Reynald de Châtillon
is often portrayed in history and historical fiction as a “rogue baron” — a
violent, self-interested man who broke a truce
with Salah-ad-Din triggering the campaign that ended in disaster for
Christian forces at Hattin in 1187. In
the Ridley Scott film “The Kingdom of Heaven” he is depicted even more negatively as a madman intent on making war. Yet the noted historian Bernard Hamilton has worked hard to rehabilitate Châtillon, arguing he was an
intelligent strategist, who did much to save the Kingdom of Jerusalem rather
than the reverse. Dr. Schrader provides a
short summary of Châtillon’s life in the Holy Land.
Châtillon was
born in 1125, the younger son of a comparatively obscure French nobleman, the
Sire of Donzy. William, Archbishop of Tyre, went so far as to describe his as
“almost a common soldier,” but was undoubtedly going too far. It is fair, however, to call him an
adventurer, who came to the Holy Land during the Second Crusade. Apparently,
while Louis VII was worrying (probably unnecessarily) about his wife committing
adultery with her uncle Raymond of Poitiers, Châtillon was busy seducing
Raymond’s wife, the heiress of the Principality of Antioch, Constance. No
sooner had Raymond been killed in an ambush in 1153, than Constance took the
obscure and still young (he was 28) Châtillon for her second husband. It worth
noting that according to Tyre the King of Jerusalem had suggested a variety of
other “suitable” bachelors — men of stature and proven ability in the crusader
states — to Constance, but the lady chose the patently unsuitable Châtillon. It was clearly a case of a widow exercising
her right to choose her second husband, and so a “love” match — at least on
Constance’s part.
It is hard for
us, however, to imagine what she saw in him. Within a very short period of time
his avarice and violence had scandalized even his contemporaries. Tyre claims
that out of sheer animosity to the Patriarch of Antioch, who opposed his
marriage and didn’t hesitate to say so publicly, Châtillon had him seized,
bound and exposed to the blazing summer sun with his head covered with honey.
The honey attracted the flies and the old man, the highest church official in Châtillon’s
lordship, was thus tormented with heat and flies until — according to Tyre —
the King of Jerusalem intervened. Another version suggests (more plausibly I
would think) that he was released when he agreed to pay Châtillon a large sum
of money. Regardless of how he secured his release, the Patriarch
understandably did not feel safe in Châtillon’s territory and fled to
Jerusalem.
Châtillon next
attacked the Island of Cyprus, a Christian country under the authority of the
Byzantine Emperor. As Tyre points out Cyprus “had always been useful and
friendly to our realm.” Châtillon’s justification for the raid was that he had
not been paid by the Emperor for his service in subduing the rebellious
Armenian Lord Thoros of Cilicia. But as Tyre also points out, the Emperor’s
tardy payment of mercenary wages hardly justified over-running an unsuspecting
and friendly island destroying cities, wrecking fortresses, plundering
monasteries and raping “nuns and tender maidens.” The ravaging lasted for days,
showing “no mercy to age or sex.” The violence of Châtillon’s raid, by the way,
is confirmed by Syrian sources and so not simply a function of some alleged
“bias” on the part of Tyre. Furthermore, his actions so outraged his
contemporaries that the King of Jerusalem, Baldwin III, offered to deliver him
to the Byzantine Emperor.
Manuel I opted
instead to invade Antioch and force Châtillon to submit himself. As the army of
the Emperor approached, Châtillon recognized he didn’t stand a chance of
defying the Emperor (and probably realized he was in the wrong with no allies)
so he threw himself on the Emperor’s mercy in a dramatic gesture. He went
barefoot to the Emperor with a noose around his neck and presented his naked
sword hilt-first to the Emperor. As if that weren’t enough, he then threw
himself face-down at the Emperor’s feet until (according to Tyre) “all were
disgusted and the glory of the Latins was turned to shame; for he was a man of
violent impulses, both in sinning and in repenting.” Roughly three years had
elapsed between the sack of Cyprus and Châtillon’s submission to the Emperor in
1159.
