Byzantium and the Crusades Part II: A Horde of Barbarians

  It is easy to conceive of the crusades as a conflict between Latin Christian West and the Muslim Middle East, forgetting that between these two geographic/religious groupings was an Orthodox Christian Empire -- what we have come to call the Byzantine Empire. It was the latter that both triggered the crusades and became a victim of them. In a four-part series, I look briefly at the complex role of Byzantium in the crusades, starting today with a look at the Byzantine perspective of the world on the eve of the crusades.

As almost every student of the crusades knows, it was the Byzantine Emperor Alexios I Comnenus who ignited the crusading movement by sending an appeal for aid to Pope Urban II. The request that reached the West in 1095 was a response to increased pressure on the Eastern Roman Empire’s eastern frontiers. The Seljuk Turks had converted to Islam and with the passion of the newly converted and the skills of nomadic warriors had set about establishing their domination over Syria. This conquest complete, they turned on Armenia, Cilicia, and the Levant, driving the Byzantines out, before striking at Anatolia. In 1071, the Byzantine Emperor Romanus IV Diogenes had assembled the military forces of his empire and marched to the defense of this vital heartland -- only to be decisively defeated on August 26 at the Battle of Manzikert.  

In the quarter-century that followed, the idea that Western (barbarian) Christians might be able to assist the Empire in its struggle with the Turks had gained popularity. After all, the Byzantine Emperors were familiar with the fighting qualities of many of the Western “barbarians” because they employed Norse, Norman, English and Frankish mercenaries in the Varangian Guard, the personal body-guard of the Emperors. The Byzantines had also had the less than pleasant experience of clashing with the Normans over control of Southern Italy and Sicily. While these encounters increased Byzantine contempt for the Normans as barbarians, it also convinced them of the value of the Normans as fighters.  

What the Byzantine Emperor had in mind when he requested aid from the West was the recruitment of several hundred trained knights to serve as mercenaries in the Byzantine army. The Emperor planned and expected to place these trained fighting men strictly under the control and command of Byzantine authorities. What he got, as everyone knows, was tens of thousands of undisciplined, amorphous “armed pilgrims” (an oxymoron in Byzantine tradition). The Byzantine government and administration were overwhelmed, baffled and ultimately frightened of the monster they had created.

Byzantine sources reveal a sense of horror at the sheer numbers of “crusaders” that suddenly descended upon them. Sources described them as “a crowd as innumerable as grains of sand and the stars” or “like rivers which, flowing from all directions…came against our [lands]” and “beyond count.” The daughter of the ruling Emperor, Anna Comnena, writing decades after the First Crusade (that she had personally witnessed) claimed that “the whole of the West and all the barbarian races who had inhabited the land beyond the Adriatic” descended on her homeland. [Anna Commena, trans. Aphrodite Papayianni, 283-284.] 

 

 

Yet nearly as terrifying as their numbers was the character of these “pilgrims.” Particularly shocking was the presence of women and children among the “pilgrims.” Because the Byzantines had requested military support, they expected trained soldiers. Because they did not have a secular tradition of pilgrimage, they did not understand why women or children would want to undertake a long and perilous journey. Because they did not see Jerusalem as central to Christianity (now that it had been replaced by the New Jerusalem, Constantinople), they could not fathom the emotional appeal of Jerusalem for Latin Christians.  

Added to the bewilderment about the nature of the crusaders themselves was confusion -- and ultimately disgust -- at the lack of unified command. The Byzantine Empire was still a highly centralized and hierarchical state. All power derived from the Emperor, even the church was no competitor and challenger to secular authorities as in the West. Byzantine armies had traditions reaching back to the legions of ancient Rome. Although in this period the army had been newly reorganized under Alexios I, the basis of this army remained proud, professional, and disciplined units. The Byzantines retained from the Roman past clear command structures, ranks, and regiments — units of a specified size (e.g. 10, 50, 100, 300, 500).

The crusaders, in contrast, were what leading crusades historian Prof. Thomas Madden called “a loosely organized mob of soldiers, clergy, servants, and followers heading in roughly the same direction for roughly the same purposes. Once launched, it could be controlled no more than the wind or the sea.” [Thomas Madden, The Concise History of the Crusades, 10. New York: Rowman & Littlefield, 2014.] There was no overall commander. There were no organized units. Even those bodies of men associated with one another through kinship and vassalage could be any size from a handful to scores and all remained volunteers on pilgrimage for the benefit of their individual soul, not soldiers under orders.

 

It is hardly surprising that when confronted with this flood of undisciplined, disorganized armed pilgrims engaged in an incomprehensible undertaking that the Byzantines became unnerved. The irrational always triggers suspicion in humans, and so, unable to believe that these disorganized and undisciplined barbarian hordes could really hope to regain Jerusalem, the Byzantines concluded that the real intention of these masses descending on them was the capture of Constantinople itself!

