God's War: A New History of the Crusades (72 page)

Such was the size and complexity of Richard’s cross-Channel inheritance in July 1189 that he was only crowned king of England at Westminster on 3 September. Richard’s crusade preparations exposed the existence of a wider political community beyond the nobility, knights and urban elites. The combination of fundraising, recruitment and revivalist
crusade preaching created wide public involvement with occasionally violent consequences. All coronations acted as rituals of political demonstration and dialogue. In Richard’s case, denying access to the coronation feast to Jews who had come to pay their loyal respects provoked a riot when Jews were discovered in the crowds pressing to witness the banquet. The violence spread to Jewish districts in the city of London, where houses were destroyed and Jews murdered. Rioting soon turned to indiscriminate looting of property regardless of the owner’s religion. The perpetrators included retainers of the nobles gathered for the coronation as well as Londoners. At one point, Ranulf Glanvill and other leading officials unsuccessfully attempted to quell the rioters. This personal involvement of government ministers on one side and a combination of nobles’ households and a cross-section of locals on the other emphasized the link between public policy and popular political action. Some believed they were following royal instructions; others talked providentially of Christian destruction of the ‘enemies of the Cross of Christ’, the very theme of crusade preaching and recruitment campaigns.
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Such manifestations of popular response to precise public policies, even if based on partial misunderstanding, were a feature of crusading. So, too, during the recruitment for the Third Crusade in England in 1190 were attacks on the Jews, especially vulnerable with the king’s campaign for funds, his approaching departure and the immediate financial requirements of the crusaders who converged on English towns, ports and main roads in the early months of the year. In Lent 1190, bands of English crusaders, some motivated by a misguided notion of serving God and the cross, began looting Jewish property in commercial centres such as King’s Lynn and Stamford. The violence reached a ghastly climax at York in mid-March. Well-connected local crusaders led a concerted attack on the Jewish community that culminated in a mass suicide and massacre at the royal castle, now Clifford’s Tower, after which, revealingly, the bloodstained crusaders went to York Minster to destroy the Jews’ bonds of credit stored there.
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The link between royal action and Jewish persecution was direct. In Germany, on news of the imminent crusade, many in the Jewish communities in the Rhineland evacuated to fortified strongholds until the crusading fervour had subsided. Others, in Mainz, stayed even during the ‘curia Christi’ of 27 March 1188, when Frederick Barbarossa took
the cross, protected by imperial officials and later imperial edicts supported by the church hierarchy.
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In England, the official and ecclesiastical response was less certain. The message received by the crowds at Richard’s coronation seemed equivocal to say the least. Yet where royal authorities followed official policy, which was to protect Jewish property and lives, as both legally belonged to the king, atrocities were prevented. At Lincoln in March 1190 the threatened Jewish community was able to take secure refuge in the royal castle, in stark contrast to what happened a few days later in York, when the Jews also fled to the royal castle, only to be betrayed to the mob. Richard’s absence from England during Lent 1190 may have weakened official resolve to protect the Jews from cash-strapped crusaders, resentful at what they perceived to be wealthy Jews who may also have been their creditors and inflamed by a possibly sincere belief that they were pursuing their crusading vocation by attacking all enemies of the cross. Whatever else, the Jewish assaults of 1189–90 showed how the crusade could penetrate popular consciousness and group behaviour in ways outside the narrow confines of social control or church precept.

By the time of the Jewish massacres, Richard had long gone from his kingdom, crossing from Dover to Calais on 12 December 1189. The previous month, through the French ambassador, Count Routrou of Perche, he had agreed on a tight schedule with Philip of France to resolve outstanding differences and depart for the east in the spring of 1190.
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He was away for four years, far longer than he had hoped, planned or imagined. However, Richard, although an absent king, was not a neglectful one. Over the two years on crusade he maintained contact with affairs in France and England. He took with him large numbers of officials and bureaucrats; one, the vice-chancellor Roger Maceal, was drowned off Limassol in April 1191 still wearing the royal seal round his neck (later recovered when Roger’s body was washed ashore).
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The crusade saw the royal administration at war as if the king were campaigning in France and not the far reaches of the Mediterranean. A stream of messengers kept Richard in touch with his dominions. In return he sent home newsletters announcing significant events, such as the fall of Acre and the victory over Saladin at Arsuf. Very exceptionally the journey from England to the Holy Land may have taken as little as two to three months.
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If not in control, Richard, like his fellow crusade leaders, was well aware of events at home.

