the preaching and promotion of crusade campaigns.8 The importance of existing 3

Mayer, The crusades, p. 287. J. Strayer, ‘The crusades of Louis IX’, in The later crusades, 1189–1311, ed. R. L. Wolff and H. W. Hazard, vol. 2 of A History of the Crusades, general editor K. M. Setton (Madison, Milwaukee and London, 1969), p. 487. 5 S. Runciman, A History of the crusades. Volume III: The kingdom of Acre and the later crusades (Cambridge, 1954), p. xi. 6 Michael Lower, The Barons’ Crusade. A call to arms and its consequences (Philadelphia, 2005) was published as this work was in the final stages of preparation and will be an important contribution in this area. 7 N. Housley, The Italian crusades: the papal–Angevin alliance and the crusades against Christian lay powers, 1254–1343 (Oxford, 1982). 8 C. Maier, Preaching the crusades: mendicant friars and the cross in the thirteenth century, (Cambridge studies in medieval life and thought 28, Cambridge, 1994). 4

Introduction

7

social structures in generating the manpower and money necessary to prosecute a crusade has been demonstrated by Simon Lloyd’s work on England in this period.9 Elizabeth Siberry’s work on the crusades and their critics from the time of the First Crusade to the late thirteenth century has demonstrated continuing widespread enthusiasm for the cause of the crusade, alongside some concern as to when, where and how the crusade and measures associated with it should be exercised.10 Many of these areas of interest were brought together in James Powell’s in-depth study of the planning and prosecution of the Fifth Crusade, which describes how this campaign was conceived by the papacy, promoted through preaching, recruited for, financed and how, ultimately, this careful preparation was not enough to bring success.11 In the meantime issues associated with the motivation of laymen who joined crusades or their understanding of the nature and value of the campaigns in which they took part have not been addressed in detail for the thirteenth century. The work in the mid twentieth century of the French scholar Paul Alphandéry and his pupil Alphonse Dupront resulted in a study of Christianity and the idea of the crusade from the late eleventh to fourteenth centuries.12 The broad chronological sweep of this work and its readiness to treat Latin Christendom as a homogeneous unit with a ‘collective spirituality’ and ‘collective unconsciousness’13 left little space for discussion of variety of response to crusading or the beliefs and behaviour of individuals. One individual whose activities as a crusader have attracted considerable attention is, of course, Louis IX himself. The works of William Chester Jordan, Jean Richard and Jacques Le Goff are the most notable contributions to this field.14 Jordan and Richard have both given Louis’s desire to crusade and the impact of the failure of his first campaign a pivotal role in his thinking as a Christian and as a king. For Le Goff the place of the crusade in Louis’s reign is somewhat diminished; this was just one of many activities through which he sought to embody the ideal of Christian kingship. These studies are of interest and use to my work as Louis is among those whose actions and attitudes I will consider. Nevertheless, he is only one of many who took the cross during the mid thirteenth century and he is made exceptional both by his status as king and by his extreme piety. It is in the context of the earliest years of the crusade movement, and the First Crusade in particular, that the greatest efforts have been made to 9

S. Lloyd, English society and the crusade, 1216–1307 (Oxford, 1988). E. Siberry, Criticism of crusading, 1095–1274 (Oxford, 1985). 11 J. Powell, Anatomy of a crusade, 1213–1221 (Philadelphia, 1986). 12 P. Alphandéry and A. Dupront, La Chrétienté et l’idée de croisade (L’évolution d’humanité, synthèse collective, 38 and 38b, Paris, 1954–9), 2 vols. 13 Ibid., 1, p. 9. 14 W. C. Jordan, Louis IX and the challenge of the crusade. A study in rulership (Princeton, 1979); J. Richard, Saint Louis, roi d’une France féodale, soutien de la Terre Sainte (Paris, 1983); J. Le Goff, Saint Louis (Paris, 1996). 10

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identify who was likely to take the cross, how they are likely to have heard about crusading and how they may have interpreted the Church’s appeal for an armed expedition to the Holy Land.15 Although many features of the crusade preached by Urban II in 1095 were not without precedents in earlier holy wars, the Peace and Truce of God movements and the practice of pilgrimage, the project he proposed was in many ways a novelty. This has made the study of recruitment and motivation for the First Crusade in some ways a simpler prospect than might be the case for later campaigns: because the call for participants in this new endeavour issued by Urban at Clermont was new it was primarily through the institutions of the Church that this message was likely to have spread. Marcus Bull’s work in particular has highlighted the central place of religious houses in south-west France in the recruitment of crusaders from families with which these institutions had established relationships. In the conclusion to his work on the response of the laity to the call for the First Crusade, Bull warned that an examination of the issues of the recruitment and motivation of crusaders over the course of the movement’s development would need to take into account the changing nature of the crusade as an institution and its place within medieval society. So, for example, the use of the mendicants as crusade preachers and the possibility of redeeming vows for cash contributions meant that the call to crusade was introduced to a potentially far wider audience, whose involvement with crusading would not necessarily entail participation in a crusade campaign. In the decades following the First Crusade decisions as to whether or not to join a crusade army might be influenced by family traditions or the chivalric values that had emerged with the formation of knighthood as a distinctive group within medieval society.16 This study does not attempt to present a detailed analysis of crusade recruitment and motivation of the sort that was envisaged by Bull. Rather, it intends to illustrate problems associated with the study of these issues in the thirteenth century in the light of the growth in the number and variety of the crusades’ manifestations and the accompanying profusion of source materials relating to crusades in this period. In doing so it will also suggest ways in which this material might effectively be employed in an effort to understand how and why people engaged with crusading at this time. There are two main premises underlying my approach to the study of the presentation and practice of crusading in the thirteenth century. The first is that while in the century and a half that separated the First Crusade and Louis IX’s decision to take the cross for the first time in 1244 the Church and secular rulers had made efforts to influence the processes of preparation 15 M. Bull, Knightly piety and the lay response to the First Crusade. The Limousin and Gascony, c.970–c.1130 (Oxford, 1993); J. Riley-Smith, The first crusaders, 1095–1131 (Cambridge, 1997). 16 Bull, Knightly piety, p. 282.

Introduction

9

and prosecution of crusade campaigns to meet their own needs, they could not control the way that individuals exchanged ideas about crusading. While Marcus Bull was able to look to monasteries and abbeys as a main channel for the communication of ideas about crusading to potential participants in the First Crusade, the experiences of those who took the cross then and over the succeeding decades must have provided the basis for many conversations and debates from which those who had the choice of taking part in Louis’s crusades might have learned about the nature and value of these projects. Of course we have no records of these exchanges and can only rarely catch glimpses of what they might have consisted of, but we should be confident that they did take place; such an interaction was foretold in the lighthearted comment of John II of Nesle, count of Soissons, made to John of Joinville during the battle of Mansurah that ‘we’ll speak about this day again, you and me, in the ladies’ chamber’.17 But conversations about crusading were not just exchanges of good adventure stories; Joinville also reported how his belief that Louis should stay in the East in 1250, and his own desire to remain were formed in part as a result of the advice given to him before departure by his cousin, Geoffrey of Bourlémont, that it would be a shame to him and his fellow crusaders to return to France while Christians remained in captivity.18 The importance of crusading and crusaders’ conduct can therefore be seen to have been subjects for serious discussion, which might influence individuals’ behaviour. The way in which memories of crusade campaigns were told and re-told is demonstrated by John of le Vignay’s insertion into his translation into Old French of Primat’s Latin chronicle of an account of the grounding of Louis’s ship on its return voyage to France in 1254, at which John’s own father had been present.19 John’s inclusion of this episode as a digression from Primat’s chronicle is evidence of the value he attached to his father’s memories of crusading, of which he may well have spoken on several occasions in the eighty years that separated the voyage from the production of this translation in the 1330s. Rutebeuf’s production of the poem ‘Le débat du croisé et du décroisé’, an account of an imagined discussion between a man who had taken the cross and another who was initially reluctant to do so, although probably not realistic in its representation of such an exchange, does suggest that the scenario itself was one which his audience might have recognized.20 17

Vie, par 242. Ibid., pars 421, 431. 19 ‘Chronique de Primat traduite par Jean du Vignay’, in RHGF, 23, pp. 65–6. 20 Rutebeuf, ‘Le débat du croisé et du décroisé’, in Oeuvres complètes, ed. M. Zink (Paris, 1989–90), 2 vols, 2, pp. 355–73. 18

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It is in the absence of further evidence for the discussions among laymen of the nature and value of crusading that we must turn to the vernacular literature produced by them and for them for material relating to the presentation of the crusade to potential participants. The likely enthusiasm of laymen and would-be crusaders for such literature is reflected in the fact that some of those who did take the cross took books containing songs or poems with them on crusade. The reports of Odo of Nevers’s executors reveal that when he died in Acre in 1266 he had with him texts of the romance Loherains and a work referred to as ‘li romanz de la terre d’outre mer’ (‘romanz’ indicating only that this work was written in the vernacular), as well as a book of songs.21 Examples of this secular literature, in the form of Rutebeuf’s poetry, chansons de geste and song lyrics which described crusades or crusade-like wars will provide the basis for chapter three of this study, which concerns the presentation of crusades to potential participants. These literary sources will be used alongside evidence for crusade preaching in the thirteenth century. The recent edition by Christoph Maier of model sermons for the preaching of the cross has not only provided a valuable research resource but has also suggested a methodology with which to approach the presentation of crusading in the thirteenth century. His analysis of these sermons suggests that a ‘framework of ideas’ can be identified within which these preachers worked, and which may have helped form perceptions of the crusade among the laity. This framework of ideas was built of ‘general ideas and common elements shared by all, or at least most, of the crusade model sermons’ included in his edition.22 The aim of chapter three is to consider whether and how the framework of ideas Maier proposed might be extended if we were to incorporate other sources circulating in the thirteenth century in which crusades were described. In this way we might work towards establishing a much wider framework of ideas concerning crusading in the thirteenth century which acknowledges the input of agencies other than the Church in the formation of crusade mentalities. By examining the way in which a range of themes appear in the descriptions of crusading provided in these sources my study considers whether and how the ideas of clerical authors of crusade sermons about the nature and value of crusading differed from those presented by the authors of works of secular literature. The themes on which I will concentrate are ones that have been of interest to crusade historians in the past and, as will become evident in my discussion, I have therefore been able to benefit from and respond to existing scholarship in these areas. 21

‘Inventaire et comptes de la succession d’Eudes, comte de Nevers (Acre 1266)’, ed. M. Chazaud, Mémoires de la Société Nationale des Antiquaires de France, 32, fourth series, 2 (1871), 188. 22 C. Maier, introduction to Crusade propaganda and ideology: model sermons for the preaching of the cross, ed. C. Maier (Cambridge, 2000), p. 51.

Introduction

11

These themes are: pilgrimage, service, the memory and uses of the past, the dangers of crusading, martyrdom and the value of suffering. In chapter four I will examine the same themes in source material relating to the conduct of thirteenth-century crusade campaigns and the experiences of those who took part in them in order to consider their role in the practice of crusading. In this respect my approach to crusading in the thirteenth century has been influenced by Matthew Strickland’s study of war and chivalry in England and Normandy in the late eleventh to early thirteenth centuries. Strickland saw that although chivalry could be and has been studied as a social phenomenon, with an ideology expressed through written texts like the chansons de geste and through rituals such as dubbing,23 the mentality of elite warriors could only be identified by examining the conduct of war itself.24 In the same way, the idea of the crusade presented in sermons, songs, poems and chansons de geste may tell us what poets and preachers wanted the crusades to be, but only by studying the beliefs and behaviour of those actively involved in crusades can we understand what a crusade actually meant to those who took part. At this point the other premise underlying the methodology of this study needs to be expressed. This is that the full potential of John of Joinville’s Vie de Saint Louis as a source for the motivation and experiences of crusaders in the thirteenth century has not been fully exploited. The usefulness of this text as a ‘way in’ to the study of crusaders and crusading in the mid thirteenth century is demonstrated by its inclusion in Norman Housley’s recent work on crusaders and the texts in which they recorded their experiences.25 But the crusade-related contents of Joinville’s work warrant much more detailed analysis. This is not a simple task, because the Vie de Saint Louis is not a simple text. Difficulties emerge as soon as one tries to identify what kind of a text it is and when, how and why it was produced. As will be discussed in detail in chapter two, the Vie de Saint Louis contains elements that appear to make it at the same time hagiographical, historical and autobiographical in nature. Efforts to iron out these complex issues relating to the production of this text have been one of the dominant themes in studies of Joinville’s work.26 Another strand in research based on the Vie de Saint Louis has focused on Joinville’s opinions of Louis IX or the 23 On the ideology of chivalry see M. Keen, Chivalry (New Haven and London, 1984) and J. Flori, L’essor de la chevalerie XIe–XIIe siècles (Geneva, 1986). 24 M. Strickland, War and chivalry. The conduct and perception of war in England and Normandy, 1066–1217 (Cambridge, 1996), p. 17. 25 N. Housley, The crusaders (Stroud, 2002), pp. 95–137. 26 See for example: A. Foulet, ‘Notes sur la Vie de Saint Louis de Joinville’, Romania, 58 (1932), 551–64; A. Foulet, ‘When did Joinville write his Vie de Saint Louis?’, Romanic Review, 32 (1941), 233–43; G. Paris, ‘La composition du livre de Joinville sur Saint Louis’, Romania, 23 (1894), 508–24.

12

Crusading in the Age of Joinville

relationship between these two men.27 But the recent edition of the Vie de Saint Louis by Jacques Monfrin seems to have sparked renewed interest in this text.28 This is most clearly evident in the publication of two collections of essays the contents of which demonstrate the richness of the Vie de Saint Louis as a source for many aspects of life in France and on crusade in the thirteenth century.29 So we have two essays outlining the potential usefulness of Joinville’s work to the crusade historian,30 and others exploring its value in relation to specific topics such as Joinville’s experiences of the warfare of the Ayyubid and Mamluk armies or his knowledge and depiction of other nonChristian peoples.31 Philippe Ménard contributed an essay to an earlier collection on Joinville’s ‘esprit de croisade’, which is in some ways a precursor to aspects of this current study.32 I share Ménard’s interest in Joinville’s religious motivation, which he sees as defining Joinville’s crusade mentality, but I will depart from his approach in chapter four of this study by examining Joinville’s experiences of the crusade alongside those of his contemporaries as described in other crusade narratives and documentary sources. It is intended, and perhaps inevitable, that Joinville should be a dominant figure in this study, for the crusade narrative contained in the Vie de Saint Louis is uniquely detailed and personal in nature. It is important, though, that his experiences should not be treated in isolation; the ideas and experiences of other crusaders may be perceived, though perhaps with less clarity, through other sources. The conduct of these other crusaders helps set Joinville’s crusading career in relief and at the same time highlights the singular value of his testimony. The final chapter of this study has the purpose of stepping back from the detailed examination of specific aspects of belief or experience relating to 27

Recent work includes: P. Archambault, Seven French chroniclers: witnesses to history (Syracuse, New York, 1974), pp. 42–57; Le Goff, Saint Louis, especially pp. 473–98; M. Perret, ‘A la fin de sa vie ne fuz je mie’, Revue des sciences humaines, 183 (1981–3), 17–37; M. Slattery, Myth, man and sovereign saint: King Louis IX in Jean de Joinville’s sources (American university studies, series II: romance languages and literature 11, New York, 1985); M. Zink, ‘Joinville ne pleure pas mais il rêve’, Poétique, 33 (1978), 28–45. 28 Vie: John of Joinville, Vie de saint Louis, ed. J. Monfrin (Paris, 1995). 29 J. Doufournet and L. Harf, eds, Le prince et son historien. La Vie de Saint Louis de Joinville, (Collection Unichamp 55, Paris, 1997); D. Quéruel, ed., Jean de Joinville: de la Champagne aux royaumes d’outre-mer (Langres, 1998). 30 J. Richard, ‘Joinville à la croisade’, in Le prince et son historien, eds Dufournet and Harf, pp. 23–31 and P. Contamine, ‘Joinville, acteur et spectateur de la guerre d’outremer’, in Le prince et son historien, eds Dufournet and Harf, pp. 33–49. 31 J.-C. Faucon, ‘“La grant foison de feu …” Joinville sous les feux Grégeois’, in Jean de Joinville: de la Champagne aux royaumes d’outre-mer, ed. Quéruel, pp. 157–73 and J. Paviot, ‘Joinville et les Mongols’, in Jean de Joinville: de la Champagne aux royaumes d’outre-mer, ed. Quéruel, pp. 207–18. 32 P. Ménard, ‘L’esprit de la croisade chez Joinville. Etude des mentalités médiévales’, in Les Champenois et la croisade. Actes des quatrièmes journées rémoises, 27–28 Novembre 1987, eds Y. Bellenger and D. Quéruel (Paris, 1989), pp. 131–47.

Introduction

13

crusading in order to examine the place of crusading in knightly careers as a whole. This section of the study is founded on the idea that individuals’ decision-making about participation in crusades was not only based on their beliefs, but also on their circumstances and wider experience. Just as Joinville’s experiences of crusading should not be treated in isolation from those of his contemporaries, so his crusade should not be treated in isolation from his other interests and activities as a Christian, lord, vassal and family man. This section of the study will therefore present two case studies that highlight different ways in which the crusade could be present in and impact on the lives of participants. The first of these case studies concerns the career of Oliver of Termes, whose career was dominated by his association with the cause of the Albigensian heretics and struggles against royal authority in Languedoc. Oliver subsequently took part in both Louis IX’s crusades and spent additional periods in the East serving in the defence of Christian territories there. His career has been the subject of a recent biography, and may be traced through chronicle accounts and numerous communications between the French Crown, the papacy and Oliver himself.33 Oliver’s circumstances and decision-making about crusading stand in stark contrast to those of John of Joinville himself, whose career is considered in the second half of chapter five. Through an examination of information relating to Joinville’s own life contained in the Vie de Saint Louis and in documentary sources concerning his career at home in Champagne it is possible to identify reasons why this individual’s first crusade was also his last. But Joinville’s failure to join Louis’s second crusade did not signal an end in his interest in crusading: his activities as a writer demonstrate the need for us to consider the engagement of individuals with crusading not only in terms of their active participation. John of Joinville and the Vie de Saint Louis are also of central importance to this study in helping to impose some loose boundaries on the range of sources and subjects to be tackled. In chronological terms this means that the main focus will be on Louis IX’s crusades although the interest of Joinville and others in events outside this frame mean that references to other crusading activity will not be excluded. Similarly, this study will concentrate on the activities of crusaders in the East although the involvement of many of Joinville’s contemporaries in European crusades means that they cannot be omitted either. Joinville’s crusading contemporaries must be taken to refer generally, but not exclusively, to laymen who shared his status as a knight. Clerics, members of military orders, women and men who did not have Joinville’s noble ancestry or experience of battle on horseback were present on Louis’s crusade, are mentioned in the Vie de Saint Louis and will be referred to in this book. But as Joinville’s main interest was in 33

G. Langlois, Olivier de Termes, le Cathare et le croisé (vers 1200–1274) (Toulouse, 2001).

14

Crusading in the Age of Joinville

his knightly colleagues, so is mine. In the same way, I will share Joinville’s focus on the French contingents that dominated Louis’s two crusades, but will not exclude references to crusaders of other nationalities. And, as the literature Joinville produced was written in the vernacular, as was most of the literature he is likely to have read or listened to, so the literary material selected for inclusion in chapter three is taken from the body of such sources available in Old French. While it is true that Joinville’s work allows us a uniquely personal insight into the experiences and attitudes of crusaders in the thirteenth century, additional research using material relating to crusaders from all backgrounds who were involved in other campaigns in this period could extend our knowledge and understanding of crusaders and crusading in this period much further. The research presented in this current study is intended to demonstrate the richness of this field of study and suggest approaches that could be used more widely.

Chapter 1

Sources This chapter will outline the range of sources to be considered in this study, and describe the problems and possibilities associated with their use. The works of John of Joinville, and his Vie de Saint Louis in particular, are not included among them as they are of such importance to this research that they warrant separate treatment in the next chapter. The Vie de Saint Louis aside, the range of sources used can be divided into two broad groups. The first consists of those sources that in general do not describe or relate to contemporary events but refer rather to crusades of the fictionalized or imagined past (chansons de geste) or to crusade projects in the future in which potential crusaders might participate (sermons, songs and exhortatory poems). These sources will provide the material on which chapter three of this study, concerning the presentation of the crusade to those who were yet to take the cross, is based. The second broad category of sources to be examined are those that do describe the events of crusades of the thirteenth century. These are narrative accounts, including those of letter-writing participants and chroniclers who recorded the course of crusades from a distance, and sources that relate to the conduct of these campaigns and the careers of those who took part in them, such as documents recording transactions and arrangements made by or for crusaders. This second group of sources will be used in chapters four and five, which deal with the experiences of those who did choose to take the cross and the impact of these choices on their careers as a whole. It would be wrong to see the divisions between these groupings as inflexible. There were, for example, sermons and songs known to have been preached or sung during the course of crusade campaigns the contents of which are relevant to the later chapters of this study. At this stage, though, it is useful to think in more basic terms of those sources that present ideas of crusading and those that deal with its practice. The former group of sources (songs, Rutebeuf’s poetry, chansons de geste and sermons) will be considered first and perhaps in disproportionately greater detail in this chapter. This is because of the complexity of the problems relating to their reception by medieval audiences and their potential usefulness to historians. While the sources that make up this group differ from each other in important ways that will be outlined below, they share one key feature. Although they have survived in written form, medieval audiences would, in 15

16

Crusading in the Age of Joinville

most instances, have encountered their contents (or elements or versions of their contents) aurally. We cannot know whether the texts of these model sermons, songs and poems were ever presented to an audience in precisely the version or versions in which they have survived. These texts should be understood as aides-memoires rather than representations of what was actually sung or spoken.1 The existence of multiple manuscripts for many of these sources must be an indication that they were useful to medieval preachers and performers, but on any given occasion on which they were used a few or many elements included in our written texts are likely to have been omitted and others added of which we can have no knowledge. The distance between our reading of these written texts and the experience for a thirteenth-century audience of hearing a crusade sermon, chanson de geste, song or poem is increased further by the absence of other features that would have been associated with their performance (music, movement and gesture of various kinds) and would have made them a potentially richer sensory experience than the reception of the words alone. Songs A corpus of lyrics in Old French identifiable as ‘crusade songs’ was established with the publication in 1909 of Joseph Bédier and Pierre Aubry’s edition of lyrics and music.2 This collection consists of the 29 songs listed in Table 1.1 on page 17. They appear in this table in the order Bédier presented them: chronologically, with divisions between songs written in the context of different campaigns of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, and a separate group of undatable lyrics. The additional information presented in this table will be considered later in this chapter. Seventeen of these 29 songs have named authors many of whom, like Conon of Béthune, Hugh of Berzé and Thibaut IV of Champagne, are known to have taken part in crusade campaigns themselves.3 The fact that lyrics can often be easily dated and attributed has helped attract attention to them from historians who see them as sources that may reflect contemporary opinions and attitudes concerning the crusades.4 1 M. Zink, Medieval French literature: an introduction, trans. J. Rider (Medieval and renaissance texts and studies 110, Binghamton, New York, 1995), p. 6. 2 Les chansons de croisade, eds J. Bédier and P. Aubry (Paris, 1909). 3 Conon took part in the Third and Fourth Crusades, Hugh in the Fourth Crusade and Thibaut of Champagne was appointed as leader of the ill-fated crusade of 1239. 4 See for example E. Siberry, ‘Troubadours, trouvères, minnesingers and the crusades’, Studi medievali, third series, 29 (1988), 19–43; W. C. Jordan, ‘“Amen!”, cinq fois “Amen!” Les chansons de la croisade Égpytienne de Saint Louis, une source négligée d’opinion royaliste’, Médiévales, 34 (1998), 79–90.

Sources

Table 1.1

17

Crusade-related songs in Old French, organized by approximate date of production*

Song

Lyricist

Number of chansonniers containing song

Number of other mss containing song

Songs associated with the Second Crusade (c. 1147–c.1149) 1 Chevalier, mult estes guariz

Unknown

—

1

Songs associated with the Third Crusade (c. 1189–c. 1192) 2 Vos qui ameis de vraie amor 3 Ahi! Amours, con dure departie 4 Bien me dusse targier 5 Maugré tous sainz et maugré dieu ausi 6 Parti de mal et a bien aturné 7 Pour lou pueple resconforteir 8 Li nouviauz tanz et mais et violete 9 A vous, amant, plus qu’a nul autre gent 10 Chanterai pour mon corage

Unknown Conon of Béthune Conon of Béthune Huon of Oisi Unknown Master Renaut The lord of Couci The lord of Couci Guiot of Dijon

2 11 7 2 — 1 12 11 6

— 2 — — 1 — 3 2 —

Songs associated with the Fourth Crusade (c. 1202–c. 1204) 11 S’onques nus hom por dure departie 12 Aler m’estuet le u je trairai paine

Hugh of Berzé The lord of Arras

11 5

4 —

Songs associated with the Fifth Crusade (c. 1217–c. 1221) 13 Jerusalem se plaint et li païs 14 Bernarz, di moi Fouquet, qu’on tient a sage

Huon of Saint Quentin Hugh of Berzé

3 —

— 2

Songs associated with the Barons’ Crusade (c. 1239–c. 1241) 15 Seignor, saichiés qi or ne s’en ira 16 Au tans plain de felonie 17 Dame, einsi est qu’il m’en couvient aler 18 Li douz penser et li douz souvenir 19 Li departirs de la douce contree 20 En chantant veil mon duel faire 21 Ne chant pas, que que nus die

Thibaut of Champagne Thibaut of Champagne Thibaut of Champagne Thibaut of Champagne Chardon of Croisilles Philip of Nanteuil Unknown

8 7 8 8 5 — —

— — — — — 5 3

Songs associated with Louis IX’s first crusade (c. 1248–c. 1254) 22 Tous li mons doit mener joie 23 Un serventois, plait de deduit, de joie 24 Nus ne porroit de mauvese reson

Unknown Unknown Unknown

— — 2

1 1 —

Songs of unknown date 25 Novele amors s’est dedanz mon cuer mise 26 Jerusalem, grant domage me fais 27 Pour joie avoir perfite en paradis 28 Douce dame, cui j’aim en bone foi 29 Oiés, seigneur, pereceus par oiseuse

Unknown Unknown Unknown Unknown Unknown

2 1 1 1 1

— — — — —

*

The information provided in this table is taken from Les chansons de croisade, p. xxxv.

18

Crusading in the Age of Joinville

While the usefulness of this collection is not in doubt, it is nonetheless important to be aware that the category of the crusade song is not as distinct as Bédier’s collection might suggest. It would certainly be wrong to think that the crusade song was a discrete genre or a label that medieval songwriters or audiences would have recognized. This is reflected in the organization of medieval song-books or chansonniers, whose contents were most often arranged either by lyricist (aristocratic writers being placed before others) or alphabetically according to their opening line rather than being grouped together because of their subject matter.5 Users of Bédier’s collection of crusade songs also need to keep in mind the fact that he excluded certain songs in which he deemed the crusading allusions to be ‘insignificant’.6 So, for example, he chose not to include two songs by Raoul of Soissons containing references to crusading. Although it is true that in the light of Raoul’s extended involvement in crusading (he took part in the campaigns of 1239, 1248 and 1270) these activities seem to have left a disproportionately small mark on his literary oeuvre, his references to his experiences as a crusader, made in order to compare them with the suffering endured by him for love, are clear and detailed.7 Bédier’s exclusion of Raoul’s lyrics from his collection seems to be based on the fact that he used the crusade as a device in this way.8 It is not clear why Raoul’s love songs referring to the crusade were rejected on these grounds when the presence of the crusade in many of the lyrics Bédier did feel were crusade songs is also a device used by the writer to enable him to talk about love and the pain of separation from one’s beloved. So, for instance, the Lord of Couci’s song ‘Li nouviauz tanz et mais et violete’ is a love song in which the only discernible reference to crusading is the statement made in the first verse that the poet is going overseas.9 This highlights the extent to which Bédier’s subjective opinions influenced the formation of his corpus of crusade-related songs and therefore also our ability to access and analyse these works. Others have categorized songs included in Bédier’s collection differently: later editions of Thibaut of Champagne’s collected works by Axel Wallensköld and Kathleen Brahney designate only three of his lyrics as crusade songs. Both Wallensköld and Brahney classified the song ‘Li douz penser et li douz souvenir’ as a love song and nothing else as the place of the 5 S. Huot, From song to book. The poetics of writing in Old French lyric and lyrical narrative poetry (Ithaca and London, 1987), p. 47; C. Dijkstra, La chanson de croisade: étude thématique d’un genre hybride (Amsterdam, 1995), pp. 38–9. 6 J. Bédier, introduction to Les chansons de croisade, p. xi. 7 Raoul of Soissons, ‘He! cuens d’Anjou, on dist par felonnie’, and ‘Se j’ai esté lonc tens en Romanie’ in Die Lieder Raouls von Soissons, ed. E. Winkler (Halle, 1914), pp. 46–8, 75–7. 8 Bédier, introduction to Les chansons de croisade, p. xi, n. 2. For a contrasting view of the relevance of the crusading references in Raoul’s work see D. A. Trotter, Medieval French literature and the crusades (1100–1300) (Geneva, 1988), p. 179. 9 The lord of Couci, ‘Li nouviauz tanz et mais et violete’, in Les chansons de croisade, p. 92, l. 8.

Sources

19

crusade in its contents is marginal.10 In her more recent work Cathrynke Dijkstra has defined a crusade song as ‘a song which owes its existence to the presence of the extratextual context of the crusades, and which requires this context for its proper interpretation’.11 In practice, her analysis of songs that might conform to this model is based on her observations of a number of themes and literary motifs connected with crusading and associated activities.12 The corpus of crusade songs established by Dijkstra by this method is, in fact, exactly the same as that suggested by Bédier but with one addition. She includes the song ‘Elas! Pour quoy, mestre de Rhodes’, which because of its fourteenth-century dating is outside the scope of this study.13 References in this text will, therefore, be to Bédier and Aubry’s edition. Dijkstra’s approach to crusade songs as a genre appears more nuanced than Bédier’s, though of course we must still rely on her personal judgements and assessments both about the criteria that might associate a song with crusading and about their presence and importance within any given text. This leads me to concur with Michael Routledge’s assessment that ‘it is not very helpful to speak of crusade songs as a genre’.14 Questions of genre definition will no doubt continue to interest literary historians, but what are of greater concern in this study are issues relating to reception: in what contexts and over what length of time were crusade-related songs preserved and performed? Although my interest is in crusading in the thirteenth century, and the campaigns of Louis IX of 1248 and 1270 in particular, it would be wrong to limit my examination of crusade songs only to the three texts produced in the context of Louis’s first crusade (none are known to survive for his second). To do so would be to deny that other songs might have been written around this time which expressed different ideas and that songs may have been sung to recruits to these campaigns which were first produced and performed at earlier stages in the crusade movement. We must therefore consider not only what songs were produced and when, but also when and where they were preserved. If the number and type of manuscripts in which song lyrics were copied is examined we may have a better understanding of the value attached to them by performers and their audiences over the decades that followed their creation. 10 Les chansons de Thibaut de Champagne, roi de Navarre, ed. A. Wallensköld (Paris, 1925), pp. 61–4; The lyrics of Thibaut de Champagne, ed. and trans. K. Brahney (Garland library of medieval literature, series A 41, New York and London, 1989), pp. 76–9. 11 C. Dijkstra, ‘Troubadours, trouvères and crusade lyrics’, in Le rayonnement des troubadours. Actes du colloque de l’AIEO, Association Internationale d’Etudes Occitanes, Amsterdam, 16–18 Octobre 1995, ed. A. Touber (Amsterdam and Atlanta, Georgia, 1998), p. 174. 12 These themes and motifs are specified by Dijkstra, La chanson de croisade, pp. 48–9. A breakdown of the songs in which they appear is given in ibid., pp. 185–7. 13 Ibid., pp. 54–5. 14 M. Routledge, ‘Songs’, in The Oxford illustrated history of the crusades, ed. J. Riley-Smith (Oxford, 1995), p. 93.

20

Crusading in the Age of Joinville

Here we must return to Table 1.1, which lists the songs included in Bédier’s edition in chronological order and records the number of manuscripts in which each one survives. The table records the number of chansonniers in which each song appears; this refers to manuscripts included in the catalogues of Old French chansonniers drawn up by Eduard Schwan and Gaston Raynaud in the late nineteenth century.15 Although the contents of these manuscripts were not limited to songs, or to songs in Old French, such pieces dominate these collections. These manuscripts were often carefully compiled, with their contents arranged either by author or alphabetically and with the inclusion in some instances of melodies. Care was taken over presentation in ways that made these manuscripts both attractive and easy to use: in many instances ornamented initials indicated the start of a new song or verse, and other forms of illustration, such as author portraits and other miniatures, were also included. They contain collections of song lyrics that were carefully and consciously gathered together to be used and enjoyed by subsequent readers or, more likely, performers and their audiences. The last column records the number of other manuscripts in which each song appears. This refers to other types of manuscript in which song lyrics appear within or alongside other types of text, such as chronicles or religious works. The information thus presented becomes more meaningful when it is rearranged so that songs of different type are grouped together. Table 1.2, on page 21, configures the information in this way. Bédier divided his 29 crusade songs into further sub-categories.16 Thirteen of the 29 songs contained in his collection were deemed by him to be love songs because they expressed either the conflicting emotions of a departing crusader, tormented by the separation the crusade would impose on him and his beloved, or the sadness and frustration of a woman left behind by her crusading lover. He also categorized seven songs as songs of circumstance (making a political or satirical response to particular events and sometimes expressing criticism) and nine as songs of exhortation (calling on contemporaries to take the cross). As with the overall category of the crusade song, these other categories are not as rigid as Bédier suggests. So, for example, in the first three verses of the song ‘Au tans plain de felonie’ Thibaut of Champagne urged his fellow barons to mend their ways and conquer paradise through the sufferings of the crusade. Because of this Bédier designates this song as one of exhortation. But verses four and five address Thibaut’s lady, lamenting his imminent separation from her and pleading for her to 15 E. Schwan, Die altfranzösischen Liederhandschriften, ihr Verhältniss, ihre Entstehung und ihre Bestimmung (Berlin, 1886); G. Raynaud, Bibliographie des chansonniers Français des XIIIe et XIVe siècles (Paris, 1884). 16 Bédier, introduction to Les chansons de croisade, pp. ix–x.

Sources

21

Table 1.2 Crusade-related songs in Old French, organized by type Song

Lyricist

Number of chansonniers containing song

Number of other mss containing song

Songs of circumstance 4 Bien me dusse targier 5 Maugré tous sainz et maugré dieu ausi 14 Bernarz, di moi Fouquet, qu’on tient a sage 20 En chantant veil mon duel faire 21 Ne chant pas, que que nus die 22 Tous li mons doit mener joie 24 Nus ne porroit de mauvese reson

Conon of Béthune Huon of Oisi Hugh of Berzé Philip of Nanteuil Unknown Unknown Unknown

7 2 — — — — 2

— — 2 5 3 1 —

Songs of exhortation 1 Chevalier, mult estes guariz 2 Vos qui ameis de vraie amor 6 Parti de mal et a bien aturné 7 Pour lou pueple resconforteir 13 Jerusalem se plaint et li païs 15 Seignor, saichiés qi or ne s’en ira 16 Au tans plain de felonie 23 Un serventois, plait de deduit, de joie 29 Oiés, seigneur, pereceus par oiseuse

Unknown Unknown Unknown Master Renaut Huon of Saint Quentin Thibaut of Champagne Thibaut of Champagne Unknown Unknown

— 2 — 1 3 8 7 — 1

1 — 1 — — — — 1 —

Songs of love: 3 Ahi! Amours, con dure departie 8 Li nouviauz tanz et mais et violete 9 A vous, amant, plus qu’a nul autre gent 10 Chanterai pour mon corage 11 S’onques nus hom por dure departie 12 Aler m’estuet le u je trairai paine 17 Dame, einsi est qu’il m’en couvient aler 18 Li douz penser et li douz souvenir 19 Li departirs de la douce contree 25 Novele amors s’est dedanz mon cuer mise 26 Jerusalem, grant domage me fais 27 Pour joie avoir perfite en paradis 28 Douce dame, cui j’aim en bone foi

Conon of Béthune The lord of Couci The lord of Couci Guiot of Dijon Hugh of Berzé The lord of Arras Thibaut of Champagne Thibaut of Champagne Chardon of Croisilles Unknown Unknown Unknown Unknown

11 12 11 6 11 5 8 8 5 2 1 1 1

2 3 2 — 4 — — — — — — — —

look on him with mercy.17 In this case the song shifts from one mode to another, a song of exhortation becomes a love song. The opposite shift is evident in Conon of Béthune’s ‘Ahi! Amours, con dure departie’, which starts by expressing Conon’s distress at leaving his lady but continues by urging others to follow his crusading example.18 Bédier categorized this as a love song. As with all such categorizations this should not be treated as definitive, but as a guide. 17 18

Thibaut of Champagne, ‘Au tans plain de felonie’, in Les chansons de croisade, pp. 181–4. Conon of Béthune, ‘Ahi! Amours, con dure departie’, in Les chansons de croisade, pp. 32–5.

22

Crusading in the Age of Joinville

If we look at Table 1.2, in which the songs are grouped together according to the type with which Bédier associated them – songs of circumstance, exhortation or love – it is immediately apparent that songs with a love element referring to the crusades tend to appear much more frequently in the chansonniers than songs of either exhortation or circumstance. This is not true of all love songs: those whose authorship was unknown were copied in no more than two chansonniers. Those crusade-related love songs with named authors survive in between five and fifteen manuscripts, with the works of more famous authors like Conon of Béthune, the lord of Couci and Thibaut of Champagne surviving in the greatest numbers. The prestige of their creators and the timelessness of their subject-matter, romantic love, are the factors that seem to have determined that these songs were copied and recopied into thirteenth- and fourteenth-century chansonniers and thereby took a place in the corpus of songs of this period. This means that these were the songs which performers were more likely to come across and perform, even long after their production, thereby prolonging their active life. Other songs, those from the categories of circumstance and exhortation, seem to have survived in a variety of sometimes more haphazard ways. Although it is true that some survive in seven or eight chansonniers, these are the works of well-known authors – Conon of Béthune and Thibaut of Champagne – and contain no references to the specific events which provided the context for their production, lending them a certain timeless quality.19 It seems likely that it was their prestigious authorship that assured the continuing interest in them, rather than their crusading content. Of the songs by other or unknown authors, only one survives in more than three manuscripts and several are extant in manuscripts other than chansonniers. Song 20, Philip of Nanteuil’s ‘En chantent veil mon duel faire’, which survives in the relatively large number of five manuscripts, provides an interesting illustration of what this might mean. This song and song 21, the anonymous ‘Ne chant pas, que que nus die’ (extant in three manuscripts) both concern the consequences of the rout of crusader forces at Gaza in 1239. They were included by the author of the ‘Rothelin’ continuation of William of Tyre’s Historia rerum in partibus transmarinis in his narrative account of events in the Holy Land in the mid thirteenth century.20 Although they are extant in multiple manuscripts, these are all copies of the ‘Rothelin’ continuation and there was thus only one writer or compiler we know of who chose to record these song lyrics and he did that in a context 19

Although Conon of Béthune’s song ‘Bien me deüsse targier’ (number 4) did issue a complaint about those who took the cross out of greed and those who abused the system of taxation for the crusades for personal profit (this is why Bédier classfied it as a song of circumstance) the author did not in fact direct his complaint against specific events or individuals; Les chansons de croisade, pp. 44–7. 20 On the ‘Rothelin’ continuation see below, pp. 39–40.

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quite different from that of the chansonniers described above. Tantalizingly, the ‘Rothelin’ author wrote that Philip’s song was just one of a number produced in the aftermath of the Gaza defeat that could have been included in the continuation.21 This highlights, first, the fact that the corpus of surviving crusade-related songs probably represents only a small portion of those that were composed and, second, that the personal choices of medieval compilers and scribes played a large part in determining what song lyrics have survived and in what contexts. In the case of the work of Philip of Nanteuil and his anonymous colleague in the crusade of 1239 we know that the ‘Rothelin’ author chose to include these songs because he believed they were a valuable illustration of feelings or opinions current within the crusade army at this time. There is no such clarity about the reasons for the survival of another song of circumstance, the anonymous ‘Tous li mons doit mener joie’ (song 22). This survives in only one manuscript, Cambridge University Library ms Dd.XI.78. The manuscript contains a varied collection of verse, mainly in Latin and on religious subjects and has been linked to the abbey of St Albans, England.22 Although the text for this song in Bédier’s edition is given in Old French this is, in fact, a ‘restoration’ to Old French from the Anglo-Norman in which the text was copied in the Cambridge manuscript.23 The manuscript version of this song gives no heading or accompanying melody, lacks any decoration or rubrication and is in a hand different from the preceding and following pieces.24 How what has been presumed to have been originally a French song came to be preserved in this manuscript in Anglo-Norman form must remain a mystery, and it is not surprising that when Bédier came to prepare his edition it was a recent discovery.25 The survival of this lyric and our knowledge of it seems to be an example of historical serendipity, as is true (though in some cases to a far lesser extent) of other crusade-related songs of circumstance and exhortation written by little-known or unknown authors. This contrasts strongly with the copying and re-copying of love songs and other works by famous, aristocratic authors like Thibaut of Champagne which were consciously preserved as lasting contributions to the literary and musical repertoire.

21 ‘Continuation de Guillaume de Tyr, de 1229 à 1261, dite du manuscrit de Rothelin’, in RHC Occ., 2, p. 548. 22 Catalogue of the manuscripts preserved in the library of the University of Cambridge, edited for the syndics of the University Press (Cambridge, 1856–67), 5 vols, 1, pp. 469–76. 23 Bédier used the ‘restored’ version of this text edited by M. Stimming in W. Meyer, Wie Ludwig IX d. H. das Kreuz nahm (Altfrazösisches Lied in Cambridge) (Göttingen, 1907) pp. 252–3. 24 Cambridge, University Library ms. Dd.XI.78, fol. 196r. 25 Bédier, introduction to Anonymous, ‘Tous li mons doit mener joie’, in Les chansons de croisade, p. 237.

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This brief examination of the contents of Bédier’s collection of crusaderelated songs demonstrates that we might add to our understanding of this material if we consider not only the content of these crusade-related songs but also the patterns of their preservation. The songs that were most likely to be included in chansonniers, and were therefore most likely to have been performed by a number of singers and musicians in the years and decades following their composition, were those that dealt with the issue of love and those that did not refer to specific events surrounding their creation. The songs of circumstance and exhortation for which chance has played a greater role in their survival are perhaps less likely to have been performed widely or over an extended period. In the case of the songs contained in the ‘Rothelin’ text they are also unlikely to have had audiences outside the environment of the crusade in which and for which they were produced.26 These potential differences in the numbers and types of audiences who may have heard these songs have a bearing on their use in this study. Song lyrics will be used first in chapter three, which concerns the presentation of the crusade to potential participants. If songs such as that of Philip of Nanteuil are unlikely to have been performed to large audiences in Europe, they are perhaps less relevant to this part of my work than they are to the following chapter, which deals with the experiences of crusaders during the course of their campaigns in the East. Of course it would be wrong to make absolute distinctions on these grounds as we cannot know with any confidence when, to whom or in what context any given song was performed.27 Nonetheless, while song lyrics are to be referred to in all the chapters that follow, those that refer to crusades in general or to a crusade as a forthcoming event are of principal interest in chapter three, while those that comment on the events of the campaigns themselves are drawn on most extensively in chapter four. I have decided not to omit any of the songs in Bédier and Aubry’s collection from my analysis on the basis of their date of production for, as our information on the preservation of these texts suggests, this is not the only indication of when a song is likely to have been performed. One aspect that is not dealt with in this study but would prove a fruitful topic for further research is the relationship between the lyrics of crusaderelated songs and the melodies to which they were performed. As with all 26 This would also be true of song 24, the anonymous ‘Nus ne porroit de mauvese reson’, which concerns the decision facing Louis IX in 1250 as to whether or not to stay in the Holy Land in the wake of the defeat of his first crusade in Egypt; Les chansons de croisade, pp. 263–5. 27 William Chester Jordan has made general comments about the possible performance of songs in the recruitment and departure rituals of crusaders, but the evidence is sufficient to conclude only that the content of many songs means that they would not have been deemed appropriate for use in a religious setting; W. C. Jordan, ‘The rituals of war: departure for crusade in thirteenth-century France’, in The book of kings: art, war, and the Morgan Library’s medieval picture Bible, eds W. Noel and D. Weiss (London, 2002), pp. 102–3.

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the literary sources under consideration, as well as sermons and many narrative accounts of crusades, the vast majority of individuals who encountered these song lyrics would have heard them rather than read them. It has already been pointed out that with each of these types of source the historian must remember that the text available to him or her on the page is likely to have been altered in performance. In the case of songs, the melodies to which they were sung must have added to or changed the experience of hearing them but it is hard to appreciate in what ways this was so when presented with written musical notation rather than actual performance. William Chester Jordan’s recent study of songs concerning Louis IX’s first crusade has shown what is possible if a song’s melody is analysed alongside its lyrics. He demonstrates the way in which the musical phrasing of the anonymous song ‘Nus ne porroit de mauvese reson’ reinforced the lyrics’ call for vengeance to be meted out by the crusaders.28 But in many cases no melody has survived that can be associated with a lyric, and in any case the relationship between lyrics and melodies is often hard to establish because they were not consistently paired in manuscripts and may never have been composed as inseparable elements.29 Our understanding of crusade-related songs as a historical source is therefore limited by the difficulty in knowing what hearing them performed may have been like. It must have been very different to experience these works sung with instrumental accompaniment, and usually as part of a group audience, than to read them silently to one’s self. Despite these problems, Old French songs are a rich source for the crusade historian not least because they demonstrate the variety of ways in which the crusades could contribute to literary production. The fact that the crusades could be referred to in a range of songs that also considered topics as different as worldly love and the corruption of power is demonstration of the familiarity that lyricists believed their audiences would have with the history of and present need for crusading. The images and ideas the authors of these songs used to describe crusading are likely to have reflected, and may also have contributed to, the wider framework of ideas concerning crusading with which the nature and value of this activity was discussed in the Frenchspeaking world in the thirteenth century.

28

Jordan, ‘“Amen!” cinq fois “Amen!”’, 84–7. R. L. Crocker, ‘Early crusade songs’, in The holy war, ed. T. P. Murphy (Columbus, Ohio, 1976), p. 80. 29

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Rutebeuf’s Poetry Of the more than 50 poems included in the most recent edition of the complete works of the poet known as Rutebeuf, 11 are concerned largely, though not necessarily exclusively, with the subject of the crusades.30 Rutebeuf’s poetic interest in crusading is known to have spanned the decades from the mid 1250s to 1270s. His verse commented on the plight of the Holy Land and the need for crusading in general, and sought to rally support for the efforts of members of the French garrison at Acre, Charles of Anjou’s campaigns in southern Italy and Louis IX’s Tunisian crusade. None of Rutebeuf’s crusade-related poems survives in more than four manuscripts. All of the manuscripts containing such poems date from the late thirteenth century, which suggests that these pieces may have been of limited interest to generations succeeding his own.31 In some respects Rutebeuf’s work seems to present a less problematic resource for historians than the songs described above. There is no need to be concerned about music as an element that might either enhance or interfere with the message of these poems, which were intended to be spoken rather than sung. Michel Zink associates this mode of delivery with the ‘personal poetry’ that developed in the latter decades of the thirteenth century and was particularly associated with those poems called dits of which Rutebeuf was the chief exponent. The simplicity of the spoken word, unencumbered by musical accompaniment, helped achieve what was presented as an honest and open ‘dramatization of the self’.32 But in Rutebeuf’s case, although there is an intimate emotional tone in his writings, including those about the crusade, we know very little about the individual who produced them. When our ignorance of his identity is brought together with a lack of clarity as to his motivation for writing, and a diversity of approaches to the topic of the crusade in his poems any impression of neatness or straightforwardness in relation to his work is overturned. Very little can be established about this poet’s identity. Indeed, it has been suggested that the pieces attributed to Rutebeuf might in fact be the work of three or four separate people.33 Such a theory is hard to prove or disprove. Zink’s edition acknowledges that two poems attributed to Rutebeuf may not be by the same person responsible for most of this oeuvre 30 The 11 crusade-related poems have been edited as a group; Rutebeuf, Onze poèmes de Rutebeuf concernant la croisade, eds J. Bastin and E. Faral (Documents relatifs à l’histoire des croisades publiés par l’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres 1, Paris, 1946). Citations will be from Zink’s more recent edition; Rutebeuf, Oeuvres complètes, ed. M. Zink (Paris, 1989–90), 2 vols. 31 Zink, introduction to ibid.,1, pp. 37–40. 32 Zink, Medieval French literature: an introduction, pp. 81–3. 33 E. B. Ham, ‘Rutebeuf – pauper and polemist’, Romance philology, 11 (1957–8), 226.

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but proceeds on the assumption that in the cases of the remaining 53 poems we are dealing with a single author.34 But what of the circumstances of this individual’s life? The contents of the poems themselves are of little help in this respect. While ‘Le mariage Rutebeuf’ and ‘La complainte Rutebeuf’ may have an autobiographical dimension, suggesting the misfortunes that beset the poet’s family life and personal health, they do not help us identify this man or his origins.35 All that can be said is that he was probably (according to Faral) or certainly (according to Zink) from Champagne, but spent most of his later life in Paris after receiving an education comparable to that of a cleric. The knowledge of Latin demonstrated in his work suggests that Rutebeuf may have started training for a career in the Church, while his familiarity with the disputes which beset the University of Paris during the mid thirteenth century may indicate that it was here that he gained his learning.36 It is perhaps not surprising that the poetic oeuvre of a person with such a background shows an awareness of, and perhaps also a willingness to draw on, the work of contemporary clerics and preachers. Edmond Faral was keen to highlight connections of this sort in relation to Rutebeuf’s crusaderelated poems in particular, pointing to similarities in the arguments used by Rutebeuf in ‘La complainte d’outre-mer’ and those recommended to crusade preachers by Humbert of Romans in his treatise De praedicatione sancte crucis.37 Humbert’s work post-dates this poem, which was written in 1265 or 1266, so while Rutebeuf could not have drawn directly on Humbert’s ideas in this instance, he nonetheless seems to have been familiar with techniques known and favoured by preachers around this time.38 It is undoubtedly true that in some instances the vocabulary employed by 34 Zink questions the attribution to Rutebeuf of ‘La complainte de sainte eglise’ and ‘Le dit des propriétés de Notre Dame’, in Oeuvres complètes, 2, pp. 449–77. 35 The extreme self-pity and derision of his situation expressed in these poems suggest that the events they describe may have no basis in fact, or at least have been exaggerated. In ‘Le mariage Rutebeuf’ the poet laments his marital woes, having married an unattractive woman of advanced years who, according to ‘La complainte Rutebeuf’, subsequently gave birth to a child. The poet’s ability to provide for his new family was impaired by his own ill health, having lost the use of an eye, and the use of his horse, which had broken a foot. Rutebeuf, Oeuvres complètes, 1, pp. 243–51, 285–95. 36 Zink, introduction to Rutebeuf, Oeuvres complètes, 1, pp. 2–5; Faral, introduction to Onze poèmes de Rutebeuf concernant la croisade, p. 4. 37 Humbert’s work is discussed below, pp. 48–9. 38 Faral, introduction to Rutebeuf, ‘La complainte d’outre-mer’, in Onze poèmes de Rutebeuf concernant la croisade, p. 56. In his comments on ‘La disputaison du croisé et du décroisé’ (written in 1268 or 1269, shortly after Humbert of Romans’ De praedicatione sancte crucis) Faral suggested that Rutebeuf may have known the contents of this treatise; he saw a correspondence between the arguments and counter-arguments of the crusade enthusiast and sceptic described by Rutebeuf and those set out by Humbert; Faral, introduction to Rutebeuf, ‘Le disputaison du croisé et du décroisé’, in Onze poèmes de Rutebeuf concernant la croisade, p. 85.

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Rutebeuf to describe his task or position suggests that he viewed his role as being akin to that of a preacher. In the closing lines of ‘La complainte d’outre-mer’ and ‘La nouvelle complainte d’outre-mer’ Rutebeuf described himself as sermonizing or delivering a sermon.39 But there are important respects in which Rutebeuf’s work differs greatly from that of contemporary preachers. Preachers had a clear role within the crusade movement as the agents of the Church in the promotion of these campaigns. By contrast, it is never obvious whose interests Rutebeuf sought to advance, or whose opinions he expressed, when he wrote in favour of crusading. He was a professional poet, relying on the goodwill and financial support of patrons. Uncertainty as to when, how and to what degree patronage influenced Rutebeuf’s choice of subject-matter and the content of his poems may make us uneasy as to whether his work can be used as a guide to his personal opinions. While for Faral the regularity with which Rutebeuf returned to certain themes – most notably distrust of the mendicant orders but also the need for renewed crusading efforts – was enough to provide evidence of ‘sincere and personal conviction’, Edward Billings Ham took the opposite view that although Rutebeuf may have written in favour of the crusades as a commercial poet, he was ‘rarely (if ever) more than a half-hearted believer’ in the cause.40 David Trotter is more cautious about the possibility of identifying any strong personal feeling, whether of enthusiasm for or apathy about the crusade, in Rutebeuf’s work. For him the issue of patronage fundamentally clouds our understanding of the poet’s own views in all Rutebeuf’s crusade-related poems.41 As with songs, efforts have been made to classify Rutebeuf’s 11 poems concerning the crusade according to their contents. Trotter divided them into sub-categories,42 classing together poems written in praise of individuals who had taken part in crusades,43 those that were directly exhortatory,44 and those that concerned Charles of Anjou’s crusades in southern Italy,45 while the ‘Disputaison du croisé et du décroisé’ is in a category of its own, 39 Rutebeuf, ‘La complainte d’outre-mer’, in Oeuvres complètes, 2, p. 322, and ‘La nouvelle complainte d’outre-mer’, in Oeuvres complètes, 2, p. 444. 40 Faral, introduction to Rutebeuf, Onze poèmes de Rutebeuf concernant la croisade, p. 5; E. B. Ham, Rutebeuf and Louis IX (University of North Carolina studies in the romance languages and literature 42, Chapel Hill, North Carolina, 1962), p. 21. 41 Trotter, Medieval French literature and the crusades, pp. 211–12. 42 Ibid., p. 214. 43 ‘La complainte de monseigneur Geoffroi de Sergines’, ‘La complainte du comte Eudes de Nevers’, ‘La complainte du roi de Navarre’ and ‘La complainte du comte de Poitiers’. 44 ‘La complainte de Constantinople’, ‘La complainte d’outre-mer’, ‘La voie de Tunis’ and ‘La nouvelle complainte d’outre-mer’. 45 ‘La chanson de Pouille’ and ‘Le dit de Pouille’. Although this study is primarily concerned with crusades to the East, reference will be made to these poems as the arguments and images employed by Rutebeuf to urge people to join the Italian crusades coincide closely with those used in poems related to the Holy Land.

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being an account of an imagined interaction between a crusader and a man initially sceptical about taking the cross. But, as with songs, it is important to acknowledge that the presence and treatment of the crusade within these categories was certainly not consistent. Rutebeuf’s four eulogies of crusading contemporaries provide a case in point. The earliest of these, ‘La complainte de monseigneur Geoffroi de Sergines’, was written in late 1255 or 1256, at which time Geoffrey was in command of the forces which remained in the Holy Land at Louis IX’s expense after the return of the king to France. It concentrates in its first half on Geoffrey’s general qualities and career in France, while the second deals with his time in the East and the bravery with which he and the few men he led continued to face the Muslim threat.46 At no point in this poem does Rutebeuf issue a direct call for others to join Geoffrey in the East to contribute to the struggle to secure the Holy Land, though it should be understood that his actions as a crusader were among those qualities that the poet said should be seen as exemplary.47 By contrast, the urgency of the need for a new crusade seems to take precedence over praise for Odo of Nevers in Rutebeuf’s eulogy for the late count, which was written between the time of his death at Acre in August 1266 and Louis’s announcement of his proposed crusade in March 1267. The poem includes a specific exhortation to Louis IX and others to instigate or join such a campaign.48 Contrasts may also be detected within the group of Rutebeuf’s crusaderelated poems identified by Trotter as being directly exhortatory. While, for example, ‘La complainte de Constantinople’ of late 1262 couples an account of threats facing Christianity in the Holy Land and Mediterranean with an attack on the friars who the poet states are inhibiting the crusade,49 the main concern of ‘La nouvelle complainte d’outre-mer’ seems to lie with the poor moral and spiritual condition of different groups within society – princes, barons, tourneyers, prelates, clerics and others – which renewed interest in the crusade would counteract.50 Variations in the balance between direct exhortation to crusade and other elements such as satire or social comment may be explained by changes in Rutebeuf’s own concerns or priorities or by changes of patron, whose opinions Rutebeuf articulated in verse. Fortunately, in the context of this study the issue of patronage and its influence on 46

Rutebeuf, ‘La complainte de monseigneur Geoffroi de Sergines’, in Oeuvres complètes, 1, pp. 116–25. 47 Ibid., p.116, ll. 34–5; Trotter, Medieval French literature and the crusades, p. 216. Exhortation to crusade, if it was among Rutebeuf’s intentions, was similarly implicit in two poems of Rutebeuf’s from 1271, ‘La complainte du roi de Navarre’, and ‘La complainte du comte de Poitiers’, both of which lamented the deaths of men returning from Louis IX’s ill-fated Tunis crusade, in Oeuvres complètes, 2, pp. 381–9, 391–9. 48 Rutebeuf, ‘La complainte du comte Eudes de Nevers’, in Oeuvres complètes, 2, pp. 325–37. 49 Rutebeuf, ‘La complainte de Constantinople’, in Oeuvres complètes, 1, pp. 355–67. 50 Rutebeuf, ‘La nouvelle complainte d’outre-mer’, in Oeuvres complètes, 2, pp. 425–45.

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Rutebeuf’s work, while intriguing, is not a great obstacle. My intention is not to use Rutebeuf’s poetry or any other literary source as evidence of individual or collective opinion about crusading. What I wish to take from this material is evidence of the ideas and images that this poet believed would be familiar and appealing to both patrons and audiences and hoped would engage their interest in his descriptions of and calls for crusading activity. Chansons de geste The term chanson de geste is used to describe any of a large number of epic songs of the middle ages which have as their subject the great deeds attributed to the kings and knights of earlier generations. The chansons de geste may be distinguished from romances in thematic terms because, generally speaking, they deal with the group experiences of knighthood, in which individuals may achieve great things but do so as part of a military collective, while the heroes of romance were involved in solo quests to fulfil personal spiritual and emotional ambitions.51 Although Sarah Kay’s work warns against separating the genres of chanson de geste and romance too rigidly whether in terms of content, literary style or chronology of production and performance, for the purposes of this study the distinction between the collective and personal experiences described in chansons de geste and romances respectively is a useful one. For, while the romances may be an important potential source for the piety of the thirteenth-century knights who are the subject of this study, and therefore might contribute significantly to our understanding of the spiritual atmosphere in which crusades in this period took place, my current sphere of interest is more limited.52 As this study is concerned with depictions of crusades (sometimes actual crusades, in other instances imagined, crusade-like wars) I have chosen not to include romances as their references to crusading were most often indirect. This is certainly not the case with regard to chansons de geste, in which deeds were usually described as having been performed in the context either of conflict within Frankish society caused by rebellious barons or of confrontations with external, nonChristian enemies. As a large number of surviving chansons de geste contain depictions of battles against non-Christians they have a clear relevance to any study of perceptions of crusading. 51

S. Kay, The chansons de geste in the age of romance: political fictions (Oxford, 1995), p. 2. Use has recently been made of romances as sources for knightly piety by Richard Kaeuper in his study of Chivalry and violence in medieval Europe (Oxford, 1999). See in particular his chapter on ‘Knights and piety’, pp. 45–62. In relation to the presence of themes associated with crusading in romance see D. A. Trotter’s chapter on this genre in Medieval French literature and the crusades, pp. 127–69, in which he comes to the conclusion that these themes were ‘not a permanent backdrop or point of reference, as they are in the conventional chansons de geste’; ibid., p. 169. 52

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The most obviously crusade-related chansons de geste are those of the Old French Crusade Cycle. This group of texts has at its core the First Cycle of the Crusade, consisting of three works – the Chanson d’Antioche, Les Chétifs and the Chanson de Jérusalem – which provide an account of the actions of participants in the First Crusade in which elements of history and fiction are combined. The Chanson d’Antioche follows the course of the crusade through to the Christian victory in the battle of Antioch, while the Chanson de Jérusalem continues this story through to the capture and defence of the Holy City. Les Chétifs recounts the adventures that supposedly befell a group of captive Christian knights while their crusader colleagues fought for Antioch and Jerusalem. Around these accounts of events during or contemporaneous with the First Crusade, the Crusade Cycle as a whole grew to incorporate additional branches that created a mythical ancestry and career for Godfrey of Bouillon, the first Latin Christian ruler of Jerusalem and the principal hero of the Crusade Cycle. The Chanson d’Antioche stands apart from most chansons de geste, and from the other works included in the Crusade Cycle, because a named individual is cited as the original source of its contents. A certain Richard the Pilgrim is mentioned in the text as the eyewitness whose account of the initial stages of the First Crusade became known as the Chanson d’Antioche.53 The greater degree of historical accuracy in this branch of the Crusade Cycle has made the idea that this Richard was a participant in the First Crusade appealing, although it is not possible to identify him more precisely or to confirm the role of any eyewitness in the creation of the Chanson d’Antioche.54 The second individual to be associated with the production of the Crusade Cycle, though in a different role, is Graindor of Douai. This is the name of the person said to have brought together and adapted the Chanson d’Antioche, Les Chétifs and the Chanson de Jérusalem to make a coherent group of texts,55 though we know no more about him than we do about Richard the Pilgrim. Les Chétifs may have been his own work, written to help unite and extend the interest of the two pre-existing texts.56 This redaction is likely to have been produced in the late twelfth or early thirteenth century,57 and may have formed part of the recruitment drive for the Third Crusade.58 However, 53 La Chanson d’Antioche, ed. J. A. Nelson, (The Old French Crusade Cycle 4, Tuscaloosa, Alabama, 2003), p. 337, ll. 10886–7. 54 R. F. Cook, ‘Chanson d’Antioche’, chanson de geste: Le Cycle de la Croisade est-il épique? (Purdue University monographs in romance languages 2, Amsterdam, 1980), pp. 23–7. 55 La Chanson d’Antioche, p. 49, ll. 14–15. 56 G. Myers, ‘The manuscripts of the cycle’, in La Naissance du Chevalier au Cygne, eds E. Mickel and J. A. Nelson (The Old French Crusade Cycle 1, Tuscaloosa, Alabama, 1977), pp. xiii–xv. 57 Cook, ‘Chanson d’Antioche’, chanson de geste, pp. 1, 28–30. 58 S. Edgington, ‘Holy Land, Holy Lance: religious ideas in the Chanson d’Antioche’, in The Holy Land, holy lands and Christian history. Papers read at the 1998 summer meeting and the 1999 winter meeting of the Ecclesiastical History Society, ed. R. N. Swanson (Woodbridge, 2000), pp. 143–4.