Thus, Anna Comnena wrote in her history: “to all appearances, they were on pilgrimage to Jerusalem; in reality, they planned to dethrone Alexius and seize the capital.” [Wright, 61] A Byzantine historian writing about the Second Crusade (1147-1159) likewise claimed: “…the whole western array had been set in motion on the handy excuse that they were going to cross from Europe to Asia and fight the Turks en route and … seek the holy places, but truly to gain possession of the Romans’ land by assault and trample down everything in front of them.” [Wright, 62]

The fact that the crusaders failed to take Constantinople and, in fact, did continue on to the Holy Land where they captured Jerusalem, established independent states and continued to fight the Saracens for the next two hundred years was attributed (conveniently) to the brilliance of Byzantine policy. The Byzantine court patted itself on the back for deflecting the crusaders from their evil intents and successfully diverting their energies to the conquest of Muslim-held territory.

Indeed, the actual conquest of Jerusalem not only failed to assuage suspicions but rather created new problems. On the one hand, the Byzantine Emperors claimed all the lands conquered by the crusaders as their own since it had once been part of the Eastern Roman Empire.  Furthermore, the Byzantine Emperors as (in their eyes) the Head of the Christian Church claimed to be the protectors of the Holy Sepulcher. As the crusaders were understandably unwilling to recognize the claims of the Byzantine emperors to their conquests (won with hard fighting, blood, and casualties) and equally unwilling to recognize the primacy of the Orthodox Church over their own, the Byzantine suspicions of the western “barbarians” only increased.

The tragedy was that Byzantine suspicions of the crusaders turned into a self-fulling prophesy. In the first century of crusading, Byzantine emperors so frequently hampered or harassed crusaders that sentiment in the West turned increasingly hostile to the “Greeks” (as the Latin Christians called the Byzantines). The history of tension and broken promises as seen from the crusaders’ perspective made the assault against Constantinople possible. Yet, that nadir in Latin-Orthodox relations was preceded by a period of relative cooperation which I will look at next week.

Sources and recommended reading:

Angold, Michael, “The Fall of Jerusalem (1187) as Viewed from Constantinople,” in The Crusader World, ed. Adrian Boas (London: Routledge, 2016), 289-309.

Chrissis, Nicolaos, “Byzantine Crusaders: Holy War and Crusade Rhetoric in Byzantine Contacts with the West (1095-1341),” in The Crusader World, ed. Adrian Boas (London: Routledge, 2016), 259-277.

Papayianni, Aphrodite, "Memory and Ideology: The Image of the Crusades in Byzantine Historiography, Eleventh - Thirteenth Centuries," in The Crusader World, ed. Adrian Boas (London: Routledge, 2016), 278-288.

Wright, Chris, "On the Margins of Christendom: The Impact of the Crusades on Byzantium," in ed. Conor Kostick (London: Routledge, 2011), 55-82.

Dr. Helena P. Schrader is the author of six books set in the Holy Land in the Era of the Crusades. Find out more at: https://www.helenapschrader.com/crusades.html

 

                         

Byzantium and the Crusades: Part I - The Real Rome

  It is easy to conceive of the crusades as a conflict between Latin Christian West and the Muslim Middle East, forgetting that between these two geographic/religious groupings was an Orthodox Christian Empire -- what we have come to call the Byzantine Empire. It was the latter that both triggered the crusades and became a victim of them. In a four-part series, I look briefly at the complex role of Byzantium in the crusades, starting today with a look at the Byzantine perspective of the world on the eve of the crusades.

Despite its near-ubiquitous use, the term “Byzantine Empire” to describe the powerful state that at one time controlled the Balkans, Caucasus, Middle East, and North Africa is an anachronism. The term was not used until after the demise of this once great empire. During the roughly one thousand years of its existence (ca. 330 to 1453), the residents of the “Byzantine Empire” called themselves “Romans” and the “Byzantine” Emperors viewed themselves as the legitimate successors of the Roman Emperors. Emperor Constantine I (Roman Emperor 306 – 337) had moved the capital of the Roman Empire from Rome to a city he built on the Bosporos, straddling the straits, in order to have a foothold in both Europe and Asia. He named his new capital after himself: Constantinople.

Constantine I as Founder of Constantinople

Roughly half a century later, in 395 AD, the Emperor Theodosius divided the Roman Empire into two parts.  All of Western and Central Europe and the eastern parts of North Africa fell to the “Western Empire” ruled from Rome, while most of the Balkans, Caucasus, Middle East, and Egypt composed the “Eastern Empire” ruled from Constantinople. However, the Western Empire was at this time very weak and in 404 the capital was moved from Rome to Ravena. In 476 AD, the last Western Roman Emperor was deposed, making the Emperor in Constantinople the sole successor to the traditions, glory, and heritage of the entire Roman Empire.