Two years later
in 1161 he was captured by the Seljuk leader Nur ad-Din and imprisoned in
allegedly brutal conditions because his reputation for brutality was not
confined to the treatment of Latin clerics and Orthodox civilians but to his
enemies as well. He was not released for
15 years, by which time his wife, Constance of Antioch had died and her son by
her first marriage, Bohemond had come of age.
In short, when Châtillon was released from prison in a political
exchange (no ransom was high enough for Châtillon’s captor), he was 52 years
old and Prince of nothing. Indeed, he was landless and penniless.
A situation he
rapidly remedied by marrying the widow (and heiress) of the vast and important
frontier barony of Oultrejourdain, Stephanie de Milly. It is hard to imagine
that a man recently released from a Saracen prison after 15 years and well past
his prime was particularly seductive to the widow Stephanie de Milly, and he
certainly offered her neither wealth nor high connections, but — in retrospect —
he offered her something even more important and maybe we should give her
credit for having perceived his value at the time: Châtillon was a brilliant
tactician, who proved capable of defending her vulnerable inheritance as long
as he lived.
Châtillon’s
release and remarriage also coincided with the start of the personal reign of
Baldwin IV, who came of age in 1176. He appears to have favored Châtillon. He
certainly would have had to approve of his marriage to the Stephanie de Milly
and Châtillon’s assumption of the title of Baron of Oultrejourdain. In any
case, just a year after his release he was entrusted with a mission to
Constantinople in which Baldwin IV renewed his father’s “homage” to the
Byzantine Emperor (no doubt Reynald’s earlier dramatic submission to the
Emperor made him an ideal candidate to do this, combined with the fact that his
step-daughter by his deceased wife Constance was now the Byzantine Empress.) In
addition, he was to negotiate details of a joint operation against Egypt that
Baldwin IV and Manuel I wanted to pursue. While it is hard to see the Châtillon
of film and fiction as an ambassador, it must be conceded that he apparently
fulfilled his commission in this case well. The Byzantine Emperor sent a fleet
of 70 ships to support and land invasion by troops supplied by the crusader
states and armed pilgrims.
Unfortunately,
the ambitions of Philip Count of Flanders combined with Baldwin IV’s leprosy
foiled the joint campaign and while the Counts of Flanders and Tripoli with the
young prince of Antioch attacked targets on the border of Antioch, Salah-ad-Din
invaded the Kingdom of Jerusalem from Egypt. It was late 1177, and King Baldwin
had less than 400 knights left for the defense of the realm. Still he rushed to
Ascalon and raised the commons in defense of the realm eventually delivering a
crushing defeat of Salah-ad-Din at the field of Montgisard on November 25,
1177. Bernard Hamilton claims that Châtillon was the “real” commander at
Montgisard, siting Arab sources. However, the Archbishop of Tyre and the
Chronicle of Ernoul, the two contemporary Christian sources both of which were
in far better position to position to assess who was commanding on the
Christian side, singularly fail to mention his role. He is just one of several
prominent men in the King’s forces including Baldwin of Ramla “and his brother
Balian, Renaud of Sidon and Count Joscelin, the King’s uncle and seneschal.”
The fact that the Arabs attribute the command to Châtillon may have for to do
with the fact that they knew him (and hated him) so well than any real role; Châtillon
is not the kind of man to be easily overlooked and the Arab sources may have
confused prominence on the battlefield with command. Tyre, however, was at this
time chancellor of the Kingdom of Jerusalem and made a meticulous attempt to
interview the survivors of the battle. It is hardly likely that he would have
omitted Châtillon’s role had Châtillon really been the mastermind of the
victory of Mongisard. In the absence of credible testimony to the contrary,
therefore, the assumption should be that the most senior official at the battle
was the commander — and that was none other than King Baldwin himself!