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the manuscripts available to editors of the works that form the Crusade Cycle date from the mid thirteenth to fourteenth centuries, and this has led them to take differing approaches to the editing process. While Suzanne Duparc Quioc chose to produce an edition of the Chanson d’Antioche that she believed would reflect the earlier version produced by Graindor of Douai,59 Jan Nelson’s more recent edition aims to reproduce the Chanson d’Antioche in the form it had developed by the thirteenth century, as part of the overall tradition of the Old French Crusade Cycle.60 This thirteenth-century tradition had incorporated various adaptations, omissions and additions, most notably in the form of the mythical prefatory and continuatory texts. Trotter argues that because the chansons de geste of the First Cycle of the Crusade have been preserved in this wider cyclical context it is wrong to extract them for specific study.61 In terms of the literary history of the Crusade Cycle and the works of which it is formed Trotter may well have a strong case: these chansons de geste were preserved and reworked by successive remanieurs as a group. For the purposes of this present study, I have nonetheless chosen to focus attention on the First Cycle of the Crusade – the Chanson d’Antioche, Les Chétifs and the Chanson de Jérusalem. This does not mean that the other texts that form part of the Old French Crusade Cycle do not contain material that is potentially relevant to an examination of crusade ideas in the thirteenth century, but as this current work is not intended as an exhaustive study of these ideas, but rather as a demonstration of how the sources available allow us to access them, greater emphasis is placed on those texts that are concerned primarily with the conduct of crusades and crusade-like wars. This consideration has also influenced the selection of the other chansons de geste referred to in this study. Other epic songs, while not describing crusades as such, recount battles supposedly fought by the Christian rulers of the Carolingian period against non-Christian enemies, and in a number of cases such conflicts dominate the action described. The Chanson de Roland, the oldest and most famous chanson de geste, recounts the betrayal and defeat by Muslim forces of the rearguard of Charlemagne’s army during its retreat from Spain during which the poem’s eponymous hero met his death. There is a basis in fact for this episode: Charlemagne’s rearguard is known to have been routed at Roncesvalles in 778 as it left Spain. Chronicle sources for this period attest, however, that Basques rather than Muslims were responsible for this assault.62 The oldest extant written version of the Chanson de Roland 59

S. Duparc-Quioc, La Chanson d’Antioche: étude critique, (Documents relatifs à l’histoire des croisades publiés par l’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres 11, Paris, 1978), p. 80. 60 J. A. Nelson, introduction to La Chanson d’Antioche, p. 33. 61 Trotter, Medieval French literature and the crusades, pp. 107, 117–25. 62 G. Burgess, introduction to The Song of Roland, trans. G. Burgess (Harmondsworth, 1990), pp. 9–10.

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is that preserved in the twelfth-century manuscript, Oxford, Bodleian Library, Digby 23, but this is not the original version of the text.63 It is also likely that the work existed in oral form or forms prior to this date, and may have been circulating in the period of the First Crusade.64 In this context the presence of Muslims as the enemies of Charlemagne’s Christian army in the Chanson de Roland had particular resonance. Another of the chansons de geste in which the main narrative focus of the text was the military confrontation of Charlemagne’s Christian army with supposedly Muslim forces is the Chanson d’Aspremont. The campaign described in this chanson de geste takes place in southern Italy, where the emperor must repel the invasion of the emir Agolant and his son Aumont. Unlike those of the Chanson de Roland, the events described in the Chanson d’Aspremont do not correspond to any episode of Charlemagne’s reign. But the Chanson d’Aspremont shares with the Chanson de Roland a possible crusading context for its creation. It has been proposed that this chanson de geste was first composed in Sicily or Calabria in the late 1180s or early 1190s, during the period before the departure of the Third Crusade from the southern Italian port of Messina.65 There seems to be a coincidence between the context of production of the Chanson d’Aspremont (in southern Italy, during a period in which many efforts were being expended in favour of crusading) and the context of the action it describes (also in southern Italy, where a war was fought against Muslims to secure Christendom). Such a coincidence might suggest that the production of these and other chansons de geste, including those of the First Cycle of the Crusade, was intended to promote crusading. This study is not the right place in which to examine in detail whether chansons de geste were intended as pro-crusade propaganda, as the range of such texts it considers is limited in number, and includes only certain chansons de geste in which the description of crusades or crusade-like wars dominates their 63

G. J. Brault, introduction to The Song of Roland: an analytical edition, ed. and trans. G. J. Brault (University Park, Pennsylvania and London, 1978) 2 vols, 1, pp. 5–6. 64 Ibid., pp. 9–10. Michel Zink asserts that the Digby 23 version of the Chanson de Roland ‘undoubtedly’ dates from around 1098; Medieval French literature: an introduction, p. 18. Others are more cautious, but do associate this version of the Chanson de Roland with the late eleventh century. J. F. Benton cites evidence that the Saracen battle drums referred to in the Roland were first noted and described by participants in the battle of Zalaca in 1086; ‘“Nostre Franceis n’unt talent de fuïr”: The Song of Roland and the enculturation of a warrior class’, Olifant, 6 (1978–9), 240. 65 M. A. Newth, introduction to The Song of Aspremont (La Chanson d’Aspremont), trans. M. A. Newth (Garland library of medieval literature, series B 61, New York and London, 1989), p. xiii. A. de Mandach cites a dating for the Chanson d’Aspremont of between Easter 1187 and the end of 1190; A. de Mandach, Naissance et développement de la chanson de geste en Europe: Chanson d’Aspremont. Manuscrit Venise VI et textes Anglo-Normands inédits British Museum Additional 35289 et Cheltenham 26119 (Geneva, 1975 and 1980), 2 vols, 1, p. 2.

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contents. Norman Daniel, who examined a far wider range of chansons de geste, came to the conclusion that these works were not propaganda for the crusades as they placed too much emphasis on the prospect of daring and worldly reward.66 It is probably correct that no chanson de geste was created specifically in order to promote crusading on behalf of the Pope and that they were therefore not part of the ‘official’ propaganda for these campaigns. This does not mean, however, that they did not have and were not intended to have value as exhortation to crusade. Our efforts to understand the purpose of the chansons de geste and their impact on audiences are fundamentally obstructed by a general lack of information about their authorship and audiences. It is very rare that an individual name can be associated with the creation of any chanson de geste text, and even in the rare instances in which this might be the case (such as Richard the Pilgrim and Graindor of Douai in the case of the Chanson d’Antioche) we cannot know what precise relationship there was between this individual’s work and the overall tradition of the text.67 For a chanson de geste, like other works of secular literature in Old French, was adapted with every act of performance or transcription. It might be said that there were as many ‘authors’ of the Chanson de Roland as there were performances of this piece. Establishing any single intention or set of intentions in a chanson de geste’s creation or performance is therefore impossible. If there was an intended message in a chanson de geste it might be altered by the choices the performer made as to what elements to add, exclude or emphasize with tone, music or other elements of performance. We therefore cannot know precisely how the chansons de geste were presented to thirteenth-century audiences. Issues to do with the reception of these and other literary works are often similarly obscure, though there are indications that audiences are likely to have taken a lively interest in what they heard. Because chansons de geste were performed they must usually have been presented to several or many people at once. It is likely that these people did not passively absorb the stories they were told, but that they thought about them and commented on them to each other. An example of the possible setting for such a performance and the response of its audience is suggested in the romance Le chevalier du papegau (The knight of the parrot). One episode describes how the parrot accompanying the hero of this story sang to men and women gathered for a feast, recounting the great deeds of his master as a chanson de geste or romance might be performed. The effect of this was to rouse and inspire the listeners, 66

N. Daniel, Heroes and Saracens: an interpretation of the chansons de geste (Edinburgh, 1984), p. 267. 67 J. Flori, ‘L’historien et l’épopée française’ in L’épopée (Typologie des sources du moyen âge occidental 49, Turnhout, 1988), p. 87.

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who discussed what they had heard after they had finished eating.68 While it is hard to establish any precise relationship between the production or performance of chansons de geste and the promotion of crusading, for the purposes of this study what matters is that their descriptions of crusades or crusade-like holy wars may have been heard, thought about and commented on by those who had to decide whether or not to take the cross. The image of war in God’s name presented in these sources may not in itself have persuaded men to go on crusade, but the terms in which they recounted the nature and value of these crusades may have contributed to the understanding of potential crusaders as to what they could expect from participation and why this would be worthwhile. The chansons de geste may thus have had a part in the formation of the framework of ideas with which crusades were imagined and discussed in the thirteenth century. Preaching Evidence relating to preaching is relevant to any study of crusade mentalities because this was a medium through which agents of the Church sought to motivate potential crusaders to take the cross and rouse those who had already done so to renewed efforts. Successful preaching in the context of the promotion or execution of a crusade required that its practitioners were aware of widely-held beliefs concerning the potential value of crusading. Model sermons for the promotion of the crusade stand apart from the literary sources examined in this study for a number of reasons, and not least because we can with confidence state by whom, when and why they were created. The authors of the thirteenth-century model sermons included in Maier’s recent edition and referred to in this study were all clerics with active experience of the promotion of crusading.69 James of Vitry studied at the University of Paris before becoming a canon of St Nicholas at Oignies.70 His skills as a crusade preacher were put into practice in the promotion of the Albigensian and Fifth Crusades. As bishop of Acre he joined the forces that captured Damietta in 1219, from where he sent letters describing the experiences of the crusade army to pope Honorius III.71 Between his return 68 The knight of the parrot (Le chevalier du papegau), trans. T. E. Vesce (The Garland library of medieval literature, series B 55, New York and London, 1986), p. 21. Although this text survived in only one manuscript of the late fifteenth or early sixteenth century, Vesce suggests this romance may have been a product of the thirteenth century; introduction to ibid., p. xi. 69 The model sermons of Bertrand of la Tour edited by Maier will not be considered in this study. Bertrand was born around 1265, and therefore neither he nor his work could have played a role in recruitment for either of Louis IX’s crusades. 70 For James of Vitry’s outline biography see Maier, introduction to Crusade propaganda and ideology: model sermons for the preaching of the cross (Cambridge, 2000), pp. 8–9. 71 James of Vitry, Lettres de Jacques de Vitry, ed. R. B. C. Huygens (Leiden, 1960), pp. 98–153.

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from the East to take up the see of the cardinal bishop of Tusculum in 1229 and his death in 1240 James prepared a number of sermon collections, including the collection of sermones vulgares or sermones ad status (designed to appeal to specific types of audience) in which his two model crusade sermons may be found. This collection survives in at least 14 manuscripts and continued to be copied until the sixteenth century.72 Odo of Châteauroux also studied at Paris, where he pursued an academic career before his election to James of Vitry’s former position as cardinal bishop of Tusculum in 1244.73 He had preached the Albigensian Crusade in 1226, but it was as papal legate to Louis IX’s first crusade that he became most deeply involved in the promotion, organization and prosecution of a crusade campaign. In the years following this crusade and his return to Europe Odo had a large number of his sermons preserved in writing, at least two of which date from his time on crusade. They refer to events concerning Louis’s army during this period and will be considered in relation to the experiences and state of mind of crusaders during the course of their campaign.74 Odo was also the author of three sermons promoting the crusade campaign against the Muslim colony of Lucera in the late 1260s.75 His five model crusade sermons were included in his collection of Sermones de diversis casibus first produced before the late 1250s, re-edited and augmented before his death in 1273 and preserved in at least six manuscripts of the thirteenth and early fourteenth centuries.76 Gilbert of Tournai spent most of his life in Paris, first as a student and teacher at the city’s university and, from around 1240, as a member of the Franciscan community there.77 It is in this capacity that he is likely to have been involved in the preaching of Louis’s first crusade and gained the first-hand experience that could inform his production of three model crusade sermons for inclusion in his collection of sermons of the ad status type. The popularity of this work is attested by its survival (though not always in its entirety) in more than 60 manuscripts.78 Humbert of Romans chose after completing his 72

Maier, introduction to Crusade propaganda and ideology, pp. 74–5. See ibid., pp. 9–10 for Odo’s biography. 74 These sermons are edited in P. Cole, The preaching of the crusades to the Holy Land, 1095–1270 (Medieval Academy books 98, Cambridge, Massachusetts, 1991), pp. 235–43, and discussed in P. Cole, D. L. d’Avray and J. Riley-Smith, ‘Application of theology to current affairs: memorial sermons on the dead of Mansurah and on Innocent IV’, Historical research, 63 (1990), 227–47. 75 C. Maier, ‘Crusade and rhetoric against the Muslim colony of Lucera: Eudes of Châteauroux’s Sermones de Rebellione Sarracenorum Lucherie in Apulia’, Journal of Medieval History, 21 (1995), 343–85. 76 Although not all six of these manuscripts contain all five model sermons. The fifth sermon, for example, appears in three manuscripts of Odo’s second edition of this collection and must have been added at this stage; Maier, introduction to Crusade propaganda and ideology, pp. 75–6. 77 For Gilbert’s brief biography see ibid., pp. 10–11. 78 Ibid., pp. 76–7. 73

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studies at Paris to join the Dominican order, in which he rose to be master general from 1254 to 1263.79 Although it is not clear whether Humbert himself actually preached the cross, he showed a keen interest in efforts to generate renewed crusading zeal in the years between his retirement and his death in 1277. His treatise De predicatione sancte crucis, a handbook for crusade preachers, was written in the late 1260s.80 When pope Gregory X called on him to submit a report for the Second Council of Lyons outlining key problems facing the Church in the 1270s, Humbert dedicated one section of his Opus tripartitum to the question of the crisis in the Holy Land.81 In 1277 Humbert completed his treatise De eruditione predicatorum, within which was included a collection of model sermons ad status, four of which are for preaching the cross against heretics, Muslims or unspecified enemies. Humbert’s work must have been deemed of lasting value by succeeding generations as most of the at least 19 extant manuscripts of De eruditione predicatorum date from the fifteenth century.82 We can be confident of when and by whom these model sermons were produced, and of the purpose they were intended to serve. These clerical authors sought to aid the work of their fellow preachers as essential intermediaries between the Church as the institutional instigator of crusades and the individuals who would have to take the cross if these campaigns were to come to fruition. Exhortation to crusade was their raison d’être. What we cannot be certain of is to what extent these model sermons influenced the preaching of individual promoters of the crusade. We can take the survival of collections of model sermons of varying types in multiple manuscripts produced in the decades and centuries following their composition as evidence that the collections were seen as being of continuing interest and usefulness, but we cannot assume from this that the model crusade sermons in particular were widely valued or deployed. Nor can we judge from the texts of these model sermons how they would have been edited, adapted or augmented by preachers on the ground. It is clear that crusade preaching in practice would have been likely to have included many features not evident in any of our models. In the first chapter of his treatise De predicatione sancte crucis Humbert of Romans explained that the guidance included in this work would be punctuated at regular intervals with possible invitationes (brief and direct exhortations to take the cross) that were to be included at

79

On Humbert’s career see ibid., pp. 11–12. Humbert of Romans, De predicatione sancte crucis (Nuremburg, c.1490). 81 The Opus tripartitum also dealt with the problems of the schism of the Greek and Roman Churches and the need for internal Church reform. E. T. Brett, Humbert of Romans: his life and views of thirteenth-century society (Studies and texts [Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies] 67, Toronto, 1984), pp. 176–94. 82 Maier, introduction to Crusade propaganda and ideology, pp. 77–8. 80

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the end of sermons and accompanied by hymn-singing.83 The inclusion of elements such as this in the preaching of crusade sermons, as well as the spectacle of one’s fellows receiving their fabric crosses as they took a vow to crusade made these occasions ones with which audiences could engage not only with their reason, but also with senses of sight and hearing. This would have raised the emotional pitch of the proceedings and encouraged potential crusaders to believe that the project was not only justified or necessary, but also that it was urgent and enticing.84 The heightened atmosphere produced in some instances of crusade preaching was one in which people may have been more likely to believe they witnessed miracles or portentous visions such as those associated with Oliver of Cologne’s preaching of the Fifth Crusade in the Low Countries in 1214.85 It was through the combination of a preacher’s arguments with religious spectacle and witnessing the enthusiasm of one’s peers that the promoters of the crusade could best hope to prompt emotional as well as rational responses from the laity, who might otherwise be resistent to making spontaneous and independent decisions.86 James of Vitry stated in one of his model sermons that it required more than just words to inspire men to take the cross and expressed a wish that ‘the exhortatory sermon may enter the gates of [people’s] ears and hearts’.87 The potential crusaders who made up the audiences for these sermons needed not only to hear but also to feel the need for the success of the project they were called on to join. Words alone could not easily create such feeling, and the words of our surviving model sermons alone cannot be used to recreate or reflect the totality of the experience of being present at a crusade sermon. We therefore need to be clear about what we can take from these sermons. They refer to a range of themes, ideas and images deemed by experienced preachers to have been potentially useful in describing and explaining to large numbers of people the nature of and need for the crusade. Some of these themes, ideas and images recur in a number of these model sermons and suggest their greater or continuing potential value. It is these themes, ideas and images that constituted the framework of ideas proposed by Maier and are the topic of chapter three of this study.

83

Humbert of Romans, De predicatione sancte crucis, chapter 1. J. Riley-Smith, Al seguito delle crociate. Origini, storia, evoluzione (Rome, 2000), pp. 66–7. 85 J. J. van Moolenbroek, ‘Signs in the heavens in Groningen and Friesland in 1214: Oliver of Cologne and crusading propaganda’, Journal of medieval history, 13 (1987), 251–72. 86 Riley-Smith, Al seguito delle crociate, pp. 56–7. 87 James of Vitry, II, in Crusade propaganda and ideology, par. 8. Translations into English are those accompanying Maier’s edition unless otherwise stated. References to sermons included in this collection follow the style used by Maier himself, giving the name of the author, number of his sermon, and paragraph numbers. 84

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Crusade narratives and documentary sources The last two chapters use source material relating to the conduct of crusade campaigns and the defence of Christian territory in the Levant in order to determine how elements of the framework of ideas with which the crusade was presented to potential participants were reflected in experiences of crusading, and to examine the role played by this activity in shaping the lives of thirteenth-century laymen. Narrative accounts of crusades and of events in the Levant are of clear relevance to both these topics, but the range of sources that might be described as containing crusade narratives is wide. The texts mentioned in the paragraphs that follow are only some of those that have contributed to this study but they are representative of the key types of narrative under consideration. At the end of this section I will provide a brief survey of the range of documentary sources used in this study by describing how they contribute to our knowledge of Oliver of Termes’s and John of Joinville’s careers, which will be considered in the final chapter. A number of narratives were produced in the thirteenth and early fourteenth centuries in order to describe the condition of the Christian territories in the East and the wars fought to defend or extend them. Among these texts are continuations of William of Tyre’s Historia rerum in partibus transmarinis. While we know that William was a well-informed eyewitness to the events he described in the latter part of his history, little is known about the authors of the so-called ‘Rothelin’ and ‘Eracles’ continuations of his work. It seems clear that the author of the ‘Rothelin’ text wrote in Europe as all 12 surviving manuscripts were produced in the Ile-de-France, northern France or Flanders.88 This text, which covers the period from 1229 to 1261, seems to have been popular in the late thirteenth and early fourteenth centuries, during which time most of these manuscripts were produced. Margaret Morgan attributes its apparent appeal to its engaging use of other written sources, such as a lengthy interpolation from Li fet des Romains, which would have made the ‘Rothelin’ text more appealing to European audiences than the other continuation of William of Tyre for the period, known as the ‘Eracles’ version. This name has been given to a text the surviving redactions of which continue William’s history to various points in the mid and late thirteenth century. The account of events in the East provided by the ‘Eracles’ texts is certainly very different, particularly for the years from the time of Louis’s Egyptian crusade onwards. Most of the events included for this period are merely recorded rather than described, perhaps 88 M. R. Morgan, ‘The Rothelin continuation of William of Tyre’, in Outremer. Studies in the history of the crusading kingdom of Jerusalem presented to Joshua Prawer, eds B. Z. Kedar, H. E. Mayer and R. C. Smail (Jerusalem, 1982), p. 251.

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reflecting the fact that it was written in the Levant during a period of strain for the Christian settlements there.89 Although it is a less rich source than the ‘Rothelin’ for the details of crusaders’ experiences, the content of the ‘Eracles’ continuation makes it a particularly valuable source for the activities of the French garrison based at Acre in the years after 1254 and, in the context of this study, the career of Oliver of Termes in particular. The same is true of the Gestes de Chiprois. This text is a compilation of writings in Old French relating to the history of the Latin East from the mid twelfth to early fourteenth centuries. The last of its three sections, concerning the years from 1243 to 1309, is the work of a man known as the Templar of Tyre, who was an eyewitness to many of the events he reports from the late 1260s onwards, including the final days of the Christian presence on the mainland before the fall of Acre in 1291.90 Other accounts of the activities of crusaders in the East may be found in chronicles primarily concerned with events in Europe. The authors of these texts – religious including Matthew Paris, Salimbene of Adam and Primat – lived during the period of Louis’s crusades and heard about events soon after they happened but often relied on others for their information. Their version of the events they describe may be less reliable because it was usually second-hand, but in some cases their view is interesting because it reflects particular concerns or biases. So, for example, the English monk Matthew Paris proves himself a sometimes unreliable source for events during the course of Louis IX’s Egyptian crusade,91 but his concentration on the actions of the English contingent in this and other crusades of the mid thirteenth century provides not only a colourful and opinionated contrast to accounts by French authors but also a valuable reminder that these were not exclusively French campaigns. Matthew’s Chronica maiora is also of great interest because it contains the texts of a number of letters relating to Louis’s first crusade, many of which were written by participants. Salimbene was present at the Franciscan chapter held at Sens in 1248, at which Louis was a visitor during his journey through France before departure on his first crusade. His detailed description of the king’s physical appearance and behaviour on this occasion is evidence of the interest with which Salimbene observed events.92 Similarly, the chronicle of Primat (known only through the fourteenth-century translation into Old French of John of Le Vignay) provides a detailed account of the rituals that took place 89

Ibid., p. 254. L. Minervini, introduction to Cronaca del Templare di Tiro (1243–1314). La caduta degli stati crociati nel racconto di un testimone oculare, ed. L. Minervini (Nuovo medioevo 59, Naples, 2000), p. 1. 91 See below, p. 159 92 Salimbene of Adam, Cronica, ed. G. Scalia (Scrittori d’Italia 232–3, Bari, 1966), 2 vols, 1, pp. 319–21. 90

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at Saint-Denis before Louis IX’s departure for his second crusade.93 He was a monk of that house and was likely to have been a witness to these events, if not to the rest of the Tunisian campaign. Among those present on the crusade of 1270 was the Dominican friar Geoffrey of Beaulieu, the king’s confessor. He subsequently fulfilled a request from Pope Gregory X that he write an account of Louis’s life as a contribution towards the possible canonization of the king.94 The lives of Louis written to promote or celebrate his canonization constitute another group of texts in which material relating to his crusades may be found. One of Geoffrey of Beaulieu’s colleagues in the Dominican order, William of Chartres, had been present on the Egyptian crusade as Louis’s chaplain and also went on the 1270 expedition to Tunisia. He undertook to write an account of the king’s life that would complement that already provided by Geoffrey and give a fuller account of Louis’s posthumous miracles.95 Both Geoffrey of Beaulieu and William of Chartres had known the king personally and may therefore have been witness to or heard about key events in his career not mentioned in our other sources. For example, Geoffrey’s account of Louis’s pilgrimage to Nazareth is unique.96 His text provided an important resource for the monk of Saint-Denis, William of Nangis, who also wrote a life of Louis before his canonization, though without the benefit of having had any personal contact with his subject.97 The special relationship that existed between the Capetian dynasty and Saint-Denis was enhanced further with Louis’s canonization. The abbey wished to promote the cult of the saint who had his final resting place in their church. The brief life of the king written by an anonymous monk of Saint-Denis probably contributed to this process.98 But the most interesting life of Louis produced after his canonization is that of the Franciscan friar William of Saint-Pathus. He also had a connection with the French royal family, having been confessor to Louis’s wife, Margaret, from 1277 until her death in 1295 and later to her daughter, Blanche.99 The main value of his work lies in the fact that it drew 93

‘Chronique de Primat traduite par Jean du Vignay’, in RHGF, 23, p. 40. J. Le Goff, Saint Louis (Paris, 1996), p. 333; Geoffrey of Beaulieu, ‘Vita et sancta conversatio piae memoriae Ludovici quondam regis Francorum’, in RHGF, 20, pp. 3–27. 95 Le Goff, Saint Louis, pp. 335–6; William of Chartres, ‘De vita et actibus regis Francorum Ludovici et de miraculis quae ad ejus sanctitatis declarationem contigerunt’, in RHGF, 20, pp. 27–41. 96 Geoffrey of Beaulieu, ‘Vita et sancta conversatio piae memoriae Ludovici’, p. 14. 97 G. Spiegel, The chronicle tradition of Saint-Denis: a survey (Brookline, Massacheussetts, 1978), pp. 101–102; William of Nangis, ‘Gesta sanctae memoriae Ludovici regis Franciae’, in RHGF, 20, pp. 309–465. 98 Spiegel, The chronicle tradition of Saint-Denis, pp. 112–13; ‘Gesta sancti Ludovici noni, Francorum regis, auctore monacho Sancti Dionysii anonymo’, in RHGF, 20, pp. 45–57. 99 Le Goff, Saint Louis, p. 337; William of Saint-Pathus, ‘Vie de Saint Louis par le confesseur de la Reine Marguerite’, in RHGF, 20, pp. 58–121. 94

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heavily on material gathered during Louis’s canonization process, and may therefore be used as a source for the perception of the king’s sanctity among his contemporaries.100 William gave in his text a list of witnesses who submitted evidence to the enquiry, ranging from the king’s brothers and sons to prominent ecclesiastics and noblemen like John of Joinville to men of humbler origin, including Louis’s servants.101 Each of these biographical and hagiographical works contains information concerning Louis’s crusades. This makes them relevant to my research, though it is important to remember that their focus is on the king in particular, rather than those who accompanied him. Further, these texts presented Louis’s life as conforming to models of sanctity and Christian kingship favoured by the mendicant or Dionysian traditions within which they were produced. A number of letters were produced during the course of Louis IX’s first crusade that have more in common with crusade narratives than with other documentary sources. These include the letters of John Sarrasin, John of Beaumont and Robert of Artois written in the aftermath of the capture of Damietta in June 1249,102 and a letter written by Louis himself after the subsequent loss of that city and the departure of his army for Acre.103 They have the nature of crusade narratives because they describe and comment in some detail on the events of the early stages of this crusade. All three of those who wrote to France with the news of the fall of Damietta to the crusaders were members of Louis IX’s household: John Sarrasin was the king’s chamberlain, John of Beaumont his constable and Robert of Artois his brother. This may suggest that they were encouraged to write as part of a royal propaganda campaign, spreading the word of Louis’s achievement.104 It is apparent that John Sarrasin intended that the contents of his letter (the only one of the three to be written in the vernacular) be widely shared. He instructed its recipient, Nicholas Arrode, to make the contents known ‘to all our friends’.105 John’s letter evidently was copied or passed around as the author of the ‘Rothelin’ text was able to transcribe its text into his chronicle.106 In the case of Louis’s letter its intended value as propaganda is clearly stated. After having described the defeat of the crusaders in Egypt Louis 100

Le Goff, Saint Louis, p. 337. William of Saint-Pathus, ‘Vie de Saint Louis’, pp. 61–3. 102 All three letters are edited in Lettres Françaises du XIIIe siècle. Jean Sarrasin, lettre à Nicolas Arrode, ed. A. Foulet (Les classiques Français du moyen âge 43, Paris, 1924). 103 ‘Epistola sancti Ludovici regis de captione et liberatione sua’, in Historiae Francorum scriptores, ed. F. Duchesne (Paris, 1636–49), 5 vols, 5, pp. 428–32. 104 Foulet, introduction to Lettres Françaises du XIIIe siècle, p. vii. 105 ‘Lettre de Jean Sarrasin à Nicolas Arrode’ in Lettres Françaises du XIIIe siècle, p. 9; J. Beer, ‘The letter of Jean Sarrasin, crusader’, in Journeys toward God: pilgrimage and crusade, ed. B. N. Sargent-Baur (Studies in medieval culture 30, Kalamazoo, 1992), p. 145. 106 ‘Continuation de Guillaume de Tyr, de 1229 à 1261, dite du manuscrit de Rothelin’, pp. 568–71, 589–93. 101

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issued an impassioned appeal to French men and women to take the cross and come as reinforcements to the East.107 The narratives of crusading provided in these letters are of particular value to this study because, while the possibility that there may have been some royal influence exerted over their contents cannot be ruled out, these are nonetheless the works of laymen who were themselves crusaders. It was not only in letters that laymen wrote about their experiences of crusades in the thirteenth century. Two participants in the Fourth Crusade, Geoffrey of Villehardouin and Robert of Cléry, produced the first vernacular prose narratives of crusading.108 Their experiences of the capture of Constantinople in 1204 were very different, as is reflected in their accounts of these events. The contents of Geoffrey’s narrative reflect a need to put the controversial diversions of the crusade to Zara and Constantinople and the establishment of a Latin empire there in a favourable light. He had a central part in these events, from which he gained the office of marshal of the empire and as a consequence of which his nephew, also Geoffrey of Villehardouin, played a key role in the conquest of Morea, of which he later became prince.109 Robert of Cléry’s version of events is a less polished and more critical account of the impact of the diversion of the crusade on the lesser knights who aided Geoffrey and the other leaders in their task.110 But both Geoffrey and Robert talked about what they had seen in the third person. It was not until the production of John of Joinville’s Vie de Saint Louis that a first-person, and truly personal, extended account of a crusade was written. This text is of such central importance to this study that its creation, and its relationship with other crusade narratives including those of Geoffrey of Villehardouin and Robert of Cléry, will be considered in detail in the next chapter. Narrative sources, including a number of those already mentioned, provide vital information on the career of Oliver of Termes, which is considered in the last chapter of this study. Chronicle acounts provide evidence for his family’s struggles against the Church and French Crown during the

107

‘Epistola sancti Ludovici’, pp. 431–2. Geoffrey of Villehardouin, La conquête de Constantinople, ed. E. Faral, (Les classiques de l’histoire de France au moyen âge 18–19, Paris, 1938–39), 2 vols; Robert of Cléry, La conquête de Constantinople, ed. P. Lauer (Les classiques Français du moyen âge 40, Paris, 1924). 109 J. Longnon, Recherches sur la vie de Geoffroy de Villehardouin, suivies du catalogue des actes des Villehardouin (Bibliothèque de l’Ecole des Hautes Etudes, sciences historiques et philologiques 276, Paris, 1939), pp. 88–9; J. Longnon, L’empire Latin de Constantinople et la principauté de Morée (Paris, 1949), pp. 72–5, 111–13. 110 P. Noble, ‘Villehardouin, Robert de Clari and Henri de Valenciennes: their different approaches to the Fourth Crusade’, in The medieval chronicle. Proceedings of the 1st international conference on the medieval chronicle, Driebergen/Utrecht, 13–16 July 1996, ed. E. Kooper (Costerus new series 120, Amsterdam and Atlanta, Georgia, 1999), pp. 203–6. 108

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Albigensian Crusades,111 for his involvement in the conquest of Majorca by James I of Aragon,112 and for his later activities as a crusader and defender of Latin territory in the East.113 But in order to set these events in context it is important that documentary sources are considered too. For the most part these documents record Oliver’s dealings with the kings of France and Aragon and their agents, the papacy and religious institutions in Languedoc. For Oliver, as for other crusaders, a wide range of documents may be consulted which help set their activities as crusaders in context and record the transactions and arrangements that made their campaigns possible. In Oliver’s case they include reports from royal agents in Languedoc detailing his rebellion against their authority, letters from Louis IX granting permission for him to participate in the crusade of 1248 and detailing financial arrangements concerning his campaign, a court judgement that may relate to his movements between France and the East in 1250, a series of sales made in order to fund his subsequent journeys to the Levant and pious gifts and restitutions, and letters detailing the support and financial assistance given to him by the Curia towards the end of his life.114 It is fortunate that many such documents have been catalogued or edited in printed works.115 In some instances where there is no edition or no complete edition of a document it has been necessary to make use of original documents or manuscript copies. Many such documents relating to Oliver’s career may be found among the transcriptions made under the supervision of John of Doat in the seventeenth century and held at the Bibliothèque Nationale in Paris. A similar variety of documentary sources is available through which to study the life of John of Joinville, the other individual considered in the final chapter. They too may be found in printed catalogues, editions, and manuscript originals or transcriptions.116 Among these documents are a 111

For example Peter of Les Vaux-de-Cernay, Hystoria Albigensis, eds P. Guébin and E. Lyon (Paris, 1926–39), 3 vols, and William of Puylaurens, Chronique, ed. and trans. J. Duvernoy (Paris, 1976). 112 Bernard Desclot, ‘Crònica’, in Les quatre grans cròniques, ed. F. Soldevila (Barcelona, 1971), pp. 403–664. 113 For example, ‘Chronique de Primat traduite par Jean du Vignay’; ‘Continuation de Guillaume de Tyr, de 1229 à 1261, dite du manuscrit de Rothelin’, ‘L’estoire de Eracles Empereur et la conqueste de la terre d’outremer’ and Cronaca del Templare di Tiro (1243–1314). 114 See below, pp. 152–70. 115 Those volumes consisting of or containing documents of particular use for Oliver’s career are the Cartulaire et archives des communes de l’ancien diocèse et de l’arrondissement administratif de Carcassonne, ed. A. Mahul (Paris, 1857–71), 6 vols; Layettes du trésor des chartes, ed. J. Teulet et al. (Paris, 1863–1909), 5 vols; C. Devic and J. Vaissete, Histoire générale de Languedoc (revised edition, Toulouse, 1872–1905), 16 vols and the registers of the popes published by the French School in Rome, including Les registres de Grégoire X (1272–1276), ed. J. Guiraud (Paris, 1892). 116 In particular H.-F. Delaborde, Jean de Joinville et les seigneurs de Joinville, suivi d’un catalogue de leurs actes (Paris, 1894), Treize chartes inédites de Jean, sire de Joinville, ed. J. Simmonet (Dijon, 1874) and Receuil de chartes originales de Joinville en langue vulgaire, ed. N. de Wailly (Paris, 1868).

Sources

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number of charters that record pious gifts made by him before he left France in 1248.117 Charters in general – recording many types of sales, pledges, gifts and confirmations of rights between laymen and religious houses – have proved a fruitful research resource for study of issues relating to recruitment and motivation in the earliest years of the crusade movement, and especially the First Crusade.118 It is unlikely that charters could provide the basis for an extended study of crusade recruitment and motivation in the thirteenth century because the methods of financing crusades had by this time become more institutionalized and the need for individual crusaders to make sales or pledges in order to fund participation had diminished. This does not mean that those who took the cross did not make arrangements with religious houses, but perhaps that there were fewer such charters and that those that were made were more likely to relate to pious donations or confirmations of existing rights made in order to fulfil the crusader’s need for prayer on his behalf. But while thirteenth-century charters may not constitute a discrete body of documentary evidence on which to base a study of crusade mentalities, the principle established in the work of those who have used them for earlier periods, that the language used in them may be revealing about contemporary perceptions of crusades and crusaders,119 is an important one that might be relevant to the analysis of many types of documentary sources. This chapter has outlined the range of sources on which my research has drawn, and highlighted important distinctions between them. One such distinction sets the accounts of imagined or fictionalized crusades recounted in some literary sources apart from those that narrate the events of actual crusade campaigns. This is an important distinction, but it is also important to recognize that writers within all genres, whether they dealt with ‘fact’ or ‘fiction’, might be influenced by each others’ work. This is amply illustrated in the discussion of John of Joinville’s Vie de Saint Louis provided in the next chapter. 117

See below, pp. 174–5. On the usefulness of charters in general see G. Constable, ‘Medieval charters as a source for the history of the crusades’, in Crusade and settlement. Papers read at the first conference of the Society for the Study of the Crusades and the Latin East and presented to R. C. Smail, ed. P. W. Edbury (Cardiff, 1985), pp. 73–89. On the First Crusade in particular: J. Riley-Smith, ‘The idea of crusading in the charters of early crusaders, 1095–1102’, in Le Concile de Clermont de 1095 et l’appel à la croisade. Actes du colloque universitaire international de Clermont-Ferrand (23–25 Juin 1995) organisé et publié avec le concours du Conseil Régional d’Auvergne (Collection de l’Ecole Française de Rome 236, Rome, 1997), pp. 155–66. Charters provided the basis for Marcus Bull’s work on Knightly piety and the lay response to the First Crusade. The Limousin and Gascony, c.970c.1130 (Oxford, 1993), especially chapters 3 to 6, pp. 115–281. 119 Riley-Smith, The first crusaders, pp. 4–5. 118

Chapter 2

John of Joinville and the Vie de Saint Louis Although the precise date of his birth is unknown, John of Joinville was probably born during the first four months of 1225, the second son of Simon of Joinville and his wife Béatrix.1 His father had succeeded in securing recognition of his family’s claim to the title of seneschal of Champagne by hereditary right, which title John inherited in 1239, his elder brother having already died. By the age of 16 he was acting as squire to count Thibaut IV of Champagne, at whose court Joinville received his knightly education. At the point of departure for the crusade in 1248 John was probably only 23 years old, quite recently married and the father of two young children. Despite his commitments at home, Joinville chose to stay in the Holy Land with Louis IX for four years from 1250 to 1254, after many of his peers had returned to France. It was during this period that Joinville wrote the first version of his Credo (an exposition of the creed through text and illustration, a revised version of which has survived)2 and perhaps also some verse written in support of the king’s continued presence in the East.3 After his return to France with Louis in 1254, Joinville was a valued, if not frequent, attendant at the Capetian court. With Louis’s death in 1270 the seneschal’s influence in Paris seems to have waned, and his most notable contributions there were in connection with his late friend’s canonization; in 1282 he gave evidence to the enquiry into Louis IX’s sanctity and in 1297 he was again present to witness the translation of the new saint’s relics.4 It may have been in order to further the cause of Louis’s possible canonization that Joan of Navarre requested Joinville to produce an account of the king’s holy words and good deeds. The Vie de Saint Louis as we know it is the end-product of this project, completed by 1309 and dedicated to the future king Louis X, as Joan of Navarre was by this time no longer alive. Just as Joinville’s career as a writer lasted into his advanced old age, so did his performance of his feudal and military responsibilities. In 1315, at the age of around 90, he wrote to Louis X explaining that he would send the forces required of him for a campaign against Flanders, though the king had 1

J. Monfrin, introduction to Vie, p. ix. John of Joinville, Text and iconography for Joinville’s Credo, ed. L. J. Friedman (Mediaeval Academy of America publications 68, Cambridge, Massachusetts, 1958). 3 G. Paris, ‘La chanson composée à Acre en Juin 1250’, Romania, 22 (1893), 546–7. 4 Vie, pars 760, 762–5. 2

47

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not given them sufficient time to prepare.5 The seneschal died two years later, on 24 December 1317, at the age of at least 92.6 Joinville’s career and the place of crusading within it will be examined in more detail in the final chapter. It is with his work as a writer that I am principally concerned in this section, as any student of the Vie de Saint Louis must first confront a number of fundamental problems concerning when and how this text was produced. When did Joinville produce the Vie de Saint Louis? The oldest of the three extant manuscripts containing the Vie de Saint Louis, Bibliothèque Nationale de France ms. fr. 13568 (designated ms. A by its editor) may be dated to the 1330s or 1340s.7 It therefore post-dates the completion of the text by at least two decades, and its relation to the copy of the text presented to the future Louis X remains obscure.8 But a more fundamental mystery surrounds the question of when John of Joinville produced the text, or texts, that make up his life of Louis IX. Debate of this issue has impacted on the work of many historians concerning the Vie de Saint Louis and must therefore be explored if this work is to be used sensitively and successfully. This section of the study will therefore outline the arguments in favour of either a one-stage or two-stage composition of the Vie de Saint Louis and give the reasons why I believe the current orthodoxy established by Jacques Monfrin’s recent edition of the work should be challenged.9 Put most basically, Monfrin believes that the Vie de Saint Louis was produced as a single unit between late 1305 and October 1309, and that this was done purely to fulfil the request of Joan of Navarre, who as countess of Champagne was Joinville’s own lord, that he produce an account of Louis IX’s words and deeds.10 In forwarding this view Monfrin’s work follows in many respects that of Alfred Foulet, who also favoured the theory of a single-stage production, but narrowed the likely period of compostion to 5 John of Joinville, Histoire de Saint Louis, Credo et lettre à Louis X, ed. N. de Wailly (second edition, Paris, 1874), pp. 449–51. 6 H.-F. Delaborde, Jean de Joinville et les seigneurs de Joinville, suivi d’un catalogue de leurs actes (Paris, 1894), p. 161. 7 Monfrin, introduction to Vie, p. xciv. 8 A full account of the Vie de Saint Louis’s manuscript transmission is provided by Monfrin, introduction to Vie, pp. xc–cxiii. 9 The way in which Monfrin’s views have been uniformly accepted is demonstrated by two collections of essays produced after the publication of his edition; Le prince et son historien: la Vie de Saint Louis de Joinville, eds J. Dufournet and L. Harf (Collection Unichamp 55, Paris, 1997) and Jean de Joinville: de la Champagne aux royaumes d’outre-mer, ed. D. Quéruel (Langres, 1998) in which the possibility of a two-stage production is very rarely alluded to, and never discussed. 10 Monfrin, introduction to Vie, p. lxxvi.

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that from 1 November 1305 to 30 April 1306.11 The opposing theory, according to which the crusade section of the Vie de Saint Louis had existed in its own right for some time before Joan of Navarre made her request, was first and most fully articulated by Gaston Paris in the late nineteenth century.12 He proposed that paragraphs 110 to 666 represent the remains of Joinville’s pre-existing crusade account, to which the opening and closing sections of the Vie de Saint Louis, dealing with the rest of Louis’s reign and his decision to take the cross for the first time, were added later.13 Only one actual date is mentioned in the Vie de Saint Louis: the final paragraph of ms. A records that it was written in October 1309.14 Monfrin takes this to refer to the completion either of the text’s composition, or of the production of the manuscript which served as the exemplar for ms. A.15 At other points in the text, Joinville referred to events not concerned with the period of Louis’s reign he was describing but which took place near the time of composition. Monfrin’s single-stage composition theory rests heavily on pinpointing the dates of these events in order to establish the chronological parameters within which Joinville worked. Such references are found in the crusade section and in those that frame it. I will consider those from the opening and closing sections of the Vie de Saint Louis first. In paragraph 108 Joinville stated that count William of Flanders had taken the cross in 1244, and that William was the brother of count Guy of Flanders who had recently died.16 Guy of Dampierre, count of Flanders, died on 7 March 1305. Joinville also referred at two points in the opening section of the Vie de Saint Louis to Joan of Navarre, his project’s instigator, as someone no longer alive.17 She died on 2 April 1305. From this we can be confident that Joinville was in the process of composing the Vie de Saint Louis during the spring or summer of 1305. But when did he complete his work? Monfrin rightly points out that the second description of a dream experienced by Joinville and mentioned by him in the Vie de Saint Louis could not have been included in the text until at least 1308.18 In the dream the late King Louis 11

A. Foulet, ‘When did Joinville write his Vie de Saint Louis?’, Romanic review, 32 (1941), 234. This view was followed by N. L. Corbett, introduction to La vie de Saint Louis, ed. N. L. Corbett (Sherbrooke, Quebec, 1977), p. 11. 12 G. Paris, ‘La composition du livre de Joinville sur Saint Louis’, Romania, 23 (1894), 508–24. Paris’s two-stage composition theory has been favoured by a number of later students of the Vie de Saint Louis, including J. Evans, introduction to The history of St Louis by Jean Sire de Joinville, seneschal of Champagne, trans. J. Evans (Oxford, 1938), pp. xx–xxi and M. Slattery, Myth, man and sovereign saint: King Louis IX in Jean de Joinville’s sources (American university studies, series II: romance languages and literature 11, New York, 1985), p. 7. 13 Paris, ‘La composition du livre de Joinville’, 513. 14 Vie, par. 769. 15 Monfrin, introduction to Vie, p. lxvi. 16 Vie, par. 108. 17 Ibid., pars 2, 18. 18 Monfrin, introduction to Vie, pp. lxxiv–lxxv.

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appeared happy and content outside the chapel at Joinville, where the Vie de Saint Louis informs us that the seneschal had established an altar in Louis’s honour.19 As permission for this altar was not granted to John by the chapter of Saint Lawrence at Joinville until 1308 this passage cannot have been produced before that time and the period of composition of the Vie de Saint Louis must be extended until at least that year.20 There is one reference to events contemporary with its production in the Vie de Saint Louis that disturbs slightly the neatness of the scheme laid out by Monfrin. In paragraph 35 Joinville recalled having observed Louis in conversation with the count of Brittany, the father of the current duke of Brittany.21 That current duke was John II of Brittany, who died on 18 November 1305. If Joinville wrote while John II was still alive then his work must pre-date this point, which seems inconsistent with the dating of 1308 suggested by the dream sequence at the end of the text. Monfrin explains this inconsistency away easily, saying that paragraph 35 must have been written while John II of Brittany was still living and that Joinville forgot to go back and correct this comment after the duke’s death.22 This assessment is reasonable, but Monfrin’s statement that the dating suggested by this paragraph can only be applied to the passage in which it appears has significant implications. For, if this principle should be applied to this passage should it not also be applied to others in which Joinville referred to events surrounding the production of his text? Joinville’s failure to correct his error in describing John II of Brittany as alive demonstrates that he was not necessarily consistent or careful in the creation of the Vie de Saint Louis and that we should not automatically apply what we can gather about any given passage to the text as a whole. This is something that it will be important to bear in mind as we go on to consider Joinville’s references to events contemporary with production in the crusade section of his text. At seven points in what Paris identified as the crusade section of the Vie de Saint Louis Joinville alluded to events which were not contemporary with his crusade, but which had taken place between the campaign and his production of his account of it. Three of these references are to events which took place in the 1260s. They allude to the death of Joinville’s mother in 1260,23 his second marriage in 126124 and the Armenian campaign of sultan Baybars in 1265.25 They can be used only to prove that Joinville wrote these passages during or after the 1260s and are therefore compatible 19 20 21 22 23 24 25

Vie, pars. 766–7. Delaborde, Jean de Joinville et les seigneurs de Joinville, p. 405, number 714. Vie, par. 35. Monfrin, introduction to Vie, p. lxvii. Vie, par. 112. Ibid., par. 466. Ibid., par. 286.

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with either Monfrin’s single-stage composition theory or Paris’s two-stage theory. The four further references to events contemporary with its production contained in Joinville’s crusade account are cited by Monfrin to bolster his theory that Joinville must have written this section of his text after 1300. Two of them are undeniably references to events of the last years of the thirteenth century: Joinville alluded to the death in 1295 of Louis’s wife, Margaret of Provence26 and mentioned having seen the silver ship placed by Margaret at the shrine of Saint Nicholas of Varengéville on a visit to that place when he accompanied Blanche, Philip the Fair’s sister, on the journey to join her husband-to-be at Haguenau in 1300.27 The other two references cited by Monfrin as being post-1290 should not automatically be accepted as such. In paragraph 555 Joinville recounted an anecdote involving Hugh III of Burgundy, who had stayed in the Holy Land as leader of Philip Augustus’s forces after the return to France of the king from the Third Crusade, and who was the ‘aieul’ of the recently-dead duke.28 Monfrin asserts that Hugh III’s descendant who had recently died was duke Robert II of Burgundy, who died in May 1306.29 In doing so Monfrin follows Foulet’s belief that Joinville used the word ‘aieul’ in this case, as he did in others, to describe blood relatives of many sorts, rather than with the word’s specific meaning of grandfather.30 If the specific meaning of this word is applied, as it was by Gaston Paris, then the reference to the recently dead duke would be to Hugh III’s grandson, Hugh IV, who died in 1272.31 We cannot be certain whether Joinville was referring to Hugh IV or to Robert II of Burgundy in paragraph 555. A similar problem is evident with respect to Joinville’s account of a conversation he had with Odo of Châteauroux, papal legate, during his crusade. In the course of this exchange the legate had described the sins of the inhabitants of Acre and expressed the opinion that God would avenge these sins with the inhabitants’ own blood.32 Joinville commented in his text that this prophecy of a bloody vengeance had been fulfilled in what is taken by Monfrin to be a reference to the fall of Acre in 1291.33 Paris had also assumed that this was an allusion to 1291 but suggested that this was one of several instances in which Joinville added to his pre-existing crusade account in order to reflect subsequent events.34 It is quite possible, however, 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34

Ibid., pars 400, 633. Ibid., par. 633. Ibid., par. 555. Monfrin, introduction to Vie, pp. lxvi–lxvii. Foulet, ‘When did Joinville write his Vie de Saint Louis?’, 236. Paris, ‘La composition du livre de Joinville’, 511. Vie, par. 613. Monfrin, introduction to Vie, p. lxviii. Paris, ‘La composition du livre de Joinville’, 511.

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that Joinville did not mean to refer to the fall of Acre at all, but rather to the highly destructive War of Saint Sabas waged by the representatives of the communes of Genoa and Venice in the city from 1256 to 1261.35 With the doubts over the dating of events referred to by Joinville in paragraphs 555 and 613 borne in mind, it emerges that the only references to events of the late thirteenth century made by Joinville in the crusade section of the Vie de Saint Louis are his allusions to the death of Margaret of Provence, and to his trip to Saint Nicholas of Varengéville. They constitute the only evidence in terms of references to events surrounding the production of the text that this part of the Vie de Saint Louis was produced in the early fourteenth century. In themselves they cannot prove that this was the case as it is possible that Joinville made revisions to a pre-existing work. It is important that we work on the principle, advocated by Monfrin himself in relation to Joinville’s reference to John II of Brittany, that such dating evidence should not necessarily be applied to anything other than the particular passage in which it appears. Efforts to date the different sections of the Vie de Saint Louis using only Joinville’s references to events contemporary with or near to the time of production are unconvincing in themselves. But the debate whether the text was composed as a single unit, or whether the central section was composed separately and earlier raises the issue of perceived differences between the characteristics of Joinville’s crusade account and the sections that frame it. Among the elements that may be examined in this way are the size of the section of the Vie de Saint Louis Joinville dedicated to the events of Louis’s first crusade, the author’s own presence in his narrative, the vocabulary he employed and his treatment of themes and issues that seem to have been of importance to him. At the start of his work Joinville reported that the task set for him by Joan of Navarre was to produce an account of the saintly words and good deeds of king Louis.36 If in doing so she wanted him to compose a full and balanced record of Louis’s life and reign then Joinville failed to meet his brief. Of the 769 numbered sections or paragraphs into which Natalis de Wailly later divided the Vie de Saint Louis, over 550 are concerned with the events of the king’s first crusade. The great majority of Joinville’s work is therefore dedicated to the period 1248 to 1254, a mere six years of Louis’s 56 years of life. This heavy concentration on the crusade in Joinville’s account of Louis’s life may be seen as evidence that the Vie de Saint Louis was a somewhat crude compilation based on a pre-existing crusade narrative that the author could 35 J. Riley-Smith, ‘What is the Histoire de Saint Louis of John of Joinville?’, typescript, unpublished paper, p. 4. 36 Vie, par. 2.

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not or did not counterbalance when he came to add sections concerning the remainder of the king’s career. It might also be explained as a result of Joinville’s explicit intention of founding his account of Louis’s life on those words and actions that he had seen and heard himself.37 The six years Joinville spent overseas with the king provided him with an extended opportunity to observe closely the king’s attitudes and behaviour, the like of which was not repeated after their return to France. But this cannot explain the fact that much of the crusade section of the Vie de Saint Louis seems to be concerned with the events of Joinville’s own campaign, from which the figure of the king was often entirely absent.38 Foulet believed that Joinville used his own experiences as a narrative device, providing a chronological thread to the crusade section of the Vie de Saint Louis that would otherwise have seemed disjointed.39 Two objections to this view should be made. First, if Joinville felt he needed to provide a chronological thread of this sort to his account of Louis’s first crusade, why did he not feel the need to adopt such a technique to lend continuity to the sections that frame it? The opening and closing sections of the Vie de Saint Louis are an amalgam of anecdotes describing Louis’s kingship and piety drawn from Joinville’s own memories and from other sources in which there is no clear chronological thread. Secondly, Joinville’s description of his life during the crusade gives much more detail than would be required if it were to act merely as a backdrop for Louis’s actions. For instance, the details provided by Joinville concerning the running of his household while at Acre would be unneccessary if this was the case. His sleeping arrangements, provisioning, distribution of wine and routine for hearing mass tell us nothing about Louis’s qualities.40 The crusade section of the Vie de Saint Louis appears to be an account of Joinville’s own time in Egypt and the Holy Land. In producing this personal account of his crusade experiences Joinville was able to include his observations of the way in which his fellow members of the French knightly class expressed their values in action. His status as an authority on issues of knightly conduct was recognized by Francesco of Barberino, a Florentine visitor to the French royal court in the early fourteenth century who made a record of his conversations with the elderly seneschal concerning matters of etiquette.41 Joinville’s eagerness to assess and comment on the behaviour of his knightly peers is also evident in the Vie de Saint Louis, but it should be noted that his treatment of such issues is 37

Ibid., par. 768; Foulet, ‘When did Joinville write his Vie de Saint Louis?’, 237. Paris, ‘La composition du livre de Joinville’, 509. 39 Foulet, ‘When did Joinville write his Vie de Saint Louis?’, 238. 40 Vie, pars. 501–4. 41 Delaborde, Jean de Joinville et les seigneurs de Joinville, pp. 152–4; A. Thomas, Francesco da Barberino et la littérature Provençale en Italie au moyen âge (Bibliothèque des Ecoles Françaises d’Athènes et de Rome 35, Paris, 1883), pp. 25–7. 38

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very different in the crusade section of the text from that in its opening and closing sections. Put simply, the crusade section celebrates thirteenthcentury knighthood, providing an enthusiastic (though discriminating) observation of the actions and attitudes of Joinville’s peers, while the opening and closing sections of the Vie de Saint Louis present his concerns about the social and moral standards which he upheld and which he believed were being neglected by fourteenth-century knighthood. In Joinville’s crusade account, the vast majority of examples of admirable knightly behaviour appear naturally throughout his account of the crusade, without being explicitly signalled as exempla or points for comment. For example, Joinville’s gift to the empress of Constantinople when she was stranded at Cyprus without her ship or belongings demonstrated the importance of being generous, and of having others observe one’s generosity.42 Personal bravery and an awareness of one’s duty to one’s family was shown by Erart of Sivry during the battle of Mansurah. He offered to go and fetch help for Joinville and others, but did not wish to do so if future generations might misconstrue this as cowardice and hold it against his descendents.43 During the fighting at Caesarea Joinville himself displayed the respect for authority and sense of community required of knighthood at its best: he acted to prevent the count of Eu’s men going beyond their orders, and then showed his solidarity with his own men by abandoning the relative safety of his horse to join them on foot.44 In the opening and closing sections of the Vie de Saint Louis Joinville issued a number of explicit comments and complaints about the values of his knightly peers, especially the Capetians, in the hope that they might mend their ways. At the end of the introductory passage in which he dedicated the work to Philip IV’s heir, the future Louis X, he made his didactic intentions explicit: ‘I am sending it to you so that you and your brothers and others that hear it may take good examples from it, and put those examples to use’.45 Joinville commented on standards of dress, reporting that Philip III had spent 800 livres parisis on an embroidered coat, something that his father would never have done. Louis would rather have bought simple clothes and given the rest of the money to a good cause.46 Joinville was also concerned about speech and swearing. He stated early in the Vie de Saint Louis that under Louis’s sucessors, he often heard men swear by the devil.47 Later in the text Joinville returned to this subject, saying

42 43 44 45 46 47

Vie, pars 137–8; Slattery, Myth, man and sovereign saint, p. 41. Vie, par. 226. Ibid., par. 576. Ibid., par. 18. Ibid., par. 25. Ibid., par. 22.