 

Seen from Constantinople, the establishment of the Holy Roman Empire under Charlemagne in 800 AD was not a legitimate “revival” of the Western Roman Empire. First, the Orthodox Church did not recognize the authority of the Pope to crown Emperors, and second Charlemagne was himself a Frank — i.e. he was a barbarian, not a Roman. 

Charlemagne by Albrecht Duerer

The Byzantine categorization of all peoples who were not subject to Constantinople as “barbarians” was a fundamental feature of Byzantine identity that shaped and colored all their policies and interactions. To the Byzantine elite, the Kings of France and England and the Holy Roman Emperors were no less uncivilized barbarians than the sultans of Damascus and the Atabegs of Aleppo. The former were only slightly better for being Christian barbarians rather than Muslim barbarians.

Thus, even in the 12^th century, during a period of (rare) accord between Constantinople and the crusader states, the Byzantine Emperor could describe the Latin Christians as “Barbarian peoples whose way of life is entirely incompatible with our own. Their gaze is scarcely human, while ours is full of humanity; our speech is agreeable, while theirs is harsh and garbled. They are all armed and … bloodthirsty … while we are peaceful and compassionate and refuse to carry weapons needlessly, not being in thrall to Ares.” [Manuel Comnenus, trans. Michael Angold, 291.]

Added to this profound sense of cultural superiority came the religious belief that Constantinople — not Rome or Jerusalem — was the center of the Christian world and that the Emperor of the Eastern Roman Empire was the head of the Church. Thus, the authority of the Pope was nil in Constantinople, where the patriarchs of the Eastern Church were more beholden to the Emperor than the other way around. In the eyes of the “Romans” living in the “Roman Empire,” Constantinople was not only the new Rome, it was also the new Jerusalem since it as here that the Head of the Church resided and ruled, surrounded by sacred relics displayed in the Pharos chapel in the Imperial district of the city.

Agia Sophia, Constantinople/Istanbul

 

 

With Constantinople the center of the Christian world, the role of Jerusalem remained  secondary in the Eastern Orthodox tradition. Even when Jerusalem was a component part of the Byzantine Empire, there was no strong tradition of pilgrimage to Jerusalem. Although for devout Latin Christians the pilgrimage to Jerusalem was viewed as the ultimate pilgrimage long before the era of the crusades, for Eastern Orthodox Christians a “pilgrimage to Jerusalem was to a large extent the preserve of ascetics."  [Angold, 291.]

If the tradition of pilgrimage to Jerusalem was rare, the concept of Holy War was outright alien. As Nikolaos Chrissis explains: “…in Byzantine thought there was an emphasis on peace, while war was not seen as meritorious or glorious in itself but rather as a necessary evil, a last resort if all efforts at peace had failed.” [Chrissis, 261.] The Orthodox Church resisted recognizing soldiers who died defending Christendom as martyrs and even questioned whether soldiers shouldn’t be excluded from communion for three years “since their hands were not clean.” [Chrissis, 261.] While the attitudes of the Orthodox clergy toward soldiers defending Christians and Christendom softened over time as the threat became ever greater, still Orthodox Christianity never produced militant religious orders similar to the Templars, Hospitallers, and Teutonic Knights.

All these attitudes combined to make misunderstandings and tensions between the Eastern Roman Empire and the crusaders inevitable. Next week I look at how those conflicts manifested themselves in the early crusades and the first half of the 12^th century.

Sources and recommended reading:

Angold, Michael, “The Fall of Jerusalem (1187) as Viewed from Constantinople,” in The Crusader World, ed. Adrian Boas (London: Routledge, 2016), 289-309.

Chrissis, Nicolaos, “Byzantine Crusaders: Holy War and Crusade Rhetoric in Byzantine Contacts with the West (1095-1341),” in The Crusader World, ed. Adrian Boas (London: Routledge, 2016), 259-277.

Papayianni, Aphrodite, "Memory and Ideology: The Image of the Crusades in Byzantine Historiography, Eleventh - Thirteenth Centuries," in The Crusader World, ed. Adrian Boas (London: Routledge, 2016), 278-288.

Wright, Chris, "On the Margins of Christendom: The Impact of the Crusades on Byzantium," in ed. Conor Kostick (London: Routledge, 2011), 55-82.

Dr. Helena P. Schrader is the author of six books set in the Holy Land in the Era of the Crusades. Find out more at: https://www.helenapschrader.com/crusades.html

 

                         

 

The Emperor's Men: The Five Bailies of Cyprus

 Frederick II spent little more than a month on Cyprus, but his short stop triggered a chain of events that ended with the Holy Roman Emperor losing this rich and valuable kingdom forever. While this was the result of the Emperor's disastrous policies, he also showed poor judgement in his choice of deputies or “baillies," who aggravated the situation and brought rebellion to a head.