Châtillon’s next
important contribution to history was his raid deep into Sinai in November
1181. This raid definitely contributed to his reputation as a war-monger
because it occurred in the middle of a truce with Salah-ad-Din. However, as
Hamilton points out, far from being an opportunistic act of a self-adventurer
with no regard for treaties the raid was a highly effective tactical move in
defense of the crusader kingdoms. The raid occurred immediately after the death
of Nur-ad-Din’s legitimate heir Prince as-Salih in Aleppo. The prince had
designated his cousin, a Seljuk prince and lord of Mosul, as his successor with
the explicit intention of preventing the Kurdish usurper Salah-ad-Din from
taking any more of his father’s inheritance. Salah-ad-Din immediately
recognized that the powerful Lord of Mosul was likely to be a far greater
obstacle to his ambitions than the weak as-Salih and so immediately ordered his
nephews to prevent any forces from Mosul reaching Aleppo. From the Christian
point of view, it was critical to prevent Salah-ad-Din from expanding his power
to Aleppo, and the Lord of Mosul was to be preferred to the jihadist
Salah-ad-Din. Châtillon’s raid into
Sinai effectively 1) prevented Salah-ad-Din from taking his forces from Egypt
north to Aleppo and 2) prevented his nephews from doing his work for him
either. Farrukh-Shah had to divert his forces from interdicting the Lord of
Mosul to protecting his uncle’s possesses in Sinai. Aleppo therefore did not
fall to Salah-ad-Din at this time — a small price to pay for a truce that was
due to expire less than six months later.
To be sure, Châtillon
also enriched himself by seizing a very lucrative caravan and refusing to
ransom the survivors or pay compensation for the dead, but this should be seen
as Châtillon’s usual avarice and does not detract from his rapid and effective
response to critical threat to the very existence of the Kingdom of Jerusalem.
A year latter, Châtillon
expanded on his probably ad-hoc raid into Sinai but launching a fleet of ships
in the Red Sea. These raids have generally drawn approbation from historians,
who portray them as cruel piracy against innocent pilgrims — largely because
the Arabs had no fighting ships in the Red Sea at this time and Châtillon’s
ship sacked towns and burned ships initially at will. Against this portrayal is
the fact that Arab warships and slavers had preyed upon Christian pilgrims for
centuries before the First Crusade, and the fact that the Kingdom of Jerusalem
was by this time in a life-or-death struggle with a man who had promised to
drive it into the sea and, indeed, wipe out Christianity everywhere in the
world. No, Châtillon’s raids were not pretty. Medieval Warfare rarely was. Yes,
his ships attacked “unarmed” pilgrims (though it’s hard to imagine Arab men
travelling anywhere unarmed at this time). They certainly caused havoc and
spread terror across the Arabian Peninsula. And far from being acts of piracy
by a “rogue” baron, they served a clear strategic purpose.
Hamilton makes
the argument that the costs and complexities of launching these ships far
exceeded he resources of Châtillon alone and argues convincingly that he must
have had the support of the King of Jerusalem himself. He certainly needed the
skills of Italian shipwrights and sailors — scarce commodities in his
land-locked, desert lordship. More important, by threatening the trade and
pilgrim routes of the Red Sea, Châtillon was challenging Salah-ad-Din’s claim
to be the Defender of Islam. As Hamilton words it: “[Salah-ad-Din’s]
credibility would have been severely damaged in the eyes of the entire Islamic
community if the Franks had succeeded in preventing pilgrims from reaching the
holy cities [of Islam] of which he was protector while he and his arms were
fighting Sunnite princes in Iraq.” (Hamilton, The Leper King and His Heirs, p. 181.) Hamilton goes on to point
out that the campaign had the added advantage of aiding the Frank’s allies in
Syria while restraining Salah-ad-Din’s growing power.
Salah-ad-Din had
no choice but to respond to the raids. He had warships dragged across Sinai and
launched in the Red Sea. These eventually tracked the Christian raiders down, bottled
them up in the harbor of al-Haura, and when the Frankish crews abandoned their
ships, to track down the survivors. The Sultan than dealt with the survivors in
a notably non-chivalry fashion: he ordered them distributed about his kingdom
and publicly executed (against the laws of Islam that dictate that prisoners
who voluntarily surrender should be shown mercy). Two of the raiders, presumably the men
identified as the leaders, were taken to Mecca and slaughtered like sacrificial
animals to the wild jubilation of the crowds of pilgrims on the haj.