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that Louis had never tolerated this practice and that he himself had tried to stamp it out in his own household.48 Joinville believed that God too was concerned about the kingship of the Capetians after Louis IX. Having described how Louis had advised him to look on setbacks as warnings from God, Joinville suggested that Philip IV would be wise to do so too.49 In the closing passage of the text, in which the aftermath of Louis’s canonization was described, Joinville again called directly on the saint’s heirs to examine how their performance would be looked upon in comparison to their great ancestor’s. He described how Louis’s canonization was a continuing cause for celebration in France, and wished shame on any who would dishonour this heritage.50 Similarly, Joinville told how Philip IV and his brothers had carried Louis’s remains when they were re-interred at Paris after his canonization, and expressed his hope that they would prove themselves deserving of this honour.51 How can the Joinville who observed the values of his knightly contemporaries on crusade so positively be the same person who commented so negatively on the values of his knightly contemporaries under Louis’s heirs? This contrast may be explicable if we think that Joinville produced the crusade section of his work some time relatively soon after the events he described, and well before the turn of the fourteenth century when he composed the framing sections in a state of disillusionment with his knightly peers. Certainly, Joinville could have written a nostalgic account of the crusade after 1300 in which he recalled the superiority of French knighthood of the mid thirteenth century. But had he done so, and with the feelings of concern that are so present in the opening and closing sections of the text, this would be likely to have been evident in the crusade account itself through the inclusion of comparison and complaint. Another contrast between the crusade section and those that frame it concerns Joinville’s use of vocabulary. Gaston Paris, forwarding his twostage composition theory, asserted that in only one instance in his crusade account did Joinville refer to Louis in terms of his sanctity, in a passage likely to have been added into the text by Joinville after its initial production. By contrast, in the opening and closing sections of the Vie de Saint Louis the king and his words and actions were often described using the word ‘saint’ (saintly).52 Jacques Monfrin has correctly pointed out that Paris was mistaken, and that in two further passages of the central section 48

Ibid., par. 687. Ibid., par. 42. 50 Ibid., par. 761. 51 Ibid., par. 765. 52 Paris, ‘La composition du livre de Joinville’, 510. The instance cited by Paris appears in Vie, par. 207. 49

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of the Vie de Saint Louis Joinville described Louis as ‘saint’.53 Elisabeth Gaucher has identified the total number of paragraphs in which Joinville referred to Louis as ‘saint’ as being three for the crusade section and 26 for the opening and closing sections of the Vie de Saint Louis combined.54 When we consider the disproportionately large number of paragraphs taken up by Joinville’s crusade account this contrast becomes even more pronounced. Opinions vary as to why there should be a relative absence of the word ‘saint’ from the crusade section of Joinville’s work. Foulet, responding to Paris’s belief that this shows that this section pre-dates Louis’s canonization, argued that Joinville generally avoided references to Louis’s sanctity as he wished to emphasize the king’s humanity. This was part of a conscious effort by Joinville not to portray Louis in the way that clerics and monastics tended to depict saints.55 Foulet may have a point; Joinville himself stated the specialness of Louis’s being a layman. But it is perhaps unfortunate for Foulet’s theory that the passage in which Joinville asserted the importance of Louis’s laity was also one in which he described the king as living particularly ‘saintement’.56 Gaucher, in a similar vein to Foulet, suggests that Joinville’s reluctance to refer to Louis as ‘saint’ arises from a wider thirteenth-century tendency to be interested in ‘individuality’ rather than in ‘normative’ labels. The greater use of this term in the opening and closing sections of the Vie de Saint Louis than in the crusade account is attributed by Gaucher to Joinville’s concern that such a label might present an obstacle to his depicition of the richness and variety of the king’s personality.57 I would not wish to be drawn into extended speculation as to why Joinville used the term ‘saint’ less in the crusade section of the Vie de Saint Louis than in those that frame it. What is important for me is that this contrast between the different sections of Joinville’s work is undeniably there. Taken along with the fact that Joinville discussed knightly values differently in the crusade section, spent a disproportionately large part of his work describing the crusade and placed himself at the centre of his narrative of this period, I am convinced that the central section of the Vie de Saint Louis is fundamentally different in character from those that frame it, and may well pre-date them in some form, either as a written text or as a story that had taken on an established form through frequent repetition. 53

Monfrin, introduction to Vie, p. lxx; Vie, pars 120, 385. E. Gaucher, ‘Joinville et l’écriture biographique’, in Le prince et son historien. La Vie de Saint Louis de Joinville, eds J. Dufournet and L. Harf (Collection Unichamp 55, Paris, 1997), p. 116, n. 26. 55 J. Bédier, ‘Jean de Joinville’, in Histoire de la littérature Française illustrée, eds J. Bédier and P. Hazard (Paris, 1923–24), 2 vols, 1, p. 85. 56 Vie, par. 4. 57 E. Gaucher, ‘Joinville et l’écriture biographique’, p. 116. 54

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Other historians who have posited a two-stage composition for the Vie de Saint Louis have considered the question of when Joinville may have first produced his crusade narrative. They follow the theory first set out by Gaston Paris according to which the general absence of the word ‘saint’ from this section of the text indicates its pre-dating Louis’s canonization.58 An immediate spur to write may have been provided by the marriage of John of Joinville’s son, Geoffrey, to Mabille of Villehardouin, great-grand-daughter of the historian of the Fourth Crusade, Geoffrey of Villehardouin. Paris, who believed that the connection made between these families by this union may have introduced John to Geoffrey’s text and therefore inspired him to write his own crusade account, dated this marriage to 1272.59 Jacques Monfrin queried this dating, suggesting that Geoffrey of Joinville had in fact married Mabille in 1270. He also pointed out that this marriage was certainly not the first time at which the Joinville and Villehardouin families had come into contact with each other: their respective positions as holders of the titles of seneschal and marshal of Champagne meant that members of these households had worked together in the preceding decades and that Joinville may well have known of Geoffrey of Villehardouin’s literary work well before the 1270s as a result.60 I agree with Monfrin’s assessment in that there is no evidence that can positively place the composition of the crusade section of the Vie de Saint Louis in the early 1270s. This date can only be suggested as a possible point for Joinville beginning the process of composition as more than one potential stimulus to record his memories of his crusade coincided at this point: the recent failure of Louis’s second crusade, the king’s death and the JoinvilleVillehardouin marriage. But I would not go any further than to say that Joinville’s crusade account may well have started to take shape around this time, and it may have done so sooner. In his account of the re-grouping of Louis’s fleet after it was broken up as it departed from Cyprus in 1249 Joinville mentions that the king’s ships were joined by those of the prince of Morea.61 This was William of Villehardouin, the son of Geoffrey the historian’s nephew.62 Joinville, who was usually keen to announce his relationship by blood or marriage with prominent figures – as in his references to emperor Frederick II63 and Bohemond V of Antioch64 – does not mention 58

Paris, ‘La composition du livre de Joinville’, 510. Ibid., 513. Paris’s proposals regarding the Joinville–Villehardouin marriage have been followed by Evans, introduction to The history of St Louis, p. xx, and P. Archambault, Seven French chroniclers: witnesses to history (Syracuse, New York, 1974), p. 45. 60 Monfrin, introduction to Vie, pp. lxix–lxx. 61 Vie, par. 148. 62 J. Longnon, L’empire Latin de Constantinople et la principauté de Morée (Paris, 1949), pp. 218–19. 63 Vie, par. 326. 64 Ibid., par. 431. 59

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any connection between his family and William’s. This might indicate that this portion of the Vie de Saint Louis pre-dates Joinville’s son’s marriage. Although I question Paris’s confidence in placing the start of the composition process in the 1270s, I cannot go as far as Monfrin, who stated that the whole of the Vie de Saint Louis as it survives was written as one piece in the early fourteenth century and that ‘there is no evidence that the account of the crusade was composed earlier’.65 The simple and unfortunate fact of the matter is that the Vie de Saint Louis is lacking in evidence that would enable us to make any dating with absolute confidence. Certainly, the bulk of the evidence relating to events contemporary with or near to the point of composition points to Joinville being at work in the early fourteenth century, but that this was the case has never been in question. What is unclear is whether he was starting from scratch at this point or whether he was using and adapting an existing account of his years on crusade. Monfrin may be right that there is no evidence of the same sort to prove positively that the latter was the case, but neither, I believe, is there convincing evidence that Joinville definitely could not have produced his crusade account significantly earlier than the opening and closing sections of the Vie de Saint Louis. For me, contrasts between the different sections of the Vie de Saint Louis in terms of the number of paragraphs dedicated to phases of Louis’s reign, Joinville’s vocabulary, his own presence in his narrative and his treatment of issues such as knightly conduct, reinforce a belief that the crusade section of this text is entirely different in character and concerns than those that frame it. The most feasible explanation for all these inconsistencies would be that Joinville had established his crusade account at a different time and for different reasons. An examination of how Joinville worked to compose the Vie de Saint Louis will support the theory that Joinville is likely to have created his crusade account independently from the rest of this text. How did Joinville produce the Vie de Saint Louis? Henri-François Delaborde, describing what he saw as a lack of literary affectation in the Vie de Saint Louis, said that this text was ‘rather the transcription of a conversation than a neatly composed book’.66 This section of my study is intended to show that this is a misleading or over-simple assessment of Joinville’s approach to his work. I would certainly not contend that the process of composition of the Vie de Saint Louis was neat or consistent, but I do think it is important to examine Joinville’s methods of working as an author and to acknowledge the fact that he drew on the work of other 65 66

Monfrin, introduction to Vie, p. lxxvi. Delaborde, Jean de Joinville et les seigneurs de Joinville, p. 172.

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writers in the production of his text. By this I mean that Joinville was aware of and made use of literary conventions and devices that he must have felt added to the quality of his work. The way in which he employed these literary devices in the crusade section differed from that in the sections that frame it. This examination of Joinville’s methods as an author therefore adds to arguments in favour of the crusade account at the centre of the Vie de Saint Louis having been produced at a different stage to the opening and closing passages of the text. In his examination of the ‘true’ depiction of Louis IX provided by the Vie de Saint Louis, Jacques le Goff suggests that the value of Joinville’s reportage was due in large part to the particular strength and length of memory during the middle ages, when the written word had not yet gained preeminence.67 I do not doubt that Joinville’s most useful resource was his own memory, but it is nonetheless important to acknowledge that this was not by any means his only aid. The most simple indications that this was so are provided by those instances in which Joinville referred to or can be shown to have used written sources. In the crusade section of the Vie de Saint Louis these references are few and fleeting. When Joinville wished to make plain that he had been willing to fulfil a promise to aid the emperor of Constantinople once Louis had decided to return to France, he mentioned the fact that he had retained a letter of the count of Eu which recorded this fact.68 Written materials therefore had a clear value in Joinville’s eyes as a means of confirming his own recollection of events. Evidence of Joinville’s readiness to use resources other than his own memories may also be found in his mistakes. Jacques Monfrin has demonstrated that the dates Joinville gave for the departure of the crusade army from Cyprus and its arrival before Damietta, which do not agree with those given in other sources, would be consistent with him having made confused use of a calendar.69 In the opening section and, to an even greater extent in the closing section of the Vie de Saint Louis, Joinville’s use of written sources is more obvious and extensive. He drew information on Richard I of England’s fine conduct in the Holy Land in the late twelfth century from a text he referred to as the ‘livre de la Terre sainte’.70 But by far the most important single 67

Le Goff, Saint Louis, p. 476. Vie, par. 140. 69 J. Monfrin, ‘Joinville et la prise de Damiette (1249)’, Académie des Inscriptions et BellesLettres, comptes rendus des séances (1976), 274–5. 70 Vie, par. 77. Delaborde suggested this text was the Chronique d’Ernoul; Jean de Joinville et les seigneurs de Joinville, pp. 170–71. Joinville also referred to the same anecdotes relating to Richard’s activities as a crusader in the crusade section of the Vie, par. 558. Although he does not refer to an outside source at this point in the text it is likely that Joinville knew of this ‘livre de la Terre sainte’ before composition of any section of the Vie began. 68

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written source for Joinville in the composition of the Vie de Saint Louis as we know it was the ‘romant’ which he cited as his source for many of Louis’s actions.71 This text was that of the Grandes chroniques de France, which Joinville drew on heavily, and in some places even transcribed, in his production of paragraphs 693 to 769 of the Vie de Saint Louis.72 Dominique Boutet has argued that Joinville only gained access to a manuscript containing the Grandes chroniques when he came towards the end of his work on the Vie de Saint Louis and suggests that his account of the early years of Louis’s reign would have been more complete and free of errors had he known the Grandes chroniques earlier.73 We can be sure that John of Joinville did not use his memory as his only resource in the production of the Vie de Saint Louis. But it is also worth considering how he may have exercised his memory, and particularly how he recounted his memories of his crusade, before he produced a written account of that period. He reported how John II of Nesle, count of Soissons, had bantered with him on the day of the battle of Mansurah and said that they would recount their exploits to ladies at a later date.74 It is reasonable to assume that Joinville, like the count and many others, spoke of what he had seen and heard overseas on a number of occasions after his return to France in 1254. We know that he did so on at least one occasion, when he was called as a witness by the enquiry into Louis IX’s sanctity at Paris in 1282, where he gave his testimony over two days.75 Noel Corbett suggested that Joinville may have made written notes at this time on which he was able to draw when he came to dictate the Vie de Saint Louis.76 Delaborde wondered whether Joinville’s fondness for writing had meant that he made notes of events as or soon after they occurred.77 It is true that Joinville seems to have enjoyed writing. The Vie de Saint Louis was certainly not his only or his first literary effort. His known works beside the Vie de Saint Louis are his Credo (in which Joinville included passages concerning the crusade army’s period of captivity) and an epitaph for his great-greatgrandfather, Geoffrey III of Joinville, which took the form of an outline genealogy of his family from the mid twelfth century concentrating on their crusading exploits, and was placed in the chapel at Clairvaux in 71

Vie, par. 768. Monfrin, introduction to Vie, p. lvii. 73 D. Boutet, ‘Le méthode historique de Joinville et la réécriture des Grandes chroniques de France’, in Jean de Joinville: de la Champagne aux royuames d’outre-mer, ed. D. Quéruel (Langres, 1998), p. 99. 74 Vie, par. 242. 75 Ibid., par. 760. 76 Corbett, introduction to John of Joinville, La vie de Saint Louis, p. 45. 77 Delaborde, Jean de Joinville et les seigneurs de Joinville, p. 171. 72

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1311.78 He was also suggested by Gaston Paris as the author of the song ‘Nus ne porroit de mauvese reson’, composed at Acre in 1250, in which Louis was exhorted to stay in the Holy Land for reasons and in terms similar to those presented in the Vie de Saint Louis.79 Joinville’s interests as an author extended beyond the production of the Vie de Saint Louis. John of Joinville should be seen, therefore, to have been an author of some resourcefulness and experience. Although his known writings are not many in number, their production spans the period from his crusading youth to his extreme old age and his own works may well have been among a range of texts on which he drew when he came to produce what survives as the Vie de Saint Louis. It is because of this that I was first led to question Delaborde’s suggestion that the Vie de Saint Louis was produced in a naïve manner, as a record of personal memories devoid of literary style. Over the following pages I hope to demonstrate that Joinville can often be seen to have been ambitious in his production of the Vie de Saint Louis, particularly in his use of a number of devices or conventions he is likely to have come across in secular literature. It is not my intention to make any claims as to the quality of Joinville’s literary oeuvre, within which such devices were neither consistently nor regularly applied. Nor will my consideration of this topic be exhaustive. But I wish to point out what I see as a contrast in Joinville’s use of literary conventions in the Vie de Saint Louis. For, while elements of style and literary devices employed in the crusade section of the text seem largely to echo those of secular literature, and in particular of chansons de geste and other vernacular crusade narratives, those used in the opening and closing sections of the Vie de Saint Louis seem to have been drawn from devotional literature, especially hagiography. This contrast reinforces my belief that Joinville is likely to have produced the crusade section of the Vie de Saint Louis separately, with a different purpose in mind and at a different time, from those that frame it. I am certainly not the first person to examine the Vie de Saint Louis for evidence that Joinville’s presentation of events may have been influenced by the techniques of secular writing such as the chansons de geste.80 For the most part these examinations have considered general features of Joinville’s text such as its organization and presentation of chronology. Micheline de Combarieu du Gres points out that the Vie de Saint Louis contains very few references to specific dates, with events of Louis’s reign presented as a series of scenes and images arranged in chronological order but with little sense of the 78

‘Epitaphe composée par Joinville’, ed. N. de Wailly in John of Joinville, Histoire de Saint Louis, pp. 544–7. On this epitaph see below, pp. 173–4. 79 G. Paris, ‘La chanson composée à Acre’, Romania, 22 (1893), 546–7. 80 See in particular M. Combarieu du Gres, ‘La chanson du roi Louis (de Joinville et de la chanson de geste)’, in Jean de Joinville: de la Champagne aux royaumes d’outre-mer, ed. D. Quéruel (Langres, 1998), especially pp. 112–29.

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intervals between them. So, for example, Joinville moves seemlessly from his report of Louis’s taking the cross in 1244 to his own departure in 1248 giving no indication of the passage of these four years.81 This depiction of events as a series of scenes which are connected (but without any precise sense of the time over which they occurred) is something associated by Combarieu du Gres with the chanson de geste genre, citing the Chanson de Roland as a specific example. An episodic structure along with the use of oral interjections have been identified by Gabrielle Spiegel as elements common to the epic narrative of the chansons de geste and to vernacular histories.82 Oral interjections, addresses made by the author to his reader or audience, are certainly present in the Vie de Saint Louis, as when Joinville marked the end of a digression from the events of the crusade with the phrase ‘let us now return to our subject’.83 Both his organization of material and manner of presenting it to his audience may have been influenced by elements of Old French secular literature. The range of genres from which Joinville may have taken inspiration is wide. Christine Ferlampin-Acher cited a number of instances from the crusade section of the Vie de Saint Louis in which his choice of subject-matter or depiction of events shows his interest in, or the influence on him of, different branches of contemporary literature.84 Joinville’s descriptions of the lifestyles of peoples like the Bedouins and Mongols or of the geography and environment of Egypt may have been inspired by encyclopaedic texts.85 His inclusion of individual edificatory stories unconnected with the course of the crusade itself (such as that concerning a woman who believed she could douse the flames of hell) lend these passages of the Vie de Saint Louis the character of a collection of exempla.86 Joinville also recounted the combat of a lone Christian knight against a group of Muslim assailants, which in itself adds nothing to his account of the crusade or of Louis’s life. The inclusion of such an episode, especially with the closing statement that the knight’s victory was observed by a number of women from atop the walls of Acre, is strongly reminiscent of the depictions of individual heroism before a female audience commonly found in Old French romance.87 81

Ibid., pp. 112–13; Vie, pars 106–9. G. Spiegel, ‘Social change and literary language: the textualization of the past in thirteenth-century Old French historiography’, in G. Spiegel, The past as text: the theory and practice of medieval historiography (Baltimore, 1997), pp. 186–7. 83 For example Vie, pars 172, 191, 287. 84 C. Ferlampin-Acher, ‘Joinville, de l’hagiographe à l’autobiographe: approche de la Vie de Saint Louis’, in Jean de Joinville: de la Champagne aux royaumes d’outre-mer, ed. D. Quéruel, (Langres, 1998), p. 85. 85 Vie, pars 249–52, 473–87, 187–90. 86 Ibid., par. 445. 87 Ibid., pars 548–50. For an example of the use of this topos in romance see The knight of the parrot (Le chevalier du papegau), trans. T. E. Vesce (The Garland library of medieval literature, series B 55, New York and London, 1986), p. 63. 82

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Ferlampin-Acher also pointed to a possible connection between Joinville’s style and that of the epic or chansons de geste in relation to his depiction of battle. She cites in particular a passage describing a scene during the battle of Mansurah which was especially impressive to Joinville because the participants fought hand-to-hand with swords and maces rather than with bows and crossbows.88 I wish to elaborate on these ideas about the influence of chansons de geste on Joinville’s presentation of battle scenes, focusing not on the nature of battle or the battle spirit that both he and the authors of epic seem to have admired, but on more specific elements of his descriptions of military engagements. In particular, I wish to concentrate on evocations of the sights and sounds associated with battle. Joinville attempted to draw his audience into his narrative by using appeals to the senses that would have been familiar to them from other literary works describing battle scenes. When Joinville wished to portray the power of the Egyptian sultan’s forces lined up along the shore outside Damietta before the Christian landing he did so by describing the impressive sights and sounds they created: he admired their golden arms which caught the sunlight and described the frightening noise of their drums and horns.89 Recollection of similar sights and sounds was also used by him to illustrate the moments at which he found the crusader forces most impressive. So, when he wished to describe an encounter with Louis during the battle of Mansurah during which the king appeared to Joinville finer than any other knight he had seen, seeming to tower above those around him and wearing a helmet that gleamed in the sun, this impression of Louis’s appearance is intensified by the description of the noise of trumpets, drums and horns that marked Louis’s entrance and exit from the scene.90 While it is undoubtedly the case that battlefields of the thirteenth century offered many impressive sights and sounds and that the presence of armour and of horns and other noisy instruments in this context served many important practical purposes, their presence in contemporary literature seems to have been a straightforward means by which to evoke the strength of a fighting force, whether Christian or Muslim. Among the many instances of the use of this topos in chansons de geste are at least six examples from the Chanson de Roland in which the sight of armour gleaming in the sunlight is described, and in three of these cases this sight was accompanied by a great din of trumpets or bugles.91 The Chanson d’Antioche similarly 88

Ferlampin-Acher, ‘Joinville, de l’hagiographe à l’autobiographe’, p.85; Vie, par. 229. Vie, par. 148. 90 Ibid., pars 228, 231. 91 The Song of Roland: an analytical edition, ed. and trans. G. J. Brault (University Park, Pennsylvania and London, 1978), 2 vols, 2, pp. 64–7, ll. 1021–2, 1031–3; pp. 112–13, ll. 1808–11 (sight only); pp. 64–5, ll. 1002–5; pp. 90–91, ll. 1452–5; pp. 200–201, ll. 3306–10 (sight and sound). 89

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evoked the sights and sounds of armies in several instances and at one point clarifies the importance of such matters in estimating the power of one’s enemies. When the sultan of Nicaea is depicted reporting to the sultan of Persia the harm he had suffered at the hands of the Christian army he describes the sight of the ranks of the crusaders – with their embellished shields, swords with finely sharpened blades and impressive warhorses – as the only means of explaining the challenge faced.92 It was not only the creators and performers of chansons de geste who used repeated evocation of sights and sounds as a literary device for depicting the might of armies. Other authors of crusade narratives employed it as well. When Robert of Cléry recounted the second assault by the participants in the Fourth Crusade on Constantinople he described the sight and sound created by the enemy. We are told that the emperor Murzuphlus set his vermilion tent up on a mound inside the walls of the city, from which he could see and be seen by the attacking crusaders. He had trumpets and timbrels sounded to make a din. Robert referred to the continuing presence of this cacophony repeatedly as he described the various stages in the crusaders’ assault.93 The author of the ‘Rothelin’ continuation of William of Tyre’s history, although not an eye-witness to events as Joinville and Robert were, also repeatedly described the sounds that accompanied enemy attacks.94 This was a useful means by which to suggest the fearfulness of these occasions which could be used by writers who were eyewitnesses and non-eyewitnesses alike. We cannot hope to identify the particular source or sources which inspired Joinville to use this topos in his crusade narrative. Indeed in the case of this particular device its use seems to have been so widespread that Joinville is unlikely to have had any particular examples in mind when he chose to employ it himself. For my purposes establishing specific sources on which Joinville may have drawn, though an interesting possibility, is less important than demonstrating that he was a writer who was familiar with and ready to use literary devices employed by other authors. Because of this his text can be identified as part of a wider literary tradition. I also wish to highlight other, more substantial passages from the crusade section of the Vie de Saint Louis in which the content or style of Joinville’s narrative seems to have been influenced by his awareness of a range of literary works. The first of these passages concerns his departure on crusade. Such a departure was likely to have been an emotional wrench for many 92

La Chanson d’Antioche, ed. J.A. Nelson (The Old French Crusade Cycle 4, Tuscaloosa, Alabama, 2003), p. 219, ll. 6279–89. 93 Robert of Cléry, La conquête de Constantinople, ed. P. Lauer (Les classiques Français du moyen âge 40, Paris, 1924) pp. 70, 71, 73, 76–7. 94 ‘Continuation de Guillaume de Tyr, de 1229 à 1261, dite du manuscrit de Rothelin’, in RHC Occ., 2, pp. 543, 606, 609, 613.

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participants and it should therefore not surprise us that when Joinville wrote his crusade account he recalled how he dared not look back at his home after he had left because he was sad to leave his home and two children.95 He did not, curiously, mention his wife. Joinville’s description of his departure provides, as his crusade account often does, a version of events that is notable for its personal nature and in which emotions as well as actions are important. Although I would not wish to question the genuineness of the sorrow Joinville associated with the start of his crusade journey, his initial decision to include a memory of the point of departure is interesting. Philippe Ménard made an explicit connection between the inclusion of this passage in the Vie de Saint Louis and the work of other thirteenth-century writers who took the crusades as a theme. He associates it with songs that stressed the challenges facing their heroes by describing their departure from their home and their loved ones. Ménard referred in particular to Conon of Béthune’s ‘Ahi! Amours, con dure departie!’,96 but many other such songs could be cited, including several written by Joinville’s own lord, Thibaut IV of Champagne.97 We can see this motif at work in a number of chansons de geste depicting the real or legendary wars of Christians against Muslims. According to the Chanson de Roland Charlemagne’s army was moved to tears when they saw Gascony from the hills of Spain and were reminded of their homes, estates and loved ones.98 In the songs of the Old French Crusade Cycle the separation motif appears as a means by which to stress the sacrifices made by the crusaders in pursuit of the conquest of the Holy Land. The Chanson d’Antioche reported that when the crusaders were offered a chance to enter Antioch by way of a ladder and were debating who should climb first, Robert of Flanders said that he was willing to take this risk as he had also been willing to leave behind his county, his wife and his children in order to reach this point.99 According to the Chanson de Jérusalem, when the crusaders came within sight of the Holy City their happiness at being at the place where Christ had lived and died was such that it compensated for their having left behind their country, and the pleasures of home including their falcons, fine fabrics, women and children.100 Joinville’s Vie de Saint Louis was certainly not the first eyewitness crusade account to use the separation motif. Geoffrey of Villehardouin included a 95

Vie, par. 122. P. Ménard, ‘L’esprit de la croisade chez Joinville. Etude des mentalités médiévales’, in Les Champenois et la croisade. Actes des quatrièmes journées rémoises, 27–28 Novembre 1987, eds Y. Bellenger and D. Quéruel (Paris, 1989), pp. 135–6. 97 Les chansons de croisade, eds J. Bédier and P. Aubry (Paris, 1909), pp. 175–206. 98 The Song of Roland, 2, pp. 52–3, ll. 818–22. 99 La Chanson d’Antioche, p. 254, ll. 7618–20. 100 La Chanson de Jérusalem, ed. N.R. Thorp (The Old French Crusade Cycle 6, Tuscaloosa, Alabama, 1992), p. 58, ll. 1062–72. 96

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description of the departure of crusaders in 1202 in his account of the crusade to Constantinople. He described how many tears were shed by those who were leaving their lands, families and friends.101 Robert of Cléry described how at this time there were many fathers and mothers, sisters and brothers and wives and children who were greatly distressed by the departure of the crusade.102 In each of these cases the point of departure on crusade was one characterized by displays of distress caused by the separation of crusaders from home and family. Since the separation motif was a commonplace of medieval literature, and of literature dealing with crusades and other wars in particular, I believe we need to be wary when it is cited as an example of Joinville’s powerful memory and emotional sincerity, as by Jacques Le Goff.103 This does not mean that I think that this passage of the Vie de Saint Louis shows Joinville to be insincere, or using the point of departure as a literary motif for the sake of it. A comparison of the departure passages from the works of Geoffrey of Villehardouin and Robert of Cléry with the corresponding one from the Vie de Saint Louis exemplifies differences between the works as a whole: Robert and Geoffrey’s accounts deal with general rather than personal experiences and emotions while Joinville’s first-person narrative focuses on his own actions and feelings. Here Joinville can be seen to have taken a literary commonplace and personalized it. As Michel Zink has suggested, this scene demonstrates a literary ability on Joinville’s part to create a sense of intimacy between author and reader or audience.104 Another instance in which Joinville’s selection of material for inclusion in the Vie de Saint Louis may have been influenced by what he knew of the work of other authors occurs in his description of the crusader fleet about to set sail for Damietta from Cyprus in 1249. He said that this was very beautiful, because it seemed that the sea, for as far as one could see, was covered with the sails of ships both large and small.105 Le Goff used this passage as an example of the strength of Joinville’s visual memory.106 Jacques Monfrin said of the same passage that it was completely without literary affectation, evoking only the aesthetic impact of the sight and not what it signified, such as power.107 On the contrary, it should be seen that Joinville was using this description of the fleet as a literary device precisely because it conveyed the idea of 101 Geoffrey of Villehardouin, La conquête de Constantinople, ed. E. Faral (Les classiques de l’histoire de France au moyen âge 18–19, Paris, 1938–9), 2 vols, 1, pp. 50–51. 102 Robert of Cléry, La Conquête de Constantinople, p. 8. 103 Le Goff, Saint Louis, pp. 476–7. 104 M. Zink, The invention of literary subjectivity, trans. D. Sices (Baltimore, 1999), p. 202. 105 Vie, par. 146. 106 Le Goff, Saint Louis, p. 477. 107 J. Monfrin, ‘Joinville et la mer’, in Etudes de langue et de littérature du moyen âge offertes à Félix Lecoy (Paris, 1973), pp. 454–5.

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power neatly and in a way that contemporary readers or audiences would have been familiar with. The same image recurs in at least three other vernacular crusade narratives of the thirteenth century. Robert of Cléry’s depiction of the fleet of the Fourth Crusade setting sail from Venice is notable for its effusiveness, describing the tears of joy shed by those who witnessed this, the most impressive sight that had ever been seen. He goes on to relate how the appearance of the ships with their sails and banners raised made the sea seem to tremble or be on fire with this joy.108 In a less exuberant but certainly comparable passage Geoffrey of Villehardouin recounted how the Christian fleet prepared to sail from Corfu to Constantinople in 1203 was so strong that as far as the eye could see there were sails of so great a number of ships and other vessels that everyone’s heart was gladdened.109 James I of Aragon’s Catalan Crònica contains a description of the crusader fleet setting sail to conquer Majorca in 1229 in which this sight was said to be beautiful to spectators on land and at sea because the whole sea seemed to be white with sails.110 Although she does not cite these direct points of comparison, Micheline de Cambarieu du Gres’s assessment of Joinville’s work alongside those of the chanson de geste genre recognizes in his description of the departing fleet what she terms as an ‘heroic’ quality.111 Although it is impossible to cite any specific source from which these authors of crusade accounts drew their depictions of fleets, it is likely that they would have come across similar images in vernacular literature. For example, both the twelfth-century verse Roman de Troie and the thirteenth-century prose version of the same story describe the Greek fleet ready to sail to attack the forces of Troy as a marvel to behold, there being so many ships and sails that the sea was almost completely obscured.112 Joinville’s use of this and other topoi does not make his version of the fleet’s departure untrue, though it may have had an impact on the nature of that truth. The truth in Joinville’s account, and those of Robert, Geoffrey and James, lay in what their descriptions of departing crusader fleets represented – massed Christian forces about to achieve something great – rather than in the relationship of their accounts to these individuals’ experience. Elements of style such as the use of topoi could serve to enhance fundamental truths.113 108

Robert of Cléry, La conquête de Constantinople, pp. 12–13. Geoffrey of Villehardouin, La conquête de Constantinople, 1, pp. 122–3. 110 James I of Aragon, ‘Crònica’, in Les quatre grans cròniques, ed. F. Soldevila (Barcelona, 1971), p. 32. 111 Cambarieu du Gres, ‘La chanson du roi Louis’, p. 129. 112 Benoit de Sainte-Maure, Le Roman de Troie, ed. L. Constans (Société des Anciens Textes Français 87–92, Paris, 1904–12), 6 vols, 1, p. 378, ll. 7085–92; Le Roman de Troie en prose, eds. L. Constans and E. Faral (Les classiques Français du moyen âge 29, Paris, 1922), p. 64. 113 R. Morse, Truth and convention in the middle ages: rhetoric, representation and reality (Cambridge, 1991), pp. 90–95, especially 95. 109

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This examination of Joinville’s Vie de Saint Louis alongside other secular literature has so far focused on instances in which I believe there is a clear connection between Joinville’s presentation of events and the devices used by other authors: the evocation of sights and sounds to portray battle vividly, the separation motif and the description of departing fleets to symbolize the strength of Christian forces. In the paragraphs that follow I would like to consider two passages from the Vie de Saint Louis alongside other texts, as I believe they demonstrate that Joinville’s narrative (in the crusade section in particular) was determined by a desire to provide a degree of entertainment and drama as well as his own version of events. The first of these passages is that in which Joinville recounted the first meeting of the leading members of the crusade army summoned by King Louis at Acre in order to consider whether he should return to France.114 According to Joinville’s account of this gathering, it was Guy Mauvoisin who first asserted that the king’s resources were too depleted for him usefully to remain overseas at this time. When asked, the counts of Anjou, Poitiers and Flanders and several others expressed their agreement with Guy’s opinion. The count of Jaffa, whose own lands in the East were under threat, did say that the king’s continued presence would be valuable, but all those that answered after him were firmly in favour of a return to Europe. When Joinville’s turn came to give his view, he said that he thought that the king should stay in the Holy Land and use his personal funds to support the army while working for the liberation of those Christians still held captive in Egypt. William of Beaumont at first spoke in support of Joinville, but was silenced by his uncle, John of Beaumont, who was eager to leave for France. Joinville therefore took on the role of advocate for remaining in the East, speaking against the vast majority of opinion among the representatives of French knighthood gathered there, with the lone support of the lord of Chacenay. Henri-François Delaborde made a short study of Joinville’s presentation of these events, which he believed may have been misrepresented by the seneschal, whose memory failed him in his old age.115 Delaborde cited the contents of Louis’s own letter to France written in 1250, according to which most of the barons were in favour of staying in the East.116 It is Delaborde’s opinion that while Joinville’s desire to stay in France was not shared by others at the first meeting of the barons at Acre, this was before it had become clear that the Egyptian sultan did not intend to keep the terms of the truce made with the crusaders. When it became apparent that the 114

Vie, pars, 422–9. H.–F. Delaborde, ‘Joinville et le conseil tenu à Acre en 1250’, Romania, 23 (1894), 148–52. 116 ‘Epistola sancti Ludovici regis de captione et liberatione sua’, in Historiae Francorum scriptores, ed. F. Duchesne (Paris, 1636–49), 5 vols, 5, p. 431. 115

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captive Christians might not be freed, many of those concerned changed their minds and favoured remaining. When Joinville came to have his memories of these events written down, several decades later, Delaborde believed his recollection was dominated by the simple idea that he had stood against the majority opinion and that the king ultimately followed the path he had proposed. It may be that Joinville’s memory was clouded by the passage of time, but I would assert that it is also possible that his account of these events when he came to record them was coloured by a desire to lend his work some of the drama he must have known from the chansons de geste. The Chanson de Roland in particular contains two episodes concerning gatherings of Charlemagne’s great men in which an individual spoke out against the flow of opinion and was proved to have been in the right by later events. The first of these passages was that in which Charlemagne asked his men whether he should accept the offer of a pact with the Muslim king of Spain, Marsile, which would allow them to return to France. In this case it was Roland who spoke out against placing any trust in Marsile’s promises.117 This viewpoint was vindicated by the later Muslim attack that brought Roland’s own death and great sadness to the Franks. Like Roland, Joinville was a young and inexperienced member of the council who chose to speak out against a number of other named individuals of greater age and status whose desire to return home was apparently greater than their desire to do what was right. The importance of being willing to speak out against one’s peers was reiterated in the final passages of the Chanson de Roland in which Charlemagne summoned a council to consider what should be done with the traitor Ganelon. All the emperor’s followers favoured leniency apart from the knight Thierry, whose insistence that Ganelon should be shown no mercy was demonstrated to be correct after the performance of a judicial combat.118 While Delaborde believed that Joinville’s presentation of the debate whether Louis should return to France in 1250 was shaped by a failure in his memory, I would argue that Joinville’s narrative may also have been influenced by a desire to present his account of the crusade in a dramatic way, emphasizing the role of the principled young rebel in speaking out against the more mature but less adventurous majority in a way which may well have been familiar to him from chansons de geste like the Chanson de Roland. In this way Joinville’s work may reflect what Michel Zink identified as an increased interest in dramatization within all genres of Old French literature in the thirteenth century, which he relates to the emergence of vernacular theatre during this period. In particular, Zink sees that thirteenth-century authors placed greater stress on depicting dialogue, 117 118

The Song of Roland, 2, pp. 14–15, ll. 193–213. Ibid., 2, pp.232–3, ll. 3815–37.

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gestures and poses.119 These three elements were all clearly emphasized by Joinville in the last passage of the Vie de Saint Louis that I wish to examine with precedents from secular literature in mind. This is the scene following the account of the first council summoned at Acre in which the young seneschal and the king have a private conversation during which Louis confided that he would in fact follow Joinville’s advice on the question of returning to Europe.120 At this point it would be worth quoting the first two paragraphs of this passage in full: While the king heard grace I went to a barred window which was in an alcove by the head of the king’s bed, and put my hands through the bars of the window. I thought that if the king should return to France, I should go to join the prince of Antioch, who was a relative of mine and who had asked whether I would join him, until such time as another expedition came by which the prisoners might be delivered, in accordance with the advice that the lord of Bourlémont had given me. While I was there, the king came and leant on my shoulders and placed his two hands on my head. I thought it was my lord Philip of Nemours, who had been picking on me all day because of the advice I had given the king, and I said ‘Leave me in peace, my lord Philip!’ By accident, as I turned my head the king’s hand fell across my face and I knew that it was the king because of an emerald that he was wearing on his finger. And he said ‘Be at ease, for I would like to ask you how it is that you are so brave that you, a young man, dare recommend my staying when all the great, wise men of France recommend that I go.’

There are many elements that make this passage, like the rest of the Vie de Saint Louis, peculiarly personal in character. The intimacy of the setting and of the physical contact between the two men is striking. This section has been cited as demonstrating the importance of touch in Joinville’s sense of closeness to the king.121 Once again, while I would not necessarily disagree with this assessment, I think we need to be aware that Joinville’s decisions as to what he should recount and how he should do so may have been influenced by other literature. The following extract from the Chanson de Jérusalem provides an interesting point of comparison: Li rois monte en sa tor qui bien fu batellie Et prist Cornumaran par le pliçon delie Et vient a le fenestre de fin marbre entaillie122 [The king climbed his tower which was well fortified. He took Cornumaran by his fine pelisse, and led him to a window of sculpted marble.]

These lines open a passage in which king Corbadas communicated to his son his fears about the prospect of a Christian attack on Jerusalem and the two men discussed how they should face this threat. There are many ways in which Joinville’s description of his encounter differs from this one, most 119 120 121 122

Zink, The invention of literary subjectivity, p. 53. Vie, pars 431–2. M. Zink, ‘Joinville ne pleure pas mais il rêve’, Poétique, 33 (1978), 43–4. La Chanson de Jérusalem, p. 65, ll. 1372–4.

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obviously because of the degree of detail he provides. Nonetheless, some basic similarities between these two passages are striking. Both conversations involve the expression of anxiety and the need for reassurance to be provided as to how to proceed in a difficult situation. Because of the revealing nature of such conversations it is not surprising that we are told that they both took place at windows. There are obvious architectural reasons why this should be so, as the recesses in which windows were placed were among the few places set apart from the main communal areas in most medieval buildings. But conversations at windows were also an established literary motif through which to depict the intimacy of two individuals (although most such exchanges were amorous in nature).123 Both Joinville and the author of the Chanson de Jérusalem tell us something about the construction of the window too: the Vie de Saint Louis notes that the window at which Joinville stood had iron bars through which he put his arms; the Chanson de Jérusalem notes that its window was of worked marble. Neither author needed to provide these details but they help to create a richer image for the reader or audience of the setting in which the ensuing interaction took place. Lastly, both encounters are described as being instigated by a touch. The description of Louis’s placing of his hands on Joinville’s head is much more detailed and intimate than king Corbadas’ touch of his son’s clothing but nonetheless in both instances the author has used the depiction of touch as a means of informing his audience that the people he is concerned with know, and presumably also trust, each other enough to make physical contact even before any words have been said. It seems to me that Joinville was aware of and made use of the same range of literary signals that the author of the Chanson de Jérusalem employed in order to convey the particularly private nature of the interaction being described. In both instances these authors chose to recount the verbal exchange of the individuals involved, but also described their physical relationship with each other and their surroundings, thereby dramatizing or animating their narratives as Zink suggested thirteenth-century authors often sought to do. Thus far, this examination of Joinville’s use of literary devices has focused on those that he was likely to have known from vernacular sources including chansons de geste and other crusade narratives. His use of these devices seems to have been concentrated in the section of the Vie de Saint Louis dealing 123 A number of examples of the use of this topos may be found in Chrétien of Troye’s romances. See for example, Chrétien de Troyes, Le chevalier de la charrete, ed. M. Roques (Les classiques Français du moyen âge 86, Paris, 1958), p. 17, ll. 539–48 and p. 140, ll. 4583–93. These examples both concern encounters between men and women but a window is also the setting for a private conversation between a king and his son in ibid., pp. 97–8, ll. 3181–221.

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with his own crusade. It is because my main interest in the Vie de Saint Louis is as an account of Joinville’s crusade that I have paid most attention to his influences from secular literature, but it is important to acknowledge that his work may also have connections with religious texts. One such example, identified by Zink, appears in the crusade section of the Vie de Saint Louis. It concerns Joinville’s description of Louis’s sadness after hearing of the death of his brother, Robert of Artois, during the battle of Mansurah in 1250. Joinville’s account tells us that the king was told of his brother’s death by the Hospitaller knight Henry of Ronnay, who tried to lighten the blow of this news by commenting on the victories of the crusade army that day. Louis’s response was to thank God for his gifts, and then great tears ran down his face.124 Zink argues that there could be some ambiguity as to whether these are tears of joy at the overall military success of the Christian army or of sadness because of Robert’s death, but that Joinville’s presentation is such that we know the latter to be the case. He also suggests that Joinville’s account of this scene may have been influenced by Saint Bernard’s depiction of his grief following the death of his own brother.125 This lament appeared in one of Saint Bernard’s sermons on the Song of Solomon and may be seen as demonstrating that there was spiritual value attached to such displays of emotion.126 Other studies have highlighted passages from the opening and closing sections of the Vie de Saint Louis which suggest that the content of Joinville’s text may have been influenced by hagiographical works. Françoise Laurent has highlighted the connection between a passage from the first section of the Vie de Saint Louis, in which Joinville recounted how Louis particularly valued the sound and meaning of the word ‘rendre’, with four alliterative lines from the Vie des Pères adapted by Louis in order to illustrate his point.127 Although the initial use of the extract from the Vie des Pères was Louis’s, it is fair to assume that Joinville must have recognized this reference if he then remembered and reproduced it when he came to write his Vie de Saint Louis. Joinville’s awareness of and use of hagiographical texts may also be shown in his account of his final meeting with Louis when, after having refused to join a second crusade, the seneschal carried the ailing king through Paris in his own arms before his departure for Tunis.128 Jean-Pierre Perrot has compared Joinville’s depiction of this event with accounts of the life of Saint Julian the Hospitaller, who bore a leper in his arms who was 124

Vie, par. 244. Zink, The invention of literary subjectivity, pp. 202–204. 126 Ibid., pp. 182–3. 127 Vie, pars 33–4; F. Laurent, ‘La Vie de Saint Louis ou le miroir des saints’, in Le prince et son historien. La Vie de Saint Louis de Joinville, eds J. Dufournet and L. Harf (Collection Unichamp 55, Paris, 1997), pp. 162–3. 128 Vie, par. 737. 125

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later revealed to be Christ.129 For the most part, though, studies of the Vie de Saint Louis alongside conventional hagiographies have highlighted connections in terms of basic structure and purpose, including the inclusion of key events to which the author was not witness (especially the birth and death of his subject), the use of an anecdotal form which give the text the character of a series of exempla and the inclusion of instances of miracles or supernatural intervention.130 The aim of this chapter has been to illustrate two main points. First, that an examination of possible influences on the style and content of the Vie de Saint Louis reveals John of Joinville to have been a man familiar with literature of many sorts, both secular and spiritual, and that he was ready to use what he knew of their methods to add interest to his own work. Although these techniques were certainly not applied consistently, and are usually visible only in isolated passages of the Vie de Saint Louis, they demonstrate the fact that Joinville, like others who used such devices, had ‘writerly ambition’.131 The Vie de Saint Louis should therefore not be treated as a naïve or simplistic conversation between the author and his scribe as Delaborde suggested. This of course has implications for our use of this text, as we need to be aware that Joinville’s presentation of events was sometimes shaped by a desire to express the fundamental value of what he saw, rather than the objective truth. Secondly, there is a preponderence of literary devices recognizable from secular sources (especially chansons de geste and other crusade narratives) in the crusade section of the Vie de Saint Louis. The contrast between this section and those that frame it, which seem to reflect the influence of hagiography more strongly, strengthens the argument in favour of the text we know having been produced around a pre-existing crusade account which may have been intended to provide information and entertainment as the works of other secular authors did. The question of why Joinville produced the Vie de Saint Louis (beyond responding to the specific request of Joan of Navarre) is a vexed one and is only made more complicated by the recognition of all the potential contrasts and contradictions that exist concerning the text’s dating, content and literary style. This is not an issue I intend to engage with in any detail, primarily because I do not think the Vie de Saint Louis itself provides adequate evidence with which to address it. Attempts to define the nature and purpose of Joinville’s work are misguided: the Vie de Saint Louis is too 129 J.-P. Perrot, ‘Le ‘péché’ de Joinville: ecriture du souvenir et imaginaire hagiographique’, in Le Prince et son historien. La Vie de Saint Louis de Joinville, eds J. Dufournet and L. Harf (Collection Unichamp 55, Paris, 1997), pp. 203–205. 130 M. K. Billson III, ‘Joinville’s Histoire de Saint Louis: hagiography, history and memoir’, American Benedictine review, 31 (1980), 421–2; Ferlampin-Acher, ‘Joinville, de l’hagiographe à l’autobiographe’, pp. 74–6. 131 Morse, Truth and convention, p. 8.

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much of a patchwork in terms of style and content to enable us to say, as some people have done, that the text had a unifying theme or purpose, such as being a manual or miroir of prud’hommie.132 This is not to say that there are not themes that are present throughout the Vie de Saint Louis, including Joinville’s interest in the conduct of his peers and superiors, his faith and his relationship with Louis IX, both in life and death. But this does not mean that these topics were dealt with consistently, let alone with any single agenda in mind. By acknowledging rather than seeking to explain away the many contrasts and contradictions present in the style and content of the Vie de Saint Louis, students of this text may be liberated from efforts to define when and why this text was produced in order to examine the vast quantity of material it provides in relation to a wide range of topics. In the context of this study, the material of most relevance is that provided by the crusade section of the Vie de Saint Louis. Chapters four and five of this study use the contents of this text to examine how a layman’s experiences of crusading and the decisions he made about participation in crusades might reflect (or not) ideas of crusading presented in sources from which potential crusaders may have learned about this project.

132 This was the suggestion of P. Archambault, Seven French chroniclers, p. 55 and A. Foulet, ‘Notes sur la Vie de Saint Louis de Joinville’, Romania, 58 (1932), 564.

Chapter 3

The Presentation of Crusades to Potential Participants This chapter will examine ways in which the nature and value of crusading were presented to potential participants. As set out in the introduction to this study, Christoph Maier’s recent work on model sermons for the preaching of the cross has proved to be very useful, not only as he has provided editions and translations of key texts produced by thirteenth-century clerics and religious, but also because his analysis of these sermons suggests that a framework of ideas can be identified within which these preachers worked, and which may have contributed to the formation of perceptions of the crusade among the laity. My work extends this framework of ideas to include material produced by and for laymen in which crusades or crusadelike wars were described. The idea that secular literature might be examined alongside evidence for preaching on the grounds that such material was encountered by and may have influenced potential crusaders is not a new one. Colin Morris has shown its value in his study of the role of preaching and songs in the crusade propaganda of the twelfth century.1 This chapter will apply this principle to a broader range of writings reflecting messages that recruits to Louis IX’s crusades are likely to have read or heard about these projects. The pages that follow will examine the ways in which specific themes – pilgrimage, service, the past, the dangers of crusading, martyrdom and the value of suffering – were present in the work of preachers and poets of the thirteenth century, and whether any differences may be discerned in the way they wrote about these ideas. These themes have been selected because an examination of them will allow me to touch on issues relating to the perceived need for crusades, the nature and demands of crusade campaigns 1 C. Morris, ‘Propaganda for war: the dissemination of the crusading ideal in the twelfth century’, in The Church and war. Papers read at the twenty-first summer meeting and the twenty-second winter meeting of the Ecclesiastical History Society, ed. W. J. Sheils (Oxford, 1983), pp. 79–101. Alphandéry and Dupront had earlier compared the work of Humbert of Romans and of Rutebeuf in order to assess the level and nature of support for crusading within the hierarchies of the Church and secular society in the late thirteenth century. Their preaching and poetry was not considered for the influence it may have had on potential crusaders. P. Alphandéry and A. Dupront, La Chrétienté et l’idée de croisade (L’évolution d’humanité, synthèse collective 38 and 38b, Paris, 1954–59), 2 vols, 2, pp. 223–37.

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and the rewards participants might hope to receive. Having examined the use of these themes in sources which described potential or imagined crusade campaigns I will in the next chapter consider their presence in narratives and documentary sources relating to the conduct of crusade campaigns themselves in order to determine how pilgrimage, service, the past, the dangers of crusading, martyrdom and the value of suffering were relevant to the experiences of crusaders. Pilgrimage This examination of the place of pilgrimage in the presentation of the crusade to potential participants is not concerned with whether recruits would be pilgrims but whether they were described as such. In his preaching of the First Crusade pope Urban II emphasized the association between this expedition which had as its goal Jerusalem and other pilgrimages to the Holy City.2 Over the decades that followed the First Crusade the development of vows taken by crusaders and the rituals they performed in receiving the staff and purse stated that they were pilgrims, thereby gaining certain rights and privileges attached to that status.3 Pilgrimage therefore had a fundamental role in defining crusades and the condition of people who took part in them. The paragraphs that follow are concerned with the extent to which the concept of pilgrimage, and the vocabulary associated with it, were employed in the presentation of the crusade in the thirteenth century. It will appear that while pilgrimage was a theme present in the writings of both ecclesiastical and secular authors, their references to pilgrimage, pilgrims and ideas associated with them varied in frequency, meaning and intent. The basic association of crusade with pilgrimage in preaching continued into the thirteenth century. This is reflected in the grouping together of model crusade sermons and model sermons on pilgrimage in the ad status sermon collections of James of Vitry and Gilbert of Tournai.4 But while there seems to have been a clear understanding that pilgrimage and crusading were closely related to each other this does not mean that this connection was one on which preachers chose to focus in their promotion of crusade campaigns. There were thus relatively few instances in model sermons in which crusades were referred to as pilgrimages, or crusaders as pilgrims. Although James of Vitry, Odo of Châteauroux, Gilbert of Tournai 2

J. Riley-Smith, The first crusaders, 1095–1131 (Cambridge, 1997), pp. 66–7. G. Constable, ‘The place of the crusader in medieval society’, Viator, 29 (1998), 387–8. 4 J. B. Schneyer, Repertorium der Lateinischen Sermones des Mittelalters für die Zeit von 1150–1350 (Münster, 1969–90), 11 vols, 3, p. 218 and 2, p. 303. 3

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and Humbert of Romans each described the crusade as a pilgrimage,5 and Gilbert and Humbert both said that crusaders were, or were like, pilgrims,6 Christoph Maier found that these terms appeared significantly less frequently as a means by which to describe crusades and crusaders than the concepts of the cross or of service to Christ or God.7 This is not to say that the idea of pilgrimage was absent from these sources, but that the vocabulary of pilgrimage that would have made the association between this activity and crusading explicit was not consistently used. The relative lack of references to pilgrimage or pilgrims is most striking in the first of James of Vitry’s model sermons. It gives a central place to the significance of the Holy Land, and Jerusalem in particular.8 In one passage of this sermon he concentrated on the special honour due to the Holy Sepulchre shown by those who ‘exert themselves on land and at sea, so that they may see and honour [the sepulchre] in person’.9 In the context of a description of the greatest of all Christian shrines and those who made the effort to visit it and worship there, James might readily have referred explicitly to pilgrims or pilgrimage and yet he did not do so in this passage or in any other part of this sermon. Instead, as Maier’s analysis suggests it might, the vocabulary of service features strongly. The realities of crusading in the thirteenth century may have played a role in determining a relative shift away from the use of the idea of pilgrimage to describe the nature of crusades. The First Crusade had conformed readily to the concept of pilgrimage that had developed by the late eleventh century, which associated this activity primarily with journeys to specific holy places, whose special status was created by the presence of relics or having been among the locations visited by Christ during his lifetime. But while the expedition instigated by Urban II had enabled those who took part to liberate and to worship at the Holy Sepulchre, most of the crusades that followed the first did not repeat its success in producing a mass journey to Jerusalem.10 Several of them, including Louis IX’s campaigns in Egypt 5 James of Vitry, II, in Crusade propaganda and ideology: model sermons for the preaching of the cross, ed. C. Maier (Cambridge, 2000), pars. 19, 27, 33; Odo of Châteauroux, I, in Crusade propaganda and ideology, par. 19; Odo of Châteauroux, IV, in Crusade propaganda and ideology, pars 13–14; Gilbert of Tournai, I, in Crusade propaganda and ideology, par. 21; Humbert of Romans, I, in Crusade propaganda and ideology, par. 4. 6 Gilbert of Tournai, II, in Crusade propaganda and ideology, par. 5; Humbert of Romans, I, in Crusade propaganda and ideology, par. 6. 7 C. Maier, ‘Portraying the crusade’, in Crusade propaganda and ideology, p. 52. 8 James of Vitry, I, in Crusade propaganda and ideology, pars 1–23. 9 Ibid., par. 7. 10 The obvious exception is the crusade led by Louis VII of France in the late 1140s, which despite its military failure was able to satisfy the king’s personal desire to go on an expiatory pilgrimage to Jerusalem. A. Grabois, ‘The crusade of King Louis VII: a reconsideration’, in Crusade and settlement. Papers read at the First Conference of the Society for the Study of the Crusades and the Latin East and presented to R. C. Smail, ed. P. Edbury (Cardiff, 1985), pp. 94–104.

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and Tunisia, did not provide an opportunity for participants to visit any shrine. This reality may help explain why the authors of our model sermons chose not to focus on the idea of pilgrimage as much as they did on the concepts of the cross and of service. But it also helps explain some of the ways in which the theme of pilgrimage might be used by them. Although the expectation that a pilgrimage required a journey to a saint’s shrine or another holy place was established by the period of the crusades, it had grown out of a tradition that had described other instances of separation from one’s home, and indeed the path of life itself, as religious journeys or pilgrimages.11 These are ideas to which authors turned in their efforts to describe the worth of crusading in the thirteenth century as pilgrimages that did not necessarily reach specific holy places. Humbert of Romans, opening the only one of the 17 sermons edited by Maier to be based on the theme of pilgrimage, cited the statement of 2 Corinthians 5 that the distance from God brought by an individual’s earthly existence constitutes a journey or pilgrimage.12 He continued, saying that the crusade was of special value as a pilgrimage undertaken not because of just any saint, but ‘because of the saint of saints, namely Christ’. This pilgrimage was different from others because it required men to face death, because of its length, because it was of value to all Christendom, because of the plenary indulgence received by participants and because of the crosses they wore.13 Holy places were not mentioned in this assessment, but holy purposes were. Humbert implied that it was the crusader’s devotion to Christ that made him a pilgrim, rather than any specific physical goal he might aim to reach. The suggestion that a pilgrim’s status was defined by his disposition rather than his destination appears in a similar way in Rutebeuf’s promotional poem for Louis’s second crusade, ‘La voie de Tunis’. He wrote that those who would undertake this journey, which is the greatest of all pilgrimages, did so because of their great love of God.14 This instance may be cited as evidence of the awareness of the ideas of contemporary crusade preachers, and of Humbert of Romans’s work in particular, that Edmond Faral identified in Rutebeuf’s poetry.15 It certainly suggests a willingness to think flexibly about the nature of the relationship between crusading and pilgrimage.

11

P. A. Sigal, ‘Les différents types de pèlerinage au moyen âge’, in Wallfahrt kennt keine Grenzen. Themen zu einer Austellung des Bayerischen Nationalmuseums und des Adalbert Stifter Vereins, München, eds L. Kriss-Rettenbeck and G. Möhler (Munich and Zurich, 1984), p. 76. 12 Humbert of Romans, I, in Crusade propaganda and ideology, par. 1. 13 Ibid., pars 4–5. 14 Rutebeuf, ‘Le dit de la croisade de Tunis’, in Oeuvres complètes, ed. M. Zink (Paris, 1989–90), 2 vols, 2, pp. 344–5, ll. 45–8. 15 See above, p. 27.

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Elsewhere, Rutebeuf described crusading as a ‘beautiful pilgrimage’ which renders the sinful soul pure enough to be presented to God.16 The penitential dimension shared by crusades and pilgrimages was indicated by a number of other authors of vernacular literature. The song ‘Pour lou peuple resconforteir’ took as its subject the Holy Land, its sufferings at the hands of unbelievers and the prospect of the final judgement God would render there. Its author stated that even the most wicked could achieve absolution for their misdeeds if they would go to Jerusalem.17 In his praise for Louis IX’s first decision to take the cross the anonymous lyricist of ‘Tous li mons doit mener joie’ said that he had done so in order to go on the pilgrimage or journey (‘voie’) which none can undertake who is restrained by their sins. The poet continued by asserting that everyone should fulfil their duty to visit the site of Christ’s crucifixion.18 In these examples the crusades being promoted could readily be understood as pilgrimages; they were journeys made with the intention of reaching Jerusalem and in order to counteract individual sinfulness. Cathrynke Dijkstra sees both songs written for the promotion of Louis’s Egyptian crusade, ‘Tous li mons doit mener joie’ and ‘Un serventois, plait de deduie, de joie’ as expressions of a hope that the king would lead a campaign that returned to the ideal of the crusade as a mass pilgrimage. This is because their lyricists addressed their calls for action to a general audience, ‘tous li mons’, rather than to knighthood alone.19 But songs also gave value to crusades as journeys or pilgrimages in very different ways, particularly in those cases where the lyricist took the separation of a crusader from his beloved as his theme. The potential tension created by the competing demands of love and those of the crusade was a topic on which several songs concentrated. For the lord of Couci the idea of the crusade as a pilgrimage was useful in describing this tension. In the song ‘A vous, amant, plus qu’a nule autre gent’ he wrote as a lover resigned to but dreading the inevitability of his departure on crusade, following which other men might take advantage of his absence. He said that he would not be able to conduct himself as such a good pilgrim that he would be able to think of such men with good will, and that he might lose the benefit of his pilgrimage as a result.20 The willingness to endure hardship that is an element of the disposition of true pilgrims, and therefore also of true crusaders, was an ideal which this individual felt he could not achieve. 16 Rutebeuf, ‘La nouvelle complainte d’outre-mer’, in Oeuvres complètes, 2, pp. 428–9, ll. 60–62. 17 Master Renaut, ‘Pour lou pueple resconforteir’, in Les chansons de croisade, eds J. Bédier and P. Aubry (Paris, 1909), p. 80, ll. 35–8. 18 Anonymous, ‘Tous li mons doit mener joie’, in Les chansons de croisade, p. 241, ll. 3–10. 19 C. Dijkstra, La chanson de croisade: étude thématique d’un genre hybride (Amsterdam, 1995), pp. 132–3. 20 The lord of Couci, ‘A vous, amant, plus qu’a nule autre gent’, in Les chansons de croisade, pp. 103–104, ll. 35–7.

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In a similar way, the woman in whose voice Guiot of Dijon wrote ‘Chanterai por mon corage’ refers to her absent crusader-lover as a pilgrim, and his expedition as a pilgrimage.21 This song is very much concerned with personal suffering, but not of the penitential sort usually associated with pilgrimages. The woman’s distress at the departure of her beloved, her determination to remain steadfast in her faithfulness to him and her efforts to comfort herself with thoughts of him are a reminder that crusades might entail abstinence and suffering, and not only for those who were actively involved. While abstinence and suffering were necessary and desirable results of pilgrimages, the way in which they feature in this song is unusual. These examples from the work of the lord of Couci and Guiot of Dijon demonstrate the way in which crusade-related songs might take a theme familiar from the promotion of crusades, such as pilgrimage, but present it in ways that were unconventional. As William Chester Jordan writes of Guiot of Dijon’s song, in this instance ‘the erotic trumps the holy’.22 Ideas associating crusading with pilgrimage have a place in the chansons de geste of the First Cycle of the Crusade, though perhaps not as prominent a place as one might expect. The Chanson d’Antioche and the Chanson de Jérusalem are imbued with a spirit of pilgrimage because the journey of the First Crusade they recount was one that ended at Jerusalem and was characterized by contact with the saints and with holy places. The opening lines of the Chanson d’Antioche explain that the tale it will tell concerns those who went to honour the Holy Sepulchre, presenting their pilgrimage to this shrine as the key feature of their achievements.23 The origins of the crusade lay in the pilgrimage to Jerusalem of Peter the Hermit, who later reported the poor condition of the Holy City to the pope. At the start of this journey he had received the traditional staff and purse of a pilgrim and visited the shrine of Saint Peter in Rome.24 Later, when Urban II preached the crusade to French knights at Clermont, he said that those who took the cross should also receive the pilgrim insignia.25 During the course of the crusade the sepulchre was called on as a source of help to the crusaders,26 who in some instances received divine aid in the form of the military assistance of Saints George, Demetrius and others.27 But while associations with pilgrimage 21

Guiot of Dijon, ‘Chanterai por mon corage’, in Les chansons de croisade, pp. 112–14, ll. 10, 15. W. C. Jordan, ‘The rituals of war: departure for crusade in thirteenth-century France’, in The book of kings: art, war, and the Morgan Library’s medieval picture Bible, eds W. Noel and D. Weiss (London, 2002), p. 103. 23 La Chanson d’Antioche, ed. J. A. Nelson (The Old French Crusade Cycle 4, Tuscaloosa, Alabama, 2003), p. 49, ll. 16–17, 23. 24 Ibid., p. 56, ll. 267–9. 25 Ibid., p. 74, l. 920. 26 Ibid., pp. 96–8, ll. 1706, 1715, 1750, 1758, 1767, 1778. 27 Ibid., p. 124, l. 2711; p. 142, l. 3358; pp.338–9, ll. 10940–42. 22

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might be read into the Chanson d’Antioche as a whole it has been noted that the pilgrimage theme was generally ‘submerged’ after the introductory passages of the poem, and tended to appear only in relation to the poor and non-combatant sections of the army.28 Explicit references to crusaders as pilgrims, or to the project as a whole as a pilgrimage, are certainly rare in the Chanson d’Antioche. Godfrey of Bouillon is said to have referred to crusaders as pilgrims at the end of a speech made to rouse the Christian forces during their arduous siege of Antioch. This speech focused on the places which the crusaders would go on to conquer, and on the Holy Sepulchre in particular.29 The concentration on the future course of their campaign and on the Holy Sepulchre as its goal meant that this was a context in which there was a natural connection between crusaders and pilgrims. But more generally this text can be seen to play down the idea of the First Crusade as a pilgrimage in favour of the campaign as an opportunity for vengeance and military display.30 The same might be said of the Chanson de Jérusalem. Although the theme of pilgrimage is not absent from this text, neither is it fundamental to the song’s portrayal of the First Crusade and its leading participants. The arrival of the forces of the First Crusade before Jerusalem allowed them to observe the holy places they had struggled to reach.31 The power of the Holy Sepulchre as a relic was demonstrated by the performance of miracles after the fall of the Holy City.32 But once again, explicit references to pilgrims or pilgrimage are largely absent. One passage is particularly revealing. It describes how the bishop of Martirano had a vision in which he was instructed by God to seek out a hermit living on the Mount of Olives who would aid in the capture of Jerusalem. The great men of the army set out to find this man. When they had no success they returned to the bishop who instructed them that before starting the search once more they should remove their shoes and set out only in their shirts. They got down from their horses and did as they were told. The bishop blessed the men, who by this process had become true pilgrims or had renewed their status as such (‘A loi de pelerins es les vos atornés’).33 It is apparent from this section of the Chanson de Jérusalem that if the men it describes had had 28

S. Edgington, ‘Holy Land, Holy Lance: religious ideas in the Chanson d’Antioche’, in The Holy Land, holy lands and Christian history. Papers read at the 1998 summer meeting and the 1999 winter meeting of the Ecclesiastical History Society, ed. R. N. Swanson (Woodbridge, 2000), pp. 144–5. 29 La Chanson d’Antioche, p. 164, l. 4133. 30 Edgington, ‘Holy Land, Holy Lance’, p. 153. 31 La Chanson de Jérusalem, ed. N. R. Thorp (The Old French Crusade Cycle 6, Tuscaloosa, Alabama, 1992), pp. 35–6, ll. 37–51; pp.57–8, ll. 1013–56. 32 Ibid., p. 144, ll. 4923–4. 33 Ibid., p. 132, ll. 4380–88.