The fundamental mistake that Frederick II made with respect to Cyprus was his refusal to recognize it as an independent and unique kingdom, rather than simply “part of the Empire.” He took no account of the fact that it had its own history and laws, and conveniently overlooked the fact that his ancestors had had no role in the conquest or establishment of the kingdom. Instead, as David Abulafia points out, he “insisted that, as overlord of the king of Cyprus, he had full powers of intervention in the island’s affairs.”[i]

Prof. Peter Edbury suggests that, based on his actions, Frederick’s principle interest in Cyprus was “getting his hands on the profits from the regency for the previous decade.”[ii] Certainly, when he sailed away never to return again in May 1229, his arrangements for the regency of the kingdom were marked by greed; rather than appointing a man (or men) of particular trustworthiness or ability, he sold the regency for 10,000 marks. Indeed, one suspects — although we have no proof of this — that the only reason he chose to appoint five equally powerful baillies (a curious and inherently weak arrangement) was because he could find no one man willing to meet his excessive demands for cash. 

Nevertheless, having found five men willing to pay for the privilege of ruling, Frederick appears to have expected no further problems in milking the rich Cypriot cow.  Because the king was only 12 years old and it would be three years before he reached the age of majority, Frederick assumed he could be ignored. As for the king’s former regent, the troublesome and principled Lord of Beirut, the Emperor believed he had been check-mated by being lured out of Cyprus to take part in the Emperor’s “crusade.” 

This is important. Based on the historical record it is clear that Frederick never intended to fight for Jerusalem. We know now that he was negotiating for the peaceful return of Jerusalem with al-Kamil before he ever set out on his non-crusade. In light of this, it is equally clear that he did not need Beirut’s knights and men to purse his objectives in Syria. We can conclude that the only reason he wanted to ensure they accompanied him on his “crusade” was to make sure they left Cyprus.  Thus, when Frederick sailed away he left behind an island denuded of all of Beirut’s sons, kinsmen, vassals and fighting-men.

With Ibelin out of the way, Frederick turned over control of Cyprus to the five men willing to pay his price and do his bidding. He gave them orders not to allow the Lord of Beirut or any of his partisans to return to the island. The fact that he gave no legal justification for dispossessing another king's vassals is another example of his autocratic behavior, and completely in character with the rest of his actions in the Holy Land.

So who were the five men Frederick II put in joint control of Cyprus?

The names are given as: Sir Amaury Barlais, Sir Amaury of Bethsan, Sir Hugh of Gibelet (also sometimes transcribed as Jubail), Sir William of Rivet, and Sir Gauvain of Cheneché. All were the sons of men who had been active on Cyprus since the establishment of the Lusignan dynasty on the island. Barlais particularly was closely associated with the Lusignans, which may explain why he emerged as the leader or most forceful member of the Emperor’s “quintet.”

Curiously yet significantly, however, the name Barlais is always listed without the preface “of” or “de,” suggesting the family was not of noble extraction.  His father, Renaud Barlais, is known to have come from Poitou to Outremer in the train of one of the three Lusignan brothers (Guy, Aimery or Geoffrey) sometime in the late 12^th century. Renaud married the heiress to two fiefs in the Kingdom of Jerusalem. However, it is doubtful that either of these fiefs were still in possession of the lady at the time of the marriage. In light of the fact that Barlais’ field of action was exclusively Cyprus and he does not appear to have been part of the High Court of Jerusalem, I’m inclined to believe his wife’s lands had been lost in 1187 and her titles were nominal.

Amaury de Bethsan came of more exalted heritage, and his father was the uncle of Barlais’ mother, making them cousins.  Bethsan was chamberlain of Cyprus 1218-1220. John La Monte describes the Bethsans as a noble house with an honorable reputation.[iii] Which nevertheless tells us nothing about Sir Amaury himself. 

Gibelet was an even more important family in Outremer.  Gibelet was a major fief of the Count of Tripoli, indeed the fief closest to the border with the Kingdom of Jerusalem and contiguous with the Lordship of Beirut. It had a port and a major castle. Although it fell to Saladin in 1187, it was back in Christian hands by the end of the 12^th century.  The Lord of Gibelet at the time of the Sixth Crusade was Guy, who was not a close relative of the Sir Hugh appointed Baillie of Cyprus. The latter came from a cadet branch of the family, albeit not an insignificant branch as his mother has been identified as a sister of King Leo of Armenia. Perhaps the most curious fact about the Gibelet family, however, is that it had a long tradition of good ties with the Ibelins. Indeed, there is good reason to suspect that the author of the pro-Ibelin Chronicle of Ernoul was a Gibelet. Hugh de Gibelet can be said, therefore, to have come from one of the most powerful and respected noble families of Outremer, although he himself may have been a younger son of a cadet branch anxious to improve his personal standing.

The Rivets and Chenechés were also established families in Outremer and Sir Gauvain and Sir William were related to one another as Rivet’s brother was married to the sister of Cheneché’s wife.