In the spring of 1190, the priority was to bring together the naval, military and diplomatic dimensions of the enterprise. Cooperation between Richard and Philip provided the cornerstone of the operation. Once close allies in prising Henry II’s grip off power, Richard and Philip became increasingly wary of each other’s motives. Richard, the older man (thirty-three; Philip was twenty-five), was the more mercurial and experienced in war. Philip, already into his second decade as king, was only in the early stages of developing what grew into matchless skills of feline diplomacy and political intrigue. A series of meetings between them ensured that arrangements were deftly orchestrated. Each monarch put their dominions in what they hoped would be order. Richard toured Aquitaine in May and June, arriving at Chinon in Anjou on 18 June, then moving on to Tours. There, on 24 June, the date agreed for the beginning of the crusade, he received the scrip and staff of a pilgrim just as, at exactly the same time, Philip did at St Denis, outside Paris, accompanied by the duke of Burgundy and the count of Flanders, a veteran of his own crusade in 1176–7. As arranged, the two kings met at Vézelay on 2 July, a place at once convenient for the march south, in neutral territory, and sanctified by the precedent of Bernard of Clairvaux preaching the Second Crusade. At Vézelay, the kings agreed to rendezvous at Messina in Sicily and, more controversially, to share any acquisitions they made, whether separately or only jointly is, and perhaps was, crucially unclear. For all the gaudy show of unity on display, the Vézelay agreement provided an accurate barometer of mistrust between the two leaders.
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Richard and Philip led their armies out of Vézelay on 4 July, three years to the day after Hattin. They began by travelling together, with only their household troops, their armies and the other contingents which were joining them all the time following behind. At Lyons, the armies divided, Philip heading east then south to Genoa while Richard followed the Rhône due south to Marseilles, where he arrived on 31 July. The journey was uneventful after the collapse of a bridge across the Rhône at Lyons beneath the weight of crusaders; Richard had it replaced by a pontoon, the sort of practical and decisive leadership for which he became famous. The arrival of such large forces taxed the capacity of the Mediterranean ports of southern France and Italy to provide shipping, especially outside the central contracts agreed with the kings. Some crusaders had to find passage from as far away as Venice or Brindisi.
Nevertheless, the agreed muster point for most if not all of those who travelled south in the early summer of 1190 was Messina. Even those delayed, such as Count Philip of Flanders, who only made his way to Sicily in the early months of 1191, regarded it as such.
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With characteristic impatience, Richard, after waiting a week for his fleet, decided not to delay further in Marseilles. He hired a substantial flotilla, one part of which, under Archbishop Baldwin and Ranulf Glanvill, sailed directly to Acre, which they reached on 21 September. This division of forces may have been prompted by the desire to send immediate help in response to news of Frederick Barbarossa’s death. Alternatively, it may have been designed to conserve Richard’s political interests in the Acre besieging force now dominated by French nobles such as the count of Champagne. For the remainder of his troops at Marseilles, Richard provided ten busses and twenty galleys, probably capable of carrying between 2,500 and 3,000 passengers and crew.
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Again, Richard’s improvisation, backed by clear strategy and cash, confirmed his reputation for firm action. On the leisurely summer cruise down the Italian coast to Sicily that followed, the king behaved equally in character, by turns tricky, aggressive, inquisitive, reckless and showy. He enjoyed robust diplomatic exchanges with Philip II at Genoa; snubbed Pope Clement III by avoiding Rome while bullying his legate; engaged in strenuous sightseeing at Naples and Salerno; and provoked a needless but dangerous fracas with some local Calabrian peasants before performing a grand public entry to Messina on 23 September.