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the status of pilgrims before this point, they had not conducted themselves in the appropriate manner. It was only by abandoning pride and greed that they could achieve the conquest of Jerusalem.34 This passage of the Chanson de Jérusalem is striking because it highlights the value of the humility associated with pilgrimage in the crusaders’ success, but this is seen only in relation to a discrete episode, and not the campaign as a whole. Potential crusaders are likely to have encountered associations between crusading and pilgrimage in sermons, songs and chansons de geste, although they are less likely to have been able to take from these sources any clear view of the nature of this association. The established place of pilgrimage in the framework of ideas about crusading with which thirteenth-century laymen were likely to have been familiar is demonstrated by the readiness with which lyricists in particular used the terms ‘pilgrimage’ and ‘pilgrims’ to describe crusades and their participants without providing explanations elsewhere in their songs as to why this vocabulary was relevant. The First Crusade, as recounted in texts including the Chanson d’Antioche and the Chanson de Jérusalem, must have played an important role in fixing the association between crusade and pilgrimage by focusing memories of the greatest achievements of crusaders on the physical goal of Jerusalem and the Holy Sepulchre. By the thirteenth century, though, much crusading activity occurred in contexts in which a journey to any, let alone the ultimate, shrine was not possible. Hence the presence of the idea in model sermons that the connection between the crusader and other pilgrims lay in their motivation or disposition, rather than the physical goal of their journey. Service The idea that fighting for the faith had penitential value akin to that of pilgrimage had co-existed with the idea that crusaders performed service-inarms to God since the First Crusade. Jonathan Riley-Smith has suggested that the latter, more readily understandable concept came to dilute the idea of crusading as an act of personal penance over the course of decades that followed. He associates this with the influence of the ideals of collective knighthood, or chivalry, on the developing crusade movement.35 This helps explain why associations between crusading and the penitential activity of pilgrimage, though present in sermons and literature with which the thirteenth-century laity may have been familiar, feature less consistently or clearly than associations between crusading and the military service performed by men for those to whom they were bound by feudal ties. 34 35

Alphandéry and Dupront, La Chrétienté et l’idée de croisade, 1, pp. 121–2. Riley-Smith, The first crusaders, pp.6, 63–4.

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One of James of Vitry’s model sermons was cited above because, while it concentrated heavily on the importance to Christians of the holy places, it did not mention pilgrimage. Instead, the language of military service dominates. This may reflect James’s intention that this sermon should be preached to audiences of potential combatants while his second model sermon was reserved for those whose vows would be fulfilled in other ways.36 James described those who were reluctant to go on crusade as being unwilling to serve Jerusalem.37 Potential crusaders were told that they held their bodies and souls from God as a vassal holds a fief from his liege lord, and that they risked being deprived of their holdings if they failed to defend God against those who tried to disinherit him.38 The injury to which the crusade was a response and the relationship between potential crusaders and God were here depicted in terms that would have been familiar to James’s audience from the feudal organization of relationships and land-holding. While many popes appear to have been reluctant to make use of such imagery on the grounds that it oversimplified the nature of the relationship between God and men, its value as a device for explaining this relationship to the laity was clearly too great to be ignored by preachers.39 In his second model crusade sermon James described the reward on offer to crusaders in the same way, saying that God invested his vassals with heaven using a fabric cross, an object of little value, just as temporal lords invested their vassals with fiefs using gloves or other objects of modest worth.40 The specifically military nature of the service owed by men to God was most fully described by Humbert of Romans. He compared God, the King of Glory, with a temporal king preparing for war by gathering his forces and making resources available to reward them.41 In keeping with 36 P. Cole, The preaching of the crusades to the Holy Land, 1095–1270 (Medieval Academy Books 98, Cambridge, Massachusetts, 1991), pp. 138–9. 37 James of Vitry, I, in Crusade propaganda and ideology, par. 8. 38 Ibid., par. 20. This passage was adopted by Gilbert of Tournai, I, in Crusade propaganda and ideology, par. 18. See C. Maier, ‘Appendix: the relationship between the crusade model sermons of Gilbert of Tournai and James of Vitry’, in Crusade propaganda and ideology, p. 256. The idea of the body as a fief held from God was also used by Humbert of Romans, De predicatione sancte crucis (Nuremburg, c.1490), chapter 3. 39 J. Riley-Smith, ‘Crusading as an act of love’, History, 65 (1980), 180–81. Riley-Smith points out that Innocent III was an exception to the papacy’s general reluctance in this area, describing God as a celestial king. Cole cites Innocent’s encyclical Quia maior of 1213 as evidence of his readiness to describe the relationship between God and crusaders in terms of the moral (rather than legal) obligations of vassalage; Cole, The preaching of the crusades to the Holy Land, p. 105. 40 James of Vitry, II, in Crusade propaganda and ideology, par. 46. This image was also used by Gilbert of Tournai, I, in Crusade propaganda and ideology, par. 21; Maier, ‘Appendix: the relationship between the crusade model sermons of Gilbert of Tournai and James of Vitry’, in Crusade propaganda and ideology, p. 257. 41 Humbert of Romans, II, in Crusade propaganda and ideology, par. 1.

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the military focus of this sermon, participants were described by Humbert as ‘soldiers of the Crucified’, who fought in the best war.42 This war could be contrasted with the bad wars in which some men fought, and God was contrasted with those bad lords who did not reward the loyalty of their followers fairly.43 The idea of crusading being an act of service to God akin to that owed to a temporal lord is undoubtedly present in secular literature, sometimes in a form similar to that in model sermons. Thus it could provide a means by which to explain the need for the crusade, and to describe the relationship established between God and men through their participation in this project. So, for example, in his song ‘Seignor, saichiés qi or ne s’en ira’, Thibaut IV of Champagne opened his appeal to potential crusaders by urging those who remember and pity the Lord to seek his vengeance and recover his lands.44 In this case the reasons why members of Thibaut’s audience are told they should take up arms for the Lord resemble those for which they would have been expected to take up arms for any lord to whom they owed a duty of service: this was to be an act of retribution made in response to the dispossession of lands held by right. In another song written during the period before his departure on crusade Thibaut used a more explicit feudal analogy when he said that he was ready and able to serve God, that he could not have any better lord and that no person who served God would be betrayed.45 This suggests that the decision to go on crusade had established or consolidated a relationship between Thibaut and God in which there was an expectation of mutual protection, as between lord and vassal. Rutebeuf’s poetry also depicted fighting for one’s faith as a form of feudal service, as in his eulogy for Odo of Nevers, in which he wrote that the count had left his possessions in France in order to die in the service of the all-powerful Lord.46 But elsewhere in Rutebeuf’s work the idea of the crusade as service has another dimension. For, according to ‘La complainte de monseigneur Geoffroy de Sergines’ and ‘La voie de Tunis’, a decision to take the cross or to provide military assistance in the Holy Land could have value as an act of service to one’s temporal lord. In describing Geoffrey’s efforts to aid the survival of the Latin kingdom, Rutebeuf said that he had loved his liege lord (Louis IX) so much that he went with him overseas and that he had remained with the king throughout his stay in the Holy Land, enduring all 42

Ibid., pars 2, 11. Ibid., par. 6. 44 Thibaut of Champagne, ‘Seignor, saichiés, qi or ne s’en ira’, in Les chansons de croisade, p. 171, ll. 5–7. 45 Thibaut of Champagne, ‘Dame, einsi est qu’il m’en couvient aler’, in Les chansons de croisade, p. 193, ll. 29–32. 46 Rutebeuf, ‘La complainte du comte Eudes de Nevers’, in Oeuvres complètes, 2, pp.330–31, ll. 64–7. 43

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the tribulations that this entailed. Geoffrey bore these trials well, offering his body and soul to God.47 In this case while Geoffrey’s devotion to God as evident in his actions in the East is clearly stated, his love for and dedication to his temporal lord is presented as the reason for his joining the crusade in the first place. In ‘La voie de Tunis’ the possibility that the crusade could be at the same time an act of service to temporal and spiritual lords was proposed: the king (Louis) was going overseas to serve the King (God) who has no bitterness. All those wishing to demonstrate love for and service to these two kings should take the cross and follow them.48 A general tendency on the part of the chansons de geste to depict Christian knights as ‘soldiers at once of God and of their earthly lords’49 is very much in evidence in the Chanson d’Aspremont. It repeatedly implies that those who fought in Charlemagne’s imagined war against the forces of the supposedly Muslim emir Agolant and his son Aumont in southern Italy performed a dual service. The requirement of service to Charlemagne as a temporal lord was expressed when he summoned men to join his army. The emperor said that participation was a ‘debt of vassalage’ and that those who failed to honour this debt would be treated as traitors against his rule.50 One of the members of Charlemagne’s army, duke Antelme, described the other aspect of this war as service when he explained that all Christians are God’s vassals and must serve him by risking death.51 The dual nature of the service performed by those Christians who fought in this war was also expressed in the rewards they were told they would receive. Girart, Charlemagne’s second-in-command and former rival, roused his forces with a promise that those who died in battle would be rewarded by God with martyrdom, while those who survived would receive from him wealth and good marriages.52 The pope himself apparently repeated this offer: immediate salvation for the dead and wealth for survivors.53 There is no suggestion in the Chanson d’Aspremont, nor in Rutebeuf’s poems, that the dual service performed by crusading for God and for one’s temporal lord created a conflict of interests. Some of the songs in which the crusades were mentioned introduce another and different association between the crusade and the performance of service. Again the possibility of the crusader serving two lords is raised, 47 Rutebeuf, ‘La complainte de Monseigneur Geoffroy de Sergines’, in Oeuvres complètes, 1, pp. 120–21, ll. 93–104. 48 Rutebeuf, ‘Le dit de la croisade de Tunis’, in Oeuvres complètes, 2, pp. 346–7, ll. 77–80. 49 M. Keen, Chivalry (New Haven and London, 1984), p. 51. 50 La Chanson d’Aspremont, chanson de geste du XIIe siècle. Texte manuscrit de Wollaton Hall, ed. L. Brandin (Les classiques Français du moyen âge 19 and 25, Paris, 1919–21), 2 vols, 1, p. 29, ll. 870–71. 51 Ibid., 1, p. 128, ll. 3980–81. 52 Ibid., 1, pp. 163–4, ll. 5103–106, p.165, ll. 5137–9. 53 Ibid., 2, p. 50, ll. 7662–5.

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but in this case his duties are called on by God and by love. And, while the dual service of God and king seems to have been complementary according to Rutebeuf and the Chanson d’Aspremont, attempts to serve both God and love are described by song-writers as being potentially destructive or divisive. The song ‘S’onques nus hom por dure departie’, attributed to Hugh of Berzé and dated to the years preceding the Fourth Crusade, goes so far as to say that those who are in love should not go on crusade as it is not possible to serve two lords. Hugh describes the decision facing an amorous man who has taken the cross as a painful one: whether to go to God or stay with his beloved. Ultimately, though, his aspiration to honour and love required that he not renege on his promise to go on crusade.54 In Chardon of Croisille’s song ‘Li departirs de la douce contree’, the suggestion is made that love could divide the crusader’s loyalty that might otherwise have been owed only to God. Although Chardon’s song says that he is going on crusade in order to serve his creator, this service will be in body only, as he will leave his heart and his thoughts with his beloved.55 This image of the division of the love-lorn crusader’s heart and body during the course of his campaign may be found in a number of songs.56 The bitterness and regret expressed in some crusade-related love songs should not necessarily be seen as lessening their potential exhortatory value. In each case the crusader’s ultimate decision was to fulfill his crusade vow rather than remain with his beloved: the need to serve God was only demonstrated more powerfully when this force won out over that of love.57 The power of worldly love over the thoughts and actions of crusaders was also acknowledged by preachers, though the love they described was very different in nature. A passage from Odo of Châteauroux’s sermon on Paul’s conversion describes love using ideas similar to those present in Chardon of Croisille’s lyric, though with the purpose of damning rather than celebrating its influence. Both the sermon and the lyric present the heart’s loyalty as being something that cannot be divided. But whereas Chardon said that he would therefore leave his heart behind while his body went on crusade, Odo stressed that the only rightful place for one’s heart

54 Hugh of Berzé, ‘S’onques nus hom por dure departie’, in Les chansons de croisade, p. 127, ll. 17–24. 55 Chardon of Croisilles, ‘Li departirs de la douce contree’, in Les chansons de croisade, p. 210–11, ll. 3–8. 56 Conon of Béthune, ‘Ahi! Amours, con dure departie’, in Les chansons de croisade, p. 32, ll. 7–8; the lord of Arras, ‘Aler m’estuet la u je trairai paine’, in Les chansons de croisade, p. 138, ll. 27–8; Anonymous, ‘Novele amors s’est dedanz mon cuer mise’, in Les chansons de criosade, p. 273, ll. 31–3. 57 D. A. Trotter, Medieval French literature and the crusades (1100–1300) (Geneva, 1988), p. 185.

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was with God, and cited the condemnation of the unfaithful and lovers of the world in James 4: 4.58 The clarity with which the theme of service appears in sermons, poems, songs and chansons de geste as a means of describing the need for men to take the cross and the special relationship thus established or consolidated between God and men is in striking contrast to the way in which pilgrimage features in the presentation of crusading in the same thirteenth-century sources. It is important to notice, however, that this theme had additional expressions in secular literature: first by introducing the idea that participation in a crusade could be a fulfilment of obligations to one’s temporal as well as one’s spiritual lord and second by contrasting the demands of a need to serve both God and love. While the service of God and one’s lord as a vassal appear as compatible, the crusade is a potentially divisive force for those who wish to serve both God and love. Memory and Uses of the Past Would-be crusaders did not just need to understand why taking the cross was necessary or desirable, they needed to be sufficiently moved to commit themselves to a project that would entail many risks and sacrifices. The role of the crusade propagandist was thus not only to explain, but also to inspire. One way in which this could be achieved was by presenting the actions of others who had fought for Christianity as exemplars of behaviour whom potential crusaders might aspire to emulate. The authors of model sermons made use of figures from the biblical and crusading past in this way, placing the crusades within a tradition of conflict for the faith and rousing men to make their own contribution to this process. The Old Testment described how God’s chosen people, under the leadership of heroic figures like Judas Maccabeus, had been drawn into a series of violent struggles with their enemies. Their wars were recounted in the collection of biblical passages Humbert of Romans suggested crusade preachers might find particularly useful, which amounted to ‘a panorama of the religious wars of sacred history’.59 An example of how scripture might be employed to exhortatory purpose in this way is provided by one of Odo of Châteauroux’s model sermons. He drew a direct parallel between the threat faced by the Jews from the Gentiles led by Nicanor (described in 2 Maccabees 15) and the situation of thirteenth-century Christendom under attack from the Mongols: 58

Odo of Châteauroux, I, in Crusade propaganda and ideology, par. 3. Humbert of Romans, De predicatione sancte crucis, chapter 27; Cole, The preaching of the crusades to the Holy Land, p. 212. 59

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This sermon uses the comparison of contemporary conditions in the Holy Land with those of the biblical past repeatedly. It also contains a citation from Judges 1: 1–2 recounting Judah’s appointment as leader of the people of Israel against the Canaanites, again compared with the Mongols.61 The idea of the crusades being part of a continuing history of conflict in the name of God was summed up in a passage which stated: ‘The cross is the sword with which the Lord fought the heavenly powers and their followers and up to now he has not stopped fighting them’.62 In presenting this continuing struggle, Odo was also able to use evocations of the Christian past to prophesy what might happen if his contemporaries failed to act. His use of prophecy as a tool in preaching has been recognized in Odo’s sermons against the Muslim colony of Lucera in Italy,63 and is evident in the passage quoted above when he described the destruction and ‘intolerable servitude’ that the Mongols wished to impose on Christianity. Although they did not use the struggles of God’s people as depicted in scripture as a means of justifying the wars fought in the name of the faith as obviously as some crusade preachers may have done, there were instances in which the authors of chansons de geste depicted battles in the context of a continuing Christian history. The Chanson d’Aspremont described how pope Milon, after having said mass for the Christian army about to engage with invading Muslims, addressed these forces with a speech intended to rouse them to great deeds in battle. The first part of his speech is an outline of Christian history from the Creation and Fall to the Incarnation and Crucifixion.64 Milon continues with an appeal to the assembled Christian forces that they endure death for Christ as he did for them, thus placing the events of this supposed war and the actions of those who took part in it in direct relation to, and perhaps even making them a consequence of, Christian history in general and Christ’s sacrifice in particular.65 Elsewhere in the chansons de geste scripture had value as a comparative device. In the Chanson d’Antioche the bravery of Caesar and David are 60

Odo of Châteauroux, II, in Crusade propaganda and ideology, par. 2. Ibid., par. 6. 62 Ibid., par. 4. 63 C. Maier, ‘Crusade and rhetoric against the Muslim colony of Lucera: Eudes of Châteauroux’s Sermones de Rebellione Sarracenorum Lucherie in Apulia’, Journal of Medieval History, 21 (1995), 343–85. 64 La Chanson d’Aspremont, 2, pp. 49–50, ll. 7611–58. 65 Ibid., 2, pp. 50–51, ll. 7659–69. 61

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recalled as a means by which to describe the hardiness of participants in the First Crusade in the face of great suffering.66 Comparisons between the biblical past and the crusading present were also made by preachers, though in these instances the focus tended to be on individuals or groups whose lives were described in order to inspire emulation rather than empathy among thirteenth-century audiences. A good instance of the citing of Old Testament heroes in order to prompt men to action is found in one of James of Vitry’s model sermons. Having lamented the condition of the holy places, James bemoaned the apparent lack of heroes akin to Mattathias, Phineas, Ehud, Shamgar and Samson and the Maccabees.67 The impassioned terms in which these regrets were presented must have been intended to prompt shame among audiences at their current inaction and an eagerness to prove wrong James’s negative assessment of their courage and abilities. It was not only Old Testament warriors whose examples potential crusaders could aspire to follow. Odo of Châteauroux recalled the participants in the First Crusade who captured Antioch and Jerusalem, with whose achievements the actions of anyone who took the cross would be compared.68 Humbert of Romans touched on the importance of the involvement of previous generations when he included among the six reasons for taking the cross against Muslims ‘the example of those who went before’.69 This text has survived only in abbreviated form, but Humbert’s De predicatione sancte crucis suggests to us how he may have elaborated on this theme. One chapter of this text is dedicated to the deeds of previous generations in wars against Muslims. It cites the specific examples of the wars of Charlemagne in Spain, the First Crusade and the Third Crusade.70 For some potential crusaders in the thirteenth century ‘those who went before’ would have included members of their own family who had taken part in previous crusade campaigns. Hugh of Berzé presented the involvement of one’s ancestors in crusading as a good reason to take the cross in the song ‘Bernarz, di moi Fouquet qu’on tient a sage’. He used the song to appeal to a marquis of Monferrat to take the cross, saying that his family’s past involvement in crusading did not just create an incentive to take the cross, but imposed on him a hereditary duty to crusade. This duty had been fulfilled by Conrad of Montferrat, who led the defence of Tyre during the

66

La Chanson d’Antioche, p. 163, ll. 4093–6. James of Vitry, I, in Crusade propaganda and ideology, par. 17; Maier, ‘Portraying the crusade’, in Crusade propaganda and ideology, p. 55. 68 Odo of Châteauroux, III, in Crusade propaganda and ideology, par. 3. 69 Humbert of Romans, IV, in Crusade propaganda and ideology, par. 1. 70 Humbert of Romans, De predicatione sancte crucis, chapter 16. 67

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Third Crusade, and his descendant should live up to this example.71 A passage from the Chanson d’Antioche reinforces the idea that one’s ancestry provided reasonable grounds on which to base personal involvement in such conflicts. It reports how, when a decision was being made within the Christian army as to which of their number should fight a proposed judicial battle against representatives of Corbaran (Kerbogha), Godfrey of Bouillon was nominated as he was good, brave and of Charlemagne’s line. Robert of Normandy raised a rival claim to the honour which was based on his being a descendant of the chanson de geste hero Doon of Mayence.72 Both Godfrey and Robert based their claims to be chosen to fight on behalf of the Christian army on a relationship to figures known from the epic tradition as combatants for the faith. Charlemagne’s real and supposed wars against nonChristians were recorded in many such chansons de geste while Doon of Mayence was the eponymous hero of a thirteenth-century chanson de geste of the cycle of the barons in revolt who was said to have taken the cross to fight against Muslims.73 Rutebeuf’s poems encouraged people to think about their actions in relation to those of others who had fought for the faith in a variety of ways, though the use of examples taken from scripture is strikingly absent from the work of an individual who so often seems to have shared the ideas and methods of clerical writers. Instead he chose to compare thirteenth-century Christians with those of the more recent past, both real and imagined. In ‘La nouvelle complainte d’outre-mer’, while not referring to crusading explicitly, he issued a general call for young men to replicate the qualities of their fathers.74 Some of the figures Rutebeuf mentioned would have been the direct contemporaries and peers of those he addressed. In the same poem Rutebeuf called on men first to remember and then to follow the examples of Geoffrey of Sergines and Odo of Nevers, both of whom had died in the 71

Hugh of Berzé, ‘Bernarz, di moi Fouquet, qu’on tient a sage’, in Les chansons de croisade, pp. 162–3, ll. 17–24. The dating of this song, and the identity of the marquis of Monferrat to whom Hugh addresses this appeal have been the subject of some debate. Gaston Paris believed that the lyric was originally composed at the time of the Fourth Crusade and was intended to encourage Boniface II of Monferrat to take the cross, and that additional lines, present in one manuscript containing this song, were added later to make the song fitting as an appeal to William of Monferrat to take part in Frederick II’s proposed campaign to win Salonika in 1223: Paris, ‘Hugues de Berzé’, Romania, 18 (1889), 558–62. Joseph Bédier, in his introduction to his edition of the song, rejected Paris’s arguments and asserted instead that the surviving text was written as a single piece around 1221 in order to encourage William to take the cross and join the emperor in aiding the forces of the Fifth Crusade in Egypt, Les chansons de croisade, pp. 156–61. 72 La Chanson d’Antioche, pp. 293–4, ll. 9178–88. 73 Doon de Maience, ed. M. A. Pey (Les anciens poètes de la France 2, Paris, 1859). For the taking of the cross by Doon and his fellow Frenchmen see p. 221, ll. 7327–32. 74 Rutebeuf, ‘La nouvelle complainte d’outre-mer’, in Oeuvres complètes, 2, pp. 432–3, ll. 135–42.

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East in the late 1260s.75 As well as this direct call on men to follow the examples of these crusading contemporaries, Rutebeuf’s eulogies of men such as Geoffrey, Odo, Alphonse of Poitiers and Charles of Anjou constituted extended expositions of these men’s lives as exemplars. As well as rousing men to action by the presentation of recent crusaders as positive role models, Rutebeuf tried to prompt shame among his audiences by comparing their inaction to the efforts that had been made for the Holy Land by earlier generations of crusaders. Rutebeuf’s attempt to stir Louis IX and Alphonse of Poitiers to action in 1262 through ‘La complainte de Constantinople’ did not describe previous crusades but evoked them. Having provided an emotive description of the plight of the Christian inhabitants of Acre (whom he said would soon need to build a new cemetery) Rutebeuf said that the paths formerly trodden by those going to aid Christians in the East had become overgrown as a result of the laziness of the current generation of potential crusaders.76 In ‘La nouvelle complainte d’outre-mer’ the memory of earlier crusaders was presented much more straightforwardly as one against which men should measure their actions. Rutebeuf compared his contemporaries with Godfrey, Bohemond and Tancred and lamented the fact that there were none in his time who would exert themselves to win paradise as these heroes of the First Crusade had done.77 Rutebeuf’s poetry presents the heroes of the legendary wars against nonChristians described in the chansons de geste as exemplars of behaviour, as well as crusaders from the early stages of the movement and from its immediate past. References to heroes known from chansons de geste were not included in any of the model crusade sermons edited by Maier. Michel Zink’s examination of preaching in the vernacular before 1300 found only one reference to the chansons de geste, and in that case the preacher did not look to them to provide models but rather complained that these stories distracted men.78 But it would be wrong to assume that the heroes of chansons de geste were not referred to by preachers of the cross. Humbert of Romans included chapters in De predicatione sancte crucis on Charlemagne’s achievements in Spain, the rout of his forces at Roncesvalles and Roland’s heroic part in these events.79 The authority Humbert cited for these episodes was the twelfth-century Gesta Caroli Magni in Hispania, falsely attributed to archbishop Turpin.80 This was a pseudo-historical text, but the associations sermon audiences are likely to have made were with the Charlemagne and Roland of the chansons de geste. Humbert’s own work had 75 76 77 78 79 80

Ibid., 2, pp. 432–3, ll. 124–34. Rutebeuf, ‘La complainte de Constantinople’, in Oeuvres complètes, 1, pp. 360–61, ll. 61–9. Rutebeuf, ‘La nouvelle complainte d’outre-mer’, in ibid., 2, pp. 442–3, ll. 332–5. M. Zink, La prédication en langue romane avant 1300 (Paris, 1976), pp. 383–4. Humbert of Romans, De predicatione sancte crucis, chapters 36–7. Cole, The preaching of the crusades to the Holy Land, pp. 214–15.

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reminded preachers that their audiences would be familiar with the deeds of earlier generations as these were popular subjects for paintings on the walls of noblemen’s houses and for songs.81 But the wide range of uses to which the imagined or fictionalized past could be put can be seen most clearly in secular literature. Rutebeuf had included a passage in ‘La complainte d’outre-mer’ very similar to that from ‘La nouvelle complainte d’outre-mer’ already cited in which he expressed his regret that there were no thirteenth-century Godfreys, Tancreds or Baldwins. But in this instance he had also mentioned Angelier within this illustrious line up.82 Rutebeuf thus brought together in one group leaders of the First Crusade and the chanson de geste hero Angelier, one of the 12 peers who was not recorded as having any connection with the Holy Land in either fact or fiction.83 This begs the question whether figures like Godfrey, Tancred and Bohemond were recognized in the thirteenth century because of their part in the historic events in the First Crusade, or from the fictionalization of the events of the First Crusade through the chansons de geste of the Old French Crusade Cycle. Was Godfrey a hero of history or legend, or were these spheres combined? Rutebeuf certainly seems to have played with the boundaries between them, or treated these spheres as overlapping. In ‘Le dit de Pouille’ Rutebeuf sought to encourage recruitment to Charles of Anjou’s crusade in southern Italy by saying that the king was facing many Aumonts and Agolants, and that while he may have been called Charles, he had no Roland to support him.84 Potential participants in a real war were called upon to fulfill the role of the fictional Roland in Charles of Anjou’s Italian campaigns against Christian enemies of the Church. These campaigns were compared with the apocryphal war depicted in the Chanson d’Aspremont of the emperor Charles against the supposedly Muslim Aumont and Agolant. This passage blurs the realms of fact and fiction, sacrificing precision on issues such as the nature of the opponents Charles of Anjou was facing in favour of the use of familiar and rousing epic comparisons. In both ‘La complainte d’outre-mer’ and ‘La nouvelle complainte d’outre-mer’ Rutebeuf urged his audience to ‘Reconmenciez novele estoire’.85 It is difficult to render in a single word what Rutebeuf meant by the ‘estoire’ he called on people to begin again. In his translation into 81 Humbert of Romans, De predicatione sancte crucis, chapter 16. An example of the way crusading activity might be used as the subject for paintings in great men’s houses is suggested by Henry III’s commissioning of paintings of the history of Antioch in chambers in the Tower of London and at Winchester, Clarendon and Westminster. S. Lloyd, English society and the crusade, 1216–1307 (Oxford, 1988), p. 199. 82 Rutebeuf ‘La complainte d’outre-mer’, in Oeuvres complètes, 2, pp. 320–23, ll. 149–59. 83 Trotter, Medieval French literature and the crusades, p. 219. 84 Rutebeuf, ‘Le dit de Pouille’, in Oeuvres complètes, 2, pp. 308–309, ll. 23–4. 85 Rutebeuf, ‘La complainte d’outre-mer’, in Oeuvre complètes, 2, pp.314–15, l. 16; ‘La nouvelle complainte d’outre-mer’, in Oeuvres complètes, 2, pp. 444–5, l. 341.

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modern French Zink settled on the word ‘epopée’ or epic, but his notes suggest that the poet wanted his phrase to encompass two ideas. He wanted people to ‘begin a new page of history’ and to ‘begin a new expedition’.86 Audiences were likely to have understood that starting a new expedition meant launching a new crusade, but it is less obvious what history it was they were to contribute to. Whereas sermons offered potential crusaders the chance to contribute to a continuing Christian history of struggle against the enemies of the faith, the histories Rutebeuf talked about were those of the legendary chivalric past and of the crusading past. The clearest depiction of the chivalric history to which Rutebeuf thought his audience would relate is provided by ‘La complainte de Constantinople’, in which he sought to rouse men to action by bemoaning the pitiful condition of chivalry, which had its orgins in Greece from where it had been transplanted to France and Britain and had been upheld by long-departed figures such as Charlemagne and the chanson de geste hero Ogiers.87 So, in ‘La complainte d’outre-mer’ the call to begin a new ‘estoire’ appears after the opening lines of the poem in which Rutebeuf had described how men failed to live up to the examples of the characters they heard about in ‘romans’ or chansons de geste concerning wars for the Church. Although Rutebeuf suggests these tales were told for entertainment, he also implies that the latter-day sufferings endured by and the heavenly rewards of these heroes were ones which men could hope to re-enact.88 Later in the poem Rutebeuf mentioned Roland as an example of one such hero, who inspires men to tears of false pity though they cannot be inspired to action for Christ.89 It seems that while Rutebeuf wished his audience to recognize Roland’s sufferings as fictional and not worth grieving for, he nonetheless wanted people to engage with epic heroes like Roland as exemplary figures and inspirations to action. In this way, although the chivalrous history outlined by the chanson de geste may not have been objectively real, it had real value akin to that of any other history. Preachers and poets used the past as a source of inspirational role models to be emulated by those who might take the cross. Surviving model sermons suggest that the preacher’s main source for such exemplars was scripture and the events of the crusading past. In practice, though, preachers may have drawn on the contents of the chansons de geste with which their audiences were likely to be familiar in order to stir them to action. Secular literature, and Rutebeuf’s poetry in particular, demonstrates the potential value of the imagined past as a resource with which to inspire both shame and enthusiasm among thirteenth-century laymen. 86 87 88 89

Rutebeuf, Oeuvres complètes, 2, p. 492, n. 2. Rutebeuf, ‘La complainte de Constantinople’, in Oeuvres complètes, 1, pp. 364–5, ll. 121–32. Rutebeuf, ‘La complainte d’outre-mer’, in Oeuvres complètes, 2, pp. 314–15, ll. 1–11. Ibid., pp. 316–17, ll. 57–63.

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The Dangers of Crusading No matter how many potentially rousing exemplars of behaviour preachers and poets could draw on to stir men and women to take the cross, their audiences would have been aware that active participation in a crusade campaign was an inherently dangerous activity. Preachers tended to stress the relative lightness of the demands made on crusaders by comparison with the rewards they would receive.90 This does not mean that the dangers and trials of crusading were completely overlooked, but they were minimized or not described in detail. When Gilbert of Tournai compared the discomforts of the pilgrimage undertaken by crusaders with those endured by Christ he did not take into account the requirement to do battle that distinguished crusaders from other pilgrims: he said that pilgrimage brought sore feet and hard, pillow-less beds.91 The greater physical risks of battle were alluded to by Odo of Châteauroux, one of whose sermons described the need to expose oneself to every danger and labour as a hunting dog is willing to shed its own blood in order to catch its prey.92 Elsewhere he and Humbert of Romans described the crusader’s need to face mortal danger.93 In his treatise De predicatione sancte crucis Humbert described the fears that impeded some people from taking the cross as arising from the sea crossing, the hostile environment of the East and the dangers of battle.94 James of Vitry illustrated the great love for Christ shown by crusaders by describing their willingness to expose themselves to dangers on land and at sea. They were ready to run the risk of encountering thieves and predators, as well as the inevitable risks of combat.95 The dangers of sea travel and battle in unfamiliar environments were also commented on in secular literature concerning the crusades, but in some instances they also describe risks not mentioned by preachers. Awareness of the sea as a dangerous and unpredictable force was commonplace throughout the middle ages, reinforced for those who might never have left dry land by proverbs, poetry and accounts of real or imagined journeys.96 Crossing the sea was therefore one of the key physical demands to be highlighted by both preachers and authors of secular literature. For preachers, the sea represented both a physical and spiritual barrier 90

James of Vitry, II, in Crusade propaganda and ideology, pars 23, 31; Gilbert of Tournai, I, in Crusade propaganda and ideology, par. 22; Gilbert of Tournai, III, in Crusade propaganda and ideology, pars 5, 22; Humbert of Romans, II, in Crusade propaganda and ideology, pars 8–9. 91 Gilbert of Tournai, III, in Crusade propaganda and ideology, par. 15. 92 Odo of Châteauroux, I, in Crusade propaganda and ideology, par. 21. 93 Odo of Châteauroux, V, in Crusade propaganda and ideology, par. 7; Humbert of Romans, I, in Crusade propaganda and ideology, par. 5. 94 Humbert of Romans, De predicatione sancte crucis, chapter 19. 95 James of Vitry, II, in Crusade propaganda and ideology, par. 19. 96 J. Delumeau, La peur en Occident (XIVe-XVIIIe siècles): une cité asiégée (Paris, 1978), p. 32.

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to be overcome by crusaders. The real dangers of seafaring are not ignored but became an emblem of the risks and hardships which must be faced on crusade and in life in general. To James of Vitry the cross represented a means of securing safe passage over the turbulent waters that signify the trials of this world: ‘so the church, travelling on the wood of the cross through the torrent of this world, is carried to the heavenly kingdom’.97 Secular poets and song-writers tended to focus on the reality of the seacrossing required by many crusades as one of their most notable, and perhaps defining features. Rutebeuf, like Humbert of Romans, presented fear of the sea as one of the reasons given for not taking the cross in ‘Le débat du croisé et du décroisé’.98 The risk inherent in crossing the sea was implied by Rutebeuf in ‘Le dit de la croisade de Tunis’, according to which the great love for God shown by those who went on crusade was demonstrated in the fact that they offered up their bodies and crossed over the sea.99 The possibility of drowning was used as a slightly strange exhortatory device in the song ‘Tous li mons doit mener joie’, which praised Louis’s decision to take the cross in 1244 and encouraged others to do so by promising that the souls of those who were lost at sea would be saved.100 Other songs, although not describing the dangers of a sea-crossing, did present the necessity of such a voyage as a distinctive feature that must have marked a crusade out as being different from many other military campaigns. For example, Thibaut of Champagne addressed the envoi of ‘Le douz penser et li douz souvenir’ to his beloved ‘from beyond the salty sea’, emphasizing at once the fact that he had crossed the sea and, of course, the physical barrier and great distance which separated him from his lady.101 The perils of the sea were among the physical dangers associated with crusading cited by James of Vitry as evidence of the love for Christ shown by those who took the cross. He also mentioned dangers encountered on land, and particularly those presented by thieves, predators and battle.102 Although accounts of the potential threats posed to crusaders by thieves and animals are not absent from the secular sources under consideration, those of battle seem to feature much more prominently.103 This is not 97

James of Vitry, II, in Crusade propaganda and ideology, par. 11. Rutebeuf, ‘Le débat du croisé et du décroisé’, in Oeuvres complètes, 2, pp. 370–71, ll. 199–200. Humbert of Romans, De predicatione sancte crucis, chapter 19. 99 Rutebeuf, ‘Le dit de la croisade de Tunis’, in Oeuvres complètes, 2, pp. 344–5, ll. 45–8. 100 Anonymous, ‘Tous li mons doit mener joie’, in Les chansons de croisade, p. 241, l. 7. 101 Thibaut of Champagne, ‘Li douz penser et li douz souvenir’, in Les chansons de croisade, p. 204, ll. 41–2. 102 James of Vitry, II, in Crusade propaganda and ideology, par. 19. 103 The dangers of wild beasts were evidenced by the supposed killing of Ernoul of Beauvais by a dragon; reported in La chanson d’Antioche, p. 58, ll. 355–6 and described in detail in Les Chétifs, ed. G. M. Myers (The Old French Crusade Cycle 5, Tuscaloosa, Alabama 1981), pp. 37–47, ll. 1550–2002. 98

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surprising. Battle was bound to be a defining feature of these holy wars and the most obvious physical risk taken by participants in any crusade. While preachers like James of Vitry demonstrated a natural reluctance to elaborate on the possibility of serious injury or death in battle in the context of sermons designed to encourage people to take the cross, these elements are present in our literary sources, most obviously in the chansons de geste, in which armed combat and its consequences are described with relish and approval. Descriptions of wounding or death in battle do not seem to have been used by Rutebeuf, perhaps for the same reason that preachers did not linger on this subject: most of his poems dealing with crusades or crusaders had an exhortatory element and while the fact of a crusader’s death could be mentioned in an exemplary way, the precise manner of their death was unlikely to prove an incentive to others. Likewise, there are few such references to the bloody reality of crusade battles in songs. One notable exception is provided by ‘Tous li mons doit mener joie’, whose lyricist has already been mentioned for raising the possibility of drowning in an exhortatory song. This song presents the physical dangers of battle in a similar way: in the final verse potential crusaders are told that they will receive a place before God in paradise should they spill their blood, brains or innards in the Holy Land.104 But besides the inevitable danger of suffering injury or death, our secular sources describe another battle danger that was not alluded to in any of our model sermons. Combat on crusade could, as in other wars, result in being taken captive. As Yvonne Friedman has noted, captivity was excluded from the list of potential sufferings of crusaders included in Peter Tudebode’s account of Urban II’s summons to the First Crusade.105 Friedman cites this example in order to illustrate the apparent lack of thought given to the possibility of captivity by participants in this campaign and their failure to make preparations for this eventuality. Over the decades that followed the First Crusade the reality of captivity as a danger of crusading could not be ignored. The Church acknowledged and responded to this issue by giving the military orders a specific role in obtaining the freedom of captives, and establishing other orders which had the ransom of captives as their raison d’être.106 But churchmen grew no more likely to mention the possibility of captivity in their sermons. This may have been a consequence of the uncertainty of a 104

Anonymous, ‘Tous li mons doit mener joie’, in Les chansons de croisade, p. 243, ll. 65–70. Y. Friedman, Encounter between enemies: captivity and ransom in the Latin kingdom of Jerusalem (Cultures, beliefs and traditions: medieval and early modern peoples 10, Leiden, 2002), p. 16; Peter Tudebode, Historia de Hierosolymitano itinere, eds J. H. Hill and L. L. Hill (Documents relatifs à l’histoire des croisades publiés par l’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres 12, Paris, 1977), p. 32. 106 A. Forey, ‘The military orders and the ransoming of captives from Islam (twelfth to early fourteenth centuries)’, Studia monastica, 33 (1991), 259–79. 105

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captive’s status or fate after having been taken prisoner: in prison an individual could neither be described as having met a glorious death nor as having contributed to the military achievements of a crusade campaign. As Friedman says, captives were by definition failures,107 and therefore had no place in the purely propagandist work of crusade preachers. But the possibility of captivity was not excluded from the work of secular authors. The hypothetical danger of imprisonment during the course of one’s crusade was included in Rutebeuf’s ‘Débat du croisé et du décroisé’ as one of the risks the crusader was willing to take in order to secure salvation.108 But what did secular literature suggest to potential crusaders that they would experience in captivity? One branch of the First Cycle of the Crusade, Les Chétifs, is dedicated to the supposed experiences of a group of participants in the earliest waves of the First Crusade who were taken prisoner at Civetot. The description of the physical conditions in which these men were held suggests that captivity could bring long-term discomfort and pain: they were chained and shackled, the restraints round their necks were so tight or heavy that they had worn away their flesh. Thus confined and without proper food the captives were on the brink of death. Despite their poor physical condition they had been made to perform manual labour for their captors, cutting grass and carrying stones. They also received beatings and woundings.109 But while Les Chétifs describes the physical harm and humiliating forced labour initially endured by the heroes of this poem, their experiences more generally are very different. Richard of Chaumont was selected by his captor to represent him in a judicial duel. In the wake of his successful combat Richard and his captive colleagues became the trusted servants of Corbaran and were treated with respect and indulgence. In this scenario the captives’ prior suffering was not of particular importance to this tale in itself, but was a useful means of emphasizing the change in their fortunes.110 One possible experience of captivity was not mentioned at all in Les Chétifs. There was no suggestion that Richard of Chaumont and his fellow prisoners were shaken in their faith during their imprisonment. A concern about the moral and spiritual welfare of those held prisoner by Muslims is evident in other sources. In the Chanson d’Aspremont pope Milon roused the Christian forces by describing to them the prospect of incarceration in a place where the word of God would not be delivered and neither mass nor matins ever read.111 Huon of Saint Quentin used the song ‘Jerusalem se 107

Friedman, Encounter between enemies, p. 1. Rutebeuf, ‘Le débat du croisé et du décroisé’, in Oeuvres complètes, 2, pp. 372–3, ll. 221–4. 109 Les Chétifs, p. 11, ll. 370–82 and p. 13, ll. 459–64. See also pp. 42–3, ll. 1797–800; p. 85, ll. 3659–67. 110 Friedman, Encounter between enemies, p. 224. 111 La Chanson d’Aspremont, 1, p. 138, ll. 4286–9. 108

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plaint et li païs’, written in the aftermath of the Fifth Crusade, to call for renewed crusading efforts. He called on the leaders of the Church in particular to consider the plight of those who had been left as captives overseas and whose souls were therefore in danger.112 Though not explicitly stated, the possibility of apostasy is clearly implied here. No depiction of crusading by a preacher or poet could completely omit the physical dangers inherent in such an expedition. Preachers did not deny the dangers of the sea voyages and warfare that were an inevitable feature of crusades to the East. Instead they sought to put these risks into perspective by comparing them with the great rewards available to those who were willing to endure them. Secular literature also referred to the dangers of the sea and of battle as a means of describing the commitment of crusaders to their cause and, in the chansons de geste, in order to celebrate the military prowess of their heroes. What is particularly notable in the treatment of the risks attached to crusading in secular literature, however, is the presence of captivity among the number of dangers potential participants were told they might face if they took the cross. This is in striking contrast to our evidence for preaching, in which imprisonment was not referred to at all. Martyrdom In the context of the crusades, during which thousands of Christians risked death for their faith, the possibility that those who made this ultimate sacrifice received the special status of martyrs was inevitably raised. Belief in the martyrdom of crusaders has therefore attracted considerable interest from historians, though their attention has largely been focused on the earliest stages of the crusade movement, and the First Crusade in particular.113 This section of my study, and the corresponding one in the next chapter, have the intention of carrying this work forward to examine this issue in relation to crusading in the thirteenth century. The question of the 112

Huon of Saint Quentin, ‘Jerusalem se plaint et li païs’, in Les chansons de croisade, p. 149, ll.

34–7. 113 J. Riley-Smith, ‘Death on the First Crusade’, in The end of strife. Papers selected from the proceedings of the Colloquium of the Commission Internationale d’Histoire Ecclésiastique Comparée held at the University of Durham, 2 to 9 September 1981, ed. D. Loades (Edinburgh, 1984), pp. 14–31; H.E.J. Cowdrey, ‘Martyrdom and the First Crusade’, in Crusade and settlement. Papers read at the First Conference of the Society for the Study of the Crusades and the Latin East and presented to R. C. Smail, ed. P. W. Edbury (Cardiff, 1985), pp. 46–56; J. Flori, ‘Mort et martyre des guerriers vers 1100. L’exemple de la première croisade’, Cahiers de civilisation médiévale, 34 (1991), 121–39; C. Morris, ‘Martyrs on the field of battle before and during the First Crusade’, in Martyrs and martyrologies. Papers read at the 1992 summer meeting and the 1993 winter meeting of the Ecclesiastical History Society, ed. D. Wood (Studies in Church History 30, Oxford, 1993), pp. 93–104; H.E.J. Cowdrey, ‘Pope Gregory VII and martyrdom’, in Dei gesta per Francos. Crusade studies in honour of Jean Richard, eds M. Balard, B. Kedar and J. Riley-Smith, (Aldershot, 2001), pp. 3–11.

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possible martyrdom of crusaders is brought into relief during this period because the papacy was able to exercise newly-established authority in the matter of canonization and therefore dictate who deserved remembrance as an ‘official’ martyr of the Church. This authority was at first cautiously applied as far as martyrdom was concerned: only two official martyrs – Peter of Verona and Stanislas of Cracow – were made in the thirteenth century, neither of whom was a layman or a crusader. The requirements for martyrdom set by the Church and its agents were certainly stringent: Thomas Aquinas’s Summa theologiae defined a martyr as a person who acted as a witness to the faith through the voluntary endurance of physical persecution to the point of death.114 In the context of the crusades it would have been hard to establish whether an individual had met these conditions, especially if they died in battle.115 The strictness with which the Church exercised its power to recognize martyrs through canonization in the thirteenth century therefore throws into stark contrast the continuing popular belief that crusaders could be, and often were, martyrs. Evidence of this may be found in all the types of source under consideration in this chapter, both ecclesiastical and secular in origin. But the following examination will also demonstrate that the model for martyrdom proposed by Thomas Aquinas was by no means the only one available in the thirteenth century. This requires us to take an open-minded approach to the issue of what constituted martyrdom during this period. The popular belief in the thirteenth century that those who died in holy wars had the status of martyrs would have found plentiful fuel in the contents of chansons de geste. In these texts the issue of the internal disposition of the battlefield dead appears of no concern, and it was specifically to those who died in combat that the reward of martyrdom was most frequently offered. The pre-battle speeches of religious and military leaders presented in these epic poems refer to this prospect repeatedly. The theme of martyrdom appears throughout the Chanson d’Antioche, in which the bishops of Forez and Le Puy were said to have made the same promise of martyrdom to those preparing for battle during the course of the First Crusade.116 According to the Chanson de Jérusalem crusaders who died in battle were offered crowns of martyrdom by Bohemond and the bishop of Martirano.117 In the Chanson de Roland it is archbishop Turpin who rouses Christian forces to battle with the promise that those who die will be blessed martyrs, while Roland himself confidently looked forward to this 114

Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae. Latin text and English translation, introductions, notes, appendices and glossaries, ed. T. Gilby et al., (London, 1964–81), 61 vols, 42, 2a2ae. q. 124, pp. 40–59. 115 Riley-Smith, The first crusaders, p. 72. 116 La Chanson d’Antioche, p. 67, ll. 669–70; p. 301, ll. 9490–91 and p. 307, ll. 9695–9. 117 La Chanson de Jérusalem, p. 52, ll. 771–4 and p. 81, ll. 2093–5.

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heavenly reward.118 The Chanson d’Aspremont describes Duke Girart of Burgundy’s assurance that all those who died fighting the Muslim enemy would be martyrs.119 André Vauchez saw the Church’s reluctance to make official martyrs as evidence of a desire to assert itself against the popular religiosity to which these chansons de geste might have appealed.120 But this desire was not always reflected in the contents of model crusade sermons, which demonstrate their authors’ awareness of and readiness to appeal to a popular belief in the martyrdom of crusaders. Odo of Châteauroux said that those who took the cross would be granted ‘the everlasting crown’, which implied martyrdom, but he did not explore this theme further in this sermon or in others in his model sermon collection.121 His views on the martyrdom of crusaders will be considered in more detail in the next chapter in relation to his comments on the status of the dead of the battle of Mansurah in 1250.122 James of Vitry did refer explicitly to the crusader dead as martyrs in one of his model sermons, and his words were later adopted by Gilbert of Tournai. The idea of crusader martyrdom presented in these passages, which state that ‘true crusaders, who are truly contrite, have confessed their sins and prepare for the service of God and then die, are considered true martyrs’, seems to conform in many ways to the model of martyrdom that was subsequently outlined in Thomas Aquinas’s work.123 Martyrdom was offered to those who died because of their commitment to God and with the appropriate internal disposition. But an element of ambiguity is introduced into the possibility of martyrdom outlined here by the word ‘considered’. James and Gilbert did not say that the crusader dead were martyrs or were known to be martyrs. They were considered to be martyrs, though by whom was not specified, whether the Church, the crusaders’ peers or God himself. The lack of clarity was perhaps intentional: these preachers could not state that the Church deemed crusaders who died to be martyrs as this was not official Church policy. The question was left open for audiences to provide for themselves whatever answer would be most persuasive. 118 The Song of Roland: an analytical edition, ed. and trans. G. J. Brault (University Park, Pennsylvania and London, 1978), 2 vols, 2, pp. 72–3, l. 1134 and pp. 118–19, l. 1922. 119 La Chanson d’Aspremont, 1, p. 163, ll. 5102–103. 120 A. Vauchez, Sainthood in the later middle ages, trans. J. Birrell, (Cambridge, 1997), p. 417. 121 Odo of Châteauroux, II, in Crusade propaganda and ideology, par. 13. 122 See below, pp. 140–41. 123 James of Vitry, II, in Crusade propaganda and ideology, par. 18; Gilbert of Tournai, I, in Crusade propaganda and ideology, par. 20. Gilbert also referred to crusaders as martyrs in ibid., par. 8. I have used Christoph Maier’s translation of the passage from Gilbert of Tournai’s sermon I. In his translation of the parallel passage from James of Vitry, II, Maier gives an alternative, erroneous translation: ‘those crusaders who prepare themselves for the service of God, truly confessed and contrite, are considered true martyrs while they are in the service of Christ’ (my emphasis). The translation of the key phrase ‘dum in Christi servitio moriuntur’ should be ‘when they die in the service of Christ’.

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The model of martyrdom presented by James of Vitry and Gilbert of Tournai in their model sermons made strict demands of the individual crusader’s motivation and internal disposition and made no promises that their status as a martyr would receive official acknowledgement. In these sources, what constituted martyrdom was defined with some precision, but the beliefs of individuals that their friends and loved ones who died on crusade were martyrs was accommodated by a looseness about how and by whom martyr status was to be recognized. These preachers seem to have been treading very carefully around the issue of crusader martyrdom in order to appeal to popular belief. The same caution is not evident in the works of authors of secular literature. It has already been shown that martyrdom was freely offered by laymen and churchmen alike to participants who died in the wars described in the chansons de geste. But chansons de geste and other literary sources also demonstrate that there was considerable flexibility in the vocabulary of martyrdom which meant that this could be a status associated with the living as well as the dead. The Latin word ‘martyrium’ was not only used to indicate a particular type of death, it was also used to describe instances of suffering more generally. The same is true of the Old French term ‘martir’. In vernacular literature martyrdom was referred to in a wide range of instances with a wide range of values attached to this term. So, for example, Rutebeuf described the sufferings of an unhappy marriage as a form of martyrdom.124 This is an example of what Miri Rubin identifies as the ‘mundane use’ of the vocabulary of martyrdom, ‘through which the notion of martyrdom was deployed in daily life’.125 In such instances the idea of martyrdom was useful to emphasize or exaggerate physical or mental suffering. We can see how similar use of the vocabulary of martyrdom was applied in connection to the sufferings of crusaders in particular. I would argue, however, that in these cases the use of the language of martyrdom was not mundane, but lent the suffering of crusaders in life a spiritual value akin to the supposed martyrdom of those who died on crusade. In ‘La voie de Tunis’ Rutebeuf explained to potential participants in Louis IX’s second crusade that those who hoped to reach paradise could not hope to do so without enduring numerous torments or sufferings (‘martyre pluseur’).126 There was a religious value attached to these sufferings that would assure crusaders a place in heaven. Rutebeuf’s use of the word ‘martyre’ associated these trials with the sacrifices of the martyred dead. The idea that martyrdom could be associated with or arise from pains 124

Rutebeuf, ‘Le mariage de Rutebeuf’, in Oeuvres complètes, 1, pp. 244–5, ll. 11–16. M. Rubin, ‘Choosing death? Experiences of martyrdom in late medieval Europe’, in Martyrs and martyrologies. Papers read at the 1992 summer meeting and the 1993 winter meeting of the Ecclesiastical History Society, ed. D. Wood (Studies in Church history 30, Oxford, 1993), p.154. 126 Rutebeuf, ‘La voie de Tunis’, in Oeuvres complètes, 2, pp. 340–41, l. 8. 125

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experienced in life is clearly articulated in ‘La complainte de Monseigneur Geoffroy de Sergines’. Rutebeuf wrote of the group of men that assisted Geoffrey in Acre that they fought bravely despite their small numbers as they can be sure that they will be amply rewarded by God for their efforts and ‘none of them can fear that they will not have a martyr’s crown when they leave this world’.127 The certainty of the martyr status that these men could look forward to was the result of their activities in the Holy Land. Their martyrdom did not depend on when, where or how they might ultimately meet their deaths. At this point it is also worth citing an example from a song produced during the course of a crusade campaign in order to illustrate the idea that martyrdom could be a status in life. The song ‘Nus ne porroit de mauvese reson’ was written by a Champenois layman, and perhaps by John of Joinville, with the purpose of urging Louis to stay in Acre in 1250 in order to attend to the plight of Christians held captive in Egypt. The prisoners were described as being martyrs (or enduring suffering akin to martyrdom) for Christ and for the king, who was told that it would be a great sin to allow them to die.128 It is important to be aware that the idea of martyrdom and the language associated with it was not always rigid or rigidly applied in the thirteenth century. Martyrdom was, first, a special heavenly status attained by those who died for their faith. Texts of secular origin, and the chansons de geste in particular, were clear that this status could be achieved by those who died in combat. Although the evidence of model sermons does not show that preachers actively promoted this idea, neither does it demonstrate that they ruled this possibility out. This was despite the Church’s determination that no person who died in such circumstances was worthy of canonization as a martyr. But while the authors of model sermons seem to have treated the issue of the martyrdom of crusaders with great caution, authors of some works of secular literature seem to have conceived martyrdom much more freely. This is one of the most interesting aspects of the treatment of martyrdom in the presentation of the crusades to potential participants. Martyrdom was a condition that was not only associated with the crusader dead, but also with suffering endured during life. The lustre of martyrdom could thus fall on all those who took the cross and not only those who made the ultimate sacrifice in the course of a crusade campaign. The next chapter will demonstrate how concepts of martyrdom in both life and death overlapped in the thinking of laymen, clerics and religious when they came to examine the possible martyrdom of those who took part in Louis IX’s crusades.129 Of 127 Rutebeuf, ‘La complainte de Monseigneur Geoffroy de Sergines’, in Oeuvres complètes, 1, pp. 122–3, ll. 123–8. 128 Anonymous, ‘Nus ne porroit de mauvese reson’, in Les chansons de croisade, p. 265, l. 44. 129 See below, pp. 143–9.

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particular importance in this analysis are perceptions of the king’s sanctity, to which the idea of his life as an imitatio Christi were central. The Value of Suffering Suffering, which we have seen could in itself be deemed to constitute a form of martyrdom, was a likely consequence of deciding to go on crusade. This section of my study will consider the different ways in which value could be attached to the sufferings of crusaders. In particular, I will consider how the pains they endured were seen in relation to the suffering that had characterized Christ’s life on earth. The persecutions he had endured were presented by preachers and poets as requiring revenge through the recapturing of the Holy Land from infidel hands. But the suffering of crusaders that occurred in the process of bringing this about could be interpreted in different ways: as a necessary means to fulfilling that end, as the fulfilment of a duty to reciprocate Christ’s sacrifice, as of value to the individual crusader in counteracting sin or, in some instances, as an imitatio Christi, a way of emulating or achieving likeness to Christ. Depictions of Christ’s suffering at the Crucifixion as a means of rousing Christian knighthood to crusading action were used from the earliest stages of the crusade movement and featured in crusade propaganda long before Louis IX’s campaigns. The earliest datable crusade song in Old French, the anonymous ‘Chevalier, mult estes guariz’, which was written to promote recruitment to the Second Crusade, described how Christ offered up his body for us, receiving five wounds and enduring death.130 Later in the twelfth century, at the time of the Third Crusade, the unknown lyricist responsible for ‘Vos qui ameis de vraie amor’, again evoked the image of the wounds Christ received in his side, his palms and his feet, which he had suffered because of his great love for humankind and which would be exposed at Judgement Day to the shame of those who did not aid his cause.131 Those who heard the epic chansons de geste were also likely to have encountered numerous descriptions of the Crucifixion that helped explain why the struggles of the heroes of wars for the faith were necessary. There are repeated references to the Passion in the opening passages of the Chanson d’Antioche, constituting ‘a prophecy of and direct appeal for vengeance’.132 In the opening verses of the text the indignities and pains imposed on Christ by Pilate and the Jews are presented as the reasons why those who joined the First Crusade needed to act against ‘the lineage of Antichrist’.133 130 131 132 133

Anonymous, ‘Chevalier, mult estes guariz’, in Les chansons de croisade, p. 9, ll. 37–40. Anonymous, ‘Vos qui ameis de vraie amor’, in Les chansons de croisade, p. 20–21, ll. 11–30. Edgington, ‘Holy Land, Holy Lance’, p. 146. La Chanson d’Antioche, p. 51, ll. 84–99.

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The Chanson de Jérusalem described how one crusader urged on his companions by instructing them to avenge God, who allowed himself to be beaten and crucified for them.134 Elsewhere in the Chanson de Jérusalem the suffering of crusaders was described in relation to the Passion in a way that suggests that the two elements were quite separate from each other. In the opening passage of this text it is reported that when the forces of the First Crusade first laid eyes on Jerusalem, members of the army said to each other: ‘By here passed Jesus who suffered the Passion, his blessed apostles and all his companions. Happily have we endured such persecutions, such hunger, such thirst, such dislocation, winds and storms, snow and ice, when we see the city where God had his Passion, where he received death for our redemption’.135 The sufferings of the crusaders were, according to this account, a necessary result of their efforts to reach Jerusalem but they were not significant or valuable in themselves other than as a sign of the crusaders’ commitment to their cause. For this author suffering was a means to an end, and not a spiritual end in itself. In other examples from the chansons de geste Christ’s sufferings were presented as requiring a reciprocal self-sacrifice. The Crucifixion could thus justify and give value to the sacrifices made by individual Christian combatants. According to the Chanson d’Aspremont, pope Milon sought to inspire members of Charlemagne’s army by telling them that God sent them trials in battle as he had sent himself to die a violent death for humankind.136 The idea that there was a relationship between the risks faced by Christian knights in wars for the faith and the sacrifice made by Christ was clearly and simply expressed by another passage in the Chanson d’Aspremont, in which Godfrey of Boulogne said that ‘I will die for him [Christ] because he died for me’.137 The Crucifixion thus created not only a need for revenge by Christendom in general, but also a duty for individual Christians to respond to Christ’s sacrifices in kind. This idea was also used by Rutebeuf in the opening lines of ‘La complainte du comte de Poitiers’. They are an extended description of how the person who loves God fears neither illness nor death because he is protected by the pierced side of the Creator who faced many tribulations and persecutions for us. Such a person is ready to make a gift of himself to him who was willing to endure a bitter death for us.138 134

La Chanson de Jérusalem, p. 71, ll. 1651–3. Ibid., p. 35, ll. 30–36. This speech is duplicated in a later passage of ibid., p. 56, ll. 957–63. 136 La Chanson d’Aspremont, 2, p. 102, ll. 9291–301. 137 Ibid., 1, pp. 127–8, ll. 3968–73. 138 Rutebeuf, ‘La complainte du comte de Poitiers’, in Oeuvres complètes, 2, pp. 392–3, ll. 1–17. 135

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In other secular literature the religious significance attached to the various sufferings of crusaders is specifically penitential. So, for example, the song ‘Vos qui ameis de vraie amor’ said those who love God ‘will take the cross, and for their sins will suffer pain night and day’.139 In the song ‘Au tans plain de felonie’, Thibaut of Champagne addressed his fellow poet and crusader Philip of Nanteuil and told him that one must endure hardship in order to conquer paradise.140 Rutebeuf said of Geoffrey of Sergines that he suffered bodily for God, enduring his penance by facing death each day.141 All the examples cited thus far as evidence of the significance of Christ’s suffering and of the personal suffering of participants in explaining the need for and the value of crusading to Christendom and to individual Christians have been taken from secular literature. They present the Crucifixion as an event requiring revenge or reciprocal self-sacrifice, and the trials of crusading as a means to achieve this end or, on a more personal level, to counterbalance sin and secure one’s salvation. These themes are present in thirteenth-century model sermons, too, though in some of these texts they were brought together in ways that offered different potential rewards to those who took the cross. By following his example and imitating his sufferings crusaders might also achieve a better knowledge of or likeness to Christ. Christoph Maier has described how the recurring image of crusaders following Christ was not used only to urge men to physically follow Christ, as the ultimate leader of the crusade, into battle. Following Christ could also signify the pursuit of a closer relationship to the Redeemer.142 Odo of Châteauroux’s sermon based on the theme of Paul’s conversion opens with a citation from Matthew 19: 28 recounting the rewards awaiting those who renounce the world and follow Christ.143 The preacher went on to describe how this pursuit enabled Paul to catch (‘capere’) and hold (‘habere’) the Lord. The potential crusaders to whom Odo addressed this appeal could also hope to attain the Lord in this way, but only if they were willing to expose themselves to harm.144 Humbert of Romans described how crusaders wear a cross on their shoulder as a sign that they carry Christ not only in their hearts (through faith), and in their mouths (through confession) but also in their bodies through their willingness to bear pain.145 Later in his treatise Humbert said more 139 140

Anonymous, ‘Vos qui ameis de vraie amor’, in Les chansons de croisade, p. 20, ll. 8–9. Thibaut of Champagne, ‘Au tans plain de felonie’, in Les Chansons de croisade, p. 182, ll.

23–4. 141

Rutebeuf, ‘La complainte de Monseigneur Geoffroy de Sergines’, in Oeuvres complètes, 1, pp. 124–5, ll. 154–6. 142 Maier, ‘Portraying the crusade’, in Crusade propaganda and ideology, pp. 59–60. 143 Odo of Châteauroux, I, in Crusade propaganda and ideology, par. 1. 144 Ibid., par. 21. 145 Humbert of Romans, De predicatione sancte crucis, chapter 5.