As for the men themselves, we know virtually nothing about Sirs William de Rivet, Hugh de Gibelet and Amaury de Bethsan. A hint of their looks or character may be found in Philip de Novare’s satirical fable Le Roman de Renard,  which depicted the opponents of the Ibelins as respectively a fox (Barlais), a badger (Bethsan), and a monkey (Gibelet). Unfortunately, I could not find Novare’s characterization of Cheneché or Rivet.

We do know, however, that Cheneché was accused of attacking a certain knight, Sir William de la Tour (who latter served as an ambassador to the court of the Emperor), treacherously at night. Sir William brought charges against Cheneché before the High Court of Cyprus, then presided over by the baillie Philip d’Ibelin. Cheneché demanded and received the right to defend himself against his accuser in judicial combat. However, Cheneché was bested in the ensuing joust, and had to accept terms which he deemed humiliating. He therefore left Outremer and made his way to the Kingdom of Sicily. According to Novare: “…he knew much concerning birds and so was much honored in [the Emperor’s] court.”[iv] This tidbit is interesting as Frederick II is known to have had a passion for falconry, wrote an entire book about birds, and is often depicted with birds of prey. 

Aimery Barlais, as described in Seeds of Civil War, was also involved in judicial combat that went poorly for him, however, his grievances against the Ibelins were considerably more substantial. He received the mandate to rule Cyprus from the Queen Mother and recognized regent Alice of Champagne sometime between 1224 and 1227 but was denied the right to exercise office by the High Court of Cyprus.  Since the Ibelins were the beneficiaries, he blamed them.

Nevertheless, regardless of their noble backgrounds and legitimate grievances, the recorded actions of the five baillies do not redound to their credit.  First, they happily set about seizing the property of the Ibelins and their supporters without due process. While this was perhaps understandable given their grievances, it was not wise government.  The problem is that subjects tend to get nervous about breaches in the rule of law. No matter what anyone thought of the Ibelins, they recognized that without due process the next victim of unjustified executive action might be anyone — including themselves. Second, the baillies needed to find the money they had promised the Emperor, so they raised everyone’s taxes. Few things are more guaranteed to provoke unpopularity and unrest that levying new taxes. Third, they threatened violence to the women and children of the Ibelins and their supporters. Indeed, they so thoroughly intimidated and frightened them that hundreds of them took refuge in the armed commanderies of the militant orders, particularly the Hospital.

We can also learn something about their character from an incident that Novare describes. Obviously, his account is biased, but it unlikely to have been completely fabricated. Novare claims when he was reluctant to take an oath to the baillies, they ordered his immediate arrest. Fearing for his life, Novare tells us, he appealed to the young king, but the boy king was “much afraid” and did not intervene.[v] Next Novare offered to face any of the baillies in judicial combat, but they refused. He was arrested and placed in a pillory, then released for the night and told to return the next day to face trial. Novare went instead to the commandery of the Knights Hospitaller, where many Ibelin women were already seeking sanctuary. That same night, men broke into his lodgings, killed one of his servants and stabbed his bed many times.  Novare claims to have been warned of this intended murder “by one who cared not whom it might displease” — apparently the young king himself, who had overheard talk of the planned murder.  

It was from the Hospitaller commandery that Novare then penned a lengthy appeal for help — in verse. The long poem is reproduced in full in his memoirs, and is amusing, although it certainly loses much in translation. His appeal appears to have been the final straw inducing the Lord of Beirut to take action in defense of his house and those loyal to it. Within just weeks of Novare’s bungled murder, the Ibelins landed on Cyprus with an army prepared to challenge the Emperor’s men.

---

[i] Abulafia, David. Frederick II: A Medieval Emperor. Oxford University Press, 1988, p.232.

[ii] Edbury, Peter. John of Ibelin and the Kingdom of Jerusalem. Boydell Press, 1997, 40.

[iii] La Monte, John. The Wars of Frederick II against the Ibelins in Syria and Cyprus. Columbia University Press, 1936, p. 19.

[iv] Novare, Philip. The Wars of Frederick II against the Ibelins in Syria and Cyprus. Columbia University Press, 1936, p. 70.

[v] Novare, p. 94.

The five baillies appointed by Frederick II play an important role in:

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The Sieges of St. Hilarion and Kantara

 On July 14, 1229, an army led by the Lord of Beirut routed the mercenaries and feudal levees of the five Imperial Baillies of Cyprus. The battle brought to a dramatic end the misrule of Emperor Frederick II's minions. Yet all five Baillies not only survived the battle but fled to safety in three of Cyprus' great castles.  Most significantly, three of the Baillies took refuge in the impregnable fortress St. Hilarion -- and they had the young King of Cyprus, Henry, with them. While the Imperial Baillies held out in the hope of Imperial relief, the Lord of Beirut was forced to lay siege to a castle containing his king -- prima facie an act of treason. Today I look at the course and consequences of that fateful siege.