Châtillon’s role
in these raids (and he took full credit/blame for them despite the probability
that he was aided by King Baldwin) made him more hated than ever in the Islamic
world. Salah-ad-Din clearly felt personally insulted, and in the years that
followed he twice laid siege to Châtillon’s main fortress at Kerak. The first of these sieges occurred while on
the one hand the Queen Mother, Dowager Queen and Princess of Jerusalem had
gathered in Kerak for the wedding of Princess Isabella (aged 11) to Humphrey de
Toron (aged 15 or 16), and on the other hand when the High Court of Jerusalem
was meeting in Jerusalem to discuss Guy de Lusignan’s deplorable performance as
Regent of the Kingdom during an invasion of the Kingdom by Salah-ad-Din in
October 1183.
This meant that Châtillon found himself with only his own
fighting men but hundreds if not thousands of non-combatants on his hands. Tyre
claims he “rashly” tried to defend the town outside the castle, but was nearly
overwhelmed by the suddenness of Salah-ad-Din’s attack, and barely managed to
pull back into the castle, his villagers losing everything. Although Tyre tries
to make this sound like poor leadership on the part of Châtillon, it sounds far
more like a successful surprise attack to Salah-ad-Din’s credit. Châtillon was
lucky not to lose his castle under the circumstances and despite the
overcrowding and lack of combatants he held his castle for more than a month
before the royal army came to his relief.
A year later the
scene repeated itself, but this time there was no wedding and no constitutional
crisis going on. Both sides were better prepared, but the outcome remained the
same. The royal army came to the relief of Kerak and Salah-ad-Din was forced to
break off his siege. He would not succeed until more than a year after the
destruction of the Christian army at Hattin and the execution — at
Salah-ad-Din’s own hand — of Châtillon himself.
But that is
getting ahead of the story. Châtillon still had two other contributions to
history to make. During the succession crisis after the death of Baldwin V, Châtillon
threw his weight behind Sibylla — but it is unclear if he supported Guy de
Lusignan or not. He is said to have urged the people of Jerusalem to accept
Sibylla without naming Guy as her consort. He may have been one of her
supporters who urged her to set Guy aside and take a new husband (maybe he even
imagined himself as his consort given his past successes!). Or he may have
known she intended to keep Guy as her consort. In any case, he can be counted
in her faction.
There is no
evidence that I have seen, however, that he was particularly hostile to Raymond
of Tripoli and there is no reason to believe he particularly agitated for war
in 1187. On the contrary, Salah-ad-Din needed no particular provocation. He’d
been launching invasions almost yearly from more than a decade and he knew as
well as anyone that Guy de Lusignan was neither popular nor powerful. He
recognized that the Kingdom of Jerusalem was weaker than it had been at any
time in his own lifetime and he gathered his forces and struck again. Châtillon
followed the royal summons to muster — as did all the other barons and fighting
men of the kingdom. And, as an experienced battle commander with a large
contingent of troops he inevitably played a role in the Battle — but nothing
suggests he was the one whispering idiocy in King Guy’s hear: that distinction
belongs to the Grand Master of the Knights Templar Gerard de Rideford.
At the Battle of
Hattin, Châtillon fought bravely beside the King and was taken captive with him
along with many other nobles including Aimery de Lusignan and Humphrey de Toron.
The only thing that made him different from the others is that Salah-ad-Din was
not willing to forgive the Red Sea Raids and — again in violation of Islamic
practice — did not show mercy, although Châtillon surrendered no less than the
other lords did. Salah-ad-Din allegedly killed Châtillon with his own hand — or
wounded him and let his men finish him off. It was a violent end for a violent
man; he may well have preferred it to the thought of languishing in a Saracen
prison again or a life in slavery. He would have been 62 years of age at the
time of his execution.
Dr. Helena P. Schrader holds a PhD in History.
She is the Chief Editor of the Real Crusades History Blog.
She
is an award-winning novelist and author of numerous books both fiction
and non-fiction. Her three-part biography of Balian d'Ibelin won a total
of 14 literary accolades. Her most recent release is a novel about the
founding of the crusader Kingdom of Cyprus. You can find out more at:
http://crusaderkingdoms.com