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about the nature and value of this pain when he predicted the conversation a crusader might have with Christ at the final judgement: Lord, you were on the cross one day for my sake, and I have been on it for your sake for many days and have suffered many torments. Because of me you had your feet fixed on the cross; because of you I have been on a ship amidst the throng of pilgrims and was so cramped that I could not stretch out my feet. Because of me you once drank spoiled wine on the cross; because of you, for many days on the ship, I used putrid water swimming with worms … On the cross you fought my enemies once, and I have exposed myself with your cross to fight many times against your enemies.146

The direct association of this crusader’s specific sufferings with episodes of Christ’s suffering on the cross suggests that the crusader did not only reciprocate Christ’s self-sacrifice but that he actually relived it. The idea that crusaders would gain a closer personal association with Christ was expressed in the exemplum included by James of Vitry in his first model crusade sermon (and subsequently cited by Gilbert of Tournai) according to which a Cistercian monk who had sought to know the reward available to crusaders received a vision of the Holy Virgin, who offered her son to anyone who would take the cross with contrite heart.147 Precisely how each individual crusader might interpret or benefit from this gift of Christ is not specified in this exemplum. Elsewhere in Gilbert of Tournai’s work it is suggested that the crusader could hope to experience the full extent of God’s love in a way other Christians did not. Recalling the five wounds Christ received at the Crucifixion through which flowed the five channels of blood that symbolized his love for mankind, Gilbert wrote that ‘so he now shows his whole self to the crusaders to cleanse them through the inmost parts of his compassion’.148 While the Crucifixion had given external expression to God’s love through the shedding of Christ’s blood, crusaders were to benefit from exposure not only to the expression of this love but also to its source in ‘the inmost parts’ of Christ’s compassion. It is also in Gilbert of Tournai’s model sermons that we find the fullest exploration of the idea of the crusade as a means of following Christ in the sense of imitating his actions and suffering. The imitation of Christ as a model for Christian life was part of the Christian ‘mainstream’ after the turn of the thirteenth century.149 Attention was focused on the Passion and Christ’s suffering through widely-experienced elements of Christian religious life (such as the elevation of the host, depictions of the stations of the 146

Ibid., chapter 19. The translation is Cole’s, The preaching of the crusades, p. 210. James of Vitry, I, in Crusade propaganda and ideology, par. 21; Gilbert of Tournai, I, in Crusade propaganda and ideology, par. 24. 148 Gilbert of Tournai, III, in Crusade propaganda and ideology, par. 6. 149 G. Constable, Three studies in medieval religious and social thought: the interpretation of Mary and Martha, the ideal imitation of Christ, the orders of society (Cambridge, 1995), p. 218. 147

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cross and Easter plays) as well as the rarer and more personal phenomenon of the receipt of stigmata.150 The imitatio Christi was an ideal particularly associated with the Franciscan order and, as Maier signals, it is therefore not surprising that the Franciscan Gilbert of Tournai chose to emphasize it in his work.151 Gilbert’s crusade sermons encouraged audiences to achieve a closer relationship to Christ through internal contemplation of the Crucifixion and external expressions of suffering akin to Christ’s. In his first sermon Gilbert called on each Christian to ‘have this cross of Christ in your heart and carry his stigmata on your body so that, offering the sacrifice of a burnt-offering inside, you may have his skin on the outside’. This was to be achieved ‘by the open imitation of his deeds and Passion’.152 Gilbert’s third sermon took the idea of the imitation of Christ a stage further when he said that those who are signed with the cross might not only imitate but achieve likeness with and ‘conform’ (‘conformari’) to Christ, whose life was one of constant suffering.153 The trials of the crusading pilgrimage were paralleled by Gilbert with those of Christ’s life. For example, the pilgrim who slept on a hard bed should think of the infant Christ who had slept in a manger and whose last resting place had been the cross.154 Rutebeuf’s poems provide the only, if faint, reflections in the secular literature considered for this study of the idea that the crusade could be a means to approach or imitate the figure of Christ. In ‘Le dit de la croisade de Tunis’ he cited Christ’s injunction in Matthew 10: 38 that ‘he is not worthy of me who will not take up his cross and follow me’. Rutebeuf wrote that Christ had said that ‘he is not worthy of me who will not leave everything for me; may he who wishes to follow me take the cross without delay!’.155 One of the reasons put forward in favour of taking the cross in ‘Le débat du croisé et du décroisé’ (which was also written during the period of preparations for Louis IX’s Tunisian crusade) was the example provided by the king ‘who wants to honour with his body he whom we hold as our Lord, who allowed himself to be torn to pieces on the cross’.156 It is hard to tell from this passage exactly what relationship the poet thought existed between Louis and Christ, and between Louis’s crusading and Christ’s suffering. The idea that Louis was ‘honouring’ Christ suggests there was still a great distance between the king and his Lord, but the passage as a whole does imply that Louis sought to associate himself through his actions with 150 Ibid., pp. 218–28. On the involvement of the laity in the eucharist in particular, M. Rubin, Corpus Christi: the eucharist in late medieval culture (Cambridge, 1991), pp. 12–82. 151 Maier, ‘Portraying the crusade’, in Crusade propaganda and ideology, p. 61. 152 Gilbert of Tournai, I, in Crusade propaganda and ideology, par. 16. 153 Gilbert of Tournai, III, in Crusade propaganda and ideology, par. 12. 154 Ibid., par. 15. 155 Rutebeuf, ‘Le dit de la croisade de Tunis’, in Oeuvres complètes, 2, pp. 348–9, ll. 82–3. 156 Rutebeuf, ‘Le débat du croisé et du décroisé’, in Oeuvres complètes, 2, pp. 366–7, ll. 147–9.

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Christ and his Passion. It is particularly interesting, for reasons that will be more fully explored in the next chapter, that the only possible references I have identified in secular literature to suffering on crusade as a means of enhancing an individual Christian’s relationship with Christ appear in relation to Louis IX’s crusade and the king’s own motivation as a crusader. Christ’s suffering was presented by both poets and preachers as a factor contributing to the need for crusades as wars of revenge. In secular literature the sufferings of crusaders were presented as a means by which to achieve this revenge, as the fulfilment of a duty to respond to Christ’s selfsacrifice in kind or as a dimension of the crusade as a penitential activity. It is, unsurprisingly, in the work of crusade preachers that the more theologically complex idea of an individual’s sufferings constituting the ultimate imitatio Christi may be found. According to this model a crusader did not only follow or turn to Christ but could achieve likeness to him. In this way the theme of suffering and the imitation of Christ follows the pattern set by the other themes considered in this chapter. Pilgrimage, service, the past, the dangers of crusading and martyrdom are themes that recur in sermons, songs, poems and chansons de geste, but in some cases preachers and poets touched upon them and exploited them in different ways. The framework of ideas that connected crusade and pilgrimage had been established at the time of the First Crusade and continued to be used readily by poets. It was used by preachers too, though perhaps with a greater awareness of ways in which the aims of thirteenth-century campaigns differed from those of the earliest crusades. The idea of crusading as an act of service was adapted and extended when the crusade was considered not only as an act of service to God but perhaps also to one’s temporal lord, or as an activity that interfered with one’s ability to serve love. The past was referred to in all our sources, but preachers were more likely to refer to the biblical past and poets to the crusading past or the imagined past of the chansons de geste. The dangers attached to sea-crossings and battles were presented in all our sources, but we would need to read secular literature to be aware of the fear attached to the threat of captivity. Examination of these themes in the work of preachers and poets has an interest in itself, but its purpose within this study has been to show that secular literature presented the nature and value of crusades in ways that preaching did not and vice versa. Any study of how potential crusaders may have understood the nature and value of this project therefore needs to consider exhortatory material produced not only by clerics and religious, but also that produced by laymen.

Chapter 4

The Practice of Crusading It is necessary to examine the extent to which the framework of ideas used by preachers and poets to describe the nature and value of crusading was shared by those who took part in and wrote about Louis IX’s crusades and other campaigns of the thirteenth century. The sources for such an examination encompass a wide range of material written by or associated with participants in these campaigns. This includes sermons and songs written in the context of crusades, letters and other documents such as charters that concerned the affairs of crusaders and, of course, the contents of narratives including John of Joinville’s Vie de Saint Louis. This study will pick up the same themes considered in the preceding chapter: the idea that the crusade could be a pilgrimage or an act of service, the memory and uses of the past, the dangers faced by crusaders, the possibility of achieving martyrdom and the value of the suffering endured by crusaders. These last two themes will be treated together for, as will be seen, they were united in John of Joinville’s view of Louis IX’s sanctity. It will be shown that the treatment of all the themes under consideration in sources relating to the course of crusades can reveal more about their place in crusade mentalities than the promotional material considered earlier in this study. Pilgrimage As has already been shown, while recruits may well have heard that crusading was an activity akin to pilgrimage, references to crusading as a form of service seem to have appeared more regularly in the work of preachers and poets. Is the relative understatement of the pilgrimage theme in these sources reflected in those relating to the conduct of crusade campaigns? The paragraphs that follow will consider the relationship between crusading and pilgrimage in word and deed. For, while it will be seen that the vocabulary of pilgrimage was inconsistently used to describe crusade campaigns and those who took part in them during the thirteenth century, continuing connections between these activities can be observed if we consider crusaders’ actions. References to a crusade as a pilgrimage (Latin ‘peregrinatio’ or Old French ‘pelerinage’) and to crusaders as pilgrims (‘peregrini’ or ‘pelerin’) appear in 109

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many chronicle accounts of thirteenth-century crusades.1 It is in these works, produced for the most part by religious who were not involved in the campaigns themselves, that the crusade’s status as a pilgrimage is referred to most clearly. Despite the fact that Louis IX’s first crusade was initially directed to Egypt, Matthew Paris emphasized the ultimate rather than immediate goal of this project when he wrote of the king’s departure from France in 1248 and that of William Longsword from England in the summer of 1249 as the beginning of their journeys to Jerusalem.2 Similarly, Primat’s chronicle described Louis’s departure on his second crusade as the start of the ‘holy voyage of Jerusalem’.3 Later in his account of this campaign Primat elaborated on the relationship between this crusade and the Jerusalem pilgrimage. He described how the leaders of the crusade decided to return to France leaving their vows unfulfilled. These vows demanded that they sail to the Holy Land to reach Jerusalem, visit the site of the Resurrection and other holy places and fight the Muslims who occupied the promised land. It was in order to fulfil this vow that Edward of England continued on to Syria after the departure of Philip III and the French from Tunisia, although an attempt on his life prevented his reaching Jerusalem.4 The terms of this vow are largely conventional; most texts recording the contents of crusade vows state that the crusader would go to Jerusalem as part of a general expedition and worship at the Holy Sepulchre. Participants in campaigns that did not reach the Holy City might undertake an additional journey in order to fulfil their vow.5 Many members of the French contingent appear not to have had the will or the ability to contemplate such an undertaking in 1270, and Primat clearly viewed this omission as worthy of comment. The central place of pilgrimage and the holy places in defining the crusade was enshrined in the vows taken by crusaders and described by Primat and Matthew Paris. The purpose of the following analysis of the use of crusading vocabulary in sources relating to Louis’s crusades is not to deny this fundamental connection between pilgrimage and crusading, but 1

‘Chronique de Primat traduite par Jean du Vignay’, in RHGF, 23, pp. 39, 40; ‘L’estoire de Eracles empereur et la conqueste de la terre d’outremer’, in RHC Occ., 2, pp. 413, 420; Matthew Paris, Chronica maiora, ed. H. Luard (Rolls Series 57, London, 1872–83), 7 vols, 5, pp. 71, 89–90; ‘Continuation de Guillaume de Tyr, de 1229 à 1261, dite du manuscrit de Rothelin’, in RHC Occ., 2, pp. 528, 532; Vincent of Beauvais, ‘Speculum historiale’, in Bibliotheca mundi seu speculi maioris Vincentii Burgundi, praesulis Bellovacensis (Douai, 1624), 4 vols, 4, pp. 1315, 1319; Salimbene of Adam, Cronica, ed. G. Scalia (Scrittori d’Italia 232–3, Bari, 1966), 2 vols, 2, p. 704. 2 Matthew Paris, Chronica maiora, 5, pp. 22, 76. 3 ‘Chronique de Primat’, p. 40. 4 Ibid., pp. 82–4. 5 J. Brundage, Medieval canon law and the crusader (Madison, Wisconsin, 1969), pp.116, 122–3.

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to question the extent of its significance to individual crusaders as they set about fulfilling their vows. I would argue that in some instances the vocabulary of pilgrimage appeared in sources because it served a practical purpose, rather than because their authors wished to say anything meaningful about the nature or value of crusading. When an agreement was drawn up between the French Crown and the port of Marseilles in August 1246 under which the city would supply ships for the coming voyage from France it was stated that these ships would carry pilgrims and their horses and supplies.6 The plaintiffs in the case brought against the owners of the ship the Saint Victor in 1250 were referred to collectively as pilgrims.7 The ruling on this case, issued by the court of Messina, described how the owners of the Saint Victor were accused of reneging on the terms of their agreement to carry a group of over 400 named men and women overseas. Benjamin Kedar’s examination of this document revealed how this large group consisted of individuals whose reasons for wishing to join Louis’s crusade army varied greatly. Among the men and women, laypersons and clerics mentioned there were likely to have been individuals who were going to take part in Louis’s intended Christian settlement of the area along the Nile, others on whom the crusade had been imposed by ecclesiastical or secular courts, and others who saw the crusade as a commercial opportunity, perhaps including women who would offer the disreputable services to the Christian army on which Joinville later commented.8 Among those listed there must have been some who did have specifically pious motives. The use of the word ‘pilgrims’ to sum up this group of people cannot tell us anything about the disposition or motivation of the individuals themselves. It is possible that the word ‘pilgrims’ was used in these documents because a term was needed that could refer collectively to a mass of people associated with a crusade but whose roles and motivations for involvement differed. The collective term ‘crucesignati’ could not properly be used in these instances because not all of those referred to had taken crusade vows. ‘Pilgrims’ provided a readily understandable but less legally precise alternative. In other instances the term ‘pilgrims’ was used to distinguish people who had come to the East for a limited period to fulfil a crusade vow from those who were permanently resident in the Levant, from members of the military orders and from mercenaries. When the author of the ‘Eracles’ chronicle 6 Layettes du trésor des chartes, ed. J. Teulet et al. (Paris, 1863–1909), 5 vols, 2, p. 633, number 3537. 7 Ibid., 3, pp. 103–106, number 3883. 8 B. Z. Kedar, ‘The passenger list of a crusader ship, 1250: towards the history of the popular element on the Seventh Crusade’, Studi medievali, third series, 13 (1972), 272–9; Vie, pars 171, 505.

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recounted how the members of the army of the Barons’ Crusade who had stayed to help refortify Ascalon decided to return to Europe in 1240 he said that the ‘pilgrims’ left ‘the other Christians’, presumably indicating resident Christians and members of military orders.9 Geoffrey of Sergines wrote to Louis IX from Acre in 1267 acknowledging his receipt of funds made available to him by the king. This money would enable Geoffrey and his colleague Erart of Vallery to retain a number of ‘pilgrim knights’ in the Holy Land.10 The men Geoffrey referred to in this instance were probably individuals who had come to Acre to serve with Louis’s Acre garrison on a voluntary basis, and who were therefore crusaders rather than mercenaries, but who were nonetheless in receipt of financial support.11 The same distinction accounts for the description of the arrival of a force of around 1 600 people at Acre before its eventual fall as consisting of ‘both pilgrims and soldiers, fighting men sent on behalf of the pontiff to aid the Holy Land’.12 It is possible to shed some light on the place of pilgrimage in the crusade mentality of those involved in Louis’s Egyptian crusade through letters sent back to Europe during the course of that crusade. The most well-known of these letters were those written by John Sarrasin, Robert of Artois and John of Beaumont immediately after the fall of Damietta in 1249, as well as the king’s own letter to the people of France sent from Acre in 1250. But a number of other letters have survived from this campaign, including two further letters on Damietta’s capture – written by a knight named Guy, a member of the household of the viscount of Melun, and by William of Sonnac, grand master of the Temple – transcribed by Matthew Paris as additions to his Chronica maiora.13 Matthew included another letter concerning the battle of Mansurah written by a Hospitaller knight.14 There is also a letter sent by Louis to his brother, Alphonse of Poitiers, from Caesarea in August 1251.15 The language used by the authors of these letters might suggest that they did not conceive of this crusade as a pilgrimage for they very rarely described themselves or their fellow participants as pilgrims. Of all the letters only 9

‘L’estoire de Eracles empereur et la conqueste de la terre d’outremer’, p. 422. G. Servois, ‘Emprunts de Saint Louis en Palestine et en Afrique’, Bibliothèque de l’Ecole des Chartes, fourth series, 4 (1858), 129. 11 J. Riley-Smith, ‘The Crown of France and Acre, 1254–1291”, in France and the Holy Land. Frankish culture at the end of the crusades, eds. D. Weiss and L. Mahoney (Baltimore and London, 2004), p. 48. 12 ‘De excidio urbis Acconis libri II’, in Veterum scriptorum et monumentorum historicum amplissima collectio, eds E. Martène and U. Durand (Paris, 1724–33), 9 vols, 5, cols. 759–60. 13 Matthew Paris, Chronica maiora, 6, pp. 155–62. 14 Ibid., pp. 191–7. This letter was stated in Matthew’s text as being written by a Templar although, as its editor Luard points out, its contents suggest that the author was in fact a Hospitaller knight. 15 Layettes, 3, pp. 139–40, number 3956. 10

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Robert of Artois’s and the knight Guy’s refer to pilgrims or pilgrimage. Robert described the Christian force as being made up of ‘our brother and the barons and pilgrims’.16 Guy wrote that the Christian army at Damietta was reinforced by the arrival of knights following a particular lord, members of the orders of the Temple and Hospital and pilgrims.17 These references to pilgrims are similar to those cited above from documents like the judgement issued by the court of Messina. Robert and Guy used the term ‘pilgrims’ to describe groups of people attached to their crusade that could not be categorized easily in any other way. Robert used this word to distinguish the mass of crusaders from those who headed the military and social hierarchy of the campaign, the king and the barons. Guy’s reference to pilgrims enabled him to sum up all the new arrivals in the crusade camp who could not be associated with a specific organization or individual. At other stages in his letter Robert of Artois wrote of ‘the lord king and his army’ and of ‘the Christian people’.18 Guy used the term ‘Christian army’ to describe the collected forces of the crusade.19 John of Beaumont referred to ‘the lord king and his army’ and to ‘the king, barons, knights and others’. He explained how God ‘for the exaltation of his holy name and of the Catholic faith returned [the city] to the Christians’.20 When John Sarrasin wished to describe the crusaders collectively he referred to ‘the Christian host’.21 In these instances the participants in the crusade were defined by either or both of two elements: their membership of or status within a fighting force and their adherence to the Christian faith. The wording of king Louis’s own letter to France in 1250, explaining the troubles that had beset the crusaders after their departure from Damietta and calling for renewed support from France, is strikingly similar to those of his colleagues. The letter refers to ‘the Christian men’ and to ‘knights of Christ’ but most frequently to the ‘Christian army’ and never to pilgrims or pilgrimage.22 The same is true of Louis’s letter to his brother.23 From the evidence of the vocabulary employed in these letters alone one would conclude that their writers defined the activities and roles of crusaders in military and religious terms, and not by equation with pilgrimage. 16

‘Lettre de Robert d’Artois à Blanche de Castille’, in Lettres Françaises du XIIIe siècle. Jean Sarrasin, lettre à Nicolas Arrode, ed. A. Foulet (Les classiques Français du moyen âge 43, Paris, 1924), p. 17. 17 Matthew Paris, Chronica maiora, 6, p. 160. 18 ‘Lettre de Robert d’Artois’, in Lettres Françaises du XIIIe siècle, pp. 17–18. 19 Matthew Paris, Chronica maiora, 6, pp. 159–60. 20 ‘Lettre de Jean de Beaumont, Chambrier de France, à Geoffroi de la Chapelle, Panetier de France’ in Lettres Françaises du XIIIe siècle, pp. 19–20. 21 ‘Lettre de Jean Sarrasin a Nicolas Arrode’, in Lettres Françaises du XIIIe siècle, pp. 1, 8. 22 ‘Epistola sancti Ludovici regis de captione et liberatione sua’, in Historiae Francorum scriptores, ed. F. Duchesne (Paris, 1636–49), 5 vols, 5, pp. 428, 429, 432. 23 Layettes, 3, pp. 139–40, number 3956.

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Not so John of Joinville, who described his crusade as a pilgrimage clearly and repeatedly in the Vie de Saint Louis. Although he sometimes used words such as ‘chevalerie’ (knighthood) to indicate his fellow crusaders, he referred to them most frequently as pilgrims, and to the campaign as a pilgrimage. It is apparent that to Joinville the word ‘pilgrims’ was not just a convenient collective term for the diverse mass that made up the bulk of the crusade army. He described the army landing at Damietta as being made up of ‘the king and the barons and the other pilgrims’, including the king and leaders among the pilgrims, not setting these groups apart from each other as Robert of Artois had done.24 Joinville also put the same words into other people’s mouths. Recounting Odo of Châteauroux’s relief when Louis decided to return to France in 1254, Joinville said that the legate referred to ‘the king, you [that is, Joinville] and the other pilgrims’.25 He also described the anger of the master of the Hospital that certain of his knights had affronted members of Joinville’s company. According to Joinville the master was distressed that ‘the brothers had done wrong to those who had come on pilgrimage to the Holy Land’.26 In this instance pilgrimage vocabulary was used, as we have seen it was used elsewhere, to distinguish crusaders from other Christians fighting in the East. Why might Joinville have chosen to use the language of pilgrimage to define the nature of the crusade and his role within it when some of those he fought alongside seem not to have done so? Joinville took part in pilgrimages at many points in his life and his strong personal commitment to this penitential activity may have had an impact on his perception of crusading. At one point in his crusade account he mentions having been a pilgrim to the shrine of Saint James, which may indicate that he had been to Compostela.27 He described how, before his departure from France in 1248, he undertook a barefoot pilgrimage to Blécourt, Saint-Urbain and other places near his home where saints’ relics were held. He did this after receiving the staff and purse of a pilgrim from the abbot of Cheminon.28 While in the East he undertook a pilgrimage to Our Lady of Tortosa29 and he marked his safe return to France with a journey to the shrine of Saint-Nicolas-du-Port at Varengéville. He took with him a silver ship Margaret of Provence had had made as a votive offering in recognition of having survived a storm at sea during their return voyage.30 While John of Joinville’s personal belief that pilgrimage was a 24

Vie, par. 146. Ibid., par. 611. 26 Ibid., par. 508. 27 Ibid., par. 438; H.-F. Delaborde, Jean de Joinville et les seigneurs de Joinville, suivi d’un catalogue de leurs actes (Paris, 1894), p. 78; E. Labande, ‘Saint Louis pèlerin’, Revue d’histoire de l’église de France, 57 (1971), 9–10. 28 Vie, par. 122. 29 Ibid., par. 597. 30 Ibid., par. 633 25

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valuable activity should be apparent from his actions, his association of the crusade with pilgrimage may also have been influenced by family tradition. In a charter recording a gift made by his father, Simon, before his intended departure for Languedoc in 1209 this was described as being done to advance the cause of ‘my pilgrimage against the Albigensians’.31 His personal commitment to pilgrimage in general and the possibility that he may have understood the crusading activities of his relatives as pilgrimages are reasons why Joinville might have been likely to define his own crusade as a pilgrimage and his fellow crusaders as pilgrims. But this cannot explain why colleagues like Robert of Artois and Louis IX did not do the same thing, especially when they associated crusading and pilgrimage in other ways. Jonathan Riley-Smith has suggested that in receiving the pilgrim staff and purse in a separate ceremony from that in which he took the cross Joinville was perhaps old-fashioned.32 If this was so then he was not unique in his anachronism. Before his departure on crusade in 1248 Louis also received the pilgrim insignia, though sources conflict as to whether this took place at the cathedral of Notre Dame or at the abbey of Saint-Denis.33 When Louis arrived at the chapter of Franciscans at Sens some days later he wore a pilgrim’s garb, as did his brothers.34 The king took the cross for the second time in 1267 and many of his barons did the same. It was many months later, in 1270, that Louis went with his sons and several of those barons to the abbey of Saint-Denis, where the king received the staff and purse of a pilgrim.35 Primat’s account of this event only states that Louis himself received these insignia, but it is possible that his children and vassals did too. This, along with the king’s persisting interest in visiting shrines and collecting relics, suggest a desire to fulfil the ideal of the miles peregrinus.36 While in the Holy Land during his first crusade the king had undertaken a pilgrimage to Nazareth. In the course of this pilgrimage he also visited other holy places including Cana and Mount Tabor. Louis 31

Chaumont, Archives Départementales de la Haute-Marne, ms. 5 H 8. J. Riley-Smith, The first crusaders, 1095–1131 (Cambridge, 1997), p. 81; J. Riley-Smith ‘What is the Histoire de Saint Louis of John of Joinville?’, typescript, unpublished paper, p. 11. 33 The chronicle of the Minstrel of Rheims reports that Louis received the staff and purse at Notre Dame, from where Louis, his brothers and their wives walked barefoot to Saint-Denis, ‘Fragment d’une chronique anonyme dite chronique de Reims’, in RHGF, 22, p. 311. This is the version of events accepted by W. C. Jordan, Louis IX and the challenge of the crusade. A study in rulership (Princeton, 1979), p.109, and J. Riley-Smith, The crusades. A short history (London, 1987), p. 160. William of Saint-Pathus stated that Louis received the pilgrim insignia at SaintDenis, ‘Vie de Saint Louis par le confesseur de Reine Marguerite’, in RHGF, 20, p. 67. This account account was favoured by Labande, ‘Saint Louis pèlerin’, p. 13 and J. Richard, Saint Louis, roi d’une France féodale, soutien de la Terre Sainte (Paris, 1983), p. 206. 34 Salimbene of Adam, Cronica, 1, p. 319. 35 ‘Chronique de Primat’, p. 40; William of Nangis, ‘Gesta sanctae memoriae Ludovici regis Franciae’, in RHGF, 20, pp. 440–41. 36 E. Siberry, Criticism of crusading, 1095–1274 (Oxford, 1985), p. 104. 32

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entered Nazareth barefoot as a sign of his humility and whilst in the city he fasted on bread and water, heard vespers, matins and mass and listened to a sermon delivered by Odo of Châteauroux. He later sought indulgences for those who had taken part in this pilgrimage.37 He might also have visited Jerusalem had his advisors not rejected the plan after lengthy debate.38 The king’s first crusade was thus an important episode in a life in which pilgrimages in France and overseas were recurring events.39 In his assessment of Louis’s crusade mentality, Etienne Delaruelle said that while the king’s knightly sensitivities meant he knew that the military success of his Egyptian crusade depended on it being something other than a pilgrimage, he nonetheless sought to express qualities and obligations associated with pilgrimage.40 Implicit in this analysis is a belief that Louis distinguished between the crusade as a collective project and as a personal one. The success of the crusade as a collective project relied on it being understood above all as a military campaign, while the success of the crusade as a personal project relied on private acts of penance such as those of pilgrimage. Michael Lower recognized this distinction at work in relation to the actions of prominent participants in the crusade campaigns of 1239 to 1241. Although these campaigns were not successful militarily, Thibaut IV of Champagne, Hugh IV of Burgundy and Richard of Cornwall were able to leave the Holy Land with a sense of personal spiritual fulfilment because they were able to visit and worship at the Holy Sepulchre and other holy places around Jerusalem before they departed for Europe.41 The expectation that Christians who came to the Levant would want to make such journeys and reap the penitential rewards of doing so is evident in the production in around 1280 of the Pelrinages et pardouns de Acre, a text describing holy sites in Jerusalem and the Holy Land and providing specific details of indulgences that could be gained from visiting churches in Acre, which was by this time one of the few remaining Christian holdings.42 37 Geoffrey of Beaulieu, ‘Vita et sancta conversatio piae memoriae Ludovici quondam regis Francorum’, in RHGF, 20, p. 14. 38 Vie, par. 554. 39 Labande, ‘Saint Louis pèlerin’, p.7. 40 E. Delaruelle, ‘L’idée de croisade chez Saint Louis’, Bulletin de littérature ecclesiastique, 61 (1960), 246, 250. 41 M. Lower, ‘Papal authority and the ‘Barons’ Crusade’ of 1239’, (unpublished PhD. dissertation, Cambridge University, 1999), pp. 252–3; ‘Continuation de Guillaume de Tyr, de 1229 à 1261, dite du manuscrit de Rothelin’, pp. 553–4, 556. Peter Jackson suggested that the ‘Rothelin’ chronicle’s statements about Richard of Cornwall’s pilgrimage should perhaps be treated with some caution as there was no mention of this event in Richard’s letter recounting the events of this period, transcribed by Matthew Paris. P. Jackson, ‘The crusades of 1239–41 and their aftermath’, Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies, 50 (1987), 47; Matthew Paris, Chronica maiora, 4, pp. 138–44. 42 ‘Pelrinages et pardouns de Acre’, in Itinéraires à Jérusalem et descriptions de la Terre Sainte rédigés en Français aux XIe, XIIe et XIIIe siècles, eds H. Michelant and G. Raynaud (Publication de la Société de l’Orient Latin, série géographique 3, Geneva, 1882), pp. 227–36.

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It is important that the distinction between the crusade as a collective project as opposed to a personal one is borne in mind when we consider the different ways in which pilgrimage seems to have played a role in the crusade mentality of John of Joinville and his contemporaries. I would argue that it is possible that for Joinville the crusade was first and foremost a personal project, while most of the laymen letter-writers may have conceived of it in collective terms because of their status and responsibilities within the army. Louis IX, Robert of Artois, John Sarrasin, and John of Beaumont would all have been involved in the processes of planning and executing the crusade: Louis as its instigator and leader, the others as members of his family or household. Although Joinville became a friend of the king, he was never a royal office-holder. Robert of Artois, John Sarrasin and John of Beaumont may have had a keener awareness of the demands of the crusade as a large-scale military campaign than Joinville, for whom a sense of the penitential value of his own journey was to define the nature of the project as a whole. For other men, and certainly for Louis, the association of crusade and pilgrimage was clearly present in their actions, in the vows they took, in the departure rituals they performed and in their efforts to visit holy places. But these were actions that took place on an individual basis and had a personal significance that they may have separated from the collective military objectives of their crusades. John of Joinville was therefore not unusual in connecting crusading and pilgrimage in the thirteenth century. He merely stands out from other laymen who wrote about their crusades by consistently asserting this connection through his vocabulary. It is quite possible that many other crusaders who shared Joinville’s status and experience would have expressed themselves in the same way, but we do not have the benefit of a written record of their ideas. This means that if Cathrynke Dijkstra’s analysis of songs promoting Louis’s campaign as a mass pilgrimage is correct,43 this was not the vision of the campaign held by its leaders. It is to other expressions of popular enthusiasm that we must look for evidence of the classless pro-crusading zeal these lyricists sought to inspire. Perhaps the Crusade of the Shepherds of 1251 was one such episode, though the origins and motives of this movement were treated with great suspicion by many contemporary clerical commentators and have thus defied easy identification by historians.44

43

See above, p. 79. M. Barber, ‘The Crusade of the Shepherds in 1251’, in Proceedings of the tenth annual meeting of the Western Society for French History, 14–16 October 1982, Winnipeg, ed. J. F. Sweets (Lawrence, Kansas, 1984), pp. 1–23, reprinted in M. Barber, Crusaders and heretics, 12th–14th centuries (Aldershot, 1995) essay IX. 44

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Service It was demonstrated in chapter three that preachers and poets used the familiar concept of service to describe connections between God and men, and the necessity it created for men to take the cross. It has also already been shown that the theme of service appeared in other ways in poems, songs and chansons de geste, first by suggesting that the crusade might have value as an act of service to one’s temporal lord, and second by suggesting that the need to go on crusade as an act of service to God might conflict with the demands imposed by earthly love. This section will pick up these strands and examine the way in which accounts of crusades used the concept of service to God as a means of describing the nature and value of the campaigns. But it is not just the concepts of service and of feudal ties that are relevant in considering the experiences of Joinville and his contemporaries. Service and feudal ties were also active forces in crusading, as in many other areas of knightly life, and might determine who took the cross and their behaviour on crusade. There are numerous references to the crusade as an act of service to God in documentary and narrative sources relating to crusades of the mid thirteenth century. In November 1246 Frederick II instructed his empire’s merchants that they should make grain and other supplies available to the forces of Louis’s crusade. The king was described as going to the Holy Land ‘to serve Christ’.45 When the king himself wrote to France in 1250 urging people to take the cross and provide reinforcements to his campaign after its defeat in Egypt he suggested the reciprocal nature of the service owed by men to God, saying that ‘we invite you all into the service of him who served us on the cross’.46 The concept of the crusade as service was also employed to suggest the significance or implications of the events of crusade campaigns, highlighting instances in which the behaviour of crusaders was deemed likely to be particularly pleasing or displeasing to God. So when the ‘Rothelin’ author described the proud and arrogant behaviour of the counts of Bar and Montfort that led to their defeat at Gaza in 1239 he said that ‘they learned indeed that Our Lord will not be served in this way’.47 In contrast, when Joinville recounted the death of his uncle, Josserand of Brancion, he said that this took place while Josserand was ‘in God’s service’.48 The significance of this event, and the strength of Josserand’s commitment to the service of God, was emphasized further in the Vie de Saint Louis. Joinville reported that he had witnessed Josserand express his 45 46 47

Layettes, 2, p. 642, number 3563. ‘Epistola sancti Ludovici’, p. 432. ‘Continuation de Guillaume de Tyr, de 1229 à 1261, dite du manuscrit de Rothelin’, p.

542. 48

Vie, par 276.

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frustration at fighting fellow Christians and plead with God that he might die in his service.49 Josserand’s death on crusade was thus an answer to this prayer and an acknowledgement of this knight’s service to his Lord. Some of the sources just cited referred to crusading not only as an act of service to God, but also as a way to fulfil one’s duties to one’s temporal lord. In his letter to France Louis included among the reasons why his knightly subjects should take the cross a desire to replicate the actions of their crusading ancestors, who had obeyed their lords’ wishes when the time called for it.50 While Joinville focused on Josserand of Brancion’s crusade as an act of service to God, in other instances he described crusaders as serving both spiritual and temporal lords. When he presented his arguments in favour of Louis’s remaining in the Levant in 1250 he spoke of the king’s responsibility to those Christians who remained in captivity and had been captured while ‘in God’s service and yours’.51 The idea of the crusade as a dual service is also used in relation to these prisoners in the song ‘Nus ne porroit de mauvese reson’, where it is said that they suffered ‘for you [that is Louis, the song’s addressee] and for Jesus Christ’.52 Interestingly, this is the song that Gaston Paris suggested may have been written by Joinville.53 Elsewhere in the Vie de Saint Louis Joinville suggested that he was not alone among his contemporaries in perceiving the crusade as the fulfilment of an individual’s responsibilities to two lords. In this case, though, these dual responsibilities were potentially conflicting rather than complementary. Joinville described how, while at Paris in 1267 for Louis’s second cross-taking, he overheard two men discussing the prospect of a new crusade. One of them summed up the dilemma facing them thus: ‘if we do not take the cross then we will lose the king, and if we do take the cross then we will lose God, for we would not be taking the cross for him but out of fear of the king.’ 54 This man’s assessment of the situation in which he and his colleagues found themselves in 1267 tells us that their decision as to whether or not to take part in a crusade would have to take into consideration the desire of their temporal lord that they should do so. There is no suggestion here that Louis had a right to demand participation from his vassals, but there is a clear suggestion that he would make his desire for their participation clearly known. The potential impact of a powerful man’s decision to take the cross on the enthusiasm for the campaign of those around him is indicated by the 49

Ibid., pars 277–8. ‘Epistola sancti Ludovici’, p. 432. 51 Vie, par. 427. 52 Anonymous, ‘Nus ne porroit de mauvese reson’, in Les chansons de croisade, eds J. Bédier and P. Aubry (Paris, 1909), p. 265, ll. 41–5. 53 See above, p. 61. 54 Vie, par. 733. 50

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records of an embassy sent by Louis to Charles of Anjou during the preparation for the French king’s second crusade. He called on his brother to take the cross in order ‘to give example and encouragement to other people’.55 While the general importance of the involvement of prominent individuals in wider crusade recruitment is apparent, the more specific role played by feudal ties in this process is not always clear. Nevertheless, Simon Lloyd has asserted the significance of such ties and highlighted the need for historians to take these and other social and political relationships into consideration.56 While legal texts of the thirteenth century might stipulate the military service a lord could demand of his vassals in the situation of a domestic conflict,57 the context of the crusade was fundamentally different because of the vow made by each participant, which was to be made freely and on an individual basis.58 This explains why there is no mention of crusading as a feudal obligation in law books of this period, but it does not mean that crusading was never felt to be a duty or requirement by those whose lords took part. The paragraphs that follow demonstrate some of the ways in which feudal and contracted service contributed to crusade recruitment and motivation. Several interesting examples relating to the operation of feudal relationships in the recruitment for Louis IX’s crusades concern vassals of the Crown in Languedoc. This should be no surprise. Languedoc had come under the control of the French king under the terms of the 1229 treaty of Paris with which the Albigensian crusades were ended, but efforts to make this control effective and to quell rebellions against Capetian rule in the region continued in the decades that followed.59 The task faced by the French king was complicated because of what has been seen as the traditional resistance of land-holders in Languedoc to submitting themselves to an overlord or performing military service in return for a fief.60 It has been argued that Louis used the recruitment of formerly rebellious lords to his first crusade in order to remove a possible threat to France’s internal peace during his absence,61 and this is no doubt true, but crusade recruitment might also play a role in binding the interests of the monarchy and its new vassals in Languedoc more closely together. Jean Richard suggests that one general consequence of crusade campaigns could be to bring the kings of France and 55

Layettes, 4, p. 225, number 5286. S. Lloyd, English society and the crusade, 1216–1307 (Oxford, 1988), pp. 4–5. 57 The Etablissements de Saint Louis. Thirteenth-century law texts from Tours, Orléans and Paris, trans. F. R. P. Akehurst (Philadelphia, 1996), pp. 41–2. 58 Brundage, Medieval canon law and the crusader, p. 45. 59 E. M. Hallam and J. Everard, Capetian France, 987–1328 (second edition, Harlow, 2001), pp. 326–9. 60 M. Barber, The Cathars: dualist heretics in Languedoc in the high middle ages (Harlow, 2000), p. 55. 61 Jordan, Louis IX and the challenge of the crusade, p. 20. 56

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their baronage closer together.62 The more particular significance of crusade campaigns in the process of rehabilitating careers damaged by rebellion has been noted in relation to members of Robert of Normandy’s contingent on the First Crusade and members of Edward of England’s contingent who had taken part in the Montfortian rebellions of the 1260s on the crusade of 1270.63 The role crusading played in uniting the parties in newly-established feudal relationships will be considered in greater detail in the next chapter in relation to the career of one former supporter of the Albigensian cause, Oliver of Termes.64 At this stage my concern is more limited: to demonstrate that the Capetians used their status as feudal overlords in this region to draw prominent noblemen into their crusades. This was the case with the most prominent of Languedoc’s rebels, Raymond VII of Toulouse. Although the count had first promised to go on crusade under the terms of the 1229 settlement this pledge was not brought to fruition in the years that followed, despite continued vocal concern expressed by the papacy. Louis IX played a significant role in persuading the papacy to be patient with Raymond during these delays.65 But when Louis himself took the cross, he wanted to ensure that Raymond would join him. When Louis wrote to the count in May 1248, granting 20 000 livres parisis for his crusade preparations, it was said that the count was undertaking this project ‘for the service of Christ, but also on account of the king’s love and insistence in the matter’.66 In the same month Innocent IV, who was naturally enthusiastic when it appeared that Raymond’s crusade vow would finally be fulfilled, wrote to Louis urging him to foster a good relationship with his former enemy and to grant him that love which a father gives to his son and a lord to his vassal.67 Louis had also reserved the right to call on Raymond Trencavel to join his crusade. In January 1247 the king wrote to the seneschal of Carcassonne informing him that an annual rent might be granted to Trencavel on condition that he seek absolution and be ready to take the cross if Louis so desired.68 Quite how the crusade might have contributed to the development of Louis’s relationship with Raymond of Toulouse will never be known as the count died shortly before he was due to depart for the East. Following Raymond’s death the county of Toulouse passed to Alphonse of Poitiers who ruled in the name of his wife, Joan, Raymond’s daughter and heir under the 62 J. Richard, ‘Les états féodaux et les conséquences de la croisade’, in Etat et colonisation au moyen âge et à la renaissance, ed. M. Balard (Lyon, 1989), p. 189. 63 Riley-Smith, The first crusaders, pp. 91–2; Lloyd, English society and the crusade, p. 132. 64 See below, pp. 152–70. 65 Jordan, Louis IX and the challenge of the crusade, p. 17. 66 Layettes, 3, p. 32, number 3672. 67 Ibid., 3, p. 30, number 3665. 68 C. Devic and J. Vaissete, Histoire générale de Languedoc (revised edition, Toulouse, 1872–1905), 16 vols, 8, cols 1207–8.

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terms of the 1229 settlement. As well as taking on the land and title of Toulouse, Alphonse took on the task of establishing Capetian control in this potentially turbulent region. Fulfilment of this task would require the effective exercise of feudal relationships. The role that might be played by the crusade in this process is illustrated by the case of Barral of Baux. The status of the town of Avignon and the lands of the Venaissin were unclear in the period before Louis’s first crusade. But when Alphonse of Poitiers and Charles of Anjou returned from the East in 1250 to take possession of their counties of Toulouse and Provence this territory was under their sphere of influence. Barral of Baux was among those who had sought to take advantage of possible confusion in the early phases of Charles’s and Alphonse’s lordships. Avignon had asserted its status as a republic with Barral as its podestà, and refused to recognize Alphonse’s authority. In March 1250 Barral promised Blanche of Castile that he would do all he could to bring Avignon to submit to Alphonse, but he did not bring this about: Avignon continued to resist the count’s rule.69 Another opportunity for Barral to show his willingness to co-operate with Alphonse’s rule came after the count took the cross for a second time in October 1252. In 1253 Barral submitted to Alphonse and was granted lands in the Venaissin that he had formerly held from Raymond of Toulouse.70 Barral’s performance of homage for these lands and his accompanying promises to serve Alphonse loyally are recorded in a document that also details Barral’s readiness to join the count in his proposed campaign to the Holy Land and to take ten knights and ten crossbowmen at his own expense.71 Although these two issues, the performance of homage and the promise to go on crusade, are treated separately in the document the fact that they are recorded together is striking. The document does not state that Barral’s decision to commit himself to this planned crusade was a consequence of his being Alphonse’s vassal and performing homage to him but there was a strong association between these two occurrences. Although Alphonse’s plans to lead a force to the Holy Land in the 1250s came to nothing, Barral did play an active part in the Capetians’ subsequent crusading projects. In 1265 his vow was commuted to allow him to participate in Charles of Anjou’s campaigns in Italy.72 From this involvement he gained the status first of podestà of Milan and later justiciar of the Sicilian Regno and perhaps count of Avellino.73 69

Layettes, 3, pp. 97–8, number 3854; Devic and Vaissete, Histoire générale de Languedoc, 6, p. 814. 70 Layettes, 3, p. 173, number 4036. 71 Ibid., 3, pp. 174–5, number 4037. 72 Les registres de Clement IV (1265–1268), ed. E. Jordan (Paris, 1893–1945), 2 vols, 1, pp. 488–9, number 1677. 73 J. Dunbabin, Charles I of Anjou: power, kingship and state-making in thirteenth-century Europe (Harlow, 1998), p. 124.

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An obligation to serve a lord militarily did not only occur in the context of a feudal relationship. Service of this sort might also be bought under the terms of a contract. Simon Lloyd has analysed in detail the numerous documents recording the formal arrangements for paid service established by Edward of England with members of his contingent on the crusade of 1270, made in order to fulfil his own formal obligations to Louis IX.74 There is also evidence that this had been normal practice in France before this time. The records of Louis’s expenses during his first crusade refer to payments made to knights and other participants,75 and the arrangement agreed between the king and John of Joinville for the latter’s continued service in the East for a fixed sum suggests how a contract might have been made.76 Unfortunately there is not the same quantity or quality of documentation available for France as that on which Lloyd was able to draw for England. Nevertheless, Alphonse of Poitiers’s preparations for Louis’s second crusade do give some more detailed evidence for contracted service. His commitment to this project is evident in his personal involvement in the process of financing his crusade contingent. This saw him willing to draw on exceptional sources of revenue, including the sale of woodland in the county of Toulouse.77 He also went to great efforts to secure the best possible human resources for his contingent. He sought to engage the services of skilled craftsmen, writing to the siege engineer Master Assault of Marseilles in May 1268 offering a fee of five sous tournois per day if he would join the crusade for one year. Unfortunately for Alphonse this proposal could go no further as Assault was already in the service of the king of Castile who would not grant him permission to accept the count’s offer.78 In this instance a pre-existing contract of service prevented Assault from joining a crusade. Alphonse would have supported him financially during at least one year of this crusade, but Assault’s status as a crusader rather than as a mercenary would have been dependent on his taking a crusade vow. In this case the opportunity to proceed with the proposed arrangement was denied to Asaault and we cannot know whether he would have done so. 74 Lloyd, English society and the crusade, pp. 115–23. The record of the arrangements made between Louis and Edward at Paris in 1269 may be found in Diplomatic documents preserved in the Public Record Office, volume I (1101–1272), ed. P. Chaplais (London, 1964), pp. 293–5, number 419. 75 ‘Dépenses de Saint Louis de 1250 à 1253’, in RHGF, 21, p. 513. 76 Vie, par. 441. 77 Y. Dossat, ‘Alfonse de Poitiers et la préparation financière de la croisade de Tunis: les ventes de forêts (1268–1270)’, in Septième centenaire de la mort de Saint Louis. Actes des colloques de Royaumont et Paris (21–27 Mai 1970) (Paris, 1976), pp. 121–32. 78 Correspondence administrative d’Alfonse de Poitiers, ed. A. Molinier (Paris, 1894–1900), 2 vols, 1, pp. 505–6, number 783, and pp. 603–4, number 937.

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It seems certain that others of those who went to Tunisia in Alphonse’s pay would have taken vows. In 1268 Alphonse also sent letters to his seneschals of Poitou and of Toulouse and Albi asking them to persuade knights in these regions to join the crusade. He instructed the seneschal of Poitou to seek out the most useful and willing knights and to move them with the finest words he could muster to take part in Alphonse’s campaign. The count would meet the expenses of the knights and their retinues.79 His letter to the seneschal of Toulouse and Albi laid down potential limits on the sums Alphonse would pay for such knights, who would be going ‘to the land of Outremer in the service of God and ourselves’. The knights could expect to receive a sum of up to 160 livres tournois for one year’s service, although Alphonse said this sum might be increased in certain cases. In return the count would expect the complete co-operation of the knights with his crusading plans. They would have to ‘move when we will move, to take the path that we will take, to set sail from the port from which we will set sail and to land at that at which we will land, or not according to our express commandment’.80 The statement that these knights would serve God and Alphonse implies that they may have been bound to God by a crusade vow, as well as to the count by a contract, but it is apparent that under the terms of this arrangement it was the latter of these ties that would determine the course of the individual’s involvement with the crusade. In some cases Alphonse was willing to offer not only cash payments to those who would take part in his crusade. Humbert of Bouzagues was to receive a perpetual rent of 80 livres tournois in return for joining Alphonse’s crusade with ten knights. Humbert seems to have had difficulties raising this force as additions to the documentation recording his agreement reveal that his force had been reduced to three knights and his rent to 20 livres tournois.81 The concept of service could usefully describe the relationship between God and men and the duty to crusade that arose from it. Service as an active force also had a role in involving individuals in crusading as a consequence of feudal ties or formal contracts. Where John of Joinville’s Vie de Saint Louis makes its strongest contribution to the study of this theme is in enabling us to examine how the dependencies and obligations created by feudal ties impacted on men’s behaviour and effectiveness in the environment of the crusade. In his view a successful military unit was one in which the members were bound to each other by ties of kinship or vassalage and in which internal harmony was maintained by its leader. Hence Joinville 79

Ibid., 1, pp. 370–72, number 604. Ibid., 1, pp. 521–2, number 811. 81 Ibid., 2, pp. 288–9, number 1643 and pp. 333–4, number 1713; E. Boutaric, Saint Louis et Alfonse de Poitiers (Paris, 1870), p. 117. 80

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recounted the necessity of reconciling two members of his following before the arrival of the Christian army in Egypt in order that they should not embark on their crusade with any enmity between them,82 and commented with enthusiastic but unsurprised approval on the performance of Guy Mauvoisin’s contingent during the battle of Mansurah, which consisted almost entirely of knights to whom Guy was related or who were his liegemen.83 Chivalrous values reserved particular praise for those who were willing to place their own life at risk in order to protect their lord from danger.84 An example of failure to live up to this ideal was presented in Villehardouin’s account of the Fourth Crusade, which reported the allegation that one Anseau of Remi, who was the liegeman of Thierry of Looz, had abandoned his lord in a battle in 1207 during which Thierry was taken prisoner.85 This should be contrasted with the example set by Geoffrey of Sergines and reported to Joinville by Louis IX himself. During the retreat of Louis’s crusade army to Damietta the king, who was on horseback, was defended by Geoffrey from those Muslims who tried to attack or come near to him ‘as the good servant protects his master’s cup from flies’.86 It remains to consider whether the issue of the potentially conflicting demands of service to love and to the Lord are evident in any accounts of crusading itself in the middle of the thirteenth century. It was shown that this was a theme present in numerous song lyrics and it has been argued that the demands of courtly love posed ‘an acute social problem’ to crusaders.87 While it is difficult to prove that this was not so, I have found little or no evidence in material relating to actual crusade campaigns that might support this theory. The only reference to the crusade’s interference in the pursuit of love of which I am aware occurs in Raoul of Soissons’s song, ‘He! Cuens d’Anjou’, which has been dated to the years from 1252 to 1254. This song and one other by Raoul stand out from other love songs referring to the crusades because they describe crusade campaigns that have already 82

Vie, par. 154. Ibid., par. 247. 84 M. Strickland, War and chivalry. The conduct and perception of war in England and Normandy, 1066–1217 (Cambridge, 1996), p. 103. 85 Geoffrey of Villehardouin, La conquête de Constantinople, ed. E. Faral (Les classiques de l’histoire de France au moyen âge 18 and 19, Paris, 1938–39), 2 vols, 2, pp. 298–9; J. Longnon, Les compagnons de Villehardouin. Recherches sur les croisés de la quatrième croisade (Hautes études médiévales et modernes 30, Geneva, 1978), pp. 108–9. 86 Vie, pars 308–9. 87 C. Morris, ‘Propaganda for war: the dissemination of the crusading ideal in the twelfth century’, in The Church and war. Papers read at the twenty-first summer meeting and the twenty-second winter meeting of the Ecclesiastical History Society, ed. W. J. Sheils (Studies in Church history 20, Oxford, 1983) p. 98. Morris’s comments were made with particular reference to the context of the Third Crusade when the earliest such love songs, such as Conon of Béthune’s ‘Ahi, amors! con dure departie’ were produced. 83

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happened, rather than those that are forthcoming.88 They may refer to the events and experiences of Raoul’s own crusades. In the case of ‘He! Cuens d’Anjou’, the reference would seem to be to Raoul’s experience of captivity during Louis’s first crusade. Raoul’s song declares that love is the greatest lord any man can know and that love tested him during his time in Syria and Egypt, where he was taken prisoner. Despite these trials love retained its power over Raoul, who is held permanently captive by its force.89 Of course this song may constitute a sincere and accurate expression of the consequences of Raoul’s crusade and captivity on his emotional life. It is impossible to state this with confidence, however, because of the conventions that influenced the production of all such lyrics. In consequence it is also impossible to signal any visible impact of the ideal of courtly love on actual experiences of the crusade in the thirteenth century. The absence of the theme of the crusade producing conflict between the demands of service to love and service to God from sources relating to the conduct of crusade campaigns is only one way in which their contents depart from the framework of ideas concerning service outlined in the last chapter. Examples from the lives and writings of John of Joinville and his contemporaries echo the belief that crusaders served God as a lord, and that they could at the same time perform service to their temporal lord. But their examples can also add much more to our understanding of the relationship between service and crusading than the works of other ecclesiastical and secular authors do. Through the evidence for the recruitment efforts of Alphonse of Poitiers we can see how service on crusade was summoned or paid for by a powerful lord, who might in the process establish or reaffirm his ties to those who served him. John of Joinville’s Vie de Saint Louis demonstrates that service of one’s temporal lord on crusade was not only conceived of as a moral obligation but also as an honour. The conduct of individuals towards their earthly overlords was, like their conduct towards God, worthy of comment. Memory and uses of the past In my examination of the presentation of the crusade to potential participants it was seen that the actions of previous generations were a source of inspiration. Model sermons sought to incite men to action by reminding them of the struggles of heroes of the biblical and crusading past. The 88 M.-N. Toury, ‘Raoul de Soissons: hier la croisade’, in Les Champenois et la croisade. Actes des quatrièmes journées rémoises, 27–28 Novembre 1987, eds Y. Bellenger and D. Quéruel (Paris, 1989), p. 98. 89 Raoul of Soissons, ‘He! Cuens d’Anjou’, in Die Lieder Raouls von Soissons, ed. E. Winkler (Halle, 1914), pp. 46–8.

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actions of earlier crusaders, particularly those of the First Crusade, were referred to frequently in secular literature, which also made allusion to the crusades or crusade-like holy wars described in chansons de geste. This section will consider how the past encroached on experiences of crusade campaigns in the thirteenth century. It will be seen that the different types of history used in the presentation of imagined or prospective crusades – biblical, crusading and epic – were also referred to in relation to contemporary campaigns and crusading careers, though in different ways and to different effect. Louis’s letter of 1250 ended with an appeal for those who read or heard its contents to come to the assistance of the king and the other Christians who had remained in the East. One of the ways in which Louis hoped to elicit a positive reponse was by calling on French men and women to reproduce the actions of their ancestors.90 This appeal might have had an effect as a general evocation of the achievements of previous generations of Frenchmen in the crusades from the late eleventh century onwards. It may also have had a more specific relevance to those individuals whose own relatives had contributed to the crusade movement in the more recent past. One of the striking features of the references to the crusading past in narratives of thirteenth-century campaigns is the concentration on events relating to immediately preceding generations rather than the glorious, but perhaps also somewhat distant, examples set by the heroes of the First Crusade. Louis’s reference to the crusading past was exhortatory. In other letters and narratives concerning Louis’s Egyptian crusade, and particularly in the Vie de Saint Louis, the crusading past appears in different ways: as a measure of successes and failures or as a guide to future actions. Several examples of such uses of the crusading past appear in accounts of the capture of Damietta in 1249. This is far from surprising as those who took part in this event could draw direct parallels with the fall of the same city to the forces of the Fifth Crusade in 1219. The lengthy and arduous siege that John of Brienne and his colleagues had had to undertake was a key event in the crusading activities of the generation preceding Louis’s own. Joinville was well aware of these events, in which his own father, Simon, had taken part. He compared the events that took place at Damietta ‘in our fathers’ time’ with those of 1249 in order to highlight the great grace shown by God to Louis’s army in allowing them to take the city swiftly.91 This comparison was also made in the letter of John Sarrasin, who after having described the relative ease with which the city fell in 1249, recalled that it was only ‘by great travails and by great labours’ that the same had been achieved in 1219.92 90 91 92

‘Epistola sancti Ludovici’, p. 432. Vie, par. 165. ‘Lettre de Jean Sarrasin à Nicholas Arrode’, in Lettres Françaises du XIIIe siècle, p. 9.

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Memories of the course of the Fifth Crusade were not only useful to Joinville and his colleagues as a point of comparison. They were also a source of practical guidance. Hence both John Sarrasin and Robert of Artois mentioned that the leaders of the crusade army in 1249 knew that they should not leave Damietta until the Nile floods had subsided because the crusade of 1219 had been hampered by them.93 The events of the Fifth Crusade were referred to by Joinville’s fellow crusaders in order to emphasize the importance of precedent in governing their conduct. After the fall of Damietta in 1249 the king called John of Vallery to him and told him of his intention that John should distribute the 6000 livres of valuables found in the city as he saw fit while the king would retain all the provisions. John insisted that he could not do as Louis wished because this would be to ignore the custom established in the Holy Land and followed by John of Brienne in 1219 that dictated that the spoils of the Christian victory should simply be divided into thirds, one going to the king and two to the rest of the army.94 Joinville also reported that Louis was reminded of the precedent set by Richard of England’s refusal to visit Jerusalem during his crusade on the grounds that to do so would be immoral when the Holy City was left in infidel hands. The French king was told that he should be particularly mindful of Richard’s example as his own actions could set a further damaging precedent: if Louis, the greatest of all Christian kings, went on pilgrimage to Jerusalem without securing its deliverance then those who came after him might feel that they could do the same.95 When John of Joinville made comparisons between the events of his crusade and conflicts of the past he did not not only refer to the crusading past. I have already demonstrated that one of the themes preachers of the cross might develop was an association between the crusades of the thirteenth century and the struggles of God’s chosen people as described in scripture. Joinville did refer to the biblical past, but not in quite the same way. His only comparison of the events of Louis’s first crusade with those of the Old Testament did not concern warfare for the faith but rather the failings of the crusade army. God’s treatment of his people in the biblical past was a standard point of reference for those wishing to propound the peccatis exigentibus theory in order to explain Christian failures.96 So when Joinville described how the crusaders after the fall of Damietta in 1249 besmirched their success by indulging in proud and excessive behaviour he wrote that ‘our Lord could speak of us as he spoke of the children of Israel, when he said et pro nichilo habuerant terram desiderabilem. And what did he say after that? 93

Ibid., p. 9; ‘Lettre de Robert d’Artois à Blanche de Castille’, in Lettres Françaises du XIIIe siècle, p. 18. 94 Vie, pars. 168–9. 95 Ibid., pars. 554–7. 96 Siberry, Criticism of crusading, pp. 79–80.

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He said that they had forgotten God, who had saved them.’97 Thus it was not only the near past that provided Joinville with examples of successes and failures against which to measure current events. It has been suggested that Joinville’s introduction of this and other references to the biblical past show that he was detached from the here-and-now of his own time, confounding the crusading present with the scriptural past to create an ‘intemporality’ or Christian timelessness.98 This is not the case. While it is certainly true that Joinville related events and locations featuring in his own crusade to those mentioned in scripture this does not mean that he conflated past and present. So, when Joinville recounted a journey he made with Louis while the crusade army was stationed at Safad during which they attended mass at a church where it was said that Christ had performed a miracle, he cited John the Evangelist’s statement that this miracle had taken place ‘in parte Tyri et Sidonis, for at that time the city I have called Sur [Tyre] was called Tyri; and the city that I have called Sayette [Sidon], Sydoine’.99 Rather than confounding the biblical past and crusader present, Joinville is very clear that cirumstances, including place names, had changed since the days of Christ and the Evangelist. What seems to have been important to Joinville was that he could set the events of his own day in the same physical context as that in which Christ had performed his miracles. Apparently it was not only to Joinville that the association of physical locations with the biblical past was important. Louis had particularly wanted to fortify one site on the road between Jaffa and Jerusalem that was said to have been the location of a fortress in the time of the Maccabees.100 John of le Vignay’s translation of the chronicle written by Primat also contains references to the biblical past in order to illustrate events in the Holy Land in the thirteenth century, though in a much more colourful manner than the Vie de Saint Louis. In recounting the fall of Antioch to the Mamluks in 1268 Primat first compared the violence of the Muslim assault with that of Herod’s slaughter of the Innocents and continued with an evocation of the glorious Christian past of the city which was a site of Peter the Apostle’s preaching and a noble seat of patriarchs and princes formerly conquered through the shedding of much Christian blood.101 Primat seems to have had a fondness for setting the events of crusades against dramatic historical backgrounds. When he described the capture of the castle at 97

Vie, par. 166. Joinville cited Psalms 106: 24. F. Laurent, ‘La Vie de Saint Louis ou le miroir des saints’, in Le prince et son historien. La Vie de Saint Louis de Joinville, eds J. Doufournet and L. Harf (Collection Unichamp 55, Paris, 1997), p. 166. 99 Vie, par. 590. 100 Ibid., par. 552. 101 ‘Chronique de Primat’, p. 21. 98

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Carthage by the forces of Louis’s second crusade the scale of this achievement was inflated by his description of this as a place of ancient renown, founded by Dido, with fortifications and forces which had been of such strength that it cost the Romans much time, blood and a number of defeats in battle before it was finally taken by the empire.102 Obviously the past evoked here is neither the past of the Bible nor that of the crusades. This passage betrays an interest on its author’s part in the classical past which may have been fuelled by the availability of texts in the vernacular based on works such as the Aeneid. The story told in Virgil’s poem, including Aeneas’s voyage to Carthage, was reworked by the author of an Old French romance in the late twelfth century.103 The Aeneid also provided material for writers in the new genre of vernacular prose history, exemplified by thirteenth-century accounts of the ancient past, such as the Histoire ancienne jusqu’à César and Li fet des Romains.104 I am aware of no such reference to the ancient past in any narrative or documentary source produced by or relating directly to an individual who took part in crusades or the defence of the Christian East. Allusions or direct references to the epic past of the chansons de geste are similarly thin on the ground, though not completely absent. The unknown author of De excidio urbis Acconis, who was probably not an eye-witness to the fall of Acre in 1291,105 described the Christian defenders of that city preparing to face the final Muslim onslaught before its loss as being comparable to Roland, Oliver and Renaut.106 The last of these names probably refers to the chanson de geste hero Renaut of Montauban. Roland and Oliver were referred to again in the epitaph of John Eppes, who died in 1293.107 This verse epitaph, no longer extant but apparently composed soon after John’s death, was formerly to be found in the church of Saint Vincent at Laon. It reports John’s achievements in tournaments in France and in wars fought further afield, in Apulia, Tunisia, Calabria, Abruzzi and Romagna. In all of his battles he showed his 102

Ibid., pp. 47–8. Eneas, roman du XIIe siècle, ed. J. Salverda de Grave (Les classiques Français du moyen âge 44 and 62 Paris, 1925–29), 2 vols. 104 There is currently no edition of the Histoire ancienne jusqu’à César, though for an indication of its provenance and contents see: G. Spiegel, Romancing the past: the rise of vernacular prose historiography in thirteenth-century France (Los Angeles and Oxford, 1993), pp. 114–16; P. Meyer, ‘Les premières compilations Françaises d’histoire ancienne’, Romania, 14 (1885), 36–75. The events recounted in Li fet des Romains took place in the period following the fall of Carthage to Scipion the Great, although references to the city’s foundation by Dido and to Scipion’s achievement were made repeatedly. See for example Li fet des Romains, eds L.-F. Flutre and K. Sneyders de Vogel (Paris and Gröningen, 1938), 2 vols, 1, pp. 452, 491, 394, 441. 105 S. Schein, Fideles crucis. The papacy, the West, and the recovery of the Holy Land, 1274–1314 (Oxford, 1991), p. 115. 106 ‘De excidio urbis Acconis’, col. 776. 107 Gallia Christiana, in provincias ecclesiasticas distributa (Paris, 1715–1865, repr. Farnborough, 1970), 16 vols, 9, cols 571–2. 103

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great love for God through suffering great hardships.108 The poet who wrote John’s epitaph said his feats of arms shown in these campaigns were such as to surpass those of Oliver and Roland. The listing of the fields of battle on which John tourneyed and warred is reminiscent of the description of the theatres of war in northern and eastern Europe, Spain, Asia Minor and north Africa in which Chaucer’s knight showed his mettle.109 There is a formulaic quality to the description of John Eppe’s military achievements, visible most clearly in his being compared to Roland and Oliver. In this respect John’s epitaph contrasts strikingly with that composed by Joinville for his great-grandfather’s tomb, which demonstrates both his detailed knowledge of his ancestors’ careers and his affection for their memory.110 Joinville’s awareness of and interest in the epic histories of the chansons de geste is evident in his use of the conventions of this genre, which was highlighted in chapter two above.111 This makes the absence of references to the heroes or events described in such works in his crusade narrative more worthy of note. For him the written history that had value in setting the scene for his crusade or describing its importance was that of the Bible. The crusading past, and particularly the recent crusading past which was likely to have been spoken of widely in France, also had a role to play in the context of the crusade but this role was often more functional, providing a means to measure progress or a guide to conduct. Of course we cannot extrapolate from Joinville’s example any judgement as to the memory and use of the past among his contemporaries. But the total absence of references to the epic past in the letters of his colleagues and the small number of such references in other narrative accounts suggests that there may have been a wider perception that the chansons de geste provided rousing and exemplary stories rather than reflections of actual crusading experiences. The Dangers of Crusading Chapter three examined the depiction by preachers and poets of some of the dangers inherent in crusading. It described how the risk of physical harm or death created by the necessity of crossing the sea and taking part in battles were themes present in all sermons and verse. Additional dangers, and particularly that of being taken captive, were not mentioned or alluded to 108 On John Eppes’s activities in Italy as Charles of Anjou’s seneschal and rector of pope Martin IV in Romagna and on this epitaph see N. Housley, The Italian crusades: the Papal–Angevin alliance and the crusades against Christian lay powers, 1254–1343 (Oxford, 1982), pp. 149, 163. 109 Geoffrey Chaucer, ‘General prologue to the Canterbury Tales’, in The Riverside Chaucer, ed. L. D. Benson (third edition, Boston, 1987), p. 24. 110 On this epitaph see below, p. 173. 111 See above, pp. 61–71.