The Castle of Kantara seen from below. Photo by the author.

Following the Battle of Nicosia, one of the Emperor's Baillies, William de Rivet, sought refuge in the port castle at Kyrenia but surrendered the castle and left Cyprus when no Imperial aid arrived within a specified date. Another of the Baillies, Sir Gauvain de Cheneche, managed to reach the castle of Kantara at the southern tip of the mountain range that parallels the north coast of Cyprus. Here he put up a spirited defense. The castle was besieged by Sir Anseau de Brie, an ardent supporter of the Ibelins. 

The latter built a trebuchet that, allegedly "battered down nearly all the walls," without inducing surrender because the bedrock on and into which the castle was built defied destruction. Meanwhile, multiple attempts to assault the castle were successfully repulsed and sorties from the castle defeated. However, Brie was joined by the Lord of Caesarea, whose father had been killed at the Battle of Nicosia, allegedly by Sir Gauvain de Cheneche. Caeasrea brought a "sharp-shooter," a cross-bowman, who he charged with killing Cheneche.  One presumes the archer received a handsome reward because he was successful. Although Cheneche's stepbrother assumed command of the defense of Kantara, morale was shaken and supplies soon ran low. After ten months, the new commander Sir Philip de Chenard surrendered Kantara to Brie and Caesarea. 

The siege of Kantara is notable too for the recorded deployment of "psychological warfare." One of the adherents of Ibelin, the later-famous historian, philosopher, and legal scholar Philip de Novare, wrote satirical verses deriding the defenders of Kantara and sang them outside the castle walls. As one historian noted, this was "a tactic not to be underestimated since...success of a siege depended on the morale...." (Hans-Ulrich Wiblinger, The Mountain Castles of Cyprus, [Nicosia: Pilot Publications, 1993] 25).

 

Yet despite the success at Kyrenia and the drama at Kantara, the most important siege was that at St. Hilarion. It was here that three of the Imperial Baillies (Amaury Barlais, Amaury de Bethsan, and Hugh de Gibelet) had taken refuge. Not only was Barlais viewed as the most dangerous of the Imperial Baillies, but he also controlled the person of the young, underaged king, who he had with him in St. Hilarion.

The castle of St. Hilarion seen from a distance. (Photo by HPSchrader)

The castle of St. Hilarion had been built by the Byzantines late in the 10th century after the island had been freed from the Arabs. It stands 700 meters (2275 feet) above sea level on the narrow ridge of a mountain range just slightly southwest of the port of Kyrenia. At the time Barlais retreated there, it had never been taken by assault -- and it never would be. The Lord of Beirut, facing such a formidable castle and wishing to avoid a direct assault that would endanger his young king, had no choice but to besiege the castle.

Sieges are notoriously tedious. Leaving his three eldest sons (youths aged at most 21, 22 and 23 if not younger) in command of the siege of St. Hilarion, the Lord of Beirut concentrated on securing the surrender of Kyrenia and overseeing the siege and assaults on Kantara. Unfortunately, as the siege dragged on, the young sons of Beirut, Sirs Balian, Baldwin, and Hugh, got bored and absented themselves from the siege. At once the Imperial Ballies sallied forth out of St. Hilarion, over-ran the siege camp, and captured provisions. These they carried back inside the castle to supplement their own diminishing reserves. 

The Lord of Beirut had five sons, who were referred to as the "Wolflings" by Novare in one of his poems.

Hearing of the sortie in Nicosia, Sir Balian rushed back with only a handful of knights. He rapidly recovered the siege camp, and "spurring up to the gate of the wall, broke his lance on the iron of the wall gate; he had so few strong men that this battle was amazing...." -- according to the contemporary eye-witness Sir Philip de Novare. (The Wars of Frederick II against the Ibelins in Syria and Cyprus, translated by John de La Monte [New York: Columbia University Press, 1936] 106.) More important, of course, his father realized that a rotation needed to be established so that there was always a commander -- and only one commander -- at all times.

So the siege continued, and Sir Philip attempted his psychological warfare here as well -- with the effect that he became a target for the besieged. According to his own account, he was hit by a thrown lance that penetrated his arm and pinned it to his rib-cage. In this state, unable to defend himself, men from the castle took hold of the bridle of his horse and tried to take him hostage, while from the walls the defenders taunted: "Your singer is dead, he has been killed!" (Novare, 106)  Novare was rescued by Sir Balian and bragged that he wrote a new song that same evening which he soon sang loudly before the castle walls to prove he was not yet dead. 

A troubadour entertains -- here in more civilized circumstances than Novare describes!

By Easter 1230, those in the castle were suffering from a severe shortage of supplies. They had already slaughtered and eaten their horses and were reduced to killing a captured donkey for their Easter "feast." It was also clear that the Holy Roman Emperor was not going to send an army to rescue them. The Baillies were now in a difficult position. They had made themselves unpopular by their taxation, extortion and general high-handedness. They had lost a decisive battle and no longer had the resources to continue the war. But they held an all-important trump: they had the king.