This jaunt allowed the full crusade force to assemble. Philip had slipped into Sicily a week earlier and Richard timed his arrival to coincide with his grand fleet, which had chased him from Marseilles. Although Philip made a rather petulant show of immediately trying to leave for the Holy Land, the season was effectively too late for a crossing before the following spring. The kingdom of Sicily, which included most of southern Italy as well as the island itself, although economically prosperous with a strong maritime tradition, proved an uneasy billet. The death of William II in November 1189 had led to a succession dispute between his cousin Tancred, who had seized the crown, and William’s aunt, Constance, and her husband, Frederick Barbarossa’s eldest son Henry VI, now king of Germany. When the crusaders arrived, Sicily, a polyglot society of Greeks, Normans, northern Italians and Muslims, was a volatile place, nervously expecting Henry VI’s invasion
and threatened by a Muslim revolt on the island itself. The crusaders were faced by Tancred’s uneasiness at their military strength, the overt hostility of the mainly Greek inhabitants of Messina and the occupational problem of high food prices. Their stay was marked by intricate diplomacy punctuated by violence as Richard, in particular, sought to impose himself through high-handed aggression.

Riots between locals and his men prompted Richard and his Angevin army to sack Messina on 4 October, ignoring the presence of Philip of France, who was lodged in the city, let alone the fact that the citizens, despite crusaders’ dark comments about miscegenation with Muslims, were Christian subjects of a friendly power. The pressure on Tancred was maintained by building a wooden castle outside the walls nicknamed ‘Mategriffon’, roughly ‘kill the locals’.
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Tancred bowed to the pressure on 6 October by agreeing to pay 40,000 gold ounces in lieu of William II’s legacy to Henry II and the dower of William’s widow, Richard’s sister Joan, who had been under house arrest since her husband’s death. To keep Philip sweet, on 8 October Richard, in the spirit of the Vézelay compact, gave a third of his winnings to the French king, who used some of it to bail out his followers. Thereafter, at a popular level, there were no more disturbances, as the kings worked hard to control prices and imposed new discipline on the crusaders’ behaviour by regulating gambling and repayment of their debts.

During the winter of 1190–91 Richard found time to refit and expand his fleet, to extend rather patronizing largesse to Philip by giving him some ships in February, and to redraw part of the diplomatic map of western Europe. In the October treaty with Tancred, he had promised a marriage alliance between his nephew, Arthur of Brittany, and Tancred’s daughter, as well as help against any invasion of Sicily. Attempts by Philip to cast doubt on Richard’s sincerity came to nothing. For himself, Richard completed arrangements for his own marriage to Berengaria, daughter of the king of Navarre. She arrived in Messina, escorted by the indefatigable septuagenarian
femme fatale
of the Second Crusade, Eleanor of Aquitaine, at the end of March 1191. By this time Philip, fresh from his failure to turn Tancred against the English king, had reluctantly absolved Richard from his longstanding obligation to marry his sister Alice in return for another 10,000 marks. Armed with this subsidy and the English ships, Philip sailed from Messina on 20 March 1191, arriving at Acre on 20 April. According to a Muslim observer,
Ibn Shaddad, Philip came with just six large cargo ships carrying his supplies, horses and retinue. A hostile western source depicted him as sneaking to shore in only one ship, without fanfare. Elsewhere his companions are described as including the count of Flanders, who probably travelled with the count of St Pol, the duke of Burgundy and a group of curial nobles and officials led by Count Routrou. One Muslim witness implied that Philip of Flanders travelled separately.
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The group around Philip II mirrored the structure of Richard’s own force, some great nobles but the core provided by the king’s own household and court, but on a smaller scale and probably lacking infantry. Muslim sources recorded the defenders’ relief at the modest size of the French royal fleet. Once established in the Christian camp, Philip took the lead in pressing forward new attacks on Acre as Saladin brought up reinforcements to combat the new threat of the western monarchs. Whatever Philip’s intentions, the final push for the city waited on the appearance of King Richard.