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in model sermons but did feature in the secular literature under consideration. The paragraphs that follow will look at the ways in which these themes – the perils of the sea, wounding or death in battle, and captivity – are present in narratives produced by or relating to John of Joinville and his contemporaries. Greater attention will be paid to the last of these themes, which is of particular interest because it featured relatively infrequently in the sources of information available to potential crusaders. Crusade narratives contain numerous passages that reflect, and may also have fuelled, the sense that the sea was a mysterious and alien environment. The ‘Rothelin’ text, for example, contains a chapter on the dangers of the sea, which included mythical creatures such as the sirens and strange phenomena such as fire-spewing mountains like Etna.112 The mysterious potential of the sea was confirmed for Joinville by an experience during his voyage from Marseilles to Cyprus during which his ship seemed unable to move out of sight of a certain mountain on the coast of north Africa.113 The real physical power and danger of the sea was felt by participants in Louis’s first crusade through the dispersal of the fleet by storms during the voyage from Cyprus to Damietta in 1249114 and the grounding of the king’s ship as it returned to France in 1254.115 The fear of the sea felt by Christians was shared with their Muslim enemies. Ibn al-Fura¯t reported a conversation between Louis and one of his captors in which the emir asked why the king, an apparently intelligent man, should risk a sea-crossing. Such an individual would be considered mentally defective according to Muslim law and unfit to give testimony. Louis did not explain his actions but replied that the Muslims’ principle was sound.116 The sea did not only present crusaders with physical dangers: there were also spiritual risks attached to a sea-crossing. Because it was a hostile environment, the sea was a force that brought people into close and constant contact with the prospect of death and therefore with the danger to them of being in a state of sin. Joinville stated as much when he said that it would be foolish to undertake a voyage in a state of mortal sin because one never knew if one would survive a night at sea or not.117 There were other possible associations between the sea and sin; for example a belief that those who 112

‘Continuation de Guillaume de Tyr, de 1229 à 1261, dite du manuscrit de Rothelin’, pp. 571–3. 113 Vie, pars 128–9. 114 ‘Lettre de Jean Sarrasin à Nicholas Arrode’, in Lettres Françaises du XIIIe siècle, p. 3; ‘Lettre de Robert d’Artois à Blanche de Castille’, in Lettres Françaises du XIIIe siècle, p. 17; Vie, par. 147. 115 Vie, pars 618–22. 116 Ayyubids, Mamlukes and crusaders. Selections from the Ta¯ri¯ kh al-Duwal wa’l Mulu¯k of Ibn alFura¯t, eds and trans. U. and M. C. Lyons with J. Riley-Smith (Cambridge, 1971), 2 vols, 2, p. 42. 117 Vie, par. 127.

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spent their lives on the sea were more vulnerable to spiritual corruption.118 Such a fear is reflected in Louis’s provision of a priest to act as confessor to the sailors on board his ship during his first crusade, some of whom had not made confession for years.119 Joinville’s Vie de Saint Louis reveals the seneschal’s limited skill as a military strategist, making this an often unreliable source for the conduct of the military campaign itself. Certainly, when his account of the landing of the crusaders at Damietta in June 1249 is examined alongside the version provided by John Sarrasin, a contrast is clear.120 In the Vie de Saint Louis, the landing is described solely in terms of Joinville’s involvement in it: the orders given by Louis that a ship be provided for him, the preparations made in his own contingent and his decision not to obey the order to follow the ensign of Saint-Denis ashore.121 In John Sarrasin’s letter the author himself is not a central figure. Instead he describes the gathering of all the leading members of the army before the landing, the instructions and preparations followed by everyone, the sequence in which the crusaders’ ships reached the shore and the enemy’s repeated attacks on their forces. Sarrasin tells us that the fighting lasted the full morning, and that while the Christians had lost few or no men, the enemy had lost at least 500.122 Joinville’s tendency to describe his role in the action, rather than the conduct of warfare in general, meant that he did not provide fully informed accounts of the capture of Damietta, the battle of Mansurah or any other military engagement. Where his account comes into its own, however, is in suggesting the fear and suffering of individuals in battle, a theme not generally explored in other narratives. Joinville’s willingness to describe his own and his colleagues’ physical frailty and pain is one feature that sets his work firmly apart from the chansons de geste.123 Although few of the participants in Louis’s Egyptian crusade are likely to have had no prior experience of battle, for some, including Joinville, this previous experience would have been limited.124 There would certainly have been many who had not seen Greek fire in use before, or faced attack with this substance, the composition (or 118

J. Delumeau, La peur en occident (XIVe-XVIIIe Siècles): une cité asiégée (Paris, 1978) p. 39; Le Goff, Saint Louis (Paris, 1996), pp. 542–3. 119 Geoffrey of Beaulieu, ‘Vita et sancta conversatio piae memoriae Ludovici quondam regis Francorum’, pp. 14–15. 120 J. Monfrin, ‘Joinville et la prise de Damiette (1249)’, Académie des Inscriptions et BellesLettres, comptes rendus des séances (1976), 276–80. 121 Vie, pars. 150–56. 122 ‘Lettre de Jean Sarrasin à Nicholas Arrode’, in Lettres Françaises du XIIIe siècles, pp. 4–6. 123 S. Bazin-Tacchella, ‘Corps blessés et corps souffrants dans la Vie de Saint Louis de Joinville’, in Jean de Joinville: de la Champagne aux royaumes d’outre-mer, ed. D. Quéruel (Langres, 1998), p. 192. 124 On Joinville’s military career before 1248 see below, p. 176.

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many possible compositions) of which remained shrouded in mystery while its incendiary effects were all too obvious.125 The fear felt by Joinville and his companions at the prospect of attack by Greek fire was such that the first time he and his men had to guard the Christians’ machines under attack by Muslim forces using this weapon it was agreed that their only defence was prayer.126 Joinville admitted his personal relief when the machines were destroyed by Greek fire, preventing him and his men from having to guard them once more.127 The crusade army’s most intense battle was that which took place at Mansurah, in the course of which Joinville experienced close-quarters fighting with Muslim opponents. One phase of this battle as described in the Vie de Saint Louis illustrates the physical harm that could be inflicted in such circumstances. Having sought shelter in a ruined house, Joinville and a number of his colleagues were set upon by Muslims who entered the upper part of the building and attacked with lances the crusaders gathered below. Hugh of Ecot received three lance-blows in his face, Raoul of Vanault and Ferry of Louppy were both wounded between the shoulders and lost much blood, while Erart of Sivry was struck full in the face, almost completely severing his nose. Once again, Joinville’s only recourse, he wrote, was to prayer.128 The scale of the losses at Mansurah is evoked by his description of the waters of the Nile covered by the shields and lances of those who had drowned trying to cross the river,129 while the personal sadness caused by mass fatality is evident in the vain efforts of some crusaders to identify friends and relatives among the build up of corpses in the river over the days that followed.130 The personal nature of Joinville’s description of the experience and consequences of battle are among the qualities that make the Vie de Saint Louis unique among thirteenth-century crusade narratives. By contrast, his interest in and concern about captivity as a possible consequence of crusading were widely shared and expressed. This is perhaps not surprising in the light of events of the recent crusading past. The rout of the forces of the Barons’ Crusade at Gaza in 1239 and the defeat of Christian forces at La Forbie in 1244 had both resulted in the taking of large numbers of Christian captives, some of whom had not been freed by the time Louis’s army arrived in Egypt in 1249. The capture of counts Henry of Bar and Amaury of Montfort and their colleagues at Gaza in 1239 seems to have had 125 J.-C. Faucon, ‘“La grant foison du feu … ” Joinville sous les feux Grégeois’, in Jean de Joinville: de la Champagne aux royaumes d’outre-mer, ed. D. Quéruel (Langres, 1998), pp. 157–9. 126 Vie, pars 203–6. 127 Ibid., par. 210. 128 Ibid., pars 224–5. 129 Ibid., par. 235. 130 Ibid., pars 289–90.

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an especially strong place in the memories of those who came to the East in the years that followed. Hence for John Sarrasin there was particular value attached to the death of one of the Muslim leaders in the landing of the crusade army at Damietta in 1249 because this man had been at the head of the forces that had defeated the counts of Bar and Montfort.131 In a similar way, Joinville illustrated his explanation of the Egyptian sultans’ policy of killing those of his men who became too wealthy and powerful by saying that this had been the fate of those who had taken the counts of Bar and Montfort.132 The accuracy of John Sarrasin’s and John of Joinville’s identification of these men is uncertain. But by making such an association with what was a devastating and memorable defeat for the Christians the authors indicated that the opponents of whom they spoke were powerful and important men. Two songs written in the aftermath of the defeat of the Christian forces at Gaza highlight the fact that captivity had very real and worrying consequences not only for the individuals concerned, but also for the crusade forces in general. The negative impact on the chances of success for the crusade as a whole of the imprisonment of so many members of the Christian army after the defeat at Gaza was highlighted by the anonymous lyricist who wrote ‘Ne chantent pas, que que nus die’. This man expressed a concern that the pride and rivalry of the army’s great men could result in the failure of the campaign before it had even had a chance to attack one castle or town, a shameful return to Europe for those who had allowed this to happen, and even damage to the standing of the Church as a whole.133 He lamented the particular impact on lesser knights of the delay the defeat had caused in the campaign, as many of them had pledged their lands in order to raise what were nonetheless insufficient funds for such a project.134 Philip of Nanteuil’s song, ‘En chantant veil mon duel faire’, directed his complaint at those he felt should have prevented the losses and should have restored the captives to freedom. He called on the leaders of the army, and especially the heads of the military orders whom he felt could have acted to prevent a rout of the Christian forces, to work to ensure the release of the captives either by force or by payment of a ransom.135 In her recent work on the issue of captivity in the context of the crusades in the East Yvonne Friedman has argued that the period following the battle of Hattin in 1187 saw a marked change in response to the plight of Christian 131 132 133

‘Lettre de Jean Sarrasin à Nicholas Arrode’, in Lettres Françaises du XIIIe siècles, p. 6. Vie, pars 286, 288, 348. Anonymous, ‘Ne chantent pas, que que nus die’, in Les chansons de croisade, pp. 231–2, ll.

1–20. 134

Ibid., pp. 232–3, ll. 31–40. Philip of Nanteuil, ‘En chantant veil mon duel faire’, in Les chansons de croisade, pp. 222–3, ll. 27–50. 135

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captives by their co-religionists. Hattin marked a watershed because this was the first battle which resulted in mass captivity and a consequent crisis of manpower. While at earlier stages of the crusade movement it was usually the individual captives themselves who were responsible for securing their freedom, after 1187 it was more likely that a collective response would be made to bring about release by force or by payment of ransom.136 The expectation that this would be the case in 1239 is clearly evident in Philip of Nanteuil’s song. Thibaut of Champagne had opted to pursue the course of negotiation rather than violent revenge, which had apparently angered a number of his fellow crusaders, but the truce he had agreed with the Muslims before his departure for France in 1240 had secured the release of many captives, including Amaury of Montfort and Philip of Nanteuil.137 But not all of Philip’s fellow captives were so lucky. The issue of their fate was still a matter of concern for Louis in the 1250s. Joinville reported that as well as negotiating with the Mamluks for the release of participants in his own crusade who remained in prison at the time of his departure for Acre, Louis undertook to bring about the return of heads of the Christian dead that had been hung on the walls of Cairo since the time of the Gaza rout, along with those who had been captured in 1239 while still children and had been forced to adopt Islam. He succeeded in this task and had the heads buried in Christian ground.138 But the larger task of achieving the release of Christian captives, including a large number taken with him in 1250, was complicated and long-drawn-out. As in 1239, crusaders put pressure on their leader to attend to the plight of the captives. At the meeting held to consider whether Louis should return to France in 1250 Joinville cited this among the reasons why the king must stay.139 He had earlier stated a personal unwillingness to leave while there were still Christians in Muslim hands, remembering the advice of his cousin that to do so would be shameful.140 This sentiment was also expressed in a contemporary song, of which Joinville may have been the lyricist.141 ‘Nus ne porroit de mauvese reson’ called on Louis to remain in the Holy Land in order to avoid committing the sin of returning to France while there were Christians still in prison.142 But it is apparent from the 136

Y. Friedman, Encounter between enemies: captivity and ransom in the Latin kingdom of Jerusalem (Cultures, beliefs and traditions: medieval and early modern peoples 10, Leiden, 2002), pp. 86–7. 137 ‘Continuation de Guillaume de Tyr, de 1229 à 1261, dite du manuscrit de Rothelin’, p. 555. 138 Vie, pars 469, 518. 139 Ibid., par. 427. 140 Ibid., par. 421. 141 See above, p. 61. 142 Anonymous, ‘Nus ne porroit de mauvese reson’, in Les chansons de croisade, p. 265, ll. 37–45.

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evidence provided by the author of the ‘Rothelin’ text that although Louis showed zeal in his efforts in favour of the captives, progress in this matter was not easily achieved. After the initial shock of having only a small proportion of the captives he had left in Egypt returned to him at his first request – the numbers given are 400 returned out of a total of 12 000 prisoners held – Louis undertook to send a series of envoys with gifts and Muslim slaves as ransom for Christian captives.143 The return of all the the imprisoned crusaders was among the terms of the treaty agreed by Louis with the Mamluk sultan, Aybeg, in 1252.144 The possibility of long-term captivity was greatest for higher-status captives whose potential ransom value made them useful assets to their captors. This was not the image of captivity presented in the chansons de geste. Jean Richard has pointed out that the account of Harpin of Bourges’s adventures in captivity provided by Les Chétifs does not reflect the much more tedious reality of his imprisonment. He was taken prisoner in 1102, and had to wait until 1108 for the Byzantine emperor to negotiate and pay for his release.145 The prospects facing those taken captive in the thirteenth century were similarly unpredictable. During their imprisonment captives may have had to endure confinement in uncomfortable surroundings, being used as forced labour, being tortured and, particularly in the case of women, the possibility of sexual violation.146 The colleague of Salimbene of Adam sent by pope Nicholas III to console captive Christians in Egypt in the late 1270s reported that they were held in chains, made to dig moats and do other manual labour on a very restricted diet.147 John Sarrasin reported that the crusaders encountered 53 Christians who had been imprisoned in Damietta for 22 years at the time of the city’s capture in 1249. His description of these people as slaves suggests that they may have been used as labour by their captors, or that John assumed they had been demeaned in this way.148 There were other ways in which captives may have suffered dishonour: the ‘Rothelin’ author described how Christians taken prisoner at Gaza in 1239 were led from the battlefield as subjects of shame and ridicule from the Muslim population.149 The conditions in which captives were held no 143 ‘Continuation de Guillaume de Tyr, de 1229 à 1261, dite du manuscrit de Rothelin’, pp. 620–21, 625–6. 144 Ibid., p. 628. 145 J. Richard, ‘Les prisonniers et leur rachat au cours des croisades’, in Fondations et oeuvres charitables au moyen âge: actes du 121e congrès national des sociétés historiques et scientifiques, section histoire médiévale et philologie, Nice, 1996, eds J. Dufour and H. Platelle, (Paris, 1999), p. 67. 146 Friedman, Encounter between enemies, pp. 110–29, 169–72. 147 Salimbene of Adam, Cronica, 1, pp. 457–8. 148 ‘Lettre de Jean Sarrasin à Nicolas Arrode’, in Lettres Françaises du XIIIe siècle, p. 7. See also the letter of the knight Guy of the household of the viscount of Melun; Matthew Paris, Chronica maiora, 6, p. 158. 149 ‘Continuation de Guillaume de Tyr, de 1229 à 1261, dite du manuscrit de Rothelin’, p. 546.

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doubt varied, but Joinville’s description of imprisonment in the hold of a ship tightly packed with captives suggests the potential discomforts.150 He also provides an account of one of the torture techniques with which his Mamluk captors threatened Louis IX. The instrument Joinville called the ‘bernicle’ was intended to crush the flesh and bones of its victim’s legs.151 Captivity could not only affect a prisoner’s physical condition; in cases of long-term captivity his interests at home could also be jeopardized. Renaut II of Dampierre, who took the cross for the Fourth Crusade and refused to participate in its diversion to Constantinople, was taken prisoner in Syria in 1203. Ransomed in 1231, he returned to his home in Champagne to find that the abbot and monks of Montiers-en-Argonne had seized possession of much of his property. He had to go to the law to gain compensation for his losses.152 But the greatest risk facing crusaders taken captive must have been that of forced apostasy. An offer of conversion to Islam had to be made to a prisoner before his execution according to Islamic law.153 Louis’s letter of 1250, the ‘Rothelin’ chronicle and the Vie de Saint Louis all describe the way in which a number of the Christian captives taken during the attempted retreat to Damietta faced death rather than abjure their faith.154 Ibn alFura¯t reported that the Ayyubid sultan Turan Shah ordered that three or four hundred Christian captives should face death in this way each day during the period of the negotiations for the return of Damietta to the Muslims.155 Vincent of Beauvais also spoke of the option of conversion presented to Christian prisoners. This was an offer to which some, who were weak and foolish, succumbed.156 The mistrust or dislike with which those who did choose to apostatize might be treated by those within their new community as well as those they had left is signalled by Louis IX’s unwillingness even to speak to a man who had converted to Islam after coming to Egypt with the forces of the Fifth Crusade157 and by Joinville’s quotation of a comment apparently made by Saladin, with which one of the seneschal’s Muslim captors concurred, that ‘one never sees a bad Christian a good Muslim, or a bad Muslim a good Christian’.158 150

Vie, par. 356. Ibid., pars 340–41. 152 Feudal society in medieval France: documents from the County of Champagne, ed. and trans. T. Evergates (Philadelphia, 1993), pp. 120–22. 153 Friedman, Encounter between enemies, p. 137. 154 ‘Epistola sancti Ludovici’, p. 431; ‘Continuation de Guillaume de Tyr, de 1229 à 1261, dite du manuscrit de Rothelin’, p. 621; Vie, par. 334. 155 Ayyubids, Mamlukes and crusaders, 2, p. 29. 156 Vincent of Beauvais, ‘Speculum historiale’, p. 1321. 157 Vie, pars 394–6. 158 Ibid., par. 331; Friedman, Encounter between enemies, pp. 137–8. 151

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Although captivity was absent from among the dangers of crusading depicted in model sermons, it was undoubtedly a real concern for the leaders of crusade campaigns and for individual participants. Further evidence of this is provided by the fact that Joinville returned to the period of his captivity repeatedly in his writings; he recounted this episode in his Credo,159 in the Vie de Saint Louis and, if Gaston Paris’s suggestion is correct, in the song ‘Nus ne porroit de mauvese reson’. The preachers’ reluctance to talk about the possibility of captivity must have been due to the much more complex nature of the risk imprisonment posed when compared with the dangers of the sea or of battle. Voyages and battles carried with them an increased danger of death, but in the context of a divinely-sponsored project like the crusade this could be presented as an opportunity for immediate salvation. Not so captivity. As our accounts of the experiences of crusading show, imprisonment might bring prolonged physical suffering, demeaning subjection in the hands of the infidel and damage to one’s interests at home. At worst, it might lead people to abandon their faith. While the heroes of Les Chétifs were said to have fought their way out of this dishonourable condition by dint of their prowess there was no such glory in John of Joinville and his contemporaries’ experiences of captivity. Martyrdom and the Value of Suffering There was of course considerable glory attached to martyrdom, which, as we have seen, was among the rewards potential crusaders may have believed was available to them should they choose to take the cross. But references to martyrdom in model sermons were relatively few in number and preachers were cautious about asserting the likelihood of achieving this status. In this way these sources reflect the guarded attitude of the thirteenth-century papacy with regard to the making of saints in general, and martyrs in particular. References to martyrdoms in literary sources in Old French departed from this strict view of martyrdom by associating this condition with the sufferings of the living as well as those who died, but the chansons de geste in particular suggest that the probability of the crusader dead achieving martyrdom was an incentive to action. This section will consider whether and how martyrs were identified in the context of crusade campaigns. This topic will be examined together with that of the suffering of crusaders as it will be seen through the contents of the Vie de Saint Louis that Joinville brought together the themes of martyrdom and of suffering as an imitatio Christi in his view of Louis IX’s sanctity. 159 John of Joinville, Text and iconography for Joinville’s Credo, ed. L. J. Friedman (Mediaeval Academy of America publications 68, Cambridge, Massachusetts, 1958), pp. 39–41.

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There are numerous examples of thirteenth-century crusaders being named as martyrs by their contemporaries. Some references to martyrdom were made by the same churchmen who appeared hesitant about raising its possibility in the context of model crusade sermons. James of Vitry had written in a model sermon that those crusaders who died in a state of true contrition after having made confession might achieve a reputation for martyrdom, thereby introducing important conditions for martyrdom and offering only a reputed martyrdom, not an actual one.160 This caution was not evident when he wrote to pope Honorius III from Damietta in September 1218 to inform him of the progress of the Fifth Crusade. James wrote of an operation to capture a tower during which ‘many … were crowned as martyrs’.161 Oliver of Paderborn, another churchman and prominent crusade preacher present on the Fifth Crusade, also described crusaders killed in this episode as ‘crowned with a glorious martyrdom’.162 Although he did not explore the idea of possible martyrdom in his model crusade sermons, Odo of Châteauroux did so in the context of a sermon preached during the course of Louis IX’s first crusade. This was one of two anniversary sermons the legate is likely to have preached at Acre in February 1251, a year after the battle of Mansurah in which Robert of Artois and his colleagues were killed.163 The tone and content of the two sermons suggests that they had separate audiences, one constituted largely of religious, the other of laymen, probably including men who had themselves been present at Mansurah the year before.164 It is in the sermon likely to have been preached to laymen that Odo associated Robert of Artois and other crusaders who died during the battle of Mansurah with martyrdom, although he included a caveat by asking that pardon be granted to any of the victims who did not die in the right state of devotion.165 There might seem to be a contradiction in the way that prominent churchmen like James of Vitry and Odo of Châteauroux referred to martyrdom in the context of crusades as opposed to their model sermons. There is 160

See above, p. 100. James of Vitry, Lettres de Jacques de Vitry, ed. R. B. C. Huygens (Leiden, 1960), p. 105. 162 Oliver of Paderborn, ‘Historia Damiatina’, in Die Schriften des Kölner Domscholasters, späteren Bischofs von Paderborn und Kardinalbischofs von S. Sabina Oliverus, ed. E. Hoogeweg (Bibliothek des Litterarischen Vereins in Stuttgart 202, Stuttgart, 1894), p. 180. Unfortunately no crusade sermons attributable to Oliver have survived so we cannot know how he treated martyrdom in that context. 163 P. Cole, D. L. d’Avray and J. Riley-Smith, ‘Application of theology to current affairs: memorial sermons on the dead of Mansurah and on Innocent IV’, Historical research, 63 (1990), 230. 164 Ibid., 231. 165 Odo of Châteauroux, ‘Sermo in anniversario Roberti comitis Attrabatensis et aliorum nobilium qui interfecti fuerunt a Sarracenis apud Mansuram in Egipto’, edited in P. Cole, The preaching of the crusades to the Holy Land, 1095–1270 (Medieval Academy Books 98, Cambridge, Massachusetts, 1991), pp. 238–9. 161

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evidence of a readiness to identify martyrs during crusade campaigns that contrasts with their reluctance or caution in raising the possibility of martyrdom as an incentive to take the cross. It may be significant, though, that, in the examples cited from James of Vitry and Oliver of Paderborn’s writings about the Fifth Crusade, martyrdom was associated with groups rather than individuals. It was perhaps easier for these churchmen to mention martyrdom in association with collectives as it was not necessary or possible to confront the potentially very difficult issue of the internal disposition of an individual at the point of death when groups of nameless crusaders were involved. Similarly, when Odo preached on the dead of Mansurah he too was dealing with a mass martyrdom. Of course in this instance it would have been less easy to present this as an anonymous group: Robert of Artois was named among the possible martyrs and many in his audience at Acre would have associated his words with individual friends and colleagues who had died in Egypt. Hence the need to ask forgiveness for those who had not died in the right state of mind and the inclusion of the statement later in the same sermon that ‘there are many kinds of martyrdom’.166 The precise nature of the reward Robert and his colleagues had received and from which those surviving crusaders who heard Odo’s sermon might hope to benefit remained ambiguous. Louis’s letter of 1250 addressed to the people of France mentions the possible martyrdom of Robert of Artois: ‘certainly we believe and hope him, crowned as a martyr, to have risen to the heavenly country and to rejoice there with the holy martyrs’.167 It is striking that Louis did not describe Robert’s martyrdom in certain terms. When it was written that ‘we believe and hope’ Robert to be a martyr this was presented as an expression of the king’s personal feelings. But elsewhere in this letter martyrdom was mentioned in a very different way, as a statement of objective fact. As we have seen, a number of crusaders had been killed by their Muslim captors after refusing to apostatize and in the king’s letter it was stated that ‘certainly legitimately, they received the crowns of martyrs reddened with blood’.168 In this instance those who died fitted a more theologically acceptable model of martyrdom. It seems that the wording of Louis’s letter did not need to be as careful in this instance as it had been when Robert’s death was discussed. The care taken in composing these passages may reflect the influence of Louis’s advisers, perhaps including Odo of Châteauroux himself. This contrast in the treatment of the two instances is reflected in their inclusion in the ‘Rothelin’ chronicle. This text contains accounts of the 166

167 168

Ibid., p. 239. ‘Epistola sancti Ludovici’, p. 429. Ibid., p. 431.

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deaths of Robert of Artois and his colleagues, and of the captive Christians, but only the members of the latter group are described as martyrs.169 At no other point in the text is martyrdom referred to. This may have been because the author viewed Robert’s behaviour at Mansurah as rash, but it may also have stemmed from a reluctance to name individual members of the battle dead as martyrs. Matthew Paris displayed no such reluctance. According to his account of events at Mansurah Robert of Artois’s pride and recklessness led to the death of William Longsword as a martyr.170 The confidence with which William’s martyrdom was stated may well reflect a sincere belief on Matthew’s part. It also illustrates his willingness to identify martyrs often and easily, particularly among parties whose cause he wished to promote such as the English contingent in Louis’s crusade.171 With the exception of Louis’s brief allusion to his hopes for his brother’s martyrdom there is little evidence in the sources mentioned so far that relates to the personal beliefs of individual crusaders about martyrdom. Fortunately, John of Joinville’s Vie de Saint Louis allows for a more detailed analysis of this topic. Joinville did not name as martyrs people who, as we have already seen, were deemed by other contemporaries to warrant this status. He was unlikely to have stated that Robert of Artois was a martyr as he had a negative view of the actions which led to the count’s death.172 His attitude towards the captive Christians is more intriguing. He described how the crusaders’ Muslim captors beheaded a number of Christians who refused to abjure their faith.173 We cannot argue that because he did not use the word ‘martyrs’ to describe these individuals he had a positive belief that they did not deserve this title. It is curious, though, that Joinville, who valued this term and did apply it to others, chose not to do so when dealing with a group of people, treated as martyrs by others of his contemporaries, whose deaths conformed closely to traditional models of martyrdom. 169

‘Continuation de Guillaume de Tyr, de 1229 à 1261, dite du manuscrit de Rothelin’, pp. 605–6, 621. 170 Matthew Paris, Chronica maiora, 5, pp. 153, 159. The account of the battle of Mansurah written by a Hospitaller knight and included by Matthew in his chronicle also names William Longsword as a martyr; ibid., 6, p. 192. 171 R. Vaughan, Matthew Paris (Cambridge studies in medieval life and thought, second series 6, Cambridge, 1958, reissued with supplementary bibliography, 1979), p. 149. On the establishment and growth of William of Longsword’s posthumous reputation as a martyr see S. Lloyd, ‘William Longespee II: the making of an English crusading hero’, Part I, Nottingham medieval studies, 35 (1991), 41–69 and Part II, Nottingham medieval studies, 36 (1992), 79–125. 172 Vie, pars 218–19. Lloyd suggests that this view may have been widely held in northern France, as written accounts of Louis’s crusade produced in this region tended to judge Robert’s conduct negatively: Lloyd, ‘William Longespee II’, Part I, 48–50. 173 Vie, par. 334.

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The few men that Joinville did name as martyrs seem to have impressed him through their virtue in life as well as the manner of their death.174 Only two men were named as martyrs in the crusade section of the Vie de Saint Louis, the first of whom was the bishop of Soissons, James of Castel. Joinville’s report of James’s death during the crusade army’s attempted retreat to Damietta is brief, but the reasons given for his behaviour are interesting. James had formerly expressed a strong desire to go to God and did not wish to return to France. He therefore threw himself at the Muslims and when he was attacked by their swords they placed him in the company of God among the martyrs.175 It was the Muslims’ swords which were responsible for the bishop’s martyrdom, but it was James’s own eagerness to be with God and the desire he had stated in life not to return to his familiar world which had made this possible. Although Joinville does not give us, and may not have known, further details about James’s manner of life or personal qualities it is clear that he was struck by the bishop’s self-sacrificing religious zeal. This case is too scantily described by Joinville to give any real idea of how he conceived James’s martyrdom, but the other passage in his crusade account in which he identified someone as a martyr is more detailed. Joinville’s narrative digresses from his account of events while the crusade army was at Jaffa to describe the life and death of Walter IV of Brienne, who had been count of Jaffa.176 Joinville recounted how Walter had shown generosity towards his knights, dedication to prayer and propriety in relations with his wife. He recounted events before the battle of La Forbie in 1244 during which Walter was taken prisoner. Walter then demonstrated his willingness to suffer for the good of the faith when he gave orders that the Christian defenders of Jaffa should not surrender even when he was displayed outside the walls of the city strung up by his hands. Walter was sent as a prisoner to Cairo where he was killed by a group of merchants. Joinville said that these men were the agents of Walter’s martyrdom, and that it must be believed that the count is among the number of martyrs in heaven. Walter’s death at the hands of enemies of the faith might have been portrayed as a martyrdom in its own right, but for Joinville it only gained its fullest meaning when set in the context of Walter’s life of piety, virtue and willingness for self-sacrifice. 174

This was not a novelty. Jonathan Riley-Smith cites examples of participants in the First Crusade being named as martyrs with additional commentary on their qualities in life as well as the circumstances of their death. J. Riley-Smith, ‘Death on the First Crusade’, in The end of strife. Papers selected from the proceedings of the Colloquium of the Commission Internationale d’Histoire Ecclésiastique Comparée held at the University of Durham, 2 to 9 September 1981, ed. D. Loades (Edinburgh, 1984), pp. 26–7. 175 Vie, par. 393. 176 Ibid., pars 527–38.

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Joinville’s description of Walter’s life is therefore a vita within a vita: the presentation of one ideal life and death within the presentation of another, that of Louis IX. Joinville stated that Louis was a martyr in the opening paragraphs of the Vie de Saint Louis and complained that the Church had been wrong to canonize him as a confessor.177 This passage seems to be contradicted by a remark made towards the end of the Vie de Saint Louis which appears in editions of the text as ‘they did him [that is, Louis] right and placed him in the number of the confessors’.178 It should be noted that in the oldest extant manuscript the word ‘martirs’ has been crossed out and replaced by ‘confesseurs’.179 This correction was made by the scribe responsible for this manuscript’s production as he worked: he appears to have written ‘martirs’, realized this was incorrect immediately and therefore crossed out this word and continued with ‘confesseurs’ instead. But what prompted him to write ‘martirs’ in the first place? Is this what appeared in his exemplar? If so it is possible that Joinville named Louis as a martyr at this point in his text too. Whatever the case there is a contradiction: either Joinville contradicted his own earlier statement that Louis was a martyr, or contradicted the fact of Louis’s canonization as a confessor. The latter is the more exciting possibility, suggesting the strength of Joinville’s feeling on this issue, but certainly cannot be proven. Because of Joinville’s initial complaint about his friend’s status as a saint Jonathan Riley-Smith has argued that the Vie de Saint Louis has the qualities of a passio, a lament or complaint on behalf of the dead king.180 Riley-Smith also suggests that for Joinville Louis was classifiable in a category of crusader-martyrs who died ‘good’ deaths overseas and that this conception was ‘old-fashioned’.181 The view that Joinville’s perception was anachronistic should be challenged. Like his account of the death of Walter of Brienne, Joinville’s description of Louis’s death should be read in the context of his exposition of the king’s life as one characterized by virtue, piety and self-sacrifice. Working with this alternative suggestion as to how Joinville conceived Louis’s martyrdom it emerges that, far from being anachronistic, Joinville’s views may have been influenced by models of sanctity and martyrdom that were very much current in the thirteenth century. Joinville did not define Louis’s sanctity as that of a martyr purely because of the circumstances of his death. Introducing his work, he wrote that his account would show that no layman of his time had lived as saintly a life as Louis had throughout his reign and up until his last moments.182 Louis’s 177 178 179 180 181 182

Ibid., par. 5. Ibid., par. 760. Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale, ms. fr.13568, p. 387. J. Riley-Smith, ‘What is the Histoire de Saint Louis of John of Joinville?’, p. 12. Ibid., pp. 10–11. Vie, par. 4.

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saintliness was demonstrated in his death, but only when considered alongside a lifetime of virtue. Also, in the passage in which Joinville issued his complaint about the failure of the Church to canonize Louis as a martyr, he stated explicitly that this martyrdom was a result of ‘the large number of sufferings he endured in the course of the pilgrimage of the cross’.183 Louis’s martyrdom is here attributed not to the manner of his death but to the sufferings he had endured during life. Having been stated unambiguously in this way, the theme of Louis’s willingness to suffer was developed further in the introduction to the Vie de Saint Louis. Joinville picked out four episodes from the crusade of 1248 to 1254, each of which demonstrated Louis’s readiness to give his life for the sake of his people.184 In life Louis had therefore mirrored the self-sacrificing qualities of Christ. The same was true of the manner of the king’s death as Joinville saw it. Having explained that Louis should be treated as a martyr because he had suffered on crusade, Joinville argued that this judgement could be made even more surely because Louis ‘followed Our Lord as far as the cross; for if God died on the cross, the king did the same, for he was signed with the cross when he died at Tunis’.185 Joinville saw many connections between Louis’s sufferings and those endured for humankind by Christ. This is shown most clearly in Joinville’s association of Louis with the cross. For Joinville the connection between Louis and the cross was evident from the start of the king’s life. He was born on the feast of Saint Mark, known as the day of the black crosses, a fact interpreted by Joinville as a prophecy of the great numbers who would die as a result of his two ‘croisement’ or cross-takings.186 He described how, during the period of the Christian army’s captivity, Louis was seen to throw himself on the ground and make the sign of the cross all over his body every time he left his tent.187 When his ship ran aground during the return voyage Louis’s response was to prostrate himself in the shape of the cross before the consecrated host.188 Joinville associated Louis’s death with the Crucifixion when he noted that Louis died at the same time of day as that at which Christ had died on the cross.189 From these and other examples we see how closely Joinville associated Louis, through the cross, with the figure of the suffering Christ. He was not alone in noting the king’s particular dedication to the cross. This was a topic on which William of Saint-Pathus wrote a chapter of his life of the king.190 183 184 185 186 187 188 189 190

Ibid., par. 5. Ibid., pars 7–16. Ibid., par. 5; Le Goff, Saint Louis, p. 475. Vie, par. 69. Ibid., par. 367. Ibid., pars 39, 622. Ibid., par. 757. William of Saint-Pathus, ‘Vie de Saint Louis’, p. 74.

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As has already been seen in this study, awareness of Christ’s sufferings was fundamental to the faith of Christians in the thirteenth century. The urge to emulate the sacrifices of Christ as well as to follow his teachings was felt strongly by members of the newly-founded mendicant orders and their supporters, among whom Louis himself was prominent. In this context the willingness to imitate the ultimate sacrifice made by Christ through offering one’s own life for the faith in martyrdom was one which was associated with holiness of life. A readiness or desire for martyrdom was mentioned in the canonization processes of the mendicant saints Clare of Assisi, Margaret of Hungary and Clare of Montefalco.191 But it is in the accounts of the sanctity of Francis of Assisi that the idea of martyrdom achieved through a desire to imitate Christ’s suffering featured particularly strongly.192 Saint Francis’s earliest hagiographers, Thomas of Celano and Saint Bonaventure, both described his desire for martyrdom. Thomas described how Francis sought martyrdom through his efforts to preach among hostile nonChristians. God had refused to fulfil this wish, instead granting Francis the stigmata in an alternative and unique act of grace.193 In his Legenda maior Bonaventure added that this desire for martyrdom was a reflection of the great love for God which Francis shared with the martyrs of the early Church. Francis believed this supreme act of self-sacrifice would reciprocate that of Christ at the Crucifixion.194 According to Joinville’s depiction, Louis shared with Francis the qualities of a readiness to give his life and a special dedication to Christ’s cross. Joinville’s portrayal of Louis and his sanctity can therefore be associated with concepts of martyrdom by desire which can be found in a range of sources from this period. One such example concerning Louis specifically is contained in an antiphone included in an early fourteenth-century liturgy, Francorum rex magnificus, which was prepared for the celebration of the feast of the translation of Louis’s relics and is likely to have been written by a mendicant.195 As in other sources, martyrdom by desire is here presented as the result of ardent piety in life focusing specifically on a sympathy for the sacrifice of Christ Crucified. The text of this office stresses that although Louis was denied the chance to reciprocate Christ’s Passion in physical 191

A. Vauchez, Sainthood in the later middle ages, trans. J. Birrell (Cambridge, 1977), p. 351. M. Rubin, ‘Choosing death? Experiences of martyrdom in late medieval Europe’, in Martyrs and martyrologies. Papers read at the 1992 summer meeting and the 1993 winter meeting of the Ecclesiastical History Society, ed. D. Wood (Studies in Church history 30, Oxford, 1993), pp. 157–8. 193 Thomas of Celano, ‘Vita prima’, in Analecta Franciscana, 10, part 1 (1926), pp. 42–4. 194 Saint Bonaventure, ‘Legenda maior’, in Analecta Franciscana, 10, part 5 (1941), pp. 599–601; E. R. Daniel, ‘The desire for martyrdom: a leitmotiv of St Bonaventure’, Franciscan studies, 32 (1972), 74–87. 195 R. Folz, ‘La sainteté de Louis IX d’après les textes liturgiques de sa fête’, Revue d’histoire de l’église de France, 57 (1971), 32. 192

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martyrdom, the king had taken up Christ’s cross on two occasions and through this and his fervour in seeking after Christ had achieved martyrdom of another sort.196 Louis’s confessor, the Dominican friar Geoffrey of Beaulieu, also associated the king’s life with self-sacrifice and his death with martyrdom, though without saying that he was a martyr. Geoffrey opened his life of Louis with an account of the king’s willingness to offer himself to God throughout his life. This was expressed inwardly from Louis’s youth but outwardly in his later years through his pilgrimages overseas, during which he presented himself to God as a human sacrifice. Louis ended his life ‘as if a martyr and unwearied warrior for the Lord’.197 The anonymous of Saint-Denis described the king’s readiness to face martyrdom when threatened with crucifixion during his captivity in Egypt.198 Allusions to martyrdom by desire were not only made by mendicants or other religious. Charles of Anjou is recorded as having made such a reference in evidence given to Louis’s canonization enquiry. This material is particularly interesting because, although Charles referred to two of his brothers in terms of martyrdom, Louis was not one of them. Robert of Artois was described by Charles as a ‘glorious martyr’ because he was killed by infidels for the exaltation of the Christian faith. Alphonse of Poitiers, on the other hand, had demonstrated martyrdom by desire when, after Louis’s death at Tunis in 1270, he had wanted to go overseas and finish his life in service to the Lord.199 While Louis’s sanctity was evident in his virtue, selflessness and tolerance of suffering, Charles did not make an association between Louis and martyrdom of any sort. We cannot know whether the words used here to describe different kinds of sanctity and martyrdom were Charles’s own or whether they were influenced by the churchmen who may have advised him, or ascribed to him by those who recorded his evidence. But regardless of how precise or nuanced Charles’s vocabulary of martyrdom may have been it seems that he made distinctions on this issue and that they were significant to him. The same is true of John of Joinville, who cared strongly enough about what he saw as Louis’s martyrdom to make an explicit complaint about the Church’s decision to canonize Louis as a confessor. Unlike Charles of Anjou, Joinville is not known to have referred specifically to martyrdom by desire. But the elements of a virtuous life characterized by a willingness for 196

Ibid., p. 43. Geoffrey of Beaulieu, ‘Vita et sancta conversatio piae memoriae Ludovici’, pp. 3–4. 198 ‘Gesta sancti Ludovici noni, Francorum regis, auctore monacho Sancti Dionysii anonymo’, in RHGF, 20, p. 55. This episode was also included in William of Saint-Pathus, ‘Vie de Saint Louis’, p. 68. 199 ‘Déposition de Charles d’Anjou pour la canonisation de Saint Louis’, ed. P. Riant in Notices et documents publiés pour la Société de l’Histoire de France à l’occasion du cinquantième anniversaire de sa fondation (Paris, 1884), pp. 175–6. 197

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self-sacrifice even to the point of death, and a particular dedication to Christ and his cross that featured in descriptions of the martyrdom by desire of Saint Francis and other mendicants, are clearly present in Joinville’s depiction of the king’s sanctity. This awareness of an individual’s actions and attitudes in life, as well as an awareness of the circumstances of their death, was also evident in Joinville’s naming of James of Castel and Walter IV of Brienne as martyrs. This is not to say that Joinville’s conception of martyrdom was a Franciscan one, but that it is likely that ideas particularly associated with the mendicants were among the influences on his beliefs. We cannot know precisely where Joinville would have encountered these ideas but, like many of his comtemporaries, he was exposed to the preaching and teaching of mendicant friars. He, like Louis, found the Franciscan preacher Hugh of Digne particularly impressive and hoped that he would stay in the king’s entourage longer than he did.200 He mentioned having visited Louis’s court after the king’s return to France in 1254 and having taken part in conversations with the king and the Franciscans and Dominicans who accompanied him.201 The seneschal’s final moments with the king took place at the house of the Franciscans in Paris, where they parted before Louis left for Tunis.202 Other influences on the beliefs of Joinville and his contemporaries with regard to the martyrdoms of crusaders remain a subject worthy of further exploration. Such efforts might be frustrated, though, by the lack of source material as detailed and personal in nature as the Vie de Saint Louis. So, for example, William Chester Jordan has suggested that one layman’s choice to endow masses at an altar dedicated to Louis and to Stephen the Protomartyr in the second decade of the fourteenth century may have been in part an expression of a belief that Louis shared Stephen’s martyr status, but the evidence is too scant to state this with confidence.203 But even without further accounts comparable to Joinville’s, it is apparent that the theme of martyrdom was treated less cautiously in narratives of crusading in the thirteenth century than in contemporary model sermons. For Joinville, as for Charles of Anjou, Odo of Châteauroux, Louis IX and undoubtedly other thirteenth-century Christians, the remembrance of the crusader dead and the identification of martyrs remained an important and potentially contentious issue. When they spoke or wrote about martyrdom they made judgements and distinctions that reflected the value they attached to the status of martyrs. They also illustrated some of the potential interpretations of Odo of Châteauroux’s assertion that ‘there are many kinds of martyrs’. 200

Vie, pars 657–60. Salimbene of Adam described Hugh of Digne’s ability to inspire the great and small, the learned and unlearned; Cronica, 1, pp. 324–5. 201 Vie, par. 668. 202 Ibid., par. 737. 203 W. C. Jordan, ‘Honouring Saint Louis in a small town’, Journal of medieval history, 30 (2004), 263–77. On the issue of Louis’s perceived martrydom, see 266–7.

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Having considered the themes of pilgrimage, service, the memory and uses of the past, the dangers of crusading, martyrdom and the value of suffering as they appear in sources relating to the conduct of crusade campaigns it should be apparent that the contents of sermons, songs, poems and chansons de geste do not adequately or accurately reflect the richness of crusaders’ experiences and thinking in the thirteenth century. The idea of the crusade as a pilgrimage emerges as one which had a key role in defining the nature and value of this project for some individuals, and John of Joinville in particular. Others, and most notably those who had a role in the planning and execution of the campaign, seem not to have associated pilgrimage with their crusades as collective projects, but may well have expressed their commitment to the ideal of pilgrimage through their own actions. Service was a factor that could be used to define the nature of the crusader’s relationship with God, but it was also a potentially powerful active force in crusade recruitment. The service men provided to their earthly lords through taking the cross could be an expression of their commitment to the feudal ties that bound them, and it might also involve them in the fulfilment of a contract with fixed terms of payment. The past was an important point of reference to those who went on crusade, though there were relatively few references made to the biblical past, and virtually none to the imagined past of the chansons de geste. By contrast, the recent past of the crusades seem to have had great value, not for providing rousing exemplars, but as a means by which to measure current successes and failures and as a source of guidance. The danger of being taken captive was not referred to by crusade preachers, and only rarely by poets. Imprisonment appears as a very strong theme in sources concerning the conduct of crusades, from which we can gain a much more detailed picture of the conditions and consequences of crusaders’ captivity. Finally, the possibility of martyrdom presented to potential crusaders in sermons and songs was one which was clearly of great significance to those who took the cross. In many instances it is hard to say more than that crusaders did have a belief that they could achieve this status, but John of Joinville’s example demonstrates that there could be considerable complexity in their understanding of this issue. For Joinville the idea of martyrdom was fundamentally linked to an individual’s suffering in life, not only the manner of their death. In his mind Louis IX’s sufferings had particular value as an imitatio Christi, which warranted his commemoration as a martyr.

Chapter 5

Crusading and Knightly Careers There is no doubt that many of those who survived Louis’s first crusade would not take the cross again, as was the case for John of Joinville. Others, several of whom have already been mentioned in this study, reflected a growing tendency to undertake multiple crusades in the East or in Europe, or to volunteer their services to the defence of the Latin settlements during periods when no actual crusade campaign was under way.1 The most prominent example of this was, of course, Louis himself, whose zeal for crusading was echoed in the multiple crusades of his brothers Alphonse of Poitiers and Charles of Anjou. Many men of lesser status also went on crusade a number of times, including the song-writers Philip of Nanteuil and Raoul of Soissons.2 Others, like Erart of Sivry and Geoffrey of Sergines, are notable for their activities both as crusaders and as contributors to the efforts of the French Crown to provide military support to the last of the Christian settlements in the East in the decades after Louis’s return to France in 1254.3 These individuals and others like them stand out in the history of the crusades because of their continuing active involvement in the movement as recorded in chronicle accounts, eulogies and documentary sources. The pages that follow will examine how and why an individual might develop such a lengthy and close involvement with crusading over extended periods, with particular reference to another multiple crusader and defender of the Latin East, Oliver of Termes. It is very much harder to examine the reasons why someone chose not to take part in a crusade because these decisions, or non-decisions, are rarely recorded or described in our sources. It is in this context that the Vie de Saint Louis once more shows its worth, both in recounting and explaining Joinville’s failure to join Louis’s second crusade and in demonstrating that commitment to crusading could be expressed in ways other than active 1 E. Siberry, Criticism of crusading, 1095–1274 (Oxford, 1985), p. 188; N. Housley, The later crusades, 1274–1580: from Lyons to Alcazar (Oxford, 1992), pp. 395–6. 2 On Raoul’s multiple crusades see above, p. 18. Philip of Nanteuil took part in the crusades of 1239 and 1248. 3 On Geoffrey’s career see J. Riley-Smith, What were the crusades? (third edition, Basingstoke, 2002), pp. 77–80 and J. Richard, Saint Louis, roi d’une France féodale, soutien de la Terre Sainte (Paris, 1983), pp. 265–7.

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participation. The nature of this commitment is explored in the second half of this chapter. The comparison of the place of the crusade in the knightly careers of Oliver of Termes and John of Joinville is a particularly attractive topic because these two men, who were contemporaries, knew each other and worked together during the crusade of 1248 to 1254, went on to make very different decisions about crusading and to show their interest in this activity in very different ways. Oliver of Termes A key event in Oliver III of Termes’s early life was the loss of the castle of Termes in 1210 to crusaders led by Simon of Montfort. The daunting task faced by the crusaders in their siege of Termes was a result of its isolated and well-fortified situation in the mountains of the Corbières south-east of Carcassonne.4 With the fall of the castle Oliver’s father, Raymond III of Termes, was taken as a prisoner to Carcassonne where he was reported to have remained in captivity until his death.5 As Oliver’s date of birth is unknown we cannot be sure how old he was at the time of Termes’s fall, though he was undoubtedly still young.6 It seems that Raymond was believed by at least some contemporaries to have been not only a supporter or protector of heretics but also a Cathar believer. The Annals of Cologne stated that at the time of his death Raymond had not been persuaded back to the true faith and Peter of Les Vaux-de-Cernay reported the rumour that no mass had been celebrated in the castle of Termes for 30 years before its capture.7 One Benoît of Termes, who may have been Raymond’s brother and Oliver’s uncle, was much more deeply involved in the religious life of the

4

Peter of Les Vaux-de-Cernay, Hystoria Albigensis, eds P. Guébin and E. Lyon (Paris, 1926–39), 3 vols, 1, p. 173. 5 ‘Annales Colonienses maximi’, in MGHSS, 17, p. 825; ‘Reineri annales’, in MGHSS, 16, pp. 663–4. It should be noted that Gauthier Langlois signals the possibility that Raymond III may not have died until 1223 or 1224, as someone of his name was listed among the witnesses to three charters concerning the lords of Fanjeaux made in 1222. Langlois asserts that Raymond must have died before July 1224 because it was at this date that Oliver and his brother Bernard came into their inheritance. G. Langlois, Olivier de Termes, le Cathare et le croisé (vers 1200–1274) (Toulouse, 2001), pp. 62–3. 6 Langlois states that the four children born to Raymond and his wife Ermessende were born between 1197 and 1210, his estimate of the date of Oliver’s birth at around 1200 being given in the title of his book but not explicitly stated or explained further in the text, ibid., pp. 21–2. 7 ‘Annales Colonienses maximi’, p. 825; Peter of Les Vaux-de-Cernay, Hystoria Albigensis, 1, p. 186. Ann Peal dismisses these statements or implications of Raymond’s Catharism, though provides no evidence for her assertions, ‘Olivier de Termes and the Occitan nobility in the thirteenth century’, Reading medieval studies, 12 (1986), 115.

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Cathar community in Languedoc.8 Raymond John of Albi later testified that he had been present at a meeting of heretics in 1226 at which Benoît was chosen as the first Cathar bishop of the Razès.9 Although Langlois cannot cite any evidence for Oliver himself having been a practising Cathar during the first decades of his life he feels sure that the ties that bound many of his close relatives to Catharism were too strong for Oliver to have remained untouched by the heresy.10 His own religious convictions at this time aside, it is apparent that the personal loss and suffering endured by him and his siblings as a result of Raymond’s imprisonment and the seizure of his property, and the prominent place of the Termes family within a network of those opposed to the Church and the French Crown, were enough to ensure that Oliver himself continued this struggle in the years that followed. The first instance in which Oliver is known to have taken a prominent role in these conflicts came in 1227. The chronicle of William of Puylaurens reported that Oliver and Pons of Villeneuve were leading members of the garrison defending the castle of Labécède-Lauragais on count Raymond VII of Toulouse’s behalf.11 Oliver’s choice of tactic on this occasion – to flee once it became apparent that the castle would be taken – was an early example of the pragmatic and effective strategies he was to deploy throughout his military career.12 In November of the following year, 1228, Oliver and his brother ceded possession of the castle of Termes to the French Crown and promised that they would always be faithful to the king and his heirs and ready to act against the enemies of the Crown and of the Church.13 But such a peaceful state of affairs did not persist. On the contrary, Oliver (along with several other members of families with strong links to heresy) became embroiled in the violent dispute between opposing factions within the city of Narbonne that erupted in 1234.14 In a letter written two years 8 Alain Termens doubted the theory that Benoît was Oliver’s uncle. He felt it more likely that Benoît was born to a peasant family from the village of Termes; A Termens, ‘L’évêque Cathare du Razès: Benoît de Termes’, Cahiers d’études Cathares, 38 (1987), 44–5. Langlois is confident that this Benoît was a member of the Termes family as this toponym would not have been used in sources emanating from the Termenès to describe someone who was not from that family; Langlois, Olivier de Termes, pp. 24–5. No evidence has been cited to positively prove or disprove Benoît’s blood relationship to Oliver. 9 Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale, Collection de Languedoc, ms. Doat, vol. 23, fols 269v.–270r. 10 Langlois, Olivier de Termes, pp. 30–31. 11 William of Puylaurens, Chronique, ed. and trans. J. Duvernoy (Paris, 1976), pp. 124–5. 12 Langlois, Olivier de Termes, p. 74. 13 Paris, Archives Nationales, ms. J295, number 6. 14 The origins and course of this dispute and Oliver’s role within it are described in detail by Langlois, Olivier de Termes, pp. 92–100.