Henry de Lusignan had been 12 years old when the siege of St. Hilarion started, and he saw his 13th birthday from inside St. Hilarion while food and -- one presumes -- morale dwindled. The men who held him had been appointed his guardians by the Holy Roman Emperor, but he had little reason to love or trust either the Emperor or the Emperor's Baillies. The Emperor had swept down on his kingdom and immediately sparked a rebellion (See: https://defendingcrusaderkingdoms.blogspot.com/2018/12/the-emperors-banquet.html) He had then dragged the 12-year-old to Syria, a virtual prisoner to strangers, then married him to a woman Henry had never met and sold Henry's guardianship to the five Ballies. Regardless of how honorable these men and regardless of how legitimate their grievances against the Ibelins, Henry could only have felt like a puppet in their hands. Certainly, he was afraid of them. (See: https://defendingcrusaderkingdoms.blogspot.com/2019/05/henry-i-of-cyprus-part-ii-pawn.html)

Outside the castle, on the other hand, was the man elected by his barons as his guardian, and more important the brother of the man who had been his guardian and regent for the better part of his life (from his 2nd to his 11th year). Henry had every reason to want to escape from St. Hilarion and the three men holding him there. But Henry had nothing to say in the matter. 

According to Novare, the Lord of Beirut was also anxious to end the siege. Sieges were notoriously expensive and Beirut's resources were not unlimited. He had already spent a fortune raising the army to invade Cyprus in the first place, and he'd had to support sieges at Kyrenia and Kantara as well. Most important, however, his siege of St. Hilarion put him in the awkward position of besieging his king, his liege. On the surface, this was treason. Beirut could only justify his actions by claiming -- rightly -- that Henry was a prisoner of the Emperor's Baillies and that his siege was in support, rather than targeted at, the king. Yet, no matter how right Beirut might be in fact, the optics of his siege were negative and so damaging of his reputation. 

Notably, Novare also reports that Beirut "feared that [King Henry] would be taken out of the castle by night to someplace and sent to Apulia." (Novare, 110) In short, Beirut believed that the Baillies were capable of spiriting the King of Cyprus away from his kingdom and placing him in the control of the Holy Roman Emperor. Once in Apulia, it is doubtful if Henry would ever have set eyes on his kingdom again. It is far more probable he would have remained a "guest" of his "overlord" Frederick II, while the latter claimed the right to appoint regents and retain the revenues of the kingdom. 

Beirut chose the lesser evil. Through the mediation of a knight of the Hospital, William de Teneres, he negotiated the surrender of St. Hilarion. The terms were complete amnesty and, so the retention of all estates and honors, for the Emperor's Baillies. The only thing the Emperor's Baillies lost was the right to call themselves Baillies -- and their control of the king. They became again mere barons of Cyprus, welcomed at court, and treated as if nothing had happened. 

The problem with that was that it solved nothing. The tensions and rivalries that had festered before the Emperor's arrival and had been exacerbated by his policies during and after the 6th Crusade continued to divide the Emperor's men from the Ibelins and their supporters. It would take a second round and another defeat before the Emperor's men were finally expelled from Cyprus and King Henry was able to rule in his own right. 

The siege of St. Hilarion is described in:

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The Castle of the Queen - Kantara

  Kantara, like St. Hilarion, located on Cyprus. Its foundations stretch back before the crusader period, but it played an important role in crusader times. It is also shrouded in mystery and legends in addition to being located in a spectacular landscape.

 The view up to the castle.

Kantara is located on the tip of a long, narrow ridge as the Kyrenia mountain range comes to an abrupt end overlooking the plain of Karpas. It sits 630 meters (2,067 feet) above the Mediterranean.

 And the View Down to the Sea

Although the fundamental structure was constructed under the Byzantine Emperor Alexius I Comnenus  after the Greek Empire re-established firm control over the island of Cyprus, the name is thought to derive from Arab the words "kandara" (high building) or "kandak" (castle).  This suggests there may have been an earlier structure, an outpost or watch tower, that occupied this strategic location before the Comnenus Emperor constructed a full-fledged castle. 

During Richard the Lionheart's invasion of Cyprus in 1191, Kantara served as a temporary refuge for the Greek tyrant Isaac Comnenus, and not even the great Lionheart made any attempt to take it.  Then again, he didn't need too. He captured the seaside fortress of Kyrenia instead and with it Isaac's beloved daughter. The tyrant submitted without any further resistance after his daughter's capture.

 

During the bitter wars between Emperor Friedrich II and the barons, on the other hand, the castle of Kantara was subjected to a long and brutal siege.   Defended by men loyal to the German emperor, the barons of Cyprus besieged the castle. Their forces were commanded by Anseau de Brie.  Brie built a trebuchet that, according to the contemporary chronicler and witness Philip de Novare (a fighting man in the service of the Ibelins), "battered down nearly all the walls."  While this was doubtless an exaggeration, Novare also reports that the bedrock on and into which the castle was built defied destruction.  Multiple attempts to assault the castle were successfully repulsed.