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later, at which time the conflict had not yet been satisfactorily resolved, the excommunicate Oliver was named by archbishop Peire Amiel as principal among the ‘notorious brigands, enemies of the faith and persistent disturbers of your [Louis IX’s] kingdom’ who had fought against the forces of the archbishop and count of Narbonne.15 In July 1240 Oliver was once again excommunicated, this time as a consequence of his participation in Raymond of Toulouse’s siege of Arles, which city Raymond sought to capture from the Catalan count Raymond Berenger of Provence.16 In the following months he resumed his efforts to support the resistance to French authority in Languedoc, joining the force led by Raymond Trencavel, the dispossessed viscount of Carcassonne and Béziers, in laying siege to the city of Carcassonne. Louis IX’s seneschal in the city wrote a substantial report about these events for Queen Blanche, naming Oliver and his stepfather, Bernard-Hugh of Serralongue, among the leaders of rebel forces who had taken up a position between the edge of the city and the water.17 Oliver was punished for his part in this failed siege by the confiscation of his property. This punishment seems to have been assiduously carried out and to have affected even relatively modest possessions; Louis IX’s enquiries into affairs in France before his departure on his first crusade revealed that the seneschal of Carcassonne had confiscated items of equine equipment that Oliver had left in pledge.18 Another attempt to end Oliver’s participation in the struggle against the authority of France was made in May 1241 when Oliver and other rebels met the king at Pontoise. Oliver swore to remain always in Louis’s service and to protect his interests against all possible threats.19 But in 1242 Oliver was once again condemned as an enemy of the Church and the king, when his name was included in the excommunication of Raymond of Toulouse and his followers in response to the count’s seizure of the city of Narbonne.20 Oliver’s career in the 1220s, 1230s and early 1240s was dominated by rebellion against the authority of the Church and the French Crown. Although he made submissions to Louis IX he could not resist continuing his father’s disputes with the king and his allies. There would therefore seem to be a striking contrast between this initial phase of Oliver’s career and the 15

Layettes, 2, pp. 321–33, number 2456. Acta imperii inedita seculi XIII et XIV, ed. E. Winkelmann (Innsbruck, 1880–85), 2 vols, 1, pp. 530–32. 17 C. Devic and J. Vaissete, Histoire générale de Languedoc (revised edition, Toulouse, 1872–1905), 16 vols, 8, col. 1043; Oliver’s participation in these events was also attested by William of Puylaurens, Chronique, pp. 154–7. 18 ‘Querimoniae Carcassonensium anno 1247’, in RHGF, 24, p. 307; Langlois, Olivier de Termes, p. 112. 19 Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale, Collection de Languedoc, ms. Doat, vol. 75, fol. 256r.–256v. 20 Devic and Vaissete, Histoire générale de Languedoc, 8, cols 1090–91. 16

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remainder of his life, which was dedicated in large part to the performance of loyal service to the Capetians and the Church. This contrast has interested other historians who suspect that Oliver’s transformation from being the target of a crusade into a leading crusader was made unwillingly or was born of cynical self-interest. Ann Peal said that Oliver and other former rebels were ‘coerced and cajoled’ to go on crusade.21 In Benjamin Kedar’s analysis Oliver’s career as a crusader came about primarily as a result of his desire for ‘a new start’ away from his tarnished reputation in Languedoc.22 It is certainly true that for Oliver, as for other men from Languedoc whose cases have already been mentioned,23 participation in a crusade was one way of signalling acceptance of the new Capetian regime. But to see Oliver’s presence in Louis’s army in 1248 purely in this light is perhaps too simplistic. It does not fully acknowledge the complexity of the demands and experiences Oliver (like other members of the knightly class) encountered as a result of their family and feudal ties as well as their religious convictions. Oliver was undoubtedly active in the resistance to the efforts of the French Crown and the Church to impose their authority in Languedoc through the campaigns of the Albigensian crusade. But this does not mean that he was opposed to crusading per se. In 1229 he took part in the conquest of the island of Majorca and its Muslim inhabitants by James I of Aragon who, in his role as count of Barcelona, was the lord of the viscount of Carcassonne and therefore Oliver’s feudal overlord.24 At the battle of Portopí on 12 October 1229 Oliver commanded a company in the count of Roussillon’s rearguard of the crusade army, after which battle his tent provided the venue for a meal shared by the leading men of the army, including the king himself.25 In December of the same year, during the crusaders’ siege of Palma-de-Majorca, Oliver took responsibility for a mining operation.26 In Langlois’s view his involvement in this campaign was an act of feudal service and, perhaps, an expectation of his temporary reconciliation with the Church in 1228.27 No doubt Langlois is right that the role of Oliver’s feudal overlord as instigator of this campaign was for him, as for many knights, a prime reason for his involvement in crusading. 21

Peal, ‘Olivier de Termes’, p. 123. B. Kedar, ‘The passenger list of a crusader ship, 1250: towards the history of the popular element on the Seventh Crusade’, Studi medievali, third series, 13 (1972), 278. 23 See above, pp. 179–82. 24 Langlois, Olivier de Termes, p. 81. Langlois points out that as at this time the king of France’s position as count of Carcassonne was not universally held to be legitimate, Oliver might have considered himself the direct vassal of James I. 25 James I of Aragon, ‘Crònica’, in Les quatre grans cròniques, ed. F. Soldevila (Barcelona, 1971), p. 39; Langlois, Olivier de Termes, pp. 85–6. 26 Bernard Desclot, ‘Crònica’, in Les quatre grans cròniques, ed. F. Soldevila (Barcelona, 1971), p. 437. 27 Langlois, Olivier de Termes, p. 83. 22

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What is of additional interest, though, is the range of Oliver’s experiences at this time. The key incidents with which he is associated by name during this campaign are military ones: the battle of Portopí and the siege of Palma-de-Majorca. But these are not the only aspects of a crusade campaign that Oliver would have witnessed. For example, at the start of his account of the siege of Palma Bernard Desclot describes how the Christian army went to hear mass and make confession before beginning their operations.28 Obviously we cannot know how Oliver as an individual engaged with the spiritual life of the crusade army, but he was nonetheless involved in a campaign which was defined by the authority of the pope, was staffed in part by the pope’s representatives and was punctuated with ceremonial that underlined these facts. It is quite possible that at this stage in his crusading career Oliver felt himself primarily to be fighting against Muslims and for his lord rather than for the faith, but the Majorca campaign does show that he could feel at home in a war fought in the name of the Church.29 By taking part in such a campaign Oliver was continuing a tradition of crusading which, while not as prominent as that in some families, was probably present among Oliver’s ancestors.30 Gauthier Langlois has suggested that Oliver II of Termes (great-grandfather of our Oliver III) took part in the siege of Saragossa in 1118 in the entourage of his feudal lord, Bernard Aton. Oliver II died at that time and his seigneurie was claimed by his cousins, who seem to have taken advantage of Bernard Aton’s absence in Spain in order to do so.31 Another Oliver of Termes, whose precise relationship to the family is obscure, was granted a house at Lerida by Ermengol VI of Urgell in 1150,32 and this gift may have been made in recognition of Oliver of Termes’s contribution to the capture of Lerida from the Muslims in 1149. It is possible that his ancestors’ crusading past may have been another incentive for Oliver to have looked on crusading against Muslims as a valuable activity. It is also possible that his treatment of conflicts with individual institutions of the Church in his region shows a degree of concern for their welfare 28

Bernard Desclot, ‘Crònica’, p. 436. Langlois suggests that Oliver may also have fought in James I’s campaign to conquer Muslim-held Valence in the late 1230s, but can provide no positive evidence for this, Olivier de Termes, p. 102. 30 I am grateful to Gauthier Langlois for providing me with details of the arguments in favour of possible crusading traditions in the Termes family mentioned in this paragraph. 31 Langlois’s suggestion that Oliver II may have taken part in this crusade is recorded in the genealogy published in Olivier de Termes, p. 18. The act recording the assertion of Oliver II’s cousins, William, Alairand and Bernard, that they held the seigneury of Termes can be found in Cartulaire et archives des communes de l’ancien diocèse et de l’arrondissement administratif de Carcassonne, ed. A. Mahul (Paris, 1857–71), 6 vols, 3, p. 442. 32 J. Lladonosa i Pujol, Història de Lleida (Tàrrega, 1972–1974), 2 vols, 1, pp. 134–5. 29

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that was not evident in the actions of his immediate ancestors. The lords of Termes had been in dispute with the Benedictine abbey of La Grasse, primarily over rights to iron and silver mines in the Termenès, since the eleventh century. This dispute had resulted in the excommunication of several of Oliver’s ancestors.33 In March 1237 Oliver, acting in this instance with his wife, sought to bring an end to this conflict when he restored a number of fiefs to La Grasse. It was recorded that he and his wife did so because they feared the judgement of God and the pains of hell.34 Langlois doubts that this was Oliver’s motivation and suggests that he was at this time more fearful of the Inquisition, which had very recently targeted the family of Gerald of Niort, one of Oliver’s colleagues in the struggle against the archbishop in Narbonne. Renunciations of the sort Oliver made to La Grasse and other religious houses at this time were intended to persuade the agents of the Church to look elsewhere for links to heresy.35 The timing of Oliver’s renunciation would certainly seem to support this theory but I would question an assertion that the act was an entirely cynical one as I have found no evidence that this dispute, which had defied resolution for so many decades, was reopened during the remainder of Oliver’s lifetime. It is possible that, while, in the years before 1248, Oliver’s dealings with the Church in general (and with specific representatives involved in the extension of ecclesiastical and royal power in Languedoc such as the archbishop of Narbonne) were characterized by strong and often violent opposition, he may not have felt as negatively about individual institutions connected to the Church but with a longstanding place in his region. While Louis IX could not compel Oliver or other rebel lords to take a crusade vow, efforts may have been made to ensure that they understood that participation would be expected of them. It has already been described how this happened in the cases of Raymond Trencavel and Raymond VII of Toulouse.36 Members of Oliver’s immediate faidit circle, including William of Minerve, also took the cross.37 Louis showed concern to ensure Oliver’s participation in the crusade which, according to the king’s letter of February 1246 granting Oliver permission to go overseas, 33

This history is recounted by Langlois, Olivier de Termes, p. 20. Cartulaire et archives des communes de l’ancien diocèse et de l’arrondissement administratif de Carcassonne, 3, p. 453. A document of suspect origin and dated 20 March 1238 rather than 1237, which appears to record the same renunciation by Oliver and his wife is included in Receuil des chartes de l’abbaye de La Grasse, Tome II: 1117–1279, ed. C Pailhès (Collection de documents inédits sur l’histoire de France, section d’histoire médiévale et de philologie 26, Paris, 2000), pp. 187–91. 35 Langlois, Olivier de Termes, p. 101. 36 See above, p. 121. 37 M. Barber, ‘Catharism and the Occitan nobility: the lordships of Cabaret, Minerve and Termes’, in The ideals and practice of medieval knighthood III. Papers from the fourth Strawberry Hill conference, 1988, eds C. Harper-Bill and R. Harvey (Woodbridge, 1990), p. 18. 34

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would be undertaken ‘for the service of God and ourself’.38 The close connection between the confirmation of Oliver as a loyal vassal of the king and his participation in the crusade is emphasized by a letter in which Louis informed the seneschal of Carcassonne of the liege homage Oliver had done to him, swearing also to go ‘overseas in our service’, taking with him ten knights and 15 mounted crossbowmen.39 According to this account Oliver’s crusade was an act of feudal service, with service to Christ or God not mentioned at all. Gauthier Langlois sees the demands made on Oliver by the king as to the personnel he should supply as punitively onerous, and not compensated for by direct financial assistance. Although Louis granted Oliver a rent of 25 livres to be taken from land formerly owned by heretics or faidits, this merely replaced a rent Oliver had previously had to claim each year from the seneschal of Carcassonne.40 The only other aid Oliver is known to have received was a delay in the repayment of a loan of 500 livres owed to the Crown.41 Benjamin Kedar has identified Oliver’s name among those included in the list of pilgrims hoping to be transported on the ship the Saint Victor to join Louis’s army which, at the time of the court of Messina’s judgement in the case, 30 July 1250, had arrived at Acre.42 Kedar’s analysis of this document is based on the assumption that the Saint Victor had sailed from a port in Languedoc or Provence, had docked at Messina and heard there of the loss of Damietta and Louis’s departure for Acre, to which place the owners of the ship refused to take them.43 This would mean that Oliver, if he were on board this ship, had not been present with the crusade army during its time in Egypt, but this was not the case. It is clear that Louis had expected Oliver to join the crusade from its outset; in a letter written to the seheschal of Carcassonne during 1247 the king ordered that Oliver ‘ready himself to join our voyage’, and invited him either to stay in Languedoc until the Christian army came south, or to come north in the meantime if he wanted to meet earlier.44 38

Devic and Vaissete, Histoire générale de Languedoc, 8, col. 1221. Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale, Collection de Languedoc, ms. Doat vol. 153, fol. 300v.–301r. This document is undated, but must post-date Oliver’s meeting with Louis at Meulan in July 1247 at which he performed his liege homage to the king; Langlois, Olivier de Termes, p. 123. 40 Langlois, Olivier de Termes, pp. 123–5; Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale, Collection de Languedoc, ms. Doat, vol. 153, fol. 303v.-304v. 41 Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale, Collection de Languedoc, ms. Doat vol. 153, fol. 305r.–305v. 42 Kedar, ‘The passenger list of a crusader ship’, 270, n. 17 and 276–8; Layettes, 3, pp. 103–106, number 3883. 43 Kedar, ‘The passenger list of a crusader ship’, 268–9. Kedar’s analysis is followed by Richard, Saint Louis, roi d’une France féodale, p. 234. 44 Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale, Collection de Languedoc, ms. Doat vol. 153, fol. 281v.–282r.; Devic and Vaissete, Histoire générale de Languedoc, 8, col. 1222. 39

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There is no reason to believe that Oliver would not have been able to fulfil Louis’s wish for him to join his army in the summer of 1248 and he was certainly in close touch with the inner circles of the king’s household shortly before its departure from Aigues-Mortes on 25 August 1248. On 17 August, Oliver wrote to Blanche of Castile asking her to listen to the case of the unnamed woman who bore the letter.45 The letter was written at Carcassonne, from where Oliver would easily have been able to join the crusade army before it left, and the fact that Oliver chose this as a time at which to call upon the Capetians for assistance suggests that he was likely to have been involved in their immediate plans. Chronicle evidence (though not without its complications) positively places Oliver in the army that captured Damietta in 1249. Matthew Paris stated that Oliver and Hugh IV of Burgundy led the garrison that stayed in the city while the main body of the Christian army marched inland, intending to reach Cairo but facing defeat at Mansurah instead.46 Langlois believes that Matthew was mistaken about when and where Oliver and Hugh were left to defend the Christian camp, pointing out first that Joinville informs us that Hugh was present in the army after it had left Damietta47 and, second, that Louis would not have been likely to have left behind the crucial forces Oliver controlled (and particularly his crossbowmen) when he set out for Cairo. Langlois believes that Matthew Paris or his informant confused events, and that Oliver had instead been left with Hugh to guard the Christian camp by the Rexi during the battle of Mansurah.48 It would be easy to dismiss Matthew’s account of Oliver’s activities during this period entirely because, later in his chronicle, he recorded that Oliver was among a number of Christians killed by Muslims as they re-entered the city of Damietta.49 As will be seen, Oliver’s career continued long after this time and Matthew’s account of his death is erroneous. Nevertheless, although his version of Oliver’s involvement in events in Egypt is muddled, he was certainly correct to place Oliver in the crusade army during this period. Two separate documents produced in Acre in July 1250 record that Louis returned to Oliver his family’s former lands at Termes (though not the castle itself) along with the castle of Aguilar, which had been confiscated 45

Paris, Archives Nationales, ms. J1022, number 37. Although the contents of this letter do not provide any details about the nature of this woman’s difficulties, Langlois suggests she is likely to have been a member of a family dispossessed because of their alleged connections with heresy; Olivier de Termes, pp. 126–7. 46 Matthew Paris, Chronica maiora, ed. H. Luard (Rolls Series 57, London, 1872–83), 7 vols, 5, p. 159. 47 Vie, par. 216. 48 Langlois, Olivier de Termes, p. 130. 49 Matthew Paris, Chronica maiora, 5, p. 165.

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during the preceding decades. In both charters it was stated that this was done in grateful recognition of the service Oliver had shown to the king ‘on this side of the sea’.50 These documents could not have been issued had Oliver not left Europe until 1250. But Oliver was probably not with Louis at the time these grants were made. Gauthier Langlois, whose understanding of the passenger list of the Saint Victor is very different to Kedar’s, believes Oliver was at this time in Languedoc. Langlois suggests that the Saint Victor had arrived at Damietta immediately before the city’s fall and left, with Oliver on board, to return to Europe before Louis’s decision to travel to Acre was known. Once back in Europe and having learnt of the king’s movements, the passengers expressed their desire to be taken to join the crusade army and went to law with the owners of the Saint Victor in order to bring this about.51 Langlois may be wrong in this instance, because the record of the court’s judgement is entirely concerned with an understanding of what service the owners of the Saint Victor should provide to the pilgrims, and not with how these obligations related to any service already performed for them. If the ship had already crossed the Mediterranean this would have been mentioned. In any case the judgement of the document’s editors, and of Langlois and Kedar, in identifying the ‘Oliverius de Terrinis’ who is named among these pilgrims with our Oliver of Termes should not automatically be accepted.52 Although no alternative identification of ‘Oliverius de Terrinis’ immediately presents itself there are reasons to think that this may not be Oliver of Termes. In other documents Oliver is referred to as ‘de Termes’, ‘de Termulis’ and, most often, as ‘de Terminis’. Nowhere else is he referred to as ‘de Terrinis’ and, while it is of course true that the notary in Messina who recorded the court’s judgement in 1250 had a large number of unfamiliar names to deal with and may have entered irregular versions, ‘of Termes’ is certainly not the natural or only possible reading of ‘de Terrinis’. The list of the Saint Victor’s passengers also provides indications of the higher status of several individuals who were referred to as ‘dominus’. The names of these people all appear in the first part of the list, which begins by naming ‘dominus Marcualdus Suppanus de Boemia, … dominus Theodoricus de Vindibercli, dominus Ulandus Mane … ’.53 One would expect someone of Oliver of Termes’s importance to be have been named as a lord too, but ‘Oliverius de Terrinis’, although he is named as the leading member of a party of four, is not designated in this way. 50

Devic and Vaissete, Histoire générale de Languedoc, 8, cols 1276–7. Langlois, Olivier de Termes, pp. 133–4. 52 Paris, Archives Nationales, ms. J455, number 19. In his earlier edition of this document Huillard-Bréholles ‘corrected’ the text to read ‘Oliverius de Terminis’, Historia diplomatica Friderici Secundi, ed. J. L. A. Huillard-Bréholles (Paris, 1852–61), 6 vols, 6, p. 787. 53 Layettes, 3, p. 103, number 3883. 51

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Precisely how, when and from where Oliver crossed the Mediterranean after the crusaders’ loss of Damietta in 1250 is unclear but that he did so before Louis’s return is apparent. He may have been in Languedoc and taking care of his concerns at home before February 1251, when Innocent IV wrote to the archbishop of Narbonne expressing his agreement to Oliver’s wish that the rector of the parish of Davejean be granted leave to take on a second benefice. Innocent’s letter refers to the zealous devotion and faith Oliver had displayed in the business of Christ.54 Although Oliver’s request (the initial date of which is in any case unknown) concerning the rector of Davejean could have been made from overseas it seems that he was certainly at home during the months between spring and late summer 1252, as there is considerable evidence of his being active in Languedoc at this time. Langlois has identified how he sought to take care of the needs of the Church and its institutions by setting in place regulations for the collection of the dîme and by making pious donations of pasturage rights and a serf to the abbey of Fontfroide. The welfare of those close to him was also considered when he made a gift to his sister and cousin of half a condamine and when he enfeofed the castle of Ségure to one Bernard of Pobols and his wife.55 But it seems that Oliver’s own material needs may have been particularly pressing after his time in Egypt, because the first of his known actions during this period was to sell the castle of Mercorignan to the abbey of Fontfroide for 6 000 sous melgoriens.56 Oliver’s return to the crusade army in late 1252 is attested by his appointment in December of that year to settle a dispute concerning the Hospital’s undertaking (and apparent failure) to ship the horses of a group of knights that had arrived to serve in the East in the name of Alphonse of Poitiers.57 Joinville’s Vie de Saint Louis is our source for Oliver’s military exploits during this phase of his crusading career, during which he displayed abilities that would make him a vital asset to the Christian settlements over the following decades. During an unsuccessful raid towards Banyas in June 1253, Joinville and a group of his companions became stranded in a vulnerable position, away from the main body of crusaders. When William of Beaumont said that Joinville was dead and that no more effort should be expended to save him, it was Oliver who insisted that he would find out what had become of Joinville, whether dead or alive. This he did, bringing about Joinville’s rescue, not through heroic engagement with the enemy, but by leading him calmly and safely away from the Muslims 54

Les registres d’Innocent IV, ed. E. Berger (Paris, 1884–1921), 4 vols, 2, pp. 255–6 number

5393. 55

Cited in Langlois, Olivier de Termes, p. 137. Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale, Collection de Languedoc, ms. Doat vol. 59, fol. 253r.–257r. 57 Layettes, 3, pp. 171–2, number 4032. On this document, and in particular on Oliver’s possible connections with these Provençal knights see Langlois, Olivier de Termes, pp. 138–40. 56

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and the city. In the course of this retreat they were able to do great damage to the enemy by setting fire to their crops. Although not the most dramatic of escapes it was certainly effective and highly valued by Joinville, who felt that ‘God brought us to safety through the advice of Oliver of Termes’.58 Joinville’s great appreciation of Oliver’s actions, which led him to believe that Oliver had become a channel for divine aid, was undoubtedly due to the seneschal’s fear for his own life but it is also possible that it was fuelled by an awareness of the eminent career Oliver went on to have as a crusader. Oliver’s activities in the East in the 1260s and 1270s were certain to have been talked about within the knightly milieu and would therefore have lent Joinville’s Banyas anecdote greater value and cachet. Oliver left Acre with Louis, Joinville and the rest of the Christian army in April 1254, although he may not have returned to France until some time after his travelling companions. Following the grounding of his ship off Cyprus, the king had been adamant that he would not abandon the vessel as this would jeopardize the chances of his fellow passengers to reach home safely and swiftly. His worries may have been well-founded; Joinville recounted how Oliver, although one of the bravest men the seneschal had ever seen, was fearful of being drowned and therefore refused to continue the journey on board the damaged ship and instead remained on Cyprus. Joinville reported that despite his status and wealth Oliver had great difficulty in finding transport back to France, and was not seen at the royal court until a full year and a half later.59 Joinville’s statement tells us only that Oliver did not meet the king again for an extended period and we cannot use it as evidence for the length of the delay in Oliver’s return to Languedoc.60 Although we cannot be certain of when exactly Oliver reached Languedoc, we do know that there were problems waiting for him there. Two letters of uncertain date, but probably from the time soon after Oliver’s return from the East, attest to this. In the first, Louis IX called on the seneschal of Carcassonne to act in order to repair damage done to the land of Oliver’s nephew, William of Canet, to whom he was guardian. Oliver himself had informed the king of these troubles.61 Oliver’s own lands had also faced incursions and a similar letter was sent by the king requesting that the seneschal act in this case also.62 Both letters state specifically that damage had been done while Oliver was in the Holy Land. The assertion and defence of one’s rights to property and other resources were a constant 58

Vie, pars 577–81. Vie, par. 629. 60 Joinville seems to have got the length of the delay in Oliver’s return to the king’s side about right. Oliver was witness to a treaty signed at Paris in August 1255, approximately 16 months after the grounding of the king’s ship; Layettes, 3, pp. 253–6, number 4192. 61 Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale, Collection de Languedoc, ms. Doat vol. 154, fols 46r.–47r. 62 Ibid., fol. 47r.–47v. 59

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concern of lordship, and prolonged periods away from home could exacerbate problems of this kind. Perhaps this was particularly so for a former faidit like Oliver, who had turned his back on the network of families and individuals supporting heresy to which he had formerly contributed significantly. Hence the culprits named in the king’s letter concerning the damage done to Oliver and his nephew’s lands, William of Niort in the former case and William of Niort and Bernard Sesmon of Albedun in the latter, are both identified by Langlois as faidits and former comrades of Oliver in his campaigns against France and the Church.63 Members of William’s family had been the subject of investigation by the Inquisition in the 1230s while Oliver and the Termes family had avoided this fate.64 Oliver’s activities during the decade between his return from crusade and his third departure for the East in 1264 demonstrate that among his main concerns was the desire to conform to his role as loyal vassal of his liege lord, Louis of France. In what must have been his first military engagement since leaving the Holy Land, Oliver aided in the French capture of the castle of Quéribus, the last rebel stronghold in Languedoc, in May 1255.65 It is apparent that he was by this time a trusted and valued servant of Louis, who, fearing invasion by the Aragonese, in around 1257 wrote to the seneschal of Carcassone ordering that he bring together Oliver and three or four others of those faithful to the French king to consider the situation.66 The position of the lords of Termes in relation to the French and Aragonese Crowns was clarified by a treaty of 11 May 1258 made at Corbeil, according to which James of Aragon ceded to Louis various places to which he had laid claim, Termes among them.67 But the ties of mutual knowledge and interest, as well as the formal feudal ties, that had bound Oliver and his family to the Aragonese Crown and which had prompted his involvement in the conquest of Majorca, certainly did not disappear. His continuing close involvement with James of Aragon and his court is evident in his presence 63 Langlois, Olivier de Termes, pp. 140–41. There is one further letter concerning damage done to Oliver’s woods and lands by another faidit lord, Amaury of Narbonne, but its dating is uncertain, as is its possible connection with the crusade. The letter, transcribed by Doat in Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale, Collection de Languedoc ms. Doat vol. 154, fols 98v.–99r., is undated. Mahul, in his Cartulaire et archives communes de l’ancien diocèse et de l’arrondissement de Carcassonne, 3, p. 457, dates it to around 1252, in which case the crusade would have provided its context. Langlois, however, feels it is more likely to date from around 1256, and for Amaury’s actions to be related to Oliver’s conflict with Chabert of Barbaira (one of Amaury’s vassals); Olivier de Termes, p. 154. As we have seen, in the other letters relating to damage suffered by Oliver’s estates during the course of his crusade his absence in the Holy Land was specifically mentioned. This suggests that Oliver’s crusade was not the context for the production of this letter and that Langlois’s theory is therefore the more likely in this instance. 64 See above pp. 156–7. 65 Langlois, Olivier de Termes, p. 145–9. 66 Devic and Vaissete, Histoire générale de Languedoc, 8, cols. 1411–12. 67 Layettes, 3, pp. 405–8, number 4411.

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as a witness at the wedding of Peter, the king’s oldest son, to Constance, daughter of Manfred of Sicily, at Montpellier in June 1262.68 In July of the same year Oliver again acted as a witness for James, this time to the signing of peace with Louis at Clermont.69 Nevertheless, the only secular authority to benefit from Oliver’s military expertise in his later career was the French Crown, both at home, as at Quéribus in 1255, and overseas, as his subsequent activities in the East demonstrate. The settling of disputes and restoration of wrongly-held property are activities often associated with departing crusaders who saw this as a means of securing funds for their journey and ensuring the penitential value of their pilgrimage was not limited by the perpetuation of such sins.70 In Oliver’s case, however, such arrangements seem to have been made in the period following his return to France. In August 1255 Louis IX sent a letter allowing Oliver to pledge property ‘for his making of amends and restitutions’.71 When he drew up his will in November 1257, the first details Oliver gave as to the disposal of his material wealth related to his estate which he wished to hand over to the abbey of Fontfroide for 20 years after his death to make good certain injuries he may have done and to pay his debts ‘for the salvation of my soul’.72 Later in his will Oliver also stipulated that the castle of Aguilar and the rights and resources attached to it should pass to the king of France on condition that in return the king should provide 30 000 solidorum (or at least 20 000 solidorum) ‘for my soul … to make my restitutions’.73 Oliver was to live for another 18 years after this will had been written and much of the property it concerned was never dispersed in the way the will described. This was because Oliver had sold it in the meantime, in order to make his own donations or restitutions and in order to fund his presence in the East. Among these sales was that of the castles of Aguilar and Davejean along with a number of other named properties, which in 1260 the king ordered the seneschal of Carcassonne to buy from Oliver. The wording of this document suggests that Oliver needed the funds from this sale not to settle debts but to right wrongs, ‘that from this he may make restitution to those from whom he had seized or held things wrongly’.74 The following year Oliver acknowledged having received from Louis 3 320 68

Devic and Vaissete, Histoire générale de Languedoc, 8, cols. 1501–2. Paris, Archives Nationales, ms. J587, number 11. 70 J. Riley-Smith, The First Crusade and the idea of crusading (London, 1986), pp. 36–8. 71 Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale, Collection de Languedoc, ms. Doat vol. 48, fols 135v.–136r. 72 Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale, Collection de Languedoc, ms. Doat vol. 40, fols 307r.–313r. 73 Ibid., this at fol. 310v. 74 Devic and Vaissete, Histoire générale de Languedoc, 8, cols 1473–4. 69

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livres tournois for these properties.75 Oliver’s money-raising efforts during the same period were aided by further sales to a Templar commandery76 and the chapter of the church of Saint-Nazaire in Carcassonne77 among others. He had also gained permission from Alphonse of Poitiers in 1260 to sell possessions in the diocese of Toulouse. When Alphonse wrote to his seneschal concerning the proposed sales he said that Oliver wished to do this ‘desiring to provide salvation for his soul’ and in order to restore that which he had seized or held wrongly.78 Oliver’s first major sale after his second return from the East was of the castles of Saint-Nazaire and Sainte-Valière to the abbey of Fontfroide in February 1257.79 He seems to have developed a particularly close relationship with this Cistercian abbey over the years that followed.80 Just a few weeks after the sales of Saint-Nazaire and Sainte-Valière he gifted to the abbey 10 000 of the 80 000 sous melgoriens they owed him for these properties. We know of this gift because abbot Odo of Fontfroide recorded the benefits Oliver would receive in return. The monks of Fontfroide undertook to have Oliver’s name written in all the missals of the abbey, to make a collection for him when mass was said in the chapel of St Bernard that Oliver had founded there and to mark the anniversary of Oliver’s death with a mass and a meal in his honour.81 His will of later the same year, to which Odo was the leading witness, recorded Oliver’s wish to have his tomb at the abbey ‘if it happens that I should die on this side of the sea’.82 This passage is interesting because it demonstrates that Oliver was at this time considering the possibility that he might venture overseas again, and also because it indicates that Fontfroide was the religious house with which he wished to be most closely associated, in death as in life. His continuing relationship with Fontfroide is demonstrated by the fact that when preparations were being made for Oliver’s sixth trip to the East, around 1272, two monks of Fontfroide were sent to the pope as Oliver’s messengers.83 75

Ibid., 8, col. 1474. Louis gave confirmation of this sale in 1261: Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale, Collection de Languedoc, ms. Doat, vol. 58 fols 473v.–474r. The details of this sale and the property and rights it concerned were recorded in a document dated to the following year; ibid., fols 477r.–480v. 77 Cartulaire et archives des communes de l’ancien diocèse et de l’arrondissement administratif de Carcassonne, 3, p. 462. 78 Devic and Vaissete, Histoire générale de Languedoc, 8, cols. 1475–6: two documents of the same date. 79 Gallia Christiana, in provincias ecclesiasticas distributa (Paris, 1715–1865, repr. Farnborough, 1970), 16 vols, 6, col. 207. 80 Langlois, Olivier de Termes, pp. 201–11. 81 Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale, Collection de Languedoc, ms. Doat, vol. 59, fols 270r.–271v. On this document and in particular on Oliver’s choice of St Bernard as the patron of his chapel see Langlois, Olivier de Termes, pp. 206–8. 82 Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale, Collection de Languedoc, ms. Doat, vol. 40, fols 307v–308r. 83 Les registres de Grégoire X (1272–1276), ed. J. Guiraud (Paris, 1892), p. 337, number 803. 76

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Oliver of Termes’s activities in what remained of the Latin kingdom in the East during his later life provide a demonstration of what could be achieved when an individual’s personal commitment to the cause harmonized with the interests of his temporal lord. Louis IX’s own dedication to the crusade and the Christian settlements in the East was clearly stated in his decision to establish and fund the garrison at Acre that would provide a continuing presence for the French Crown in the region. Oliver of Termes spent two periods with Louis’s Acre garrison, the first of which began with his arrival in that city in September 1264.84 There is no clear indication in the surviving source material as to what prompted him to come at this time – there is, for example, no mention of him coming as the appointed head of a group of knights or other forces. If this was a personal initiative, it is nonetheless clear that he went with the approval and support of the French Crown because in 1265 Louis said that Oliver and Geoffrey of Sergines would have the use of 4 000 livres tournois which the Temple and Hospital were ordered to borrow in the king’s name. Oliver and Geoffrey were among those later called on by a group of Piacenzan merchants who had supplied part of these funds to verify their claim for repayment after the ship carrying their representative and documentation to France sank.85 Clement IV wrote to Oliver in July 1265, praising his efforts to aid the Holy Land, in which place the pope believed he wished to die. Clement said that by doing this he would achieve union with the crucified Christ.86 While he may have wished to die in the Holy Land, Oliver’s actions during the later stages of his career in the East show that such an aspiration should certainly not be equated with a burning desire for martyrdom on his part. They demonstrate him to have been a level-headed leader of men, concerned with saving Christian lives whenever possible. The first account of Oliver’s involvement in a military engagement during this period is provided by the Annales de Terre Sainte, which report how in November 1264 the knights of Acre, Oliver, the Hospitallers and the Templars carried out a raid on Baisan and three other locations, capturing many men, women and beasts and burning land as they went.87 Such an exercise was profitable in practical terms for the Christians of Acre, rather than one from which the 84

‘Annales de Terre Sainte’, Archives de l’Orient Latin, 2 (1884), part 2, 451. Oliver’s arrival was also reported by the Templar of Tyre, who commented on his bravery and military skill, but also wrongly stated that he was from Spain. The potential for confusion in regional allegiance which was evident in Oliver’s early career had not been removed for others, even if it had been for Oliver himself; Cronaca del Templare di Tiro (1243–1314). La caduta degli stati crociati nel racconto di un testimone oculare, ed. L. Minervini (Nuovo medioevo 59, Naples, 2000), pp. 96–7, par. 90. 85 G. Servois, ‘Emprunts de Saint Louis en Palestine et en Afrique’, Bibliothèque de l’Ecole des Chartes, fourth series, 4 (1858), 116–17, 123–5. 86 Thesaurus novus anecdotorum, eds E. Martène and U. Durand (Paris, 1717), 5 vols, 2, col. 147, number 80. 87 ‘Annales de Terre Sainte’, 451.

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participants expected or sought either death or glory. Having returned to France at some point before spring 1266, when he can be seen to have been with the king at Corbeil in April, probably sharing with Louis news of the lamentable condition of the Holy Land and the need for a new crusade,88 Oliver returned once more to the East. His personal unwillingness to take unnecessary risks was described in an account of a raid undertaken by the Christians in 1269 provided by the Templar of Tyre.89 As the raiding party returned to Acre, led by Oliver and Robert of Crésèques (the captain of the French garrison), they came upon a body of Muslims which had been lying in wait for them. A difference of opinion emerged as to how the Christians should deal with this situation. The text reports that Robert wanted to engage with the enemy, saying that he had come overseas in order to die for God in the Holy Land. Oliver’s concerns seem to have been quite different. In a manner reminiscent of that in which he dealt with Joinville’s party at Banyas in 1253, Oliver said it would be better to spurn the fight offered by the Muslims and take an indirect but safe route to Acre by going through the gardens outside the city wall and in through the ‘Mau Pas’ gate. In the event Oliver did take this route, accompanying Robert’s son and seven or eight others of his colleagues to safety. The remaining Christian force (now less than 200 strong), faced a Muslim force far superior in numbers. The garrison of Acre lost a number of its members in this skirmish, including two of Oliver’s own relations.90 Oliver crossed the Mediterranean again soon after these events. He heard of Louis’s intention of taking his second crusade to Tunis at Naples, and it was from there that he sailed south to join the Christian army. Oliver brought great joy to the Christian army when he informed them that Charles of Anjou, king of Sicily, had a fleet ready to depart from Europe.91 During this crusade, which was characterized primarily by the Christian 88

Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale, ms. lat. 9996, fol. 42v.–43r.; Langlois, Olivier de Termes, pp. 216–17. 89 Cronaca del Templare di Tiro, pp. 114–17, par. 115. This text dates these events incorrectly to 1267: C. Marshall, Warfare in the Latin East, 1192–1291 (Cambridge studies in medieval life and thought, fourth series 17, Cambridge, 1992), p. 80. Accounts of these events dating them to 1269 are provided by Ibn al-Fura¯t, the ‘Rothelin’ continuator and the ‘Annales de Terre Sainte’: Ayyubids, Mamlukes and crusaders. Selections from the Ta¯ri¯kh al-Duwal wa’l Mulu¯k of Ibn al-Fura¯t, eds and trans. U. and M. C. Lyons with J. Riley-Smith (Cambridge, 1971), 2 vols, 2, pp. 137–8; ‘Continuation de Guillaume de Tyr, de 1229 à 1261, dite du manuscrit de Rothelin’, in RHC Occ., 2, p. 458; ‘Annales de Terre Sainte’, 454. 90 The Templar of Tyre informs us that two of Oliver’s nephews were taken prisoner in this skirmish and later died in prison in Cairo. In the document sent by Oliver and others confirming the money lent by Piacenzan merchants it was reported that Oliver’s brother and nephew were among those who suffered the same shipwreck as the Piacenzan representative; Servois, ‘Emprunts de Saint Louis en Palestine et en Afrique’, 124–5. 91 ‘Chronique de Primat traduite par Jean du Vignay’, in RHGF, 23, p. 51.

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army’s battles against disease rather than Muslims, Oliver was nonetheless able to demonstrate his bravery and military skill. Primat’s chronicle described a series of such incidents, in which Oliver first attacked a Muslim raiding-party, killing 14 of the enemy and seizing eight of their mares.92 Some days later he was also able, with God’s help, to lead from danger the rearguard of a Christian force that had gone to the assistance of a group of crusaders who had ignored Louis’s orders not to respond to the provocation of Muslim raids.93 When seven Christian sailors were killed after such a raid on the port area of the Christian camp which Oliver had responsibility for guarding, he felt shame at what he believed was his personal negligence and sought an opportunity for revenge. This desire was fulfilled the following day, when he responded to another attack on the same part of the camp by killing 12 Muslim knights and taking several of their horses.94 After Louis’s death and the conclusion of truces between the crusade’s leaders and their Tunisian enemies Oliver returned to France, where he soon began making plans for another period in the East. Not long after his election as pope, the crusade enthusiast Gregory X wrote to Oliver endorsing his intention to go overseas with a force of 200 men.95 Preparations for his campaign cannot have been as swift or as smooth as initially hoped because he did not arrive at Acre until April 1273, and was accompanied by only 100 crossbowmen and 25 knights.96 In this instance the support Oliver received from the French Crown and the papacy is clear, although RileySmith thinks he was likely to have served on the same voluntary basis as that of his predecessors in the Acre Garrison, including Geoffrey of Sergines.97 Measures were put in place by both authorities to ensure that Oliver would have the resources he needed for this project: Gregory X’s letter to Oliver had said that he would receive material assistance ‘from the Tunisian funds’, probably meaning from the monies which remained unused after the collapse of Louis’s Tunisian crusade.98 The co-operation between the French king and the papacy in supporting and resourcing Oliver’s presence in Acre at this time is demonstrated by a letter from Gregory X to Philip III in July 1274 expressing the wish that Oliver be persuaded to remain overseas, where his usefulness had been of the first 92

Ibid., p. 51. Ibid., pp. 53–4. 94 Ibid., pp. 54–5. 95 Les registres de Grégoire X, p. 335, number 796. 96 ‘Annales de Terre Sainte’, 456; ‘Continuation de Guillaume de Tyr, de 1229 à 1261, dite du manuscrit de Rothelin’, p. 463. 97 J. Riley-Smith, ‘The Crown of France and Acre, 1254–1291’, in France and the Holy Land. Frankish culture at the end of the crusades, eds D. Weiss and L. Mahoney (Baltimore and London, 2004), p. 52. 98 Les registres de Grégoire X, p. 335, number 796; Riley-Smith, ‘The Crown of France and Acre’, p. 52. 93

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order.99 Gregory’s wish that Oliver might provide a long-term commitment to the Christian settlements in the East was not fulfilled. Whether Oliver would have been willing to do so is uncertain, but he did not live long enough for the issue to arise. The Annales de Terre Sainte reported that he died on 7 August 1274.100 The circumstances of Oliver’s death are obscure, but his renown within both Christian and Muslim communities in the East is clear: his death was reported by Ibn al-Fura¯t with words of respect.101 At the time of his death Oliver was an old man, probably over 70, who had spent approximately 13 years in north Africa and the Near East, participating in two crusades and spending several further periods in the East defending Christian territory there. In the process he had endured ten trans-Mediterranean voyages. For someone with a strong enough fear of the sea to risk being stranded on Cyprus rather than continue a journey to France this suggests a strong commitment to the crusading cause. Oliver was by no means unique in this respect but his career is of outstanding interest as it presents such contrasts. When Benjamin Kedar tried to explain the shift in Oliver’s career from rebel and crusade target into loyal vassal of the French Crown and crusade stalwart he suggested that the crusade was a means by which Oliver could escape a reputation damaged by his earlier association with heresy. In support of this theory Kedar cited testimony given to the inquisitors at Carcassonne in around 1258 in which a witness recalled having seen a suspected heretic ‘with Oliver of Termes at the time when that Oliver was a faidit’.102 Malcolm Barber has also pointed out that Louis’s return to Oliver of land at Termes in 1250 was dependent on there being no further association with heresy in his family.103 It is certainly important to note that Oliver’s association with heresy was not forgotten, but it is also important to recognize that according to the testimony of 1258 this association had come to be viewed as a matter of history: there was a time when Oliver had been a faidit but that time had gone. It was a fact of life for men of Oliver’s status that personal circumstances and allegiances could change and that past enemies could become colleagues. Hence if we believe, as we should, that Oliver was a member of Louis’s crusade army before 1250, we should note that he therefore worked alongside Humbert of Beaujeu and John of Beaumont. The former (constable of France) had led the crusader forces against Oliver at Labécède99

Les registres de Grégoire X, p. 209, number 493. ‘Annales de Terre Sainte’, 456. 101 Ayyubids, Mamlukes and crusaders, 2, p. 160. 102 ‘Exceptiones Carcassonensium querimoniis objectae. Circa annum 1258’, in RHGF, 24, p. 548. 103 M. Barber, The Cathars: dualist heretics in Languedoc in the high middle ages (Harlow, 2000), p. 164. 100

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Lauragais in 1227, while the latter (chamberlain of France) had been a key figure in the royal force sent to break the siege of Carcassonne laid by Raymond Trencavel with Oliver’s help in 1240.104 Of course we cannot be sure that efforts to produce co-operation between former opponents were always successful or without suspicion, but I would suggest that an awareness of shared status and military skill and a greater concern for the needs of the present than the allegiances of the past may have enabled Oliver and his colleagues to overcome these problems. There is no indication that Oliver’s activities or contacts were restricted by his former association with the heretical cause: from the time of Louis’s first crusade onwards he was a valued servant of the king of France and his representatives overseas and in Europe, in Languedoc and in Paris, he maintained contact and involvement with the Crown and nobility of Aragon and he became a prized friend of the Church in Rome and its institutions closer to home. If Oliver of Termes did have a sense of shame about the events and associations of his early career (which may well have been the case) this was expiated through pious gifts, restitutions and service in the Holy Land. His activities as a crusader were not a means of running away from his past but a way of facing up to it. Oliver’s participation in Louis IX’s first crusade marked a turning point in his career and concerns. From this time onwards Oliver’s activities seem to have been focused on performing his duties as a vassal, raising funds in order to settle debts or make restorations of wronglyheld wealth, establishing or reinforcing his relationships with religious houses and, of course, the crusade and defence of the Latin East. These are elements that could feature in any knightly career and which had featured in Oliver’s own career before 1248, though in very different ways and with very different consequences. The extent to which Oliver’s activities from the time of Louis’s first crusade until his death were influenced by changes in circumstances in Languedoc, changes in his feudal relationships, the break with his family’s association with heresy or by a personal moral or religious transformation cannot be judged. It is likely that all these factors were combined in different measure to produce a situation in which Oliver’s knightly and spiritual energies could be and were channelled into the crusade as a means by which he could make peace with his lord, his Church, his God and himself. John of Joinville Like Oliver of Termes and other knightly contemporaries, John of Joinville had to decide at different points in his career what role to play in the 104 William of Puylaurens, Chronique, pp. 124–5; Devic and Vaissete, Histoire générale de Languedoc, 6, p. 721.

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crusade movement. There seems to be a stark contrast in the responses of Oliver and Joinville to these dilemmas. While Oliver went on crusade in Majorca once and in the East twice, and spent additional periods in the East fighting to defend Christian-held territory there, Joinville’s first trip across the Mediterranean was also to be his last. He even chose to spurn the explicit requests of his overlords, the king of France and the count of Champagne, that he take part in Louis’s second crusade. This section of my study will examine what may have prompted him to make these decisions about participating in crusade campaigns, with reference both to his personal circumstances and to his attitudes as they are presented to us in the Vie de Saint Louis. Although the place of the crusade in Joinville’s active military career was limited, it is nonetheless important to acknowledge that it also made a contribution to his career as a writer. The relationship between Joinville’s activities and experiences as a crusader and his literary output must, therefore, also be considered. For while Joinville did not return to the crusade in practice after his return to France in 1254, he did return to it in writing at several points in his later career. The reasons why Joinville joined Louis’s first crusade are not made explicit in the Vie de Saint Louis. After describing how the king had taken the cross after his recovery from an illness and listing some of the great men who followed suit (among whom were Joinville’s cousins, the count of Sarrebrück and his brother with whom he sailed to Cyprus) his account launched straight into the preparations which immediately preceded his departure.105 It seems that Joinville did not think it necessary to explain why he would choose to go on crusade, that this was not a decision he had difficulty in making. Philippe Ménard suggested that he would have expected his readers to share his understanding of why participation in crusading was valuable and that therefore he did not need to explain his motivation.106 I suspect that in terms of ideology Ménard is right: Joinville did not feel he had to describe why Christians should try to recapture the holy places or outline the rewards that he would receive as a result. But it is one of the contentions of this study that belief about the value of crusading was only one element in determining who responded positively to the crusade message and when and how they did so. Personal circumstances and family history could also play an important part in such decision-making. We have seen these factors at work in the case of Oliver of Termes, a large part of whose reason for going to the East for the first time must have been the expectation or requirement placed on him because his lord, to whom he was newly reconciled, was leading the crusade. 105

Vie, pars. 106–13. P. Ménard, ‘L’esprit de la croisade chez Joinville. Etude des mentalités médiévales’, in Les Champenois et la croisade. Actes des quatrièmes journées rémoises, 27–28 Novembre 1987, eds Y. Bellenger and D. Quéruel (Paris, 1989), p. 137. 106

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No such demands were placed on Joinville by his feudal relationships. Neither of Joinville’s overlords, the counts of Champagne and Bar, took part in the crusade of 1248. His relationship with Louis was not, at this stage, one of vassal and lord and he therefore did not owe direct obedience to the king. Before their departure for Cyprus Louis summoned leading barons to Paris and asked them to swear an oath of loyalty to his heirs. The fact that Joinville was among these individuals does suggest that there was a connection of some sort between him and the king, but the limited nature of the responsibility Joinville bore as a result of this relationship was made clear by him when he recounted that he refused to swear this oath ‘because I was not his man’.107 Joinville’s decision to crusade was echoed by many of his fellow Champenois knights: although count Thibaut IV did not take part in this campaign the contingent from the region was nonetheless large.108 It seems that the influence of feudal ties in Champagne on crusade recruitment at this time was different from that in Languedoc, reflecting the contrasting recent histories of these regions. Joinville’s decision to join Louis’s first crusade would therefore appear to have been very much a personal one. The involvement of earlier generations of his family in crusading was probably one of the most influential among the factors at work in determining that he made this choice, as had been the case for those who were born or married into other crusading families, including the dynasties of the counts of Nevers and the Perche.109 The first of Joinville’s ancestors to take part in a crusade had been Geoffrey III of Joinville, who went to the East with the forces of the Second Crusade in 1147.110 Between this time and 1248, every major crusade campaign to the Levant or north Africa was to include a member of the family. Geoffrey IV was present at the siege of Acre by the Third Crusade, where he died in August 1190.111 He had been accompanied on this crusade by his son, Geoffrey V, who was later to crusade again as a member of a group of Champenois knights who had taken a vow for the Fourth Crusade but refused to go along with its diversion to Constantinople and instead went to the Levant. Geoffrey V died at Crac des Chevaliers in 1204,112 after demonstrating the qualities that meant the chronicler Alberic of Troisfontaines 107 Vie, par. 114; H.-F. Delaborde, Jean de Joinville et les seigneurs de Joinville, suivi d’un catalogue de leurs actes (Paris, 1894), p. 75. 108 W. C. Jordan, Louis IX and the challenge of the crusade. A study in rulership (Princeton, 1979), p. 43. 109 E. Siberry, ‘The crusading counts of Nevers’, Nottingham medieval studies, 34 (1990), 64–70; K. Thompson, ‘Family tradition and the crusading impulse: the Rotrou counts of the Perche’, Medieval prosopography: history and collective biography, 19 (1998), 1–33; Riley-Smith, The first crusaders, pp. 93–103. 110 Delaborde, Jean de Joinville et les seigneurs de Joinville, p. 27. 111 Ibid., pp. 35–6. 112 Ibid., pp. 37, 44–5.

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would deem him a most honourable and famous knight.113 John’s father, Simon, succeeded his brother as lord of Joinville and continued the crusading tradition by participating in the siege of Damietta by the Fifth Crusade in 1219.114 The importance of the crusading activities of these ancestors to John of Joinville is made amply clear by the contents of the epitaph he wrote to be placed at the tomb of Geoffrey III at Clairvaux.115 This epitaph takes the form of a brief genealogy of the Joinville family in which the only noncrusader to be mentioned is Geoffrey IV’s third son, William, who became archbishop of Rheims. The epitaph gives a wide-ranging account of the interests of Geoffrey III in terms of his religious establishments and feats of arms ‘at home and overseas’, but in the cases of his other ancestors it seems to have been the events of their crusades that were most notable for Joinville. The epitaph mentions the deaths of Geoffreys IV and V on crusade, Simon’s presence at Damietta with John of Brienne and describes John of Joinville’s own crusade as one during which he benefited from his good relations with Louis IX and was able to retrieve his uncle’s shield. This shield had been left in the castle at Crac since the time of Geoffrey V’s death. It is likely that Joinville went there during his pilgrimage to Tortosa, which was not far away.116 This journey thus had the nature of a twin pilgrimage, in which Joinville marked his religious faith and his commitment to his ancestry and from which he returned with both sacred and secular relics. During his pilgrimage Joinville had been given relics by Bohemond VI of Antioch, some of which he gave to the king.117 Interestingly, the epitaph does not record Simon of Joinville’s involvement with the Albigensian crusade. A charter made before Simon’s departure in 1209 has already been mentioned.118 It seems that Simon’s contribution to the Albigensian crusade may not have been great and was certainly not lengthy, for the conduct of his affairs in Champagne had resumed by the middle of 1210.119 It may have been the brevity of Simon’s participation in this project or his lack of notable achievements during the course of his involvement in the Albigensian crusade that meant that John chose not to mention it in his epitaph of 1311. Or, which is the more 113 ‘Chronica Albrici monachi Trium Fontium, a monacho novi monasterii Hoiensis interpolata’, ed. P. Scheffer-Boichorst in MGHSS, 23, p. 879. 114 Delaborde, Jean de Joinville et les seigneurs de Joinville, p. 56. 115 ‘Epitaphe composée par Joinville’, ed. N. de Wailly in John of Joinville, Histoire de Saint Louis, Credo et lettre à Louis X, ed. N. de Wailly (second edition, Paris, 1874), pp. 544–7. 116 Delaborde, Jean de Joinville et les seigneurs de Joinville, p. 122. 117 Vie, par. 600. 118 See above, p. 115. 119 J. Lusse, ‘D’Etienne à Jean de Joinville: l’ascension d’une famille seigeuriale Champenoise’, in Jean de Joinville: de la Champagne aux royaumes d’outre-mer, ed. D. Quéruel (Langres, 1998), p. 22.

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interesting possibility, his decision not to refer to these events may indicate that John did not value the crusade against heretics in Europe as highly as he did the crusade against Muslims in the East. Joinville’s family background was a factor that would strongly predispose him to respond positively when the opportunity to crusade in the East arose, but the strains placed on his resources by participation in the crusade in 1248 suggest that there was more than family history at work in his decision-making. He was probably only 19 years old when Louis took the cross in 1244, and the years between that time and the departure of the crusade were vital ones for the establishment of the young seneschal’s family and fortunes. The need to prepare for a military campaign of indeterminate length at this time must therefore have been a considerable burden, certainly in material terms and perhaps in emotional terms too. Joinville’s account of his own crusade begins with his recollection of summoning his men to his home at Easter in 1248, the time of the birth of his second son, John, who would become lord of Ancerville.120 While still a young man, Joinville was the head of a growing family with limited resources; his mother was still alive and retained her marriage portion for her own use, leaving Joinville lands with a revenue of only 1000 livres of rent per year.121 Further complications resulted from the fact that his wife, Alix, had not received her dowry.122 Alix’s brother, Henry of Grandpré, gave her 300 of the 500 livrées of land she had been promised, on the understanding that she would receive the remainder when their mother died. It seems that Alix and John had to settle for the initial 300 livrées, because in May 1248 they agreed to quit Henry and his heirs of responsibility for Alix’s inheritance.123 Given these relatively straitened circumstances it is not surprising that Joinville had to pledge a substantial portion of his lands in order to raise the funds necessary to support himself and his company.124 Further expenses were incurred by his need to ensure that his material and spiritual affairs were settled before he left Champagne. His decision to act as host to all his men during the week following Easter must in itself have been costly, but he also used this time to allow those present to raise any grievances against him in order that they might be redressed if he were found to be in the wrong.125 Having made any reparations necessary to his men, he sought to take care of his own needs by making gifts to a number of local religious houses that would help ensure the well-being of his soul should he not return from crusade. Four such gifts are known from July 1248. To the 120 121 122 123 124 125

Vie, par. 110. Ibid., par. 112. Delaborde, Jean de Joinville et les seigneurs de Joinville, p. 76. Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale, ms. fr. 11853, fol. 42v. Vie, par. 112. Ibid., par. 111.

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abbey of Montierender he gave a woman, Margaret, from the village of Sommevoire.126 In a grant to the canons of Saint Lawrence of Joinville, he stated first that they would receive grain from Blécourt on condition that they lit candles for him in the parish church of Our Lady there three times a year, secondly that they would be allowed to purchase a certain house in Joinville, and thirdly that he and his heirs would provide them with wax to be burnt during the elevation of the host. In return for this gift the canons were required to sing a mass of the Holy Spirit for Joinville and his wife during their lifetimes, and to sing requiem masses to mark their anniversaries after their deaths.127 To the priory of Val d’Osne he gave four sestiers of wheat to be taken each year from his mill at Curel in return for a mass of the Holy Spirit being said for him each Pentecost during his lifetime and for his anniversary being marked after his death.128 The Cistercian abbey of Ecurey received from Joinville quittance of a debt in order to provide the monks with food on the day they celebrated a mass for him.129 It is apparent that Joinville made careful provision for his remembrance by local religious, whatever should happen during the course of his crusade. He was not alone in wishing to make such preparations. During July 1248 he also issued declarations concerning the knight Walter of Curel, whom we know was in his entourage in Egypt from the report in the Vie de Saint Louis that he gave the advice that they could only call on God’s aid in the face of an onslaught of Greek fire launched by the Muslim forces.130 Walter’s gift of a sestier of wheat, half a sestier of maize and half a sestier of oats to Saint Urbain was explicitly stated to have been made in order to establish his anniversary ‘should it happen to please the Lord that he die overseas’.131 Walter also provided funds for the establishment of his and his wife’s anniversary at Val d’Osne. In doing so he also made provision for the material well-being of his family. His daughter, Margaret, who was a nun of that house, would have the use of the wine and grain he gave during her lifetime, but these resources would pass to the priory after her death.132 The significance of Joinville’s final actions before leaving his home, his receipt of pilgrim insignia and performance of bare-foot pilgrimage to local shrines has been considered elsewhere in this study.133 They signal the 126

Chaumont, Archives Départementales de la Haute-Marne, ms. 7 H 2, fol. 74v. J.-B.-A. Crépin, Notice historique sur la paroisse de Blécourt (Haute-Marne) (Chaumont, 1858), pp. 83–4. Although Crépin dates this charter to 1249, it must pre-date Joinville’s departure on crusade. I have thus followed Delaborde’s dating of this gift to 1248, Jean de Joinville et les seigneurs de Joinville, p. 316, number 329. 128 Paris, Archives Nationales, ms. L1045, number 11. 129 Cited by Delaborde, Jean de Joinville et les seigneurs de Joinville, p. 317, number 331. 130 Vie, pars. 203–4. 131 Treize chartes inédites de Jean, sire de Joinville, ed. J Simmonet (Dijon, 1874), pp. 24–5. 132 Paris, Archives Nationales, ms. S4607, number 13. 133 Vie, par. 122; see above, p. 114. 127

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strong association Joinville saw between the journey he was about to make and other penitential journeys he had and would make. This is the last, and perhaps the most important, of the factors that we must consider in order to understand why Joinville decided to go on crusade in 1248. In summary, the possibility of this crusade came when Joinville was still young and militarily inexperienced. As far as we know, the only military action Joinville had seen before 1248 was in a private war of the count of Chalon, his uncle.134 He had a new family and his estate was not fully established. The crusade must therefore have been both a personally daunting and financially onerous prospect. Yet it is one that he chose to embrace, apparently without hesitation. As there seems to have been no prompting on the part of either of his temporal lords, it would appear that he chose to take part in this campaign in order to continue what he saw as a noble family tradition and to receive the penitential reward it offered. John of Joinville’s experiences during the course of his crusade campaign are richly described in the central section of the Vie de Saint Louis, and provided the basis for much of chapter four above. They will not be returned to in detail in this section, the purpose of which is to consider how participation in a crusade might contribute to a knight’s career and how individuals made decisions about joining crusade campaigns. At the most basic, practical level, Joinville’s participation in Louis’s first crusade was crucial in his career development as it provided the context in which his relationship with the king came to be firmly established, on a formal as well as personal basis. Having been at pains to point out that before departing on crusade he was not Louis’s vassal, by the time he returned to France there was no doubt that Joinville was a servant of the French Crown. He became the king’s servant in 1249, while the crusade army was at Cyprus. Aware that Joinville needed funds to support himself and the nine knights he had brought with him, Louis retained him in return for 800 livres.135 A similar arrangement was made at Acre once the decision had been made that the king’s stay in the East would be extended. Louis had difficulty in engaging enough men who were willing to stay and serve him but succeeded in assuring the service of Joinville and his company in return for 2 000 livres.136 Just as Oliver of Termes was rewarded by Louis for the service he provided to the king during the crusade, so was Joinville. At Jaffa in April 1252 the king gave to him and his heirs an annual rent of 200 livres tournois in grateful acknowledgement of the service he had given in the Holy Land.137 134 135 136 137

Delaborde, Jean de Joinville et les seigneurs de Joinville, p. 74; Vie, pars. 277–8. Ibid., par. 136. Ibid., pars 439–41. A. Firmin Didot, Etudes sur la vie et les travaux de Jean sire de Joinville (Paris, 1870), p. 195.

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The closeness of the ties established between Joinville and Louis during the course of the king’s first crusade is evident in the seneschal’s activities after 1254. Joinville’s standing with the king was such that he could act as a go-between for Thibaut V of Champagne in the matter of his proposed marriage to Louis’s daughter, Isabelle of France.138 Although by no means a constant presence at the French royal court, when he was in attendance Joinville provided the counsel Louis would have expected of a loyal vassal. He was among the king’s advisers in the affair of Matthew of Trie (wrongly remembered by him as Renaut of Trie), who sought to make a claim from the Crown using a letter on which the seal had been damaged.139 When in 1267 Louis announced his intention of undertaking a second crusade, the bonds of friendship and lordship between him and Joinville were much stronger than had been the case in the 1240s. It would have seemed natural for Joinville, who had shown his dedication to the king and the crusade by remaining overseas in the 1250s, to respond positively to Louis’s request that he take the cross once more. In addition, Joinville came under pressure from his primary overlord, Thibaut V of Champagne, who was also going to take part.140 The assumption that Joinville would participate is evident from a list of those taking part in this campaign with Louis, drawn up as late as 1269, which included ‘the seneschal of Champagne’.141 When Joinville chose to take part in the crusade of 1248 he did so although no expectation to crusade was placed on him by the participation of his feudal overlords. In 1267 Joinville once again ignored the influence of feudal relationships, and this time resolved not to join the Christian army. Refusing to follow the wishes of one’s lord was not something one would do lightly, as was suggested by the comment of one of his fellow potential crusaders, which was cited in chapter four, that ‘if we do not take the cross then we will lose the king, and if we do take the cross then we will lose God, for we would not be taking the cross for him but out of fear of the king’.142 The consequences of choosing not to join the crusade were not necessarily as drastic as this statement implies, at least not if Joinville’s experience is to be taken as a guide. There is no indication that his relationship with Louis was significantly damaged by his refusal to take the cross again. Within a few months of Louis’s cross-taking Joinville was again at the Capetian court to witness the knighting of the king’s heir, Philip. Among the other young men to be knighted at this time was James of Faucigny, who was Joinville’s nephew. James’s relationship to Joinville was deemed sufficiently honourable and noteworthy for it to be noted in royal 138 139 140 141 142

Vie, pars 665–6. Ibid., pars 66–7. Ibid., par. 734. ‘Liste des chevaliers croisés avec Saint Louis en 1269’, in RHGF, 20, p. 308. Vie, par. 733. See above, p. 119.

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records of the occasion.143 If this demonstrates that Joinville’s status within the court seems to have been maintained despite his lack of enthusiasm for Louis’s new crusade, then we can also see that his personal friendship with the king was not harmed. Joinville was permitted to carry the already ailing king in his own arms to the house of the Franciscans in Paris before they parted for the last time.144 But although the comment of the knight quoted above which described the choice of French knighthood in 1267 being between God and the king, their spiritual and temporal lords, may have been over-dramatic, it does highlight that the decision whether or not to take part in a crusade was perceived as having both worldly and spiritual dimensions. Both dimensions are evident in Joinville’s stated objections to Louis’s second crusade, though where one ends and the other begins, or if they can be separated at all, is less clear. The Vie de Saint Louis states that Joinville told Louis and Thibaut of Champagne that during his first crusade his estates and men had suffered harm at the hands of their officials. Joinville would follow God’s will by remaining at home to care for and defend his people rather than incur God’s wrath by recklessly exposing himself to danger on a second, misguided crusade. This wrath would be understandable from a God who had faced death to save his people, while Joinville would risk the same fate to the detriment of those who depended on him.145 With hindsight, he saw the vindication of this conviction in the fact that the condition of France had deteriorated after Louis’s second crusade and he deemed those who had encouraged the king in this project to have denied their kingdom great good and to have committed a mortal sin in doing so.146 The decision Joinville faced challenged his sense of responsibility as both a knight and a Christian, two factors which were clearly very closely interrelated. It is clear that he perceived that another crusade was not in the best interests of either his temporal or spiritual lords. As Joinville looked back on what became of Louis’s Tunisian campaign he could see that an illjudged crusade went against the best interests of Christendom in both practical and spiritual terms. The way in which Joinville explained his decision not to crusade for a second time in the Vie de Saint Louis therefore had a clear ideological basis. This choice was clearly not, as one observer has suggested, a result of the campaign of 1248 to 1254 merely having proved ‘enough for his tastes’.147 143 ‘Expensa in militia domini Philippi, filii regis, Parisius in festo Pentecostes, anno Domini M.CC.LXVII’, in RHGF, 21, p. 396. 144 Vie, par. 737. 145 Ibid., par. 735. 146 Ibid., par. 736. 147 P. Archambault, Seven French chroniclers: witnesses to history (Syracuse, New York, 1974), p. 42.

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Philippe Ménard’s assessment of the situation has more to recommend it. He argues that Joinville, a good Christian who valued balance and measure, believed he had given enough service to God in the Holy Land.148 This view acknowledges that Joinville saw that the crusade was by no means the only valid way of serving God and that exercising one’s lordship conscientiously could also have spiritual value. Ménard’s analysis of Joinville’s thinking may be a fair interpretation of the situation as it was presented in the Vie de Saint Louis, but a more complete understanding of Joinville’s motives can be reached if we consider not only what he chose to tell us through the pages of this work but also take into account how his life had changed in the years since his return to France in 1254. Such an examination reveals that for Joinville, as for Oliver of Termes and his other knightly peers, decisions about crusading were likely be influenced by circumstance as well as belief. Among Joinville’s first actions following his return to France in 1254 were ones that confirmed the continuing importance to him of factors that may have contributed to his understanding of the value of the crusade, such as family relationships and pilgrimage. During their journey home from Hyères both he and Louis visited a cave near to Aix-en-Provence where Mary Magdalene was believed to have spent time as a hermit and, some time after his return to Champagne, Joinville delivered Margaret of Provence’s votive offering to the shrine of Saint Nicholas at Varangéville, which he had undertaken to do barefoot, in the manner of a pilgrim.149 After parting company with the king at Beaucaire and before arriving at Joinville, he mentions that he visited his niece, the Dauphine of the Viennois, his uncle, the count of Chalon and the count’s son, the count of Burgundy.150 The fact that Joinville performed these visits, to shrines and to relatives, and that he chose to make specific mention of them when he came to write his memories of the crusade several decades later, suggest that his values were not altered by his time on crusade. What may have changed in the period from 1254 to 1270 was his experience and understanding of the responsibilities that came with his status as a lord, and how the prolonged absence that came with crusading could interfere with the exercise of these duties. When Joinville gave his reasons for not joining Louis’s second crusade, first among them was the damage done to his feudal dependants by representatives of the French and Champenois authorities during his period overseas.151 The text of the Vie de Saint Louis does not provide any further information on the nature or extent of these encroachments by royal and 148 149 150 151

Ménard, ‘L’esprit de croisade chez Joinville’, pp. 143–4. Vie, pars 632–3, 663. Ibid., par. 663. Ibid., par. 735.