The castle only surrendered after ten months of siege due primarily to dwindling supplies and the demoralization of the garrison after the death of their commander, Gauvain de Cheneche. The latter was one of the five baillies appointed by Frederick II. (See: The Emperor's Men)

During the Genoese occupation of Cyprus in late 15th century, the castle was held for the crown and was twice attacked by Genoese forces. It resisted both assaults successfully, and became the base for counter-attacks, preventing Genoese control of the Karpas peninsula.

After the collapse of Lusignan rule on Cyprus and the establishment of Venetian control in the 16th Century, the castle was abandoned and began to decay.

Left behind were the impressive structures that gradually became ruins and the legends. The locals started to call it "the castle of a hundred chambers" -- although according to legend the 101st chamber contained a treasure that no one had ever found. Or, alternatively, the 101st chamber was enchanted and if one fell asleep in it, one woke up years later in a lovely garden. Another local name for the castle was "the house/residence of the queen" -- although no specific queen appears to be associated with the castle historically. 

The 19th century traveler D. Hogarth combines these themes suggesting: "...the traveler might imagine it the stronghold of a Sleeping Beauty, untouched by change or time for a thousand years."

Kantara certainly captured my imagination and my heart. It is the setting of many episodes of the (unpublished) "Lion of Karpas" and has a modest role in "The Last Crusader Kingdom" and is an important venue of key events in "Rebels against Tyranny."

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The Stronghold of the Lusignans: St. Hilarion Castle, Cyprus

  In writing about Medieval Cyprus it is impossible to overlook the most powerful and dramatic of all the medieval fortresses: St. Hilarion. It is the setting of several key historical episodes that inherently fall within the framework of my novels -- and I couldn't resist using it for fictional episodes as well. Below is a brief history.

The castle stands 700 meters (2275 feet) above sea level on the narrow ridge of the Kyrenia range just slightly southwest of the port of Kyrenia.  It was built by the Byzantine governor of the island after the Comnenus emperors re-established full control over Cyprus in the late 10th. Constructed between 1102 and 1110, it was called Didymos by the Byzantines for the twin mountain peaks between which the upper castle sits.  The crusaders, however, preferred to call it the castle of "Dieu d'Amour" (the God of Love) and the locals continued to refer to it as St. Hilarion because the saint of that name had built a monastery, been buried and venerated here long before the castle was built. 

  Remnants of the Castle Church

The castle boasts three lines of defense and was never taken by assault. It was, however, frequently besieged. 

 View from the upper to the lower ward.

In July/August 1228, after Emperor Friedrich II accused John d'Ibelin of malfeasance and attempted to seize his fief without trial, Ibelin secured control of St. Hilarion, had it well provisioned and moved his supporters' dependents there in preparation for a confrontation.  Ibelin was persuaded to turn the castle over to the King of Cyprus in exchange for the release of his two hostage sons -- or vice versa, depending on how one interprets the negotiations.

When Friedrich II left the Holy Land for the West, he turned St. Hilarion over to his appointed baillies with orders for them to prevent the Ibelins from setting foot on the island. Within two months, however, the Ibelins had pulled together a sufficient army to challenge this (illegal) order head on. They landed on the south coast and routed the imperial forces at the Battle of Nicosia on July 14, 1229.  The surviving leaders of the imperial supporters fled to the three mountain castles, Kantara, Buffavento and St. Hilarion. A siege began almost at once that lasted nearly a year. Shortly after Easter in 1230, the Imperial forces surrendered to the Ibelins.

Just two years later, in May 1232, fortunes were reversed. The Imperial forces were on the offensive. With the Lord of Beirut, all his sons and the bulk of his knights struggling to relieve a besieged Beirut, the Imperial forces seized control of Cyprus.  The supporters of the Ibelins were forced to seek refuge in St. Hilarion and Buffavento, where they were soon subjected to a siege. Six weeks later, after defeating the Imperial forces at the Battle of Argidi on June 15, 1232, the Ibelins were able to lift the siege of St. Hilarion and rescue their women and children. 

A long period of peace followed this episode, and St. Hilarion was strengthened and embellished by the Lusignan kings to turn it into an idyllic summer residence high above the heat of the coast. In 1348, King Hugh IV retreated to the castle to escape not an enemy but the plague. During the later Genoese invasion, St. Hilarion was an important royal base of operations, the key to disrupting Genoese internal lines of communication.

After that, like Kantara, it lost relevance and fell into disrepair and finally ruin from the 16th century onwards.

St. Hilarion features in several of my novels set in medieval Cyprus including:

Find out more and/or buy at:  Crusades (helenapschrader.com)