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comital officials, except to say that Joinville’s people never found themselves in a worse position than at that time. Nevertheless, as was seen in the case of Oliver of Termes, the absence of a lord on crusade certainly did leave his interests and his estates exposed. His reluctance to make himself vulnerable in this way for a second time may well have been increased by the fact that in 1267 Joinville’s finances appear to have been more complicated than in the 1240s. In her assessment of Joinville’s financial affairs during the years after his return from the Holy Land Jackie Lusse stresses his need to recoup the heavy losses endured as a consequence of the crusade campaign itself and of the lengthy absence from Champagne that this had entailed. His efforts to make good his finances led him to sell property, borrow extensively and limit the number and generosity of his pious donations.152 The ten years after Joinville’s return to France were ones in which Joinville made substantial sales. For example, in September 1256 he sold what the lord of Gondrecourt held from him at Gareuvilliers and Badonvilliers to the count of Bar for 160 livres provenisiens.153 In July 1263 the same count paid 400 livres for 12 livrées of land that would otherwise have been granted as a fief to the lords of Reynel.154 And in November 1264 the abbey of Montierender paid 731 livres and nine sous to Joinville for all the properties and rights that had formerly belonged to one Aude of Dammartin.155 It would be wrong to use the evidence of these and other sales to portray Joinville’s material interests during the period before the announcement of Louis’s second crusade as being in crisis. This was also a period in which he acquired resources. In January 1259 Thibaut V of Champagne granted him what he owned at Germay as an extension of the seneschal’s fief, the mouvance of which was later transferred to the French Crown.156 But the most significant change in Joinville’s material circumstances must have been that which came about with his second marriage, to Alix of Reynel. His first wife, Alix of Grandpré, had died during the spring of 1260, at around the same time as the death of his mother. It seems that Joinville’s second marriage was contracted at some point between this time and 152

Lusse, ‘D’Etienne à Jean de Joinville’, pp. 33–5. ‘Urkunde Joinville’s’, ed. H. Suchier, Zeitschrift für romanische Philologie, 18 (1894), 430. 154 Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale, ms. fr. 11853, fol. 43r. 155 Chaumont, Archives Départmentales de la Haute-Marne, ms. 7 H 2, fols 75v.–77v. Another document of September 1257 recorded that the Parliament of Paris granted Aude’s property to John of Joinville after Aude and his son left Joinville’s seigneurie in order to become bourgeois of the king himself. Delaborde, Jean de Joinville et les seigneurs de Joinville, p. 325, number 371. 156 Ibid. pp. 128–9, 136. Joinville’s declaration of January 1269 that he received Germay from Thibaut but must now do homage for it to the king of France is recorded in Paris, Archives Nationales, ms. J1035, number 27. The microfilm version of this document is hard to read but an indication of its contents is given in Delaborde, Jean de Joinville et les seigneurs de Joinville, pp. 346–7, number 468. 153

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December 1261, when he recorded his awareness of and agreement to a gift made by Walter of Reynel (his second wife’s father) to the abbey of Vauxen-Ornois.157 Alix of Reynel was the sole heir to her family’s seigneurie and Joinville’s marriage to her was therefore much more advantageous in material terms than his first. It was because of this marriage that he was able to make the sale to the count of Bar in 1263 mentioned above. But he did not choose to liquidate all the property his second wife brought to their marriage. After Walter’s death he and Alix entered into an arrangement with the abbey of La Crête. One document of January 1262 records how they exchanged with that house what the lords of Reynel had held at Cirey-les-Mareilles in return for the abbey’s possessions at Bettoncourt.158 The precise nature of the arrangement made between John of Joinville and La Crête seems slightly less straightforward as it was described in another document of January 1262, according to which this was a sale in which the judgement of two outside parties would determine the value of the lands involved.159 Nevertheless, in February 1262 Thibaut of Champagne recorded his awareness of and approval of the exchange, which concerned him as feudal overlord,160 and in March of the same year confirmations of the exchange were recorded by the clerk of the court of Langres161 and the baillie of Chaumont.162 While some details of this arrangement may be uncertain, the outcome is clear: Bettoncourt was re-attached to the Reynel lands and the condition of the estate to be left to Joinville’s heirs improved through an agreement that was of sufficient importance to those involved for it to be noted and re-noted in several places. In his youth Joinville had taken the cross for Louis’s first crusade at a point at which his resources were very limited but also relatively uncomplicated. His situation was quite different in 1267 when the possibility of a second crusade arose. While it seems that he may have experienced considerable financial strain, he also had a larger pool of assets which he needed to manage in order to limit the impact of that strain on himself, his growing family and his feudal dependants. In such circumstances the prospect of another crusade, after the problems that had arisen on his estates during the course of his first period overseas, may have seemed like too great a risk to take. 157 Ibid., p. 131; Receuil de chartes originales de Joinville en langue vulgaire, ed. N. de Wailly (Paris, 1868), p. 8. 158 Ibid., pp. 9–10. In his catalogue of charters concerning Joinville Delaborde records the series of documents relating to this exchange as having been made in 1263. I have followed Wailly’s editions and the manuscript sources in dating this exchange to 1262. 159 Receuil de chartes originales de Joinville, ed. Wailly, pp. 55–6. 160 Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale, ms. Collection de Champagne, vol. 152, number 50. 161 Receuil de chartes originales de Joinville, ed. Wailly, p. 10–11. 162 Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale, ms. Cinq-cents de Colbert, vol. 58, fol. 242r.

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If the complex blessings and burdens of lordship had increased for Joinville in the years between Louis’s two crusades, this period also brought to the fore demands of his status as lord of Joinville with regard to his dealings with the abbey of Saint-Urbain. The family’s relationship with SaintUrbain dated back at least as far as the first decades of the eleventh century, when Stephen, the first lord of Joinville, supported the abbey and its allies in a dispute with the bishop of Toul and the monks of Saint-Blin.163 As with many such interdependencies between religious houses and secular lords, relations between Saint-Urbain and the Joinville family were far from trouble-free. Disputes punctuated the history of this relationship and led to periodic renunciations of wrongly-claimed rights, such as that made by Geoffrey IV of Joinville to Saint-Urbain when he was dying at Acre in 1190. He renounced his claim to the gîte of Landéville and made a gift to the abbey of two serfs and their families.164 Under John of Joinville’s father, Simon, the relationship deteriorated to such an extent that as a result of the allegations of ‘many injuries and evils endured by the church of SaintUrbain’, the bishop of Toul threatened him with excommunication in 1228.165 The early years of John of Joinville’s career do not seem to have seen any major disagreements between him and Saint-Urbain. Indeed, at the time of his departure on crusade the abbey seems to have played a very positive role for him: it was among the local pilgrimage centres he visited before receiving gifts from Abbot Adam that would help support him and his men.166 His pre-crusade pilgrimage to Saint-Urbain confirms the respect he felt for this religious place and the relics it held, but in the years after his return from the crusade respect for the foundation was not enough to prevent increasing tension between the seneschal and the abbots and monks of Saint-Urbain and the bishop of Châlons. The first major dispute concerning Saint-Urbain in which Joinville became involved related to the abbacy, for which there were three possible candidates at the start of the 1260s. Although Joinville supported the claims of the ultimately successful candidate, Geoffrey, against those of the bishop of Châlons’s favoured man, the episode was a turbulent one which saw Joinville excommunicated after having seized control of the abbey while Geoffrey pleaded his case in Rome.167 Although it was Joinville’s rights as guardian that helped ensure Geoffrey’s place as abbot of Saint-Urbain, within a few years Geoffrey himself contested the seneschal’s status in relation to the abbey. Problems had emerged by 1264, when arguments over the 163

Delaborde, Jean de Joinville et les seigneurs de Joinville, pp. 5–6. Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale, ms. Collection Moreau, vol. 94, p. 202. 165 Edited in J. Simmonet, Essai sur l’histoire et la généalogie des sire de Joinville (1008–1386) accompagné de chartes et de document inédits (Langres, 1875), pp. 119–20. 166 Vie, pars 122–3. 167 Ibid., pars 672–5. 164

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use of woods and other rights were subject to the judgement of two arbitrators, whose lengthy and detailed instructions Joinville and his heirs promised to uphold.168 This was not unlike the disputes some of Joinville’s ancestors had had with Saint-Urbain, but an entirely new level of conflict was reached when in 1266 Geoffrey asserted that the lords of Joinville had no right to the guardianship of the abbey they had been exercising for several generations and that Saint-Urbain should in fact be under the protection of the French king. When Joinville wrote the final section of the Vie de Saint Louis he used this episode, in which Louis ruled in his favour, to illustrate the king’s sound judgement and skills as a negotiator between men.169 These events took place in the months before Joinville was faced with the decision whether to go on crusade for a second time. It is not my intention to argue that Joinville chose not to do so because of the tension that existed between him and the abbey of Saint-Urbain, which persisted for many decades after the failure of Louis’s Tunisian campaign, rather that Joinville’s dealings with Saint-Urbain provide an important illustration of the complex demands on his attention as a lord in the late 1260s. Of course we cannot know what determined Joinville’s treatment of Saint-Urbain, whether his approach was one of lordly pragmatism or Christian principle. But I would argue that the two strands were difficult to separate completely, just as secular and spiritual aspects can be hard to distinguish when we examine experiences of the crusade. It is hard to believe that Joinville, whose great personal faith is so clearly evident in the pages of the Vie de Saint Louis and his Credo, would have treated Saint-Urbain, whose relics he was careful to visit before going on crusade, in an intentionally abusive way. The neglect of one’s responsibilities to dependants was, as he pointed out in relation to the crusade of 1270, potentially sinful in itself. His choice not to take part in a second crusade was not a rejection of crusading but a rejection of misguided crusading and an acknowledgement that service in both temporal and spiritual forms could be performed in many ways, at home as well as overseas. While Joinville chose not to participate in any further crusade, this does not mean that crusading had become unimportant to him. The continuing significance of crusading to him was reflected in his literary rather than his military career. Before considering in detail how the crusade may have inspired or influenced his literary output it is worth providing a brief reminder of what has survived of his writings and what has been established about when these works were likely to have been produced. The earliest surviving work that may be attributable to him is, as we have seen, the song ‘Nus ne porroit de mauvese reson’, written by a crusader from the 168 169

Receuil de chartes originales de Joinville en langue vulgaire, ed. Wailly, pp. 13–17. Vie, pars 676–7.

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Champenois contingent during the period when Louis was deciding whether to stay in the East in the summer of 1250. Once that choice had been made, Joinville was among those to stay with the king at Acre, where in 1250 or 1251 he wrote his Credo. He returned to this text later in his career, producing in 1287 the version that survives. Towards the end of his life he produced an epitaph for his great-great-grandfather, Geoffrey III of Joinville, which took the form of an outline genealogy of his family from the mid twelfth century and was placed in the chapel at Clairvaux in 1311. But of course his most important work was the Vie de Saint Louis, which defies easy dating. We know that he was prompted to produce it following a request made by Joan of Navarre in the last years of the thirteenth century, and that the final version was complete before 1309. It is the contention of this study that the central section of the Vie de Saint Louis, which concerns the crusade of 1248 to 1254, was likely to have been based on a pre-existing account, which may have been written down some time before the sections that frame it. What we know of Joinville’s literary output was produced over a period of at least six decades, and he may have written other works that have not survived or have not been associated with him. It is comprised of a variety of types of text: the Credo is a work of spiritual guidance, the epitaph a brief family history, the Vie de Saint Louis has elements of hagiography, autobiogiography, history and other genres, and Joinville may also have written in verse. His literary endeavours, while not as skilled or widely appreciated as those of other contemporary writers, were, clearly, of great and lasting significance to him. His efforts as an author spanned most of his lengthy adulthood and drew on many sources. Within this long and wide-ranging involvement with writing one element was present throughout: the crusade. In the case of the Credo and the song the crusade provided both the context for their production and constituted part (in the case of the surviving version of the Credo) or all (in the case of the song) of their subjectmatter. The crusade was the topic of the central section of the Vie de Saint Louis and was returned to by Joinville when he wished to highlight certain aspects of Louis’s sanctity in the opening and closing sections of this text. Although his family’s genealogy presented by Joinville in his epitaph for Geoffrey III is brief it contains no less than five references to his ancestors’ crusading activities. The relationship that existed between Joinville’s activities as a crusader and as a writer does not seem to have been reflected in the work of his literary peers. A number of thirteenth-century crusaders were also writers, some of them drawing directly on their experiences overseas. Most notable among these authors are Robert of Cléry and Geoffrey of Villehardouin, whose accounts of the Fourth Crusade Joinville may have been aware of. But neither of these men are known to have written at other points in their careers, and nor did they write with Joinville’s first-person intimacy. An

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even greater distance between personal experience and literary output is evident in the work of crusaders who were also song-writers. The most famous such song-writer of the thirteenth century was Thibaut IV of Champagne, Joinville’s own lord, whose songs produced around the time of the Barons’ Crusade issue general exhortations to potential participants or lament the separation of lovers that the crusade will cause, but do not concern Thibaut’s own experiences during his time in the East. Thibaut did not take part in Louis’s first crusade, but in 1250 he wrote a poem the envoi of which addressed one of the knights who was in Acre at that time, urging him to return to France.170 That knight was Thibaut’s fellow Champenois lyricist, Raoul of Soissons, who provides an even more striking example of the failure of crusade experiences to encroach on an individual’s literary work. Raoul was very actively involved in crusading, taking part in three separate campaigns. He went on crusade with Thibaut in 1239 after which campaign he stayed in the East, where he married Alix of Champagne, who was the widow of Hugh I of Cyprus and regent of the kingdom of Jerusalem.171 Returning to France in 1243 following the failure of his amibitions in the East, Raoul subsequently joined Louis’s crusades in 1248 and 1270. But this active involvement with the cause of the crusade barely features in any of his 16 surviving songs.172 It would not be true to say that the crusade is completely absent from his work: one of his love songs, ‘He! Cuens d’Anjou’, compares the trials of his imprisonment on crusade with the worse sufferings imposed on him by love, and another, ‘Se j’ai esté lonc tens en Romanie’, makes a similar contrast between the demands of the crusade and of love, love’s being the greater.173 Nevertheless, Marie-Noëlle Toury has argued that Raoul’s songs used the idea of the crusade merely as a literary device, in the same way that poets and song-writers referred to the Trojan wars or Charlemagne’s conquests.174 This does not indicate that Raoul did not feel strongly about his experiences as a crusader – indeed it would be hard to imagine that someone who spent a substantial portion of their life on crusade or in the East would not have had such feelings – but that he, even more than Thibaut IV of Champagne, seems to have separated his career as a writer from his career as a crusader. 170 H. d’Arbois de Jubainville, Histoire des ducs et des comtes de Champagne (Paris, 1859–69), 7 vols, 4, pp. 334–5. 171 For this phase in Raoul’s career see P. Edbury, The kingdom of Cyprus and the crusades, 1191–1374 (Cambridge, 1991), pp. 81–2. 172 M.-N. Toury, ‘Raoul de Soissons: hier la croisade’, in Les Champenois et la croisade. Actes des quatrièmes journées rémoises, 27–28 Novembre 1987, eds Y. Bellenger and D. Quéruel (Paris, 1989), p. 97. 173 Raoul of Soissons, ‘He! Cuens d’Anjou’ and ‘Se j’ai esté lonc tens en Romanie’ in Die Lieder Raouls von Soissons, ed. E. Winkler (Halle, 1914), pp. 46–8, 75–7. 174 Toury, ‘Raoul de Soissons: hier la croisade’, pp. 105–6.

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Joinville appears to have been Raoul’s exact opposite in this regard, having referred to his personal experiences as a crusader in all his surviving written works. Why was this so? No certain answer can be given to this question but I would suggest that he did not write, as Raoul of Soissons did through his songs, in order to prove his skill within a literary genre. Joinville was interested in and influenced by many aspects of thirteenthcentury literary culture, as is demonstrated by his use of techniques and motifs from a range of genres. But for him writing was also an act of remembrance, a means by which to record and communicate experiences and wisdom that he himself had found valuable. The crusade was particularly important because it provided what were probably the most striking memories of his life: memories of extremes of success and failure shared by him with his knightly peers, of a personal penitential project, of a family tradition and of his friendship with Louis IX. And the importance of preserving his memories of the crusade was not only expressed in Joinville’s writing. He had an image of the miraculous rescue of a sailor by Our Lady during the return voyage from Acre recorded in the stained glass of the church at Blécourt.175 A brief examination of Joinville’s treatment in his writings of one specific episode from the crusade of 1248 to 1254 should help demonstrate the way in which he returned to and renewed his memories of the crusade throughout his career. The episode in question is that of the Christian army’s captivity in Egypt. After a number of captured crusaders had been killed for refusing to abjure their faith, representatives of the sultan came to negotiate a possible release, suggesting that this could be achieved if the leaders of the Christian army would hand over castles belonging to the military orders and the kingdom of Jerusalem, which it was not within their power to do. When the sultan’s officials had left, the crusaders’ tent was entered by a group of Muslims who brought with them an elderly man. This man provided great comfort to Joinville and others by reaffirming their faith in the Resurrection and in God’s power to aid them in this crisis. Joinville may have first recorded this sequence of events soon after they took place: it is included in his Credo as an illustration of the truth and power of the Resurrection.176 This passage is unusual within this text as its inclusion marks a diversion from the format used elsewhere in the Credo, according to which the articles of faith were expounded and biblical prophecies cited to establish their truth. Nowhere else in the main body of the Credo does Joinville illustrate the creed using non-biblical examples and his account of these events is lengthy. 175

Lusse, ‘D’Etienne à Jean de Joinville’, p. 32. This episode was described by Joinville in Vie, pars 650–51. 176 John of Joinville, Text and iconography for Joinville’s Credo, ed. L. J. Friedman (Mediaeval Academy of America publications 68, Cambridge, Massachusetts, 1958), pp. 39–41.

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It is not clear whether this passage of the Credo was included in the original redaction, or whether this was one of the few additions made when he returned to the text in the 1280s. He had produced a revised version by 1287.177 In doing so he revisited his memories of captivity, which clearly had a central place in his recollection of the crusade. Other events in his life may well have encouraged him to recall his crusade and his relationship with Louis more generally during this period. Delaborde saw that with the death of Philip III of France in 1285 and his succession by Philip IV, which brought with it the union of France and Champagne, Joinville seems to have been less valued by the French Crown. Evidence of this is provided by the fact that he was not among those chosen to preside over the Grands Jours of Troyes in 1287, 1288 and 1289.178 Any dissatisfaction felt by Joinville with his status in relation to his overlord at this time may well have encouraged him to return to texts and to memories that he associated with the crusade and with his friendship with Louis. These memories were probably particularly important to him during the 1280s as this was a period in which Louis’s canonization was under consideration. In 1282 Joinville himself gave testimony to the archbishop of Rouen and John of Samois at Saint-Denis. His evidence was heard over a period of two days.179 Most of these hours of testimony must have concerned the crusade, as this was the period during which Joinville was in closest contact with the king. It is certain that events surrounding the period of the Christians’ imprisonment were discussed in Joinville’s deposition as he recorded in the Vie de Saint Louis that at the time of the translation of Louis’s body John of Samois had cited in his sermon the evidence that the seneschal had given concerning the saint’s honesty in the matter of the ransom paid to the Egyptian emirs.180 This does not mean that Joinville had mentioned the episode of the old man’s visit to the captive crusaders (though he may well have done so) but it does tell us that his memories of the crusade and of captivity had been brought to the fore once more in the early 1280s. His thoughts of Louis’s actions and words during this period are likely to have encouraged him also to think about events of the crusade that had been particularly meaningful or moving to him personally. The spiritual comfort provided by the elderly Muslim man was certainly one such event, and his testimony to Louis’s canonization enquiry may well have prompted him to return to these memories and to the Credo. Joinville’s memory was not static, as the passage of the Vie de Saint Louis in which this episode was recorded shows. This passage and its equivalent 177 178 179 180

Friedman, introduction to ibid., pp. 2–3. Delaborde, Jean de Joinville et les seigneurs de Joinville, p. 140. Vie, par. 760. Ibid., pars 763–4.

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in the Credo were produced at different stages in his career and demonstrate subtle differences in his memory and presentation of events. The sequence of events he described in the Vie de Saint Louis matches that given in the Credo (Christians who refused to abjure were killed, the barons cannot meet the demands of the sultan’s representatives, the elderly Muslim man arrives and gives the crusaders comfort and courage) but in other respects the accounts provided in the two texts diverge.181 The tone of the passage in the Vie de Saint Louis is more lively, which may reflect the fact that this work was one intended at least in part as entertainment. Hence the scene as presented in the Vie de Saint Louis is more dramatic. We are not just told that the Christians who would not renege were killed, but that they were decapitated, and the words of the executioners and of the negotiations between the sultan’s officials and Peter of Brittany are reported in direct speech. These elements would not have been necessary or appropriate in a work of spiritual guidance such as the Credo. But there was not only a difference in style between the passages in the Vie de Saint Louis and the Credo describing this episode, there are also small differences in content. When Joinville recounted in the Credo how the sultan’s negotiators were able to communicate with the Christians about a possible ransom, he said that this was done through a bilingual Hospitaller brother. In the Vie de Saint Louis he also reported that there was a bilingual man present who was able to act as interpreter but in this instance Joinville referred to him using the word ‘drugemens’. He may not have been remembering a different person when he wrote the Vie de Saint Louis, but he remembered the scene afresh and used a different vocabulary to describe it. This episode from Joinville’s crusade experiences is unique in allowing us to observe how he recorded and returned to his memories of the crusade at different points in his lifetime, for different reasons and with different literary results. At every stage in his known literary career (from young adulthood to old age) the crusade had a part to play by providing the context for production or the content of his work, or both. The constancy of his interest in crusading is more evident in his literary than in his military activities. While he felt unable to take part in a second, misguided crusade, he returned to his memories of Louis’s first crusade repeatedly in writing. When Oliver of Termes rescued John of Joinville at Banyas in 1253 two crusading lives coincided which were in many ways starkly contrasting. Oliver and Joinville joined Louis IX’s first crusade for different reasons and in different circumstances. While Oliver sought to express his religious orthodoxy and dedication to his new overlord after decades of conflict in 181

Ibid., pars 334–8.

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Languedoc, Joinville asserted his independence from his temporal lords and continued the crusading traditions established within a family that had been able to consolidate its position in Champagne steadily over the preceding generations. For Oliver, fighting in the name of and with the support of his king and the Church dominated his career in the last three decades of his life, while Joinville came to the conclusion that his spiritual and worldly duties could be best fulfilled by staying close to home. The differences in these men’s connections with crusading is reflected in the material through which their careers can be traced. Oliver’s close and extended involvement in the defence of the Christian presence in the East is attested in chronicles and in frequent communications with the major secular and religious powers of Europe. In examining Joinville’s career most of our sources relate to his dealings with individuals and institutions much closer to his home in Champagne. By comparison with Oliver, Joinville’s concerns appear more parochial, and were it not for the production of the Vie de Saint Louis his activities as a crusader might have passed into obscurity. If one were to try and weigh up the contributions of these two men to the crusades of the thirteenth century, one would have to conclude that Oliver’s were by far the greater in practical terms. But Joinville’s example is a reminder that active involvement was not the only way to engage with crusading and the Vie de Saint Louis allows Joinville to claim a place of prime importance as a contributor to the memory and study of the crusades.

Conclusion The introduction to this study outlined issues I wished to engage with in my examination of crusading in the age of Joinville. The first of these was general in nature, and concerned the range of sources relating to the laity’s involvement in crusades to the Holy Land in the thirteenth century and how they might be exploited to best effect. An assessment of sources would be achieved through an examination of a number of specific themes that have been of interest to historians of other periods of crusading and this work could thus contribute to our understanding of the development of crusade mentalities. These themes were: pilgrimage, service, the memory and uses of the past, the dangers associated with crusading, martyrdom and the value of suffering. Secondly, I intended to study crusaders’ careers in order to set individuals’ experiences and beliefs as crusaders against the backdrop of their lives as a whole. Between the time of the First Crusade and Louis IX’s campaigns there had been a proliferation of sources of information from which potential crusaders might have heard about the meaning and value of this activity. We must assume that the memories and opinions exchanged between individual laymen who had been on a crusade or were considering doing so were an important channel of communication, but our evidence for the content of such conversations is very limited. Instead we must analyse the messages contained in a range of written works produced by or for the laity in order to establish the framework of ideas used to discuss crusading. This range of sources should include works of secular literature in which crusades or crusade-like wars were described, as well as evidence for the ‘official’ propaganda for crusades contained in model sermons. As the influence of chansons de geste and other genres on the content and literary style of John of Joinville’s Vie de Saint Louis demonstrates, laymen who went on crusade were likely also to have been keen consumers of such literature and may have taken on board the ideas about crusading it presented. Examining such literature alongside model sermons can reveal additional elements within the framework of ideas used to present the possibility of crusading to recruits in the thirteenth century. Such a study would be of value in itself in understanding how the crusade was advertised to potential participants. But in order to understand how the images of crusading presented in these sources related to the experiences of those who did choose to take the cross it is necessary to examine material relating to the conduct of crusades. Crusade narratives and documentary sources demonstrate that 191

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the ideas of crusading evident in sermons and secular literature do not reflect the complexity of crusaders’ attitudes and actions in practice. These general points are illustrated through the examination of the specific themes considered in this study. The first of these was the crusade’s status as a species of pilgrimage. This was a feature of these campaigns present in the work of both preachers and poets, though with less consistency or frequency than other themes. This may reflect the fact that it could not be expected that those who took part in crusades in the thirteenth century would be able to visit any shrine, let alone the Holy Sepulchre itself. Pilgrimage was therefore more broadly conceived in some promotional material, whether as a metaphor for life itself or as an activity defined by an individual’s disposition rather than his destination. The indistinctness of the theme of pilgrimage in sermons and secular literature concerning the crusades is not reflected in sources relating to the conduct of actual campaigns. There is a striking contrast between the vocabulary used by John of Joinville and that of his colleagues on Louis’s first crusade who wrote letters during its course. While Joinville referred repeatedly to his crusade as a pilgrimage and to himself and his fellow crusaders as pilgrims, his companions did so extremely rarely and usually in order to distinguish groups such as the military orders or the leadership of the crusade from the bulk of the army. Letter-writers like John Sarrasin, Robert of Artois and king Louis described their project and its participants in ways that defined them as having military and religious significance, but without the specifically penitential association with pilgrimage. The contrast between their language and Joinville’s may well say more about the special roles played by of most of our letter-writers in the planning and execution of the crusade as a military campaign than it does about any anachronism or oddity on Joinville’s part. On the other hand, the tendency of some crusaders not to define the collective activity of crusading in terms of pilgrimage does not mean that pilgrimage did not have significance to them as individuals in other ways. This was shown most clearly by Louis himself. The king marked his own departure and return from crusade with acts of pilgrimage and undertook a visit to Nazareth and other holy places while he was in the East. If the pilgrimage theme appears to have become less distinct in the presentation of the crusade in the thirteenth century, the idea of the crusade as an act of service moved into the foreground. The notion of warfare as service was less radical than that of warfare as penance and was readily understood by those members of the knightly class who saw the performance of such service as one of the duties of their status. Preachers therefore called on knights to take the cross as an act of service-in-arms to God. The same idea is present in secular literature though in these sources crusading could have a double value: as service to God and service to one’s temporal lord. The

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elements of this dual service were portrayed as complementary rather than contradictory. By contrast, numerous songs did describe a tension between the need to serve God and earthly love. If in practice a sense of obligation to their beloved did interfere with the desire or ability of some crusaders to fulfil their vows there is little or no evidence of this in written sources relating to crusade campaigns. There is, on the other hand, ample evidence for crusaders’ perception of themselves as servants both of God and their temporal lords. The service provided by an individual to his overlord might arise from a sense of personal duty or dedication and be reflected in a desire to protect his person and his honour in battle. But in some instances a decision to crusade may also have come from a desire or need to show one’s acceptance of a new feudal order. This seems to have been the case for a man like Barral of Baux who made such commitments to Alphonse of Poitiers and Charles of Anjou. Alphonse of Poitiers’s preparations for the crusade of 1270 provide a good example of another dimension to the theme of the crusade as service, namely service formally negotiated and contracted for a fee. These latter elements of the role of the crusade as service are ones we could not be aware of from the work of preachers and poets alone. There are similar contrasts evident in the way the past was called upon by promoters and practitioners of crusading. Sermons drew on the biblical past and the crusading past, especially the achievements of the First Crusade, in order to rouse thirteenth-century audiences to action. Humbert of Romans’s De predicatione sancte crucis also recommended the earlier struggles of Charlemagne against Muslims in Spain as a source of inspiration. Although Humbert cited the pseudo-historical Gesta Caroli as the text on which preachers might draw for information on these wars, these are events most of the laity are likely to have heard about from chansons de geste. References to the imagined or fictionalized past of the chansons de geste are much more frequent and explicit in secular literature describing or promoting crusades. In these sources, and particularly in the poetry of Rutebeuf, there is occasional blurring of distinctions between past and present, fiction and reality. It seems that those who did take the cross were quite capable of maintaining these boundaries. No references were found in sources written by crusaders about their experiences in which they likened their actions or attitudes to chanson de geste heroes. This is not to say that the past was not important to them, but a different kind of past with different significance. John of Joinville, for example, showed his awareness of and interest in literary sources like chansons de geste by emulating their techniques but he never cited their content as a point of comparison with the course of his own crusade. Instead he referred most often to the recent crusading past, especially the fall of Damietta to the forces of the Fifth Crusade in 1219 and the capture of Christians at Gaza in 1239. Like others of his colleagues, he called on these memories as a means by which to

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measure the successes and failures of his own crusade and as a guide to future actions. Both sermons and secular literature acknowledged that crusading was an inherently dangerous activity. In their propaganda for the crusades the authors of model sermons focused on the physical risks attached to the seacrossing necessary to reach the East and the battles fought there. They were able to present the possibility of dying under such circumstances as the chance to die a heroic death that would be followed by instant salvation. The risk of captivity, with which no certain outcome or heroism could be associated, was one which they chose to ignore in their sermons. The danger of imprisonment was, by contrast, mentioned in some works of secular literature. However, in the case of Les Chétifs, a chanson de geste describing the adventures that befell a group of captive Christians, their period of imprisonment was merely a prelude to more glamorous activities. For a more realistic idea of the dangers facing crusaders we need to turn to accounts of campaigns themselves. Here too were described the dangers arising from seafaring and battle, the latter depicted with a vivid sense of the suffering and fear of individual crusaders in Joinville’s Vie de Saint Louis. It is only from these sources that we can gain a real sense of the risks facing those who were taken captive. Captivity could be long-term and with no certainty of release. It might entail being held in physical discomfort or pain with the possibility of being used as forced labour or subjected to torture. In the worst case scenario, imprisonment might lead to apostasy. The powerful hold of captivity over the imagination of some crusaders is demonstrated by Joinville’s repeated recollection of his period as a prisoner in his writings. The possibility that the crusader dead would achieve martyrdom can be found in the work of both poets and preachers. But while the authors of the chansons de geste most often predicted martyrdom for those who died in battle for their faith, there is greater caution evident in the presentation of the possibility of martyrdom by preachers. Model sermons suggest that preachers were reluctant to guarantee martyr status to anyone. They were careful to point out that the martyred dead had to meet stringent requirements in terms of their internal disposition. A significant departure from this theologically acceptable model of martyrdom was evident in some contemporary verse, and particularly the poetry of Rutebeuf. He suggested that martyrdom was a condition that could be associated with the trials endured by the living. Suffering on crusade was thus an experience that could have real value, rather than being a means to the end of fulfilling one’s vow. Preachers, and particularly the Franciscan Gilbert of Tournai, were able to present suffering on crusade as a particularly advanced form of imitatio Christi. Crusaders achieved a greater intimacy with Christ by sharing his torments. The themes of martyrdom and the value of suffering were

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brought together in Joinville’s conception of Louis IX’s sanctity. The individuals he named as martyrs all impressed him with their conduct in life as well as their manner of death, and in Louis’s case he made explicit his belief that martyrdom was due because of the king’s sufferings on crusade. Throughout the Vie de Saint Louis Joinville connected Louis, often through the symbol of the cross, with Christ. Joinville’s ideas in this respect might be likened to the concept of martyrdom by desire that was most often associated with members of the new mendicant orders. His attitudes with regard to martyrdom demonstrate one aspect of Joinville’s crusade mentality. But his positive response to the call to crusade in 1248 was not only a product of his beliefs. It was also a result of his circumstances. The contemporaneous but contrasting careers of Oliver of Termes and John of Joinville illustrate the extent to which differing backgrounds and personal priorities are likely to have influenced individuals’ decisions to take the cross. For Oliver, repeated crusading and multiple periods spent defending the Latin East were a way in which to move on from an early life of rebellion against Church and Crown that was determined by his family’s immediate pre-history. His desire to assert his compliance with the new Capetian regime in Languedoc and to establish a stable place for himself in relation to the Church and his own faith was such that he wore away his family’s estates in France. Joinville, by contrast, continued his family’s tradition of participation in crusades to the East but rejected the possibility of a second crusade on the grounds that it might damage his interests at home, which were growing at that time. But his engagement with crusading was not at an end. The nature of this engagement merely changed: he exchanged fighting for writing. Joinville returned to the subject of his own crusade in writing at several stages over the decades that followed his return to France. And, while his contribution to the active pursuit of crusading was by no means as great as that of Oliver of Termes, the benefit of his authorly activities to students of crusading is of singular importance. Without Joinville’s work a study such as this one would be much harder and less satisfying. It would certainly be possible to examine evidence from sermons, songs, poems, chronicles and documentary sources for suggestions as to what constituted the framework of ideas used to describe crusading and the experiences of those who chose to take the cross, but this study would lack the clarity and colour that the Vie de Saint Louis provides. This text lends breadth and depth to research into thirteenth-century crusading: through its pages we can gain an insight into the wide range of Joinville’s concerns as a crusader and, perhaps more importantly, we can use his very personal account of his crusade to explore his attitudes in detail. The only regret one can take away from a study of crusading in Joinville’s age is that none of his contemporaries has left a similarly in-depth account of their

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thoughts and experiences as a crusader which might provide points of comparison or contrast. This one regret aside, there are many more reasons for historians to appreciate and enjoy Joinville’s Vie de Saint Louis, which provides uniquely rich opportunities to examine many aspects of thirteenth-century life, and crusading in particular.

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Unpublished dissertations and papers Lower, M., ‘Papal authority and the ‘Barons’ Crusade’ of 1239’, (unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, Cambridge University, 1999) Riley-Smith, J. ‘What is the Histoire de Saint Louis of John of Joinville?’, typescript, unpublished paper

Index Acre, 5, 10, 29, 35, 51, 91, 112, 116, 136, 166–7 172, 182, 185, 186 fall of (1291), 6, 40, 51–2, 130 French garrison at, 5, 26, 40, 102, 112, 166–7, 168 Louis IX’s crusade army at, 5, 42, 53, 61, 62, 68, 70, 102, 112, 140–41, 158, 159–60, 162, 176, 184 Agolant, character in chansons de geste, 33, 85, 92 Aguilar, castle of, 159, 164 Alberic of Troisfontaines, 172–3 Albigensian crusades, 35–6, 43–4, 115, 120, 121, 155, 173–4 Alix of Grandpré, first wife of John of Joinville, 174, 180 Alix of Reynel, second wife of John of Joinville, 180–81 Alphonse of Poitiers, 91, 112, 122, 126, 151, 147, 165 affairs in Languedoc, 121–2, 193 Louis IX’s first crusade, 4–5, 68, 161 Louis IX’s second crusade, 5, 123–4, 193 Amaury VI, count of Montfort, 3, 118, 134–5, 136 Annales de Terre Sainte, 166, 169 Antioch, 5, 31, 89, 129; see also Chanson d’Antioche princes of, see Bohemond of Taranto; Bohemond V; Bohemond VI; Tancred apostasy, 97–8, 136, 138–9, 141–2, 186, 188, 194 Aragon, 5, 44, 163, 170 king of, see James I Ascalon, 3, 5, 112 Assault of Marseilles, 123 Aumont, character in chansons de geste, 33, 85, 92 Avignon, 122 Aybeg, Mamluk sultan, 137 Ayyubids, 3–5, 12, 63, 135, 138, 186 sultans, see as-Salih; al-Nasir; Turan Shah Banyas, 161–2, 167, 188 Barons’ Crusade, 3, 22–3, 112, 116, 134–5, 185 Barral of Baux, 122, 193

Baybars, Mamluk sultan, 5, 50 Béatrix of Auxonne, mother of John of Joinville, 47, 50, 174, 180 Benoît of Termes, Cathar bishop of the Ràzes, 152–3 Bernard Aton, 156 Bernard Desclot, 156 Bernard-Hugh of Serralongue, 154 Bernard of Clairvaux, Saint, 72 Bernard Sesmon of Albedun, 163 Blanche of Castile, 122, 154, 159 Blanche of France, daughter of Louis IX, 41, 51 Blécourt, 114, 175, 186 Bohemond of Taranto, prince of Antioch, 91, 92 in chansons de geste, 99 Bohemond V, prince of Antioch, 57, 70 Bohemond VI, prince of Antioch, 173 Bonaventure, Saint, 146 Caesarea, 5, 54, 112 Cairo, 4, 136, 143, 159 Cana, 115–16 captivity, efforts to release captives, 68–9, 119, 135–6 in experiences and attitudes of crusaders, 4, 9, 60, 126, 134–9, 137, 142, 145, 147, 149, 186–8, 194 in presentation of crusades to potential participants, 96–8, 102, 108, 131–2, 149, 194 Carcassonne, 152, 154, 159, 165, 169, 170 seneschal of, 158, 162, 164 Carthage, 130 Catharism, see Benoît of Termes; Oliver III of Termes; Raymond III of Termes Champagne, 13, 27, 138, 172, 173, 174, 179, 180, 184, 187, 189 counts and countesses of, see Joan of Navarre; Thibaut IV; Thibaut V crusaders from, 102, 172, 184, 185; see also John of Joinville Chanson d’Antioche, 31–2, 34, 63–4, 65 memory and the past in, 88–9, 90 martyrdom in, 99 pilgrimage in, 80–81, 82 suffering, value of, in, 103

209

210

Index

Chanson d’Aspremont, 33 captivity in, 97 martyrdom in, 100 memory and the past in, 88, 92 service in, 85–6 suffering, value of, in, 104 Chanson de Jérusalem, 31–2, 65, 70–71 martyrdom in, 99 pilgrimage in, 80–82 suffering, value of, in, 104 Chanson de Roland, 32–3, 34, 62, 63, 65, 69; see also Roland, character in chansons de geste martyrdom in, 99–100 chansons de geste, 10, 11, 15–16, 30–35, 87, 91–3, 96, 98, 101, 102, 108, 118, 127, 139, 141, 191, 193, 194; see also Chanson d’Antioche; Chanson d’Aspremont; Chanson de Jérusalem; Chanson de Roland; Les Chétifs influence on Joinville’s writings, 61–71, 73, 131, 133 references to in crusade accounts, 130–31 Chardon of Croisilles, 86 Charlemagne, 89, 193 in chansons de geste, 32–3, 65, 69, 85, 90, 91, 93, 104, 185, 193 Charles of Anjou, 42, 91, 122, 147, 148, 151, 193 crusade campaigns in Italy, 5, 26, 28, 92, 122 Louis IX’s first crusade, 4–5, 68 Louis IX’s second crusade, 5, 120, 167 Les Chétifs, 31–2 captivity in, 97, 137, 139, 194 Christ, 72, 78, 88, 93, 95, 102, 148, 166; see also imitatio Christi; service to God or Christ sufferings of, 94, 103–8, 145–7, 194 holy places associated with, 65, 77, 129 Clairvaux, abbey of, 60–61, 173, 184 Clare of Assisi, Saint, 146 Clare of Montefalco, Saint, 146 Clement IV, pope, 166 combat, in experiences and attitudes of crusaders, 54, 133–4, 139, 153, 161–2, 166–7 in presentation of crusades to potential participants, 94, 95–6, 98, 108, 131, 194 portrayed in Joinville’s Vie de Saint Louis, 62, 63–4, 68, 133–4, 194 Compostela, Santiago de, 114 Conon of Béthune, 16, 21–2, 65 Conrad of Montferrat, 89–90

Constantinople, 2, 43, 64, 67, 138, 172; see also Fourth Crusade Latin empire of, 3, 43 empress of, see Marie of Brienne Couci, Lord of, 18, 22, 79–80 Crac des Chevaliers, 5, 172–3 cross, in crusade preaching, 77–8, 95 Louis IX associated with, 145–8, 195 crusade of the shepherds, 117 crusades, see Albigensian crusades; Barons’ Crusade; crusade of the shepherds; Fifth Crusade; First Crusade; first crusade of Louis IX; Fourth Crusade; Majorca; Second Crusade; second crusade of Louis IX; Third Crusade Cyprus, 4, 54, 57, 59, 66, 132, 162, 169, 171, 172, 176 Damascus, 3, 5 Damietta, 66, 125, 132, 137, 138, 140, 143, 158–9, 160, 161 fall to forces of Fifth Crusade (1219), 2, 4, 35, 127–8, 173, 193 fall to forces of Louis IX’s first crusade (1249), 4, 42, 59, 63, 112–13, 114, 127–8, 133, 135, 137 De excidio urbis Acconis, 130 Dominicans, 37, 41, 147, 148 preaching, see Humbert of Romans Edward, prince of England, 5, 110, 121, 123 Egypt, 3–5, 53, 62, 68, 77, 102, 110, 118, 134, 137, 138, 141, 147, 158–9; see also Ayyubids; Fifth crusade; first crusade of Louis IX; Mamluks England, 7, 11, 40, 110, 121, 123, 142 king of, see Richard I prince of, see Edward ‘Eracles’ continuation, 39–40, 111–12 Erart of Chacenay, 68 Erart of Sivry, 54, 134, 151 Erart of Vallery, 112 family traditions of crusading, 1, 8, 60, 89, 115, 156, 172–4 186, 189, 195 Li Fet des Romains, 39, 130 Fifth Crusade, 2, 4, 7, 35, 38, 98, 127–8, 138, 140–41, 173, 193 First Crusade, 1, 7–9, 31, 33, 45, 76, 77, 82, 89, 91–2, 96, 98, 108, 121, 127, 191, 193 in chansons de geste, see Chanson d’Antioche; Chanson de Jérusalem; Les Chétifs; Old French Crusade Cycle

Index first crusade of Louis IX, 3–5; see also John of Joinville; Louis IX; Oliver of Termes experiences and attitudes of participants, 109–49 passim recruitment and retention of participants, 120–22, 157–8 sources for, 39–43; see also John of Joinville, Vie de Saint Louis Fontfroide, abbey of, 161, 164, 165 Fourth Crusade, 2, 43, 57, 64, 66, 67, 86, 125, 138, 172, 184 Francesco of Barberino, 53 Franciscans, 36, 40, 41, 115 148, 178 and imitatio Christi, 107, 146 preaching, see Gilbert of Tournai Francis of Assisi, Saint, 146, 148 Francorum rex magnificus, 146–7 Frederick II, emperor of Germany, 3, 57, 118 Gaza, defeat of crusaders at (1239), 3, 22–3, 118, 134–5, 136, 137, 193 Geoffrey, abbot of Saint-Urbain, 182–3 Geoffrey Chaucer, 131 Geoffrey of Apremont, count of Sarrebrück, 171 Geoffrey of Beaulieu, 41, 147 Geoffrey of Bourlémont, 9, 70 Geoffrey of Joinville, son of John of Joinville, 57 Geoffrey III of Joinville, 60, 172–3, 184 Geoffrey IV of Joinville, 172–3, 182 Geoffrey V of Joinville, 172–3 Geoffrey of Sergines, 125 in Rutebeuf’s poetry, 29, 84–5, 90–91, 102, 105 leader of French garrison in Acre, 5, 112, 151, 166, 168 Geoffrey of Villehardouin, historian, 43, 57, 65–6, 67, 125, 184 Geoffrey of Villehardouin, prince of Morea, 43 Gerald of Niort, 157 Gesta Caroli Magni in Hispania, 91, 193 Gestes des Chiprois, 40 Gilbert of Tournai, 36 model sermons of, combat in, 94 martyrdom in, 100–101 pilgrimage in, 76–7 suffering, value of, in, 106–7, 194–5 Gobert of Apremont, 171 Godfrey of Bouillon, duke of Lower Lorraine and ruler of Jerusalem, participant in First Crusade, 91–2 portrayed in chansons de geste, 31, 81, 90, 92

211

Graindor of Douai, 31–2, 34 Grandes chroniques de France, 60 Gregory IX, pope, 3 Gregory X, pope, 5, 37, 41, 168–9 Guiot of Dijon, 80 Guy Mauvoisin, 68, 125 Guy of Dampierre, count of Flanders, 49 Hattin, battle of (1187), 135–6 Henry II, count of Bar, 3, 118, 134–5 Henry of Grandpré, 174 Henry of Ronnay, 72 Histoire ancienne jusqu’à César, 130 Holy Sepulchre, 3 intended destination of crusade campaigns, 77, 80–82, 110, 116, 192 Honorius III, pope, 35, 140 Hospitallers of St John of Jerusalem, 72, 112, 113, 114, 161, 166, 188 Hugh of Berzé, 16, 86, 89–90 Hugh III, duke of Burgundy, 51 Hugh IV, duke of Burgundy, 3, 51,116, 159 Hugh of Chalon, count of Burgundy, 179 Hugh of Digne, 148 Hugh of Ecot, 134 Humbert of Beaujeu, 169–70 Humbert of Bouzagues, 124 Humbert of Romans, 36–7 De praedicatione sancte crucis, 27, 37–8 combat in, 94 memory and the past in, 89, 91–2, 193 sea travel in, 94–5 suffering, value of, in, 105–6 model sermons of, 37 combat in, 94 memory and the past in, 87, 89 pilgrimage in, 77, 78 service in, 83–4 Opus tripartitum, 37 Huon of Saint Quentin, 97–8 Ibn al-Fura¯t, 132, 138, 169 imitatio Christi, 103, 106–8, 194 Louis IX‘s life and death viewed as, 139, 145–7, 149 Innocent III, pope, 2 Innocent IV, pope, 3, 121, 161 Isabelle of France, daughter of Louis IX, 177 Jaffa, 5, 129, 143, 176 Treaty of (1229), 3 counts of, see John II of Ibelin; Walter IV of Brienne James I, king of Aragon, 5, 44, 67, 155, 163–4

212

Index

James of Castel, bishop of Soissons, 143, 148 James of Faucigny, 177–8 James of Vitry, 35–6 correspondence of, 35, 140–41 models sermons of, 36, 38 combat in, 94, 96 martyrdom in, 100–101, 140–41 memory and the past in, 89 pilgrimage in, 76–7, 83 sea travel in, 94, 95 service in, 83 suffering, value of, in, 106 James the Great, Saint, 114 Jerusalem, 3, 89, 116, 128, 129; see also Chanson de Jérusalem intended destination of crusade campaigns, 76, 77, 79, 80–82, 83, 110 kings and rulers of, see Godfrey of Bouillon; John of Brienne Joan of Navarre, 47, 48–9, 52, 73, 184 Joan of Toulouse, 121–2 John, count of Chalon, 176, 179 John Eppes, 130–31 John of Beaumont, 42, 68, 112–13, 117, 169–70 John of Joinville, 9, 13–14, 42, 111 career of, 170–89; see also writings after 1270, 47–8, 187 before 1248, 47, 171–2, 174–6 from 1254 to 1270, 47, 177–83 sources for, 44–5, 189 experiences and attitudes apostasy, 138 biblical past, 128–9, 131 captivity, 68, 134–5, 136, 138–9, 186–8, 194 combat, 63–4, 133–4, 176 crusading past, 127–8, 131, 193–4 knightly conduct, 53–5, 74, 125 legendary past, 131, 193 martyrdom, 139, 142–9, 195 perception of Louis IX’s sanctity, 109, 139, 144–9 pilgrimage, 114–15, 117, 175–6, 179, 182, 192 responsibilities of lordship, 178–83 sea travel, 132, 162 service to God or Christ, 118–19, 126, 177–9 service to temporal lord, 118, 119, 123, 124–5, 126, 171, 172, 177–8 suffering, value of, 139, 145–6, 149, 195

participation in crusade; see also attitudes and experiences; writings, Vie de Saint Louis compared with Oliver of Termes, 152, 170–71, 176, 179, 180, 188–9, 195 family tradition, 1, 115, 172–4 preparations and departure, 1, 64–6, 114, 174–6 refusal to join Louis IX’s second crusade, 13, 151–2, 171, 177–83, 195 takes the cross for Louis IX’s first crusade, 171–2 relationship with, counts of Champagne, 47,171, 172, 177, 178, 180, 181 Louis IX, 11–12, 70–71, 74, 123, 171, 172, 173, 176–8, 186, 187 Louis IX’s heirs, 47, 54–5, 187 Oliver of Termes, 161–2, 167 abbey of Saint-Urbain, 182–3 writings, 13, 47–74, 171, 183–4 Credo, 47, 60, 139, 183, 184, 186–8 epitaph for Geoffrey III of Joinville, 60, 131, 173, 184 literary influences, 61–73, 131, 191 possible lyricist of ‘Nus ne porroit de mauvese reson’, 47, 61, 102, 119, 136, 139, 183 Vie de Saint Louis, 1–2, 11–12, 13, 15, 43, 45, 47–74, 109, 139, 151–2, 159, 195–6; see also: John of Joinville, crusades; career; experiences and attitudes; relationships John of Joinville, lord of Ancerville, 174 John of le Vignay, 9, 40, 129 John II, duke of Brittany, 50, 52 John of Brienne, king of Jerusalem, 127–8, 173 John II of Brienne, count of Eu, 54, 59 John II of Ibelin, count of Jaffa, 68 John II of Nesle, count of Soissons, 9, 60 John of Samois, 187 John of Vallery, 128 John Sarrasin, 42, 112–13, 117, 127–8, 133, 135, 137, 192 Josserand of Brancion, 118–19 Julian the Hospitaller, Saint, 72 Labécède-Lauragais, castle of, 153, 169–70 La Forbie, battle of (1244), 3, 134, 143 Languedoc, 4, 13, 44, 120–22, 152–5, 162–3, 172, 189, 195 see also Oliver III of Termes

Index Louis VIII, king of France, 4 Louis IX, king of France, Saint Louis crusade leader; see also first crusade of Louis IX; second crusade of Louis IX correspondence of, 42–3, 68, 112–13, 118–19, 127, 138, 141 decision to stay in the East in 1250, 4–5, 68–9 efforts to release captives, 4–5, 136–7 historians’ assessments of, 6–7 recruitment and retention of manpower, 119–21, 123, 157–8, 177–8 support for French garrison at Acre, 5, 112, 166 takes the cross in 1244, 3, 8, 79, takes the cross in 1267, 5, 29, 115, 119, 177 depictions and memorialization of: canonization, 41–2, 47, 55, 56–7, 60, 144–5, 147, 187 hagiographies, 41–2, 146–7 liturgy, 146–7 John of Joinville’s Vie de Saint Louis, 48, 49–50, 52–3, 54–6, 59, 63, 72–3, 109, 139, 144–9, 183, 187, 195 Rutebeuf’s poetry, 85, 91, 107–8 experiences and attitudes: apostasy, 138 biblical past, 129 captivity, 136–7, 138 crusading past, 127–8 martyrdom, 141, 142, 148 pilgrimage, 41, 113, 115–17, 192 sea travel, 132–3 service, 118, 119–21 relationship with: Geoffrey of Sergines, 84–5, 112, 125, 166 John of Joinville, 11–12, 47, 63, 70–71, 123, 171, 172, 173, 176–8 Oliver of Termes, 153–5, 157–60, 162, 163–4, 166, 167, 169 Raymond VII of Toulouse, 121, 153–4, 157 Louis X, king of France, 47–8, 54 Lucera, 36, 88 Mabille of Villehardouin, 57 Majorca, 44, 67 155–6, 163, 171 Mamluks, 4–6, 12, 68, 129, 136–7, 138, 187 sultans, see Aybeg, Baybars Mansurah, 4 battle of (1250), 4, 9, 54, 60, 63, 72, 112, 125, 133, 134, 140–42, 159

213

Margaret of Hungary, Saint, 146 Margaret of Provence, 41, 51, 52, 114, 179 Marie of Brienne, empress of Constantinople, 54 Marseilles, 1, 111, 132 martyrdom, Church policy on, 98–100, 102, 139 in accounts of Fifth Crusade, 140–41 in accounts of Louis IX’s first crusade, 102, 140–48 in experiences and attitudes of crusaders, 139–48, 149 in presentation of crusades to potential participants, 85, 98–103, 139, 194 John of Joinville’s views on, 142–8, 194–5 Louis IX’s views on, 141, 142, 148 martyrdom by desire, 146–8 mendicants and, 146–7, 148 vocabulary of, 101–2 Matthew of Trie, 177 Matthew Paris, 40, 110, 112, 142, 159 memory and the past, biblical past, 87–9, 126, 128–9, 131, 193 crusading past, 89–92, 126–8, 131, 193–4 in experiences and attitudes of crusaders, 126–31, 149, 193–4 in presentation of crusades to potential participants, 87–93, 126–7, 193 legendary or epic past, 91–3, 127, 129–31, 193 John of Joinville’s memory, 59–60, 65–6, 68–9, 187–8 mendicants, 6, 8, 28–9, 42, 146–8, 195; see also Dominicans; Franciscans mercenaries, 111–12, 123 military orders, 13, 96, 111–12, 135, 186, 192; see also Hospitallers of St John of Jerusalem; Templars Mongols, 5, 62, 87–8 Montpellier, 164 Mount Tabor, 5, 115–16 Narbonne, 153–4, 157 archbishop of, see Peire Amiel Nasir Da’ud, -al, Ayyubid sultan of Damascus, 3 Nazareth, 41, 115–16, 192 Nicholas III, pope, 137 Nicholas Arrode, 42 Nile, river, 4, 111, 128, 134 Notre Dame, cathedral of, Paris, 115 Nunyo Sanç, count of Roussillon, 155

214

Index

Odo of Châteauroux, 36, 148 memorial sermons for dead of battle of Mansurah, 36, martyrdom in, 140 model sermons of, 36 combat in, 94 martyrdom in, 100 memory and the past in, 87–8, 89 pilgrimage in, 76–7 service in, 86–7 suffering, value of, in, 105 sermons against Muslim colony of Lucera, 36, 88 papal legate to Louis IX’s first crusade, 3, 36, 51, 114, 116, 141 Odo, count of Nevers, 10, 29, 84, 90–91 Old French Crusade Cycle, 31–2, 33, 65, 80, 92; see also Chanson d’Antioche; Chanson de Jérusalem; Les Chétifs Oliver of Cologne, 38 Oliver of Paderborn, 140–41 Oliver II of Termes, 156 Oliver III of Termes, 13, 121, 151, 152–70, 195 activities in the East, 1264 to 1274, 13, 166–9 association with Catharism, 13, 152–3, 169–70 compared with John of Joinville, 152, 170–71, 176, 179, 180, 188–9, 195 crusades’ impact on estates of, 162–3 crusading tradition in family of, 156 dealings with religious institutions, 156–7, 161, 164–5 donations and restitutions, 157, 161, 164–5, 170 participation in conquest of Majorca (1229), 155–6 in Joinville’s Vie de Saint Louis, 161–2, 167 Louis IX’s first crusade, 13, 157–62, 170 Louis IX’s second crusade, 13, 167–8 military strategy, 153, 161–2, 166–7 opposition to French Crown in Languedoc before 1248, 13, 153–5 relationship with Louis IX, 153–5, 157–60, 162, 163–4 relations with Aragonese Crown, 155–6, 163–4, 170 relations with papacy, 161, 165, 166, 168–9, 170 sources for career of, 40, 43–4, 189 support for French Crown in Languedoc after 1248, 163–4

Palma-de-Majorca, siege of (1229), 155–6 Paris, 55, 60, 72, 119, 148, 172, 178 Treaty of (1229), 120 University of, 27, 35–7 Peire Amiel, archbishop of Narbonne, 154 Pelrinages et pardouns de Acre, 116 Peter of Dreux, count of Brittany, 188 Peter of Hans, bishop of Châlons, 182–3 Peter of Les Vaux-de-Cernay, 152 Peter of Verona, Saint, 99 Peter Tudebode, 96 Philip II, king of France, 4, 51 Philip III, king of France, 5, 54, 110, 168, 177, 187 Philip IV, king of France, 51, 54–5, 187 Philip of Nanteuil, 22–4, 105, 135–6, 151 pilgrimage, 8, 128, 164, 192 in experiences and attitudes of crusaders, 41, 109–17, 147, 149, 173, 179, 192 in presentation of crusades to potential participants, 76–82, 83, 87, 94, 107, 108, 192 vocabulary of, 76–7, 109–15, 192 vows and departure rituals, 76, 80, 110, 114–15, 117, 175, 182 Portopí, battle of (1229), 155–6 preaching, 10–11, 15–16, 27–8, 35–8; see also Gilbert of Tournai, Humbert of Romans, James of Vitry, Odo of Chƒteauroux Primat, 9, 40–41, 110, 115, 129–30, 168 Provence, 122, 158 count of, see Raymond Berenger Quéribus, castle of, 163–4 Raoul of Soissons, 18, 125–6, 151, 185–6 Raoul of Vanault, 134 Raymond Berenger, count of Provence, 154 Raymond III of Termes, 152–3 Raymond VII, count of Toulouse, 121, 122, 153–4, 157 Raymond Trencavel, 121, 154, 157, 170 Renaut II of Dampierre,138 Renaut of Trie, 177 Richard I, king of England, 59, 128 Richard, earl of Cornwall, 3, 116 Richard the Pilgrim, 31, 34 Robert of Artois, 4, 42, 112–13, 114, 115, 117, 128, 192 death in battle of Mansurah, 4, 72, 140–42, 147 Robert II, duke of Burgundy, 51 Robert of Cléry, 43, 64, 66, 67, 184 Robert of Crésèques, 167

Index Robert, duke of Normandy, participant in First Crusade, 121 portrayed in chansons de geste, 90 Roland, character in chansons de geste, 32, 69, 91, 92, 93, 99–100, 130–31; see also Chanson de Roland romances, 10, 30, 34, 62, 67, 130 ‘Rothelin’ continuation, 22–3, 24, 39–40, 42, 64, 118, 132, 137, 138, 141–2 Rutebeuf, poetry of, 9, 10, 15–16, 26–30 captivity in, 97 combat in, 96 martyrdom in, 101–2, 194 memory and the past in, 90–91, 92–3, 193 pilgrimage in, 78–9 sea travel in, 95 service in, 84–6 suffering, value of, in, 104–5, 107–8 Safad, 5, 129 Saint-Denis, abbey of, 41–2, 115, 187 anonymous of, 41, 147 Saint Lawrence, collegial chapel of, Joinville, 50, 175 Saint-Nicolas-du-Port, church of, Varengéville, 51, 52, 114, 179 Saint Sabas, War of (1256–61), 52 Saint-Urbain, abbey of, 114, 175, 182–3 Saint Victor, ship’s passenger list (1250), 111, 158, 160 Salih Ayyub, as-, Ayyubid sultan of Egypt, 3, 4, 63 Salimbene of Adam, 40, 137 Saragossa, siege of (1118), 156 sea travel, in experiences and attitudes of crusaders, 132–3, 139, 162, 169 in presentation of crusades to potential participants, 94–5, 98, 131–2, 194 Second Crusade, 103, 172 second crusade of Louis IX, 5; see also John of Joinville; Louis IX; Oliver of Termes recruitment and retention of participants, 119–20, 123–4, 177–8 service, contracted, 123–4, 126, 193 in experiences and attitudes of crusaders, 118–26, 149 in presentation of crusades to potential participants, 77–8, 82–7, 108 to God or Christ, 77–8, 82–7, 118–19, 124, 126, 158, 179, 183, 192–3 to love, 85–7, 118, 125–6, 193

215

to temporal lord, 84–5, 118, 119–22, 124, 126, 157–8, 172, 176–8, 183, 192–3 Sidon, 5, 129 Simon of Joinville, 47, 115, 127, 173, 182 songs, 10–11, 15–25, 65; see also chansons de geste captivity in, 97–8, 135–6, 139 combat in, 96 lyricists, see Chardon of Croisilles; Conon of Béthune; Couci, Lord of; Guiot of Dijon; Huon of Saint Quentin; Philip of Nanteuil; Raoul of Soissons; Thibaut IV of Champagne martyrdom in, 102 memory and the past in, 89–90, 92 pilgrimage in, 79–80, 82, 117 sea travel in, 95 service in, 84, 85–7, 119, 125–6, 193 suffering, value of, in, 103, 105 Stanislas of Cracow, Saint, 99 Stephen of Joinville, 182 Stephen the Protomartyr, Saint, 148 suffering, value of, 20, 103–8, 139, 145–6, 194–5 Tancred, prince of Antioch, participant in First Crusade, portrayed in chansons de geste, 91, 92 ‘Templar of Tyre’, 40, 167 Templars, 113, 165, 166 master, see William of Sonnac Termes, castle of, 152, 153, 159 lords of see Oliver II; Raymond III; Oliver III Thibaut II, count of Bar, 172, 180–81 Thibaut IV, count of Champagne leader of Barons’ Crusade, 3, 116, 136, 185 lord of John of Joinville, 47, 172 lyricist, 16, 18–19, 20–21, 22, 23, 65, 84, 95, 105, 185 Thibaut V, count of Champagne, 171, 177, 178, 180, 181 Thierry of Looz, 125 Third Crusade, 31, 33, 51, 89–90, 103, 172 Thomas Aquinas, Saint, 99, 100 Thomas of Celano, 146 Tortosa, 114, 173 Toulouse, 121–2, 165 count of, see Ravmond VII Tunis, 72, 145, 147, 148, 167; see also second crusade of Louis IX Tunisia, 1, 5, 78, 110, 130; see also second crusade of Louis IX Turan Shah, Ayyubid sultan of Egypt, 4, 138, 186

216 Tyre, 89, 129 Urban II, pope, 1, 8, 76, 77, 96 portrayed in Chanson d’Antioche, 80 Venice, 52, 67 Vincent of Beauvais, 138 vows, 2, 8, 38, 110–11, 120, 123–4, 157; see also pilgrimage, vows and departure rituals Walter IV of Brienne, count of Jaffa, 143–4, 148 Walter of Curel, 175 Walter of Reynel, 181

Index William II Longsword, 110, 142 William of Beaumont, 68, 161 William of Chartres, 41 William of Châteauneuf, master of the Hospital, 114 William of Dampierre, count of Flanders, 49, 68 William of Joinville, archbishop of Rheims, 173 William of Nangis, 41 William of Puylaurens, 153 William of Saint-Pathus, 41–2, 145 William of Sonnac, master of the Temple, 112 William of Tyre, 22, 39 William of Villehardouin, 57–8